Action Comics #16: History Lessons

Action Comics
Issue #16: "History Lessons: A Double-Sized Issue Event!!"
Written by [name redacted] & House Of Mystery
Cover by Mischief and Ramon Villalobos

Letter to the Readers: It should be said that House Of Mystery is a fighter. He fights for his ideas. He fights for his opinion. He fights for his stories. Even when put against all odds he pulls through. At the end, it really didn’t seem like this would come out in time or at all. But it has come out. Because he fought for it. I had the pleasure of writing this issue with Charlie, and I hope there are more to come. Our combined efforts amounted to an obscene number of Word pages. It’s a long read, and is divided into three parts. Read them separately if it helps you get through it. However, while this issue seems to be going everywhere at once and is long, I can promise it will not disappoint and that it is an issue of substantial worth and creativity on the DC2. We worked hard, and I think it shows. Great cover by Mischief and Ramon too.

Part 1:


A doorbell sounded through the walls of the Kent farm. Martha, who had just finished the dishes, snapped her gloves off in wonderment. Her eyes reared towards the clock.

“Hmm, who could that be?” she murmured to herself, approaching the door. She twisted the handle and in surprise found a stranger at the door. He was a tall, handsome man and she could see the experience in his irises. But upon as gazing at his eyes, Martha found them unusually…inhuman. Quickly disregarding this thought, she addressed the stranger. “Hello is there something I could do for you?” she asked warmly.

“Why, yes. There is.” An accomplished smile formed on his lips. “Would you mind if I stepped inside for a moment?” Martha became slightly discerned now, wondering what this man was offering or what he desired.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

“J’o-…John Jones. I am a friend of your son’s, Clark Kent.” Martha sighed in relief and then moved aside. John Jones walked in, the heels of his shoes tapping the floor rhythmically. Like any stranger to a cozy home, he inspected the walls and viewed pictures along it of various family members and occasions of joy.

“You’ll have to excuse me, I just finished the dish-” John interrupted her calmly, but continued to stare at the pictures admiring them while he spoke.

“Mrs. Kent, it should be said, that while I value your hospitality, I haven’t much time. In actuality, I’m not John Jones, and I know that your son bares another name aside from Clark Kent.” Martha, astounded by both Jones’ forwardness and his knowledge became extremely cautious. “Kal-El. Superman. The latter by which I know him. I’m a superhero of the Justice League as is your son. My real name is J’onn J’onzz. I am the Martian Manhunter. We met weeks ago, when Braniac attempted to murder your son. But I wore his form then.”

“It’s so easy to doubt him, John. It’s so easy to doubt the man who bares the world on his shoulders. I think we’ve all made the mistake of doing it, but Clark is not only a valuable man for his powers but also for whom he is.” Mrs. Kent ran her hands along the guised Martian’s. “Trust him. He would never betray you. Now, I know you are in a rush for time, but I may tell you a story?”

Contemplating at first, the Martian soon nodded. The elderly lady loved this story and every time she shared it with another her heart became more whole or at least she liked to think so. “If this story does not convince you of Clark as a dependable soul than it shall make you a more hopeful person I suppose. It begins with Clark before he was Superman. He wanted to see the world so one day, he kissed me and his father goodbye and left and so…

“Halt, who are you?” a tattered but dynamic voice arose from the crowd as an old man parted his neighbours. An ancient artifact himself, dark wrinkled skin had wrapped itself around this flimsy skeleton. The faded eyes that bore cataracts seemed out of place, acting averse to the vibrant but stained clothing he wore. Even in this weakened state, one leg near crippled with a crutch under his left shoulder, there was an aura that deemed him powerful and strong.

“My name is Clark Kent. An American, I am not RUF, I am not government. I mean you no harm whatsoever.” The crowd was quite puzzled by his response, dissecting every word in their minds but being unable to comprehend why this unusual stranger had journeyed to their village of all places.

“Very well, then you won’t mind letting us borrow your load? If what you say is true, and you mean no harm, surely you won’t mind us checking you?” Clark removed the straps from his shoulders, tossing his sack to the ground before them.

“By all means.”

Morning rose, as did the sun gracefully over the mountains of eastern Sierra Leone. Clark Kent, as to not interfere or overwhelm the townspeople remained in his tent for the majority of the morning. Without control after waking, Clark’s super-hearing poured in sounds from every direction, the birds chirping, those that continued to sleep, talking (some in dialects that were hard to understand) amongst the people, and occasional snippets of his one true friend here, Abu, addressing his fellow villagers in a paternal manner.

