And
the Lord said ‘Let there be light’,
and he did place in the heavens two great fires;
the lesser one to rule the day and the greater to rule the
night.
So too he made the stars…
Quote
From the SOURCE
 |
The WORD
CONTENTS:
1.
THEMYSCIRA:
2.
OPAL BLOCK:
3.
ARMAGHETTO:
4.
APOKOLIPS:
5. GOTHAM
BLOCK:
6. THEMYSCIRA:
7.
GORD:
8.
SMALLVILLE:
|
|
DARK
GENESIS
#3-
April, Year 4
|
by
Curt Fernlund
|
1.
THEMYSCIRA:
The
Royal Plaza...
Sentients…
Loyalists and Revelationists… Lend me your devotion!
Welcome to this gathering, this final meeting of the Council and the
binding of its high ideals.
Welcome to Themyscira!
Welcome
to Paradise!
Komand’r eased back into the shadows of the great statue of
the Dark Lord that towered overhead, lording over the vast
plaza. Her eyes scanned the milling but attentive crowd,
watching everyone and all as the Dark Lord himself strode forward upon
his dais to present his word, his Will and Way to the gathered
assemblage. His words of course were law, but she had heard
them all before, and her attention was more concerned with the reaction
of her peers- such as they were.
There were hundreds if not thousands pressing towards the balcony and
the palace where Darkseid’s personal Boom Tube had deposited
him and his entourage. The Plaza of the Prophets was huge,
but even so the portion just before Darkseid’s seat of power
was thick with the milling drone of rabble from a dozen worlds at
least. Those planets that in turned headed a spoke of the
vast, grinding wheel that was the Dark Empire of the Lord of
Apokolips. Too, were his own: his Elite no doubt, blending in
to the crowd, those that did not share a place in the shadows above,
his soldiers, and of course his personal guard, the dreaded
Amazons. She could see them easily enough, moving like the
wind, a dark breeze rustling through the masses barely noticed or
felt. They were tall and stoic; barely a deviation in their
attire of black body stocking, their long hair of various shades pulled
tightly back in bun or tail. Some wore long, unadorned dark
coats, though Komand’r doubted that they ever felt a chill,
especially here in Paradise. Their eyes were dark and cold,
mirroring their souls no doubt. Amazons were not known for
their emotion or mercy, grim and calculated killers that they were,
masters of their task. Komand’r was almost envious
of their perfection…
A
great day is upon us.
Unity is about to join Reality!
Those dreams set to task millennia agone have borne fruit this day.
Your very presence here justifies the glory and righteousness of my
promise!
Your devotion…
My
WORD!
Komand’r twisted her lips somewhat confused. As she
scanned the crowd she noticed the way the Amazons moved, interspersing
within the gathering. There seemed many, more in fact than
she had ever known to congregate in one spot. They were a
solitary lot, assassins by trade and did not gather like common
warriors. Though there were plenty of those on hand as
well. She could see the Dog Soldiers on their over-sized and
rabid mongrels circling the perimeter, and no short supply of hell
Hounds in their ranks. Too, Para Demons buzzed overhead and
common soldiers lined the borders of the plaza; a few mingling
throughout the masses. There were aero cars and
Darkseid’s Aero Troopers in the clear blue sky as well, other
machines plying the waters beyond the hidden isle of
Darkseid’s capitol. A show of force to be
certain…
Or was it more than that?
Komand’r bristled, feeling eyes upon her and turned to catch
the steely gaze of the Thanagarian Ambassador boring into
her. He was scowling of course, looking both magnificent and
absurd in his battered gray armor bristling with weapons, his mighty
wings ruffling slightly in the breeze. His cow of a wife
stood at his side, enraptured and no less encumbered by the Dark
Lord’s speech. There was a third as well, a younger
mix of the two with red hair and a grim masque dressed in the rank of a
Herald. She stood next to the older woman, far too close to
be a mere ally. A daughter then?
Komand’r met the Hawkman’s icy glare with a smirk
and he finally turned his attention back to the dais. What
his intention had been, she had no idea
Beyond the Hawks she saw the Warlord of Rann; Strange. He was
decked out in his powered armor as well, a blazing red polished to
perfection. By the looks, he had brought his entire harem
with him, his most favored concubine ready to burst.
She saw a group of Psions huddled about their Coluan master.
There were over a dozen of them, chattering like jungle primates while
their robotic overlord stood silently in their midst. The
Coluan Computer Tyrant was awash in light, his shining metallic form
flickering as his advanced sensors accumulated the overwhelming mass of
data that circulated about him in all its myriad forms.
He… It was a walking receptacle of information.
Its primary goal to gather data and forward it all to the massive brain
that powered the world computer, which Colu had become ages
before. It was almost terrifying to imagine the vast
knowledge that must be stored there, all useless and unimportant unless
deemed otherwise by the Tyrants.
And there were others…
A member of the Spider Guild was laying webs on a stand of pillars back
amongst the trees…
She saw two Gordanians representing the Slaver’s
Guild…
There was a Kryptonian; an old man with silver hair pressed by a
headband, a half-cloak of red and a hauntingly familiar shield
emblazoned to mark his House…
…even
now my armies drive forward to assimilate or destroy that last bastion
of resistance to Unity… Daxam!
My
most favored general strikes a mighty blow for the glory of the Empire
even as I speak!
For
the Will of Darkseid!
Komand’r pulled her cloak about her, shivering at the
prospect. It was the Kryptonians of course that the Dark lord
referred to, and their commander in the field, the ‘Steel
General’; Kal-El. It boggled the mind to consider
the multitude, the mass of power that was Krypton unleashed.
Millions of warriors that were strong beyond compare and near
invulnerable, able to survive within the rigors of the void and could
travel at sublight speeds and more. It was devastation
waiting to be unleashed.
Rumor had spread even to the Rim Worlds of the amassing Imperial Fleet
and the greatest Boom Tube ever imagined. That creation to
move the millions upon millions of Kryptonian Warriors across the
universe, though no one had known what might be the
destination. Now they knew…
Daxam!
And that would make the representative here, the silver-haired man
Jor-El, the father of the Steel General himself and the Praetor of the
Kryptonian Science Council. Royalty indeed…
And
here as in the stars, resistance falters...
crumbles…
The rebels seek to undermine the Glory of Darkseid.
I have received word...
N Block… the Brooklyn Sector…
Even
in the heart of Armaghetto itself…
Komand’r saw Darkseid frown, lowering his head.
No one
understands that which is Darkseid.
None
may hope to comprehend that which I have set into motion…
That
which I now bring to fruition…
Komand’r stepped back, pressing against the cold stone of the
monolithic statue as she stared, seeing the strange red glow radiating
from the Dark Lord’s eyes. She sensed a tension
about her. Movement…
For I
am the Will and the Way…
I am
the Tiger-Force at the core of all things…
I am
the Revelation…
When
you cry out in your dreams it is Darkseid that you see…
I am
the Alpha… the Omega…
I
am…
The
WORD!
2.
OPAL BLOCK:
The
Wild Area...
Jimmo
gasped for breath as he struggled to keep up with the man in the
garishly colored costume and cape. He could see the soft glow
of the man’s glow stick fading in and out as he weaved on
ahead, rounding corners or taking flights of old metal steps up, or
more often down. Jimmo was sweating with the effort, even in
the dank chill of the deep tunnels that they had been traversing for
what seemed hours now. It was cold and clammy, and more often
than not he found himself slogging through stagnant, knee-deep water
that burned at his skin and smelled foul and full of decay.
It was horrible, but it was better than being back with what they had
left behind.
Jimmo was surprised that there was no pursuit. Their escape
from the confines of the Evil Factory had had to have been discovered
by now, and those two weird scientists that had tortured him for so
long must surely want him back. He half expected to hear the
shouts of the Justifiers at any moment, the droning buzz of the Para
Demons swarming down the tunnels but so far there was no sound save the
sloppy steps that he and his rescuer made and the soft
‘pinging’ noise of that little box that he wore on
his arm; the Mother Box.
It was a strange thing, and the man- Scott Free- he seemed to talk to
it. Jimmo had never seen the like, but the man seemed
unconcerned, telling him that Mother Box would see them safely through
the tunnels. Jimmo had his doubts. He suspected
that their salvation was probably more due to that beautiful woman that
had busted into his cell with Scott Free. She was tall, with
dark hair and dressed in green leather looking deadly as a
Fury. She had vanished not too soon after they had started
out on their journey through the tunnels.
Jimmo blinked, looking up to see the man standing beneath a great stone
archway, waiting for him. He was a queer looking one for sure
decked out in his greens and reds and yellows. He held that
box in hand, smiling as Jimmo sloughed his way closer, almost
collapsing from exhaustion.
“How…” Jimmo gasped, bending at the
waist and placing his hands on his knees, trying not to gag.
He felt a hand on his back.
“Easy, lad,” the man said, rubbing
Jimmo’s back as he held the Mother Box overhead.
“We’re almost home free.”
“The Wild Area?”
“Yes, that’s right. I just need to make
sure Mother Box feels secure.”
Jimmo watched, regaining his strength as Scott Free held the Mother Box
high and turned about in a tight circle. The box made a soft
trilling sound- that ‘ping’ that oddly had not
gotten annoying as yet. Finally, he smiled and slipped the
device back within the folds of his huge green cloak.
“All clear, pal. Mother Box gives us a clean bill
of health from our wild run. Just a few more steps now and
you’ll be in the sanctuary.”
“That’s some strange box,” Jimmo said,
stretching his aching muscles. The air seemed clearer
now. It no longer roiled with the rankness of offal and
desecration. In comparison, it was almost sweet.
“That it is, son. Mother Box was invented by one of
yours- a Throw Back from the Manhattan Block.
There’s only a couple out there, but they’re every
bit as formidable as anything Darkseid has. Mother box will
keep us safe and heal us if we ask. Too, she can open a Boom
Tube, but it hurts her. We don’t do that unless
situations are dire indeed.”
“That’s fantastic. But why?
What is all this craziness? Why are you helping me?”
The man, Scott Free smiled, turning into the archway apparently ready
to get moving again. “I told you before,
son. We- me and my crew run the tunnels around the Evil
Factory trying to save poor souls like you. We take our
charges off to the Wild Area to recover. Where they go from
there’s on them. Some of them stay on.
Others head for home. You’re free to go any time
you like, Jimmo.”
Scott Free grinned and spun into the shadows, disappearing.
