METROPOLIS
The Offices of the Daily Star

Kent scowled as he stared out the window of his offices situated on the uppermost floor of The Daily Star building.  They were spacious and lavish, one might even suggest decadent though never to the face of the newspaper’s Owner/Editor-in-Chief/Publisher.  The furniture, from the long, sectional couch to the matching office chairs were all plush and covered in sweet smelling calf skin leather and shaded a luxuriant black.  Any wood showing was darkly lacquered cherry, imported from the Far East and shaped to his perfect expectations by the last of the Druids.  The carpeting was deep and hand-stitched by olive-skinned, naked women in the heart of Persia.  He could still smell the blood lacing the fibers when someone walked across the shag.  Original paintings and photographic prints lined the paneled walls in perfect symmetry; Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Warhol and Libowitz all cast in a slight glow of track lighting set into the white acoustical tiles that set pattern in the ceiling.  All for show and relatively meaningless to him however.  Except for his desk.

That was the only oddity that seemed out of place in the otherwise stylized and proper rooms.  It was blue and red, though the colors had faded some and still showed the tarnish and scorch of reentry.  It had taken some effort on his part to mold the old rocket into a shape resembling the cubical desk – it was from Home after all.  In the end however, persistence and perseverance won out.  And of course just the right amount of Kryptonite.  He was proud of his efforts though, and actually kept the thing looking good and polished.  He had burned his way through three maids until one finally got it right, achieving just the proper sheen to offset his dazzling blue eyes properly when he sat behind it.  Image was everything in his profession.  Which was why the desktop remained clear save for the blotter, phone, computer monitor and his one treasured momento.  The first chip of Kryptonite that he had ever encountered, displayed proudly on its obsidian pedestal.  It was useless now of course, its properties sucked dry ages ago, the radiation sparking his inherent abilities; ultra strength, speed and near invulnerability.  The other things came later, like the ultra vision and true flight, when other trinkets from Krypton finally reached Earth, but that first chunk of stone was special.

He still remembered how loudly Corben had screamed when he had ripped it from the robot’s chest.  Idiot.

Kent returned his attention to the window, or rather, what lay beyond.  The giant ‘hand’ still seemed to be growing, or maybe it was simply coming closer.  It defied his array of visions though, so there was really no way to tell just how big it truly was, or even if it was real.  He had his doubts, not that he cared.  It was making the sheep restless though, and that annoyed him.

He shifted his gaze downward to the crowded streets below.  The masses were still trundling along to work even at midmorning.  Metropolis truly never slept, and barely paused if the citizenry knew what was best for them.  But of course they didn’t.  That was his job.  If God had wanted them to think and act on their own, then why create Clark Kent?

Still, he saw them pause occasionally, glancing skyward, and he heard their whispered murmurs, some of the timid, low voices actually tinged with hope.  How swiftly they forgot.

“Open,” he said and the thick glass pane of the window shifted, tilting on its vertical axis.  Kent leaned on the sill, leaning out slightly.  There was a chill in the air.  He could feel it, though of course it did not affect him.  He could smell the soot and smoke of the factories on the wind, the stench blowing in off the harbor and the reek of garbage rising from the streets.  He would have to appoint a new Sanitation crew soon, to replace those fools who thought they could strike for more food.  Idiots.  They could take whatever they found in the trash, yet they wanted more.

But that was for another day.  Let the populace wallow in its excrement awhile longer to learn their lesson.  And speaking of lessons…

“Fry, bitch.”

“Burn, faggot.”

“Sizzle, scum.”

A smile played at his lips as again and again his eyes radiated scarlet and twin beams shot down to the streets.  Piles of ash blew on the wind, ten, twenty, a hundred times before he finally stopped.  He watched as the survivors scurried along, hurrying now and back on track.  Examples were always needed it seemed.  Maybe he was getting lax, or soft hearted?  Maybe he needed to do something dramatic to remind the cattle just who was running the show?  They had almost rebuilt Coast City.  Maybe leveling it again would be a decent reminder?

