Omega Crisis, Part 2 (HoM / Howard / Bowers)

Previously, in OMEGA CRISIS #1…

It was supposed to be the wedding of the decade. Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson had finally made the jump, finally decided to get married! The heroes of the world were invited, and as a special gift to the happy couple, in one night, every wanted criminal, every supervillain across the world, was taken down! With a new era of peace spreading across the globe, the weddings goes forward, but they don’t know what’s coming next…


The Key, long thought defeated and long forgotten, was awoken from a near decades-long coma by Libra, at the behest of his mysterious, robed master. The Key’s saviours had but one request of the newly-awoken villain, one simple request… open every door.

So, the Key did. His powers expanded a thousand-fold by the experiences that sent him into the coma, he opened every door. Unlocked the cells inside every prison. Suddenly, the world underwent a catastrophic change, and the heroes who vow to keep it safe have yet to realise how bad it promises to get…


But back at the wedding, a terrified Vandal Savage arrived, a figure visible only to him having chased him across the globe. Before he can elaborate, Savage is killed, torn apart by entropic forces, only for Booster Gold to follow soon after! Rip Hunter retreats to her Time Sphere to unpick the horrifying implications, only for Libra to assassinate her and destroy the temporal-travelling craft!


The Justice League and assembled heroes know that something terrifying is at hand, but what they don’t know is that the beginning of the end has begun. They don’t know that they are about to experience…


Superwoman flew as fast as she could, but she feared the old cliché, that her fastest wouldn’t be fast enough. Batman had said it crisp and clear, that every door, be it locked or unlocked, every prison, every penitentiary, had been sprung open. Global prison break. But there were some prisons immaterial. Some that no one but a select few knew to keep tabs on. And that meant Kara Zor-El had to hurry, because if she didn’t reach the Fortress of Solitude in time, if she didn’t enter the Phantom Zone room, every nightmare locked away in a ghost dimension was about to flood out into the waking world.


The massive, golden door that led into the Fortress of Solitude was wide open. Kryptonian service drones buzzed and blinked at the threshold, corralling escapees from the Intergalactic Zoo as they bounded about the open plan main hall of the Fortress. Four-armed and twenty-eyed primates clambered over the golden statues of Jor-El and Lara, and insect hives buzzed around the twin holographic globes of Krypton and Earth, disrupting the illusion when they entered the soft-light projection.

“Opaque the crystal walls,” said Superwoman, as she flew past the drones, her genetic profile identified on arrival, and headed through every single open door in the Fortress, knowing full well that with every open door meant an oncoming storm of possibility the closer she got to the lowest catacombs of her cousin’s home away from home. Rogue alien creatures headed toward the exits, ignoring the woman who’d cared for them these last ten years.

The further in she went, the darker the Fortress became. If what she feared had come to pass, her instruction to opaque the crystalline structure that was her home away from home would ensure no solar energy could leak inside…

When Kara arrived in the Phantom Zone chamber, she reeled back in shock. She knew what she had expected, what she had feared would emerge, but the sight of what had actually stepped through from the grey portal that was shining against the wall of the room was even more horrifying.

Propped up against the wall beside the open portal, the villainous Faora Zod grimaced, the pulsing, seething grey-coloured thing latched onto her face and upper torso, licking against the pale skin where it had sunk its demented teeth and claws. Faora’s mouth opened, but the voice emerging wasn’t hers. It spoke in guttural bursts of syllables, start-stopping, demented in tone.

“There… is more… in the Phantom Zone… that what was imprisoned… over your people’s… lifetime…”

Behind Faora, dozens of Phantom Zone prisoners swarmed out, toward Kara, monstrous aberrations attached to their skin. Whatever these symbiotic monstrosities were, they had control of their host, eating into their flesh and, with a quick X-ray vision scan, into their brains as well.

“There are voids… within voids…” drawled one of the Phantom Zoners. It took a second for Kara to realise it was Nam-Ek, one of General Zod’s worst disciples, as his face was completely engulfed by the parasite in control of his body. “And every… door… has opened…”

“I always suspected there were hidden dimensions to the Zone,” said Superwoman, batting Nam-Ek back. “But I didn’t expect you to be weak enough to make a deal with the beings that lived there.”

The Woman of Steel was vastly outnumbered, and the Phantom Zone was not done spewing out entities. She saw invisible things flash in and out of sight before fading through the walls. Skittering monsters clambered toward the ceiling and over their heads. At the foot of the Zone, bodies had piled up-- those who had been sent in to die? But the criminals, the monsters, those with a grudge against the House of El made a beeline for her, their captor, the parasitic creatures engulfing their bodies forcing them forward, no matter what.

A punch caught her flush against the temple and she cursed in English despite herself. She had always been told by Ted Grant, the elder pugilist of the Justice Society of America, now retired from the role of Wildcat and more than happy to train young up and comers, or those in need, at his gym, that the punch that knocks you out is the one you don’t see coming. She felt dazed, but her vision cleared when her latest assailant made himself known.

“Not all of us made the same deal, sow of El,” growled the grizzled, bearded General Zod, his uniform in the same tatters as it had been when her cousin had exiled him into the Phantom Zone ten years ago. “Now, kneel. It’s all you’ll be good for in the new Age of Zod.”


“I'm running on fumes, kids. Don’t hold this one against me.”

Green Arrow nocked his bow and sent the boxing glove arrow straight into the jaw of the vicious Carnivore, the feral member of the Jungle of Pain who was, up until five minutes ago, located in a holding cell on the Justice League’s moon-orbiting fortress, the Watchtower.

Wiping sweat from his brow, the emerald archer glanced over at his colleagues and said, “and have I told any of you that I’m against holding folks prisoner on the moon?”

Oliver Queen’s voice was gruff, and his head ached. The first issue of the day? Every airlock had opened simultaneously and it had taken a little bit too long to close them before asphyxiation had nearly suffocated them all. Cyborg was able to reactivate the force fields, but the Watchtower was in disarray.