But the cacophony was mostly soothing and enlightening until one noise seeped in that discerned him. Gunfire. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t within the valley but near enough for caution. It’d be best to inform Abu, but how? He would have to wait until it became closer, and for a better time than the morning. Alert him now, and everybody might go ballistic, panic would ensue. No, Clark would wait for a better time. Finally the rush of sounds became controllable, and Clark was beginning to get a handle on this foreign ability.

As the Last Son of Krypton withdrew from the borrowed tent, stares of suspicion and curiosity were gifted to him from all around. Time resumed, and the villagers went about their life, but not without keeping Clark within their peripheral vision. A hand grazed Clark’s shoulder, but he had heard it coming. The thumping and persistent digging of a sturdy wooden cane into the ground behind him had already notified him of Abu’s presence.

“Today, Mista Kent, you will assist in the fields. Is that okay with you?” Clark smiled at the chance to interact with these people and the thought of labor didn’t distract him, especially because he’d be able to do it with ease. In relation to his strength, Clark wasn’t sure of the limitations really, but he had been farming all of his life and knew that manual work like this would be basic. “And may I introduce to you a very dear friend of mine, Rukan.” A tall, built lady emerged from an adjacent tent, glaring directly into Clark’s eyes. She had the aura of a warrior, of one who had been in various struggles, and it showed physically, as she was naturally painted with scars digging into her torso as well as her face.

Rukan possessed a trait the rest of the community lacked: a coldness lurking in her. This village lived in fear, but they had not lived through hardship like Clark could tell she had just by the looking in Rukan’s eyes.

As noon came, so did summer rain pouring upon Clark Kent and the makeshift camp he had set up.

Gunfire. Within the noise of the soft tapping of raindrops against the Earth came the discerning racket of gunfire, much closer this time. The direction was uncertain though, Clark could not trace it towards any point of the compass.

Rising from the mud his whole body accelerated as he sped atop the mountains. A wake of mud splashed upwards trailing after him as he quickly charted the peaks until having reached the highest one.

“Kill him!” the flashes of light danced in pattern with the blasts of sound. Bullets skimmed the air breaking raindrops. As the first speeding piece of lead bounced off his shoulder, Clark became reacquainted with his immunity to bullets. This was no challenge. To him, this was child’s play.

He saw the astonishment in the soldiers’ eyes as he sliced through their gun barrels like soft marshmallow. These men, who had been taken from their homes, brainwashed and turned into ruthless warriors for the first time had come to a realization of what real fear was. A grenade went up in the air, and they all scattered. Rather than flee, Clark seized the grenade with his bare hand. As the explosive went off, he felt a minor concussion inside of his palm but no real pain.

“Run!” the RUFs slipped down the slopes through the taxing and muddy rocks. A single boy, not older than fifteen, tripped and plunged into the sharp gravel. Paying no attention to their fallen comrade, one of the soldiers chucked a second grenade in Clark’s direction in an attempt to shake the titan off. It fell just short of the child.

“No! Please almighty Allah! No! Spare me!” the injured teenager screamed helplessly. From the top peak, Clark raced down the mountainside, and wrapped his arms around the boy as the detonation went off. The terrain exploded, making a momentary rain consisting of dirt and boulders. As falling debris shattered against the Kryptonian’s back he watched despairingly as the soldiers continued their escape down the hill.

This boy was now useless to them. They had taken an innocent soul and turned him into a monster only to abandon him. Rising from the gravel with the unconscious child in his arms, Clark sped off towards Abu’s village.


Scanning the African environment that had culminated around him, the Kryptonian concentrated his eyes. Like lenses of a poor prescription the image of rich landscape went out of focus. Blur coated his vision grasping on but occasionally being overpowered until Clark had finally gained control. Miles and miles on end, but no violence within any of them. Then something clicked behind him, but something was absent. There had been no footsteps or audible warning.

It had been difficult to manage all of these powers at once; they were in a rapid state of rotation that farmer had found hard manipulate.

“So, why are you here?” an RUF commander smirked triumphantly behind the alien. “I repeat: Why. Are. You. Here? Diamonds? Relief? What is a white man’s purpose her-”

Clark spun like a tornado around in a flurry of speed. The trigger the commander had his finger on, pressed down as the Kryptonian crunched the firearm within his fingers. There was an explosive backfire engulfing the RUF’s face. As the gun-toting warrior sunk to the mud, the other RUFs stared at the opposing titan in fear.

