DC2 PRESENTS... TEN YEARS LATER PRELUDE #1

Two Years Later…

Martha Kent stepped out onto her porch as a beautiful summer’s day in Smallville inched towards noon. It was warm, but a soft, cooling breeze stirred the white linen pavilions that were set up in the fields of the Kent family farm. Martha had laid out table after table of food to feed the guests who’d been streaming in from the road to town all morning.

It had been a long time since so she’d had so many visitors, but she was glad for it. She thought back to days of family and friends gathering for picnics and parties, birthdays and graduations; memories of a young boy leaping haystacks in a single bound rushed back to her…

“You’ve outdone yourself, Martha,” Lana Lang leaned her forearms on the porch railing, and looked out over the dozens of guests between the farmhouse and the barn; all of them had a paper plate or paper cup, and they chatted or laughed, talking in pairs or in small groups.

Martha dusted flour from her hands and went to stand next to Lana. “I had a lot of help.” She put one arm around the younger woman, hugging her. “You did the hardest part. We all know you’re the best pie-maker in Kansas.”

“Second best,” Lana smiled up at Martha.

“Clark, wait up!”

In the yard, a tow-head toddler in overalls, giggling, led a well-dressed light-haired man in a jacket and tie on a merry chase around an old tractor.

Martha Kent laughed loudly, and Lana called to the man, “don’t let him get into the corn, Pete! He’ll get lost!” There was a note of worry in Lana’s voice, but she was also trying not to laugh.

Pete Ross waved to his wife and his best friend’s mother, and chased his son.

“It’s so nice to see you and Pete together and happy, after all these years,” Martha sighed, hugging Lana a little tighter. “And you have such a good little boy. Takes after his namesake at that age. I could never get my Clark to stay still for more than a few minutes, either. Jonathan would spend hours looking for him not just in the corn, but in the rafters of the barn, too!”

The two women laughed. It seemed like one or the other might say something else, but a fraught silence ensued. A lifetime of memories and aspirations welled up between them, unsaid but mutually understood.

After a moment, Martha Kent realized the shoulders she was hugging were gently shaking. She pulled Lana Lang closer to her, and Lana buried her face in the older woman’s apron, smelling nutmeg, cinnamon, and orange peel, comfort and sorrow in equal measure.

Martha Kent looked out over the gathering of her son’s friends through eyes swimming with tears. Feeling like she was looking back through time, she spotted a familiar figure approaching, a girl the same age as Lana, with short blonde hair and a young daughter in tow. “Lana, look…”

Lana looked up, a smile dawning with recognition. “Chloe--!”


The distance from town to the Kent farmstead was not long, and most of the guests chose to walk it. But Perry White was beginning to regret that decision.

“Everything okay, chief?” Jimmy Olsen asked, seeing the grimace Perry tried to hide.

The managing editor of The Daily Planet was irritated by the question. It wasn’t the shortness of breath that bothered Perry the most, nor the cramp in his hip. But here he was in the middle of nowhere, in Smallville, for crying out loud-- at a funeral, no less!-- and one of his “ace reporters” wanted to know if everything was okay.

“Just fine, Edward R. Murrow,” he muttered acidly. “I really enjoy burying reporters killed on assignment.”

To his credit, Perry had to admit, Olsen took the jibe without protest. The younger man kept pace with his editor, hands in his jacket pockets, glancing up the path at the line of people they followed towards the Kent farmstead.

After a moment, Jimmy sighed and shook his head. “Even after all this time, it’s hard to believe he’s not coming back. I mean, why give up the search now? Isn’t there a chance…?”

“It’s been two years,” Perry replied with as much patience as his exertions allowed. His fingers itched for a cigar. “Unless he’s wandering the world with amnesia, Clark Kent died in the Zandian uprising.” And I sent him on that assignment, he thought bitterly. “The world’s a dangerous place, kid, and horrible things like that happen. And sometimes reporters get killed trying to show us just how horrible it can be. It’s tough, but we eventually have to accept it.”

Jimmy nodded, kicking a corn husk out of his path.

“Clark didn’t think it was horrible,” Jimmy mused, in protest to Perry’s assertion. “Clark was always able to find the humanity in the story; he always saw the chance of hope, no matter how small it was. I think that’s exactly why he went to those places, to show people that even though the world is dangerous, it’s also good, and worth fighting for. That’s how I’m going to remember him, anyway.”

Perry looked over at his young companion in surprise, for the first time seeing him not as the kid who brought him bagels and coffee, but as a young man ready to make a difference in the world.

And Olsen was right. Kent never complained about dangerous assignments, in fact, the mild-mannered farm-boy was always the first one to volunteer to fly into war-zones or disaster areas.

No, Kent knew what he was getting himself into, and the stories he brought back changed the way his readers looked at the world. Clark Kent’s had been a life worth living, and that was something to celebrate, not mourn.

“Well said, Olsen,” Perry grumbled. He stopped short of telling Jimmy what a fine photojournalist he was turning out to be. Let him figure it out on his own; all the best ones did.

“Maybe if Superman hadn’t left Earth around the same time…” Jimmy Olsen toyed with the watch on his wrist, inscribed with an ‘S’ shield, but shook his head at his line of thought; not even Superman could save everybody. “Do you think he’ll ever come back, chief?”

Perry White looked up into the clear sky, a reflex most Metropolites had developed since that day when a man in a cape appeared to protect the City of Tomorrow from a radioactive monster.

“Who knows?” Perry squinted against the bright sunlight. “Earth is his home, but we’re just one planet in a pretty big universe. With all his power, I can’t even begin to contemplate the responsibility Superman must feel…” Perry shook his head, and shrugged. “Lois was the last one to see him. She says he’s coming back. That’s good enough for me.”

“Poor Lois,” Jimmy pitched his voice lower, eyes on the back of the woman walking ahead of them. He thought about his friend, and how desperately she had clung to hope over the course of the last two years. “Losing Clark like that so soon after they had become engaged. She’s holding up pretty well, all things considered.”

Perry snorted. “Never mind Superman,” Perry White told him, not bothering to lower his voice. “Lois Lane is the strongest person I’ve ever known. She’ll get through this, Jimmy. She’ll be just fine.”

Walking several feet ahead of them, by herself and alone with grief and secrets, Lois Lane pretended she didn’t hear their conversation. She’d heard it all a dozen times already, today, and had little doubt she’d hear it again. The crimson pendant around her neck sent a surge of warmth through her, and she clutched it tightly. She glanced up at the sky and thought she saw two figures amongst the clouds, but when they didn’t become any clearer, she sighed and headed down to the rest of the mourners gathered.


Though they had no body to bury, they put up a headstone next to his father’s. Jonathan Kent had been killed during the Apokolips Invasion that saw the formation of the Justice League all those years ago, but fresh flowers of vibrant colors adorned both graves.

Most mourners had left the graveside already, streaming towards the wake at the Kent farm, a mile up the road, but three remained: a grim-faced, dark-haired man in a tailored black suit, a non-descript man with plain features in a trench coat, and a beautiful woman, taller than either of the men, with a regal bearing.

The trio stood in companionable silence for a while, contemplating the finality of the headstone and the name inscribed on it.

“I… I’m not sure if I understand this… farce.” The woman said after the last straggler had disappeared up the road.

The dark-haired man fixed her with his intense stare. “The world knows Superman left the planet. We have to explain why Clark Kent is no longer around. That’s what this is about. J’onn can’t spend his spare time wandering war zones in Clark’s form. That bought us some time, but now--”

“What happens when Clark returns, Bruce?” the woman turned her cool gaze on the dark-haired man. “Superman comes home and-- lo-and-behold-- Clark Kent is found alive after all? How is he going to be able to explain that? Don’t you think he’s going to want to live his life?”

The non-descript man looked over at her, his brow furrowed. “Diana, this is hard enough--”

Diana rounded on him, eyes glinting. “Hard, J’onn?” She repeated in a soft, dangerous tone. “Hard is going toe-to-toe with Darkseid and living to talk about it. Hard is sending Nekron back to the abyss. Hard is outwitting a twelfth-level intelligence like Brainiac. Hard is taking on the armadas of Emperor Zod, or the touch of the Kryptonite Man, or living up to a legend that will inspire heroes for a thousand years…” The words came out of her mouth like a deluge, months of frustration become clear. “This isn’t hard. This is surrender, and I don’t understand it.”

The plain face worn by J’onn J’onzz did not react, but Bruce Wayne looked as if he’d been struck.

“You’re not being fair,” Bruce hissed at her. “J’onn spent months out in space searching for him, Boom Tube-ing from one galaxy to the next. Hank and John have the Green Lantern Corps looking for some sign. There’s been nothing. For two solid years, nothing. And as much as we hope, maybe we need to prepare ourselves for… for…” Bruce cleared his throat. “Maybe Superman isn’t coming back.”

“You think he’s really dead.” Diana said like an accusation.

Bruce drew himself up, unflinching. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but sometimes we have to face harsh realities. Clark would want it that way. He’d want us to continue the good fight.”

“And never give up hope,” said Diana. “Superman stood for hope more than anything else, the belief of a better day, for a greater tomorrow, and for never giving up. To give up hope? Bruce, you of all people, I can’t believe you’d countenance such a thing.” Diana shot back-- and immediately regretted it. Her bolt told. Bruce Wayne swept away, stalking across the cemetery towards the car waiting for him. “Bruce, wait,” she called after him.

“Forget it, Diana,” he waved a hand, forestalling her apology. “After today, we’ll all have to figure out ways to honor our friend. You do what you have to do. But me, I’m getting back to work.”