Ollie had been helpful and pointed out that if their lunar fortress had been still situated on the moon, they would have been fine, but Katar had reminded him about Lena Luthor, Power Girl and Superwoman’s terraforming project and the enormous, surface-spanning colony that was established there, and Queen had rolled his eyes and claimed to have forgotten. Life would have been so much easier if they were based on Earth, like back in the day, but Kendra extolled the view, and they agreed to disagree when the next problem arose--

Namely, the holding cells at the bottom of the space station had all opened simultaneously. Thankfully they weren’t at full capacity, but still…

“Quiet, Arrow,” said Hawkman, batting Juggler with the back of his hand and knocking him clean out. Bare-chested and into the fight mace-swinging, Katar seemed nonchalant about their earlier near-evacuation into the void of space. “You know this is only a temporary holding measure. They’re awaiting-- ”

“It’s all right, honey, he’s trying to get a rise out of you,” said Hawkwoman.

Elephanteen had nearly snuck up on the bickering heroes, and it was only her timely intervention, and the flat side of her axe, that had removed the large, lumbering villain from the equation.

“Watch your butts, boys. I’ll happily watch Katar’s, but can you blame me?”

Hawkman’s gruff expression shifted into a smile as he punched Jaquar, just before the villain was about to slice Arrow’s holster open at the base.

“Focus, boys and girls,,” said Green Arrow, returning the favour as Mighty Tomas nearly wrenched Hawkman’s wings off his back. A split second later, and the battle was over. They rounded up the bodies of the defeated villains and headed back to the holding cells.

“Where’s Vic?” asked Green Arrow.

“Up on the bridge, coordinating the efforts on Earth with the Bats,” said Kendra, removing her helm to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Sorry, I get forgetful when we’re dealing with bargain basement Royal Flush types.”

“It’s your old age,” said Katar. He had holstered his mace and was checking the security features in the holding cells.

“Katar, you’re older than me. Just because you’re half-Thanagarian and that Nth metal is keeping you pickled, doesn’t mean you get to throw the age card my way. What are we going to do with this lot?”

“Doors are closing again, but I’m not entirely confident on their ability to stay closed.” Hawkman removed a small device from his belt and threw it in the centre of the cell. “Hey. Hey!”

The prisoners stirred, awoken by the sharp voice of the Thanagarian Hawk Knight. “Wh-what?” murmured Juggler.

“You’re to stay in there this time. That’s an electro-mine. You even try walking through the door again, or decide to get rowdy again, you’ll be shocked. Be nice. Play nice.”

Green Arrow rolled his eyes. “And we’ll have you Earth-side, in police custody, in no time.”

The trio made their way back up to the bridge of the Watchtower. Cyborg’s hands had opened up so that a dozen smaller appliances could fold out of his being and work the numerous consoles simultaneously. His body, flush with ever-evolving nanite tech, had split four times, allowing four of him, all powered by the same consciousness, to monitor what was happening across the globe.

Without looking away from his work, he began to speak. “Wonder Woman’s on Earth, she’s taken a team to Themyscira to join up with Paradise Island’s army. Doom’s Doorway has opened again. God…”

“And last time that happened, Diana’s mom died,” said Hawkwoman. “Do we need to back Wondy up?”

“Cassie’s not alone. Her team will contact us if she needs assistance, but she’s got good people with her,” said Cyborg. “Arkham, Blackgate, the Slab, we’re dealing with something massive here. Are the prisoners downstairs contained?”

“Yeah,” said Green Arrow. “Where’s the comments box up here? I have a few issues I want to raise.”

“Now’s not the time for jokes, Oliver,” replied Cyborg. “I’ve got Barda online. She’s going to organise the Academy into those who can help and those who can run support up here with me. Normally we’d organise up here, but the scope of this thing… better to just get moving from where we are…”

“Wait, a class outing? I’m not chaperoning a bunch of kids,” said Arrow. “I already pulled the short straw having to be on duty during the big wedding!”

Hawkman tapped on his arm firmly but Oliver shrugged.

“Where can we best be utilised?” asked Katar.

Cyborg looked at the dozens of screens, each feeding information to him. After a moment of silence, he unmuted the transmissions.

“… The high threat level wing at Arkham is open, we need all available staff on hand…”

“… Blackgate is swarming, lethal force has been approved by the warden…”

“… What do you mean the Slab’s a free-for-all, Norman? You promised me it was escape-proof!”

“…они все мертвы в защищенном блоке…”

“… General Flagg just triggered the nano-chains, no survivors reported at Belle Reve…”

“…chaque prisonnier est en cours d'exécution libre…!”

“…the skies above the Martian colony are on fire …”

“I don’t know where to begin,” said Cyborg, slowly.


Rick Tyler had been training with the rest of the Justice Society of America when he’d collapsed. No one saw it coming, no one saw what happened, and when they rolled back the footage taken from the development centre they worked within, all they saw was the long-time member of the team scream-- a horrifying moment for Jesse, his wife-- and then fall to the ground. By the time the rest of the team were at his side-- Jesse there before the rest-- he was experiencing a grand mal seizure, and mysteriously enough, the tachyon-charged hourglass he wore around his neck was gone.

The Doctors Mid-Nite, Beth Chapel and Pieter Cross, worked with Mr Terrific, Michael Holt, to get to the root cause of the collapse, but they were coming up short of an answer as to why he had yet to wake up.

After their first evaluation, Beth took Jesse aside and explained what they found. “Rick’s neural chemistry currently maps to what we know about the tachyon-induced flash forwards he receives. His brain is flush with all the chemicals we’ve seen in previous episodes.”

“Then why isn’t he waking up?” Jesse asked.

“Normally, after the flash forward, his brain flushes out the chemicals. Michael once referred to it as cerebral Miraclo, but it’s so much more than that. But right now, the chemicals are still in there, and I have no idea how long it’ll take for them to work their way out of his system. Beyond that, I’ve honestly no clue. Every case is a unique one when it comes to super-medicine.”

There was a sigh punctuating that fact. They’d lost lives because the world of superheroics didn’t abide to 21st century medical knowledge, but they had to keep trying every single time, no matter the losses.

“There are a couple of options. We wait and see, and hope his brain flushes out the chemicals, like it would normally. Or we ask Johnny to make a wish, or Sentinel to focus her powers over him; basically we push him even further down the rabbit hole. I think the former option is the best. This might be happening for a reason.”

Jesse considered the options, and knew what Rick would say. He’d want to play it safe, wait and see, not to push their luck… But if Rick were on Miraclo, caught up in that hour-long rush of superpowers, he’d go the other direction. Clarity of mind overriding everything, Jesse said they should wait.

