Issue 0: "Lost Sons of Krypton, Prelude"

Lois Lane was onto something. Something big. She just wasn’t exactly sure what it was yet, but all the questions she was asking were making all the right people nervous.

She absently blew a stray curl out of her eyes and continued typing furiously into her computer.

“You’re going to ruin another keyboard like that.” Came the bemused voice from the desk facing hers.

“Quiet, Smallville. And if you stay that way for the rest of the afternoon, I’ll let you drive me to the ceremony to pick up my second Pulitzer this story is gonna win me.”

Clark Kent shook his head and straightened his glasses on his nose. Six years working side-by-side (if not always together!) and she still called him Smallville. Yet, he took a certain amount of comfort in their sometimes not-so-friendly rivalry; it was the least of things Clark Kent usually had to worry about.

“Stupid bullpen…Can’t wait ‘till I have my own office…” Mumbled Lois.

“Lane! Kent! Get in here!”

Lois and Clark hastened to their editor’s office, the clock on the wall confirming their mutual suspicions that it was time for Perry’s lunch-time meltdown for the evening edition.

But when the door had been shut behind them, they were shocked to see the office crammed with men in black suits and dark glasses, and one man in particular who seemed to grab all the attention just by being there: Lex Luthor sat calmly with one leg crossed over the other one, with a faint smile on his face.

Perry White faced them from behind his cluttered desk.

“I’m sure you both know who this is,” Perry eyed them sternly.

Lois recited, as if by rote: “Alexander Luthor, self-made multi-billionaire, businessman, industrialist and developer. CEO of LexCorp, the largest employer in Metropolis, and on the board of directors for dozens of companies across the United States, including GBS, the company that owns this paper. Metropolis’ second favorite son.” She finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

Lex had been listening to her drone on with a droll smile, and only a barely perceptible twitch of a jaw muscle indicated that her last barb had stung. He, nevertheless, graced her with a wolfish grin.

“Lois, it’s so nice to see you again. A delight, as ever. Mr. Kent. I read your piece on the refugee problem in Rwanda in Sunday’s edition. Very nice work. On Monday, LexCorp wrote a check to the Red Cross to help with the relief effort there.”

“That’s very generous, Mr. Luthor.” Clark shook the offered hand, his face revealing none of the puzzlement he felt at Luthor’s presence here.

“Enough with the small talk,” Perry grumbled. “Mr. Luthor is here because he’s been tipped off that a leak in his organization has been feeding a Daily Planet reporter potentially damaging misinformation about LexCorp’s operations, and he thinks it’s one of you.” Perry looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “What you may not know, Lois Lane, investigative reporter, is that Mr. Luthor and I go way back together, to our days in Suicide Slum, and that as of this morning, he owns a controlling interest of GBS stock.”

Clark was taken aback. He was about to retort, but Lois beat him to it.

“I won’t kill a story just because some muckety-muck puts some pressure on---.”

“I’m not asking you to kill the story!” Perry yelled over her. And for the first time, they could see he was really mad, but not at them for once. “I brought you in here because I want you and Mr. Luthor to know that the power and privilege of the press cannot be bought or influenced, or that trading in on old friendships can’t stifle the truth!” Here he turned to Lex, whose face was getting stormier by the second. “Though, really Lex, can you call what we had a friendship? You used me, like you’ve used everyone around you to get where you are. But you won’t this time. Not while I’m the editor-in-chief of this great Metropolitan newspaper!”

Clark felt a surge of pride for the man he worked for, and Lois wore a smile from ear to ear. Lex recovered his aplomb with startling alacrity, though.

“Which may not be for much longer.” He smiled pleasantly at Perry and rose to his feet. “I guess you can take the boy out of Suicide Slum, but not Suicide Slum out of the boy. Good day, Ms. Lane, Mr. Kent.”

And with Perry glaring at his retreating back, Lex and his entourage left the office.

After the door had closed behind them, Perry snapped: “Great Caesar’s Ghost, what are you two waiting for! Get that story!”

Drawn by latent Kryptonian soliton radiation, the compromised tesseract descended upon another quite like it at the very bottom of the Earth, a multi-dimensional fortress of solitude for the last son of Krypton. And when the two tesseracts collided, there was an enormous release of energy, akin to the detonation of a high-yield nuclear weapon.

The face of the Antarctic continent was almost instantly transformed. The blast, which was felt as far away as Argentina and Tasmania, leveled the surrounding mountains and the covering ice sheet for miles in every direction, creating a city-wide crater. And that crater was a chaotic swirl of demonic activity. Burst open like a ripe peach, the Kryptonian fortress of solitude lay exposed, the relics and mementos of the dead world sprawled out upon the Antarctic plain. Engulfing it, the tesseract that imprisoned it destroyed, the pandemoniac realm of the Phantom Zone, stretched far and wide. Flames danced crazily in an otherworldly wind, and steam from melting ice filled all the air… Howls went up from creatures never dreamt of in sane imagination…

And out of this hell, strode it’s very own Lucifer and two archangels.

Spiked boots trod heavily upon the slushy, steaming ground, and a mailed glove swept low to retrieve a glowing green Kryptonian isobar. It illuminated a face that was humanoid, but twisted in wide-eyed madness and gleeful cruelty.

“What is it?” He snarled.

The woman, clad in skintight leather, her head shaved clean, recognized it immediately, and snatched it out of the brute’s hand.

“General! A memory cell.”

The figure stepped out of the mists. He was tall, towering over both his underlings, and clad in ornate armor, studded with spikes. His warmask hid a face long ago blackened with the perfidy of his sins--- but no one living had ever seen it. He had with him, chained to an iron leash, a vulpa, a leonine creature, covered in scales, with a ridged back; it slavered and drooled, its red eyes hot as murder.

