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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:05:07 GMT -5
 Deus Ex Machina
Chapter Eleven: The Music of the Spheres
Story and Art by Chaltab
Edited by Jay McIntyre
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:09:53 GMT -5
Space
The stars blurred into streaks of light as Death warped across the universe, her target looming ever larger in front of her. The Black Racer, a torrent of souls streaming behind him from billions of dead across the cosmos, was flying towards a planet breaking apart—the strain on the space-time continuum caused by the release of the White Light was damaging worlds millions of light years away. Such a narrow beam, but so much power.
It was all Death could do to choke back tears of anger.
All those people dying—it wasn't supposed to be the day of their deaths yet. She hadn't been meant to collect them for some time now...
Very little time from the perspective of the Endless, but lifetimes for mortals. Death whispered apologies to the dying planets as she flew past, then sped up as she neared (relatively, he was still a few parsecs away) the Black Racer. Then she smashed into him, her open palm slamming into his face and knocking him from his skis. The Black Racer careened across the cosmos and slammed into a black hole, disrupting the gravity for a dozen large planets that orbited around it.
Before the laws of physics could even moan their protest, he wrapped his hands around the singularity and hurled it at Death, the super-massive object slamming into the Endless’ forehead and deflecting off into the darkness of space. Death recovered in time to block as the Black Racer brought a silver blade down towards her.
Death reached up and caught the sword, too stunned to move out of the way—and as her hands clasped the cold metal, energy flowed into her. She realized, startled, that the blade was itself the ankh that she had worn around her neck for eons, pouring her power into it. It was her symbol, her icon. That was how he was doing it, she realized. The Black Racer had glutted on her power, and was now using it in the service of Darkseid.
She felt the steel pull away, breaking from her grip, and found the strength to move before the Black Racer could attack her again. She darted to her left and felt space time ripple from the force of another slash. Death kicked off her shoes and they drifted out into the darkness of space; then, as the Black Racer slashed again, she dodged forward and down, letting the blade pass over her shoulder, then surged forward. She kicked off the smooth side of the blade—Death felt the cold metal against her toes, and then felt more of her former power surge into her body—and lunged towards the Black Racer. His eyes widened as Death’s foot slammed into his face, staggering him backward.
“Little god,” she said. “Poor little god, a slave to Darkseid’s whims. I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:11:08 GMT -5
Earth-321
El Paso, Texas
“Now why are you going towards the unstable alternate Earths again?” Paco asked as he hefted Milagro out of the car. She wanted to give her brother a hug before she went off to his possible death.
“Delirium showed up again,” Jaime said. “It was like a dream or something, but I know what my dreams are like, and my dreams are never as weird as sharing one with Delirium was. She told me that I had to find someone out there or else all the Earths would collapse from the cosmological strain—or something like that.”
“Be careful, Jaime,” Milagro said, waving around her Wonder Woman action figure. Jaime leaned forward to hug her, and Paco handed the girl off to him. She weighed more than Jaime had remembered.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, putting his sister down on the ground in front of him. He knelt so that his face was level with hers. “Keep Paco and Brenda safe for me. Tell Traci… she snores. Like really loud.”
Milagro smiled. “Okay. But you’d better not mess this up and make the Earth 'splode”
Jaime nodded. “Yeah, sure. No pressure.” He stood up, reaching out with his mind to the Scarab bonded to his spine. The armor crawled all over him and transformed him into the Blue Beetle. His rocket pack and wings deployed and he stepped away from his sister and his best friend.
"Hold down the fort. I’m blasting off!”
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:13:43 GMT -5
Metropolis
Babs Gordon had always had a bit of trouble with hero worship. As a kid, she geeked out over the idea of Batman and dreamed of following in his footsteps—a path she eventually took as Batgirl. She never once felt uncomfortable around the Dark Knight, even before she learned his secret identity. It was unusual for her to feel uncomfortable because of the presence of others—as though she were inadequate.
That was how the gods made her feel. They surrounded the Watchtower in a defensive grid, blasting the waves of Parademons that came near. The distraction the gods caused was only slightly less frustrating than being left undefended would have been, by Babs’ estimation.
But she forced her discomfort to the back of her mind; she had a job to do. Oracle’s voice came loud and clear through the digital telepathic connection that now linked her with every human being on the planet. “Batman, there are terrorists trying to break into the Israeli nuclear arsenal. I think you should take this one, because it looks like their being led by your old friends the League of Shadows.”