Twenty four hours later, sat in the medical wing beneath the JSA museum on Theodore Roosevelt Island, and the first sign that something was amiss in the world was when every door in the complex opened. Jesse looked up from her vigil, whispered “3x2(9yz)4a” then checked the museum, and found nothing amiss.

“What was that?”

A few minutes after returning to her husband’s side, a scarlet holographic representation of Mr Terrific’s head appeared in the corner of the room. Blue was passive, a communication of low importance, but red? Red meant danger. “Jesse, we’re getting reports from across the world-- every prison just opened its doors, and we need everyone on deck--”

“I…” Jesse looked down at Rick, and thought about a world without him. If she left his side now, she could help save the planet from whatever ailed it, but if he took a turn for the worse, then how could she forgive herself?

“Gather… the team…”

Suddenly awake, Rick began to lurch upwards, pale as the Spectre, cognisant for the first time since his attack. She steadied him, and he smiled in appreciation.

“Thanks, Jess,” said Rick, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

“Beth is on her way,” said Terrific. “The Society is mobilising immediately. We’re on rapid action stations.”

“Then Jesse… and I… will deal,” Rick coughed aggressively, something rising up inside him, “ugh, deal with this ourselves.”

“Rick, what, what happened?” asked Jesse, lifting a cup of water to his lips. He hadn’t even seen her move to get it, but that was his wife, always a dozen steps head of him.

“I saw the future, and if we don’t act fast, it’ll come to pass,” replied Rick. “Where’s my costume?”


“Brainy, these readings are mad, absolutely mad,” said Shrinking Violet. “What’s going on here?”

What had the floating heads on the net-media called them? World quakes. Massive shifts across the earth that ran from one pole to the other, and there was nothing their technology could do to remedy the situation. Weather systems had been, for so long now, managed by the weather-systems that dictated rainfall, cloud formation, everything. When a rain was needed, it poured. When the sun needed to shine, no clouds were in the sky. Tectonic plates under the skin of the earth were knitted together by liquid promethium banding, but they weren’t the things shifting. An impossible event had occurred, and it had started to occur with more frequency as the days progressed. The world shook.

If you asked Brainiac 5, resident mad scientist of the Legion of Superheroes, why, he would cock an eyebrow and provide his hypothesis: Because everything the world has been built on is falling apart. Every moment. Every event. World quake? How about a time quake?

“I’m not sure Salu,” replied Brainiac 5, “but if these temporal tremors continue, the readings will be the least of our troubles. Or more accurately, our last.”

“You know what this reminds me of?” asked Lightning Lad, rubbing his stubble-covered chin.

Brainiac rolled his eyes, working one of the many devices but also getting increasingly aggravated by the constant distractions of his teammates. “No, Garth, I am not, like some of our number, a telepath. Perhaps I should get Imra down here, to elucidate on your thoughts? I’m sure you’d like that.”

Garth Ranzz ignored that. “You say the foundation of time itself is destabilising. But these readings from the chron-o-scope you built don’t match what you’re saying--”

Brainiac didn’t turn away from his work. “And you’re the 12th level intelligence in this room, Ranzz?”

“No, but I remember stuff, stupid stuff, stuff I shouldn’t probably bother remembering, and this strikes me as looking like the readings the Time Sphere recorded when we escaped the Time Trapper, doesn’t it?”

“He knows.”

Brainiac and Garth turned and saw Imra Ardeen, Saturn Girl, descending the staircase down into the Legion’s laboratory.

“Imra--” started Brainiac.

“Brainy, no,” interrupted Imra. “This is supposed to be the start of a new era of the Legion, and we can’t build that on lies. I can hear you screaming the answer, and you know it. Don’t keep this from us. Tell us the truth.”

Brainiac stood, mouth opening and closing, trying to find the best, most multi-syllabled words in his immense vocabulary, to explain the current situation. Then he gave up, dropped his spanner and slumped over. “Time’s up.”

And then the 31st century ceased to exist, gone in a hot white instant, as one end of the timestream was eaten at the exact same moment as the other. Beginning and end, alpha and omega, zero hour counting down toward the present day.


“Black Bat--” said the Batman, quickly, discretely, into the communicator embedded into the lining of his cowl. “--Arkham is the priority. Blackgate has the armed response unit on site, they’ll take the lead there, but the asylum inmates will try to take advantage of the situation-- they cannot leave that island. Robin is en route. She is not to engage. Recon only. Yes, I understand…”

Spoiler said nothing while her boyfriend talked in the shadows. Stephanie Brown had been in and out of the superhero business but when the man you loved was Gotham’s fiercest protector-- handpicked by the man who started the ongoing vigilante crusade that had gripped the city over twenty years ago-- you had to either pick up your game or leave it all behind. She chose the former, but had never expected this.

Some of the heroes at the church had already departed. The Flash was back in Central City immediately, faster than you could snap your fingers, and he’d gone into Iron Heights alone. They’d not heard from him since. Others would follow after him, but the site-to-site teleporters were malfunctioning. She’d heard someone mention that Natasha Irons was working on fixing it, and Steph recognised the name from some tech magazines Tim had been reading to her when she wanted help getting to sleep. They called her Steel, didn’t they?
Steph passed Batwoman and Nightwing as they began to distribute assignments to the assembled heroes, relayed to Cyborg to make him aware of the missions given. As the plans were drawn up, costumes had been changed into, but the first suggestion that the situation was bigger than just Earth was when the Green Lanterns’ rings all went off at the same time.

Usually, ring-to-ring communication would cause the holographic head of whoever was speaking to appear above the ring’s jewel, but in this case, with a gathering of Corps members in the church, the holographic vision coalesced between them.

Thaal Sinestro, leader of the Green Lantern Corps, addressed the Honour Guard as soon as the channel was open. There was a bloody cut down his temple, knitted together by emerald light. He had been in a fight, but seemed to have come out the winner.

“To all active and inactive members of the Green Lanterns Corps, we have received reports of mass cosmic upheaval across the universe. It appears that every prison across every world has been opened, for those inside to unleash their brands of madness and evil on the galaxy once more. We need all available Lanterns to report to Oa for assignment. We are coordinating efforts with as many peacekeeping forces as possible. Steel your wills, my friends. This is what we were chosen for.”

