Chapter 208 Ragebait.

Chapter 208: 208 Ragebait.

Instead, he snarled, dropping into a low crouch and raising his bare hands. "Doesn’t matter. I prefer the old-fashioned way anyway!"

I raised an unimpressed eyebrow as his fingers suddenly elongated, the flesh splitting and peeling back with a sickening wet sound.

Jagged, metallic teeth erupted from his knuckles, spinning to life with the deafening, high-pitched rev of a two-stroke engine.

"A super, huh?" I said over the noise.

"That’s right!" Ragebait yelled, raking one of his motorized, bladed hands down the brick wall of the alley in a dramatic shower of sparks. "When I touched the mystic amulet of Ranza, I was cursed with the ability to turn my appendages into chainsaws!

"The madder I get, the sharper they are! But I soon realized my curse could be a blessing. And thus, I became Ragebait! And now, I have come for your head!"

I stared at him, genuinely baffled.

"Why do you people still monologue like it’s the silver age?" I asked, rubbing my temples. "And honestly, that doesn’t even sound like a curse. Being able to turn your body parts into chainsaws sounds incredibly marketable. You could literally just be Chainsaw Man, but driven by internet clout instead of boobs."

"Flattery won’t save you now!" he spat. "Die, monster!"

He leapt at me, his finger-saws screaming as he swung for my neck, a look of vicious, viral-video triumph burning in his eyes.

Which was when I simply stepped a half-inch to the left and let the cast-iron manhole cover I’d been quietly levitating behind him whip through the air.

Ragebait’s eyes shot wide open a fraction of a second before the hundred-pound circle of corroded iron slammed squarely into the center of his chest.

It caught him mid-leap, completely arresting his forward momentum and carrying him backward through the air.

He slammed violently into the side of the industrial dumpster with a hollow, ringing GONG.

"Grk!" Ragebait gagged, his motorized fingers stalling out and retracting back into normal flesh as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Ouch.

That had to hurt.

I demagnetized the manhole cover. It dropped to the concrete with a heavy clang, and Ragebait slid down the side of the dumpster, his head lolling sideways as he hit the pavement.

I walked over, lifted my leather oxford, and gave him a slight nudge with my toe. He toppled over sideways into a pile of leaky garbage bags stacked up behind what smelled like a Chinese takeout kitchen.

He’d wake up eventually. And when he did, some local opportunist would have probably stripped him of his nice tactical coat and his wallet, but he’d have a few broken ribs to remember me by.

Most importantly, he’d wake up alive. That was a damn sight more than he was offering me.

I sighed, blowing out a long breath.

Pain in the ass.

I left him snoring in the garbage, walking out of the gloomy alley and back into the midday sun.

When I returned to the restaurant patio, Steve was still exactly where I’d left him. His head bobbed to some silent rhythm as he gave me a quick, lazy once-over.

"Still in one piece, man."

"Just some streeter," I said, dropping back into my chair and picking up my iced tea. "Nothing too big. Though he did turn his hands into chainsaws."

"Ey! One hundred percent, man. You got it," Steve said, completely unfazed as he took a huge bite of his club sandwich. "Nothing’s gonna stop the Iron Polaris, right? But... mm... how’re things handlin’ back at the evil fortress of doom, man? I saw my sister put up a new stream recently."

"She did, yeah," I said, relaxing a bit. "Psyren’s really bounced back after the whole kidnapping ordeal. Being at the center of the biggest cape scandal of the decade did wonders for her algorithm. Apparently, her viewer count is breaking records."

"Cool, man. Cool. And the rest of the crew?"

"Glacia’s been handling the chalet operations," I said. "There’s a lot of new corporate finance stuff flowing in since the BSA fell. I lend a hand where I can, but she’s an aristocrat; she’s weirdly great at balancing the books. Rhea’s been up to her usual mad-science stuff, completely overhauling the pocket-dimension security grid and building who-knows-what in the sub-basement."

"And what about... mmm... what about that other girl?" Steve asked, chewing thoughtfully. "The extremely tall, bubbly one?"

"You mean the literal succubus? Lilith?"

"Yeah, man. Her. How’s she settlin’ in?"

I shrugged, a weary smile tugging at my mouth. "Busy. She’s been redecorating the chalet like an absolute maniac. The whole place actually feels like a proper supervillain lair now. Or, at least, it’s much more thematic. A lot of velvet, dramatic lighting, and unnecessary spikes. She keeps trying to put plunging necklines on my body armor."

"I getcha, I getcha. That’s solid, man. Reeeeal solid," Steve mused. He gestured vaguely at my plate. "Mm. You gonna eat those fries?"

I rolled my eyes, but I pushed the basket across the table. Whatever. Steve could have them.

It was literally the absolute least I could do, considering his little sister had been abducted by a telekinetic megalomaniac while under my direct supervision.

Which was partly why I’d asked to meet him here in the first place. I needed to clear the air face-to-face.

"We good, though?" I asked quietly, dropping the casual banter. "About the whole... you know. Kidnapping thing?"

"Mmf," Steve said around a massive mouthful of stolen fries.

God. It was like having lunch with a Hawaiian-shirt-wearing seagull.

Steve swallowed with some effort, patting his chest to clear his airway.

"Mmf. Course, man. I mean, yeah, it was a heavy trip. Weirdos try and kidnap my sister; it’s a hazard of the lifestyle. But man? You got her back! There it is. You tore the whole establishment down to get her. Absolutely golden, man. Just so great." He paused, looking down at the basket. "Mmm. These are really good. You want some?"

"Steve, those were my fries."

Steve tilted his head slowly, his tinted glasses sliding down his nose. "Oh, yeaaaah. Good choice, man. These are great."

I snorted, shaking my head. Ah, Steve. The man never failed to ground me.

"Alright," I said, pushing back my chair and standing up. "Thanks, Steve. Always good talking to you. I’ll give you a call if any freelance jobs pop up that need your specific brand of networking."

"Mmmf," Steve replied, shooting a greasy thumbs-up my way before he resumed scarfing down the rest of my lunch.

Chuckling, I left the patio behind and walked down the block toward my parking spot.

Ah, my car. My new, sparkling, aggressively villainous company car.

For a very long time, I’d been stuck navigating the city in a battered, ten-year-old Toyota Corolla. And that had been perfectly fine. It was reliable, it got great mileage, and most importantly, it kept a completely invisible profile.

That kind of vehicle was good enough for a quiet, working-class solo villain.

But now? Now that I had a sprawling evil lair, an active pocket dimension, a team of lethal villainesses, and a massive target painted on my back by the global media? A rusted old sedan just didn’t cut it anymore.

But this baby?

Oh, yeah.