Batman grunted, then glanced back at the assortment of heroes gathered in Metropolis. “I want Zatanna, Captain Atom, and Booster Gold.”
Oracle thought the command to the Mother Box and it complied, teleporting the four of them to Palestine.
“Doctors Psycho and Poison are trying to resurrect Cthulhu in Rome. Wonder Woman, this one is yours.”
Wonder Woman nodded. “I’m taking Gypsy, Vixen, and Blue Devil.”
“J’onn, Beijing is being overrun by zombies. I understand your wife lives there.”
“Yes. Send me there. I’ll take with Red Tornado, Shining Knight, and Crimson Avenger.”
Oracle had the computer comply. “John, Sinestro and the rest of his Corps are rallying over Toronto.”
Green Lantern’s eyes flashed green. “I’ll need some heavy hitters for this. I want Steel, Doctor Fate, and Metamorpho.”
“Done.” Oracle typed in the coordinates on her keypad. “Flash, Captain Cold and Parademons are overrunning Keystone.”
Wally West nodded. “Okay, Ralph, Gavin, and Todd, you up for this?”
“Hawkgirl, St. Roch is no more chaotic than anywhere else, and I think Hawkman has that covered. The Dark Wingmen are heading towards Oolong Island.”
“That’s definitely a problem,” Shayera said. “Send me there with Johnny Thunder, Rocket Red, and Fire.”
Once they were gone, Superman’s voice rang loud and clear in Oracle’s head.
“Why haven’t you sent me anywhere yet?”
“I’m on it, Superman. I thought you’d want to see this. Hold on, I’m patching an image through to your optic nerve.”
Before his eyes, the ruins of Babylon appeared, where Parademons poured out. In the center of the chaos, the armored New God stood—Darkseid—different, but recognizably himself. His trademark helmet surrounded a head that appeared carved from granite, glowing red eyes casting a disdainful look on the Earth below him; he was now enormous, standing five stories high. His armor, now cobalt blue, had a silver Omega symbol emblazoned on breastplate.
“He’s back,” Oracle said. “Reports on the ground say he’s calling himself Abaddon.”
“'Destroyer',” Superman observed. “No, like hell. Not while I'm around.” Superman lifted off the ground and blasted off, not waiting for any allies to join him.
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:17:11 GMT -5
Earth-181
Gotham City
“Great Scott!” boomed a bombastic voice. “What in the name of Poseidon's beard are these things?”
The monsters had begun descending from the sky right after all the alternate Earths appeared in the heavens—before anyone even had time to investigate that strange cosmological occurrence, they were up to their necks in winged gray demons with glowing yellow eyes. Aquaman's fist pistoned forward and clocked a Parademon in the face, staggering the alien monster back. But it seemed like the Parademon was made of stone; even with Aquaman's super strength, the blow had barely phased it. Aquaman glanced at a nearby fire hydrant and reached out with his Atlantean senses, feeling the water pressure within. He extended his hands, and the hydrants burst open, the liquid arcing out and coming towards him.
“Arthur!” called Batman, his blue cape fluttering as he ran towards one of the monsters. He leaped forward, grabbing a Parademon's shoulders and rolling forward with it, tossing it into the air while he was on the bottom.
Aquaman formed the water he had summoned into a high-tension projectile and launched it with his telekinesis; it arced into the Parademon and the monster exploded into chunks of granite, showering the Caped Crusader with pebbles.
“Nice shot,” said Batman.
"Outrageous!” called Aquaman, rushing forward and raising his hand to give Batman a high five. Batman arched an eyebrow and, belatedly, raised his arm and allowed Aquaman his moment of celebration.
“That's wonderful, Aquaman. We got one.” Batman pointed to the sky behind them. “Now we only have three thousand more to go.”
“Details,” Aquaman said, waving a dismissive hand. He ran towards the Parademons, leaping into the air and then summoning more water from fire hydrants, turning it into a massive wave that the king of the seas rode down the streets of Gotham.
Batman, meanwhile, brought out his remote and summoned the Batmobile. As soon as he was inside, he hit The Red Button—and the Batmobile transformed into a massive robot. Batman pushed the controls forward and the Batmobile ran towards Gotham Square, its weapons firing at the Parademons that filled the sky. Explosive canisters and ice missiles intended to stop the cold-blooded Gordanians in their tracks lanced up and tore into the Parademons, but there were so many that it barely made a dent in their numbers. Some of the monsters swooped down, slamming into the legs of the Batmobile, while others grabbed the shoulder-mounted rocket launchers and ripped them off.