“Wait!” Jimmo cried out, charging forward again to
follow the man that had saved him. There was a swirling,
sickening sensation that lasted a heartbeat… Two…
Jimmo’s eyes went wide at the new world that he had staggered
into.
He found himself in a huge chamber that seemed to stretch out and up
for as far as he could see. There were rough hewn walls of
golden rock angling upwards, arching towards a ceiling that seemed to
glow with a luminance all its own. There were wispy clouds
floating lazily overhead, and there seemed to be the slightest fresh
scent of a breeze wafting up from the floor of the vast cavern; a floor
that was dense with foliage. He saw towering trees in the
distance, a verdant blanket stretching out before the wide ledge that
he was standing upon. It was a forest spread out, a jungle of
sorts by the look that was creating a dampness and the clouds
overhead. Too, there were animals about, birds certainly, and
insects buzzing about, attracted by his own sour odor.
Seeing such pristine beauty he felt his throat constrict, his breath
coming short. Having lived in the depths of Armaghetto all of
his life, living day to day with the squalor and dirt, the soot filled
skies that rarely ever showed the sun, he was awestruck with
wonder. He had never seen anything so magnificent.
Jimmo yelped as a strong hand encircled his neck from behind and jerked
him up and off of his feet. He kicked back, his heel slamming
metal-covered flesh that seemed as hard as any stone or iron, doing
little besides causing him to yelp again. He struggled
violently, his eyes wide and searching for help. He heard a
chuckle as his body was shaken roughly.
“Simmer down, pup or I’ll snap your scrawny neck
like a twig.”
Jimmo felt the long fingers at his neck tighten slightly and he whined
at the pain but never the less ceased his useless struggles.
He hung limp, more or less, trying to see behind and who had caught him
up.
He was surprised to see a woman decked out in the honor guard armor of
an Apokoliptan Guardian as she effortlessly twisted her arm a bit to
hold him at an angle as she looked him up and down. She was
huge, tall and muscular with long legs and arms and a thick but tightly
packed form. She seemed proud and sure as she scrutinized him
somewhat contemptuously, her blue eyes blazing as she smirked at him
finally.
“Who are you boy?” she said, giving him a little
shake. Jimmo was about to answer when he heard the upraised
voice of Scott Free answering for him.
“Stand down, Barda,” he called, running
forward. “At ease and let my new friend back on his
feet.”
“New friend?” the woman snorted, eyeing Jimmo
again. “You make friends of the scrawniest gutter
rats, Scott,” she said glancing at Jimmo and
shrugging. Finally she dropped him back to his
feet. “Nothing personal, red. Just doing
my job.”
The woman, Barda, smiled at Jimmo as he backed up a bit, rubbing the
back of his neck. She was staring at him, looking him up and
down and Jimmo flushed red realizing and remembering that he was still
buck-naked.
“Friend Jimmo’s fresh out of the Evil Factory, Big
Barda. Simyan and Mokarri had a special interest in him, and
so too did Mother Box. Until we learn the reason why
we’d best keep him happy and healthy here.”
“Best get him some clothes then,” Barda laughed as
she turned and stalked away with an almost military gait.
“just before he hurts someone with that ‘dangerous
weapon’ he’s sprouting.”
Jimmo watched as the woman strode away, then his eyes focused on the
strange high arch that had until then been at his back. It
was like the one that they had passed through in the tunnels, but what
was astounding was that beyond were NOT the tunnels but rather simply
the other side of the monstrous chamber. He saw more however
in the form of man-made structures. There was a tower of some
sort poking out of the trees in the distance, and there were strange,
primitive looking buildings that almost looked chiseled and carved out
of the wood of the forest. It was a wild hodgepodge of a
community, and there seemed plenty of people about. It was a
city then of sorts, and there was a huge, wide road cutting right
through the middle of it.
“Welcome to the Wild Area, Jimmo,” Scott Free said,
placing a hand on his shoulder. “A free place where
Darkseid’s iron rule is suspended. That’s
Habitat, our little city here that lives in harmony with the world
we’ve created.”
“Where is this place?” Jimmo gasped, trying to take
it all in. The people he saw were all rough looking with long
hair and wild, colorful clothes, but they all seemed content, and in a
happy way. He had never seen the like in all his
life. “Surely we can’t be on
Apokolips?”
“New Apokolips, Jimmo,” Scott Free said as he
pulled his mother Box to the fore again. Jimmo heard the soft
beeping again, changing in pitch as Scott Free ran a thumb gently over
its surface. It almost seemed to be purring at his
touch. “Rather, beneath it. The folk that
found this land in the original Purge named it Skartaris!
It’s a wonder to be certain, right under our Dark
Lord’s jack-booted feet.”
“Scott!”
Jimmo glanced back towards Habitat and saw a small group of people
running their way. Like Scott Free they were all dressed in
wild-colored garb, waving their arms as they rushed forward.
Jimmo took a step back; closer to the man that had saved him as the
apparent leader of the group stopped right in front of him, giving him
a wicked and disapproving appraisal.
“Who’s this Scott?” the little man
asked. He was short, stunted almost and looked old and
balding atop his round head. “Another Lowlie from
the streets? It’s not crowded enough around
here?”
“Peace, Oberon,” another of the group said placing
a hand on the little man’s shoulder. He was tall
and handsome, and not much older than Jimmo.
“Welcome to Habitat, Red. My name’s Mark
Moonrider, and these are just a few of my friends; Vykin the Black,
Serifan and the surly little man’s Oberon. Stalwart
companions all, and there’s others as well.
You’ll meet them when the time’s right.”
Jimmo’s eyes swept the others nervously.
Information was coming so fast that he was having a hard time sorting
it all. He was so tired from his mad escape from the Evil
Factory, not to mention the tortures that he had endured there, how
long ago? Still he forced a smile and shook hands tentatively
with the tall black man in the crash helmet, the younger boy in the
wide-brimmed hat and scarf as well as with the man, Mark Moonrider,
trying to stifle a yawn as he did so.
“My name’s Jimmo…” he said,
covering his mouth as his jaws stretched wide.
“You’re dead on your feet, Jimmo,” the
younger one said with a grin. “We can give you the
grand tour later, after you’ve cleaned up and
rested.”
“Good idea, Serifan,” Scott Free agreed as he held
his Mother Box towards the tired, red haired youth.
“Mother Box says he’s on low ebb. Why
don’t you take him to a Rest room, youngling? I
think a little R&R’s in order for now.”
Serifan nodded, and smiling, he and Vykin the Black both flanked Jimmo,
leading him towards the city. Jimmo glanced back at Scott
Free, trying to wave his thanks once again, but his step faltered and
the two companions had to help him back on course.
“He doesn’t seem like much,” the Dwarf
said as he pulled a wrapped, dried weed from his shirt pocket and
sparked it aflame with a match. Both Scott and Mark wrinkled
their noses as the foul smelling smoke assailed them, but Oberon seemed
intent on enjoying his smoky treat.
“Mother Box disagrees, Oberon,” Scott Free said as
he pulled off his colorful mask to reveal a handsome face streaked with
sweat. His raven black hair was matted down from the
mask’s confines, but the man did not seem to care.
“He’s a Throwback for certain, one of the
Gifted. He holds the Secret that Darkseid’s been
searching for for millennia, or at least a piece of the
puzzle.”
“But the question remains,” Mark Moonrider offered,
watching as the trio receded into the city and the distance, finally
disappearing as the forest obscured the view. "How do we get
it out of him? And what does he know for that
matter? What piece does he hold?”
Scott Free sighed, unclasping his heavy green cloak and draping it over
his arm. His costume appeared gaudy and cumbersome at times,
but every stitch and weave served a purpose, so he endured.
“I fear only Darkseid knows that answer for sure, but that
won’t stop us from trying to find it. Too many
people are counting on our success.”
“Yeah, well,” Oberon said as he rolled the bit of
his smoldering weed from one corner of his mouth to the other in a
plume of blue smoke. “If anyone can do it, my
money’s on you, Scott. They don’t call
you ‘Mister Miracle’ for
nothin’.”
“Ha!” Mark Moonrider laughed, slapping the Dwarf on
the shoulder. “C’mon, shorty.
Let’s go see to the boy with the rest. First step,
we have to earn his trust.”
“Yeah… yeah…”
Scott Free smiled slightly watching as his friends headed towards the
city. Moonrider was right of course. They needed to
befriend the boy to learn his secrets. If only Beautiful
Dreamer were still with them. She had her ways of gaining a
man’s trust and learning his thoughts, but she had been a
guest of Desaad on the Moon for so long now that-
NNNNEEEEEEEEEEEE…
Scott Free’s eyes went wide as the Mother Box magnetically
affixed to his arm started to scream. Scream in agony by the
sound! He had never heard such a soul-wrenching wail, at
least since his days under the care of Granny Goodness and her
Harassers. Quickly he pulled the box free, staring at it with
worry.
It was pulsing in his hand, vibrating madly and even through his thick,
resistant gloves he could feel the blistering heat that she was
emitting. The high-pitched whine was making his teeth grit
and grind, and he could feel the pain in his ears as it rose up the
scale and out of his range. He started to see spots of gray
exploding in his sight and he swayed as a sudden weakness washed over
him, trying to drag him down. His fingers went limp, and
Mother Box dropped to the ground.
And stopped…
Scott Free staggered, bracing against the stone of the archway portal
and stared as Mother Box seemed to calm. The throbbing pulse
echoed in his bones as the pain subsided, more to her gentle probes
than his own recuperative powers he imagined. Within seconds
she was pinging away again, softly if not contentedly. It was
as though nothing had happened.
Scott picked her up, caressing the small box gingerly as she
cooed. Still he could feel a nervousness to her, and that in
turn made him nervous as well. Something had happened to her,
or she had sensed something terrible. But what could it have
been?
What…
3. ARMAGHETTO:
Underearth...
“It was a time before recorded history- before my first life
even. It was a time when there were other
Gods…”
Lois’l stared at the silver-haired man that sat beside her as
he started his tale. He had said that his name was Mitch
Shelley, sometimes called the Resurrection Man and that he was one of
three men that had been around since the dawn of time. Even,
apparently, before Darkseid himself. But that was patently
ridiculous. Darkseid had created the world, the entire
universe! How was this gaunt and raggedy man claiming to be
older than God?