“Proud of yourself, lover?”

Clark Kent tensed at the sound of the sultry, venomous voice purring from behind and dripping with sarcasm.  He knew who it was of course.  He had smelled her perfume, heard the clack of her heels on the tiled floor of the outer office, but he had been so into his pleasures that he had ignored her approach, not expecting her to actually stop in and deign give him audience.

“Close,” he said, raking his fingers through his thick, black hair and slicking his widow’s peak to a sharp point as the window obeyed and shut once again.  He stood straight, adjusting his scarlet power tie, tugging at the hem of his tailored black Armani jacket before finally turning to strike a casually heroic pose.

He saw his wife doing the same, and he had to admit (at least to himself) that in civvies, she was better at it than he was.  She was dressed in that Fifties style that she preferred, a fashion trend for those that could afford it, hands fisted on her hips and one leg cocked just so.  Her suit was violet, the tight skirt hugging her hips and just brushing her knees, though slit clear up the thigh to show her well-toned legs.  The jacket seemed tight, but he knew that it was meant to be, and open to reveal the dark leather corset beneath, laced tightly to accentuate her ample rack.  She wore dark nylons, the flowery garter peeking teasingly through the slit in her dress, and sparkling leather pumps of soft black leather with blocky six-inch heels.  Young Olsen had been hard at work it seemed, and as if on cue he saw the aggravating tuft of red hair back away from the open doorway.  He should fry the little shit someday, just to piss her off.

Lois Lane grinned wickedly, striding forward after easing the door closed behind.  Kent saw Olsen’s silhouette framed in the frosted glass, trying to listen and he let his eyes spark menacingly.

“I wish you’d leave your lapdog home, precious,” he sneered and Lois giggled.

“Oh, leave my puppy alone, Kent,” she said as she say heavily in one of the plush leather chairs, the padding hissing as she settled, crossing her legs enticingly.  “Every woman needs a little footboy when her big, bad husband is off ruling the world.  He’s a harmless simp.  Definitely not a stud like you, lover.”

Lois grinned, letting her foot kick as Clark took his seat opposite, behind the desk.  He stared at his wife, feeling that old and almost forgotten lust that had stirred him so long ago.  He should take her again, just like he did back then.  Bust her up the ass until she screamed for more.

“Someone’s horny.”

Kent blinked as Lois grinned that sadistic grin that she had perfected over the years.  He sagged, feeling deflated just as quickly as arousal had set in.  Hot and cold, like a faucet.  Cunt.

“That your doing, Kent?” she finally asked, nodding towards the window.  He had expected duplicity, thought maybe that she had set up the grand illusion, but her heart beat steady and no sweat.  She did not know.  “You should let the rest of us know when you’re planning some stunt like this.”

“Not mine, ‘lover’,” he mimicked her term of endearment just as hollowly as she had presented it.  Where had that gone wrong he wondered, but of course he knew the answer.  “Maybe your boyfriend did it.”

She clicked her tongue.  “Jealous fuck.  I don’t have a boyfriend.  Who could possibly steal my heart after you?”

“Wayne…”

“Jeez,” she sighed, throwing her hands up, sour laughter in her voice.  “As if!  His little pecker’s a toothpick compared to your baseball bat, he man.”

“How would you know?” he asked, smirking as she blushed just a bit.  She recovered quickly though.

“I DO have Super Vision, numb nuts.”

Kent scowled, settling back in his chair and crossing his legs.  He glanced out the windows, seeing green stretching from horizon to horizon.  “Well, if not you, or Wayne, I suppose we should investigate.  Maybe Luthor’s behind this.  Or maybe it’s some new challenge.”

He watched as Lois bit her lip, seemingly excited by that thought.

“That would be marvelous.  I am so bored.”