The hard-light projection vanished, and the members of the Corps present, John and Katma, Hank and Kyle, along with the long-retired Hal and the Blue Lantern Guy, looked at each other in shock. “Good God,” whispered John. “10-25 10-13”

“What?” asked Hal, uncertain of what his old friend had just said. It had been some time since he’d read up on the Corps’ terminology… He corrected himself mentally; he had never read up on the Corps’ terminology…

“10-25 10-13, universal call sign for all responders required-- mass jail break. The universe just split open and it’s all hands on deck,” replied John. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Think of the implication…”

“Takron-Galtos, the Inferno Asylum, Devil’s Island, Starlag,” listed Henshaw. “What about on Oa-- the Sciencells, the Inversions?”

“Sinestro looked like he’d thrown down,” said Guy. “You know he and the others can handle themselves--”

Before they could continue, Sinestro’s head popped up above Hal Jordan’s ring, wore around his neck, so that it was like the elder statesmen of the Green Lantern Corps were speaking face-to-face.

“Hal. I know you are no longer an active member of the Corps, but we need all able ring-wielders to do so once more. I understand that your ‘Earth’ is at the centre of a number of these incursions. Would you resume your role as your planet’s defender once more?”

Hal slipped his ring off the chain and onto his finger, his uniform spreading over his body and replacing his suit. “Say no more.” He looked over at Chloe, who was on her phone. Recognising what the costume meant, she smiled in agreement, then continued doing whatever it was she had started when all hell had broken loose.

Sinestro continued, “and Guy Gardner, if the Blue Lantern is present, I believe it best--”

“I’m sticking around,” said Guy, before Sinestro could finish. “This started here, it’s going to end here. I know where I’m needed.”

Sinestro went to say something, but then thought better. “Good luck, my friends.” He vanished, and the Green Lanterns-- and Blue Lantern-- acknowledged each other, wished each other luck, then went their separate ways, their others halves, if they were present, understanding the implication.

“It’s not just us then,” said Batwoman. “It’s the whole world, the entire universe.” Refusing to get bogged down, Barbara-- who had her costume put on her thanks to a small spell by the still-dazed Zatanna-- turned to the Atom. “Ray, I need you to go to the Science Tower, rally your troops. Rip thought there was something wrong, and was killed for trying to figure out what. Get the brainboxes together, try and see if you can figure out what Rip was going to figure out.”

“On it,” said Ray. There was a group of big brains that the Justice League always turned to in these situations, and his ability as a super-scientist were better suited to this situation than his ability as a superhero.

“I’m not getting any response from Superwoman,” said Batman. “I’m going to go after her. Black Bat and Robin have Arkham but as good as they are, they’ll need back up.”

“What?” said Red Hood. “If--” He stopped himself. Tim knew what he was capable of, and if he thought it would be best to go after Superwoman, then who was he to disagree. “If you’ve sent my kid to Arkham, I’ll be the one to back her up. What about you?”

“Bats, I’ll go with you,” said Blue Lantern. Guy ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “With the rest of the Corps called back into active service, I need to make good somewhere, and I think that the cause of the problem is going to be located here. What do you need?”

“The Cave, then the Fortress,” said Batman. Spoiler passed by and their hands gently brushed against each other. Tim took a moment to turn, kiss her on the cheek, then gave Gardner his attention. “You remember--?”

“I don’t forget.” Guy held up his cerulean ring, the focus point for his nigh-infinite powers, and the duo vanished in a haze of blue.

“You have your assignments,” said Batwoman, side-by-side with Nightwing. “Let’s get out there.”

The remaining heroes scattered, heading off to face the onslaught of villains that had been unleashed.


“Pee sitting down,” said Superwoman, her heat vision flaring.

Zod roared in agony, clutched at his groin and doubled over. The brief respite from the brutalisation at the hands of the escaping Phantom Zone prisoners ended, and they were on her once more. Clawing and tearing, Kryptonian teeth and nail gnashing at her with every passing moment. Hands were clamped over her face, forcing her eyelids down, and another went over her mouth, struggling to contain her as she battled against those who wrestled her down.

Faora pushed her husband over and grabbed Kara, rearing her up. “Immaterial for so long. Deals made. Power exchanged. Physical bodies for freedom when the time came. The time came. What now?”

“You don’t deserve freedom, Faora,” said Kara, rearing up her chin and getting her mouth free from those seeking to silence her. “Not after the things you did--”

Faora Zod smiled and turned to look at the Phantom Zone projector. “We all deserve what’s coming. We saw all but could not touch. We know what’s coming.”

Slathering tentacles began to emerge from the event horizon of the Phantom Zone projector. Try as Kara might, she couldn’t free herself from the grip of the half dozen Kryptonian prisoners that each had one of her limbs in check. She had expected a momentary advantage, her super-solar-charged body one-upping the energy-depleted prisoners, but they were strong, fierce, some side effect of the parasites bonded to their body?

Faora ignored Kara and went back to the Phantom Zone projector. She brushed shaking fingers against the cold metal surface of the machine.

“Don’t-- you-- touch that--!” growled Kara. She could hear the unique signature of the metal the projector was built from resonate against the touch of Kryptonian flesh.

“Or what?” asked Faora. It was her voice more than the parasite latched onto her.

More sounds. Things kept crawling out from inside the ghost dimension. They became physical, and their weight upon the world drummed against Superwoman’s enhanced senses. She had to act now, and hope she could survive the consequences.

Kara bit down on the hand of the man holding her down and he reeled back in pain. She made a sound, like static, like a computer booting up, one hard syllable using her Kryptonian vocal chords, and within a second every security droid in the Fortress of Solitude flooded into the immediate area. Concussive blasts shot out of their armaments, scattering the escapees.

Freed from the grip of the inmates, Superwoman made a beeline straight for Faora and punched her straight back into the Phantom Zone. The murderess almost cartwheeled in mid-air but was reabsorbed into the spirit dimension, and Kara spat blood, grimacing through red-stained teeth. “And stay out.”

Kara turned as the other inmates flew toward her, but before she had to fight back, they landed hard against a bright blue, iridescent brick wall construct that sent them bouncing back. Superwoman smiled as Guy Gardner, the Blue Lantern, strolled into the Phantom Zone room.

“I was gonna’ say you’d need a hand, but you got this, ain’t ya?”

