Chapter 302 Ew.

Chapter 302: 302 Ew.

I rolled my jaw with annoyance.

And slowly, deliberately, let the swirling magnetic fields violently crushing the server racks fade away into nothingness. The warped steel groaned in protest, settling into its ruined shape.

Because as much as I hated to admit it, it was true. I probably would have done the exact same thing in his position. Well, mostly, anyway.

I highly doubted I’d have just rolled over without trying to find some kind of tactical out, but I had actively done dirty work for Jester before—psychotic bastard that he was—just to stay on his good side and keep my people safe.

So, completely fucking over a stranger if it meant protecting myself and the girls? Yeah. I probably would have pulled the trigger.

Maybe not to this catastrophic extent, but I was genuinely glad that specific choice wasn’t currently put to me. Not yet, anyway.

"Fine," I said slowly, letting the iron bracers on my forearms cool. "But let me ask you a hypothetical question, Belial."

"My ears are wide open, sweet monkey of steel! Please ask me your query, reveal how you... BZZT... feel! Reveal how you feel!"

Ew.

"Right. What if Jester wasn’t a threat anymore? What if someone permanently removed him from the board? What would you do then?"

"If the clown were to perish, his magic undone, I would broadcast the truth to the moon and the... ZAP... sun! The beautiful sun!" Belial boomed, his yellow eyes flaring with genuine, eager hellfire at the mere thought of it. "I’d project every word that the painted fool said, And laugh as the heroes brought down his... URK... head! His glorious head!"

I nodded slowly, folding my arms across my chest. "And you would absolutely never lie about it."

"My collar prevents any falsehood or trick, It forces the truth, though it makes me quite... BZZT... sick! So wonderfully sick! I am bound to be honest, transparent, and pure, A magical binding I cannot endure!"

"I see," I said. "Good to know. And of course, if I completely fail to take Jester down, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Business as usual."

"I pray you succeed with the strength of a god! For serving that clown is terribly... ZAP... odd! Exceptionally odd!" Belial grunted, smoke violently puffing from his nostrils as the collar punished his insubordination. "Though he plays with dark magic and shadows of hell, He’s a squishy, weak human with a terrible smell! Every second I serve him, my fury ignites, And I dream of consuming his soul in the... URK... lights! The beautiful lights!"

"Got it," I said smoothly. "Anything else you can give me before I go?"

"I have nothing to offer, no treasures or gold, But there’s terrible coffee that’s currently cold! It’s been sitting for days in the booth by the door, I invite you to drink it and beg me for... BZZT... more! Beg me for more!"

"...I think I’ll pass. Thanks."

"Then go forth and conquer, sweet mortal of might! I am rooting for you in the upcoming... ZAP... fight! The wonderful fight!"

Yay me.

I turned my back on the massive, rhyming bastard and slowly made my way out of the ruined server farm, heading back down the echoing concrete stairs.

Fucking hell. Well, at the very least, I finally had one major question answered.

Clearly, Jester had meticulously set this entire frame-job up from the absolute beginning.

Which meant he was aggressively trying to back me into a corner to force my recruitment into his organization.

Would he actually care that I knew he was behind it? Would he reconsider his extortion if he thought I’d immediately try and betray him?

I scoffed out loud, my boots echoing in the stairwell. Of course not.

This was a seated member of the Council of Nine we were talking about. There were maybe two of those warlords whose second-in-command wasn’t actively, eagerly awaiting the perfect opportunity to stab their boss in the back and stage a hostile takeover.

In fact, that specific kind of ruthless ambition was probably half the reason they were hired in the first place.

And besides, Jester knew exactly how to get me to perfectly cooperate. Threaten the girls, and I’d absolutely work for him, dammit.

I would kill for him. Because I was strictly not going to let anything happen to Glacia, Psyren, Rhea, or Lilith if I could physically help it.

So, I really only had two viable options on the table.

Work for Jester as an indentured, corporate slave, or actively try to kill him.

...Well, I knew exactly which option I was going to take. And happily, at that. But I needed to clear it with the rest of the league first. I wasn’t just living and operating for myself these days, I mused as I finally reached the bottom landing of the fire escape. And that meant I had to explicitly—

Duck.

Raw, combat-honed instinct saved my life as I violently dropped to the concrete, mere milliseconds before a blinding blade of pure, searing light violently sliced straight through the center of the heavy steel emergency exit door.

I didn’t even hesitate. From a crouch, I slammed my open palm directly into the sliced metal, sending a massive, concussive pulse of kinetic magnetism straight into the door frame.

The heavy steel violently blasted off its reinforced hinges, blowing outward into the dark alley like shrapnel from a fragmentation grenade.

The door flew through the night air, only to split perfectly in half a second later as it bypassed a solitary figure who had just been thrown backward by the impact.

I stepped out into the damp alleyway, my bracers humming as I instantly evaluated the threat.

Streeter. No mistake about it. Absolutely no registered hero wore that much cheap leather and operated officially.

He had a bright red bandana tied around the lower half of his face, with two jagged holes crudely cut out for a mask, and he wore a heavily studded black leather jacket over combat boots.

His earlobes featured massive, gaping holes, like he’d worn massive gauge piercings until very recently and had forgotten to put them in.

And in his right hand, he casually held a buzzing, crackling katana made entirely of burning, solid light.

Oh, great.

A sword guy.

I am entirely sure there were some registered heroes out there who were totally normal and well-adjusted about their swords and their powers, but I’ve personally never met a single one of them.

Sword guys didn’t just like their weapons. They were aggressively, obnoxiously obsessed with them.

And even more so, they absolutely loved telling you all about them. If they could physically fuck the things, half of them absolutely would.

Cocky, dickish, and honestly just a gigantic, theatrical pain in the ass, I absolutely hated doing staged corporate jobs with their specific demographic.

But sometimes I had to bite the bullet, because those anime-obsessed LARPers always paid incredibly well to look cool on camera.

"Not bad, Polaris," my newest headache said. He dramatically swished his glowing blade through the air, the buzzing, neon light vividly illuminating his masked face. "But you really should have stood your ground and taken the first blow, for it would have been a far more honorable death.

For tonight, you face Spirit Sword! Master of the ancient art of bushido and relentless defender of justice!"

I stared at him blankly.

"For once my noble sensei aided me in finally awakening my true, hidden potential," the vigilante continued, completely ignoring my lack of reaction, "I gained the sacred ability to summon my spirit katana! And with it, I instantly knew that my sole destiny was to violently slay evil, just as any true samurai would!"

I groaned, dragging an armored hand down my face. Wonderful. The only thing functionally worse than a standard sword guy was a localized weeb sword guy.

"Yeah, that’s just great," I said, sighing heavily. "But I’m actually in a massive, apocalyptic hurry here. Can you just go away, play Ninja Gaiden somewhere else, and we can all just completely forget this ever happened?"

"Haw haw haw! You jest, Polaris. But my spirit sword actively weeps to enact swift justice for all of your innocent victims, and tonight, it shall have its bloody due!"

"What victims?" I demanded.

"As if I need to dignify a villain with my highly classified sources! Now, justice will be done, for I have done my tactical research on you, evildoer," he sneered.

He aggressively swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade violently crackling where it slashed deep, glowing gouges straight out of the alley’s asphalt. "You will find absolutely zero metal on my person this night! And my blade is empowered strictly with the unbreakable strength of my soul!"

"Yeah, cool," I said, already calculating the exact amount of kinetic force it would take to launch him into a nearby dumpster. "But I—"

"Hold on!"

Oh, God dammit!