Batman scowled. “I'll have to add vandalism and grand theft to their list of crimes,” he said in a deadpan voice.
The Batmobile-Bot toppled over and Batman ejected, his ejector seat itself transforming into a miniature version of the Batmobile-robot—a version that could fly. He hovered in the air, blasting away at the Parademons.
“These things are outrageous!” Aquaman called through his communicator. “I wonder what they're called.”
“We usually call them Parademons,” said a new voice. “Though right now I'm willing to just call them an annoyance.” A familiar blue armor patterned after a Luche Libre mask swooped down, blasting the monsters with red energy beams.
“Blue Beetle!” Batman growled. “Why aren't you defending El Paso? And why are your eyes yellow?”
“Batman! Boy am I glad to see you!” Blue Beetle hovered closer to him. “How effective can a bright blue cape be at hiding in the shadows?”
“You'd be surprised,” said Batman.
“Listen...” Blue Beetle formed a fusion cannon and blasted away multiple Parademons before transforming his arms into a shield and blocking incoming fire from their energy lances. “I'm not the Blue Beetle you know. I'm from a parallel universe—the world where all this mess started.”
“By Neptune's nose-hairs!” Aquaman called. “This is an outright Crisis on Multiple Earths!”
“You don't know the half of it,” Beetle said. “Listen, I was sent here because these parallel worlds are unstable. This place... is not the real Earth-181. It's a copy, a duplicate made when some cosmic energy hit the right frequency. There's no empty universe for you to go back to—and worse, all the parallel worlds are collapsing under the strain. The planets are going to explode, including mine.”
“But that means billions of lives will be lost!” Batman shouted. “That's unacceptable.”
“I know, but we've found a way to stop it.” Blue Beetle hovered close to Batman so that he could see the look on the Caped Crusader's face. “I need to find a person from your universe—a person who calls himself The Music Meister.”
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:21:49 GMT -5
Earth-100
Berlin
“Freedom Fighters, retreat!” the heavy, tired voice of Uncle Sam echoed through the streets of the city. Phantom Lady and the Ray flew overhead, with The Human Bomb blasting at German soldiers as they followed, firing their machine guns at the fleeing superheroes. The Human Bomb raised a hand and sent a blast concussive force in their direction, knocking the soldiers asunder.
“Overman is coming,” Uncle Sam said. He took off his hat and handed it to the Human Bomb. “Get the others out of here. I'm the only one who stands a chance against that Kryptonian menace.”
As soon as the others were out of sight, Uncle Sam took out a small chunk of metal—a piece of the Liberty Bell—and a stick of chalk. He stooped down and drew a circle on the asphalt, then put the piece of the Liberty Bell in the middle. Focusing his mind, he filled the circle with arcane energies and began drawing on what was left of the American spirit—battered and broken though it was after twenty years of occupation by the Third Reich.
“If only that boy had landed in America,” Sam thought, staring up at the dozens of alternate Earths in the sky and wondering why of all the days on the calendar, it had to be the day of the attack on Berlin. Couldn't these cosmological crises wait until the war was over?
The Liberty Bell shard was now glowing with white light; when he picked it up and slid it into his pants pocket—it was cool to the touch despite the glow. Just then, Overman landed in front of him; the gray military garb of a Nazi officer partially obscured by the black cape draped over his shoulders. On his chest, a red lightning bolt symbol signified his allegiance to the German state.
“Your attack failed, sir,” Overman said. His voice was a combination of sadness and anger. “A lot of good men, Americans and German alike, died today. I can... understand why you do not wish to submit. It is said that you are not even human. That you embody the spirit of America. And you are afraid that if the Reich stamps out the American spirit, then you will cease to exist.”
“I'm also none too appreciative of totalitarian government or genocide, son.” Uncle Sam spat.
“We built this society on human suffering, it is true,” Overman said. “Yet can you not see that I'm working to repair these... tragedies? I have personally stood over the executions of those in charge of the death camps.”
“But you still wear that state's colors,” Sam said.
