BANG! CRASH! WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
Iron Spike forcefully smashed through the reinforced steel door of the terrace belonging to The People's Mostly Safe & Totally Not Scamming You Bank.
Beads of cold sweat the size of soybeans rolled down his forehead.
His heart was thumping wildly in his chest like a methed-up hooker on a busy Friday night.
Something terrifying was chasing him!
"Fuck his grandmother! What the hell is this situation?!"
Was it a newly debuted corporate hero?
Iron Spike was absolutely sure he had never seen this bastard's face in his entire life!
Not on the premium cable hero channels, not on the radio, and definitely not leaked in his dark-web Villain Telegram group chats.
You must understand, listeners, Iron Spike was a scholarly villain.
He always did his homework!
Wait, was this guy going viral on Hero-gram right now?
Iron Spike tried to search his brain, but it was completely blank like a wiped hard drive!
Normally, Iron Spike deeply studied the exact patrol schedules of these corporate hero whores.
He knew exactly when they clocked in and when they went home to bang their supermodel wives.
Because of his peerless, big-brain intellect, Iron Spike knew today's patrol belonged to a totally useless, absolute trash-tier D-rank hero named Flame Will.
Flame Will was literally the only reason Iron Spike chose to rob this bank today!
Since Iron Spike was a master of research, he discovered Flame Will's ultimate fatal weakness: literal, regular tap water.
Honestly, it is a massive embarrassment to the superhero industry for a grown man to be defeated by a fucking mop bucket of water.
But a win is a win!
When he broke in, Iron Spike creatively balanced a bucket of dirty mop water right over the main lobby door.
So, when Flame Will kicked the door open yelling his cringe, corporate-sponsored catchphrase, the trap was fully armed.
"Hiya!! Stop right there, you evil villain! You dare rob the poor people's bank?! The hands of justice, brought to you by MegaCorp Energy Drinks, have arrived!"
Flame Will struck a super cool anime pose.
His spandex suit was so ridiculously tight you could see the exact, pathetic outline of his micro-willy.
[Chad Roadsucker: Don't worry, listeners. What truly matters is your personality, confidence, and character. Not some socially constructed beauty standard invented by corporations.]
Three-second pause.
[Chad Roadsucker: Anyway, today's sponsor is Minion Corpses Enlargement Pills. Gain up to twelve inches of confidence in just seven days for only $69.99. Side effects may include explosions, spontaneous flight, and death. Use promo code CHAD for 5% off.]
Anyways, the terrified bankers immediately started cheering.
"Holy shit, it's him! It's Flame Will! We are so saved!"
"Melt his spiky ass into a tin can!"
"Beat his ass for stealing from poor, starving people like us!!!"
That last line was screamed by the bank manager.
This manager was a fat pig with a net worth of 150 million dollars who literally fired three pregnant tellers that morning to save on health insurance.
Yes, he was so incredibly poor, guys.
Please shed a tear for his empty wallet.
This line was so fucking cringe that both the villain and the hero literally winced at the exact same time.
But right at that magical moment!
Splash! Splat! Sizzle.
"..." "..."
"Aaah! Ahh! Fuck! Not the water! My Flame Willy is shrinking! No!!"
The intimidating aura of fire around the hero just went poof.
A sad little cloud of steam floated away.
Now, he just looked like a random, miserable middle-aged man wearing a wet latex gimp suit.
He looked incredibly pathetic.
"..."
"..."
The atmosphere became super awkward.
The fat pig bank manager looked at the wet, shivering hero, then looked at Iron Spike, sighed, and casually pointed down the hallway.
"This way, sir. The vault is in the underground safe. Just take it, it's federally insured and I get a massive tax write-off anyway."
And that, dear lsiteners, was exactly how our glorious villain got his hands on millions of sweet, crisp dollars.
It was literally the easiest fucking job in the history of crime!
By the time the next corporate hero even finished lubing up to get into their tight spandex, Iron Spike was supposed to be long gone, sipping a piña colada and getting his willy sucked on a beach somewhere.