Diana shook her head as the two remaining friends watched the car drive away. “I didn’t mean to hurt him…”

{He was hurting already,} J’onn spoke directly into her mind. {If Clark is truly gone, than that loss would be almost impossible to bear: to us, to the world, to history. But Bruce has suffered through great loss before, numerous times. The weight he must carry is greater than we can imagine.}

{Clark was my best friend,} said Diana. {I understand what he’s going through.}

{Clark was Bruce’s brother,} said J’onn. {Polar opposites at first glimpse, but more alike than anyone of us ever realized.}

For a moment, the form of the non-descript, plain-faced man wavered, and Diana saw the gentle, wise and true face of her friend. She turned away, not ready yet to relinquish her anger.

J’onn stepped close to her, radiating a calm serenity. {…Diana, in those months I spent in space, looking for Clark, it’s not exactly true that I found no sign of him.}

“What?” Diana stiffened and turned an accusatory glare on the Martian Manhunter. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you find?”

{Diana, please, I have not yet shared this with anyone else, not even Martha, or Lois--}

{Why, J’onn?} Diana sent back, almost dreading to hear the news. {What could possibly…?}

{It is not… conclusive.} J’onn put one hand on her shoulder, and she covered it with her own. {At the time, I did not even realize what I was hearing was significant. I was traveling through a dense star-field, a very compact cluster of ancient suns on the very edge of the observable universe, farther than I had ever travelled. At the time I thought it was an interesting anomaly-- that far out, galaxies and stars become more greatly dispersed due to the nature of the expanding universe, but these were not only close together, they were all emitting strange electro-magnetic signatures, gamma ray bursts, and waves of super-gravity, all in some complex yet ultimately discernible cosmic conversation with each other.}

{Are you saying this star cluster is alive, and talking to itself?} Diana closed her eyes, trying to imagine the weirdness of it all, or how this could point to Clark.

{I have no way to answer that question,} J’onn told her. {I have never seen the like anywhere else in the universe, nor did I realize at the time exactly what I was experiencing. Perhaps no one but a Martian, with our specially attuned senses, could have heard it at all. But I have thought long on this, and yesterday, while meditating in Z’onn Z’or, I was struck by the ebb and flow of that stellar conversation. I converted it to soundwaves and photons. May I share it with you?}

“Yes,” said Diana, breaking away from the telepathic connection. “Please.”

It was faint at first, stealing into her consciousness subtly, but grew with power. Echoes and images swirled and throbbed, coalescing and dissolving in intensity. Her eyelids were pressed shut, but a vast, endless panorama opened before, expanding into eternity, going on and on until it rebounded upon itself within her, filling her, a universe of light and sound contained in her mind. Particles of light conformed into familiar shapes, waves of sound created a pulse she recognized, that beat out a rhythm of heart and mind dear to her…

“Clark…” she said his name aloud, unheeding of the tears escaping her tightly closed eyes.

For the symphony sung by these strange stars, unique and lovely, was nevertheless, a lament… a funereal dirge…


“Drink?”

Hal Jordan scratched his beard and cocked an eye at his old friend; Barry Allen was usually the teetotaler of their group, but today was no usual day.

“Hell yes,” answered Ray Palmer, walking on the other side of Hal. The unassuming-looking scientist had already loosened his tie and opened his collar button. “I… I just…” Ray shook his head, at a loss for words. “I mean, before we go to the farm…”

Hal clapped one hand to the shoulders of both friends. “Absolutely. I don’t touch the stuff much anymore, but Chloe told me about this great little pub in town…” He chuckled. “I think we all could use a little extra fortification to get us through the rest of this day.”

It was a short walk, and in moments they were in the cool, darkness of the local pub, the three of them belly-up to the elegant half-moon bar-top. Barry ordered three straight whiskeys, then held up his glass.

“To Clark. The best of us.” The others echoed the toast and all of them drank. Barry blew out a breath and set his glass down with a clink.

“You know,” Ray observed. “When was the last time we all got together like this? We used to do it a lot, remember? Ollie’s poker games? Dinners at my place? Jean used to love it when Clark came because he’d have the dishes done before we even sat down for dessert.”

“And how is your lovely wife?” said Hal.

“Watch it, mister,” said Ray.

Hal held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I can appreciate--!”

Ray shook his head. “I’m yanking your chain, flyboy. She’s great. Runs her own law practice, and keeps me in white-dwarf star matter and other such extravagances.”

“All those years ago, when we were first starting out, going up against the likes of Amazo and Despero on a daily basis, who could have imagined us having normal lives?” said Barry. “I mean, I understand me, I understand Ray, but you, Hal? The darkest horse of them all.”

“Well, thanks, I guess,” said Hal. He gestured to the bartender for another round. “I guess it’s just… well, I love Chloe. And I love Jessica. More than anything, I love them. More than the old life, or the ring. It’s all them, I’m clueless, just caught up in the ride.” Hal smiled around the rim of his glass. “They ground me.”

“Jess is a good kid,” Barry remarked, with a wistful tone in his voice. He was, Hal knew, thinking about his and Iris’ daughter Carrie, long lost to them. Hal clamped a hand down on Barry’s shoulder, and the look he gave him said what words could not.

Ray moved the conversation on. “It’s a miracle any of us have normal lives at all. Saving the world every Tuesday isn’t exactly conducive to working on a career and planning for retirement.”

“I’m taking Tuesdays off nowadays,” Hal held up a hand, ringless but for a simple gold band. “Good for the soul.”

“And you’re never tempted?” said Barry.

“Nope,” Hal nodded. “Tuesdays are strictly for soccer practice and pizza night. I couldn’t live with myself if I missed a moment of Jess’ life. I nearly lost her once, after all. Never again.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Ray held up his newly refilled glass.

“How is Chloe?” Barry asked, swallowing more whiskey then waving at the bartender for more. “I haven’t even had a chance to say hello yet.”

“She’s doing great. Her job at the Global Peace Agency keeps her pretty busy, but she’s doing good work there, not that anybody would know it. They’re all cloak and dagger nowadays. She flew in early with Jess, to help Martha and Clark’s old friend Lana; they all went to high school together. You’ll see her back at the farm later, running the festivities like a general.” Hal wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I have to say though, I was concerned you weren’t going to make it.”

Barry tipped his glass in Hal’s direction. “I’m back in the present now, but Wally’s wearing the boots. I just spend my free time chasing Bart around the house while Iris works the anchor job.”

“Another toast then,” said Ray. “To yesterday, today and tomorrow-- and whatever it brings. To old friends and new, to those lost to us, and those to be found. And here’s to Hal keeping his eyes off my wife.”

Barry cheered, “here here!” while Hal shook his head in mock outrage and drank.

“On a different note,” Ray frowned, and gazed into the middle distance. “But speaking of old friends, has anyone seen Arthur?”

“Not since the Undersea War,” Barry looked grim. “We know he survived the destruction of Atlantis; J’onn communicated with him briefly, just afterward. But he’s all but vanished, cut all ties to the Surface World.”

“That was a damn tragedy,” said Hal. “Chloe filled me in on the details-- I can’t imagine what he must be going through. Losing everything like that… It’s enough to drive a person to the edge. And some falls are just bottomless…”

None of them wanted to linger on those dark thoughts, though. The burdens of the day were already heavy enough.

“Tell me about it,” Ray downed his second drink in a gulp, and held up his hand to call for another round. “I’m starting to think I should be taking Tuesdays off, too…”

As one, the three old friends laughed.


“How are you holding up, my dear?” Martha Kent found the woman who would have been her daughter-in-law standing alone by the split-rail fence overlooking the cornfield.

“I’m fine, Martha, really,” said Lois, turning a smile on for the kindly older woman. “How about you?”

“About as fine as you are,” Martha gave her a knowing smile in return, and let out a breath. “We just have to get through another couple of hours of putting on a show for the world….”

Lois looked back to the gathering of Clark’s friends and colleagues. “Everyone has been so kind. I can see why he was so proud to be from Smallville. You’d see him flying around Metropolis, a man in a cape fighting giant robots and monsters, looking bigger than anything else in existence-- and then he’d come down to earth to help someone cross the street. He’d rescue a cat from a tree. He’d flash that smile of his, and I’d remember: it isn’t Krypton that makes him who he is, it’s Smallville. Jonathan and you. He never lost sight of the things worth fighting for…”

The sob burst from her because she simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. It had been building for weeks, months, two long years of fear, anger, loneliness, grief and love, coming out in a rush of tears. Martha wrapped her arms around Lois and let her cry at long last.

“He’s coming back,” said Martha, soothingly, over and over again. “You know he’ll be back one day.

After a few long moments, Lois drew back, wiped tears from her eyes with an unsteady hand. “Oh, Martha, how can you be so sure? We have no idea what he’s up against out there…”

“Because he said he would,” said Martha, simple and certain. “Because he made me a promise, and Superman always keeps his promises. No matter what.”

Lois was amazed at the unshakable and profound expression of Martha’s belief. And she was right, Lois realized. The man they both loved had earned that faith, more than anything else.

“Thank you,” Lois said, her eyes still brimming, but with a different sort of tears. “I needed to hear that again. I just miss him so much.”

“I know, my dear,” Martha had tears in her own eyes now, too. “And it won’t get any easier until he’s home with us again.”

This time, it was Lois who offered the embrace. The two women clung to each other for several long moments, until both their eyes were dry.

When Lois pulled away, she had a smile on her face as she pulled a pendant out from beneath her shirt, to show it to Martha. “I’ve kept this to myself, as something private just between me and him… But I want to share this with you…”


After everyone had paid their respects and gone home, and the sun had set on the perfect summer day, Lois lingered on the porch sipping a glass of wine and staring up into the clear night sky. Stars sparkled tauntingly bright, so far out of her terrestrial reach. Which one of them shone on him at this moment?

“I’ll be back, Lois.” He had said to her, on this very balcony, two years ago almost to the day.