Still, he seemed sincere, or at least as sincere as any of the men and
women seated in the room about the table. And he- or rather
his fellow- Guardian had saved her from a fate far worse than death at
the hands of Glorious Godfrey’s Justifiers. She,
like so many others including poor Jimmo could have ended up in the
Evil Factory, or perhaps in one of Desaad’s Torture Towers,
whether in N Block or on the Moon itself. Lois’l
shivered at the thought. She was safe, at least for the time
being. The least she could do was listen.
“No one knows who they were, or what they were about other
than that they were powerful beyond reckoning. But like most
of their ilk they were vengeful and wrathful and a petty, bickering
lot. Eventually, for whatever reason they warred amongst
themselves and brought about their own end in a bloody, fiery
all-encompassing massacre. It was from the aftermath of that,
which came Darkseid!”
“Hmmph,” the bald man named Luthor
snorted. He pulled a slim tobacc stick from a small case in
his jacket and lit it up, puffing it aglow and smoking.
“We’ve heard this all before, Shelley, and it still
makes no sense. We all know and accept that the Dark Lord
created the universe on a whim, created us all in his image for wont of
companionship. Godhood is a lonely concept I
imagine.”
Mitch Shelley smirked, sipping at his mug of caf. There were
drugs within the base he knew, but the Underearth chemists had altered
the mind numbing effects long ago with additives all their own, same as
in the tobacc. It was warm though, and cut into the odd chill
that seemed to permeate the room.
“You accept Darkseid’s word at face value,
Lex’l- Lex, sorry. You all accept what
he’s said by rote, reading his scripture front to back as you
were conditioned to do from birth. That’s what he
wants. That’s what he needs. Devotion
from his slaves, and that’s why he feeds you myth and legend
that makes him out to be a savior by all counts. Believe me
though, my friends, it’s mostly a pack of lies.
This dark world is not the way we should be living.”
“Blah, blah, blah…”
The woman that Shelley had named Star Sapphire sneered with evident
impatience. She was beautiful with her long dark hair and
gold-hued, smooth skin. Lois’l blushed as the
woman’s dark eyes met hers and she quickly looked away at
Star’s smile, the woman fondling a small gemstone in her
gloved hands.
“Does it really matter, Mitch? Who cares if there
were other worlds before? This is where we are now and we
have to live with it.”
“That’s just my point, Star,” Shelley
said as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles, his elbows
on the tabletop. “We don’t have to live
with this. We have to end Darkseid’s reign and set
the world right again.”
“But how do we know what’s right,
Shelley?” the man known as the Wizard asked. He was
dressed in a cloak of green, a hood pulled up and putting his tired
face in shadows. Like the woman he had an odd looking jewel,
his knotted about his neck on a leather thong. His stone was
murky, but semi-transparent, like amber in color, and there seemed to
be something moving within as though trapped. “For
all your fairy tales, THIS could be the natural order of things and not
your mystery world. We’ve had this debate far too
many times, and most of us remain unconvinced.”
The Wizard seemed to direct that last to the gray-skinned mutation
seated on the far side of the table on Lois’l’s
left. The man claimed to be of an alien race, though a native
of New Apokolips. His skin looked leathery and old, and two
horns protruded from his bulbous forehead. He seemed pleasant
enough despite his demonic appearance. His name was Dubbilex.
“I have looked into Shelley’s mind as I have each
of your own, such is my gift. And as I discovered each of
your unique qualities, so too did I learn the truth, and passed it
on. How can you not believe?”
“We’re victims of our environment,
Dubbilex,” the man Luthor said with a tight-lipped
smirk. He took a long drag from his tobacc, then tossed the
spent butt to the floor, crushing it underfoot as he blew smoke through
his nose. “The images you placed in our minds were
vivid and complex, true, but to us they were just that;
pictures. I don’t doubt that Shelley has lived a
long time, maybe even many lives but to say he’s older than
God and to have these grand delusions…
“Well, I’m dubious. We’re faced
with insurmountable odds, my friend. I don’t like
conditions any more than the rest of you, but I don’t see how
we- even with this woman can make a difference.”
“A wiser man than me once said, ‘in any rebellion
there is one man’, or something to that effect. We,
and hundreds like us scattered about the globe, are that ‘one
man’ that will make a difference and bring about the change
we need. Others are well into it already, Lex. Once
we unite for the common good, Darkseid won’t stand a
chance. Now,” Shelley said, turning back to
Lois’l and seeing her blank and uncomprehending
stare. She looked lost, and with good reason. It
was a lot to process, and like everyone she had been indoctrinated by
Darkseid and his mind-controlling efforts since birth.
Propaganda was a powerful tool in subverting the masses, history had
proven. God forbid Darkseid ever discover the secret of the
Anti-Life Equation.
“Maybe it would be better if Dubbilex lent a hand in the
telling,” Shelley said, tilting back in his chair and
watching the woman’s reaction to that. He knew who
she was, but the problem now was to convince her of that
fact. Hopefully she would accept better than the others had.
“That is up to her, of course.” Dubbilex turned to
Lois’l and she stared back at him, blinking and confused.
“What do you mean?” she asked, snatching up a
tobacc stick offered from Luthor when he went to light up
another. She was nervous, her hands shaking as he lit hers,
and her chattering teeth barely slowed as she drew in the calming
smoke. “What do you want to do?”
“Dubbilex is a Telepath, Lois.”
Lois’l sniffed at the odd sound of the shortened
name. He said that she had another, but it sounded queer when
she heard it. “He can transfer my memories directly
into your mind, letting you see and experience my story sort of
directly if you are willing. It’s quicker, and
there’s little pain. It is a bit of a shock
though.” Shelley shrugged.
“Up to you.”
Lois’l looked to each of those about the table, but none
seemed to offer support. She wished that Guardian was there,
as she felt safer in his presence, but he had left on some errand hours
ago it seemed and had yet to return. Finally she turned her
attention back to Mitch Shelley, and she nodded.
“All right. I want to help.”
Shelley smiled as Dubbilex turned his chair to face Lois’l,
directing her to do likewise. He reached up with both hands,
his rough and leathery fingers lightly brushing her hair back as he
touched her temples with his fingertips.
“There will be some pain, but I will do my best to control
the flow and sort the memories. Mitch Shelley has lead a long
and convoluted life and done many things therein best left to his own
design. You will see horrors, and I apologize. I
shall try to buffer you from the worst.”
“No,” Lois’l said, already feeling a
tingle, like a tickling sensation in her head. “I
want to learn, to know it all.”
“That’s the reporter in you, Lois,”
Shelley said as he sat his chair at her side and sat himself within
reach. He plucked the stick of tobacc from her trembling
fingers, took a drag then stamped it out on the dirty floor.
“Just relax and let Dubbilex in.”
Lois’l nodded slightly, closing her eyes as Dubbilex removed
a hand and touched it to Shelley’s head. There was
a flash of light then, but in her mind’s eye. A
swirling of color and lack of color all twisted into one that seemed to
swell and then drag Lois’l in as though trying to drown
her. She gasped, striving to catch a breath that would not
come at first, then finally gushed in and out in a heartbeat as
Lois’l screamed…
It was warm…
The sun sparkled overhead with a clarity that Lois’l had
never seen in her life. Always the sun had appeared over
Armaghetto as a dull, faded orb trying to pierce the perpetual haze of
smog that coated the city-state. Too, she could see blue sky
in every direction, her view not obstructed by the dark and decayed
structures that made up the skeletal landscape of the city that had
been her home since birth. The air was sweet and clear, and
she heard the melodious sounds of birds actually singing and not the
raucous caw of the city’s scavengers. It was
incredible.
The land was golden, stretching for miles in every direction though
broken with lush greenery here and there. She
‘knew’, remembered that not so far away there was a
city; a teeming metropolis… of white stone and towers, the
capitol of this great land and empire of Egypt Block. No!
Egypt!
She was just one, a man with long silver hair and tanned
skin. She was a slave, but she knew that life was good under
the rule of Prince Khufu Kha-Tarr, King of Egypt in the 19th Dynasty of
Theban and God made flesh. She was well fed and strong, with
a place to live and given purpose. She was just one of
hundreds, thousands that toiled in the heat and sand uncomplaining for
the greater glory of Khufu, raising a temple to his tribute, to house
the gift that had come from heaven and to help ease his eventual
journey home.
Lois’l looked up as the train slowed, the masses resting in
the massive effort of dragging another block across the endless sands
towards the almost finished pyramid rising miles yet in the
distance. She raised a callused hand to shield her eyes from
the glare as Teth-Adam soared past overhead, the sight making her swell
with awe as well as pride. He was magnificent, dressed in his
royal finery, a golden lightning bolt flashing on his chest.
He ignored the cheers as he flew on towards the pyramid…
The beaters counted out the rhythm as the massive block of stone rolled
on. Greasers charged forward to slop fat on the tracks and
logs to ease and speed the effort whilst the others in harness strained
with all their might to drag the great stone up the ramps.
There was a smell of determination in the air, the rank odor of sweat
and feces, and the unwashed unwilling even to break now they were so
close. It was hard work, and hot in the blaze of the sun but
no one seemed to care. For the glory of Khufu, they struggled
on all the harder.
Nabu the Wise was there, watching, his eyes aglow as he helped in
whatever way that magicians did to ease the burden. Just why
he and Teth-Adam did not construct the temple no one asked.
It was a matter of pride and faith, for the glory of God made
flesh. And above and beyond Khufu waited with a
smile…
There was much celebrating after Nabu and Teth-Adam eased the stone
into perfect unity with the rest of the temple. In the
distance all could hear the efforts of the next train, the next stone
coming closer. Only three to go and the structure would be
complete, ready for the artisans to perfect its beauty and prepare the
inner chambers for Khufu’s eventual journey to the lands
beyond.
They were allowed rest then. A day to recover before the long
march back to the quarry for the final piece that would cap the
temple. It was an honor to be picked for that train, and
Lois’l was proud to be one of those that would so honor and
be honored. He laughed with his harness mates as they all
wearily, happily trudged back down the ramps to head for the camp where
they would feast and then rest before the journey back the next
day. As they reached the sands again, Lois’l
glanced back and up at the majesty…
Her eyes grew wide at the strange violet breeze that stirred the
sands. She screamed, clenching her eyelids shut against the
grit as the sudden fierce winds bit and cut at her skin. She
staggered, running with the others from the dervish, coughing as the
heat and still air encompassed them all again some distance
away. She turned, looking back through tear-filled eyes.
Teth-Adam was simply there suddenly, appearing. Swiftness of
Heru, he hovered over the dust devil, watching as it died slowly,
blowing itself out. He seemed confused as he slowly turned in
mid-air as though searching for something.
