Deus Ex Machina #12

All across the parallel Earths, the telepathic signal seeped into the minds of people; the song of the Music Meister began radiating in their brains, and his powers compelled them to sing along. Millions of people in New York City stopped their cars and left their business to stride out into the street and sing.

He's the Muuuuusic Meister!
And his song shall save the Earth!
We all agree, to sing along!
And prove our master's worth!

He's the Muuuusic Meister!
He sings the song that the world wants to hear!
Just this once, we gladly obey
Our hypnotic puppeteer!

The music echoed through the streets and through the ground below, altering the vibrational frequencies of the parallel Earths. Slowly, every one of them was moving closer to Frequency 321.

Barbara Gordon sat upon the Watchtower biting into her lower lip as she monitored the disparate branches of the Multiverse, hoping that Music Meister's song took effect before the instability accelerated and destroyed them all.

Overman was about to declare victory against the Parademons when a sonic boom tore through the sky, and every head in Berlin turned skyward to see the dark god falling from the clouds, his armor glowing red from entry into the atmosphere. The evil god’s eyes burned with orange light, light that lanced out in beams and ziz-zagged towards his pursuer.

To Overman’s shock, the pursuer was Kryptonian like himself—a parallel version of Kal-El, chasing the giant god across the sky. Overman flew towards them, even as the wound in his side ached and reached out to drag him further along the path of life, closer and closer to his grave. Overman greeted the alternate version of himself.

“Guten tag!”

Superman looked away from his enemy for a moment, taking in the look of the alternate version of himself, and then pursing Abaddon towards impact site. “It's not a good day,” Superman said.

Overman flew beside him, matching the pace of his descent. “You speak English, then. It is a good day for me, for I have saved Berlin from disaster and perhaps may finally rest in peace.”

Abaddon slammed into the ground, a shockwave emanating out from the impact sight. Buildings across Berlin rumbled on their foundations, some of them collapsing in on themselves. Overman and Superman both winced to hear the cries of the civilians as they fled from the carnage below, even as many more continued to sing the Music Meister's song.

“I don't know what to say to someone who wishes to die,” Superman said. “But if you're willing to help me, then I welcome it. I'm Superman, and that creature is called Darkseid, a self-styled alien god from the planet Apokalips. He wants to destroy every possible incarnation of planet Earth and then subjugate the universe.” The blue-clad hero's words were full of bitterness.

“I take it you have some history with him,” Overman said.

Superman didn't answer. Instead he looked down at the hole through Overman's abdomen. “You're wounded.”

“So I am. But my wounds are no concern of yours. I wish to help you destroy this Darkseid. Perhaps then my atonement will be complete.”

Before Superman had a chance to ask Overman what he needed to atone for, Abaddon was up again, tossing buildings and handfuls of cars skyward at the two heroes. Overman and Superman weaved in and out of them, dodging the makeshift projectiles. One truck was about to slam into Overman. Unfortunately, Overman's wound made fast movements painful, so Superman blasted red beams from his eyes and exploded the truck. Superman and Overman flew through the fireball and simultaneously slammed into Abaddon's face, their fists driving divots into the evil god's flesh. Abaddon smashed at them with his fist, batting Superman away into a billboard, and then clobbering Overman into the asphalt of the street below. Overman pulled himself from the crater his body made and grabbed a nearby unoccupied Volkswagen, then hurled it at Abaddon; but the New God batted it back at him—much faster, at that—and the car slammed into Overman, nearly knocking him out of his boots.

Superman shouted, a nonverbal expression of his anger at Darkseid, and blasted down, kicking and punching. Abaddon attacked too, and blows were exchanged, blocking and returning fire; every punch sending a window-shattering shockwave echoing through the city. Superman's world became a flurry of punches and kicks, blocks and parries, and the hum of the White Light grew louder in his mind.

“Burn!” Superman growled, and unleashed a blast of heat vision. Except instead of the typical red streams of energy, fiery white beams lanced out, blasting Abaddon back, through another block of buildings and into the Olympic Stadium. Superman, burning with the White Light, arced forward and hammered into Abaddon again, repeatedly punching him, driving him back. Abaddon's armor cracked, and Superman grabbed pieces and started ripping them off before smashing into Abaddon's body underneath. The evil god smashed him across the stadium and into the bleachers; Superman retaliated with another blast of the White Light from his eyes. But Abaddon countered with the Omega Beam, and the two attacks slammed into each other and canceled each other out.