“A hand is never not appreciated,” replied Superwoman. “And is Batman--?”

Before either of the two could continue or react, Faora re-emerged from the threshold of the Phantom Zone and slammed her fist down against the surface of the projector, destroying the device capable of opening and closing the tear in space.

Instead of severing the connection between the two realities, the event horizon of the gap in space began to grow, spreading upward across the Fortress’ walls.

“Rao preserve us,” whispered Kara. “What did--”

Faora began to laugh an inhuman laugh. Anything attached to one of the parasites joined in. Kara backed up toward Guy and the two heroes looked at each other, then the monsters swarmed toward them.


Black Bat and Robin kept to the shadows, the former a natural in stealth warfare, the latter having to follow in the more experienced hero’s footsteps quietly, careful not to raise any alarm.

Black Bat’s costume was optimised for the task at hand. Her costume was pitch, the yellow chest insignia, utility belt and interior of her cape the same thanks to the intelligent material it was made from, invented by Tim Wayne himself. The costume was designed to absorb darkness, manipulate it, so she became one with the shadows. If there was a member of the so-called Gotham Knights most worthy of the mantle of ‘urban ninja’, it was Cassandra Cain.

Robin had to be reminded on arrival to turn her vibrantly-coloured costume to stealth-mode, but she’d done it quickly, and Cassandra wasn’t one to call people on mistakes. She’d ran with Spoiler long enough to know that sometimes making mistakes was the best way to never make them again.

Carrie Kelley wasn’t even sixteen, but Jason Todd had seen something in her when he’d invited her into the fold. How old was she then, back when her training had started? Fourteen? Parents who didn’t care, a world that didn’t give a damn about her. There was something in her heart, something that could be tempered, folded, reinforced into a weapon, that’s what the Red Hood had told her. That wasn’t his name when they met. Redwing, that’s what he went by when she’d fished him out of the Gotham Harbour after an attack at the hands of the Bane Revival.

While they barely made it out of there alive, Todd had routed a deadly drug organisation with her assistance, and if there was one thing he recognised, it was opportunity.

Training had been fast and fierce. The costume came later. The principles were the priority. To be Robin, you had to be an extension of the Bat vigilante. To be Robin, you had to be everything that the Bat vigilante was, but something else entirely. As skilled as possible, but loud, brash, the distraction, the antithesis of the Bat vigilante when the time called for it.

“…I don’t understand,” Carrie had said, when they were stood atop the highest point in Gotham, looking down at a snow-ridden city still reeling from Mr Zero’s weather-manipulation experiments.

Jason wore a costume resembling Nightwing’s, a red colour scheme instead of blue. When she asked him why the change, why he dropped the shiny scarlet head mask, he simply replied he’d lost a bet, but there was more to it than that, she was sure. His hair was longer than usual, flitting about in the cold wind, but their insulated costumes kept them warm enough.

She remembered Jason’s smile. As he spoke, his breath was visible. “I was never Robin. I was something else. A failure, but thanks to my failure, lessons were learned, and Robin was born. You’ve met him, right? Nightwing? That pansy was everything I couldn’t be. The first Robin. He created the distraction, let Batman do his thing, and then when he grew out of the role, he became Nightwing. Then there was the second Robin, Shrike now, and he learned from every mistake Nightwing made, and he became better for it. The third Robin… Well, he’s gone now, and I only hope the same applies.”

“What happened to him?” asked Carrie. She adjusted the goggles she wore, an itch forming under her eyelid.

“Nature versus nurture,” replied Jason. “We’ve yet to see who wins that one. But anyway, there are two rules for Robins. One,” he held up his finger, “you do what your elders say unless you don’t. That’s, I think, the most important one. And two,” he held up a second finger, “be fearless.”

Redwing pushed Robin off the top of that tower, and Carrie had screamed, but then she remembered her training, cast the line, felt the reinforced cable go taut, and swung to safety to the other side of the chasm. When she landed, Jason was standing, leaning against a wall, smiling as he waited. “You’ll go far.”

“We’re here,” whispered Black Bat, pulling Carrie back into the moment. Cassandra Cain was terrifying and beautiful and Robin couldn’t help but be in awe of the woman who was trained from birth to be an assassin, but had overcome all that to become her own entity. Once Batgirl, now Black Bat. If nature versus nurture was decided on the battlefield of Cain’s life, the former won every time.

Robin nodded. Cassandra looked back at her, asked a silent question. Are you up for this?. Robin nodded again, sharply. Down below, the inmates were roaming the island. They’d taken up position in the guard towers. The boats were scuttled on the rocks, meaning there was no escaping the institution’s grounds.

“They’ll dig in,” said Black Bat. “The guards knew they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Got out while the going was good?” offered Robin.

“The lucky ones.”

“What should we do?” asked Robin.

“Batman said to wait. Recon only. But--” Black Bat went quiet, her eyes hidden behind the white lenses on her mask. Her lips curled and she took a rebreather from her belt and beckoned Robin to do the same. The windows of Arkham Asylum were all open, and pouring out from inside was a thick cloud of noxious-looking grey-green gas.

“What is that?” asked Robin.

Black Bat tightened the strips of cloth around her wrists and knuckles. “Contact Batman. Tell him Scarecrow’s protégé, Linda Friitawa, is loose.”

“Fright?” recalled Robin.

“Correct.”

“Oh, hell. Her skin releases fear toxin, doesn’t it?”

“They’ve kept her in a drug-induced coma for the last two years, in an effort to figure out how to reverse the genetic-tampering she performed on herself. But if she’s woken up…”

“There’s two years worth of fear toxin just waiting to be released! Holy crap!”

Robin looked at the cloud of toxin as it spread across the island. Those engulfed in it began to scream, then started attacking each other. People on the grounds tried to run, but the toxin was almost sentient, seeking out victims to infect.

“That sure looks like two years of terror…”

Black Bat checked her rebreather, then, confident everything was in place, positioned herself at the edge of the rocky outcropping the duo had taken up surveillance on. “I’m going in. If she’s not shut down, that cloud will spread across the bay and hit Gotham. Stay here, and only move if you’re spotted. Do not engage. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” said Carrie.

“Good. Wish me luck.”

Before Carrie could respond, Black Bat was gone, over the edge of the outcropping and gliding toward the ground silently. Of course she didn’t need luck. She was Cassie Cain.