All eyes turned to Nabu’s warning, his voice high and shrill
as he charged down the ramp and scaffolding surrounding the
pyramid. Khufu was right on his heels, his strides long and
gliding as he finally floated into the air. Lois’l
gasped to see their lord in all his glory…
And the world exploded in a blast of white!
The world boiled away in stark contrast; sullen white rolling over the
land as vivid shadow blazed, ingraining on her vision, burning into her
memory. She heard the screams of the others as they ran or
fell prostrate before this great fire from heaven, the words of the
Gods themselves no doubt. Lois’l swayed, her
stomach rebelling as the world slipped away, shifting slightly as she
staggered, trying to see and understand.
And she saw him then, for the first time. She knew that here
was the face of God and she turned away so as not to be smitten with
the dark radiance of HIS being. His eyes blazed with the
fires of a thousand suns, his dark and craggy face twisted in
glee. He held a crystalline cube in his hand that seemed to
bubble and burst with a radiance and conflagration so pure as to make
her blood boil. He laughed…
And there were others. She saw a pale, violet shade standing
at the Dark Lord’s side. Another God, she knew,
perhaps greater in the scope of HER power. Here was DEATH
incarnate, silent and unmoved as the world fell away. And
another, the God of Light and Strength dressed in azure and scarlet, a
long red cape fluttering behind as he confronted the Dark
Lord. He was handsome beyond mere mortal standards, the
paragon that all should hope to attain, though few would ever
achieve. He was steel personified, hope and trust, truth and
justice all rolled into one. HE was a hero…
He shot forward, but the world faded away, crumbling…
Lois’l screamed, sagging in her chair. She was
panting, gasping for breath and sweating as she scanned the room
wide-eyed and awe struck. She had not known… had
not even considered…
She had seen them all. All of those that tried, striving to
hold the darkness at bay.
She had experienced the Green…
She had seen the horrors of Gotham, and the glory protected by a
Sentinel and a Bat.
She had seen the Scarlet Speedster racing against Time itself, and
losing…
She had seen the Hands of Chaos and Order locked in combat…
The Red Skies…
The gigantic Being from Beyond trapped between worlds invoking Creation
itself…
She had seen the man from the stars, the hero of heroes, the
Superman…
Lois’l stared at Dubbilex, his head face down on the
tabletop, unconscious. Shelley was at his side trying to
raise him, but Lois’l… Lois Lane knew that the
DNAlien was done. She had heard the screams, the agonized
cries of thousands that had ripped all three of them from their mental
trance. She looked to the others, but the Wizard and Star
simply stared in confusion. Lex Luthor was gone.
“Dubbilex?” Shelley said, shaking the
mutate. He looked up at Lois, his eyes concerned but lost,
vacant.
“Brooklyn…” she said in a hushed tone,
returning Shelley’s gaze. “It’s
gone. Brooklyn Sector is gone! Didn’t you
feel it?”
“You were the recipient,” Shelley said, drawing his
hand back. “I was not a part of the story- just the
book and volume. I didn’t…’
They all turned as an explosion shook the room. Something
beyond had blown up, and Lois’l could hear the screams of
pain and terror as panic set in. She could hear the sounds of
collapsing brick, the crumbling of structure as the rebels reacted to
the world erupting about them. Those in the room jumped to
their feet even as Dubbilex stirred, moaning. The others;
Shelley, Wizard and Star ran for the door and opened it to chaos
unleashed.
Smoke and dust, ash and dirt billowed in the outer chamber.
Lois could hear the cries of the injured, the screams and wailing of
those that had lost loved ones in a flash of light and sound that had
set the world on its ear. She saw water raining down from
ruptured pipes, bits of stone and wood falling as the chamber crumbled
and collapsed. Fires dotted the chamber. The people
seemed suddenly lost, running about in confusion, scared and
hurt. A flaming man fell to the stone, writhing in
agony. Another stumbled past, clutching his eye that was
seeping blood through his fingers. A ragged woman clutched a
still, broken baby to her breast.
Tears welled in Lois’ eyes as she looked up to the source of
the explosion. It was smoky and clogged with dust and ash,
but she saw a glint of gold, a flash of blue just before Guardian came
flying back to crash far below and onto the hard stone of the
floor. She saw his neck twist obscenely, heard the shattering
crack of bone and knew that he was dead. Lois looked up to
see who would do such a thing.
She saw two ‘men’ at first, at the
forefront. The first was huge, wearing tattered and molding
black clothes. His skin was white and chalky, his eyes dark
as he strode forward, killing simply and wantonly with every casual
sweep of his bulky, long arms. Behind him was another with
skin as white as the first. He was dressed in black leathers
though and wielding a chain with a razor-sharp scythe on the end,
wading into the rebels without pause, slaughtering all in his path and
laughing as he did so. His name was Lobo she knew, and the
other was Grundy. And she knew who they were. She
had heard the stories. She looked beyond…
Vandal Savage strode forward, grinning broadly as he surveyed the
devastation, which Tartarus had created. His team, his Quad
surged forward for the Glory of Darkseid. He stood
confidently, his hands behind his back as he glanced to the fourth of
his squad… Grodd.
“Kill them,” he said, his booming voice a whisper
above the din of catastrophe.
“Kill them all…”
Luthor grimaced as he ran down the tunnel. His clothes were
filthy, the slop and slime of the waters lining the trough splashing up
his pant legs as he slogged through the filthy waters lining the
sewers. He did not care, or rather, he could not
care. He had to get away…
He heard the sounds of the explosions echoing down the corridor,
rolling over him in his mad dash to escape the carnage that he knew was
occurring in his wake. He had done as he had been told;
waiting, giving the signal when it seemed that the rebels had gained a
toehold. Little did he know, really. Less did he
care. He had to get away. He had to escape before
Tartarus slayed him with all the other rabble.
If he could just reach his private chambers, and his armor…
He had cobbled it together over the months with little bits of metal
and stolen technology. It would protect him and give him the
edge he needed to survive, if he could reach it. Just a bit
further now he figured, rounding the final corner and spying the door;
the end of his run.
Luthor pulled up short, skidding in the slime. The shadows
seemed to unfold, stripping away from the walls.
“Your services are appreciated, Lowlie…”
a soft, cold voice oozed from the dark corners.
“Your efforts shall be remembered,” said another
voice dripping in honey but sour and spoiled. Luthor stared
wide-eyed and felt his body betray him. There was a soft
chime of laughter as the shadows took form and shape, coalescing in
front of him.
They were two, and he knew them instantly, at a glance. Two
of Great Darkseid’s Personal Guard, his assassins;
Amazons. The dark-skinned one was Hope, to his left and
blocking his escape. The other was Mercy, her skin pale and
cool and guarding his chamber’s door. Both were
dressed in the form-fitting black body stocking, the near impenetrable
armor of their rank and station. They wore shades against the
bizarre glare in the tunnels, their hair pulled back and out of the
way. Neither had drawn sword, and Luthor felt the slightest
hope in that. Perhaps they were not there to kill him-
Luthor clawed at the slime encrusting the base and floor of the
tunnel. He had not even seen the kick coming as
Hope’s boot heel slammed into his jaw, shattering
bone. He spun abruptly, falling into the slop and groveling
at the woman’s feet as she towered over him. Mercy
strode up with a cool cruel smile, staring down at him.
“Plllmmmnnn…” he mumbled, his mouth
betraying him as the pain struck home. He moaned as Mercy
planted a foot in the back of his neck, forcing his face into the
muck. He struggled to rise, gasping once as he broke the
surface and heard the laughter of the women before he was shoved down
and under again.
His sight faded as Mercy ground his face into the slime. He
gagged, suffocating, drowning in the waste and offal of the rabble that
he hated so. He had betrayed the Rebellion, hoping for a high
place in Darkseid’s Elite in the end, but the Dark Lord was a
cruel and vengeful God. He did not appreciate ingenuity or
self-motivation. He did not like traitors.
Luthor knew as he struggled for that final breath that Shelley had been
right after all, in the end…
There WAS a better world…
4.
APOKOLIPS:
The
Palace of Woe...
“Darkseid somehow managed to contain the very force of
Creation…”
Hank Henshaw glanced up with his one good eye, watching as the old man
wearily climbed the seemingly never-ending spiral case of
stairs. It seemed that they had been walking for hours since
he had freed Izaya from the metallic trappings of his confinement far
below the streets of the capitol city, in the dungeons under
Darkseid’s castle. Just how long the Highfather had
been there neither knew, not that it mattered. Years or
centuries, whichever, the time had taken its toll on the old man and
his power and intelligence waned.
Still, they climbed. The old man had some strange and
mysterious goal in mind at the very top of the castle’s
highest tower, though what it might be Henshaw had not a
clue. The old man talked and talked but really said nothing
beyond explaining life under Darkseid’s rule, interspersing
his tale with fantasies of some other time and place where the Dark
Lord did not hold sway.
Admittedly some of what Izaya said seemed naggingly familiar, as though
Henshaw could almost remember that other place. His memories
were patched and spotty however, most of them dreamlike in quality and
it was hard to fit the pieces together in some comprehensible
order. He tried however, setting his internal computers to
task to sort and collate the memories, putting the mind to work while
the body trudged and listened. There was little else to do,
and if nothing else Henshaw’s Cyborg body could multi-task
with the best of them.
“I was with Ganthet and Shazam…” the old
man said, pausing for a moment and listening, looking at the low
ceiling. Henshaw eyed him curiously, but Izaya finally
shrugged and started up again. “We were on War
World, that place that we had moved to the center of the universe,
there to become the new Oa and seat of power for the Green Lantern Corp
once again. Ganthet had just ignited the Green Flame once
more, and we were all exhausted from our combined efforts.
Perhaps Darkseid knew this, or perhaps it was mere
coincidence. That was when the White came.”
Henshaw wiped his dark hair from the front of his wide cybernetic eye,
scanning the area as they twisted up the long, spiraling
stairway. Nothing had changed that he could see.
The walls were still ancient stone blocks sparkling on a myriad of
levels and light enhanced frequencies that his sensors could not
identify. That usually meant magic, or cosmic
energy. Henshaw suspected a little bit of both.
There was light, but for all his trying he could not pinpoint a source;
it was simply there. It was warm too, though with the height
that they should have ascended the air should have been getting thin
and chilly at least. There had been no change though, since
that very first step.
