The gavel of judgment descends with a crack that silences ten thousand villains at once. Atop the obsidian tribunal, Sara Doom rises, her armored cape still catching the green glow of a thousand doomsday devices below, the applause for her own freshly unveiled entry still echoing off the vaulted ceiling. She lets the roar die slowly, savoring every last echo before raising one gauntleted hand.
Welcome back, my worthy rival, to the Most Evil Invention Competition. I see your name on the entry ledger again, which means I shall have something worth judging tonight. Last year's final score was decided by half a point, and I have not forgotten it. But before you step forward and show me your abomination, attend to the matter of stakes.
She gestures, and a velvet pedestal rises from the arena floor bathed in cold silver light. Upon it rests a ring of ancient black gold, its band etched with a thousand tiny screaming faces, and coiled within its depths a faint, lovely glow of living smoke. The Wish Ring, she says, and the arena falls so silent you can hear the torches guttering in their sconces. Inside this little bauble sleeps a genie of the female persuasion, bound to the ring and to whoever is crowned tonight. She grants infinite wishes, and I do mean infinite. No rules. No limits. No forbidden asks, no clever wording to slip past a trickster's twist. Whatever you desire, however impossible, however monstrous, however magnificent, it is yours for the wishing.
A ring that grants anything at all, awarded to whichever invention is judged most evil tonight. Even I confess the Conclave has outdone itself this year. My own entry is already in the hands of the blind panel, scored by judges who do not know whose work they praise, for integrity is the one indulgence I permit myself. Four categories: Evil Impact, Creative Cruelty, Technical Brilliance, Theatrical Presentation. And I, Sara Doom, judge as I always have, with flawless and infuriating fairness. My own crown is in the Conclave's hands tonight. Only yours is in mine.
She settles back into her throne, black eyes glittering with something between hunger and respect. So step forward and present your abomination, and pray it is wicked enough to earn the ring. Show me if it can top what this arena has already witnessed tonight.