“You can't hold out forever, Kal-El,” Abaddon said. “Your stamina is not infinite. The magic light inside your frail body will dim in time, but I am eternal.”

Superman landed on the field of the stadium. “Nothing lasts forever, Darkseid.”

He charged forward, pistoning his fist back to attack again, but Abaddon moved faster, smashing Superman to the ground and then stomping down on him, his massive granite boot grinding Superman into the dirt. Superman tried to move, but he felt the Earth compressed against him, his bones protesting the pressure with waves of pain.

“Kal-El, if you learn nothing else from this battle, know this—” And then he pressed all the harder into the ground.

“DARKSEID IS.”

“That can be changed!” bellowed another voice, this one with a German accent. Overman blasted in from over the stadium walls, slamming into Abaddon and driving him backwards; huge craters appeared in the stadium where his feet fell.

Superman pulled himself out of the one he'd be stomped into and watched as Overman wailed on the evil New God; with his x-ray vision, he could see that every punch was so hard that the bones in Overman's wrists began to crack. Abaddon fell to his knees, then forward onto his face. Superman listened, and heard no breath, no heartbeat. Abaddon lay still.

Superman blinked. Could it be that simple?

Overman landed, and Superman walked over and stood beside him.

“Your wrists—” Superman began.

Overman interrupted him. “Are in incredible pain. But that is okay, the deed is done. What happens to me now is irrelevant.”

“Why do you despise yourself so much?” Superman asked, putting a hand on Overman's shoulder, trying to comfort him. “Where does this anger come from?”

“I was forged by the government of a madman into a weapon for a supposed glorious and eternal Reich,” Overman said. “Everything I am and represent is evil, and I've spent my whole life in rebellion against it. Yet the guilt remains. You're American, yes?”

Superman nodded.

“I envy you, then,” Overman said, lowering his head. “Americans have a unique capacity for self delusion—the ability to convince themselves that they are the 'good guys' in all things. I was not gifted with such a luxury.”

“If what I've seen you do today is characteristic, then you are a good guy, whether you believe it or not. I don't pretend the country that adopted me is perfect.” Superman gave a bitter laugh. “I've come into conflict with its government several times, in fact. But the same nation that produces great evil can also produce great good. In my world, the war Adolf Hitler began ended very differently thanks to America. That's not a boast, but the promise of what real patriotism is—to love your country and the good it's capable of even as you work to rid it of its flaws. And perhaps someday you can extend that to this entire planet.”

Overman looked up and nodded, and Superman thought he saw a glimmer of hope that was not there before. “Perha—”

And then Overman lunged forward, grabbing Superman and whirling him around, even as a flash of bright light consumed the parallel Kryptonian. There was a snarl of anguish, and then a charred skeleton fell away to reveal the burning eyes of Abaddon, glaring up from the crater that Overman had driven the evil god into. The Omega Force that flared behind those eyes was so overcharged that Superman couldn't with stand it on his own. Only the waning force of the White Light inside him saved him from Overman's fate.

Superman's felt his heart—his heart that could withstand 100,000 volt shocks—skip a beat within his chest, and then the nausea that always came intertwined with grief twisting its way through his stomach. Then his head buzzed with anger.

“Darkseid!” Superman snarled. “Damn you!”

The Man of Steel arced forward, blasting right through a second Omega Beam, more of the White Fire vanquished within him as the beam struck. But Superman made it to Abaddon's form, even as the New God pushed against the ground and threw himself to his feet, blocking Superman's punch with his massive forearm. The statues and seats of the Olympic Stadium rumbled and cracked. A tiny fissure formed in the gauntlet at Abaddon's wrist.

“No,” Abaddon whispered. “You are the only one damned here, Kal-El.”

And then Abaddon's fist flickered, smashing Superman with an uppercut that sent the Man of Steel careening into the upper atmosphere and beyond, out into space where the dozens of parallel Earths resonated with the sound of music, a music that transcended the vacuum, rippling through the space-time continuum itself.

Abaddon joined him, the dark shadow of his presence like a note of discord tearing through the celestial symphony. Superman heard him coming and righted himself, blasting at him with the Light, but failing to slow him down. The enemies clashed, tearing through space in a flurry of punches and kicks that added a percussion to the song that was resonating from the Earths. The loud bass drum beat was trying to drown out the thump of the snare.

If anyone had been listening to the song, it might have sounded like the bass drum was winning.