“You better, Smallville,” she had pulled his face down to hers, but she couldn’t anchor him to earth. No matter how great his love for her, there were some things that were only a job for Superman…

“Lois…”

A figure floated down out of the sky, red cape snapping in the night breeze. For a heartbreakingly brief moment, Lois Lane’s brain saw what it wanted to, not what was there. Reality rushed in, and she swallowed it with a hasty smile as her visitor alighted on porch next to her.

“Kara,” Lois went to hug the younger, blonde-haired woman. “I was hoping you’d drop in. Busy day fighting the good fight, huh?”

The corners of Superwoman’s mouth turned up in spite of herself. “It’s a lot of work,” she exhaled. “There’s so much… there’s just so much…” Her hands flopped at her sides in a gesture of exasperation. “I don’t know how he did it all…”

“Exactly how you’re doing it,” Lois told her. “One crisis at a time. He calls it the never-ending battle, you know. The only difference now is that you’re doing the heavy lifting. He left some pretty big shoes to fill.”

Superwoman sighed, blowing a stray hair from her face. She glanced up at the same stars Lois had been studying a moment before. “I saw you at the funeral today, talking to Martha. Kon and I didn’t want to make an appearance. Too many questions…”

“I understand,” said Lois. She set her glass of wine down on the porch railing, her dark hair moving slightly in the breeze. “Besides, we both know that the funeral was just for show. Just for everybody else.”

Kara gestured toward the pendant Lois wore. “You can still feel it?”

Lois held up the chain from around her neck and a small shard of crystal, glowing red became visible to Superwoman: a Kryptonian heartstone.

Kara considered the crystal. “May I?”

“Of course,” said Lois, holding it up to Kara but not taking it off.

Superwoman took the crystal into her palm and closed her fingers around it. “I forgot how warm they can get. And that…”

“The pulse,” said Lois, finishing the thought. “The heartstone links our biological signatures to each other. I can feel his heartbeat, Kara. Every day. Sometimes it races, sometimes it slows, but I feel it. I get so scared, when his thunders against my chest, because I know he’s facing… facing things I can barely comprehend, but then soon enough, it slows, and I know that he felt my heart racing. Felt my worry.” Lois regarded the crystal like it was her most precious belonging, musing in a soft voice, “This is all I’ve had for two long, cold years.”

Kara let the heartstone settle back down on Lois breast and said, “When people ask me if I think he’s dead, I tell them: Superman doesn’t lie. No matter how people may paint him, people like Luthor,” she said the name with a slight shiver of revulsion... “Like he’s some kind of false idol, or whatever, I tell them ‘Superman doesn’t lie’.” She smiled. “So if Kal says he’s coming back, he’s coming back. Martha has her faith, you have your connection, and I have my hope. He’ll come back. Because he wouldn’t want to break a promise.”

Lois tucked the crystal beneath her shirt once again. “Martha said almost the same thing to me a few hours ago. But I’ve realized something else, too, Kara. And I can share this with you, because you are who you were meant to be. You are Superwoman, and you need to know, no matter how frightening this sounds: I’ve realized if he hasn’t come home to me yet, it’s because he can’t. It’s because he’s fighting for his life, or he’s fighting for us, to keep us all safe. Superman has taken his never-ending battle out into the cosmos, and whatever it is, whatever has kept him away from me-- and you, and his mother, and his friends!-- for two years, must be bigger and more dangerous than anything he’s ever faced before.”

The look on Kara’s face was grim, but resolute. Like Lois, she understood. She nodded. It was a lot to put on someone’s shoulders, the burdens of Superman…

Lois went to her, and the two woman embraced, each of them clinging to the other like a lifeboat amidst a tumultuous sea.

“Superman is bigger than whatever it is that’s out there,” Lois whispered to her. “That’s my promise. And I never lie, either…”


Earlier that day, with the night sky filling the canvas above Smallville with streaks of red, orange and purple of a setting sun, Martha Kent and Lois Lane held each other as the warmth of the Kryptonian heartstone pulsed between them.

The steady heartbeat emanating from the small crystal comforted them and drew them closer together.

And somewhere, the two of them hoped and prayed that their Man of Tomorrow felt them standing together, looking at the same stars that he travelled amongst… and that he knew that home was waiting for him… when that final battle was finally won…

BURN THE FUTURE DOWN

Five Years Later…

How long had it been since the dreams started? The answer was obvious to Kon-El, even if the source of the dreams, the reasoning behind them, remained a mystery to him.

Every night, the dream bird came to him, and every night, it set him alight with a brush of its wing. As the fire spread across Kon-El’s being, the dream bird would flap its swings, take flight, the act of leaving intensifying the young man’s transformation.

In his dream, Kon-El would stand, aflame but unfeeling, as he watched Superman leave Metropolis-- leave the Earth-- the universe-- this reality-- then leave the very multiverse-- and transcend his life until it became a super-myth, larger than anyone could possibly hope achieve.

In his dream, Kon-El would stand, a human torch, devoid of sensation, as Superwoman descended into the masses of humanity of the world-- then into the pit-- then into the void-- and then transcend her origins and leave the light of the Sun forever, always fighting to ensure that every man, woman and child would have a chance at a life free from the darkness the world sometimes inflicted upon them.

In his dream-- or maybe not-- Kon-El would float, trapped in a test tube, as his maker, the mad Kryptonian super-scientist known as Xadu watched his experiment grow from stolen genetic material. Xadu would run his tests, even as Kon-El burnt, and then smile as he turned out the lights and left his creation in the dark.

It was then, trapped screaming in the dark, when Kon-El felt pain. And it was when he felt the pain of the dream fire that he woke up.

Tonight, instead of sleeping, instead of dreaming and instead of inevitably waking, Kon-El floated above the clouds, focusing his hearing on the unmistakable sounds of the toughest city he had ever had the displeasure of visiting.

Gotham City stood below, reaching out towards him like a groping hand, spires scraping at the skies but not breaching the heavens. Kon knew that when allowed himself to descend he would be entering into an urban nightmare, one he hadn’t been back to since Tim Wayne disappeared into the world a year ago. He took a breath and then dropped, headed straight down into the void, away from the light of the moon.


Dick Grayson ran across the rooftops like they were his own personal gymnasium. None of the city was a mystery to him, every concrete outcropping, crevice, every immense drop between one building to the other, he knew them like he knew himself.

Sure, when Dick was a kid the entire country was his playground, every town the circus visited a big great mystery to him, but when he settled down in Gotham, the mission-- always the mission with Bruce-- was to know every part of the place, every skylight, every fire escape. Never go into a situation where you don’t know twenty different exit routes. Where’s the highest ground? Where’s the closest sewer grate? All questions that ran through Dick’s head whenever he entered a situation.

Pretty early on in his life as Robin, Dick learnt that being a hero wasn’t about swashbuckling and witty retorts. It was about research, revision and study. Back in the day, Speedy-- later Arsenal, forever Roy-- used to make fun of him, but after a boxing glove arrow didn’t get the job done, while Dick’s knowledge of the New York subway system did… well, Roy let up with the fun-making.

For a while, at least.

Tonight, Gotham City was his. Batman was off-planet (long story) but before he left he asked Nightwing to cover for him. Dick did as was asked of him, as Gotham was a second home. Alfred would have breakfast ready for him when the night was over, and Julia Pennyworth was down in the cave, running mission control for the foreseeable.

Nowadays, there was an added level of concern when the big leagues left Earth. After Superman’s journey out into the cosmos five years ago, and there being no word from him since, if you said you were going out into the stars for any length of time people would ask when they previously wouldn’t: Are you sure? Not that anyone would think to ask that of Bruce, but still, there were looks, thoughts, concerns.

“What’s the good word, J?” said Nightwing. He somersaulted off the edge of a building and pointed his converted escrima stick at the next rooftop. He pressed a trigger on the side of the stick and a thin grapple line shot out of the end-- instantly anchoring him as he swung across the chasm. The wind bit at his face, but he couldn’t help but smile. Gotham City was home.

<The word of the night is Firefly,> said Julia Pennyworth, her voice ringing clear in his ear. <Arkham Island is quiet, Blackgate is still, but the only threat known to us tonight is Garfield Lyons.>

“Jeez, I forgot Firefly was still kicking about. What do his last medical reports say-- 90% of his body covered in scar tissue?”

<Yeah, I’ve seen the photos, it’s scary,> said Julia. <But the man gets off on it, so who are we to judge?>

“Sarcasm, J? Your father would approve,” said Nightwing. A shadow stretched out across the rooftop, and the vigilante looked up and saw Kon-El, dressed in black, looking down at him. “Uh. I’ll be right back.”

“Hi, Nightwing,” said Kon. “Been a while.”

“Yeah, no joke,” said Nightwing. “Interesting getup you’ve got going on there.”

Kon looked down at the long sleeved black shirt and jeans he wore, and touched the bandana mask . He shrugged. “I’m aware of the rules of Gotham. Got taught them by the man himself.”

“Yeah, I know you were lodging at Wayne Manor after Superman went on his trip,” said Nightwing. “Glad to see you’re still playing it smart. I don’t know about you, but when Kal flew around without a mask, I always felt like the other shoe might drop any minute.”

“Kal was the exception to the rule,” said Kon. “And now Kara, I guess. She doesn’t have anything to hide.” He smiled. “Did you hear the United Nations are organizing to honor her next month after what happened on Monday?”

“I did,” said Nightwing. He took a bottle of water from the back of his belt and undid the cap. “She does Kal proud. You both do.”

“I’m just a broken down clone of the big man,” said Kon. “Made to think I was made from both Kal and Kara long enough to make my genetics feel dirty, but I was glad we cleared that up before he left… that has to be a weird feeling, thinking you have a weird incestuous child floating around. But hey, I’m rambling. Even before my powers started playing up, Kara is doing the name much prouder than me. Uh, have you heard from Tim recently?”

“No one has,” said Nightwing. He took a slug from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his mouth. “Kid always had a way of staying off the grid if he wanted to.” He passed the bottle to Kon, who took it thankfully. “You’re still having problems with your abilities?”

