Chapter 79
Well, fuck.
One moment, I was speaking with Bruce. The next, a giant portal opened beneath us, and suddenly we were standing in the middle of an enormous, ominous throne room. A legion of strange insectoid monsters surrounded us in neat rows, all of them standing perfectly still.
I glanced to either side and saw both Bruce and Clark tense as they took in the room.
Honestly, kudos to the two of them, because I was man enough to admit that without Volition keeping my head straight, I probably wouldn't be taking this nearly as well.
The giant alien sitting on the throne was quite literally the epitome of a big bad villain. Glowing red eyes stared down at us with cold contempt, his chin resting against one fist as a menacing presence seemed to fill the entire room.
My finger was already on the metaphorical trigger to summon my familiars, but something told me that probably wouldn't end well.
It felt like there was a blade pressed against my neck, and one wrong move would turn me into toast.
Now, I had Nine Lives. Or, technically, eight now, so I wasn't too afraid.
The problem was that I wasn't here alone.
I was confident in my luck protecting me, but testing how far that protection extended wasn't something I particularly wanted to risk right now. Would it still work if I died and came back? Would it protect Bruce and Clark while I was busy being revived?
I had no idea.
The Magician Tarot boost still had a little time left, so if I was going to act, I had to do it now.
Fumoification?
No. I wasn't sure exactly how powerful this guy was, but every instinct I had was telling me that would barely slow him down. That was assuming I could even touch him in the first place.
The distance between this Darkseid guy and me wasn't helping either. He was sitting on a throne at the top of a raised dais, far enough away that I'd need a solid sprint to reach him. Somehow, I doubted he'd politely sit there while I tried to throw something at him or stab him with the Inverted Spear of Heaven.
Potions were probably out too.
Maybe if I summoned my familiars and charged, then—
A familiar figure interrupted my thoughts.
The decrepit old man in long, flowing black robes I'd seen while escaping S.T.A.R. Labs limped into the throne room, glaring at me with tiny, hate-filled eyes.
He looked considerably worse than the last time I'd seen him. Several parts of his body were wrapped in bandages, while others were locked inside casts.
"Welcome once again to your doom, petty mortal."
"...Do I know you?" I raised an eyebrow at the old man, even as I kept most of my attention focused on the figure sitting above us.
Luckily, Darkseid didn't seem particularly bothered by the backtalk. He continued staring down at us with the same cold contempt.
The old man, however, looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel.
Even from all the way over here, I could hear his teeth grinding.
"I am DESAAD! His Chief Torturer! His Right Hand Advisor! One of the vaunted members of Darkseid's Elite!"
Desaad continued screeching, but something in his words struck me like a bolt of lightning.
Wait.
I had that...
—
Bruce had been through some truly terrible situations over the years. Being Batman meant inevitably finding himself with his back against the wall.
So it was saying something that this might genuinely be one of the worst situations he had ever been in.
His mind raced as he analyzed the forces surrounding them.
Nearly an entire battalion of Parademons filled the throne room, standing in rigid formation. Beyond them, Bruce could hear faint movement and the scrape of claws against stone from outside the chamber.
High probability there were even more stationed just beyond the doors.
The previous invasion of Metropolis had given him enough experience with Parademons to understand what they were dealing with. Low-level superstrength and enhanced durability, paired with limited intelligence and relatively simple tactics.
Enemies he could handle in small groups with the proper tools and preparation.
...Of which he currently had none.
Aside from a few concealed Batarangs and a knife, Bruce had almost nothing to fight with. He had immediately sent a message through the hidden communicator in his sleeve and torn one of the emergency scrolls Zatanna had given him, but whether either signal had actually made it off Apokolips was impossible to know.
He should have brought the utility belt.
His identity being exposed hardly mattered anymore. The moment fighting started, maintaining the illusion of Bruce Wayne would become pointless.
And there would be a fight.
They were surrounded, with no exits nearby and nothing remotely resembling cover for at least a hundred meters. A stealthy escape was effectively impossible.
Clark was beside him and would undoubtedly try to protect Bruce if things went wrong.
Bruce couldn't allow that.
Clark might still be able to escape if he put everything into fleeing. Fighting Darkseid on Apokolips, surrounded by his armies and whatever members of his Elite were nearby, would be nothing short of a death sentence. It had taken nearly the entire founding roster of the Justice League to drive Darkseid back during the invasion of Earth.
If it were only the two of them, Bruce's first priority would be convincing Clark to abandon him and run.
But it wasn’t just the two of them. There was still one more variable standing beside Bruce.
As much as it went against every instinct he had, Bruce could see no realistic path to victory unless they somehow… lucked out.
Jean Valjean had yet to move.
The alien warlord remained seated upon his throne, seemingly paying neither Bruce nor Clark any real attention.
To Bruce’s knowledge, nothing in Jean’s arsenal should have been capable of overpowering Darkseid.
And yet, a slow smile was beginning to spread across Jean Valjean’s face even as Desaad continued to roar.
“On your knees! The hour has come! He has come! Who is beyond good and evil? Who is the prophet of Anti-Life? Who is the Rock, the Chain, and the Lightning? All-powerful! All-unforgiving! All-conquering!” Desaad thrust a finger toward them. “Who is your master, now and forevermore!?”
Darkseid shifted on his throne and slowly rose.
Clark tensed, ready to leap into action, but Bruce silently placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Jean Valjean was moving.
With his head bowed, he slowly made his way toward the throne.
Darkseid descended to meet him, each heavy step carrying through the silence that had fallen over the chamber. Bruce could feel Clark beside him, wound tight as a wire, as the two figures steadily approached one another.
Was this some kind of scheme? Was Jean trying to get close enough to use one of his stranger abilities?
Bruce watched carefully for any sign of what he was planning, but found nothing.
Unless...
Was he actually submitting?
Jean stopped before Darkseid and bowed his head slightly as the towering warlord loomed over him.
Bruce grimaced at the sight.
“That is your place!” Desaad laughed triumphantly. “Now say the words to our lord and master. Your GOD!”
Damn it, Bruce needed to–
Jean looked up and calmly held out a single sheet of paper toward Darkseid.
“I’d like a job, please.”
...What?
***
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