Overman looked at the ground. “Yes. As you wear the colors of a nation that engaged in its own harsh treatment of minorities—relocation of the Native Americans, enslavement of Negroes.”
“I'm not perfect,” Uncle Sam said, pulling off his long gray duster and tossing it aside. “But America never needed an alien overlord to tell it when it was wrong.”
Uncle Sam rolled up his sleeves, first the right, then the left. He charged forward, throwing a punch at a thousand miles an hour. Overman's hand flashed up and caught it.
Sam gritted his teeth and kneed Overman in the stomach, then gave him an uppercut that lifted the Kryptonian off the ground.
Overman cursed in German and blurred forward, smashing into Uncle Sam with repeated hay-makers, driving the Freedom Fighter back into the wall of a bombed-out apartment. Sam fell, his back against the wall, which indented from his impact. Overman ran forward, bringing his fists together for a hammer strike, and Sam waited until he was right in front of him, and then raised both feet and kicked the alien in the gut, blasting him into the air.
Uncle Sam got up and ran towards him, leaping into the air when he ran out of street and getting ready to smash the alien down into the bombed-out apartment below. But Overman righted himself and reacted faster—the ability to hover being rather more versatile than jumping. Overman smashed Uncle Sam back the way he'd come from, slamming the hero into the roof of a tall office building.
Overman arced down, and as soon as he heard him land, Uncle Sam reached into his pocket and clasped his hand around the shard. It had grown warm.
“I'm barely trying,” Overman said. “This is futile. Give up.”
He took a step closer, and then Uncle Sam moved, whirling around and flinging the shard of metal at Overman. The alien's eyes widened, but before he could move out of the way, the shard struck him in the right side of the abdomen and tore on through. Overman snarled in a pain sharper than any he had ever felt, and collapsed to his knees.
Overman looked up in time to see Uncle Sam run at him, but couldn't move before the hero kicked him in the face and sent him sprawling backwards.
“It's over, Kryptonian,” Sam said, breathing heavily. “Without you as the Nazi trump card, the resistance movements will eventually win out. The Third Reich will fade away just like all other would-be empires.”
Overman tried to stand, clutching his wound, but he only managed to get up to a kneeling position. His eyes flashed red, but he couldn't make his heat vision burn. The pain in his body was clawing at his brain. It was such an unfamiliar sensation for the alien.
But then, Overman had help that he did not expect.
A gray reptilian monster the size of a man and gifted with wings slammed into Uncle Sam, knocking him backwards off the roof. More creatures swooped down, overpowering the hero until he collapsed under their flurry of blows. Overman crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. At first he thought to thank the monsters for the help...
But then he heard the screams. All over the city, hundreds of the monsters were attacking... Killing. He heard people's cries cut short as their lives were cruelly ended.
He picked up; the shard of the Liberty Bell, cold as ice in his hand, and focused, fighting the pain long enough to force his heat vision to work. He aimed it at the bloody wound in his abdomen, and then bounced it off the shard to finish the job—cauterizing the wound. It would have to do for now, for too many would die if he sought medical attention.
Overman had a city to save. Perhaps then, he could finally die for his sins.
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:27:36 GMT -5
Earth-88
Metro City
“Nightwing! Hey, Nightwing!” Flamebird refused to stop shaking her mentor until he woke up, which took approximately thirty seconds. Nightwing finally sat up and began looking around., rubbing his head and giving Flamebird a signal that indicated he would respond once his brain worked out which nerves controlled his voice box.
“B... Bette? What happened?”
“We got hit by one of those beams of White Light... I think we're on one of the alternate Earths.”
Dick looked around. The two of them were on a peninsula of low flat land surrounded by a large harbor. Dick tried to figure out what city he was looking at, but he was getting mixed signals—the massive sword-bearing turquoise statue in the harbor suggested Gotham, but the buildings in the skyline were wrong—too many modern skyscrapers, not enough neo-gothic architecture.
“It's like Metropolis and Gotham City have been mashed together,” Flamebird said. Dick had to agree.
A hiss followed by footsteps drew the two heroes' attention, and the turned to see themselves standing before a blue-skinned man with flowing white hair. He wore a black robe, hovering off the ground with the power of a black ring.
“Ah,” the man smiled, revealing rotten-looking teeth. “New superheroes to add to my collection. Attack, my minions!”