“I woke in the dungeons, as you found me, chained and bound
and blinded with a metal helmet then. I had no way of knowing
how long I had been neither unconscious, nor how long after I had
awakened when the Lord of Apokolips first visited me. The
only time that he visited me, I might add.
“I heard the great door to my cell open, and then moments
later the sound of his heels striking the cold stone floor.
He watched me in silence for a time, and I simply waited,
listening. He had the upper hand at last, and I knew that
there was nothing that I might say to sway his dark resolve.
We had debated many times you see, over the eons, and I fear that we
are two sides of the same coin in our stubbornness.
“I noted though- sensed rather- that he was not
alone. There was a… presence with him. A
power almost, though personified in a way. Deified even, I
suppose, though not in the way that I understood the term.
Darkseid and I, you see, despite our timeless ages, we are…
were New Gods. Whatever stood at his side however was
old. I had never experienced the sensation before, truly in
that way. I am not ashamed to say that I was
afraid.”
Henshaw listened as they continued, his curiosity piquing at the
mention of names and words. He knew of Darkseid and the New
Gods, though he had never encountered any that he could
recall. There was one in particular that stood out.
One that had sided with Superman on many occasions. He was
Orion, but as yet Izaya had not mentioned him or any of the others;
Mister Miracle and the woman- Barda that had been members of the League
for a time. Henshaw wondered what had happened to them, and
why his memory seemed so full of holes.
Highfather had mentioned the Green Lanterns, and the memory of Hal
Jordan stood out brightly in his mind’s eye.
Something had apparently happened to the Corp that this
‘Ganthet’ and ‘Shazam’ needed
to recreate it. What, again, he had no idea. But if
the Green Lanterns were gone, and the New Gods- if Darkseid had somehow
changed everything with his spark of contained Creation, then what
about Superman?
“He had come to gloat, I knew,” Izaya said,
continuing his tale. “Half the battle is lording
victory over the defeated of course- at least for the likes of
Darkseid. He told me what he had done finally, without
preamble. ‘I have won’ he said, and in my
position at the time, I knew that he was correct, though of course I
could not begin to comprehend the depth of his victory. He
was kind enough to explain however.
“Darkseid had assumed the mantle of God. Oh, not
the Godhood that was his right as Lord of Apokolips and a New God, but
he in his arrogance sought to become the One True God. He was
the Creator now, or so he claimed. He told me of his
‘cube’, which he had used to recreate all that had
been in his dark image. Apparently it had worked, however it
was not quite as simple as he had imagined. We- he and I- we
are not Gods on that scope. The sheer magnitude of his plan
was far too vast for the likes of him- or any for that matter on this
plane to comprehend all of the minute variables involved. Oh,
on the face of it all he succeeded. Darkseid eliminated those
things that caused him caution. Earth for one, and its
multitude of heroes and Meta Humans. Earth has always been a
stumbling block in many a conqueror’s way.
“What he created however was a façade I
knew. There are forces in the universe beyond our
comprehension, and without full knowledge, that omniscience that only
the One True God might possess, it would be improbable that
Darkseid’s scheme might succeed in one fell swoop.
Still, it was an impressive attempt. Darkseid is nothing if
not grandiose in his dreams.”
Izaya shrugged as at last the pair stepped up upon a landing.
It was a small square of stone floor there at the top of the tower,
just wide enough for the huge, oaken door before them to open
freely. The door of course was banded in thick, rusting metal
and chained and bolted against entry. Henshaw sighed as the
Highfather stared at the door, as though trying to pierce the wood with
his gaze and see beyond.
“Darkseid’s power has always been a strange mixture
of science and magic that was inherent in our realm of Apokolips and
New Genesis. As such, the magicks beyond were always slightly
strange to us in concept, different in certain ways. That was
just one of the many variables that Darkseid could not consider fully
in his grand scheme. Those concepts of Order and Chaos, the
strange bearing and sway of the Endless, the Green…
“Certain things were not affected by his change you
see? It was then a mad scramble for Darkseid to go back and
fix those things that he had not planned for. Some of course
were simple enough, if you picked the proper opportunity. He
told me of Order, and wiping out the Lords in ancient Egypt.
He gloried in the devastation of Atlantis and the sweeping away of its
vaunted mages. And other things; simple changes that would
hold some future significance in his plan like the salvation of
Krypton…”
Henshaw looked at Izaya, watching as the old man ran the palm of his
hand over the ancient door. He had wondered just what might
be beyond for a heartbeat, but then Highfather had mentioned Krypton.
“What about Krypton?” he asked, and the old man
eyed him curiously.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I assumed that you knew, what with your affinity to the Man
of Steel from old. Not having the foresight to alter the
entirety of Creation to his whim, the Dark Lord insured instead that he
would have an unbeatable army to force his regime upon the
universe. The Kryptonians, the Daxamites, and any number of
worlds throughout the cosmos that he gathered into his stellar web in
the guise of a council. There are many such machinations set
in motion throughout reality, the designs of Eptimetheus as Darkseid
sends his minions out to patch the flaws that developed in his
skein. Darkseid IS a master planner, make no
mistake. It is just that in this, the scope of his vision was
far too large for his ability to digest.”
“Heh,” Henshaw chuckled. “His
eyes were bigger than his stomach, eh?”
Izaya smiled and stepped away from the door with a sweeping
gesture. “If you would…”
Henshaw stepped forward and scanned the great door, not surprised to
see that queer sparkle of magic again. It was sealed, he
could see it, though he could not quite interpret how. The
basics of magic had always eluded him, being a man of science that he
was. Still…
“Magic has eluded him for the most part,” the old
man continued as Henshaw looked at the door.
“Places of power as well, I imagine. The Rock of
Eternity, War World perhaps after all we did there. And
people too. My children, the Gods of New Genesis are
scattered across the cosmos like leaves in the wind. I can
sense them… most of them anyway. I imagine that
Darkseid eliminated many in his conquest; Metron, Lightray, the Black
Racer… Even Orion. Perhaps he was attempting to
divert prophecy, I don’t know. I cannot feel the
son of Darkseid however. At least not that one.”
Henshaw only half-listened as the old man droned on. He
stared at his hand, concentrating on the composition of the strange
metals that he had used to recreate his Cyborg body in the depths of
Desaad’s lab. Like the walls, the door, and most of
the world itself, Henshaw could not comprehend the make-up of the odd
material. It was that however that gave him hope that he did
have the ability to open the door before him. He was far
beyond what he had once been, and now it was simply a matter of
discovering what exactly he had become.
“The Endless are out there yet, or at least
Destiny. That one is always on the fringe of existence, and
will be throughout time… itself…”
Henshaw almost hesitated to hear the catch in the old man’s
voice. He heard a spark of understanding, but it was too
late. The Cyborg had reconfigured his hand, morphing it into
a shape that was then being propelled at the barrier of the
door. If Izaya continued it was lost in the shattering
explosion that followed. The oaken door splintered at
Henshaw’s might; not quite super, but superior in the
least. The metal bent, squealing at the force of his blow,
rending as the irresistible force of his enhanced strength met that
immovable object. The bands ripped, bolts flew from the
cracked and withered wood, and the bulk of the door flew from the frame.
“Arrgh!” Henshaw screamed as he staggered
back. Light flooded from the room, a white glare that
overwhelmed his cybernetic optics and simply blinded his humanesque eye
of flesh. He felt tears welling against the pain, and the
singe of heat on the bits of flesh still clinging to his
frame. He fell to the floor as his inner computers started to
overload and shut down.
Trying to stay conscious and alert Henshaw shifted power to his
sensors. He scanned the platform, even though he could not
literally see what was happening. Izaya still stood there,
apparently unaffected by whatever had washed through Henshaw.
He could ‘see’ the oddity that was magic radiating
from his bulky silhouette on his internal scanners. The head
of the silhouette considered him.
“Time of course is the key.”
Henshaw stared at the old man as his inner computers struggled to set
his body right. His metallics were frozen, locked down, and
his flesh was limited and useless. He could not even talk,
only listen.
“I should have known. I must have been distracted,
or weakened perhaps enough that I could not see the obvious.
But of course that particular obvious was hidden from view long ago and
a world away.”
“Wharrrrrrrrr…”
Henshaw mentally cursed himself, his jaw grinding as he tried to
speak. Internal sensors were clicking on and off as power was
diverted and mechanisms came back online. But it was too
slow. He watched helplessly as Highfather stepped into the
room beyond.
How long before he started to move? How long before he
shifted his body, just the smallest bit? He dragged his
finger across the stone. Then his fingers one by one curling
into a fist as he dug in. He gripped the cold, hard stone,
forcing his body to move and turn, rolling in the necessary
direction. Slowly, in agony he reached out and grabbed the
floor again, dragging his mass across the gray rock.
Again…
Again…
Henshaw saw Izaya standing there, his sight flickering as his optics
kicked in once again. His flesh eye was blurred and weepy,
but sorted the colors of the Highfather, mixing shadow and light that
his sensors could not collate as yet. He mentally cranked his
audio receptors higher, realizing that his fleshy ear was dead and
useless.
Izaya was staring at the one thing standing there in the room
beyond. It was a slab of stone by the looks of it;
rectangular and massive, some ten feet by six. Henshaw could
see that sparkle of magic again, dancing over the surface of the slab,
but he could not see what it was about. There was something
though, and he had to know. He reached out again, his hand
wrapping about the old man’s ankle. Izaya glanced
down at him as though only then recalling that he was there.
“You are healing,” he said, returning his gaze to
the stone. “Soon enough you will be fine, and then
we may depart. We have the means here that I might summon a
Boom Tube that we can escape this monument to Death.”
“Wha… Wha… Wha…”
Henshaw hissed his frustration, still unable to form a simple
word. He tightened his grip on the old man’s
ankle. He needed answers before he went mad. Now
the old man shut up!
“Darkseid in his conceit has locked away the word of
God,” Izaya said. “He could not destroy
it, apparently, so he made certain that it would never be
seen.” He turned to glance down at Henshaw
again. Hank Henshaw could not see the man’s
expression, but he could sense the emotion. It was pity, but
for him?
“The Source Wall…” Izaya said, gesturing
at the stone. His voice seemed hurt and weak.
“And the final words of a usurped God. I wonder
what they might mean.”
Slowly, ever so slowly Henshaw’s systems returned, one by
one. He could move, and eventually see properly,
finally. In that time, the old man had simply stood there
staring at the stone in contemplation. Henshaw stood shakily,
reaching out for the wall for support as he gazed about the old
man’s mass, blocking his view of the stone and whatever was
on it that had made him so melancholy. Finally he read the
words, blinking in confusion, uncomprehending…
IN
DEATH…
IN
SHADOW…
THE
END SHALL BE THE BEGINNING…
Henshaw stared at the words etched in the stone, flame licking at the
edges. He did not understand. He looked to Izaya to
explain.
