Villains Deception Read online

  “Hey!” Morakesh barked in his raspy, dry voice.

  “Shut up,” I said. “You’re technically dead anyway.”

  Morakesh nodded. “That is true.”

  After the death curse finished crackling, I tossed the lich aside as if he were nothing—which, to be fair, he wasn’t. Lydia narrowed her eyes and summoned another, darker ball of power.

  “Oh, no no no,” I said, waggling my finger. Now that I was back in my dimension, I had full control of my power and faculties. With an expression of my will, I shut down her power. As my wife, she had the same access to the power, and it quickly became a contest of wills.

  The room went still and eerily quiet. All the eyes of the villains cowering on the floor were on us. They were waiting to see what would happen next.

  Lydia rolled her eyes at them. “Quit gawking, you sad excuses for throwaway characters. Mommies and daddies fight. Deal with it.”

  “Lydia, you’re angry. Well, so the fuck am I.”

  Lydia’s lip quivered ever so slightly. “Our . . . our little girl?”

  I stormed across the waiting room, stepping over the cowering villains, and put my arms around my wife.

  “I know, I know,” I whispered. “But I’ll get her back, I swear.”

  “You better,” she whispered back.

  “I will, I will,” I said, holding her tight. “I will tear my through any universe to get Evie back. Nothing will distract me. Nothing will stop me.”

  Lydia, close to me, sniffed my collar. “Why do you smell like sex and Settlers of Catan?”

  I stiffened slightly. “Nothing will stop me . . . now?”

  Lydia slapped my chest. “Never Realm board game orgy night?”

  Ouch. “Yes? You mad?”

  “I’m mad you went without me. Y’olly’s parties are great.”

  “Sorry hon,” I said. “Next time, promise.”

  “Where are the cufflinks I got you?”

  I looked down and noticed them missing, and winced. “Best guess? Either between a succubus’s butt cheeks or used as a gaming token? It was a crazy time.”

  Lydia’s face darkened and another ball of dark energy began to grow around her.

  “So, what will you do?” Morakesh asked, breaking the tension.

  Both Lydia and I turned and stared at the Lich.

  He simply crossed his legs and shuffled his magazine. “What? I’m invested.”

  I started to yell at the lich, then stopped myself. It wasn’t worth it. Damn it, fatherhood was making me soft.

  “Myst, WK, clear out the riffraff, will you?”

  Both my minions nodded, then advanced on the waiting room.

  “Okay folks, you all heard the Shadow Master,” Myst said with a clap of her gloved hands. “We’re closed for the foreseeable future. Go on home and you’ll be contacted when we reopen. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll personally kill you. You will then, of course, be replaced by someone loyal to us.”

  I smiled. Minions. They grow up so fast.

  However, the room didn’t exactly snap to. While I applauded her work ethic, Myst may have stepped over the line of fearful respect into deer-in-headlight shock. And that was why I partnered her with Wraith Knight. Myst was seductive and deadly. WK, on the other hand, was a hulking armored black knight who inspired pants-crapping terror.

  Wraith Knight slammed his armored foot down as his spectral armor shifted into smoky black spikes and flaming red eyes.

  “GET OUT!”

  The room broke into a comedy of errors as each of the villains scrambled over one another to get out of the waiting room and through their respective portals back to their dimensions.

  “And remember,” Sophia called out to the scattering villains, “the Blackwell Villain Consulting Agency respects and values all its clients!”

  A moment later and the waiting room was vacant, save for one.

  “Amateurs,” Morakesh said with a dismissive sniff. The lich stood up and tucked several of the magazines under his arm. “Shadow Master, always a pleasure. Ms. Sophia, I’ll retire to my room and I will see you on the ’morrow.”

  “Bye, Morry. See you tomorrow.”

  The lich left the waiting room with a wave and a slight shuffle. If this had been a sitcom, there would have been a wacko outro jingle playing. I turned to my secretary.

  “Morry?”

  “Well, he lives in the crawlspace in the cellar, sir.”

  “He what?”