Clark grinned.  “Well, we can’t have Lois getting bored, now can we?” he said, standing.  He ripped open his shirt, buttons flying to reveal his waxed chest and washboard abs beneath.  He saw Lois lick her lips and teeth.

“Hunky, bastard…”

“Sexy slut!”

Faster than a speeding bullet he had her splayed and naked on the desk, pounding rhythmically…

A few short minutes later, two forms streaked skyward.

SPACE
The CSA Satellite

Johnny Quick was all a flutter as his blurry form whizzed from view port to view port like a Will o’ the Wisp.  He was sweating bullets in the controlled atmosphere of the Star Chamber, his body vibrating with excitement even as he pressed his palms and face to the icy plasteel.  From space the anomaly was even more dramatic; a huge green hand moving to engulf the Earth within its gargantuan gloved fist, a massive white arm stretching away to infinity.

God he was ready to burst.

“At ease, speed ball,” the slurred voice said from one of the viewing couches behind him.  “Your dancin’ around’s giving me a headache.”

Quick turned, wiping the sweat from his brow and licking at his chaffed lips as he stared at the latest incarnation of Power Ring.  He did not like this new kid any more than he had the Nigger.  Arrogant little Yuppie prick.  Hadn’t been a decent ‘Ring’ since Scot IHHO, but of course it was Volthoom that made the decisions in that.  ‘Strong willed but easily corruptible’, that’s what Owl Man said, and he generally knew better than anyone did.

Except Kent of course.  At least according to him.

“You don’t sound concerned,” Quick said, turning back to the port, “or even interested.  This is GREAT!”

Quick saw the reflection of the young Power Ring shrug in the ‘glass’, then raise a can of beer to his lips.  The speedster could not fault the kid for looking for outside entertainment to make the days pass a little easier.  Hell, Johnny Quick was the last man to worry over another man’s addictions; he had so many of his own.

“I’m still the new kid on the block, Twinkle Toes,” Raynor said, upending the can then crushing it in his fist before tossing it aside for the servo-bots to gather.  “I ain’t as bored with life as the rest a’ you losers yet.  Shit like that’s an annoyance.  ‘Sides, soon as Ultraman soaks up some K, whatever that is will go away.  Kent’ll get some new power like ‘Interdimensional Frost Breath’ an’ blow that sucker t’ wherever it came from.”  The Ring shrugged again, popping the top on another beer can.  “What’s the point our gettin’ all worked up?”

“Could be we’ll be needed,” Quick replied, still pacing nervously.  He could feel the adrenaline pumping away now, and knew that he would need another hit soon if something did not happen.

“I doubt it will come to that.”

Both Johnny Quick and Power Ring turned at the sound of the cold and calm voice coming from the doorway.  They saw the Owlman striding into the room, his eyes shifting to take in the monitors as he approached the wide table that centered the hall, then taking a seat with a flourish of his cloak.  They saw the Ocean Master as well, not too far behind, the huge bulbous helmet gurgling water with every step and breath that he took.

“Kent and Superwoman are out there now,” he said, gesturing towards the huge view port and the gigantic green hands beyond, “and S’mth, though what help he’ll be I can’t imagine.”  Wayne turned to glare at the Power Ring.  “Surprised you aren’t out there with them, Raynor.  Volthoom doesn’t deem this a situation worthy of his attention?”

Power Ring shrugged.  “He wants to see what Ultraman does.”

“It’s magic, obviously,” Wayne went on.  “Kent, for all his bluster can’t do shit against that, and Lane isn’t powerful enough.  The Martian Manslayer is useless, and so are Quick and I in this case.  That leaves you.”

“In your dreams, maybe,” Power Ring replied.  He could hear the buzz of Volthoom in the back of his head, oddly muffled for some reason, but screaming obscenities none the less.  “Truth, Volthoom is tellin’ me ta get the fuck out'ta Dodge.  Screw Earth an’ the CSA altogether an’ head for greener pastures.  Don’t think I didn’t consider it.”