Even as monstrous hands swatted and clawed at her, Kara was horrified at the sight of the shattered Phantom Zone controls. The dimensional rift was growing, and even the assistance of the Blue Lantern didn’t mean much in the face of an open wound in reality.

Across the room, Guy was generating constructs and battling Kryptonians, manifestations of his imagination flashing into existence then shattering against the super-tough skin of the escaped convicts.

“The parasites!” said Kara, looking over to Gardner, “They’re what’s keeping them going!”

The duo were fighting a war on multiple fronts, the things from inside the Phantom Zone stabbing their razor-sharp teeth into solar-charged and energised skin, trying to get their hooks into new and more powerful hosts. In addition, the escaped prisoners were throwing fists, kicks, even biting, all in the hope of downing their opponents.

No light had touched this room since Superwoman had entered the Fortress of Solitude. The Kryptonians from inside the Zone were weakening, but being outnumbered meant that soon enough--

--A blast of seething hot energy blasted out of a Kryptonian’s eyes just as Guy swatted her back, and it caught him square in the face just as he wasn’t expecting it. He reeled back, his force field dropping for just a second, and one of the parasites tore through his sleeve and latched onto his hand. He looked down at the thing and saw black veins pulse up his wrist and forearm.

“Get-- get-- -- clear--!” cried Gardner, fear hitting him for the first time since his daughter was born. He had been possessed before. He had done terrible things while under a thing’s thrall. And he wasn’t about to let that happen again. Not today.

“What are you--?” started Kara, but she saw him manifest a scythe-like construct and raise it above his arm. Without another word, she shot out of the room, following the slimy trail of the other things that had dragged themselves out of the Phantom Zone threshold, just as the projector room was engulfed in an all-encompassing blast of cerulean light.

The fringe of the explosion caught Kara in the back and she was flung into one of the crystal walls of the Fortress. Smoke poured of the projector room, and she could hear the slathering, clicking things swarm the place. She turned and saw a figure stumble toward her.

Minus an arm, Guy Gardner propped himself up, trying his best to smile. “I need a hand.”

“Guy, what did you do?!” cried Superwoman, rushing to his side, checking the state of the cauterised wound.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” said Guy, wobbly on his feet. “Since I merged with the Starsoul, I’m mostly made of energy anyway.” He was pale, his skin slick with a cold sweat. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.”

The Phantom Zone room was filled with the unconscious bodies of countless escaped prisoners, the parasites covering them charred and falling apart as the duo re-entered cautiously. Faora was slumped over at the edge of the tear in space, and Superwoman didn’t waste a second punching her all the way back in. As Guy joined Superwoman in the immense effort of returning the escapees back to their prison, the room began to clear.

Then a hand emerged from the zone. Big enough to fill the nine-foot gap in space. It tore at the edges, and began to stretch the hole larger and larger. Black, razor-sharp nails on four fingers, callouses across the pale, thin skin. Shadow-like liquid flowed in the massive veins under its flesh, and the bodies of the Kryptonian prisoners were somehow flowing inside it, as if the thing had absorbed the villains as they’d been returned to the void.

“This keeps getting worse,” whispered Superwoman.

The tear grew bigger and bigger and Kara knew that it was now or never.

“What is that thing?” asked Guy, his constructs trying their best to push back the almighty appendage as it tried to drag itself into existence.

“It could be anything, but,” Superwoman’s mind spun, ancient Kryptonian theology lessons brushing up against her memory, “it could be the… the Black Zero. The multitude evil of Krypton. Rao preserve us…”

“And that's supposed to make sense to me?” Guy strained, dozens, hundreds, thousands of strands of light rushing from the force field he generated and pushing back against the immensity that sought to make its way out. “You look like it ate your lunch!”

“It did much worse than that. It committed mass genocide during Krypton’s first age, absorbed everything it touched into itself! The shamans had to banish it to a spirit world-- a precursor to the Phantom Zone, maybe,” said Superwoman. Fear filling her, she put a finger to her ear and spoke quickly into the communicator in there. “Batman, how are you doing for time?”

Upstairs, in the main technology centre of the Fortress of Solitude, Batman had been working to reroute the Phantom Zone controls to the crystalline panel he’d been working at. Thanks to lessons from Lena Luthor and Kara herself, he had a high-level understanding of what was needed of him, but he knew there were people better qualified for the task at hand.

“Get clear,” said Batman, into his cowl communicator. He removed a control crystal from the bank in front of him and it wrapped around his glove like a wristband. He stabbed his finger into the surface and it shifted colour, and then he began to run. “Phantom Zone override now active. Sorry for the delay.”

Superwoman was about to thank him when the appendage surged forward and grabbed her. She turned and burned at it with her heat vision, but it just increased its grip, and she could feel its skin crawling against her costume. It was trying to absorb her, make her part of its immensity.

She could see the frayed edges of the Phantom Zone portal flex and fluctuate, as if the very presence of the Black Zero’s hand in reality was disrupting something that had previously been controllable-- the laws of physics. If it stayed inside for too long, it would disrupt everything, cause their back-up plan to fail, so she knew exactly what she had to do--

“Get clear!” screamed Superwoman. She spun around and prised the fingers off her, and then began to drive back the hand with all her might. The tear in the Phantom Zone was massive now, and with one last push she thrust the thing, and herself, back into the ghost dimension.

Guy Gardner was dumbfounded, but knew he had to get clear. He smashed through the numerous floors and ceilings of the Fortress, located Batman on the retreat, and scooped him up in his one surviving arm.

“Where’s Kara?” asked Batman. Behind them, the crystalline walls began to buzz. They vibrated at a frequency human ears weren’t designed to process, but the crystals dissolved, shimmered, and became slices of the Phantom Zone, the Fortress transformed into a giant puzzle box of portals back to that place.

This was the ultimate sanction in case the Fortress was breached. It would collapse in on itself and send all the weaponry, all the technology that could be used for evil, into the Phantom Zone. Batman needed a control box to action it, but with the Kryptonian’s swarming in the main room, he didn’t have a chance to apply the subroutines to it. That meant Blue Lantern and Superwoman buying him time, and him working like his life depended on it to get the technology centre working-- now that his work was done, it was happening, the entire place was coming down around their heads!