  “He’s actually been quite useful,” Sophia said. “You know, doing odd jobs around the dimension and such. Ever since you decided to punish him for not having an appointment when he first came here, we . . . sort of adopted him.”

  “He’s an undead lich from an even more generic fantasy realm than Caledon,” I said. “His entire existence is to serve as a mid-tier boss for Dungeons and Dragons characters to defeat and level up.”

  “He’s really good at organizing the pantry,” Myst offered.

  “Whatever,” I said. “But he’s your responsibility. If he makes a mess, I’m not cleaning it up.”

  “You got it, sir,” Sophia said. “Oh, sir?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You went to that space opera universe with Randy.”

  “And?”

  “Well, clearly you’re here by yourself.”

  “What are you asking me, Sophia?”

  My devilish secretary smiled. “Only if I need to organize a rescue party to find Randy or order condolence flowers for your sister.”

  “Jackson?” Lydia asked.

  “In dire situations, dire actions are called upon.”

  “Rather obtuse, sir,” Sophia said.

  “Just order the damn flowers,” I told her.

  Sophia flashed a knowing smile. “Very good, sir.”

  With a nod of my head, I turned and addressed the entire group. “Okay, everyone in my office. It’s time to figure out who took Evie and--”

  “And how we’re going to hurt the fuckers responsible,” Lydia finished for me.

  I looked at my wife with pride. “Damn right.”

  Chapter Ten

  Where I Eat Humble Pie, Suffer an Intervention, and Schedule a Meeting

  When one is the leader of a villainous organization, one expects certain tropes to be adhered to. Not all the tropes, mind you.

  For example, I do not feel the need to aggrandize my station by erecting symbolic monuments to myself. I feel no need to own a massive volcano lair. Nor do I need an underwater city. I don’t have legions of shock troops identically and garishly dressed. I never give my enemies a chance to have one last anything before I’m forced to kill them. And I do not have an evil goatee.

  To be fair, I really wanted one. With my mixed Middle Eastern background, I would totally rock a nice trimmed goatee. Alas, the last time I started growing one, Lydia threatened to staple my foreskin shut.

  She meant it too. She showed me the industrial-grade stapler on her Amazon wish list.

  So with my obvious references to the evil overlord handbook out of the way, I do admit there are two things I demand from my subjects: loyalty and respect. Considering all I’ve accomplished, I think I’ve earned it.

  I tamed and befriended a djinn. I became the first mortal from the Prime Universe to ascend to godhood. I opened my own inter-dimensional consultation business. I socialize with the beings who run reality. And, if I may be so humble, I’m generally an awesome guy, no matter what the slew of one- and two-star reviews say about me.

  Which brings me to why I’m saying all this. My wife, my secretary, and my minions were currently all laughing.

  At me.

  Me.

  And these buffoons weren’t just chuckling slightly, having the decency to hide their mirth with the backs of their hands. No, these jackanapes were—I shit you not—laughing like cousin-humping, inbred howler monkeys.

  (See the population of Tennessee as a reference.)

  My wife was clutching
her sides with her eyes closed and her mouth wide in an unflattering guffaw. Sophia was literally, not figuratively, rolling on the floor laughing. Like my wife’s, her laughter made me feel . . . betrayed.

  Myst had her knees squeezed together, and she was whimpering and saying “Stop, stop, I’m going to pee,” while Wraith Knight from beneath his helmet boomed, “I just did!”

  Note to self: Kill my minions and get better ones.

  “I don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” I said to the group from behind my desk. “All I said was ‘Do you think there is anyone out there who would want to hurt me’?”

  The room suddenly grew quiet as each of the four fools looked at one another. And as if I’d just hit some magical reset button, my loyal inner circle began laughing all over again.

  Drumming my fingers along my desk, I plotted each of their deaths. Random, non-traceable occurrences. Training accident, perhaps? Space debris falling from the sky? Rare poisonous snakes in the toilet? Maybe I could feed them indigestible plastic explosives over time and then emit a low-level charge to detonate the walking bombs?