“Because I told you to. Miss, if you can forget everything you know about what’s possible and impossible for just a moment and look earnestly into my eyes,” Clark ran his hand gently along her arm as her eyes gradually shifted towards his, “You will see I mean no harm. Trust isn’t about your predetermined assumptions, Miss. It’s a leap of faith.”

There was a moment of intimacy between all three. A certain intensity emitted from each of their hearts that filled the room. Each held a key to the survival of this village. Though she despised the thought of admitting she had been mistaken, Rukan glanced at the elder, who grinned his rotting teeth back at her. Willingly, the scarred woman turned back to the outsider with a glint of hope in her eyes. A trying smile captured her lips briefly.

“How?”

Clark stared at the child soldier lying on the bed affectionately. Redemption; to redeem one’s wrongs. This was his chance, a new shot at an old target. A fresh start to prove himself, but to who? Looking into the excuse of a mirror that these people valued as a treasure, he saw himself. Not just the image of his body, but his actual person.

“I’m not from around here,” Clark stated simply. The elder and the survivor were unsure of what to make of these words. Here was relative. Here could have been Smallville, Kansas. Here could have meant the remains of a planet a billions of miles away in space. Here was relative.

A gust blew through the door, as the outsider became a blur and disappeared within seconds. Two jeeps rumbled through the valley with their gunmen firing into the air recklessly. The speeding bullet of a blur visually materialized as he lunged forth at the first car. His feet jammed into the hood, tearing through the metal coat with ease. The car swerved out of control as the passengers panicked firing bullets. The ones that came remotely close to the Kryptonian were useless to the natural energy shield that coated Clark’s body.

“You expect me to wait for him to keep a promise that cannot be kept?” Rukan loaded one of the few guns the poor village had to offer.

“What about what you said?” Abu questioned, “What about the leap of faith?”

“Leap of faith? Ha. With all respect Mista Beah, what if he doesn’t land?” Rukan grimaced cocking the barrel of the rifle readily. Regret swept her as she noticed the loss of hope in her elder’s face. “I’m sorry. I just… all of these people, they still have fresh lives. They can still live. I lost my life a long time ago,” she mourned, giving her elder a trying smile. “If this is it…then… goodbye, Abu.”

“Goodbye my friend.”

Click-click.

Clark skidded into the village in a blitz. Gore. Too much of it. A woman yelped for help as she was sluggishly dragged along the ground by a lustful soldier. Immediately, Clark flashed in front of the RUF in direct defiance.

“Let her go.”

“And if I don’t?” dropping her to the ground like luggage, he grinned with a sparkling gold tooth.

“Then this” Clark clutched the man’s shirt and lifted him up without stress. “Happens!” the human rebel was hurled across the dirt road crashing into a nearby hut. Clark helped up the frightened victim and ushered her away into the fleeing crowd.

The rumbling of an engine grew louder behind him. Clark turned just in time and subconsciously signaled his brain’s self-protection mechanism. Lasers of heat spouted from Clark’s eyes, almost involuntarily, detonating the jeep into a ball of fire. The guerillas floundered out of the car, charging in every point of the compass.

“This…” he said, “is going to be harder than I thought…”

Abu sat still, blankly staring inside of his hut. A war of diamonds and greed was taking place just beyond these walls, a small war but a disturbingly violent one nonetheless; a miniscule war that was part of a more violent collective battle; a one-sided war, in which his people, his family most likely would not win. However, he accepted it, for that was all an old piece of furniture like him could do. The door crashed open, plopping on the floor. A combatant marched in with a burning look in his eyes. Abu could do nothing, so he waved cheerfully.

One by one in the midst of the battle, RUFs were sending helpless men to their knees before sticking a bullet in the back of their head. Abu’s fate had seemingly chosen the same path for him, because he had been thrown into the line. He was a useless old man to them, and his wisdom and charity could not aid in their violent rebellion.

“Send the next!” Abu was grabbed the rags around his collar and hurled into the mud. “May you find refuge in God, old man.”

BANG.

The barrel of the gun was wedged up suddenly, and the gunshot within it tore it apart. Clark slowly demonstrated his strength, curling the rifle into a small knot of metal. In resistance, the arms-wielding man flung a rapid left hook at his opponent. The Last Son of Krypton crunched it into a useless deformity. No longer would it be used for harming others.