“This reminds me… of the Red Skies,” Ocean Master gurgled, bubbles massing about his shrouded face as he spoke.  He struck a heroic pose, his muscular form rippling as he planted his Lemurian Staff of Regency for full affect.

“Shut up,” Wayne grumbled, his hand sliding across the computer keyboard inset in the table top and zooming in on the minute forms of Lane, S’mth and Kent as they unleashed their various scorching eye beams at the massive hand to no effect.  The hand continued to close, a gargantuan fist threatening to crush the world.  “This is far worse than the Red Skies.  Reality seems to be shifting, and this time it appears that the JLA will not be pulling our fat out of the fire.  I don’t understand it all… but I will, and for that I need you out there too, Raynor.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Raynor snapped, standing as a greenish glow encompassed his body.

“I am now, you drunken fool.  Go!  Keep Kent in check while I figure out how to save us all.”

The Power Ring glared at Owlman, energy crackling about his fist as he seemed to listen to something unheard, his gaze shifting towards the viewport again.  Finally, after a few seconds of seething silence he seemed to relax and sigh.

“Fine…”

Power Ring erupted in a wash of verdant light and shot skyward, his body fading just a bit as he ghosted through the ceiling.  The remaining three members of the CSA watched until the glow faded and the form of Power Ring appeared, first in the viewport, then on the monitors as he rocketed towards the hand and the others.  Owlman smiled finally, his hand sliding across the keypad and finally depressing a series of studs.

Johnny Quick was the first to notice the Teleporter come to life, his head swiveling immediately as the all too familiar glow bled across the pristine white floor tiles.  “What?” he said, his body suddenly across the room, watching as three forms started to materialize.  “Who?” he stuttered even as the taser slapped into the back of his neck, an electrical jolt racing through his body, making him scream and quiver before he fell to the floor in a convulsive heap.

“What – “ Ocean Master started to say as he looked, first to Wayne, then to the armored figure stepping from the Teleporter Platform, its bulky green and purple arm extended.  He screamed as the heat rippled about him, dehydrating him in a fiery flash and forcing him to succumb to unconsciousness in the wave of suppressed fire.  He fell to the floor, gasping as his water boiled, searing his skin, writhing as his body sizzled and cracked in the intense heat.  Still he heard the odd squeaking sound and looked up –

To see the Gleeman staring down at him, mocking him with a wide and sadistic smile, silver hammer in hand and raised high.

“Bang-bang!” the clown jeered, the hammer crashing into Orin’s helmet, shattering the glass that contained his life-saving water.  The Ocean Master began flopping about, gasping for breath as his hands went to the gils set within his throat.  The light faded as the third form stepped free and over him, ignoring his death gasps.

“Well, that was easier than expected,” Alexander Luthor said as he stepped into the Hall, looking about.  It had been some time since he had least been on the satellite of the CSA, but little had changed it seemed.  The decay was still there, the pall of oppression in the décor.  It was depressing.

“You’re working on the side of the angels now, Luthor,” Wayne said with just a hint of sarcasm.  “What did you expect?”

“Maybe just a bit of regret?” Napier said as he replaced the oxygen mask to his face, breathing deeply.  “Joke’s on you, Wayne.  As always.”

“Fuck you, clown,” Owlman said as he stood and stepped away from the table.  “Don’t think that just because you three convinced me of the importance of helping you in this crisis means that I trust any of you.”  He turned to glare at the third man, scowling slightly as he strode to the door.  “Least of all you, Savage.”

“I don’t ask for your trust, Owlman,” Savage replied as he fell into step behind the ‘hero’.  “Simply your cooperation.  Your ‘Star of Destruction’ is the key to ending this, and I would move Heaven and Earth to see it so.”

