Chapter 67
'Revenge isn't the answer.'
It was one of those grand philosophical quotes that got bandied about every so often. I partially agreed. Completely dedicating your life to revenge probably wasn't the best idea.
That didn't mean you should simply forget about it, though.
I had an intense hatred for the sheer number of revenge stories that ended with forgiveness, apologies, or some sappy little speech about rising above it all. I was all for kindness and second chances, don't get me wrong, but letting bastards and monsters walk away just so you could pretend to be the "better" person?
Fuck that.
What was the key to perfect revenge?
Balance.
There was no better revenge than taking down the assholes who deserved it, then living like a king afterward, as happy as you could be. Lording that happiness over the bastard once you'd gotten your revenge might just be the sweetest feeling in the world.
I hummed as I leaned back in my chair, legs kicked up on my desk. One hand held a beer while the other held my music player, some random upbeat song thumping in my ears.
Life was good.
"RELEASE ME, FOUL BEAST!" an enraged voice screamed. "I am a Lord of—"
Nabu's fumoified voice cut off as a fat chow chow rolled on top of him.
The supposed alien god had apparently accepted his fate and fully embraced his role as the Goonion's pet mascot. Truly, my skills in rehabilitation were profound.
Still, while Dr. Fate's new role as Lil Fatty's chew toy was funny, I had promised Mr. Nelson I would at least try not to torture the ancient asshole too much.
I snapped my fingers.
The dog yelped as the small doll vanished, reforming back into a golden helmet.
"You going to apologize to me now?" I went over and lifted the helmet with a dark chuckle.
"I was simply doing my duty," Dr. Fate bit out. "Not that you would know anything about that, craven fool."
A ding came at the perfect time.
I didn't bother answering him as I strolled over to the microwave sitting off to the side of my office. The little appliance had been a beautiful investment, right up there with the industrial-sized waffle maker and the questionable amount of duct tape in my supply closet.
The moment I opened the door, Klarion's shrill screams spilled out.
His fumoified body sat inside, surrounded by piles of metal spoons and forks. Several were stabbed into his doll-like body, though they did not actually damage him in any meaningful way.
I imagined getting microwaved with sparking forks poking into you still wasn't the best feeling in the world.
"Having fun?" I grinned down at him.
A stream of furious, incomprehensible curses poured out of Klarion's tiny mouth, except the best part about Fumoification was that I could apparently limit how much they could interact with the world in doll form. Naturally, I had made Klarion's voice high-pitched enough to sound like an enraged chipmunk.
"Now that you're all nice and toasty, let's cool you off."
A quick wave of my hand pulled several very unique potions from my inventory.
"I made these especially for you." I leaned in and lowered my voice to a whisper. "You know, I searched far and wide for these. Experimented with some of the darkest, most terrible substances Gotham had to offer."
Even trapped inside his fumoified body, I could still see the fear behind Klarion's eyes.
I lifted one bottle between two fingers and gave it a little shake.
"Homeless musk to the tenth power," I began, setting it down beside him. "Distilled Crusted Socks. Gotham Gutter Sludge. Essence of Public Bathroom. And, of course, the Smell of the Otaku's White Jar. "
My fingers started pressing the microwave buttons.
"Relish it, because this is your life now." I smiled down at him.
"MMM!" Klarion tried to scream.
I slammed the microwave door shut.
A moment later, Simmy appeared beside me.
"Put it in the basement." I gave her a firm nod. "Make sure to restock his… home daily. If the microwave breaks, feel free to replace it."
A soft song came from Simmy as she carried it away with her telekinesis.
[Feat Achieved! Revenge Is a Dish Best Microwaved]
[+1 Platinum Gacha Ticket]
[Rolling Platinum Gacha Ticket]
[Vault]
|Rare Trait|
Information-gathering abilities and technologies start working improperly when it comes to you.
Revenge truly was wonderful. Screw anyone who said otherwise.
I turned back toward Dr. Fate's helmet.
Nabu had remained quiet throughout the whole endeavor. No booming speech about Order or whatever excuse he used to justify being a flying golden jackass.
I lifted the helmet until the empty eyeholes were level with mine.
"How do you like the idea?" I made sure to give Nabu the most obnoxious grin I could manage. "Heard from Kent Nelson that you guys can't really die, right? You just get punted back to your home dimensions."
My hands tightened around the helmet.
"Two Fumos, perfectly matched in eternal microwaves." My grin widened. "Fits your whole Order thing, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps compensation would not be remiss," Nabu said hurriedly.
"I'm listening." I grinned.
—
Vandal Savage frowned as he surveyed the lab.
His plans had stalled after Darkseid's sudden betrayal. Without the alien warlord's backing, much of Savage's influence among the stars had begun to wane.
Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected.
Still, one did not survive long enough to become Vandal Savage by flinching at the first obstacle the universe threw in his path.
He would need to accelerate several of his plans, but that was hardly an impossible task. Producing the Starro-Tech now would be costly, yet necessary. Vandal had hoped to invest more research into the technology before attempting mass production, but that was no longer feasible. The experts, materials, and infrastructure required to reach that stage were still too far in the future.
A pity.
He would settle for a few dozen pieces of Starro-Tech for now. More than enough to dominate even the strongest members of the Justice League.
With Earth's greatest "heroes" under his control, many of his plans could be completed far more rapidly. The Starro-Tech was the key to his ascension, an amalgam of science, alien biology, and magical technology commissioned under his direct supervision.
A wonder in its own right.
One that required only a single final step to be completed.
Yet...
"How long do you expect me to wait, Savage?" Lex Luthor scoffed, glancing down at his watch. "Klarion is hours late at this point."
Vandal frowned, but did not reply.
Klarion was a mad thing, but Vandal had long since learned the proper levers to manipulate the Lord of Chaos. Several centuries of practice had made him rather adept at predicting Klarion's actions, provided one knew which instincts to prod.
Another obstacle, then, or simple incompetence?
His gaze lowered to the red ring adorning one of his fingers. It felt wasteful to utilize such an item now, but the production of Starro-Tech could not be delayed any longer. Not for Klarion's whims.
"I have an artifact that can summon Klarion," Vandal grunted. "He will be here shortly."
The red ring flared to life as Savage activated the spell woven into its surface. Ancient runes burned beneath the metal, their light twisting into something too sharp and too red to be natural. The potent artifact had been designed to open a pure portal of Chaos, one capable of bridging nearly any plane or dimension between its bearer and its target.
"Come," Vandal commanded.
A shadow appeared within the portal.
"Finally." Lex Luthor adjusted his cuff with an irritated scoff. "Can we—"
He froze.
A tiny angel floated through the portal carrying a microwave.
For one rare second, both Vandal Savage and Lex Luthor could only stare.
"What," Luthor said flatly.
The angel gave a soft, almost cheerful note before hurling the microwave onto the lab floor. It hit with a heavy metallic thud, the door bursting open as a tiny doll-like figure was pulled out by an invisible force, then vanished back through the portal in a blur of frantic motion.
Space snapped shut the instant the doll vanished through it.
Vandal staggered as something invisible struck him.
Luthor stumbled back, one hand clawing at his throat.
Poison? Gas? Some sort of magic?
Vandal Savage, who had endured battlefields, plagues, butcher pits, and the rotting gutters of empires long since turned to dust, felt his eyes water.
Then his consciousness began to fade.
Dear God.
It reeked.
***
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