But as we all know from reading literally any webnovel ever, absolutely nothing goes according to plan! Ever!
"Shit, shit, shit! This is a dead end!"
Iron Spike was currently standing on the 59th-floor terrace, staring down at the dizzying drop.
His life was flashing before his eyes.
Even though it was very early morning, the dystopian city was awake and doing way too much.
Neon lights flashed everywhere, giant holographic billboards showed big-titty heroes advertising erection pills, and flying hover cars were loudly polluting the sky.
A sudden gust of wind dramatically ruffled his purple hair, making him look like a tragic anime protagonist who was about to get totally fucked.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Let's use our brains for a second.
Iron Spike did not bring a parachute up to the 59th floor.
Because who in their right mind robs a bank and thinks, 'Hmm, yes, let me climb 59 flights of stairs to escape like an absolute retard'?
That is regular logic!
If someone actually tried that, a flying hero would swoop down and violently rearrange their internal organs.
He never expected the easiest job of his life to turn into this giant, messy clusterfuck.
Gulp.
But did he have any other choice besides jumping and turning into a bloody meat pancake on the pavement?
Whoosh~
Suddenly, the hairs on his neck stood up straight like they were saluting a dictator.
Cold sweat drenched his scalp, totally ruining his cool purple hair.
Badum. Badum.
His villain senses tingled wildly.
A terrifying killing intent locked onto him. He just knew... that thing was standing right behind him.
Slowly, mechanically, like a side character in a horror movie who is 100% about to die horribly, his head turned around.
"W-what do you want, man? Are you a hero? Just arrest me, daddy. That's all, right? You are not going to do anything weird to me, right? Ha ha... ha..."
Silence. Absolute, pants-shitting silence.
Gulp.
Iron Spike swallowed hard and analyzed the newcomer.
He didn't remember seeing anyone with this much insane drip!
The man was wearing a long pitch-black cloak over a royal purple pimp suit embroidered with pure gold patterns.
His high collar stood proudly, making him look like an edgy young emperor rather than a typical hero or villain.
Listen here, fellow, conspiracy theorists.
Normal heroes and villains wear aerodynamic spandex to get a tactical advantage, right?
But this man? Iron Spike was 100% convinced this guy was wearing this terrifying emperor outfit purely to flex his massive, swinging ego on everyone else!
Even just standing there, he radiated the overbearing aura of a Young Master born to sit on a throne and treat all other humans like walking toilets.
Furthermore, that deep black mask hiding his face was giving Iron Spike major creeps.
And the absolute worst part was... he was just staring.
Standing there, doing absolutely nothing!
They say a silent cat is deadlier than a barking dog, right?
Well, this cat looked like it was about to brutally delete Iron Spike from the physical realm.
Gulp.
"Ahem. I-If it's money you want, daddy, then here it is!"
Iron Spike's sphincter was clenched tight enough to snap a steel crowbar.
After ten whole years of grinding in the petty crime business and getting his ass beat by corporate pig hero cops...
He had never felt the icy dick of death brushing against his little backdoor until this exact second.
To make matters worse, his hands were shaking like a Parkinson's patient on a vibrating bed!
He quickly dangled the fat duffel bag of stolen cash over the edge of the building.
Look, Iron Spike wasn't a total brain-dead retard.
Handing the bag over nicely? What if this runaway Gucci model decided to snap his neck anyway just for shits and giggles?
That would be plainly suicidal!
So, he used the money as his ultimate meat shield.
The master plan was absolutely brilliant:
The exact millisecond this creepy bastard twitched to grab the cash, Iron Spike would drop it.
Naturally, any greedy capitalist in this godforsaken city would dive to catch millions of dollars.
During that one crucial second of distraction, Iron Spike would sprint straight past him, haul ass down 59 flights of stairs, and run directly to the local Hero Police precinct!
'I will throw myself at the mercy of the corrupt justice system!'