“And no one’s gone looking?” said Kon, taking a sip and ignoring Nightwing’s question.

“This is his Kung Fu period, Kon. Travelling the world, doing what he needs to do. Bruce did it when he hit eighteen, Tim’s doing the same. Can’t fault him for wanting to better himself.”

“Ah, man, it’s not that, it’s just, well, he’s my best friend, I miss him,” said Kon. “Without Robin, Young Justice isn’t exactly the same. Sure, we do what’s needed, but its Tim, y’know?”

“My little brother,” said Nightwing. “Doing his thing. But that look on your face, you’re not here to talk about that, are you? What’s on your mind?”

“I really need someone to talk to,” said Kon. “I don’t want to worry Kara, and if Tim, I dunno. Batman was good to talk to when Superman left, but he’s not here, and umm--”

There was a catastrophic loud explosion across the city, and the two heroes’ heads spun around immediately.

Kon squinted, then reached his hand out to Nightwing. “Giant bug-headed guy-- flamethrower hands-- hostages--”

Nightwing took Kon’s hand-- an act of trust, considering Kon’s fluctuating powers-- and the younger hero pulled the older up and flew toward the fire. “It’ll be Firefly. We have to be careful, this guy’s a pyromaniac and has a thing for watching the world burn.” He put his finger to his ear. “J, it’s N. Massive explosion at the Hyde Gotham Civic Centre. Firefly’s at the scene. I’ve got a friend with me--” Nightwing rolled to a stop on the roof the fiery building. “--Get the fire department on the scene ASAP--” He looked up at Kon, who had a distant look in his eyes as he scanned the building with x-ray vision. “Where is he?”

Kon blinked and looked down at Nightwing. “Second ballroom floor, he’s in the first. He’s setting up explosives, but I think I can get the hostages out without triggering anything.”

“Do it.” Nightwing nodded. “J, we’ll clear the hostages out and take Firefly down.”

Kon zipped out of sight for a moment and then reappeared a few seconds later. He pointed at the building across the way, where dozens of civilians were suddenly standing, shivering in the cold.

“You got fast,” said Nightwing. “Impressive.”

“I have my good days,” said Kon. He patted out a slathering of flames from his sleeve, his arm blackened with soot. “Jeez!”

“Good,” said Nightwing. “J, tell the fire department that the building is empty. Hostages are on the rooftop of Stephenson Plaza.”

<Received. And, N-- Is that Superboy with you?> said Julia.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Nightwing. “I’ll let you know when I know.”


“--I’VE HAD ENOUGH--” said Firefly, his voice amplified by his mask. “--YOU KEEP LOCKING ME UP AND TAKING AWAY THE ONE THING THAT MEANS ANYTHING TO ME. I’M SICK OF IT--”

“Sorry to break it to you, Garf, but that’s not changing any time soon,” said Nightwing, as he rolled in through a broken window and into the hell storm that was the first ballroom floor. “I like the suit, looks like you’re overcompensating even more than usual.”

Firefly wore a tarnished, rust-coloured mechanised suit that made him stand at nine-feet tall. Large, orange nodes were at each of his joints, flowing accelerant through the suit and into the gauntlet-mounted flamethrowers he wielded.

“--NIGHTWING? WHAT AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE BAT? I WILL BE WHEN I’M DONE BURNING YOU ALIVE--” Firefly pointed his arm at Nightwing, but Dick was already gone, darting around the room. “--STAY STILL YOU STUPID LITTLE SH--”

“Mind your manners,” said Kon. He grabbed Firefly by the left shoulder and wrenched him around, tearing away a portion of his armoured suit. What he saw underneath made him gag. “--Oh, man, what--”

Firefly’s body was built into the suit-- or vice versa, Kon couldn’t tell-- and tubing and wires were plugged directly into Garfield’s flesh. The left shoulder joint was on the floor, along with a large chunk of Lyon’s arm, and Firefly’s screams caused Kon to take a step back.

Kon’s head darted at Nightwing, a pleading expression in his eyes. “Oh, God, the suit is x-ray opaque, I couldn’t, I--”

“--STUPID LITTLE BOY GETTING SICK OF ALL OF YOU YOU JUST KEEP HURTING ME AND--” Firefly swatted Kon back, and even though the gauntlet of the suit crumpled against his chest, Kon was still thrown back into the fires Lyons had been setting. “--NANAAAAAAAA WHY DON’T YOU DIE--”

Kon coughed up blood, his sternum fractured. Invulnerability never set in as much as his other powers. Everything about him was second-best to the Man of Steel. Heat vision came in flashes, and if he focused his mind x-ray vision did too. Flight was one of the first powers, while the tactile telekinesis he utilised the most waxed and waned since he debuted as Superboy. He doubled over, and felt his heart race, each beat a resounding knife stab of pain in his chest.

With the fires everywhere-- was this the end result of all those dreams?

Nightwing leaped onto Firefly’s back and looked for the firing mechanism on the suit, hoping to prevent the flamethrowers from going off again. Firefly’s right arm swivelled, a sickening squelching noise under the suit causing the wounded Kon to wince, and the villain grabbed Nightwing and threw him across the floor, sending the back of Dick’s head bouncing off the floor and his brain rattling against the inside of his own skull.

“--WELL IF I’M GOING DOWN I’M GOING TO TAKE YOU TWO BASTARDS DOWN WITH ME--”

Dazed, concussed, Nightwing looked up as Firefly levelled his flamethrower cannon at him.

“--MY OWN FLAVOUR OF LIQUID FIRE MEANS THERE’LL BE NOTHING LEFT BUT CHARCOAL AND BONE--”

Dick swallowed as the flames burst forth. His head felt like it had shrank, and his brain had swelled, and every thought was heavy like lead inside his skull. He tried to move, tried to summon that gymnastic skill that got him through the worst of situations, but knew his head couldn’t send the commands to his legs.

“I’m sorry,” said Dick, his voice a whisper.

<No, Richard, Richard, get out of there, you have to move--!> screamed Julia Pennyworth, powerless back in the Bat Cave. <Please, not now, not after everything--!>

Nightwing accepted, in that moment, that this was a quiet death, one he didn’t expect. The way he expected to go was split in two--

The first death was quiet, in his sleep, at the end of a long life and a loving marriage with a woman that, in the moment the flames burst forth, he realised was one of his oldest and best friends in the entire universe. Quiet and peaceful, like the man his parents had raised him to be deserved, like the deaths he wished his parents had received, rather than the assassination they were subject to.

The second death was so much louder, the result of, saving the universe from some cataclysm, saving his friends, his family. Saving complete strangers because they needed saving when they couldn’t save themselves. Even then, he knew that he wanted someone in his life, so that what life he lived wasn’t wasted. He knew who that woman was, that love of his hopefully very long lived life.

Kon-El stepped in front of the flames and the liquid fire engulfed him, burning away his flesh and saving Dick Grayson from a similar fate. Nightwing reached out, but the heat was too intense, there was nothing he could do as the younger hero’s body burned away.

Within seconds, Kon-El was gone, leaving nothing but cinders.

“N-no,” said Nightwing.

“--SORRY ABOUT YOUR FRIEND EXCEPT NOT--” said Firefly. “--LOOKS LIKE THEY DON’T MAKE SIDEKICKS LIKE THEY USED TO--” He slammed his gauntlet into his chest, and a panel sprung loose, revealing what could only be described as a massive bomb attached to his chest cavity, where his heart was exposed. “--I’M DONE HERE NIGHTWING AND WHAT COMES NEXT IS THE END OF GOTHAM CITY A RAIN OF FIRE UNLIKE ANYTHING YOU’VE EVER SEEN--”

Nightwing dragged himself up and raised his escrima sticks. He was uneasy on his feet, his self-diagnosis of a concussion reinforced by his every heartbeat causing the sides of his head to split.

“--REALLY--?”

“No one else dies,” said Nightwing. “If you want Gotham, you’re going to have to go through me.”

Nightwing sprang into action, even as the building burned all around them. Firefly swiped the hero, but his actions were meaningless. The throb of the bomb in the villain’s chest would do the damage it needed to make the entire world remember the name Firefly, and mourn the loss of Gotham. Nightwing jammed his escrima sticks into the back of the mechanised suit’s spinal array. He prised them up, and pistons popped, sending hisses of gas up into the air.

Firefly’s left arm dropped to his side, and he growled in anger. He swatted back with his right hand, but Nightwing dodged, leaped over the knuckles and slid under the closed fist and back to the area behind Firefly’s head. He wrenched at the spinal array and pulled the rest of the cables free, causing Firefly to fall to his knees pathetically.

Firefly rolled onto his back, and Nightwing breathed in heavy, before wavering, nearly falling to the floor next to him.

“J, I have a bomb situation,” said Nightwing.

<Your vitals are off the chart, N. What’s going on?>

“Firefly just murdered Superboy,” said Nightwing. “I need your eyes on this.” He pressed a button on the side of his mask, and a camera feed from his lenses appeared in front of Julia, back in the cave.

<Ho, boy,> said Julia. <That is a hot mess of a bomb, N. It’s wired directly into his heart. If he dies, then it goes off. If you remove the bomb from him, it’ll go off. You need to get him out of there, away from the city.>

“--TOO-- TOO-- TOO LATE--” said Firefly. Nightwing prised off the helm and saw Garfield Lyons, his mouth covered by a respirator, his lips, nose and ears burnt away from years of pyromania. His face was a mesh of scar tissue, and with each word his fragile body rattled.

“Why are you doing this, Garfield?” said Nightwing. “Why?”

“--WHY-- NOT--?”

“Never too late.”

Nightwing turned, and Kon-El stood, his naked body comprised of fire. The flames spread across his limbs, his torso, and burned from orange to yellow to white, until the flames suddenly went out, leaving Kon whole. He walked past Nightwing, picked up Firefly, and shot out of the room through the broken window, the flames throughout the building following him out and leaving Dick Grayson in a state of utter confusion.

