Chapter 80
The throne room became so silent you could hear a pin drop.
With both hands holding the job application, I cranked Terrifying Presence as high as it would go and focused every bit of it directly on Darkseid.
Not surprisingly, the big guy didn’t even blink.
Still, he struck me as the type who didn’t respect anyone he considered weak, so hopefully this would at least earn me a few points.
“Impudence! You dare make a request of the Master?” Desaad roared, one finger shaking angrily as he pointed at me in condemnation. “He is the Lord of Apokolips! The Tyrant of all that is and all that will be! You may ask nothing of him except—”
Darkseid reached out and snatched the job application from my hands.
His eyes began scanning the page.
“...Lord Darkseid?” Desaad turned toward him, confusion warring across his face. “What are you—”
“Silence.”
Desaad flinched at the booming reprimand and stumbled backward hard enough to land on his ass.
I couldn’t help but snicker.
Desaad’s face nearly turned beet red. His mouth opened, no doubt ready to start screeching again, but one glance at the still-silent Darkseid made him think better of it.
I was glad I’d filled out most of the application beforehand. All it had taken was a quick scribble across the top after pulling it out, and voilà.
Honestly, the Job Application looked completely mundane. There was nothing strange about it at all. No glowing energy, no magical aura, nothing.
Yet the gacha never ceased to surprise me.
“Very well. You are worthy.” Darkseid’s voice boomed through the throne room as he tossed the paper aside. “Be proud, for you have been granted the highest honor of becoming one of my Elite. An advisor and right hand.”
“I am deeply honored.” I gave a slight bow of my head as I played along. “You shall find me a leal and zealous aide in all things, Lord Darkseid.”
There was a strange noise of surprise from behind me.
Internally, I felt a little bad for Bruce and Clark. No doubt they were freaking out over this entire display.
Hopefully, they could keep playing it cool for just a little longer.
Thankfully, Darkseid didn’t seem to notice.
Mostly because there was a much bigger commotion happening right in front of him.
“WHAT!?” Desaad screamed. “Lord Darkseid, you must reconsider! Your judgment has been twisted by some foul deception. This is—”
“You forget yourself.” Darkseid’s eyes lit crimson as he fixed Desaad with a baleful glare. “You dare question me? My will is all.”
“For such a transgression, the punishment…” I nodded solemnly, keeping my face perfectly straight. “Can only be death.”
“Perhaps,” Darkseid said.
Desaad immediately paled.
He dropped to his knees and slammed his forehead against the floor.
“F-Forgive me, Lord Darkseid! Please! I have served you faithfully for centuries!”
I wisely kept my mouth shut as Darkseid stared down at Desaad with open contempt.
There was no point overdoing it and risking my newly acquired job.
“Twice you have failed me,” Darkseid said. “There shall not be a third. I shall give you one chance to atone for your transgressions.” He slowly rose into the air before floating backward and settling once more upon his throne. “If you wish to retain your position as my right hand, then triumph over your usurper in combat.”
Darkseid’s gaze shifted toward me.
“Your first task is simple. Defeat your predecessor and prove yourself worthy of your new station.”
Darkseid leaned back against his throne.
“Victory shall be decided only by my word.” A faint crimson glow burned within his eyes. “Begin.”
“Of course, Lord Darkseid!” Desaad cried as he shot to his feet, his eyes snapping toward me with naked hatred.
The Parademons around us moved quickly, forming a wide ring around the two of us.
“You will suffer unending agony for this disrespect!” A red staff appeared in Desaad’s hand, crackling with lightning. “I am the Master of Torture!”
Well, if he was asking for it...
I grinned as I cracked my neck.
Let’s fucking go, then.
—
Clark was tired.
Not physically, but mentally. Or maybe… spiritually.
He had simply had enough.
Being stuck in close proximity to Darkseid certainly contributed to that. The alien warlord was one of the most powerful beings Clark had ever faced, and getting dragged through a Boom Tube only to end up standing directly in front of the tyrant had already been a lot for one day.
Yet somehow, that still wasn’t the strangest thing he had seen.
No, because Jean Valjean had apparently decided to apply for a job with Darkseid.
And Darkseid had accepted.
Clark didn’t know what was worse. Either Jean had somehow used one of his bizarre abilities to mind control Darkseid into giving him a job, or Darkseid genuinely recruited members of his inner circle by reviewing job applications.
Unfortunately, the strangeness couldn’t just end there.
At this point, Clark almost wished Darkseid or the Parademons had simply attacked them. At least that would have been normal compared to... this.
Jean Valjean was currently running around without his head.
Clark slowly dragged his gaze upward as Jean’s actual severed head went sailing through the air above the fight, being tossed back and forth between several Parademons like some grotesque game of keep-away.
“Hahaha! Over here!”
Desaad screamed in fury and raised some kind of weapon, a narrow gun that spat jagged beams of black energy.
Jean’s head sailed past unharmed, the beam somehow missing him completely.
Another Parademon caught him a moment later and mechanically hurled him somewhere else.
Desaad fired again.
Then again.
Yet every shot miraculously missed by inches.
Jean’s laughter echoed through the throne room.
“You miserable little—!”
Desaad whipped around just in time to see Jean Valjean’s headless body charging straight toward him.
Some device on his belt whirred to life, a shimmering barrier snapping into place around him.
A knife simply appeared in one of Jean Valjean’s hands.
The blade struck the barrier and sheared straight through it as if it were wet paper.
A potion appeared in his other hand.
Desaad barely had time to react before the bottle smashed directly against his face.
There was a wet splatter.
And once again, color smeared across his figure.
Pink covered half his face. Brown streaked across his robes. Yellow dripped from one shoulder, while several other colors had somehow managed to spread across the rest of him.
Against the endless black, gray, and burning red of Apokolips, Desaad looked almost like a clown.
Then Jean Valjean’s headless body turned around and sprinted away.
Again.
Clark honestly lost track of how long the fight had been going on. It could have been less than a minute or several hours. The sheer absurdity of the battle had put him into some strange mental haze where time had stopped meaning much of anything.
Desaad trembled before roaring in rage and pulling out yet another weapon.
Somewhere above them, Jean Valjean’s severed head burst into laughter again.
His headless body responded by unloading another dozen bottles at Desaad.
Glass shattered across the floor.
Strange smoke billowed through the air. Acrid, sweet, and completely unidentifiable smells began mixing together as Desaad screamed beneath another explosion of color.
A bottle of scotch somehow bounced across the floor and rolled to a stop beside Clark.
He stared down at it.
Then he turned toward Bruce.
Bruce watched the battle with a glassy-eyed expression.
Clark picked up the bottle and snapped the lid open.
Without saying a word, he sat down on the floor and took a long swig.
“We’re never getting away from him, are we?” Clark let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.
Bruce didn’t answer.
He simply sat down beside him, snatched the bottle from Clark’s hand, and took a swig of his own.
The sights and sounds of the completely surreal battle continued around them as the two heroes sat there and drank.
“...Yep.”
***
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