Chapter 273 Dead.

Chapter 273: 273 Dead.

When we finally made it back to the chalet, Rhea was waiting in the garage with an angle grinder. She helpfully cut me out of my violently fused armor in a shower of orange sparks.

I probably could have forced the joints apart magnetically, but I was feeling way too physically and mentally drained to even attempt it.

Besides, I’d never say no to letting Rhea undress me, even if she was doing it with heavy power tools.

After I stepped out of the ruined iron shell, I sat down and officially debriefed Mystic and Vanessa. Both were highly satisfied with how the broadcast had played out.

The villain was dead, the diabolical plot was spectacularly foiled on camera, and there was one less psychotic, self-help parasite selling absolute bullshit to narcissists.

Mystic promised to run a sweep on the rest of Legion’s mortal followers to see what had happened to the localized cult, but me? I was just profoundly glad the job was over.

Legion was dead.

I had managed to successfully establish Vanessa as an A-list hero while simultaneously fulfilling my corporate contract.

I had successfully avoided getting murdered or violently dragged into the pits of hell, and I had even managed to network and make a few new high-level allies in the industry.

Overall? A pretty spectacular Tuesday.

Well, almost.

Still feeling incredibly creaky, I threw on a clean shirt and slacks and collapsed into a heavy leather armchair in the drawing room.

With a lazy flick of my wrist, my field popped the door of the minifridge, floated a cold can of beer across the room, and dropped it perfectly into my hand.

Ah.

Running a villainous syndicate was grand, but every now and then, a guy really just needed a quiet moment to himself to decompress.

I pushed a sliver of magnetism into the aluminum tab. The can popped open with a highly satisfying hiss. I lifted it to my lips, just in time for a voice to crackle over my secure earpiece.

"Miles?"

Ah, well.

Peace and quiet never lasted in this tax bracket.

I let out a long, heavy sigh and tapped the comms unit. "Yes, Rhea?"

"Looks like we got ourselves a visitor at the front gate again."

"Is that right?" I muttered, letting my magnetic awareness radiate outward, sweeping past the reinforced walls of the chalet.

Yep. I instantly recognized that specific, heavy chunk of enchanted metal moving up the driveway. It looked like The Jester was dropping by for a post-game recap.

Reluctantly, I lowered my beer. "Alright. Have Glacia meet them at the door and escort them to the drawing room."

"You got it, boss."

I forced myself out of the armchair, rolling my aching shoulders to loosen my cramping joints.

A minute later, the heavy oak doors swung open. Glacia glided into the room, her posture rigid, followed closely by The Jester, Cull, and Sleer.

His two lieutenants immediately shot me a dark, predatory sneer, which I completely ignored. I kept my focus locked entirely on the looming, terrifying overlord of evil.

"Well, well!" Jester announced. His voice, as always, carried that bizarre, theatrical echo, punctuated by the heavy jangle of the iron chains wrapped around his limbs. "Polaris. So incredibly good to see you again."

"Jester," I said, offering a stiff incline of my head.

The glowing, sickle-shaped smile with his sickly white face brightened noticeably. "I must admit, I am highly impressed," he said smoothly. "You promised my daughter a grand display and a spectacular show, and you most assuredly delivered on that contract. A celebration is in order, no? Sleer? The wine."

"At once, my lord," Sleer hissed, instantly pulling a dark, dusty bottle and two crystal glasses from his robes.

"I’ve already got my drink, thanks," I said, lifting my aluminum can and tipping it his way.

"Are you quite sure?" Jester asked pleasantly as Sleer expertly uncorked the bottle and poured a glass of dark red liquid. "Nineteen-fifteen. An absolutely excellent year."

"I’m good," I said flatly.

Jester chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "No matter. A job well done to you," he said, stepping forward and lightly clinking his priceless crystal glass against my cheap can.

"I’m honestly surprised you’re so pleased," I noted, taking a slow sip.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" he asked, his tone perfectly jovial as he gave his wine a slow, teasing swirl. "My daughter has successfully made a name for herself that exceeds even my wildest imaginations! She lives, she is completely unharmed, and best of all, she has finally witnessed the true might and glory of professional villainy!"

"Yeah," I said. "Which really makes me wonder why you sent Legion after me."

And just like that, all the oxygen was violently sucked out of the room.

Glacia, Sleer, and Cull all froze completely. They slowly, mechanically turned their heads to stare at Jester.