As Nightwing stood on the balcony, looking up at where the fires went, he watched as a massive explosion filled the sky, flames spreading out rapidly, before shrinking back into the shape of a gigantic flaming bird-- before snuffing out completely.

Kon-El descended, Garfield Lyons in his arms and landed next to Nightwing.

“You’re alive,” said Nightwing. “How is this even possible?”

“I’m whole,” said Kon. He laid the comatose form of Firefly down on the floor, and looked at Nightwing. He opened his hand, and threads of flame spread across his palm. “After years of being incomplete. Being trapped in a body that wasn’t my own.”

“What do you mean?” said Nightwing.

Kon closed his palm. “I’m not sure I know, not completely. But coming back, being reborn in the fire, made me realise that the clone body Xadu grew for me, it was just a shell, a cocoon. A faulty Kryptonian shell that let me, the real me, grow--” He looked up, and saw Nightwing slumped over, unconscious. “--Or we could talk later.” He glanced around the room and grimaced. “I really need to find some pants.”


Julia Pennyworth didn’t know what to make of the half-naked teenager standing watch over the unconscious Dick Grayson. She recognised his face from pages of the Daily Planet, she knew that he was Superboy, but the way he carried himself, the look on his face, told Julia that he was no longer Superboy. Whatever happened out there, in the fire, had changed him.

“Master Kon, would you care for something to drink?” Alfred Pennyworth made his way down to the cave using the private elevator, and moved across the floor using a cane. “I believe I still have some of your milkshake mix upstairs in the cupboards. That chemical powder doesn’t seem to have a best before date, which obviously means it is of the highest quality.”

“I’ll be okay, Alfred, thank you,” said Kon.

Pennyworth smiled. “You seem to have undergone a resurgence in your powers. Glad tidings, I hope?”

“Glad tidings for Gotham,” said Dick, rousing from unconsciousness.

“Stay still, Richard,” said Julia. “You suffered a massive concussion. Lucky your skull didn’t fracture, but I want you horizontal for as long as possible, until we get you in an MRI. Don’t get up.”

“You’ll find that a harder prospect than you might expect,” said Alfred. He placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder and squeezed. “But please, don’t get up, Master Dick.”

Dick leaned back and held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Kon, how are you feeling?”

“Fantastic,” said Kon. “Better than I have in forever.”

Dick nodded, and action that caused his head to throb. “You said you thought your body was a cocoon?”

“I think that Xadu grew a body to contain whatever the real me is,” said Kon. “Made it out of whatever genetic material he had at hand. Superman’s, whatever. A regular Kryptonian melting pot. But these dreams I’ve been having since Superman left-- there’s this great big fiery bird that come to me in my sleep and it sets me on fire and everything was okay. There was a clarity when the fire came. Waking up, it made me feel like I was going mad, but now it makes sense to me. Those dreams were my real self, trying to get through.”

Dick closed his eyes and leaned back. “We’ll have to get you to STAR Labs, have you checked out, but maybe-- and I’m no doctor-- it explains your powers shorting out. Maybe your body couldn’t handle the strain. Powers giving out because you were running hot all the time, cooking inside.”

“I just wish I knew what it all meant,” said Kon. “What the bird means. The fire.”

“Reminds me of a story Kal-El used to tell,” said Dick. “A story that inspired me to become more than just Robin, or another Batman. The old Kryptonian legend of Flamebird and Nightwing. One the dark avenger, the other the light bringer. They were--”

“Good Lord,” said Alfred.

“Richard,” whispered Julia. “Richard, open your eyes.”

Dick opened his eyes and saw why the Pennyworths were so shocked.

Kon-El was floating, an aura of fire-- crackling, burning, but not hot-- all around him.

“Flamebird,” said Kon. “I remember now.”

Dick took a breath. “This is going to take a lot of explaining. Superwoman is going to kill me.”

ONE WEEK

Five Years Later…

In the bullpen of the Daily Planet building, the Metallo’s chest exploded outwards in an all-encompassing beam of ghostly light. Every person caught in the pale rays cast by the robotic creature vanished immediately, transported into a void of sensory deprivation unlike anything they could have imagined in their worst nightmares.

Thousands of the upgraded Metallo units roamed the streets of Metropolis, and nothing anyone could do deterred them from their programming. If they saw any living they cast their light, and the living went away.

The Quiet King, the leader of the upgraded army of Metallos, sat in Centennial Park, in front of the Superman memorial. He considered the numbers being fed into his cybernetic brain, keeping count of all living beings fed into the Phantom Zone. He wondered what the final number would be that finally caused the dimension to break at the seams. To burst and to bend and to spread the horrors kept inside to fly out.

“Where oh where are you, Last Daughter of Krypton?” said the Quiet King, his voice a low whisper. “Your friends have fallen, the world has lost. I can feel them all, floating all around,” he gestured his fingers in front of them, as if there was some tangible substance that came into being when things were sent into the Phantom Zone. “This is a ghost world now, like so many others. What’s left to do but surrender?”

“Did you think I would ever surrender?”

The Quiet King glanced around, the voice of Superwoman filling his ears.

“If there’s one thing I never learnt to do, it was surrender.”

Somewhere in Metropolis, a Metallo exploded. The Quiet King could hear it, somewhere to the south. He turned slowly in the direction of the explosion, and then to the north, when another Metallo unit expired violently. Then to the east, the west, and he began to realize that across the world, his legions were being destroyed, removed from the board. How?

The Quiet King’s internal Phantom Zone projector began to power up, and he readied himself for whatever came next, the chaotic power of the prison dimension fueling his cells. The count of beings sucked into the Phantom Zone came to a stop, and the number of Metallo units under his command continued to drop until there was only one.

There was a loud crashing sound behind him, and the Quiet King spun around, sucking the shattered chassis of a Metallo unit into the Phantom Zone.

Superwoman tapped him on the shoulder and the Quiet King turned, exposing the hero of Metropolis to the full fury of his Phantom Zone projector. Instead of vanishing, she reached into his chest and pulled the device out, severing the automaton from its power source.

Kara Zor-El took a step back, clad in a protective costume designed in the Fortress of Solitude. Reflective paneling taken from the projectors stored in the secret sanctuary’s arsenal comprised every facet of the suit. When light from the Phantom Zone hit them, the light simply bounced off harmlessly, keeping Superwoman safe from the Quiet King’s influence.

“How did you do this? For tens of thousands of years I have travelled the universe, filling the ghost zone with as many converts as possible. I know that soon it would have been filled enough to break it open. No one has stood before me before. No one has stood against me.”

“You’ve obviously never visited Earth before,” said Superwoman, picking the Quiet King up by his throat before punching him across the central square of the park. “No matter what, down to the very last of us, we will never stop fighting. Standing up to bullies like you is what we do and we will never stop.”

Without another word, Kara uppercut the Quiet King so hard that he deactivated, returning back to the dormant state the people of Metropolis had first found him in.

With the world in a state of complete silence, Superwoman examined the Quiet King’s Phantom Zone projection at super-speed, then reversed its function. With the flick of a switch she undid the transportation effect, returning every living being back to where they were taken from.

Jimmy Olsen appeared in front of the Superman memorial, and immediately started taking photos of Superwoman and the deactivated Quiet King. “Wow, you did it, Superwoman! You saved the world!” He took as many photos as he could in as short a period of time as possible, mainlining his adrenaline into his job. “Jeez, I thought I was going to be stuck in that place forever!”

“I’m just keeping the planet safe until he gets back,” said Superwoman. She scanned the skies. People needed her. “I have to go, James. Stay safe.”

The Last Daughter of Krypton lifted off, and vanished from sight, leaving Jimmy and the rest of the citizens of Metropolis gathered in Centennial Park as cheers began to ring out in celebration. They made it through another worldwide nightmare thanks to Superwoman, and in their hearts they knew she’d always be there if they needed her.


“‘WORLD SAVED THANKS TO SUPERWOMAN,’” said Perry White, as he read the Daily Planet’s front page. “Should’ve thrown ‘again’ at the end of that, but our readers get it.” He looked around the bullpen and beamed with pride. “STAR Labs recover a deactivated alien robot on Saturday, by Sunday it mass produced an entire army by stealing the designs STAR had on record for Metallo.” He glanced over at one of his journalists. “Troupe! You’ve got an interview lined up with the Head of STAR’s Robotics Division?”

“I do, yes,” said Ron. He looked up from his notebook, where he’d been preparing his interview questions.

Perry nodded in approval. “Good, I want follow up on this. Grant! Your man on the street pieces on experiences in the Phantom Zone, I want them on the website ASAP, how are we looking?”

“Everyone saw the same thing, Perry,” said Cat. “Superwoman saving the world, and that speech she gave? Whoever’s doing her PR is a queen, beautiful stuff.”

“Follow that up, Grant! Today’s news is Superwoman. Let’s tell it! If Lois was still here she’d have filed her story already-- let’s make sure she doesn’t show us up in her absence!”


“Hello, John.”

The Slab’s containment unit was lit dimly, a long power cable attached to the back of the cell attached to John Corben’s back. The front of his chest cavity was empty, gutted of all offensive technology he’d previously had built in there. Large gaps were missing from his arms where the Kryptonian laser array had been removed, and he was, as ever, sat on his bunk, arms in his laps.

“What do you want?” said Corben.

“I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday, without you I wouldn’t have been able to stop the Quiet King,” said Superwoman. She stood with her arms crossed outside his cell. “I’ll be speaking to the warden shortly to see if we can’t improve the conditions of your incarceration.”

“I don’t want anything,” said Corben. “Just didn’t want no knockoff versions of me running around causing trouble when I couldn’t. There’s only one Metallo. One real Metallo.”