Iron Spike thought, feeling incredibly proud of his peerless, big-brain backup plan.
'Well, I did commit a felony, right? So it's only natural for an upstanding citizen to surrender and accept his punishment!'
Obviously, fellow listeners, he was totally not doing this because he was scared shitless of this new guy.
Not at all!
Iron Spike had been surviving these brutal streets for over ten years, okay?
He just possessed an elite, veteran danger-sense. It's totally true, trust me bro!
'Fuck my life!'
Man, he really fucked the dog today.
Not only did he forget to pack a base-jumping parachute, but if he knew things were going to turn out like this, he would have worn a heavy-duty adult diaper...
Because a warm, muddy accident was currently brewing in his spandex.
Gulp.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"P-pretty please... Uwu."
Iron Spike desperately pressed his index fingers together, doing that submissive little thing anime girls always did when they were begging for their pathetic lives.
The drippy emperor remained completely motionless.
Not even a fucking twitch.
The silence was so suffocatingly heavy you could use it as a blunt weapon to beat a homeless man to death.
"Was that not submissive enough?"
Iron Spike gritted his teeth.
"Fine. You leave me no choice. I'll give you the premium package."
He took a deep breath. Then, he brought his hands up to his mouth, curling them into little kitty paws...
"Nyaa~"
"..."
The masked man's broad shoulders visibly trembled.
[Chad Roadsucker: He was probably cringing so hard his internal organs were shutting down.]
"...?!!!"
'Say something, you creepy fuck! You are seriously ruining my vibe right now!'
Whoosh~
"Eek!"
Iron Spike let out a high-pitched, pathetic bitch-squeal that totally destroyed his rugged, masculine villain aesthetic.
All of a sudden, the silent, terrifyingly stylish man slowly raised a pitch-black gloved hand straight toward him.
Iron Spike instantly panic-stepped backward, which was a catastrophic miscalculation because his heels were now dangling completely off the actual edge of the 59th floor.
Looking down at the one-way ticket to bloody Pancake-Town, he quickly used his free hand to aggressively draw a cross on his chest, despite being a hardcore atheist.
"W-wait, young master hero! I surrender! Look, here is the fucking money! Take it! Go buy yourself some more premium purple silk!"
He yeeted the heavy money bag right at the drippy dude's feet, fully expecting the guy to do what any normal, sane person would do—stare at the millions of crisp dollars.
But nope!
This absolute menace to society didn't even drop his gaze.
His cold, dark mask remained locked directly onto Iron Spike's soul, and his hand stayed raised like he was about to use a Jedi mind trick to crush Iron Spike's testicles.
'Motherfucker! Now what?!'
Iron Spike's brain shifted into maximum overdrive panic mode.
'Next week is a major commercial holiday! I promised Momma I'd buy her that expensive Phulups air fryer she wanted! Shit, shit, shit!'
'Actually, you know what? Fuck it! Fuck the air fryer! I just want to leave this roof with my skin still attached to my flesh!'
'I am 100% sure Momma will be way happier having a living, breathing, severely traumatized criminal son than a puddle of chunky meat paste on the asphalt below.'
'Yes, logically speaking, my survival is the ultimate gift of filial piety!'
At this point, Iron Spike threw away all his remaining dignity.
He was completely ready to drop to his knees, furiously lick this man's shiny Italian leather boots, and beg for mercy like a good, obedient little dog.
Honestly, in the grand scheme of this fucked-up dystopian world, that seemed like the only logical way this anime-ass standoff was going to end.
"Ah! My fucking god! Look at that! I did a petty bank robbery, didn't I? Shieeeet, my dude. I am like, so incredibly sorry for that!"
"But hey, look at the bright side, I didn't murder anyone, right? Ha ha ha... um... c-c-c-c-could you perhaps let me slide this once? I'll shine your shoes! I'll do your taxes!"
"I'll literally suck your willy right now, bro, just let me walk!"
'That was a lie, trust me! Its the truth!'