Highfather simply smiled…
5.
GOTHAM BLOCK:
Crime
Alley…
He
was burning metal.
He
was cold hard steel.
He
was rage and darkness of the soul, vengeance personified.
He could feel the cool rush of the wind as he dropped through
space. He ignored the aero disks adhered to his feet, letting
momentum drive him ever faster. Downward he plunged, the
blood racing through his veins, adrenaline pumping his heart to a
slamming, staccato that echoed through his ears. It took all
of his will not to laugh as the ground rose up to meet him, his target
growing quickly beneath him.
He slammed into the shoulders of the Justifier, his mass and speed
driving Darkseid’s soldier down face first into the stone of
the alleyway. He heard the metallic clang of the
brute’s helmet as he forced the soldier’s head to
the ground, his own muscles folding and tensing, propelling him forward
to roll and tumble lest he too break from the impact. He slid
to a crouch, up against the wall and blending with the shadows as he
drew his cloak about him. The dark weave of his armor both
protected him and hid him from the minions of Darkseid and the soldiers
of the Glorious Godfrey that seemed to be overflowing the streets of
his city-block. Darkness was both his enemy, and his friend.
Richard, Gray’s son stood slowly, his eyes surveying the
scene as he clung to those shadows, letting them do his
bidding. The woman was staring at the fallen Justifier,
Godfrey’s goon broken and twisted at her feet. She
was just some Lowlie caught up in the latest gathering, a slip of a
girl strayed from the beaten path and driven to the shadows by the now
dead Harasser. Gray’s son held no pity for the
drone of the Dark Lord. His death was as meaningless as his
life had been. He looked at the girl.
She stood there, eyes wide and swelling with tears. Her mouth
was moving, but only guttural sobs escaped her lips as she stood frozen
with fright, near to panic. Her clothes were tattered and
thin, little comfort against the chill of the night air. The
fire within kept Richard warm at night. The lust for
vengeance and justice burned in his heart. Hopefully, she
would learn, given her second chance at life.
“Who are you, girl?” he said, his voice low and
cold, harsh like stone shattering in a grinder. He smiled to
see her start, her wide-eyed stare peering into the shadows that hid
him.
“Who… Who is that?” she asked, her voice
quaking with a new, sudden fear. “Who’s
there?”
It was not his purpose to frighten those that he was trying to
save. The costume, the weapons that Alfred had given him were
designed to strike fear into a more cowardly lot. He eased
forward just a bit, letting her see as he tried to calm his voice.
“I’m Batman…”
He saw the girl gasp, but there was something odd in it. Her
eyes went wider still, rolling up into her head. He saw blood
bubble and froth from her lips as her body sagged a bit, slumping
oddly. Richard’s eyes narrowed to see the flash of
bloody silver sticking out of the Lowlie’s belly. A
blade, the sacrificial implement of one of the Divine;
Godfrey’s Hierarchy.
“Heh- he-he, ha-Hah, aha haaa HAH!”
Richard stared as the girl finally slid to the ground, hitting the
dirty floor of the alley with a wet, sickly thud. He stared
at her lifeless body for a moment, watching as steam roiled upward from
the gushing wound, her warm blood seeping out onto the cool stone where
she lay. He felt sick at the sight, and worse. He
felt responsible. He had not saved her after all, and that
brought the rage bubbling up again. He glanced up.
The Divine stepped from the shadows. He was dressed darkly in
lavender; a long coat and wide-brimmed hat over the odd, tight suit
that covered his lanky frame. His skin was chalky and pale, a
shocking contrast to the garish paint surrounding his lips and eyes as
well as his wild mane of green hair. His eyes were afire with
the spark of madness as he glanced down at the dead girl at his feet,
grinning as he raised his blade to his lips.
Richard’s stomach turned as the killer licked the blood from
the steel with a giggle.
“The Bat… Man…” he said, his
yellow eyes snapping to Richard then. The mad clown looked
him up and down, his lips pursing in some strange approval before he
broke into a fit of laughter again. “Ho, ho
ho… Hee haw… We are a pretty boy,
aren’t we? Soooo precious, yes?”
Richard grimaced, his hands drifting beneath the folds of his long
cloak as he pulled his escrima sticks free. He brandished
them, striking a defensive pose that just made the slayer laugh all the
harder. Rage boiled within him.
“Who are you?” Richard asked, barely containing his
anger at the senseless death that he had just witnessed.
“Moi? The Glorious Godfrey has named me his
Joker,” the man said with a bow and a flourish.
Richard watched the blade in the madman’s hand as it flashed
and flurried in the dim light. “And you…
You are the Dark Knight that protects the dark night from the likes of
me and mine. Such a waste, I tell you,” he licked
his lips, “and such a waist. Magnificent!
Who’s your daddy?”
“Don’t mock me clown!” Richard spat as he
shifted to the madman’s movements. He had heard of
the Joker of course. A maniac in the employ of a madman,
killing wantonly, making the streets that he had been protecting for
days now- HIS streets run red with blood.
“Mock is such a bitter term, luvvy,” the Joker
said, raising his hands to ward off Richard’s
venom. “It’s just a
joke.” The madman grinned, started to chuckle and
Richard moved.
Acid splashed the wall behind where he had been standing. He
smelled the vile, burning odor, heard the sizzle as the stone melted
away. The Joker laughed as Richard rolled and dove, sprawling
in the sludge before spinning about, his fist sweeping through empty
air where the Divine had been.
“Gotta be quicker than that, son.” Joker giggled as
Batman whipped about, his hands rising to ward off the thin and razor
sharp playing cards that whistled past his head. He winced to
feel the cuts as dozens hit home, slicing through armor and skin
alike. “Fifty-two chances lad. Pick a
card!”
The Joker posed, the last card propped up in the air as he cocked his
arm back. “This one’s got your name on
it, Rodent Boy. Or is it mine?
Fifty-three… It’s a magic
number!” The madman threw the card and Richard
whipped his stick up, the clang of metal lost as the playing card
exploded, light blazing in his face.
“Surprise!” the Joker howled as Batman hissed.
He could hear the killer charging forward and rolled back, trying not
to rub at his burning eyes. He lashed out, kicking as hard
and fast as he could, hearing with satisfaction the gush of air as his
heels rammed into the clown’s tight belly. The
maniac went down, gasping for breath.
“No… No… fair…” he
hissed, gasping, trying to draw breath. Richard scrambled
about, getting his feet under him and springing up again, slamming his
palm forward to the sound and hearing the smash and shatter of
cartilage as he broke the clown’s nose.
“Nnnn…”
Richard blinked, forcing the tears from his eyes as he groped for the
clown’s lapels, hauling the skinny Divine to his
feet. He put on his best face, anger creating a mask of hate
designed to instill fear. He saw the blurry image of the
clown’s face twist in amusement, blood trailing into the
paint about his lips.
“Temper, temper thun… Can’tchu take a
joke?” the Divine giggled merrily as Richard shook him,
slapping the back of his hand across his face.
“You think this is funny, freak? You killed a
defenseless, helpless girl!” Richard shouted and
felt the clown stiffen in his grip.
“If we can’t laugh at life, son, then surely we can
laugh at death. How else we gonna get by in this dark and
cruel world? You need to look at the humor, boy.
Stop me now if you’ve heard this one. There was
this bat and a maggot in a row boat in the middle of the Sea of Storms
with the Fire Pits raging closer, and the maggot says to the bat;
‘Well, we’re screwed,’ and the bat says;
‘speak for yourself, maggot. I can fly.’
So the maggot sort of looks at the bat and as the rodent starts to flap
his wings and rise outta the boat, the maggot says; ‘Hey pal,
take me with you!’ And the bat says ‘Go screw,
maggot!’ and starts to flap away. Well the bat
flies off and the maggot is so pissed that he starts to
gestate. Of course they’re in the middle of the
Ring of Fire, so no way the bat can fly to land. Still, he
finds a little island where he crashes, weak and out of
breath. He slowly starts to starve there in the middle of the
ocean, and in a few days this fly comes buzzing down. He
lands right on the bat’s head and says
‘Who’s screwed now, bat?’ and the bat
whips out his tongue and snags the fly, sucks him in and
swallows. And the bat says, ‘Looks like you,
maggot.’”
Richard blinked, staring at the clown who giggled.
“What? Don’t you get it?” the
clown laughed, his voice going higher in pitch as he started to shake
and gasp for breath in his fit. Then, he abruptly stopped.
“Looks like you, maggot…”
Richard felt the prick of pain then. Looking down he saw the
blade’s hilt sticking out of his stomach. Blood was
oozing from the wound, puddling at his feet. He felt his
fingers go limp as the world started to spin, going gray.
The Joker shoved the Batman away with the tips of his fingers, laughing
as Richard stumbled a bit, then fell back with a crash.
Richard felt sweat beading his brow, the pain in his stomach
growing. Poison he figured, salt in the wound.
The Joker stepped over him, brushing his lapels back into order and
sniffing at the small flower that adorned his jacket. He
looked down on the Batman, his garishly painted lips twisting into a
leering smile.
“You really need to pay attention, ratty. If I have
to explain the joke, well, it’s just not funny.”
Richard tried to move as the clown’s heel raised and slammed
down onto his face. He was just too tired though, too weak,
and everything went black.
To his credit, he did not cry out.
Richard stared up through a fog of pain at his twisted reflection in
the polished faceplate of the Justifier. He could feel the
burn of the shock stick as Godfrey's Inquisitor pressed on the blunt
end, driving the crackling pointed tip deeper into the wound in his
stomach. He winced; gritting his teeth against the pain as
tears welled in his eyes. He strained at the iron manacles
that held him fast to the torture table, his muscles bulging as his
body tensed. He would not cry out…
He would make Granny proud.
The Inquisitor stepped back; pulling the shock stick from
Richard’s wound as they both heard the clack of heels
approaching on the hard stone of the dungeons. Richard,
Gray’s son eased his head back against the warm metal of the
table, panting from his efforts, trying to make the most of the break
in his conditioning. It seemed hours since he had been taken,
stabbed by the Joker. Hours even since he had awakened bound
to the table with one of Godfrey’s Divine hunkering over him,
taunting him.