Even with the other-dimensional pull of the Phantom Zone trying to claim them, Blue Lantern pushed himself harder and harder until they were spat outside into the Antarctic Circle. They tumbled to a stop in the snow, Guy wheezing at the expenditure of power, but Batman rolled back to his feet and watched as the Fortress of Solitude folded in on itself.

Superwoman was inside. She’d sacrificed herself to prevent the Black Zero getting any further into their realm. There was an eerie silence across the frozen tundra, with Guy clutching his aching wound where his arm had been, and Batman completely aghast at what they’d had to do to save the world.

“Kara…” whispered Batman.


Beneath the Pacific ocean, in the converted ruins of the Justice League’s former base known as Laputa, the Atom powered up the numerous apparatus that made up the secret undersea base known as the Science Tower.

In this covert location, away from the public façade of the Watchtower, away from where prying eyes might question their work, the Justice League’s big brains performed their experiments.

Some might have called it a black site, but really it was the quiet that most attracted the Atom. It was his recommendation they build around the charred ruins of Laputa, felled in an attack at the hands of a frightfully over-achieving Joker. Long story short, the Justice League updated to new digs on the moon soon after, but in the ruins of a place he thought of as a second home was a place a new idea could come to fruition.

The others were still on their way, or operating remotely. Better to work in their own labs than remove themselves from the environment they were best suited for. But here, in the silence provided by the depth of the Science Tower, the Atom’s best work was done.

On one dusty shelf in one dusty room, the Atom searched for something he hadn’t looked at for years. There was a man he used to know, Professor Alpheus V. Hyatt, a mad old man with a curious mind and the technical know-how to get the unimaginable imaginable and physical. He had constructed a device capable of piercing the veil of the timestream itself, but, due to the technicalities of the project, the device was small, about the size of a chessboard. It had come to be known as the Time Pool, due to the sea-like ripple of energy across its surface, and the Atom had adventures in the past and the future, but when Hyatt died, he’d packed away the device, used it sparingly, but after something Rip had said back at the church, his curiosity was piqued.

Ray took his time unfolding the box-like device until it was flat on the worktop, then he carefully threaded the power cables into the inputs arranged on either side. He had to take a few minutes to find the right adaptors, the device utilising some of Hyatt’s typically outdated construction methods, but soon enough the device was ready.

The Time Pool activated slowly. The flat surface of the device was a dull, unassuming grey but, soon enough, threads of light began to form across it as if by some invisible, temporal arachnid, starting at the corners and weaved into the centre, until a web of light was visible.

A buzzing sound filled the room, and the Atom glanced around, unsure if it was coming from the device or elsewhere. Confident he was still alone, he looked down at the Time Pool, just as a shape formed under the surface of light. Slowly but surely, the shape began to push against the surface until it materialised into the real world, through the web, and Ray looked at it after a loud POP! signalled its full manifestation into the present day.

“What the heck are you?” asked Ray, considering the fist-sized cube that he now held in his gloved hand. Its sides were perfectly smooth, but there was motion across its surface, stars glistened, galaxies shifted, like a perfect universe had been reduced down and landed in the Atom’s lap.

“That does not concern you,” said Libra, driving his spear towards the Atom’s chest--

But Ray Palmer had been in this game longer than most, and wasn’t about to be taken out so easily. Sure, Libra had appeared from nowhere, just like the cube he had held that clattered to the floor, but the Atom’s control over the white dwarf belt he wore was so precise that a micro-spasm in his hand, his thumb and forefinger contracting ever so slightly, meant he shrunk down to microscopic size before Libra’s weapon could hit.

Thank goodness for braggadocious serial murderers, thought the Atom. He leaped across the chasm that now separated Libra and where he once stood, and with a change of mass triggered by another finger twitch, he punched the cerulean-and-gold-clad assassin in the jaw, sending him staggering backwards into a worktop in both pain and surprise.

Shaking off that initial shock, and before the Atom could leap toward the villain’s mask, slip through the threads and then clamber into his inner ear-- one punch would down him from the inside-- Libra waved his staff downward, like he was holding a starting flag, and the Atom screamed in agony as the white dwarf star in his belt suddenly reverted him back to full size, then it spluttered and spat, becoming dead matter millennia before it would theoretically cease to function.

Libra stamped down on Palmer’s stomach, causing him to jerk upwards, then his other foot found the doctor’s throat and began to choke him.

“There are some things you’re not supposed to know. I’ll be taking that,” he motioned toward the cube Palmer had dropped, “and you’ll never learn the secrets of the timestream.”

“That’s not for you to say,” said the figure in the shadows behind Libra. The assassin turned at the last moment, just in time to take a severe uppercut to the jaw that sent him scrambling.

Within a second, the Atom was back on his feet, his chest heaving, but better to die on his feet than on his back. He recognised his saviour and nodded in appreciation at the last minute rescue.

Libra cried out in shock as a hundred punches were thrown to his solar plexus by a scarlet and gold blur, and the Atom was pleased to see that the Flash had come to his rescue-- except his saviour was a woman, but a speedster nonetheless. Jesse Quick battered Libra, while Hourman, the one who delivered the devastating punch to the villain’s jaw, supported the size-shifting scientist as he got his footing.

“That guy killed Rip Hunter and now he’s trying to cover his tracks,” said Hourman. He cracked his knuckles. “You’re gonna pay for that, creep.”

Jesse Quick took a step back and looked down at Libra as he breathed in and out raggedly, blood dribbling out of his mask where his mouth would be. “There is a balance… To be maintained…”

“Keep talking,” said Quick. “And--”

Before she could continue, Libra folded out of existence, the sound of the air popping the only sign he had ever been there in the first place. The Atom swayed awkwardly, dazed by the punishment he’d taken, then steadied himself on the work top.

“Are you all right?” asked Hourman.

“Creepy sonofagun blindsided me,” said the Atom, removing his now inert belt. “Somehow managed to render the white dwarf matter in my belt useless. Some kind of time-manipulation powers, perhaps?” He began thinking through the possibilities.

Hourman picked up the cube that the Atom had retrieved from the Time Pool. “Something like that. I’m glad we made it here in time. I had a flash forward and saw you die, Ray. Couldn’t let that happen, could I?”

“Thanks, guys,” said Ray. He removed his inert belt and laid it out on the worktop. A problem for another day. He turned his attention back to Hourman, who held the black cube in his hand. “What is that thing?”