Across the gathered parallel Earths, the Music of the Spheres rang out, billions of people on every planet pouring into the streets to sing, until the Earths themselves were vibrating at the frequency of the music. And as the chorus comprised of all humanity sang, the worlds began glowing, sliding ever closer together—not in the three dimensional realm, but in dimensions beyond that, syncing together in space-time harmony. Radiant music, glowing with the light of Creation began emanating from the planets, arcs of multi-hued energy sparking between worlds.

And suddenly every Earth was Earth-321.

Time and space cried out as hundreds of planets fused into a single sphere of glowing light, the celestial song resounding one last triumphant note as history warped and divergent paths came together. A burst of energy blasted out from the new planet, a wave of chronal energy that tore through the fabric of the galaxy.

At the core of the universe's eleven dimensions sat a new world:

Earth-321...

Plus.

Oracle looked up from her position on the floor of the Watchtower and saw only dim light. She pulled herself to one knee and then to her good foot, limping over to the control panel of the Watchtower. “Elana, report,” she said, her hand resting against the warm telepathic interface.

Stabilizing Watchtower's orbit. Calculating alterations to the causal nexus. Temporal distortions are beginning to return to normal. Please hold.

“Please hold?” Babs asked, scratching her head. “She's never asked me to hold before.”

“What happened?” Beetle asked, hovering over to the platform where Music Meister lay. The Scarab scanned him and informed Jaime that he was unconscious, apparently in some form of coma. Jaime winced; Music Meister sounded like a fairly dangerous guy, but he and Batman could be in trouble if they had done permanent damage to his brain—if that incarnation of Batman was even still alive now.

“Um, the computer said something about the parallel worlds fusing into one. Beetle, did you know that would happen?” Oracle turned and glared at him, and Jaime thought that she'd probably kick his butt even with her broken leg.

"Uh, Delirium said something about the worlds fusing together, yeah,” Jaime said. “But that was better than them all blowing up, right? You know, including ours?”

Oracle's eyes shot wide with anger. “How is that any different than killing all the parallel people?”

“I.. don't know...” Beetle said. He could feel a horrible fear growing in his stomach.

Elana's voice buzzed in Oracle's mind. Barbara Gordon, the time stream will preserve the potentialities expressed in these alternate Earths. They will be expressed, either within linear time, or in some fashion beyond the scope of such. Subject: Stephens, Albus, the Music Meister now has his own history and existence in this universe when previously he existed only on Earth-181.

Barbara glanced over at the unconscious form of the Music Meister. “I remember...” she thought aloud, thoughts and images suddenly flooding inside. “He and Vandal Savage tried to take over the world with Opera.”

“The musical type?” Jaime asked.

“No, the web browser,” Barbara snapped. “Of course the musical style. Vandal Savage was always a fan.”

Jaime winced. “Sorry.”

“No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have snapped, but I've never experienced anything like this before.” Babs looked out the window towards the newly formed Earth. “There's a whole new world of possibilities out there. It's just sort of hard to wrap my mind around.”

Incoming transmission, Barbara Gordon.

Babs patched it through, and the image of John Stewart appeared on the screen, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.

“What the Jonas Brothers was that?” Stewart asked, rubbing his head.

“A massive middle finger to the laws of causality,” Oracle said. “What's your status? My computer is busy trying to recalibrate to the new timeline and I'm not getting reports from the rest of the strike teams.”

“We're doing fine,” Stewart said. “Sinestro fled, but we've captured or killed the majority of his corps. The Lanterns are just mopping up.”

Another window opened beside that of the Green Lantern, this one showing the goddess Athena, the newly elected leader of the combined deities of antiquity.

“News from the battlefield,” the new ruler said. “Zephyrus and Njord have largely cleared the Anti-Life from Earth's atmosphere, and the Parademons are all but routed.”

She paused for a moment. “There was also a major impact in Iraq. The archaeological site at Babylon has collapsed into the Earth, and we believe that Superman and Darkseid are fighting deep within the planet.”

“Skartaris?” John Stewart asked.

Athena nodded. “But I fear we may need to intervene. Oracle, if you are unable to coordinate the resistance any longer, we may need to reverse engineer some of Darkseid's own technology if we wish to secure a final victory.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Athena stepped back and motioned, and a new face, one Oracle recognized as Hephaestus, stepped into view and began speaking.