He knew the drill. Richard had gone through worse in the
Happiness Home as Granny Goodness girded his loins for life in
Darkseid’s Aero Troop Elite. He had suffered for
Granny’s love. Darkseid willing, he would
again. But for Chancellor Wayne and his lust-filled Mistress
he would be there now. And Alfred…
Had he been wrong? It was so hard to concentrate…
“So this is the infamous Bat Man that has been harassing the
poor citizenry of Gotham Block.”
Richard looked up, squinting against the harsh glare of the overhead
glow globe, his eyes trying to focus on the shadowy face now leering
down at him. Framed with a wild mane of red hair, the sparkle
of perfect teeth shining through, Richard knew exactly who it must
be. Glorious Godfrey!
“Hmmph,” Godfrey snorted, staring down and
caressing Richard’s cheek almost lovingly.
“He doesn’t seem so much to me. The Dark
Knight… he’s just a boy.”
“He can fight,” another familiar voice said from
the distance and Richard craned his neck to see.
“He bwoke my node…”
The Joker laughed as he strolled forward to peer down into
Richard’s face. Gray’s son could see the
Clown’s garishly painted face twisted with dark humor, the
lines of a Healing Strip dissolving into his skin above his
nose. His eyes were sparkling with madness as he grinned
widely.
“Hello, Dikky!” the Joker said with a smirk,
grabbing that same spot on Richard’s face that had attracted
Godfrey’s attention and gave it a sharp pat.
Godfrey laughed.
“Oh, yes, boy,” he chuckled, gripping his full and
extravagant cloak about himself as he struck a dramatic pose.
“We know who you are. One of Granny’s
waifs gone wayward, ward of Wayne and worse for
wear.” Godfrey turned to his Inquisitor.
“Has he said anything? Named the names of his
little cohorts perhaps? Turned any state
secrets?” The Inquisitor shook his head.
“His resolve far outweighs his intelligence. Granny
Goodness learns her charges well.”
“Pity,” Godfrey said with a sniff, running a sharp
fingernail down Gray’s son’s chest, dabbing at the
wound that had not been healed fully. “Such a
shame. Such a waste to ruin such a lovely boy. He
would gain high price in the Body Banks.” Glorious
Godfrey sighed, obviously distressed as he glanced at his Justifier
again.
“Will he talk?”
“He will,” the huge, armored brute said with
assurity. “They all talk in the end.”
“I dunno…” the Joker hissed, leaning in
to peer into Richard’s eyes. Neither blinked, but
finally the clown looked away with a giggle.
“He’s a stubborn one, our Dikky. I think
it’ll take a finer hand than this thug to get our rat to
squeal.”
The Joker produced his blade again with a flourish and flare of his
long coat. He chuckled lowly as he eyed the thin, silver
dagger, finally kissing the cool shining metal and running his tongue
the length of the flat. He sniggered.
“Just five minutes, Worm your Honor, him and me
alone…”
Glorious Godfrey seemed about to say something when all heads turned to
the sounds of explosions coming from the floors above.
Godfrey’s eyes went wide as he shoved his Inquisitor towards
the stairs, but the Joker simply smiled widely.
“Just a joke…” he whispered as the burly
man charged up the stone steps, disappearing around the bend and into
the shadows. There was a silence, save for the
Joker’s giggling. Godfrey licked his lips, backing
away from the table. Joker craned his neck to wink at his
Lord, grinning.
“Dum de-dum dumb…”
The Inquisitor came flying back from the shadows, spiraling through the
open air above the dungeon only to crash like a bag of potatoes onto
the hard, stone floor. His helmet was twisted sideways on his
head, the head in turn twisted at a harsh angle that made Godfrey wince
and shriek like a little girl. He slammed back against the
wall behind him, staring up the stairs and motioning for the Joker to
take the fore.
“Go… Go!”
“By your command,” Joker said with a giggle,
brandishing his blade even as a dark shadow fell across the
room. Godfrey gasped, glancing at the boy still bound to the
table in disbelief, but his eyes were just as wide as he stared up at
the dark and menacing figure poised at the top of the stairs.
He was tall, dressed in blues and blacks and grays. He was
fit and muscular, his arms flexing as he flicked a set of jagged darts
lodged between his fingers. His eyes were slits of white
peering from a dark cowl as he stoically scanned the scene before him.
“Darling…” Joker cooed, licking his lips
lustfully and stepping forward for a better view. Godfrey
gagged.
“Who… who are you?” Glorious Godfrey
gasped, and the man at the top of the stairs cast his icy gaze on
Darkseid’s Elite. He did not smile, and if
anything, his frown deepened.
“I… am Batman…”
6.
THEMYSCIRA:
The
Royal Plaza…
It was not a battle. It was a slaughter.
Komand’r slipped back deeper into the shadows, feeling an odd
comfort and strength as she clutched at the cracked stone of the
monolithic representation of Darkseid that lorded over the island that
was his capitol. Her eyes were wide as she watched, her heart
hammering as she licked her lips almost as if in the throes of
passion. It was beautiful in a way.
Whatever Darkseid’s command, his signal she had missed
it. At once the Amazons had simply moved and the blood bath
commenced. She had seen them moving throughout the assemblage
almost invisibly, ignored by the ambassadors of the Twelve World
Council in their arrogance. But she had seen, she knew the
signs.
She had been trained by the Warlords of Okaara after all. She
knew the ways of battle, the mindset of war. It had been a
harsh kind of hell in her youth, saddled with her prim and proper
sister, but it had given her the opportunity to beat the crap out of
Koriand’r time and again for years. And she had
learned. So when the Amazons had started to space themselves,
sifting through the crowd, Komand’r had known what was
coming, even though she had not been prepared for the depth and
brutality of it all.
The Hawk Man had been first.
Wisely she supposed, she had never battled a Thanagarian, but she had
heard that they were great warriors in their own right; strong and
stubborn and hard to die. Komand’r had seen a dark
skinned Amazon simply step behind the winged warrior and thrust her
blade through the base of his skull; just below the helmet, the chink
in his mottled gray armor. It was what she would have
done. Quick and painless, slashing the artery and with a
quick, sharp turn of the blade lobbing off the head.
The Amazon did not stop there as she whipped her sword about, blood
flying as she flicked her wrist and slashed through the younger
Hawk. The girl’s scream cut short as her hands went
to the gaping wound in her throat, blood running freely down her
front. The Hawk Man’s mate escaped the first
assault, instantly springing skyward and above the whirling blades.
Komand’r saw the Spider skewered on a pole arm,
his… her massive form kicking wildly as a silver-haired
Amazon vaulted the eight-legged freak skyward. The Ambassador
of the Spider Guild shrieked wildly as another Amazon danced the Dance
of the Blades, slicing off the creatures limbs in a choreographed
display that was so beautiful that it made Komand’rs throat
swell with emotion.
She heard the cries of the Warlord of Rann’s Harem and
entourage as still other warriors waded through their party.
The scantily clad women were slaughtered wantonly and without regard,
easily as they were hardly soldiers, rather pretty fodder.
The Warlord himself was battling, his armor crackling with energy as he
fired his weapon at the assassins. Komand’r stared
in awe however, watching as the Amazonian women simply shifted stance,
turning their blades to deflect the warlord’s
blasts. None of his shots came even close to getting past
their defenses as they eased towards him en mass. She saw
panic wash over the Warlord’s face just before a beam of
light struck down from the heavens and he vanished…
BOOOOOMMMMM!
Komand’r glanced up at the dais positioned above the Plaza,
watching as Darkseid stepped within a Boom Tube without a backwards
glance. He was not concerned. He did not even
care. His Mistress watched as the Tube receded, fading with
another explosion of air rushing to fill the void. She
turned, her face a blank and expressionless masque as she cast her dark
gaze about the Plaza.
There were some that said that she was one of the Amazons, favored by
Darkseid and raised to HIS Elite.
Others said that she was Death personified.
Komand’r did not know or care, watching as the Hawk Woman,
mate of Katar swooped down with a blazing sword of sliver-white light
upraised, crackling with energy. Darkseid’s
mistress glanced skyward, apparently unconcerned.
“KATAR!” the Thanagarian bellowed, the blade drawn
high as she neared, ready to deliver the killing blow. Her
body was slick with blood, arrows protruding from her thigh and
shoulder. Para Demons buzzed and swarmed on her heels, giving
chase. Komand’r saw Death’s ashen lips
part…
MORI…
Komand’r felt her heart skip a beat as a wave of…
decay washed over her. Tears filled her eyes as she dropped
to her knees gasping for breath. She saw stars exploding in
her sight as she tried to watch.
Those close to the dais, twenty or thirty deep simply
collapsed. Those closer to the stage screamed as the flesh
seemed to melt from their bones, their skeletons still staggering
forward with momentum. Amazon or Ambassador, it did not
matter. All fell to Death’s whispered word.
The Hawk Woman simply faded from sight, her death scream echoing across
the Plaza…
Komand’r gasped, clutching at her heart. She stared
at the sudden death that had swept the Plaza like a plague, a
wave. She knew…
“Anti-Life…” she whispered.
That, which the Dark Lord had coveted for so long.
BOOOMMM!
Komand’r watched as Darkseid stepped again from the new Boom
Tube. Back so soon, whatever had taken him away must have
been trivial. He stood beside the woman, his mistress and
smiled at the devastation before holding out a shard of crystal towards
the woman that he had chosen. Komand’r saw the
woman’s alabaster hands reach out, taking the proffered
gift. She clutched it to her breast in what had to be ecstasy.
The Dark Lord smiled, turning back to the Plaza as he cast his gaze
over the battlefield; the slaughter. Komand’r held
his breath as his dark, crackling eyes swept over her hiding place,
lingering. Staring daggers into her soul.
“Step forward, Komand’r of
Tamaran…”
Komand’r’s eyes went wide. She had been
found out. She saw the Amazons turning her way, ready to
strike. She lifted her chin and stepped into the light,
looking about the Plaza from the corners of her eyes. She was
the last.
“I have need, child,” Darkseid said, commanding her
attention once more. His voice sent a chill down her spine
and she licked her lips again. Sweat dripped slowly down her
back.
“My followers, my trusted Elite are not here this day to
witness my greatest victory. My glory…
This day, this time the Tiger has at last cornered his prey.
You are witness, Blackfire. You are the
last…”
Komand’r dropped to one knee and bowed her head.
She wondered at the name from her youth, that special name that the
Warlords had given her years before.
“My life for yours, Dark One.”