“Whatever,” Owlman said as he slipped through the doorway and into the outer hall.  He led the three men through the winding corridors of the satellite, finally to a thick, reinforced metal door that seemed locked with a variety of security measures.  Owlman paused, waiting for Luthor to catch up, pushing the Gleeman in his wheelchair.

“The Trophy Room,” he said casually as he removed his gloves.  He placed one hand palm flush onto a lighted panel set into the wall as the other quickly typed out a series of numbers on a small keypad.  Within the space of a few moments, the heavy door slid open with a hiss and gush of frosty air.  “Don’t talk to Brainiac,” Wayne said as he stepped within the room beyond.

Vandal Savage looked right and left as he followed Wayne into the vast room.  There were pedestals and display cases scattered about and clogging the walls, each showing some apparent victory in the minds of the CSA.  There was a gigantic rock, glowing slightly green that he assumed to be spent Kryptonite.  There was a key almost seven feet long propped against the far wall beside a helmet of bronze resting on a plastic bust set on a metallic stand.  There was a gargantuan die almost two stories tall and wide settled in the far corner, and a shining man of metal standing at attention, a gaping hole in his chest and oozing some black fluid that streaked his otherwise pristine frame.  Most impressive however was the brain, pulsing with electricity and free floating in a vat of viscous liquid.

“Brainiac, I presume,” Savage said as the four passed, going deeper into the vast room.

“What’s left of him anyway,” the Owlman answered, weaving through the display cases with a practiced ease and determination in his step.  He knew where he was going of course, but with each stride his mind raced, trying to find some flaw in his judgement, some error to stay the inevitable.

He remembered the case involving the so-called ‘Star of Destruction’.  It had taken the entire team to stop the creature that resided within the oddly shaped azure gem and not a moment before she had almost wiped away reality as they knew it.  Only the combined might of the Martian Manslayer and Power Ring, Stewert may he burn in Hades, managed to suppress the entity and trap it within the rock once more.  And now this ‘Savage’ wanted to release it again?

Insane…

Wayne stopped before the case that held the stone, marveling at the thing that had almost killed them all.  It was a queer thing; bluish gray and streaked with silver.  About the size of a football, though spherical it had stony spikes jutting from its surface.  It pulsed lightly in confinement, a dull blue glow that rippled like heat on the highway in the desert.

“That’s it?”

Owlman turned at Savage’s voice and blinked to see the man wearing a grotesque helmet of metal resembling – for lack of a better description – a colander studded with metal spikes and plugs that sparked with a staticky energy.

“What … “ he started to say, then screamed in agony as something slammed into his knee, shattering the cap.  Even as he staggered, his world clouding crimson through his tearing eyes his hands drifted to his utility belt, his thumb opening a sealed compartment, which deposited a handful of plastic balls into his quivering palm.

And the Gleeman’s silver hammer smashed into his head, cracking his helmet and ripping it from his shoulders.  Wayne fell to the sticky, tiled floor with a thud lost under Napier’s mocking laughter, his hand hitting the floor and relinquishing the small spheres.

“Feel good… bitch?” the Gleeman wheezed, raising his hammer high to strike again.  “Hammer time!”

“Laugh this off, clown!” Owlman hissed through gritted teeth as he slammed his fist down onto the balls.  They exploded in sparks immediately, smoldering about Wayne’s hand before emitting a gas that spiraled upwards, caught in the currents of air-conditioning.  Wayne held his breath, trying to scramble away as the Gleeman stared in confusion, surprised.

Then he started to hack and cough, screaming finally as the gas started to burn his lungs and flesh, sizzling and boiling, eating it away.

“Jack!” Luthor shouted even as he rushed forward to his friend’s side.  His armor sealed at his whim, his gauntlets humming as he blasted compressed air across the crippled form of his wheelchair bound friend.  Napier writhed in his seat, and even as Alexander Luthor realized that he had failed – again – the Gleeman’s head lolled to the side showing a face half-chalky white from chemicals and half scarred red and sodden, melting and dripping flesh to the bone.  His left eye was wide with pain and fright, milky white and staring blindly.  His mouth twisted in a deformed and smoldering smile.

