Gorestrike observed the construction. He was pleased with it. The castle had a great, horned skull decorating the front gate, shadowed towers ringed with spikes, fortress walls made of hateful black stone, and a red pyramid in the center, capped with a colossal replica of Gorestrike. According to Lana and Irving, it was an automaton designed to weed out the weaker heroes. Gorestrike never knew he needed it until now, it was amazing.

The inside was equally impressive, Gorestrike held a smile beneath his helmet. He was happier than he could remember. There were open lava flows on heavy brick work, a challenger arena with flame jets, and his throne. Oh, the throne of Gorestrike was majestic! Gorestrike could recline across however he wished, overlooking the arena and women, beautiful women, draping themselves across him. Those people from the Lair Foundation were truly some of the greatest thinkers of their time.

Gorestrike climbed onto the throne, leaning forward to rest on his mighty greatsword, Gorestrike.

“Luxuriate me,” Gorestrike commanded. From a series of hidden passages, the young women the Lair Foundation hired ran to Gorestrike’s side, dressed in bikini tops that were more jewelry than cloth, silk bikini bottoms with a sash that ran to the ladies’ ankles, and a host of anklets, arm bands, ear rings, regular rings, and tiaras. The women swooned over Gorestrike, some leaning against his legs, some climbing onto the throne with him to snuggle themselves against him, some perched on the foot holds behind the throne to drape their arms over his shoulders.

Truly, this was a master stroke of human intelligence, Gorestrike thought.

Gorestrike turned his head, eyes peering through his helmet at one of the girls.

“You there,” Gorestrike declared, he recalled her name as Amber, “Show me your arms.”

“Sir?” Amber asked, holding her arms out.

“No, flex them,” Gorestrike ordered, “Like a mighty warrior in the heat of battle.”

“Uh, okay,” Amber said, eyes filling with fearful worry. After a bit of thinking, Amber took up a pose, one arm raised up to the side with fingers straight, the other arm raised to the other side and curled into itself.

“Developed muscle,” Gorestrike muttered.

“I haven’t- I haven’t displeased you, have I?” Amber asked.

“Certainly not,” Gorestrike declared, waving off the question, “I approve of it. It makes you look daring and healthy!”

“Would you like all of us to be more muscular?” another girl asked.

“Hmm. Yes, I suppose so,” Gorestrike remarked, “Everyone, you are to follow Amber’s example. Amber, continue to develop your body, but ensure you do not smother your feminine body with hard muscle.”

“It shall be done,” Amber said.

“Sir Gorestrike,” another woman said, entering the throne room.

“You are late,” Gorestrike declared.

“My apologies, Sir Gorestrike,” the woman said with a bow, “But you are required in the central chamber to conclude a dispute.”

“Between whom?” Gorestrike demanded.

“Ascension and the Lair Foundation construction crew,” the woman said.

Gorestrike growled. Ascension had been a thorn in the side of Gorestrike ever since he had recruited him. Ascension was meant to be the first of Gorestrike’s band of brothers, all champions of a new world order. What Gorestrike did not predict was the overwhelming ego of Ascension. Ascension had imbued himself with a vast array of biological and genetic augmentations. He made himself taller, stronger, faster, a faster brain and unending youth.

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Gorestrike was quite impressed, all told. Ascension had even invented a great deal of it himself, and Gorestrike appreciated self made men. What Ascension had not given himself was the over inflated sense of self worth, Gorestrike knew that Ascension lacked the intellect to devise such an augmentation. Even if he did know, Gorestrike thought, Ascension would probably topple over if his ego grew any larger.

Gorestrike pushed open the gigantic doors leading to the central chamber, a scowl held under his helmet.

“What is it you trouble me with?” Gorestrike bellowed, “I bask in the glory of my harem, beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful and athletic women, and now I hear of trouble between you, Ascension, and the humble workers who build my castle.”

“They refuse the demands of a perfect being,” Ascension declared, “Lowly workers stand before me, yet I am the one rebuffed? If this madness continues-”

“I have a sword, and you do not,” Gorestrike interrupted, “You there!” Gorestrike pointed at a construction worker. “Explain this quarrel to me at once!”

“Mr. Ascension is complaining about the decor you selected,” the construction worker explained.

“Ascension, do not test my patience with this again,” Gorestrike seethed, “This is Castle Gorestrike and not Ascension Castle. I am funding construction, I am planning the castle’s design, I am explaining my visions of grandeur to the fine, upstanding Lana and Irving. You are not. Castle Gorestrike is my responsibility, not yours.”