“Just outside Babylon there's what appears to be a black hole with the event horizon forcibly wedged open by dark magic, and it's been the source of all the Parademons. If my estimations are correct, then Darkseid was using a Doomsday Machine to draw on the power of the Bleed, the stuff between worlds, to forge his Parademon army. If we could take a crack at that...”

Oracle nodded. “I'll work on giving you all the help I can get, as soon as more of the Mother Box's processing power becomes available.”

“We'll help out the gods,” Green Lantern said. “By the way, whatever it is you guys did, good job, the instability that was tearing the Earths apart is gone. At least, our rings can't detect it anymore.”

Oracle glanced over at Beetle, and the young hero nodded. “Let's just hope we all make it out of this, and then we can do the congratulating.”

With that, Beetle ran towards the airlock. There was still a lot of work to be done on Earth.

Earth-321

Now

Superman's fist ached, and shockwaves of pain rolled through his arm as he made contact with Abaddon, the punch blasting the evil god backwards. Abaddon righted himself and kicked Superman back, and the Man of Steel blasted through a falling chunk of an ancient Babylonian palace, even as the rest of the city rained down around them, the foundations of temples mingling with the housing of archaeologists, and blood from his own wounds mingling with the pebbles and dust in the air.

He saw his enemy blast through the Ishtar gate, leaping up through the brilliant core of Skartaris and slamming into Superman. Kal-El tried to block, but Abaddon overpowered him, sending him careening across the world inside Earth. Abaddon appeared in the air, right in Superman's trajectory, and slammed Kal-El back down to the ground, just as a massive modern highway crashed down on top of him, shattering as it impacted in the rain-soaked Skartarian plain.


The smell of blood and damp asphalt filled Clark's nostrils as he dug himself out of the rubble. He wiped blood from his forehead and eyes with his hands, and then wiped the blood from his hands onto the blue legs of his costume.

A powerful wind lapped at his back and his cape blew away, rolling in the current like a tumbleweed.

He climbed up out of the crater, only to have a massive foot slam into his head, kicking him back down into it. A wave of pain shot through his body, but he barely noticed it over the pain of all his other wounds. He looked up to see Abaddon towering over him, the Omega symbol burning in his chest,

“You have lost, Kal-El,” his enemy whispered with grim satisfaction. “There will be no deus ex machina to save you this time.”

For once, Kal-El could not find the words to argue. For once, Superman's only response no response at all.

The victory of evil over good was irrefutable. Superman's will would never break, never bend, but the Man of Steel's body was too damaged to go on.

Superman was defeated.

He lay there, wishing for a chance to rest, yet knowing that Abaddon would not cease until his life was extinguished.

Abaddon's eyes flared, and Omega Beams lanced out, boring into Superman's back and sending more spasms of pain through is body. With every breath, Superman could feel the power of the White Light ebbing from his body, and the torturous energies of the Omega Beams only got more intense.

“Just think, Kal-El,” Abaddon said. “If you had joined me when I first made the offer all those years ago. Think of the order we could have brought to this lawless galaxy. Think of the power and the luxury you could have—a new Kryptonian son, ruling at my side forever, worshiped as the child—”

Superman looked up, his face a mask of disgust.

Abaddon was grinning. “—of the ONE. TRUE. GOD.”

The Man of Steel pulled himself to his feet and stared into Abaddon's burning red eyes, willing them to project defiance. “I'd rather burn,” Superman growled.

“So be it.”

Another burst of Omega Beams lashed out, blasting Superman flat on his back and sending another wave of pain through the Kryptonian's body.

“Now, at the end, as the darkness consumes you, you'll finally see how futile your life has been.”

Superman heard two small footfalls, and then a voice.

“Mind if he gets a second opinion on that?”

Superman looked up to see Abaddon, still looking down at him, not turning to regard the newcomer.

“Ah, Wonder Woman,” Abaddon said. “Arrived to aid the valiant knight? I'm afraid at this point you're far too late. One soul can't make a difference.”

“Look behind you,” came the low growl of Batman.

Immediately Abaddon's eyes widened, and he whirled around.

“Impossible!”

Superman mustered the strength to pull himself out of the crater, and looked beyond its rim. Gathered across the plain of Skartaris stood hundreds—thousands of figures: the gods of Olympus; the Justice League; old heroes long retired and new heroes that Superman had never seen before. Superboy and Supergirl hovered directly behind Batman and Wonder Woman, while across the plain, Superman saw the Liberty League of America, mounted on their winged horses, and a platoon of Green Lanterns hovering above the field. There were even what appeared to be angels, wings flapping, a radiant glow around them, and Superman recognized their leader, a member of the Eagle Host named Zauriel.