“Excellent, Faora. There is a dataport over here.” Came the hollow, stentorian voice.

The three went to a console, still operational due to the remarkable sturdiness of Kryptonian soliton power cells, and the woman named Faora activated the isobar.

“… due to the peculiar effects of the radiation from a yellow sun upon Kryptonian physiognomy, your body will become a living solar battery capable of amazing powers…”

“Zod.” Commanded the General, his beast straining against its spiked collar.

“Zod, self-proclaimed general, and would-be conqueror of Krypton,” The voice of the memory cell dead-panned. “Responsible for the death of millions during the Last Kryptonian Civil war, and ultimately Krypton itself when the self-perpetuating nuclear device he detonated to destroy Kandor burrowed down into the world’s core and began a chain reaction that would ten years later, tear the entire planet apart…”

This elicited a gasp from Faora and a stunned grunt from the brute. The General was emotionless beneath his helm.

“… after his capture, and prosecution by Jor-El, Zod was sentenced to eternal exile in the Phantom Zone by decree of the Council. With him went his two loyal followers, Kru-El, known as the Hound of Zod, and Faora Jax-Ur, both of whom---.”

“Enough.” Came the cold, hollow command of the General. “How is it that there is an outpost of Krypton on this distant planet?”

“In the last days of Krypton, Jor-El sent his infant son rocketing to Earth, with this last repository of our civilization. Kal-El has dedicated his life to protecting his adopted planet as---.”

“The House of El survives?” Growled Kru-El, his savage face purpling. “Where is this last son of Krypton?”

“Metropolis, North America, latitude 41 degrees north, longitude 75 degrees west…”

Rage welled within the breast of the brute that was impossible to contain. With an instinctive surge of passion and an animal yell, he shot straight up into the sky, arcing north with the curve of the world.

Faora gaped at the display, and then looked down at her own clenched fists, a wild smile curling her sensuous lips.

“Then it’s true! I can feel the power welling up within me, too! We have become gods!”

The General nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and even the vulpa cackled in maniacal glee.

“Kru-El!” Faora exclaimed. “He is going after---.”

The General held up one mailed hand, silencing her.

“Let him go, my Tigress. We have much to think about. And after all, he has family business to attend to…”

Veering sharply, Superman was nothing but a blue and red blur as he dove for the runaway train, the panicked shouts of the passengers and children below ringing in his ears. He caught the train just as it brushed the tree-tops of the park, balancing it on his back and outspread arms as he flew it back up to its track, setting it securely back down on the rails. He immediately saw the cause of the “accident”--- a portion of the track had been removed, smashed to pieces on the ground below. But, how---?

“Son of Jor-El!”

Shock ran through him at the sound of his Kryptonian father’s name. Who on earth…?

Something struck him at a blindingly fast speed, a blur of a man hitting him a flying side-swipe. He found himself sailing though the air, his progress only arrested by the side of an apartment building. He hit the brick face, rattling it, and sat on the ledge, shaking his head groggily.

The blow hurt. He gingerly touched the side of his face and winced. He looked up in time to see his attacker barreling headlong for him, fists extended. The Man of Steel launched himself back into the air, just as the super-powered flying madman slammed into the side of the building, drilling through it like a hot knife through butter!

Gaining altitude, Superman prepared himself to meet the next onslaught of his sudden foe. He dared a quick glance back towards the parking garage where he’d last seen Lois, relieved to see she was okay, but the would-be assassin was on the move, creeping from shadow to shadow, towards their car… If he didn’t intervene soon---

The momentary distraction was all his opponent needed. Superman was hit hard from behind, the madman pouring on speed and momentum, hurling the Man of Steel violently to the ground in Centennial Park. His impact left a twenty foot groove in the grass, and more than a few toppled trees. Picnickers fled the scene, screaming.

“Pathetic.” Spat a brutish voice.

Shaking his head to clear his vision, Superman saw his attacker touch down a few feet away. He was a thick, wild-eyed man with long unkempt hair, dressed in strange dark armor which bore a stylized image of a dog.

“I had expected more from the last son of Krypton,” Sneered the brute as he advanced.

Superman got unsteadily to his feet.

“Is that all you’ve got, Son of Jor-El? I’m going to crush every bone in your body and mash your flesh into paste!” Spittle flew from his mouth. There was something familiar about his wide, wild eyes, but Superman had no time now to figure it out.

“Well, at least I can take a punch.” The Man of Steel clenched his fist and cocked his arm, his teeth gritted. “Can you?”

The blow landed solidly on the madman’s chin, hurling him as if cannon-shot straight up into the stratosphere! After a moment to recover, Superman took off after him, knowing he wouldn’t be out of commission for long. He realized, with some desperation, that this madman would just keep coming, putting untold numbers of innocents in jeopardy, until one of them was dead or senseless.

But if he didn’t get to Lois in a matter of seconds---!

In the upper atmosphere, the blue and red streak met the black one. The two powerhouses collided again with a sonic boom that shattered glass, miles below. Hand to hand, the two grappled, faces pressed close to each other.

“Runt! Weakling!” The crazed man with the familiar eyes snarled, the veins of his neck pulsing as he struggled against Superman. “I will drop your broken body at the feet of my lord and master, Zod!”

The name sent a thrill of dread down Superman’s spine. He knew of only one being with that name. A boogeyman, used to frighten Kryptonian children to sleep. A monster, thought long exterminated…

“Zod? General Zod, the destroyer? Who are you?” Gasped Superman, straining with all his might against his foe.

Through twisted lips came his answer.

“I am Kru-El, the Hound of Zod, bastard son of the House of El--- and your long-lost brother!”


TO BE CONTINUED...