Hourman gently chucked the cube up in the air and caught it, watching the smooth, perfect sides flow against themselves as the Galaxy-like array of information inside percolated. “You’ve never seen the black box from a Time Sphere before?”


Cyborg grimaced. Mars on fire. Cities overrun with prisoners. He wanted to be down there, helping his friends and colleagues, but he was an information-processing machine. The Watchtower’s mainframes were designed-- extrapolated-- from his own processors, so he was best positioned to help monitor and mobilise forces where necessary. Optimised to direct the team to where they were needed the most.

The All-Star kids were rushing around, talking ground teams through their situation. Specifications on the prisons that the escapees were overrunning. Sewer systems that they’d flocked too, tunnels, buildings, all the information they needed to get the job done.

Their supervisor, the wheelchair-bound Fastbak, former champion of the New Gods but currently suffering the consequences of the Academy’s battle against Kalibak’s New Apokolips sect, was using his super-speed to reroute those who needed attention the most, but also made sure none of the students mismanaged the teams operating on Earth.

“Keep calm and collected, the Source will see us through this,” said Fastbak, his hands a blur as he did his duty. “Cat, stop, reroute, get satellite coverage to Zandia or you’ll be back in detention!” He shook his head as the young man did as he was told. “And be sent to The Hague for breaking international law. Again.”

Off in a corner, one of the long-silent banks of computers began to buzz. One of the closed-off systems, riddled with New God technology. It was making a ping ping ping sound, and Cyborg immediately split off another duplicate of himself to check it out, followed by Fastbak, who recognised a Mother Box’s cry for help when he heard one.

“What is that?” asked Spectrum, one of the recent additions to the All-Star Academy. He'd known her for a while, but who in the superhero business didn’t recognise Jessica, daughter of Chloe and Hal Jordan?

“New God communication array,” answered Cyborg. “It’s actually much larger, takes up a large portion of the underground sections of the Watchtower.”

“Let me,” said Fastbak. He placed his hand over the main console and the threads of cable from the Mother Box inside the array plugged into his palm. He jerked back, and then the transmission flooded the room, static filled patches shrieking out as everybody listened.

“#### ## ORION HIGH####ER OF ### ### GODS WIT# #### #EWS THE SOURCE WAL# ### FALLEN THE OLD GODS ### SWARM### ### ####ERSE ### ENTROPY ### #### ######### THERE ## #ESTRUCTION AND NOTHINGNESS ######### THE UNIVERSE ## #### HELP EVERYBODY NEEDS HELP ### #EW GODS HAVE FALL##--”

The transmission ended abruptly but Cyborg recognised the scratchy, rocks-in-a-barrel voice of Orion, New God of War, when he heard it. The All-Star students looked to Fastbak for answers, but he had none.

“That was Orion,” said Cyborg.

“Yes,” said Fastbak, running his hands through his hair. “There was something we didn’t factor in.”

“The Source Wall.”

Fastbak’s hands were shaking, but Vic Stone didn’t call him on it. “The Green Lanterns have had to pull out of Earth because prisons across the galaxy have busted open too. Meteor’s dad, Captain Comet, confirmed it. But what bigger, more dangerous a prison is there than the Source Wall? And if it’s opened… We’ve got a much bigger problem than just this reality’s escapees.”

“Are you… talking about the Old Gods?”murmured Spectrum, all the Academy students frozen in fear at the implication. They’d all sat through Barda Free’s lectures on the history of the known universe. The Fourth World they existed in. The Third world. The Second and First, and the Darkness. And before that… Entropy. The beginning of time itself.

“Get back to work,” said Fastbak. “Everybody, focus on the task at hand!” His bark drew everyone back to their work stations. He gripped his legs, and lowered them off the platform of the wheelchair. “Keep them safe, Vic. Above all, keep the children safe.”

“What are you doing?” asked Cyborg. His duplicate had gone to a console, while the real deal approached his colleague.

“Hold the line here,” said Fastbak. He stood, shaky, weak, but he stood on his own two feet for the first time in months. He checked his costume, and located the Boom Tube generator. “Orion needs help. He’s the Highfather. I have to go.”

“Fastbak--” started Orion.

“Tell Jenni I’ll be back. If it’s within my power, I’ll always come back to her,” said Fastbak. He affixed his helmet, his scruffy hair visible at the edges after months of indifference toward his appearance. With a nod and a smile, he activated a Boom Tube, and vanished from the Watchtower.

Cyborg stood aghast. This was bigger than anything they’d faced before. If the Source Wall had fallen, then it was only a matter of a time before existence as they knew it ended once and for all. The apocalyptic forces contained within were capable of destroying the galaxy a thousand times over.

“Mister Cyborg, sir,” said Meteor, the grey-skinned son of Captain Comet and an extraterrestrial mother he’d never met, his wide blue eyes blinking. “We’re receiving a message from the White King of Checkmate, he said it’s Level Black--”

One of Cyborg’s duplicates attended the transmission, while the real Victor Stone worked through the implication of what they’d just heard from Orion. What was the point in fighting?

“What’s going on, Steve?” asked Cyborg.

Steve Trevor, White King of Checkmate, and husband to Wonder Woman appeared on the monitor before Cyborg. “Black Hand just woke up screaming. Said his Guardian is coming back, that he’s freeq I think you know what that means. This is bad, Vic. If he’s coming back, it’s all hands on deck ten times over.”

Black Hand had been in a vegetative state since he’d failed to manifest his Guardian, the embodiment of darkness and death Nekron, on Earth, years ago. The connection between the Death God and Hand sustained him, and with that severed, with the prison door double-bolted after the escape attempt, his brain had switched off, but now…

“The black hole prison, the one where the worst monsters of the universe are kept, it’s opened too… Nekron, the Hounds of War, Oblivion, the Thousand Year Plagues… they’re all free.”

Each threat now free was its own crisis. Each monster had taken all of Earth’s heroes to take it down, and even then, all they could do was trap them. Imprison them. Nekron and the Black Sun. Oblivion and the Dark Lanterns. The Hounds of War and their universe-spanning hunt for harbingers of peace. So many more. And now they were all free, and inevitably, they would converge on Earth, the multiversal foundation point for all realities.

“How… how…” started Cyborg. “How can today get any worse?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

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