The archvillain’s glowing eyes peered at me. He tilted his head comically to the left. He let out a low, echoing chuckle. "Me? Now, whatever makes you think I had a hand in that unfortunate business?"

"From a strictly evidentiary standpoint? I’ve got absolutely nothing," I admitted, leaning back against the edge of my desk. "But the way I see it, Legion was dumb. No question about it. He was a raging, psychotic moron. But he was still a greater demon.

"Even a brute like him had to possess enough arcane sense to realize that the Horadrix Cube wasn’t actually some apocalyptic, hellish artifact capable of ripping open the fabric of reality.

"Lilith knew it the second she looked at it. Vanessa could tell after a quick diagnostic glance. Anyone who actually wielded magic could have smelled the absolute bullshit on that prop from a mile away. But it completely fooled Legion? Not damn likely."

I took another sip of my beer, staring directly into the glowing eyes beneath the hood.

"Then I remembered a fun little piece of industry trivia. Every single member of the Council of Nine operates with exactly three lieutenants." I casually pointed a finger over his shoulder. "I am only counting two in this room. Where, oh where, would your third guy be?

"So that got me thinking," I continued, watching Jester’s posture closely. "What if someone explicitly told Legion that the cube really was a legendary artifact? What if someone expertly convinced him it actually could empower his demonic horde? And it couldn’t be just any random street thug. No, no. It would have had to be someone who really knew his occult history.

"Someone who carried some serious, undeniable clout in the arcane underworld. Someone exactly like his master. What if this hypothetical person assured Legion that the cube absolutely was an artifact of limitless power?

"Maybe convinced him its true apocalyptic might was just being magically cloaked or hidden? Well," I said, offering an indifferent shrug, "if a trusted, high-level sorcerer did that, I bet a meathead like Legion would believe it no matter what. He’d be more than happy to violently throw himself and all his possessed slaves at my league just to get his hands on it—"

I was briefly interrupted by a heavy, aggressive puff of breath from Cull. The massive brute shifted his weight, a clear, physical warning to shut my mouth, but I kept right on going.

"And who," I growled, my grip tightening violently on my beer can. The magnetic field in the room suddenly spiked, emitting a low, dangerous hum.

The antique swords, heavy sabers, and iron maces decorating the walls of the drawing room began to aggressively vibrate against the mahogany paneling. "Who would have a reason to orchestrate all of that?"

"And what possible reason could I have?" The Jester asked. His voice was still incredibly light. Jovial. But I could clearly hear the sharp, razor-thin note of absolute menace bleeding into the frequency.

It was the terrifying voice of a clown. They didn’t shout. They didn’t howl in rage. They didn’t monologue in anything but a perfectly polite, inside voice—even as they slowly rammed a hot poker directly through your eye.

"I could think of a few," I said coldly. "Maybe you really did want to get rid of your daughter, and you banked on a demonic crossfire doing the heavy lifting for you. Or maybe you were just stress-testing me, trying to see if my syndicate taking down the Bureau was just a lucky fluke.

"Or maybe, you were thinking ahead. Actively trying to eliminate a potential, rising challenger to your comfortable little seat on the Council of Nine. It could be any of those reasons. Honestly, I don’t care which one it is. But I know for a definitive fact that this entire shitshow was your doing."

The silence stretched between us, pulling so tight it felt like the air was going to snap. I could feel the adrenaline spiking the tension in every single muscle in my body.

Sleer hissed like a cornered snake from beside his master. His wildly twitching eye flicked rapidly between Jester and me. But the real immediate problem was Cull.

The massive enforcer shifted his stance, and if his thick fingers tightened more around the haft of that heavy executioner’s axe, we were going to have a massive problem.

Beside me, Glacia stared directly at Jester. Her beautiful face was pulled tight with absolute, murderous fury, and the air around her boots actively began to freeze, ice aggressively crackling across the expensive rug.

Jester chuckled. He calmly tipped back his crystal glass, sipping the vintage wine carelessly and letting a thick drop of it dribble down his pale chin like fresh blood.

"I see," he whispered.

He casually opened his fingers, dropping the priceless glass.

It hit the hardwood floor, shattering with a sharp, discordant crash.

Then, with agonizing slowness, Jester shifted his weight. His feet crunched down onto the largest crystal shard, grinding it into powder.

He stepped directly into my personal space, towering over me.

"And, if I did orchestrate this entire, bloody affair," Jester asked, his voice dropping to a horrifying, dead-quiet whisper. "If I did intentionally send a greater demon of hell directly after you. If I did all this... what exactly do you intend to do about it?"