  No, Officer, I have no idea what happened to them. I found them like this. Hmm? Why does it appear they were dropped from a building onto flaming chainsaws while each of them had enough hemlock in their systems to kill the entire population of Rhode Island? Umm, would you believe . . . ISIS? Those bastards are pretty cruel.

  “Oh husband,” Lydia said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “That is precious.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked. “I am many things. Precious is not one of them.”

  Sophia smiled at me. “Sir, you have to see the humor in what you’re asking.”

  I pondered the nature of my question. Hmm. Perhaps my cadre of chucklefucks were . . . on to something? I have been told, mostly by chicken-shit keyboard warriors, that I can “rub people the wrong way.” And that perhaps I can be a bit . . . brusque.

  “What about you two?” I asked Myst and Wraith Knight. “Either of you have something to add?”

  “No boss,” Wraith Knight said, turning his helmeted head away.

  “May I be frank?” Myst asked, her voice sobering up.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Myst was the braver of the two. “If you must.”

  Myst nodded, then picked up a tablet from the couch she sat on and pointed at the large video screen in my office. With a few quick taps on the tablet, an image appeared of the high gods of Caledon—Valliar, High God of Justice, and Khasil, Queen of Darkness.

  “What about them?” I asked.

  “Well, in your first recorded adventure,” Myst said, tapping the tablet so that the images began to scroll, “you undermined their authority, openly mocked them, and revealed their weaknesses to the mortal populace of Caledon.”

  I watched as the images depicting my actions scrolled by. I smiled over at Lydia at the image of her throwing a blessed knife into Khasil’s eye. Ahh, good times.

  “So you think they’re behind this, then?”

  Myst frowned. “No, sir, I’m not saying that. But I am saying that they would have motive. It was thanks to your actions there that Valliar was imprisoned by Randy during your second recorded adventure.”

  “Oh, that reminds me, sir,” Sophia added. “Paige has called several times. I keep ignoring the call, but sooner or later you’ll have to tell her what happened.”

  I shrugged. “Just create an online personality quiz, then mock up a video where a cat does something cute, and push them into her social media feed. That’ll keep her, like all dumb people, busy and unproductive.”

  “Should we monetize it?” Sophia asked, already starting the project.

  “Of course,” I said with a frown. Like she had to ask. I then turned back to my minions. “Okay, go on.”

  “If I may,” Wraith Knight boomed as he took the tablet from Myst and tapped out a sequence, “when you had me hop across the multiverse looking for duplicates of you in your second recorded adventure, I learned a lot about your past. You may have created more enemies than you think.”

  “Do tell,” I said, crossing my arms.

  Wraith Knight pointed towards the screen. Other images flashed by. Ones where I mocked Executivia, the High Goddess from the realm of Harrowing Banality Ordeals. Next I saw picture taken of myself and the Lady of the Lake. We both had our hands behind our backs, as we each no doubt held weapons to stab the other.

  I saw images from when I desecrated a vampire baptism in Horreich by slipping holy water into the receiving bowl. Then more images from the same gothic fantasy universe depicting me putting mood elevators into the food and water supply, and seeding the clouds so they stopped raining and let the sunshine in.

  All the eyes turned to me.

  “What? The goddess who runs that universe, Branwen the Raven Goddess, made fun of my suit once. And I think we all know my opinions on their particular fashions,” I said, holding up a copy of Villains Pride opened to the end of chapter 23, page 167.

  “Didn’t you tell me once that you used to date her?” Lydia asked.

  “Moving on.” Wraith Knight shook his head, then Lydia took the tablet and tapped up a new series of images. These showed me crop dusting hordes of roving zombies with experimental mind-enhancing chemicals. In the next image, I was teaching the zombies how to read.

  “And these, dear husband? Not very villainous.”

  “I disagree,” I said, lighting one of my black cigarettes. “By educating the zombies from that world, the narrative became much more entertaining.”

  “I thought the human drama was the real conflict of those worlds,” my wife said.

