Chapter 330 Oversight.

Chapter 330: 330 Oversight.

But damn, I loved this castle.

The interior was absolutely everything you could possibly want from a megalomaniacal evil overlord.

The sprawling stone halls were gloomy, but it wasn’t that cheap, tacky, flickering-fluorescent-tube, the-animatronics-are-coming-for-you kind of gloom.

No, this was proper gloom. The authentic, incredibly expensive sort of darkness that heavily implied decadent, immortal aristocrats in long velvet cloaks and generational blood secrets were actively stalking the corridors.

The lighting was set perfectly low, casting deep, plunging shadows along the arching, vaulted stone of the ceiling.

Huge, immaculate oil paintings in heavy gilded frames filled the negative spaces on the walls, depicting centuries of slaughter and conquest.

A low, physical hum of raw energy coursed through the very bedrock of the place, and every now and then, thick arcs of crackling green lightning.

And... was that a massive pipe organ I heard echoing down the halls?

Oh, yeah. That was definitely a pipe organ.

The booming, gothic sound was physically thrumming through the stone walls, shaking the dust from the mortar.

It could only belong to every wickedly cultured supervillain’s absolute favorite musical instrument. You simply couldn’t get that kind of bone-rattling, intimidating reverberation from a kazoo, that was for sure.

Damn, but it really sucked that I had to hate Jester. His branding was flawless.

Samuel seemed right at home among the terrifying decor. The flickering of his body looked like a walking dead come to horrifying life, his soft, grayscale glow washing out the colors of the ancient tapestries as we walked past.

Instead, a pair of grand, sweeping stone staircases led us upward, built around a massive, imposing bronze sculpture of Jester’s misformed, jagged smile.

Here and there, we passed illuminated, velvet-lined plinths holding strange little objects—ancient, cracked pottery, glowing relics, and other arcane, blood-stained artifacts that the British Museum would probably (and a couple hundred years ago, absolutely did) kill for.

The organ music grew significantly louder as we entered a final, massive corridor.

Looming directly before us was a pair of colossal, intricately engraved brass doors that looked like they had been violently stolen from the gates of Babylon.

We had just stepped into what could only be Jester’s primary trophy room. The beating heart of his domain, and his absolute seat of power.

Dozens of henchmen dressed in thick, cowled robes and faceless white porcelain masks sat at high-tech control terminals, working in studious, terrified obedience along a raised iron gallery that circled the perimeter of the room.

On the ground floor, there were dozens more illuminated plinths, displaying the trophies and astounding relics claimed by their master over the course of his sordid, centuries-long career.

There were classic staples, like a giant, oversized copper penny. There were the torn, blood-stained cowls and costumes of A-list heroes who’d fallen to him.

Jester himself was bowed deeply before a gargantuan pipe organ that completely consumed the entire rear wall of the ground floor.

He was playing with absolute, manic gusto, the deep reverberations of the sound seeming to violently thrum in my very bones as his hands danced over the console.

It was explicitly designed to overwhelm and impress, and dammit, it was working perfectly.

The hulking brute Cull was standing in the shadowy corner of the room, his massive warhammer resting easily in one hand, looking as stiff and unmoving as a gargoyle statue.

The frantic crescendo of sound began to build, shaking the floorboards. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata tore from the brass pipes in a deafening, tragic wave.

At last, Jester raised his head, exhaling gustily, his shoulders slumping with theatrical exhaustion.

Then, he swiveled smoothly on his bench and faced us. L

"Ah! Polaris," he said, his voice booming. He rose to his feet."So incredibly good to see you. I was almost worried I might have to pay you another little house call."

"No need to go out of your way on my account," I said, keeping my voice perfectly level.

Underneath my coat, I was subtly sending out constant, sweeping waves of raw magnetism, feeling the vast amounts of metal all around the room react and ping against my mind.

But there was something else...

I looked sharply at the corner of the room as some sort of android stepped heavily out of the gloom.

It was incredibly bulky, painted a bright, sickening shade of bubblegum pink, and had a heavy, rounded build that looked like a streamlined, futuristic deep-sea diving suit.

It was thickly armored, and it sported a curved screen for a face that currently flickered with a wildly smiling, anime-esque expression ( ^ _ ^ ).

"Hewwo!" it said in a gratingly high-pitched, aggressively cutesy voice. "I am sooo pweased to meet you!"

"Please, do ignore Nurse Ratchet," Jester said, waving a dismissive, chained hand at the machine. "She’s always hovering about in case of unexpected medical emergencies. She was originally a delightful, experimental piece of machinery designed for pediatric hospitals, programmed with a highly soothing, disarming voice to help young patients come to grips with being cared for. Unfortunately, she cared just a bit too much."

"I absolutely wuv helping people get over deir boo-boos!" she chirped brightly. Her eyes turned into happy little crescents, while deep inside her chassis, heavy steel servos whirred with a sound exactly like the Jaws of Life ripping open a ruined sedan.

"Yeah, sure," I said, instinctively shying a half-step away from the pink android.

Anyone getting actual medical care from that thing would be going home in a small shoebox.

Though the glaring fact that Jester had basically left a walking, automated arsenal of metal standing right next to him meant he either wasn’t remotely worried about my magnetic powers, or he was absolutely sure I was going to accept his job offer today.

I honestly wasn’t sure which option worried me more.

"Lovely," Jester said amiably, completely ignoring my discomfort as he turned his glowing green eyes to Vanessa. "Ah! And my dear, sweet daughter. How have you been?"

"Much better since I finally left this forsaken place," she growled, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

Jester threw his head back and laughed. "Indeed. Indeed, you always were a spirited one! But here! Come, Polaris. So rarely do I get the pleasure of showing off my private collection to a true, rising connoisseur of evil. I’d be absolutely delighted to have your thoughts on the curation."

Jester certainly had an abundance of confidence; I’d give him that. I walked slowly after him, not at all against buying a bit more time.

Well, I’d find out soon enough.

"Here," Jester said, stopping and gesturing grandly at a scarred, ancient suit of bronze armor that looked like it could have been dug straight out of the ruins of Troy.

"The armor of Kalimedes! What we would currently call a registered hero. I met him roughly three thousand years ago. Apparently, I casually killed his beloved wife, so he begged the Olympian gods for the might of Hercules, the wisdom of Athena, and the speed of Hermes."

Jester leaned in closer, tapping a jagged, clawed finger against the ruined metal. "But the fool really should have asked for some added durability as well. Notice the massive, melted hole right through the center of the breastplate? I blasted it right through him!"

"Unfortunate oversight on his part," I demurred, keeping my eyes moving, constantly scanning the room.