“I believe that you helped me because you are, deep down, a good person, John. Your actions may say otherwise, but I have to believe there is a good man inside you.”

“Man? Man?” John lurched up, the heavy weight of the power cable causing his movements to sluggish. “There ain’t nothing man left about me other than this pseudo skin the doctors make me wear to keep me connected to some stupid sense of ‘identity’ they think I need,” Corben grabbed the corner of his face and yanked down, pulling away the fake skin mask he wore over his face. “I don’t want anything from you other than you kill you, you alien freak. Get out of here!”

Superwoman shook her head. “You didn’t ask to end up like this, John. I’m sorry it came to this. I promise you, if there’s any way I can help, I will find it.”

“Get out of here,” mumbled Corben, as he sat back down on his bunk. “Just leave me to this life.”


Lena Luthor sat in the main office of L-Corp’s offices, contemplating the Phantom Zone technology Kara left with her. The whole experience of being stuck in the other-dimensional prison left a bad, metallic taste in her mouth, but she couldn’t say she minded a break from all the hubbub of running L-Corp.

Lena Luthor was in her mid-twenties, same as Kara Zor-El. She wore her long, red hair long though the right side of her head had been shaved bald. The suit she wore was assassination-proof. If there was one thing she learned being the daughter of Lex Luthor, it was that people just plain didn’t like her daddy, and after the fifth or sixth time the then-Supergirl had to save her skin, it was that she’d have to learn to protect herself. The fabric was reinforced with a special mesh that absorbed any and all kinetic energy, while the netting sewn inside-- one of her own design-- could be activated to project a suit of hard energy armor over her body. Nothing would get through unless she wanted it to.

“Hey, Lena,” said Superwoman. She floated through the skylight Lena left open for her, and touched down in front of the large, cylindrical desk Lena sat behind. She gestured toward the Phantom Zone projector in Lena’s hands. “Did you manage to look into that for me?”

“Ancient technology, well beyond anything I’ve seen before,” Lena tossed it in Kara’s direction, and she caught it ably. “Deactivated now, though. It’s definitely not Kryptonian. Looks like your family weren’t the first to discover the Zone.”

“Weird,” said Kara, as she reclined atop the Chez Lounge Lena kept in her office for such occasions. “Oof, I thought I was going to collapse after flying around the world yesterday. Pushed myself harder than I thought possible.”

“Took down hundreds of thousands of Metallos without breaking much of a sweat, girl,” said Lena. She stood and paced around the office. “Glad the suit came in handy.”

“I’m glad I was able to pick your brains even while you were disembodied,” said Kara. “Who knew a Zone-O-Phone was a thing that actually existed.”

“Your culture’s a weird one, for sure,” said Lena. “But hey, I owe you a couple of hundred times over, so getting IT support when I’m a disembodied spirit is par for the course. Get you a drink? Water?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay,” said Kara. “Are you? I saw you finally expunged the last vestiges of ‘Lex’ from the name of the company. L-Corp. Very sleek. Very sexy.”

“Obviously what I was going for,” said Lena. “With my dear daddy off-world searching for Superman with Lois Lane and the others, now was as good a time as any to vomit out any trace of him from the company.”

Superwoman was distracted, her eyes darting toward the sky as her heightened vision kicked in. “I have to--”

“Go,” said Lena. “I’ll see what I can dig up on the projector, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. The alien archives my dear-old-daddy kept aren’t accessible to anyone but him. A shame, but as long as he refuses to acknowledge my existence, I guess we’re not going to get into, okay, you’ve already gone, that’s fine, I know you’re listening. Go kick ass, kiddo.”


“They’re calling for Monday to be a national celebration,” said Karen Starr, as she walked her younger sister Carol through Starr Enterprises’ latest venture. “In honor of Superwoman’s world saving efforts yet again ensuring that we all live to see another day.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” said Carol. “I wish they wouldn’t bother, it’s not that I’m not grateful for the attention, but it’s not what I do this for.”

“Hey, I know that,” said Karen. “What could we call it? Ooh, Superwoman Day! Or maybe you want to get me on it, give the old ‘Kara Zor-El’ a bit of brand value.”

Carol punched Karen lightly on the arm and they continued to stroll through the empty corridors of the new office building Starr had built.

Early on in Kara Zor-El’s life on Earth, it was made abundantly clear that living life as Supergirl day-in-and-day-out was enough to drive her mad. Clark offered her his name, the umbrella of his identity, but Kara refused. That was his, and she needed to make something of her own, a life away from Supergirl, Superman, the Kents and Krypton.

Not long after, Kara met Power Girl, and they soon discovered they shared an immutable bond-- they were the same woman, different versions from different realities. Kara Zor-L, Power Girl, came from the Krypton of Earth-2, while Kara Zor-El was from the Krypton of Earth-1, where they both currently resided.

Even though the timeline of Karen’s reality made her just over ten years older than Kara, they found themselves sharing so many experiences, tweaked here and there by the differences in vibrational frequency of their home realities, but enough so that there was a kinship there, a sisterhood that transcended the relationships that Kara shared with others.

After Superman left the Earth, Karen offered Kara a home, a name, a chance for a new life, and even though she felt the pangs of guilt for accepting assistance where she truly believed she didn’t need any, this was a woman who felt close enough to be a sister, someone who understood where she had come from, and who knew enough to let Kara do what she needed to do without any oversight or assistance, unless requested.

“You’ve been running around a lot recently,” said Karen. “Are you okay?”

“I--” Carol considered lying for a moment, but sighed. “I’m trying to keep my mind off of things. It’s been five years since Kal vanished. A few years ago we buried him, and it made me feel like we had given up hope, but I can’t let myself. I won’t. I know he’s out there, somewhere, even if all signs point to it not being the case.”

“You’re not even entertaining that he might not--?”

Carol interrupted her. “Would you?”

Karen smiled and nodded. “Never ever. If my Kal told me he was going away but that he’d come back, he’d come back. That’s just the way it is. So I guess I wouldn’t entertain that thought. He’s out there, somewhere, and even if it takes him decades, he’ll come back.”

“Yeah,” said Carol. “Martha has her moments of doubt, but her son is the greatest hero this world has ever seen. She knows, in her heart, he’s coming home. Lois holds onto that heartstone like it’s a lifeline, and I guess, really, it is. Even without that thing still telling her that Kal is alive, I think she’d believe no matter what.”

Karen shook her finger at Carol. “Superman never lies. One tenant that holds true across all realities.”

Before they could continue, the two Kryptonian women’s ears piqued up as an airliner began to experience engine trouble across the Pacific Ocean. “Did you--?” they both started in unison, before laughing as they spoke over each other.

A moment later they were airborne and in costume, headed out to save the day.


“Honestly, I’m fine, really,” said Kon-El, as the doctors examined him. “Better than ever.”

“Your genetic make-up has undergone a major overhaul,” said Niles Caulder, aka the Doom Patrol’s Chief. “Your definition of fine is different to mine.”

“Yeah, but your standards are really low,” said Kon, with a smile.

“I resent that,” said Cliff Steele, aka Robotman, as he stood with his arms crossed in the corner. “But yeah, c’mon, the kid isn’t wrong.”

“I’ve been studying your power deterioration over the last few months, and everything has normalized,” said John Henry Irons, aka the armored science hero called Steel. “I’d like to run a few tests, and I’m glad you all agreed to come in on this consult.”

“It’s absolutely fascinating,” said Martin Stein, aka one half of the first incarnation of Firestorm. “Similar to the combinatory fusion undergone when the Firestorm Matrix activates. Comparing your last bio-scan to todays, it’s like someone scrubbed your DNA clean of all the accumulative chaff and degradation you’ve undergone as a clone.”

“Would someone care to explain to me what’s happening here?”

Superwoman didn’t look impressed as she entered the SteelWorks, and the assembled super scientists parted as she approached Kon-El.

“What’s going on, Kon? Are you okay?”

“Funny story--” said Kon-El.

“One I had to hear from a heavily concussed Nightwing, Kon,” said Superwoman.

“I understand that you’re mad, but, uh--”

Superwoman interrupted Kon with a look around the room that caused the scientists to leave hastily. Steel shrugged and called from the door, “we’ll be in the other lab.”

“I’m not mad, Kon, you’re family, and if you were in trouble I would have liked to have heard it from you,” said Kara. “I knew you were experiencing dips in your power levels, but full on degradation? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was dealing with it, besides, it’s no longer an issue,” said Kon. “I got a clean slate. A new beginning. Xadu was trying to do something mad when he grew me; he was trying to grow his own personal avatar of the Flamebird, one of Krypton’s oldest legends.”

“I know all about the Flamebird, Kon. So, what, you’re a dragon now? Is that it?”

“You’re taking it too literally and-- oh, okay, sorry, I couldn’t tell that you were being sarcastic, that’s my bad.” Kon blushed then slumped his shoulders. “I thought I was a failed science experiment. I thought I was going to die because the process used to make me was so rushed and broken. But that’s not it. I’m whole, Kara. I think this is what I was always supposed to be.”

Kara sighed, and put her arm around Kon’s shoulders. “No matter what, we’re family, Kon. You put yourself down for years, saying you weren’t half the man Kal was, but you proved that you were a hero time and time again, even if you didn’t think you matched up. You did, you putz. You always did. Now, there’s one thing we can do, and I think it’s much more fun than sitting around here being prodded by super sharp needles.”

“What’s that?” said Kon.

“Well, you’ve got a whole new power set, right?” Kara stood, and glanced around the room. “How about we get out of here and go see what we’re working with now?”

Kon laughed and hopped off the medical bed. “Sure, why not?”


The bank thief had acquired what could best be described as an earthquake gun. The pistol-sized weapon sent vibrations into whatever it was aimed at capable of bringing down a small building or causing a bank vault to fall to pieces.