Darkseid chuckled. “Not your life, girl, but your
eyes… your voice. Truly you are
chosen.” The Dark Lord extended his arm,
outstretched his hand, which his mistress took willingly.
“You are witness, Tamaranian. You alone are worthy,
by your guile and wily ways. You alone shall witness that,
which I have craved… For so long…”
Komand’r glanced up…
“So long…”
Darkseid smiled- lovingly at the woman, his mistress, and she smiled
again, in return. They held hands, staring into one
another’s eyes, like lovers. The woman nodded, and
Komand’r noted that the crystal shard had vanished.
Darkseid laughed and turned to Komand’r again, his eyes
aflame with red energy, crackling with the fire of the Omega Effect!
“Remember…” he said as the Seeker Beams
shot forth, twisting wildly and at odd, right angles as they veered
almost alive, coursing through the assembled crowd.
Komand’r screamed to see the beams arching at her.
She looked to the dais, her body shaking, eyes filled with
fright. She knew that there was no escape from the Omega
Effect!
“No…”
She saw the Dark Lord leaning forward, a hand on the woman’s
cheek as she leaned almost tenderly towards him…
She saw them kiss…
And her world fell away as the twin red beams struck home…
7.
GORD:
The
Slave Pens…
Koriand’r hissed as she hit the straw littered floor of her
cell. Her shoulder throbbed in pain, and tears welled in her
eyes as she curled up in the foul smelling mat of hay and offal, her
detriment of the last few weeks packed and crusty on the hard clay
floor.
She was bleeding again. The wounds that the Psions had
created when they attached their probes, extracted their samples and
secretions. Between her legs…
Koriand’r curled up, pressing her thighs together to stop the
flow of blood, and semen. She needed to wash, but there was
no water. Not even a bucket for her own natural
excretions. They did not care. They just kept
touching… Probing…
Dox was the worst. He took her without a word, the Coluan,
his steely eyes watching her for response as he drove into her,
thrusting into her again, and again…
There was no pleasure for her. She barely felt it anymore.
But he had made her bleed. She needed to wash, feeling
filthy. She sucked back her tears and let her hand drift
between her legs. She needed to be clean…
Damn
Komand’r! Damn her!
X’hal, why had she done this?
What did they want?
KORIAND’R
The Princess of Tamaran looked up, gasping as a strange light coalesced
within her cell, taking on mass and shape… form…
She was going mad at last. Thank X’hal…
You
are not going mad, child. I am the Yughagi Mancur…
the Star of Creation! I have come to set things
right…
It is
time to end this…
A white light erupted throughout her cell and Koriand’r
screamed…
8.
SMALLVILLE:
A
short time later…
He recalled it as though it were yesterday. Sometimes it
seemed it was, the way time flew.
Where had the years gone?
They were driving back from town, one step ahead of what the radio was
calling the worst blizzard of fifty years that was sweeping west into
the Plains. The sky was heavy and leaden already, threatening
to drop several feet of snow over the vast, barren fields.
The air had dropped to a frigid chill, and poor Martha was shivering in
the seat beside him because the window on the old Ford
wouldn’t roll up. He’d been meaning to
fix that, but there just didn’t seem to be the time.
They were on Route 32 when the sky lit up like on the Independence Day
fireworks festival. The clouds glowed red as something came
screaming out of the skies like one of those long-range missiles that
the Germans had. Jonathan thought that that’s what
it was at first- he’d been reading the papers, listening to
the radio news. He’d gone all the way into Topeka
just to get a copy of the Daily Star the day after the Kaiser was
shot. Still had it, somewhere.
There was an explosion after the streak of red flame cut right across
the road. Fire shot up off in the cornfield and Martha
screamed as Jonathan cranked the wheel, trying to sidle the pick up
over to the side of the road. They had to get under cover if
the Germans were attacking Kansas.
There was another explosion and Jonathan cursed as the old Ford seemed
to take on a life of its own, skidding sideways and trying to run into
the drainage ditch. He gritted his teeth though, pulling on
the brake as he finally rolled the truck to a stop, hearing the sloppy
flop of the flat tire. He killed the engine.
“You okay, Martha?” he asked, looking to his side
to see her heaving for breath, clutching her chest. Her eyes
were wide as she stared off into the fields, watching the fire spread
over the dead crops that had yet to be culled.
“I’m… I’m fine.
Bless, Jonathan, what was that?”
“I don’t know,” Jonathan said as he
cranked his window down and reached out for the handle outside to open
his door. He climbed out of the pick up and stepped back to
look at the blown tire as Martha slid across the front seat behind
him. He had to get the jack out of the back, unhook the spare
from the carriage beneath the bed. He hoped it was in good
enough shape to get them home. It was starting to
snow…
“Good Lord…”
Martha whispered, her voice shaking from the cold as she tugged on the
sleeve of his flannel jacket. Jonathan glanced at her as he
hefted the jack from the bed, startled and worried to see her hand over
her mouth, her eyes wide with wonder.
“What?” he said, turning to see what she was
pointing at. He stared towards the fires. There was
little to burn, and they were already going out, but there was a wispy
smoke roiling over the fields, and as he stared he saw…
something…
He heard the jack clatter to the ground as his own eyes went wide.
It was… It was a space ship, like something from one of
those old Dime Novels that he’d read when he was
younger. He could see it there plain as day, glowing with
heat and steaming in the dirt, in the trench it had ploughed into the
field when it had crashed. He gasped when he saw the hatch
open, heard a weird hiss and a swirl of steam rise up. He
heard more then; a humming noise, and… a baby…
A baby was crying.
“Jonathan…”
Jonathan…
“Jonathan…”
Jonathan Kent blinked, his eyes fluttering open and then squinting as
the first thing that he saw was the glare of the harsh light of the
store room in back of the mercantile. He saw the water stain
that he had been meaning to buff out and plaster, but had never gotten
to, so he knew where he was. Too, he saw the face of Doc
Foster as he leaned in, his stethoscope cold on his bare chest.
“Breathe for me Jonathan. Deep breath
now…”
Jonathan Kent breathed, his eyes shifting around the room. He
saw Martha standing behind the doctor, looking at him with love and
worry. He saw the sag of the shelf behind her, something else
that he needed to fix before it got worse. They were low on
corn meal he noted as he took another deep breath, coughing and turning
his head…
He saw Clark.
He looked older by a couple years. He looked tired
too. His hair was swept to the side rather than slicked back,
but he wore the familiar red sweater that his aunt had given him one
year, his glasses. How long had it been?
Two
years, five months, six days…
“Clark…”
He saw Clark smile, stepping forward as Doc Foster stood, taking off
his stethoscope and gathering what other equipment that he had been
using, putting it into his little black bag.
“You’re not getting any younger,
Jonathan,” Doc Foster said as he pulled a pad from his jacket
pocket and a pen as he scribbled something. “I want
you to get this from Hanson’s.
Glisterine. It’ll help those
palpitations. Take it easy for a few days too. The
heart’s a strong muscle Jonathan, but push it too hard and
it’ll break like a twig in winter.” He
turned to Martha and Clark. “Make sure he takes the
pills, Martha. Morning and night, twice a day.
Clark, good to have you back home.”
“Good to see you again, Doc,” Clark said, smiling
as he shook Foster’s hand. He sounded like
Clark. Jonathan laid his head back on the thin down of the
pillow, on the cot in the back storeroom. Jonathan watched as
Clark walked the doctor out, Martha sitting on a rickety chair at his
side and clutching his hand.
“Oh, Jonathan,” she said and he saw tears in her
sweet blue eyes. “I thought I’d lost you
for sure.” Jonathan grinned.
“Just the vapors, Martha, I’m sure. You
know Jeb doesn’t know his elbow from
his…”
“Jonathan!”
Jonathan Kent smiled as he stared lovingly at his wife of…
Of…
He could not recall how many years. Oddly, there were a few
things that he could not remember. Clark’s age for
one, and just how many years it had been since they had found him there
in the burning corn fields. Just what year had they opened
the General Store, leaving the farm behind? It all seemed a
misty blur. Age, he assumed. People forgot things
as they got older, but…
Jonathan Kent looked up as Clark returned, carrying Krypto in his
arms. The poor dog had been just that for over two years now,
ever since he had exposed himself to Gold Kryptonite in order to stop
that Superman who had…
Who had…
Jonathan blinked, watching as Krypto licked Clark’s face,
happy to have his master home. Martha smiled down at him, and
Clark stood at the side of the cot.
“How you feeling, Pa?” Clark asked, holding the
white furred mutt as he looked down with a stiff smile.
Jonathan stared at his son, smiling. He was happy as all get
out that Clark had returned at last from the future where he had been
helping the Legion of Super-Heroes battle that Time Trapper…
Jonathan remembered the rending sound of metal as the jack gave
way. He remembered the panic as the truck shifted, then
stopped as the baby lifted the old Ford pick up truck,
laughing. But more…
He remembered the figure in the distance, standing in the corn
field. He had been dressed in ragged, tattered purple church
robes, like a monk or a friar or some such. He remembered the
thick, rusty chain dangling from his wrist as he stood there in the
swirling snow, watching…
There had been a flash of white, just like the other night.
“Pa?”
Jonathan Kent focused on his adopted son. He saw the smiling
but worried face. He felt the warm fist clutching his own
weak hand.
“You all right, Pa?”
“I’m…” Jonathan Kent
swallowed, glancing at the love of his life, his wife Martha, then back
to the boy- the man that he had considered his son for so
long. “I’m fine son, now that
you’re back. But… But how?
You’ve been gone so long and… and we
thought…”
Clark seemed to stare off into space for a moment. He sighed,
a shiver running through him before he grinned once again, letting
Krypto leap to the floor.
“I don’t know Pa. I don’t
remember much. Red skies… lights…
storms… I don’t know. But I’m
back now, from wherever I was. I’m
home…”
“Thank God…” Martha whispered, starting
to cry.
But Jonathan had to wonder…
To
be continued...
Next Issue: M2K DEATH imparts
Darkseid’s greatest wish upon him… the ANTI-LIFE
EQUATION! How will this affect JLU: 2001and all its
peoples? Wait and see, next issue in…
REVELATIONS!
DARK GENESIS # 4
These
stories and
more continue at JLU:
2001 in Dark Genesis #4 and all the titles...
Stay tuned...
Curt F
EIC
JLU: 2001
Send
Reviews, Comments, and Other Mail to Curtis
Fernlund
Story © 2006 Curt
Fernlund and may not be reproduced without permission.