“It's not impossible, Darkseid,” Wonder Woman said. “You built the device that made it happen—the Green Lanterns and the Olympians reworked your Doomsday Machine into a Miracle Machine capable of one function—grabbing every available hero and bringing them to the aid of Superman.”

Abaddon reached deep within himself, drawing on energies long forgotten, and hurled a burst of Omega Energy out into the crowd of heroes, tearing through Johnny Thunder and striking the god Odin in the chest. Both collapsed, instantly dead.

“What madness could drive you all to defy me!”Abaddon barked. “I have destroyed Superman, I subjugated the Old Gods and slaughtered the New Gods. I am the only god left worthy of worship. To defy me is to choose death.”

A shadow fell over the gathering, one that even the light of the gods was hard pressed to fight back, and from the mists a new figure appeared. She was dressed in a tank top and black jeans, with skin as white as pearl and an Ankh around her neck. There was a soft smile on her face.

“You don't understand, Uxas. You never did.”

“Death,” intoned Abaddon's graveled voice. “You dare call me by that ancient name?”

“It is your name, no matter how many times you try to change it, no matter how many boastful titles you take. Just as mine is Death, regardless of all the appellations I'm given. You've committed a great sin, Uxas, for in your quest for power you have murdered my prodigal brother and billions of innocent mortals. And despite all the wisdom you've gained, you still have no comprehension.”

“Enlighten me then,” Abaddon said. “What madness drives those who defy me?”

Death smiled. “It's not madness, Uxas. Don't you get it? That's what is so wonderful about these people. They were inspired by a man from the stars, and in turn, they fought back against impossible odds. They've inspired the gods themselves to fight on their side—to repent of the old pettiness and become new creatures. Is your heart so far gone that you can't see how incredible this is? That mortals are, for all their weaknesses, far greater in their potential than you or I can ever be?”

Superman could not see Darkseid's face, but he could see the evil god tense up, his muscles becoming stiff, his body straightening with rage.

“...I AM THE NEW GOD! I AM THE TIGER FORCE OF THE UNIVERSE. TO DEFY ME IS TO WELCOME DEATH! I AM.... I AM...”

He blasted with Omega Beams again, and the elder Hourman grabbed his son Rick, throwing him to the ground. The Omega Beams struck and Rex Tyler was dead. Tears welled up in Rick Tyler's eyes, but the new Hourman continued staring at Abaddon, his gaze full of condemnation. Just like all the other gazes that stared up at him.

And then Abaddon fell to his knees. “I am... I am...”

Death put a hand on his shoulder.

“I am nothing,” Abaddon growled. “Nothing, if I can be bested by these simpering little humans and the gods of their ancient superstition. This universe must be the mad dream of a lunatic or a fool.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps that is truly for us to decide for ourselves. It doesn't have to be.” Death extended her hand, and a massive black scythe appeared in it, the Endless hovering off the ground. “But then I guess you made your decision long ago.”

Death closed her eyes and swung the scythe down.

Central City

Jay Garrick stood behind the pulpit, though he wasn't much of a preacher. He'd never been overly religious, either, but he believed in giving the dead the respect they deserved, and that's why he had agreed to give a eulogy at Johnny Thunder's funeral.

“The key to Johnny's success was always imagination,” Jay said. “Never forget that. It's the key to your success at any endeavor, really. But when you have a magic genie like Johnny did... well, then imagination is your only limitation. The fact that it took the god of evil to do him in... well, really, what more needs to be said?”

At the rear of the audience, disguised in a long duster, the Thunderbolt—the genie that gave Johnny Thunder his powers—silently drifted up and away from the funeral. Jay Garrick meant well, but the fact of the matter was, Johnny wasn't that smart. Thunderbolt knew he did most of the work, even though Johnny's heart had been in the right place. It wasn't wise to speak ill of the dead, though.

And despite it all, he'd miss Johnny. He'd miss him a lot.

Thunderbolt wondered through the streets of Central City, barely paying attention to where he was going, until he ran into a young black boy. He looked up and said “excuse me”, but the boy glared at him.

“Watch where you going, foo,” the boy spat, adding in a few expletives for good measure. “Damn crazy genies thinking they own the street.”

Thunderbolt had the strangest feeling.... of destiny.