“Jack…” Luthor said as he fell to his knees at his friend’s side with a resounding ‘clang’.

Vandal Savage turned away in disgust as Luthor started to weep.  He could only imagine what the real Luthor would think of such a display.  But time to muse on that later.  He would have to hurry, if Zard’s timetable was close to accurate.

He ran a gloved hand over the display case that held the ‘Star’.  It was chilled, and he could feel just a bit of static that made his fingers tingle and goose bumps rise upon his flesh.  Warded of course.  The CSA was not totally inept after all.  Still, a simple matter to be sure.

Savage held his hand to the side and up just a bit, envisioning that which he desired.  The air seemed to ripple for a moment, and suddenly his hand was encompassed within a metallic gauntlet; a huge and bulky thing that looked made for someone twice his side.  He paid no heed to fashion as he smashed his fist through the thick display glass.  There were alarms of course, but he ignored them as he reached through the jagged hole and grasped the ‘Star of Destruction’ in his gauntleted hand.  He smiled as he withdrew the stone, holding it high.

---

Wayne winced at the pain as he straightened his leg, biting his cheek to keep from howling.  He had not felt such agony since Kent had seared a hole through his shoulder three years ago.  Damn him.  That still ached when it got cold.

He struggled back amongst the shadows, trying to stay out of sight between display cases even while trying to keep the man Savage in his line of sight.  He could only imagine that all hell was about to break loose, but still he was curious to see just what the other worlder was going to do.  Savage’s bizarre helmet was crackling with energy as he raised the Star of Destruction higher.  The rock was glowing brighter now, and Savage actually seemed to be speaking to it, though in whispered words too low to hear.

Owlman eased forward a bit, glancing quickly towards the view port and the gigantic green hand enveloping the world.  It retained position, the grip seeming to squeeze now as wisps of steaming ochre light sifted up from between the fingers.  Owlman thought that he must be becoming senseless from the pain in his leg, as the wisps of light actually seemed human occasionally, almost ghostly with distorted limbs and stretched and screaming faces.  And he swore that he was hearing screams, like a low and constant whine in the back of his brain.

And it was right about then that the Star of Destruction exploded…

SPACE

S’m S’mth screamed in agony as his body twisted and morphed; fluidly stretching to once unknown limits, then jerkily compressing into a disjointed mass that looked only vaguely humanoid.  Jagged spikes of bone ripped through his flesh only to be replaced a heartbeat later by gaping holes oozing blood.  His body convulsed and writhed of its own accord, but as hideous as the display became, the turmoil in his mind was worse.

He heard the psychic anguish of every soul that slipped through the gargantuan fingers.  His mind reeled at the constant, horrid shrieks of terror and pain as the spirits of thousands were ripped away in a sudden shock.  He ‘saw’ the souls spiraling off into that area beyond reality, screaming as Thanatos stepped forward from the shadows to claim them one by one, his face hideous as he sat astride his pale steed.

There was no pause or mercy; neither for the tormented souls, nor the Manslayer as his own screams silently rose to crescendo.

At least until Ultraman slapped him.

“Idiot,” Ultraman said with a sneer of contempt, watching as the Martian’s unconscious body slowly morphed back into its natural state even as it tumbled through the void and into the waiting arms of Superwoman.  He saw Lois’ face twist in disgust as she got a grip on the Manslayer’s spiky tail before drifting back his way with a touch of flight.  S’mth was an incompetent fool, but he had his uses on occasion.  Best not to let him go tumbling into the void.