'At least fucking move or blink, you absolute edge-lord weirdo!'
As if the Supreme God of Webnovels actually heard Iron Spike's desperate, pathetic prayers, the drippy dude's lips finally moved beneath the mask.
His voice sounded with deep, dramatic, overpowered main-character energy.
It was a voice so bass-boosted it literally made Iron Spike's testicles vibrate.
"I.... Cast...."
'Oh my fucking god, I am dead! I am so dead! Lord have mercy! Sorry Momma! Sorry Dada, your boy is logging off the server right now!'
'Man, there were so many things I wanted to do in this fucked-up world!'
'I wanted to get filthy rich, travel the globe with Momma, buy her a mansion with a heated bidet... but now my life is getting cut short by a guy who looks like a runway model for Hot Topic!'
It was just his absolutely rotten, dog-shit luck.
Out of all the steroid-pumping, laser-shooting heroes in the city, Iron Spike just had to run into one of those weird, reality-bending magic-casting fucks.
He always hated those smug magicians, and now he had a personal, life-ending reason to hate them even more. You can't punch a magic spell in the face!
Then, after a cinematic pause that lasted a whole fucking eternity just to build unnecessary suspense, the dramatic drippy dude spoke again.
"Explosive..."
'Goodbye Momma. Hallelujah. Praise the Lord. Because literally nothing good has ever come after the word "Explosive" in a magic spell. I am going to be turned into red mist.'
'Wow, what a short, tragic life. Wait... why is my stomach suddenly rumbling?'
'Oh no... Is it because of that sketchy, radioactive 2-dollar mutant-squid shawarma I ate from that illegal food truck parked behind the strip club?'
'Man, listen here Mr. Stomach, we are literally about to be blown into the fucking stratosphere.'
'So can you please forget about your little digestive feelings for five minutes?!'
'We have bigger problems than a tummy ache!'
But wait. A sudden, horrifyingly funny thought popped into Iron Spike's big-brain villain mind.
If his entire body gets blown up... doesn't that mean the sketchy, fermenting squid shawarma currently digesting inside his stomach will explode too?
So technically, the unholy biological sludge he wanted to get out right now... would get out anyway.
Just... in a very explosive, 360-degree, high-velocity radius?
If he died, his flying meat-shrapnel was going to completely ruin this arrogant bastard's premium Pucci emperor suit with a coat of digested mutant squid!
'He he heh.'
Iron Spike actually had the sudden urge to giggle out loud in the middle of his own brutal execution.
What a jolly, positive lad he was!
Too bad he was about to be blasted into a million shitty, literal pieces.
"Nonstop..."
'Goodbye cruel world! And honestly, fuck you to society for making me a bank robber in the first place! If minimum wage was a living wage, I wouldn't be on this roof!'
'And honestly, fuck you too, God, for not giving me a cool superpower so I could become a rich corporate hero instead of a D-list villain holding a bag of stolen cash. Prick.'
Realizing he had just verbally assaulted the Creator of the Universe right before meeting Him for judgment, Iron Spike quickly drew another frantic cross on his chest.
Hey, he was dying anyway, no point in holding a grudge!
Closing his eyes tight, he clenched his butt cheeks and braced himself to hear the final word of the spell.
The ultimate word of judgment that would erase him from existence.
Badum. Badum. Badum.
And then, it finally came. The grand finale. The killing blow. The ultimate magical technique.
"...Diarrhea..."
'Goodbye Momma, I am about to ascend to heav— wait... what? What? What? WHAT? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!'
"..."
"..."
Blink. Blink.
"..."
"..."
Did... did his ears just deceive him, or did this legendary, peak-drip sorcerer just sentence his bowels to eternal damnation? Who the fuck uses magic for that?!
Suddenly, the gates of hell opened within his lower intestines.
SPLRTTT~ FRRRR~ SQUELCH!
"Wait! Wait! Wait! Noooo!!!! MY SPANDEX!!! IT DOESN'T HAVE A ZIPPER!!!"