“I am perfection made flesh!” Ascension shouted, “Do you truly think a meager, foolish mind such as yourself can command me?”

“Yes, because I have a sword, and you do not,” Gorestrike repeated, “Remove yourself from my presence, or I shall remove your head from your shoulders.”

“Mr. Gorestrike, Mr. Irving would like to speak to you,” the foreman said, “He says it’s about the flight plan for your castle.”

“Very well, I shall speak with him at once,” Gorestrike declared, “Ascension, you shall not impede construction lest you taste the bite of my blade.”

Gorestrike strode away, eager to speak with Irving. The weekly updates always pleased Gorestrike. The construction of Castle Gorestrike always put a smile under Gorestrike’s helmet. Gorestrike walked from the gates of his castle into a sea of construction equipment. Cranes hoisted pallets of rebar, and a small army of construction workers pulled together frames of rebar and steel beams that would soon become the full glory of Castle Gorestrike. The rumble and whine of power tools surrounded Gorestrike like the steady march of a mighty army.

Irving stood in his business suit, a singular island in an ocean of sturdy jeans and reflective jackets. Irving directed workers, made phone calls, and grumbled as he went over blueprints.

“Mr. Irving, I was told you wished to meet with me. Tell me,” Gorestrike demanded, “How goes the construction of my glorious castle?”

“Ah, Gorestrike,” Irving said, “You said you wanted your castle to fly into King’s Head?”

“And land,” Gorestrike explained, “A flying base leaves my rise to power open to poor weather. I hardly wish to crash and end my reign. There are innocent women housed within my castle. How could I call myself a warrior if I let them die?”

“Well, their rooms are being fitted with bucket seats complete with five point harness systems,” Irving explained, “It’s important that they’re seated for the castle’s take off and landing. Now, you said you wanted the castle to land in King’s Head park?”

“Indeed I do,” Gorestrike assured him, “Once the castle lands I shall menace the population to draw out the greatest ire and bravery the city’s heroes can muster. The battle shall be grand, enduring throughout the march of history!”

“Of course, sir,” Irving said, “I also had some recommendations regarding Ascension’s, eh, competitive demeanor. We could decorate his room in the castle in royal blues, as he requested.”

“It is my castle,” Gorestrike growled.

“It is, but Ascension-” Irving began.

“It is my castle!” Gorestrike bellowed, reaching for his sword.

“If you kill me, construction stops immediately,” Irving warned, “The construction workers will leave, and you will be left here with a useless, unfinished castle that cannot fly.”

Gorestrike loomed over Irving, hand still on the hilt of his sword. Irving thought he saw Gorestrike’s eyes under his helmet, furious, rage filled eyes. Why is this always so dangerous, Irving wondered.

“If Ascension wishes to have his room swathed in blue, instead of the glorious, mighty red I have chosen,” Gorestrike instructed, “Then he shall pay for it. Am I understood?”

“Of course, sir,” Irving said, “Hopefully, I won’t have to bother you about this again.”

“For your sake, you’d better hope,” Gorestrike growled, “And I suppose that when I find other champions who would join my cause, they shall desire their own banners.”

“I expect so,” Irving commented.

“Bah, mere funding should not be an impediment to ultimate glory,” Gorestrike declared, “To think I shall be forced to pick my allies based on the depth of their pockets!”

“If that was true, our world would be very different,” Irving commented, “Speaking of, more super villains are here to join you.”

“Everyday I am swarmed with petitioners,” Gorestrike groaned, “My heart yearns for battle, yet I am smothered with bureaucracy.”

“It’s not everyday that the Lair Foundation starts such a big project,” Irving said, “It’s only natural that people want to be a part of this. They even sent application letters as you instructed.”

Irving passed Goretrike a stack of envelopes. It was as thick as one of Gorestrike’s armored fingers or three of Irving’s fingers. Gorestrike grumbled, closing his eyes as he thumbed through the letters and selected five at random. The rest, Gorestrike placed on the ground, raised his two handed morning star, Gorestrike, and beat them to shreds.

“What was that for?” Irving asked.

“I am placing significant investment into the completion of Castle Gorestrike,” Gorestrike explained, “I shall not be further impeded by the poor fortunes of others.”

“So, you’re weeding out the unlucky?” Irving asked.

“Of course,” Gorestrike confirmed, grumbling as he opened the first letter.