He raised his ring, and it flashed with black energy—and suddenly dozens of arms shot out of the ground, skeletons and corpses clawing their way out onto the ground. Flamebird and Nightwing both stepped back into defensive postures and drew their weapons.
“Who are you?” Flamebird demanded as she stabbed one of the zombies with her sai… or attempted to. The weapon just sort of drove it back a bit, as if there was a protective bubble around the monster.
“You do not know of me? I am Ganthet, The Black Guardian. I come from the distant planet Oa, the new Vanguard of this galaxy's true ruler—the undead planet Nekro! All hail Nekro, bringer of the Blackest Day!”
Nightwing and Flamebird looked at each other and arched an eyebrow apiece.
Then the zombies lunged forward, and the two heroes sprang back, deflecting the swipes of the zombies’ claws and smashing into them with their weapons. The black energy field around the zombies that seemed to be animating them also deflected the blows of Flamebird’s sai and Nightwing’s escrima sticks. Slowly the zombies drove them backward until they were standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking the bay of the mysterious conglomerated city.
Just then, energy blasts rang out, slamming into the zombies and sending dirt blasting everywhere, along with zombie gore. The Black Guardian tore his eyes away from his victims and looked up, prompting Flamebird and Nightwing to do the same—and there, on a winged horse and brandishing a high-tech looking lance, sat Theodore Roosevelt.
“Tally ho, heroes!” cried the former President. “Allow me to assist you!”
Roosevelt swooped down, his flying white stallion slamming into the ground in front of them. Roosevelt jumped off and tossed a pair of pistols to Flamebird and Nightwing—energy pistols that looked more like high-tech hairdryers than weapons.
“Well what are you waiting for?” Roosevelt demanded. “Shoot the bastards! The Golden Light of Life is the only thing that can penetrate the zombies’ shield.”
Nightwing and Flamebird ran to the other side of the horse and began firing their weapons into the zombie hordes, and this time the attacks didn’t just bounce off. The golden light tore into the zombies, and once enough flesh was destroyed the monsters collapsed to the ground and stopped moving.
“That’s the ticket!” Roosevelt called. Then he paused, his eyes widening briefly, and he put one hand up to his left ear. He nodded, then looked back at the two erstwhile heroes. “Franklin just radioed me; George’ n’ Abe should be here any minute.”
Before Flamebird could process this news, a zombie grabbed her and tackled her to the ground, and the force of the impact jarred the pistol from her grip; it went tumbling along the grass. She didn’t have time to reach for it, because the zombie began trying to bite open her neck with its rotten teeth. Flamebird grabbed its necrotic head and pushed it away, but it kept struggling, trying to break her grip and force its incisors through her flesh.
Then a glowing yellow blade flashed from above her, and the zombie’s head fell to the side. Flamebird climbed to her feet in time to see that her rescuer was none other than George Washington, a glowing rapier in hand.
A pair of gunshots rang out, and she jerked her head around to see Nightwing double teaming the Black Guardian with none other than Abraham Lincoln, the bearded president dual wielding what appeared to be two classic forty-five caliber revolvers. They too glowed with the Golden Light, and were putting zombies down faster than Nightwing’s laser pistol.
Soon, all the zombies were lying motionless on the ground, and the Black Guardian was shaking his fist in anger.
“Accursed androids! You’ll pay for this!” The Guardian raised his fist and his black ring surrounded him with a transparent field of dark energy that carried him up and away faster than the presidents could pursue.
Nightwing and Flamebird regrouped, and the three presidents approached them. Washington offered a hand, which Nightwing shook, his face still bearing a confused look.
“Who are you guys?” he asked after a moment.
“See, ole’ Benjamin was right,” Teddy said. “They’re from one of the parallel Earths that appeared in the sky. They have no idea who we are—we, former presidents of the United States!”
Flamebird arched an eyebrow. “We know that!” she said. “But… you guys are supposed to be dead, not fighting crime in the 21st century!”
“Oh, that,” Abraham Lincoln said. “Well, it’s a long story. But most people know us as the Liberty League of America.”
“We’re what you call Androids,” Washington said. “I don’t really understand the science behind it, but the short story is that a half-score and seven years ago, the famous roboteer Will Magnus build a series of Androids programmed to impersonate the people he considered the greatest presidents in his history. I make no claims to such greatness, of course, but Will thinks differently. At any rate, there was a magical accident and our souls were summoned from beyond the Great Veil and into these Androids. Eventually we decided that we could do some good in the world and we teamed up to become the Liberty League.”