Currently barreling through the back alleys with a duffel bag full of cash, the thief held the weapon close to his chest, ready to unleash its fury onto whoever was stupid enough to follow him.

When the police officer speared him to the ground, the thief was able to kick up and roll away from his attacker, levelled the gun at the officer’s head. “Worst decision you ever made, cop.”

Jonathan Kent grinned, and shook his head slowly. “I really don’t think so.”

Kent was built like a Coney Island strongman, burly strong and a face covered in a thick beard that could barely contain the broad smile he developed when faced with a laughable situation. This was not a man you wanted to get on the wrong side of, and he made you know it every single time you managed to do so.

The thief squeezed the trigger of his gun, but Kent threw himself into the thief’s body, getting his shoulder up under his attacker’s armpit and aiming the thief’s arms-- and therefore the gun-- up to the sky.

The arc of the weapon’s rays send vibrations through the asphalt and fire escape, but only a few cracks formed on the surface of the sidewalk and the metallic structure only rattled before the rays faded ineffectually against the sky.

With a sudden shift of his hips, Kent threw the man to the ground, and found himself in possession of the thief’s weapon. He tossed it from one hand to another, and then tossed it behind him

“You are so under arrest,” said Jonathan, as he cuffed the thief’s wrists behind his back.

“Need a hand?” said Superwoman, floating above the scene.

“I have this,” said Jonathan. “Not that you couldn’t have been useful thirty seconds ago.”

“You had it under control, I was only being polite by asking,” said Superwoman.

“Let me wrap this up, and I’ll meet you at the usual place,” said Jonathan, as he wrenched the thief up. “Is that okay?” He looked up and Superwoman was gone. “Okay, sure, it’s okay, good to know.”

--

Superwoman waited patiently inside the Midway City Bell Tower for the man who called himself Jonathan Kent. What started as a mocking stab at a shared relation had become much more for this man, and even though he didn’t know it, or remember it, Kara Zor-El cared more for him than he thought possible.

After a daring escape from his exile from Earth, the depowered Kru-El took the name Jonathan Kent on his return to Metropolis, letting his half-brother Kal know that he was there. There was no plan for revenge. Kru knew about Kal’s human identity, but why would be expose it? There was no gain. At least, that’s what he told himself.

The truth was, every day spent out from under the servitude of General Zod, the former ‘Hound of Zod’ found his anger fading. Whatever drove him to want to kill his kin went away, and especially now considering that the one they called Superman was missing from Earth? Well, what else did he have but the human life he had built?

“Hey there little cousin, what’s on your mind?” said Jonathan Kent as he climbed up the stairs to meet her. “Why the long face?”

“Kru, you really need to learn some manners,” said Kara. She went to hug him, and the man awkwardly allowed the action to take place, even though he didn’t understand why she cared so much. “I missed you, you stupid lug.”

“What, am I bad influence on you? Nothing stupid or lug-ish about me,” said Jonathan. “What brings you to Midway City, Superwoman?”

“It’s been a long year,” said Kara. “I just wanted to see a friendly face.”

“So you picked mine?” said Jonathan. “I barely know you, let alone be friendly to you.”

“Ah, you have a lot of stock with me, Kru, I’ve told you that before,” said Kara.

“And I always ask you why,” said Jonathan. “I barely remember you from Krypton, and from what I’ve done on this planet, I don’t know why you’d care.”

Kara shook her head. She wasn’t going to try and explain to him today. “That whole Phantom Zone debacle from earlier this week made me think of you.”

“Yeah? Can’t say I miss that place,” said Jonathan. He shivered. “You know, one of these days you’re going to have to tell me why you keep checking in on me. You think I’m going to suddenly redevelop my powers and go on a killing spree? That’s not me.”

Kara wanted to say that it was never him. Kru-El, despite his name and the connotation it had on Earth, was never a bad man on Krypton. When Kara was a girl, Kru was a funny, somewhat ridiculous man, who rebelled against his father, the ever inquisitive and curious Jor-El, by refusing to consider a life in the Science Guild, preferring instead to enter the Artist’s Guild.

Kru would visit his uncle, Zor-El, and take Kara out for adventures in the Scarlet Jungle, weather permitting. She remembered one time they built a shelter when the heavy rain came, and he told her stories of old Krypton, back before the last cultural renaissance. Those stories expanded Kara’s imagination beyond anything she’d experienced before, and her times with Kru were ones she looked forward to more than any before.

When Jor-El and Lara announced that they were expecting their first child together, Kara looked forward to telling their son all the stories Kru had told her. She regretted that lost opportunity too.

Kru’s rebellion and innate curiosity led him straight to General Zod, who used his ways to brainwash Kru against his kin. Kara saw a good man turn sour thanks to the machinations of a madman. When she next saw Kru it was when Zod marched his militia through Argo City.

Kru didn’t recognize her.

It was then Kara knew that General Zod was a bad man. Not just for what he said, but for what he did. He took her cousin away from her, and she never forgave him for it. The fact Zod returned, one of the last remnants of Krypton to survive its death, to strike out against Kal, against her family, left a bitter taste in her mouth.

From that point forward, Kara knew she would do whatever she could to restore her cousin to the man he was once, but those hopes diminished when Krypton exploded and they were separated for what felt like an eternity.

“I know it’s not you,” said Kara, after a long moment of silence.

“Well,” said Jonathan. “Well, good.” He shrugged, and headed down the stairs. “I’m not saying I don’t like seeing you around. It’s just, I’m trying, you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Kara. “But, ah, if you ever want to talk. I’m around.”

Jonathan chuckled and exited, leaving Superwoman alone in the tower.

“It’s just,” said Kara, quietly, to herself, “today would have been your birthday.”

FINAL FLIGHT

PREVIEW

Ten Years Later…

Westchester, New York:

He dreamed of Shiera. She had been gone so long now, but the vision of her in his mind’s eye never dulled; the wind in her long, auburn hair, a ready smile quirking her lips, and the glint in her eyes were as familiar to him as his own reflection.

More often than not, they just flew together, wing to wing, through a dazzlingly bright sky, over the rim of the world. Or he re-lived cherished moments: his first glimpse of her in Alexandria, their wedding night in Mexico.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he tracked the path of her soul down the ages, remembering her as Chay-Ara, princess of Egypt or Kate Manser, gunslinger of the American Old West; the face was not always the same, but her hand in his held the same warmth. He had learned to live with her absence, but not without the memories: so the dreams helped.

Except for tonight.

Tonight he found no comfort.

Tonight Shiera Hall, Hawkwoman, his wife, writhed in torment, caught in the fury of the Nth force raised by their eternal enemy Hath-Set at their final showdown in 1951.

He mumbled her name, twisting in his sheets. But the nightmare wouldn’t let him go.

The storm of Nth power raged in his mind. It had held him in stasis for almost sixty years. It had gone by in the blink of an eye for him, but Shiera endured every moment, ravaged by one of the fundamental forces of the universe. That wasn’t how it happened, he tried to remind himself, tried to drag himself up from sleep. Shiera had died from her injuries. She was at rest…


… Hawkman dropped through a section of floor that had rotted away, into another vast, unlit chamber. This was the heart of the tomb complex. Here was the ancient Thanagarian spaceship that had crashed into the desert, bearing the Nth Metal to Earth, the Nth Metal Carter now wore in a hawk-shaped amulet on his chest, and on his gauntleted hand. The winged-shaped craft loomed in the darkness, but Hawkman had no attention for it, turning instead to the pair of sarcophagi in the center of the room. Long ago, he had taken from the wall above them a pair of amulets, wings and his gauntlet. This was the spot where Hawkman had been born.

Carter’s eyes were drawn to the massive stone block that was the final resting place of a priestess and princess of a long-forgotten dynasty. It was topped by a golden effigy that was not half as beautiful as the woman he vividly remembered. “Chay-Ara…”


… A few minutes later, behind the closed door of her office, Kendra set her baby down in the playpen set up for him, and embraced her guest. “Carter, it’s been too long. I’m so glad to see you.”

He pulled off his hood and she noted the haunted and exhausted look in his eyes. Nevertheless he had a smile for her, and for the baby looking up at him in sudden wobbly surprise. “Me too, Kendra; sorry I haven’t visited in a while. How is my grandson?”

“Cyril’s fine,” Kendra looked over at the year-old boy, who was leveraging himself up and tottering forward, chubby arms upraised. Both adults chuckled. “We’ve already nicknamed him ‘Speed’ because we can’t keep track of him. We set him down for a moment, and the next thing you know, he’s across the room, trying to climb a bookcase.”

Carter’s smile deepened. “He couldn’t have a finer namesake. Your grandfather would have been very proud.”

“Thank you,” she perched on the edge of her cluttered desk, looking at him critically. “But, by the look on your face, I can tell this isn’t a social call. Katar’s on patrol, should I call him in…?”

“Possibly.” Carter exhaled a shaky breath; something was really bothering him. “Actually, as I said out there, I think I most need the help of Kendra Saunders, archaeologist and historian.”

She cocked an eyebrow. Carter Hall had been an archaeologist, too, before he all but gave it up for a life of full-time adventuring with the Justice Society of America. How Kendra was managing to balance her career, a marriage, motherhood, and membership in the Justice League was astonishing to everyone who knew her, not least of all herself.

“What is it?”

“What can you tell me about something called the Silver Scarab?”


… The words hit Katar like a blow. He did not consider himself superstitious, but the subjugation of his world by the Seven Devils was a matter of historical fact. He’d always been taught they were driven out, not destroyed, and that there would come a day when they would return. A day of final reckoning. A day when the great hero Kar’taral would return…

“It’s all true…” He turned to his father. Carter Hall only stared back at his son, opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words. “Do you believe it now, father? It really is the Great Disaster…”

A commotion outside grabbed their attention. The three of them ran to the entrance, and stared up into the sky, where a battle seemed to be going on. A being of shining light wheeled and darted above them, striking at the winged Feitherans with javelins of energy, knocking them out of the sky. Screeches and wails echoed through the hidden valley as they fell to earth.