  “Blah blah blah, people are the real monsters,” I said, pantomiming my hands like a puppet. “I don’t need some universe’s hackneyed allegory to remind me of that. Turn on any news channel at any time and you’ll be reminded that people suck.”

  Myst took the tablet back and the image showed one of those urban fantasy universes where some roguish types were defeating some ancient evil. Don’t ask me which one; they’re all the same to me. Hero worship for guys and masturbation fantasies for the ladies.

  From the image on the screen, I saw the avatar of the ancient evil . . . being? Regardless, the avatar opened the human-skin-bound, generic book of evil evilness. Instead of the dark ritual of eternal suffering, there were crudely drawn pictures of dicks.

  In Sharpie.

  I shrugged. “Admittedly, not my best work. But when I offered to counsel the villains of that world, the ruling deity informed me that my services were not necessary. And now that the big evil has lost, that universe is just a generic prime universe knockoff. Hmm. Maybe I can reboot it using old comic characters in a quasi-Twin Peaks homage. Sophia?”

  “Already drafting the letter of intent, sir,” my secretary said. Then she tapped her own tablet and the image on the monitor changed.

  “Boss?” Myst asked.

  “Hmm?” I grunted, looking at the picture on the screen.

  It was from when I literally stole candy from a child. The kid, maybe two or three years old, was crying, and the mom looked both shocked and outraged. And there I was, sucker in my mouth while I gave the thumbs-up to the camera and a middle finger to the kid.

  “I love that picture,” Sophia said. “I still remember the day we took it.”

  “And I stand by that decision,” I said. “Childhood obesity is no joke. Besides, what kind of mother gives a Blow Pop to a toddler? Gods above and below, they’re choking hazards. Plus, fuck that kid. If it wanted the sucker, it should have guarded it better or at least put up some kind of fight.”

  “It’s a kid,” Wraith Knight said. “What was it supposed to do?”

  I stared at my minion from across my desk with a deadly intensity. “Why don’t you ask McKenzie Whitaker and Chris Patton what happens when someone takes someone from me.”

  “Who are they?” Lydia asked.

  On cue, Sophia popped up an old image of milk cartons depicting the two missing k
ids. The description read that both kids were missing and that both were last seen outside Fountain Rock day care facility.

  “Touch my blocks, will you?” I said, leaning back in my chair.

  I took the last couple of puffs from my cigarette and snubbed it out in my Grimskull ashtray. I spun the skull around so I could look into the cold, dead eye sockets, and I pondered everything.

  I understood what my little crew was trying to get at. With my actions and occasional rants, I’d certainly pissed off some people. The list, while not complete, included gods, mortals, Democrats, Republicans, LARPers, nerds, normies, marathon runners, housewives, men in the midst of a mid-life crisis, fantasy enthusiasts, comic book geeks, sci-fi purists, horse lovers, political trendy douchebags, baby boomers, millennials, hipsters, online reviewers, cosplayers, and book critics.

  Good.

  Fuck ’em all. Well, except cosplay goddess Olga Cobrastardust. Anyone who actually has the balls to email me directly and ask permission to cosplay as the Shadow Master gets my eternal respect and protection. Provided I get a cut.

  If the angry mob is so sensitive that a comedy book offends them, then they deserve the mockery. My only regret is that some of them have bred, allowing a new generation of thin skin into the gene pool.

  I stood up and put my fists down on my desk. “Okay folks, here’s the deal. First, how in the holy fuck did you have this PowerPoint presentation prepared?”

  “Well--” Myst started

  “Shut up,” I said pointing at her. “That was rhetorical. Clearly you all had this planned early as some form of intervention. Well, stuff that up your collective butts. I’m aware that my actions anger others. That is the nature of greatness, for it brings out the jealousy and contempt of weaker minds. Everyone else, like you worms, are simply the remora eels that cling to a great white shark eating the leftover scraps.”

  “Ahem.” My wife cleared her throat.

  “I stand by what I said.” I scowled at her. “You fools want to mock me? Go right ahead. With a snap of my fingers, ALL of this goes away, and you better remember that. Sophia?”