“Oh crap!” Flamebird shouted.
“Why, such language,” Roosevelt said. “Most unbecoming of such a lovely young lady.”
“Look!” Flamebird pointed skyward, just in time to see a black cloud descending—not a cloud of zombies, but of something much worse. “Parademons!”
Washington drew his rapier again and turned to face them. “Liberty League!” he cried, mounting his own flying horse Glamdring. “To arms!”
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:30:54 GMT -5
Earth-181
Blackgate Prison
“Alert! Batman and Blue Beetle have broken into the facility! Be on guard; they are armed and extremely dangerous.”
The message blared over the speaker system of the prison, punctuated by the klaxon of the alarm system. Bill wasn't sure why superheroes were breaking into a prison, but he grabbed his high-tech laser rifle regardless and darted down the all. He didn't get very far, though; he slammed right into a blue-gloved fist and saw stars, then nothing.
Batman grabbed him and lowered him to the ground, using his own cuffs to fasten his hands together and then stuffing him into the security checkpoint from which he had emerged.
“The Music Meister's cell is just down this hall. If you're wrong—or lying—about him being the only way to save the Multiverse, I will find you and destroy you, you know that, right?”
Blue Beetle gulped. “After seeing you take out a tank with your bare hands, the Scarab has classified you as a Class-Eleven Threat.”
Batman-181 arched an eyebrow under his mask. “What's class eleven?”
“'Do Not Engage Without Full Armada',” Beetle answered.
The Caped Crusader flashed a satisfied-smile. The two of them found themselves at the end of the hall. A high-tech steel door at the end of the hall blocked their view, and a small plate on the metal read STEPHENS, ALBUS – THE MUSIC MEISTER.
Batman glanced at Blue Beetle, and the young hero motioned for him to stand back; his outstretched arm converted into a massive heat cannon that blasted red beam, melting a massive hole in the door. Beetle didn't even wait for the steel to cool before he ran inside. He grabbed the small red-haired man in the cell and dragged him out.
“What on Earth is—Oh, my, Batman!”
When in the light, Beetle noticed that the prisoner had a small patch on his neck that was getting electricity readings from the Scarab; and his voice sounded somewhat mechanical, distorted. The Scarab's system finished its scan and informed him that the patch was the control chip for a tracheal implant that would prevent his vocal cords from projecting beyond certain pitches.
“They keep him in a sound-proof cell and install a machine to make sure he can't sing,” Batman growled. “Because this man is dangerous. He has the power to mind control people with his voice and draw them into his perfidious performance.”
“What's all this about!” demanded the Music Meister, his voice raising in pitch slightly and suddenly taking a hollow mechanical tone as he reached about.
“We're busting you out of jail,” Beetle said. “Because we need your vocal cords to save the planet!”
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:36:05 GMT -5
Earth-321
Babylon
Kal-El's trajectory had taken him around the world twice before he approached his enemy, building up his speed to levels worthy of the name Superman. Then he aimed himself directly at the desert around Babylon, where the armed forces of the United States and Iraq were blasting at Parademons and shelling the behemoth new body of Darkseid—Abaddon. The artillery assault exploded against the evil god's armor and skin, but did no apparent damage.
Superman dipped down, the slipstream of his motion spraying sand and rock to the side as he neared the ground; then he flew back up, slamming into Abaddon at an upward angle that lifted the New God airborne. He flew across the desert, seeming to hang in the air, time suspended, before arcing back down to the Earth. He slammed into the ground and sent a billowing cloud of dust and sand out from the impact site. Superman hovered closer to the cloud and saw Abaddon rise from within.
The Man of Steel blinked.
And he was suddenly eye to eye with his enemy. Superman goggled from the fright and he flew backwards reflexively, his every instinct commanding him to put distance between himself and Abaddon. But Abaddon's arm moved with unnatural speed and grabbed Superman from the air, the evil god's fist closing around him with a crushing grip and drawing Superman closer to his face.
“Kal-El, you have survived.” Abaddon smiled, his teeth yellow and covered in grime. “This does not surprise me as much as I might have thought. I suppose I have become used to your knack for miracles.”
“And we've got you to blame for all that's happened to Earth.” Superman's eyes narrowed and twin red beams of energy lanced and bore into Abaddon's granite-hued face. Smoke rose, but the New God did not react; Superman could see no flicker of movement even in the god's supersized face.