“Aaaah! You monst’a!” despite their fallen comrade, the surrounding RUFs remained resilient firing at the bullet-proof outsider. Clapping his hands together, waves of compressed concussion toppled the soldiers upside down.

“Get down!” Clark yelled, giving a fair warning to all in the vicinity. He switched around staring directly at one of the jeeps. As both RUFs and citizens of the village crouched, Clark’s eyes generated beams of scorching heat. The compacted energy fired from his pupils blazing through the engine of the truck. His warning became meaningful as the jeep erupted into a rain of debris.

A captured soldier pounded to the ground with his hands tied behind his back. Clark looked up and his eyes met with Rukan’s. She was in her primal warrior form, packing the rage of a thousand men in her eyes.

“Who is he?”

“An old friend, and a disgusting piece of a man. And he should be dead, but that’d be too easy. I’ll secure” Rukan displayed her rifle in clear view for the outsider “this section of the town. The remains of their squad have fled,” she grimaced staring to the mountains. “Track them down.”

The Last Son of Krypton nodded and sped off at with inhuman acceleration.

“What is he?!” one of the maintained soldiers scowled.

“He is the beginning,” the warrior stated hazily “and the end.”

By sunset, the few RUFs left had been forced out of the valley and most never would dream of returning. Clark grimaced over the shattered village. The once beautifully decorated town he had strolled into appeared as a ruined war zone.

Abu’s mirror slept in the wreckage, frowning in disgust at the failed hero.

“I… did this,” he confessed as the elder crept up behind him.

“Nonsense, we were not as well hidden as we had imagined, Mista Kent.”

But the outsider was at a loss of words; he could lift skyscrapers with ease, but was unable to find the right words to condone the damage he had done on the village.

“They would ‘ave found us you know? You cannot blame yourself for what you could not prevent.”

“But my pres-”

“They would have come whether you led them here or not. While you shun yourself, my village’s people look upon you as a savior.”

“I can help rebuild. In a day’s time I can restore what it once wa-”

“Mista Kent. You’ve great power. Your father was correct when he said you were destined for great things. Not only are your physical feats remarkable, but your bravery is too. However, you cannot do everything for us. Surely, all of our people would have perished before the blood smeared guns of the RUF were it not for you,” Abu knelt down examining the broken mirror with a tone of delight in his voice “but we must learn to help ourselves. You cannot fool me. You are no human.” Abu gazed into a dusty mirror, while an old man retuned the face on the other side. “You’re destined to do great things for this world and accomplish feats no single man could ever do. But you must also guide the rest of the world to help them. Do not act for them, act to inspire them. Because the people of this world have potential. All my life I’ve seen different people, evil and good men. But all human beings have the capability to love and protect each other. You just need to show them the way,” Abu dusted the mirror off, gifting Clark a smile in his reflection.

“Thank you for your wisdom, Abu. You are a great man. A great…leader” the Kryptonian declared. “I know your people have that potential. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning,” Clark patted the ancient man on the shoulder with a comforting grin before trudging off into the fields.

“J’onn what took you so long?” Wonder Woman inquired coming across the Martian snacking on some Oreos in the Justice Hall. “We’d been waiting. What’s the news of Superman? Did his mother tell you anything?”

“Superman will be back.”

“How can you say that? Did you speak with him?”

“It’s Ch’ak’tnoyu.” The Amazonian was puzzled, what had the Martian Manhunter just said? “It means in my language ‘the hope instilled within’. A leap of faith, Diana. I believe that’s what this Earth calls it.” Diana could not help but smile at the Martian becoming accustomed to Earthly things.

“Okay, J’onn,” she agreed. He would be back. He would return.

Dust. He could smell the dust. Thousands upon thousands of old books, sonnets, plays, comedy and drama, science fiction and horror, all here. He picked up one book, flipped through the pages and then put it down. “You well, Eddie?” He continued to peruse the bookshelves, searching and sifting.

The bookshop owner smiled, not that you could tell from beneath that great big white beard he wore. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes green, and he had a large nose, which on rested a pair of circular glasses. “Jim! How are you?” He waddled from behind the counter and patted the large man on the back. “You’ve not aged one bit! In fact, you look younger!”

Jim Harper, The Guardian, smiled. He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt; his tie was stuffed in his pocket. “Thanks, Eddie. I…”

“Don’t even try and compliment me, Jim. You know the years haven’t been kind.”

“Lies and slander, my friend! You’re not dead. I think that is a strong reminder of how fair and just God is. I remember when I always had to pull you out of trouble, you know that? How you always got involved with a bad crowd and I had to kick their heads in, and save you.”