“What do you suppose happened to him?” Lois asked, draping the slimy white tail over her shoulder to let the Martian dangle at her back.  She sneered again as she eased her head from side to side, and Kent heard her bones popping loudly over their Comlink.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”  Ultraman turned his back on his wife as he gazed once more towards the Earth and the hand that still held his adopted world in its grip.  It was not real of course.  S’mth had confirmed that before he went bitch, but they had suspected as much when their awesome powers simply faded within the green uselessly.  The hand could not be touched.  It was a figment apparently, a representation of something, whatever was happening.  Something magic probably.  It stank of magic.

Kent did not have to turn to know that Power Ring had arrived, as a green glow grew brighter as he neared.

“It’s Raynor,” Lane said, as if he did not know.

“No shit.”  Kent turned as the boy glided to a stop, his body enveloped in a green glow all its own, containing environment and protecting.  He was no Jordin or Scot by a long shot, or even Stewert for that matter, but he was more easily manipulated than those other servants of Volthoom. “About time, boy.  Where have you been?”

“The satellite, jefe.” Power Ring scowled.  He seemed distracted, and Kent could only imagine what Volthoom was babbling in his head.  “Quick, Owlman and Ocean Master are there waiting to see what happens.”

“Of course they are,” Kent replied.  “Waiting to see if we all get offed.  I wouldn’t put it past Wayne to have set all this in motion.  Blast the hand, boy.  Make yourself useful.”

“The Ring says there’s nothing there.”

Ultraman was suddenly there, his hand about Power Ring’s throat, aura an all.  “I suggest you try, boy.  Just to make me happy.  You want me to be happy don’t you?”  Raynor gagged, trying to speak and in the end barely nodded.  Ultraman smirked to hear Lois giggling and shoved the boy away.  Raynor rubbed at his throat, staring daggers at Ultraman but finally did as ordered.

A shaft of green light erupted from the ring, arching away towards the massive hand at the speed of light.  Both Kent and Lane could watch of course, Ultra and Super Visions kicked into high, but as expected the beam was simply swallowed by the spectral image of the closing fist.  Raynor snorted –

“Told’ja.”

Ultraman was about to vaporize Raynor’s head when the giant green hand simply vanished.  No explosions, no flash of lightning or rumble of thunder.  Not even a bang or a whimper, but somehow Kent could feel the dread creeping through his body.  The world had changed somehow, that much he knew.  But…

Lights appeared, like camera flashes repeating across the globe in staccato repetition.  He tried to focus, his Ultra Vision shifting too slowly as he tracked the glaring spots, but beyond the fading residual glow, nothing seemed amiss or different –

“New Amsterdam.”

Kent turned to see Lois focusing her own Super Vision at the planet.  He followed her gaze with his own enhanced senses and saw what she had spotted; a group of people in costume.  Not the League however, as he had expected, nor the Avengers.

“Who the fuck are they?”

“No idea,” Lois answered, holding the unconscious Martian at arm’s length for Raynor to take in a force bubble.  “But it looks as though we finally have something to hit, ‘lover’.  I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”

Kent’s lip curled slightly as he glanced at Power Ring.  “Contact the satellite and tell the others to get down there.  Then wake up S’mth.”

“On it,” Power Ring confirmed as the trio started moving Earthward, slowly at first and dragging the Manslayer behind like a pull toy.  They had not gotten far when Wayne’s voice cut over the Comlink…

“We’re under attack.  Satellite’s been compromised.  It’s Luthor, Gleeman and some unknown from Earth 2 called Savage.”

“I knew it,” Ultraman snarled.  “It IS the League!”

“That doesn’t look like the League I remember,” Lane countered as she unwound her Magic Lasso of Submission from her shapely hip.  “Hell, there’s three guys in tuxedoes, and the big one looks like a dried up clump of clay.”

“They’re a fucking Legion then.  Maybe the regulars sent in their second string to prevent the usual dimensional swap.  Whatever, they go down, and hard.  No one invades my world!  Let’s go!”

And faster than a speeding bullet, Ultraman was gone…

…deunitnoc eb oT