“A mere annoyance,” Abaddon said. “I have descended into the depths of hell and called down power from the highest heavens. The world you knew is dying, and hundreds more will die before the day is through. All life in this solar system will be extinguished, and my armies will prepare to rage against the celestial map. Star by star will fall to the might and will of this new Empire. The Reich of Apokalips will cover the universe for all eternity, and in death, in the pitiful form of existence you would refer to as 'afterlife', you will observe all this and despair that nothing can be done. Though ascend you might to the highest paradise, it will seem as hell for all its futility.”
“You've thrown outrageous boasts my way before,” Superman said. “But you've yet to back up a single one of them.”
Abaddon looked up at the alternate Earths in the sky above.
“A demonstration is in order.” The eyes flashed and Omega Beams lanced out, faster than Superman had ever seen them move, traveling to the nearest parallel world in nanoseconds.
Superman saw their target with his telescopic vision and his heart sank.
“A parallel version of you, Kal-El,” said Abaddon. “Turned to ash in an instant.”
His eyes flashed again.
“And another.”
Again.
“And another.”
Three more times the New God cast his terrible attack towards the sky and three more parallel Men of Steel breathed their last. Superman watched in horror, his muscles losing tension, his body refusing to struggle against the oppressive grip of Abaddon's fist.
The god opened his hand and Superman's power of flight failed him. He fell to the ground, hands and knees warm against the desert sand.
“You see, Kal-El, it his hopeless,” Abaddon loomed over him, looking down with contempt in his eyes. “The beams that caused you torturous pain are now instantly lethal, and the arrogance and cruelty that stayed my hand against you before has been burnt away by the chaos of death; in it's place there is only a callous pragmatism. And that pragmatism demands your death. For there to be any chance of your survival, you would need another miracle. And with Lex Luthor dead, I do not see such a miracle forthcoming. Not this time, Kal-El. Not this time.”
The Omega Beams lanced out once again, striking Superman dead in the chest; pain wracked his body, and then... nothing.
No... not nothing... just... a slight warmth.
Superman looked up to see a white... energy, a white.. fire. A White Light. Dancing all over him. And the light hummed with music—the same as the symphonic melody that emanated from behind the golden wall at the edge of space, like a celestial hum alive with all the soul of the universe.
Abaddon stood with a look of shock on his face, and Superman began to realize—he'd got his miracle.
There, hummed the voice of Lex Luthor in Superman's head. You've absorbed the White Light of Creation, the fire that gave birth to the universe. Use it to destroy Darkseid.
“But how...?” Superman asked. “How was I able to do that?”
Easy, Luthor said, his voice a combination of contempt and detached amusement.
You're Superman.
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:38:58 GMT -5
The Boom Tube closed with a pop and the two figures that had entered through it stepped forward and looked around. One was familiar, clad in blue armor, eyes glowing yellow. The other was in a prisoner's jumpsuit, a shock of red hair growing from the top of his head.
“Are you sure about this, Beetle?” the Oracle asked, leading the duo over to a platform. A golden microphone hanged from the ceiling.
“This place is incredible,” Beetle said, looking around in amazement. “Scarab says it's practically alive with technology from... 'New Genesis?'... wherever that is.”
“You didn't answer my question,” Barbara said.
“Right, sorry.” Beetle looked at the prisoner for a long moment. “No, to be honest, I'm not. I don't trust him, but I don't have any other ideas.”
“Very well.” Oracle pressed a button and a force field formed around the platform on which the Music Meister stood. “I'm disabling the vocal inhibitor in your throat. That force field is to protect me and Beetle from your powers. If you try anything, I can give you a jolt that will disable all your motor functions. Permanently.”
“Und...understood, ma'am,” said Music Meister with a gulp. He stepped up to the microphone and looked over at Oracle. “What do I sing?”
“I have no idea! They're your powers.”
“Okay then.” He took a deep breath, and then began belting.
Hear me now oh multiverse full of strife
All your troubles will end pretty fast!
Sing along with my song if you value your life
or this day will sure be your laaaast!
The Watchtower began broadcasting the signal across the field of parallel Earths in the skies above Earth-321, and Oracle silently prayed that this plan would work.
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Post by arcalian on Mar 2, 2010 17:41:07 GMT -5
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