“Ha! Good times.”

“Anyway, how’s the wife?”

“Ha! The usual, Jim. How about you, any beautiful young lady at home?”

“I have my eye on someone Eddie, but don’t think I’d tell you about it!” The two laughed, and then there came a jingle of bells as the door to the shop opened slowly.

“Got a shipment of antique books here for Edward Birch…?” The man raised his clipboard and motioned to his van outside.

Jim nodded. “You sign, I’ll go get them.”

“What’s this?” Eddie glanced at the list of books he was expecting, and then at the books that arrived. “This isn’t right, Jim… Looks like I’ve been given… Oh, wait…” He removed a layer of old books, a gust of dust engulfing him as he placed them on the counter beside him and then saw the tomes he was expecting, “here they are. I’ve been given some extras… Antiques by the looks of them…”

“Best call your friend and see if he meant to.” Jim smiled and placed another box on the inside of the shop, and then began to look at the new items. “They smell old…”

“It’s my old friend from Ireland, Jim. He sent me a load of stuff that had been in his storage for a couple of decades. Didn’t want the damp to get to them…” Eddie smiled and picked up an old book. “This looks interesting.” He carefully flicked through the pages. “Have a look at this. Do you recognize this language?”

“Latin? Oh, wait…” Harper paused and began to mutter to himself, remembering words and languages that he had learnt through the many long years of his life, “It looks like a Goidelic language, Eddie. Old Irish.”

“Yes, I realised that, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever read. A mix of dialects that... Hmm. I need... Wait, I think I understand now...”

“Well... What’s it say?”

Eddie checked the front of the book, and smiled, opening the pages again and running an aged finger along red ink. “It’s a story.”

“And then…?” Jim Harper smiled and sipped his coffee.

“The legend says here that Bearchan died, that the sídhe protected their own and dragged him to the Otherworld with him … But…”

“But what?”

Eddie closed the book, more dust blowing out from between the old pages. “It’s a legend. So who knows what really happened?”

“Can I keep this?” Jim pointed at the book they had been looking at, and grinned. “I know a friend who might be interested in reading about some old legends.”

“Sure. Free of charge.”

Jim looked at his watch and finished drinking. “I’m on the clock in an hour. I’ll see you same time next week.” He exited the shop, only to be passed by a shady looking man, who entered behind him. He dismissed it, and then went about his way.

“Eddie,” the man whispered. “We need your help again.”

Birch sighed. “Again?”

“And we’ll reimburse you well enough.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up. “You know where the back room is, have at it.”



“Well this is irritating.” Caesar looked out as a small creature pranced around on parked cars and over lampposts. “It seems…” He looked over at the group of young police officers behind him, and grinned. “…Are you paying any attention?”

“What is that thing?”

“It seems to be a Psychopomp.”

“Psycho what?”

Caesar sighed. Imbeciles. “Homework then! Tonight: Read a book. A dictionary. Go on Lexipedia and do a search for the occult! A Psychopomp is a being that, if it feels you deserve it, will drag you down into hell. But definitions are different from one occult source to the next. To simplify without sounding like an idiot… Think… Charon? Anyone?”

One young officer looked up at Caesar, who nodded for her to speak. “The Styx guy?”

“Yes! Thank you! Double points for you. Charon. Boat man who escorted souls from one side of the Acheron to the other!” He paused, and began to wave his wand around. “As Captain Sawyer won’t let me enchant your bullets until I prove myself worthy of her much lauded trust…” His wand began to shimmer as a ruin appeared from nowhere and hovered in midair, and then shot out toward the Psychopomp and entrapped it. “Luckily you have me around. The walls between dimensions are weak here because of the demon that emerged a while ago. The dimensional barrier is like a bloody wound, liable to infection if not treated properly…” Caesar looked at the hotel he had parted ways with his sister in, and sighed. “…But with a demon of that power? Hmm. We’ll have to keep a look out for the time being.”

“What now?” Another officer chuckled and hoisted his rifle to his back.

“Now? Now we return to Central. My shift is done and your dear friend Jim Harper will be joining you shortly.”

A quiet chorus of ‘yeses’ and ‘scores’ spread among the officers. Caesar rolled his eyes and wrapped his black and red cloak tightly around his body, shivering as something crept over his spine. He shrugged it off, and continued. “Thanks for making me feel so glad to have accepted this meager assignment.”