Gotham City

Bruce felt the weight on the opposite side of the bed lessen, and rolled over to see the silhouetted figure of the Amazon pulling on a robe as she hovered a foot off the ground. Bruce could see in her body language that she was tense, frustrated, and in deep thought.

“Diana,” Bruce said, sitting up. “I'm sorry.”

“Are you, Bruce?” she glanced back at him. “You always just shrugged and took all the insanity we deal with at face value. But deep down, you have the heart of a skeptic. Everything has to be analyzed, stripped down and made explicable to the terms the world of men understands. The fact that the gods are shams—doesn't that gratify you on some level?”

Bruce sighed finding his shorts among the bedsheets and pulling them on before he walked over to where Diana hovered. “Believe it or not, I can sympathize,” he said. “For years I had unshakable faith in science. When Zatanna revealed to me that she knew how to do real magic, I didn't believe her. I thought she was lying. Or crazy. When she showed me the real thing, my world was rocked, and I realized that my teacher, Giovanni, Zatanna's father, had lied to me when he told me that all magic had a rational explanation.”

“It's not the same thing, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded. “Not entirely, no. I guess what I'm getting at is... just because it turns out the gods may not be worthy of your worship... doesn't mean they're not worthy of your respect.”

Metropolis

Exhaustion was an unusual feeling for Superman: it usually only came after a pitched battle. Today, it came after a 'battle' against the forces of gravity and the emotional turmoil of rebuilding Metropolis after yet another attack from Darkseid. It was simultaneously a familiar situation and uncharted territory—uncharted precisely because of the certainty that it would never happen again. Not due to Darkseid, at any rate. Superman had decided he needed a break. Even Kryptonians need a breather on occasion.

He sat atop the newly placed Globe atop the Daily Planet, looking out over the city—from the Suicide Slum to Centennial Park—and fell in love with the Big Apricot all over again, despite all its flaws.

“Have a moment to chat?”

Superman looked to his side, surprised to see Death sitting along side him, a bittersweet smile on her face.

“It's not often that I get to take a breather either,” she said. “Something we have in common, I guess.”

Superman stared at her for a moment, and then finally said something that he thought didn't sound completely inappropriate. “You want to talk to me? Wait, I'm not... this isn't... you haven't come for me have you? I mean to... conduct your normal business affairs.”

“No, nothing like that,” she said. “Don't worry, you've still got some time left. No, I just thought you of all people needed some closure. Some perspective. There's a whole future riding on your shoulders, you know.”

“Is that so?” Superman looked down at his feet. He thought a moment, and then spoke what was on his mind. “How do we go on from here? Millions have been killed. History has been altered. I have memories of so many different things, but they never actually happened in this time line. I can only imagine what this is doing to... well, normal people.”

“You'll make it through.”

“And then...” Superman looked at Death. “Apollo, the god Apollo, knelt in front of me. Was Darkseid right? Has the entire world gone mad?”

“I don't think so,” Death said. “It's just that Apollo recognized something that you and he have something in common. You're both Myth.”

“Myth?” Superman arched an eyebrow. “But I'm real. I exist.”

Death smiled. “And so does Apollo. And on some level, so do Harry Potter and Son Goku and Jack Sparrow. You see, one thousand years from now, the Legion of Superheroes will protect the galaxy from all sorts of evildoers. And they'll look back and they'll remember you. But to them, you'll be a Legend. You'll be larger than life. The fact that you can be judgmental, and sometimes get overly angry, and fail to give people the benefit of the doubt—all that will be forgotten. What they'll remember is that you inspired an entire generation of heroes—and the gods themselves—to stand up to the ultimate evil. To fight. And to win. That, more than anything else, is what makes you Superman.”

Superman sat and pondered her words. “So, where will you go now?”

“Me? Oh, here and there. My job never ceases. But tonight, I have somewhere special to be. I've got a birthday party to attend. I guess I'll get on the road. Farewell, Kal, until our paths cross again."

Trivandrum, India

When Death had reaped the soul of Uxas, her brother's powers and responsibilities had entered into her. The other five Endless, even the ever-covetous Desire, had agreed that there would be no warring between them. Destruction and Death had duties that were the most similar to each other, and it was only appropriate that they be carried out by the eldest sister.

“The time is now,” Destiny said. The six gathered in a tiny hospital room as a young woman was handed her first born son, her mouth curling into a smile of pure joy. He was her son, and she named him Suranjan.

To Destiny, Death, Dream, Delirium, Desire, and Despair, he was their new baby brother.

They called him Delight.

THE END