“I can’t believe it…” moaned Professor Emmett. “This was foretold in the Madrigals, but I never dreamed...” His voice trailed off in disbelief.

“What?” Katar seized the academic by the arm, looking from him, to the battle in the sky. Meanwhile, his father moved as if in a trance himself, staring upward. “What’s going on, professor?”

George Emmett looked at Katar, and the terror in his eyes was real. “It’s the Shrike.”

An Unknown Age Later…

Gann was sure he heard a small explosion prior to the portside engine failing. He tried to tell Fipola about it after their scout flyer crashed, but she dismissed his words: the cause was unimportant now, their current concerns being only to set up the tracker beacon and salvage what supplies they could from the flyer.

They decided to leave the bodies of the pilot and Commander Ewel where they were, as there was no point in trying to dislodge them from the twisted wreckage that was once the bow of the flyer. Their souls were in Paradise now, and their bodies only so much cold meat.

Fipola took care of the beacon while Gann and Ully-- the other survivor from their five-person crew-- collected up nutrient packs and the medkit from the storage locker.

By the time the two of them came back to where Fipola set up the beacon, the knee-high, cylindrical device was giving off a pulsing red glow, providing warmth as well as signaling for help. They sat around it on the cool ground, Ully beside Fipola with the medkit so he could work on the gashes upon her face. The faceplate on her helmet had shattered in the crash, the shards gouging her in multiple places, but thanks be to their Lord that her eyes had been spared.

Gann took off his own helmet and ran his hands over his bald pate, wicking away the nervous sweat that had formed there. He'd never been so far out into the wilds of Qward before, so many sectors away from the reassuring presence of their Lord that he couldn't even see the lights of their great city. "H-h-how..." he began to say, then coughed, hoping it would obscure the stammer. "How long until a rescue flyer arrives?"

"It may be some time," Fipola replied. "Eight segments, possibly."

"Eight segments?!? Surely it cannot take that long for someone to pick up our signal!"

Ully paused in his ministrations to look at Gann. "They have likely picked it up already, but that does not mean another flyer is nearby."

Fipola nodded, adding, "I do not recall any other scouting parties on duty this cycle near our sector."

"But eight segments...eight!" He looked up at the sky, its eternally-black expanse dotted with countless stars. A red giant could be seen low on the horizon this cycle, a good omen according to those who believed the future could be seen in their random patterns. He'd heard once from a Hunter that, on other worlds, the stars remained the same every cycle, and many were dominated by a single star that burned so brightly it engulfed the entire sky with its light. The thought of living on such a world terrified Gann nearly as much as the thought of spending his sleep period out in the wild. "I do not understand why were sent so far out, anyways."

"Commander Ewel did not tell you?" Fipola asked.

"Probably afraid the young one would not volunteer if he knew the truth," Ully told her as he daubed healing gel on one of her cuts.

"The commander said we were searching for a worker that escaped into the wild...a male Terran." Gann gestured at the barren, rocky wasteland around them. "But how could he have gotten this far? Terrans are fragile creatures, I have heard. That is why the Hunters are constantly sent out to collect more."

"This is no ordinary Terran," Fipola told him. "We are searching for the Hex."

"You mean the Hex is real? I have heard stories, but I thought..."

"What? That someone was trying to trick you? I will admit, the older warriors do like to test the newer ones, but when it comes to the Hex, you will hear no lies." She fixed her gaze upon Gann, the red light from the beacon flickering across the surface of her face. "They call him the Hex for that is what he is: the word means 'curse' in the Terran language. He is a demon sent by whatever gods Terrans worship to punish us for taking their people."

"He is no demon," Ully retorted. "A savage creature, yes, more like a beast than a sentient, but not a demon."

Fipola turned back to Ully, saying, "Then why does he continue to survive, no matter what we throw at him? The few times our troops have confronted the Hex directly, our weapons have caused him no harm. I heard that not even our Lord was able to subdue the Hex."

Gann paled at the sound of her blaspheme. "Th-th-that's impossible! Our Lord is all-powerful, all-seeing..."

"Neither our Lord nor the Prophet foresaw the Hex," Fipola told him, "but they should have known what he was from the beginning. His capture alone cost us the lives of four Hunters, yet they still sent him down into the labor pits."

"Probably thought he could be tamed, just like all the other Terrans. A few lashes, a few shocks..." Ully shook his head. "I heard the Hex used his bare hands to break free of his restraints, then ate the face of one of the guards. He would have consumed the other guards he'd killed as well, had the Thunderers not arrived."

"He... the Hex eats other sentients?" Just saying the words made Gann feel ill.

"As I said, he is a savage. He clothes himself in the skins of those he has killed, and then there is the scar he bears upon his face." Ully raked his fingers across his right cheek, saying, "I have heard some claim the Hex did that to himself so his enemies could better see his fangs."

"That is his demon nature showing through," Fipola interjected. "We wants us to know what he truly is before he destroys our entire civilization."

"But he only one sentient!" Gann said in exasperation. "There is no way he could possibly destroy all of Qward."

Fipola glared at him. "Are you not aware of the fires in Southern Quadrant? The poisoned nutrient rations that wiped out half of the guards in the mining sector? The worker uprising that raged for three cycles? The Hex was behind all of those, he left his mark so we would know." With her finger, she drew a series of lines upon the dusty ground between herself and Gann. "If you ever see this, beware, for wherever it appears, death is not far behind."

"You speak as if the marks themselves bring death," Ully said in a mocking tone, "in which case, you are damning all of us by making them."

"My hands hold no magic within them," Fipola replied, but she did quickly wipe the marks away after Gann had gotten a good look at them. He could discern no meaning in their pattern, but the sight of them chilled his bones nonetheless.

"Nor is there magic in those marks, just as there is no magic in the Hex." Ully finished tending Fipola's wounds, then snapped the medkit shut.

"Then why can we not catch him?" Fipola asked. "It has been nearly 200 cycles since the Hex escaped, and yet..." She stopped talking as the sound of rocks tumbling echoed through the darkness.

All three of them reached for their weapons, their bulbous eyes scanning the area around them.

"Nothing out there," Fipola said after a while, and began to settle back into her spot next to the tracker beacon.

Then Gann heard a small explosion, just like the one he'd heard before their flyer crashed. The next thing he knew, a geyser of blood was erupting from the side of Ully's head as he fell onto Fipola, who leapt up just as another explosion rang out.

Soon, Fipola was falling to the ground, her chest gushing blood, and Gann was crying out in terror as he scrambled away from the two dead bodies.

There was a third explosion, followed by an object no larger than the tip of his finger whizzing past Gann's face and impacting with the rock that had been behind him. He couldn't fathom what was going on: How could something so small do so much damage, and where in their Lord's name was it coming from? Then Gann saw something move out in the dark.

Grabbing his weapon, Gann took aim at whatever was out there and made ready to unleash a deadly bolt of qwa energy, but before he could do so, there was a fourth explosion, this time impacting with Gann's own weapon, which erupted in a white-hot fireball.

Gann screamed as the qwa swept over him and seared his flesh-- the right side of his face had been caught in the blast, rendering him blind in that eye. Thankfully, shock set in immediately, and though he could smell how badly his skin was burned, he couldn't feel it.

No more explosions could be heard, but there were other sounds in the dark-- footsteps, voices speaking in alien tongues, the clicking of metal-- and soon he could see humanoid figures advancing on their little camp, at least ten of them. Some were Terran, one a Xudarian, and he could swear a few were Qwardian like himself.

Gann took it all in with his one good eye as he lay on the ground, terrified of moving. All his life, he'd been told of the glories of combat, of the rewards that awaited him in Paradise if he pledged his life to their Lord. It all meant nothing to him now.

What glory was there in being killed by an enemy that hid in the shadows? What reward was worth being cooked alive by one's own weapon? Had he known this fate lay ahead of him, Gann would have never become a warrior, but there was no way to take back what had already occurred.

The figures came closer, the sounds more distinct, then one of the Terrans stepped into the circle of red light generated by the tracker beacon, and Gann let out a gasp when he saw the permanent snarl carved into the right side of the Terran's face.

The Hex was standing right in front of him!

The demon had used his unholy powers to slaughter Fipola and Ully, and now he was going to do the same to Gann! He'd even gone so far as to mark Gann with the same horrific scar, so that all would know who'd done the deed.

As the Hex came closer, Gann couldn't help but whimper, especially when he caught sight of what the Hex was clad in: the trousers and boots had obviously been stripped from a Hunter, but the upper garments looked like they'd had been stitched together from the skins of various creatures, just as Ully had said. The flame-colored hair upon his head and chin made the Hex look even more bestial, and his icy-blue eyes glittered like stars as he glared down at Gann, who trembled at the thought of what might happen next.

Would the Hex skin him alive, or consume his charred flesh before it had cooled, or perform some other unspeakable act upon him that Gann could not even imagine?

But the Hex did nothing except stand there, as silent and unmoving as the Great Spire, while the overwhelming terror seizing Gann's heart and brain-- combined with the shock of his injuries-- finally caused his body to shut down.


The red giant had disappeared from the horizon by the time the rescue flyer arrived, taking with it whatever good omens it may have been carrying. The quintet of warriors who exited the craft soon found their dead compatriots laying around the still-active tracker beacon.

Two had been killed by small-but-lethal wounds, while the third had suffered fatal burns to nearly half his body.

Nearly everything of value had been stripped from the campsite-- weapons, supplies, even items of clothing-- and the same had been done with the crashed flyer and the two bodies within. All those in the rescue party suspected what caused this, but none of them dared to speak the name aloud, not even after they'd found the familiar marks scrawled in blood above the bullet hole in the portside engine: