Omega Crisis, Part 3 (HoM / Flinchum)

Previously, in OMEGA CRISIS…

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


The villainous Key, long forgotten, was awoken from a near decades-long coma by the mysterious Libra and a purple-robed master. At the behest of his saviours, the Key used his powers, expanded a thousand-fold by the experiences that sent him into the coma, to open every door in existence-- including the doors to the cells inside every prison across the universe-- including the greatest prison of all… the Source Wall!


From a moment of infinite peace to a time of infinite crisis, the universe underwent a catastrophic change, and the heroes who vowed to keep it safe have just realised that they have their work cut out for them-- the Source Wall kept back an unrelenting entropic wave of destruction that, if it reaches Earth, could very well destroy not only the planet, but also the entire multiverse!


Across the world, a planet-wide peace-keeping force rallIed under the banner of the Justice League have assembled, but as news of cosmic-scale threats reach Earth, it’s only a matter of time before the heroes must answer the question: Do they fight the countless battles on Earth, securing every fractured prison, or do they take they battle the large picture, otherwise known as…



Thaal Sinestro, leader of the Green Lantern Corps, had already rallied the ring-slingers under his command to face the escaped prisoners that filled the Sciencells, and it was a battle they won with relative ease. Then came the Inversions, the Guardian of the Universe’s dirty little secrets, the forces of evil kept beneath the skin of Oa away from the galaxy at large, and that was another battle they managed to win, even though the losses they experienced were horrific.

And then came the rest.

Every enemy the Green Lantern Corps ever made. Every threat they thought defeated or long gone. In the shadow of the end times, they all came flooding back, prepared to scratch off the Corps before the rest of the galaxy fell in the chaotic, entropic wave of anti-energy released by the collapse of the Source Wall.

The kamikaze efforts of the Legion Plague Bearers had taken a hefty toll on the ranks of the Corps during the first part of the battle. Emerald rings became infected by the virulent yellow poison and Corpsman turned on Corpsman, and there wasn’t time to purge their allies of the infection. Hundreds died then and there, as the Honour Guard took up position and obliterated the twisted, virus-addled Yellow Lanterns.

The last of the Effigies detonated as soon as they got close to Oa, rocking the planet off its axis. The world barrelled toward the Sun, but that didn’t deter the Manhunter Army. Cybernetic entities intent on the destruction of the Corps descended, and hundreds more died before the nanotech pathogen was expunged from Oa’s systems and the automatons were eradicated.

Even the Blight resurfaced in the last days of the Corps, their dread-scientist Atrophos directing them to suck the energy out of the Lantern’s rings, and then their bodies. The light of the Central Power Battery nearly went out before the Corps managed to overload their decaying bodies with emerald energy.

But the larger war was still ongoing. Where to begin? Every prison across the universe had burst open, and the worst of the worst were roaming the space ways. There had never been a challenge like this before. What were the options? Recall every Green Lantern back to Oa that hadn’t made it back in time for the recent wars? Mobilise the survivors as an immense force for good and strike where they were needed the most? Or allow the dual Sector Lanterns to protect their own slice of space, and hope that a concept that worked during peace time continued to work in war time?

That wasn’t an option.

Danger was closing in, the entropic wave unleashed by the fall of the Source Wall was buckling the edges of reality, so he’d sent the order out prior to the Inversion attack-- evacuate your home sectors. Help where you can. Take the survivors to the Emerald Cove, the only safe place available to the Green Lantern Corps at this juncture.

As the destructive wave of energy neared Sector 0, and the gathered Green Lanterns saw nothing but white in the sky, Sinestro knew that there was only one option.

Crushing the skull of the last member of the Blight to reach the planet under his foot, Thaal put his ring to his mouth and broadcast a Corps-wide message: “Oa is compromised. All Lanterns, we are not safe. Fall back to the Emerald Cove. I repeat, Oa is compromised. All Lanterns all fall back to the Emerald Cove!”

Short and sweet, he ended the transmission and watched as the Corps began to evacuate their home. The bodies of their enemies were scattered across the lush emerald fields of the planet, though Sinestro could see the nanoswarm Manhunters begin to reconstitute and slip toward the Citadel, dissolving the chassis of any fallen units into its mass as it went.

“Stel,” said Sinestro, turning to his long-time comrade-in-arms. “The Central Power Battery is the Honour Lantern’s main priority. We need to relocate it to the Emerald Cove.”

“What about you?”

The nanoswarm manifested at last, towering over the Citadel that Sinestro floated above, next to Stel and the other Honour Lanterns. It blocked out the sun, but it didn't block out the entropic wave that frayed the edges of space-time on the edge of the solar system. It would be here soon. And it would destroy everything.

“I’ll buy you time,” said Sinestro, and with his most authoritative, rookie-intimidating voice, growled, “Now go!” before throwing himself into the fray one last time, ring flaring magnificently even as it’s light was absorbed by the nanoswarm when he entered its horrific, roiling mass.


“…I think the whole thing ruined the wedding.”

Zauriel spread her wings, having reverted to her angelic shape. It had been over a decade since she’d assumed her female form, but it fit like a glove. She checked her wingspan, then summoned her flaming sword from the ether. It crackled in the Metropolis apartment she shared with her wife, who watched her from the front room.

“A universe-wide prison break would do that,” said Traci Thirteen. The vestments of Fate hung behind her, ready to flow forward when she was ready for them. “The Sentinels of Magic have rallied behind the Phantom Stranger; they’re reinforcing the walls between Earth and Hell. It’s why the streets aren’t running red with demons.”

Zauriel pointing toward the ceiling. “I’m going to head upstairs to see what the host’s plan is to help safeguard this reality. After all we’ve been through, I’m not giving it up without a fight.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You know how difficult the heavenly host can be, they might insist you stay, to sit this one out. I…”

Zauriel put a hand on her wife’s shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. “Nothing will stop me from facing the end of the world with you.”

Traci responded by kissing Zauriel softly on the lips, and then she allowed the vestments of Fate to flow over her body, the gold amulet and helm rolling like liquid metal over her neck and face, and the long, swirling cape hanging off her shoulders. “Just come home safely. That’s all I ask.”

Zauriel cut a hole in reality with her flaming sword and stepped through. She looked back at Traci and blew her a kiss before the tear sealed up, leaving Doctor Fate to face whatever came next by herself.


Black Bat had fought off worse odds. Her entire life was based on a philosophy of combat-as-communication, and she was utilising all her wiles to say hello as she moved through the interior of the Fear Gas-flooded Asylum, her fists doing the talking for her.

When the Fear Gas-infected guards raved at her, nerve strikes took them out quickly and painlessly. She dragged them into the safe rooms that riddled the Asylum, and closed the doors behind her, locking them in for their own protection. She knew that there was a large supply of anti-toxin in the storerooms, and once she neutralised the cause of this chaos, she would flood the air ducts with the cure. Done.

Cassandra Cain worked through her day. What was next? Better known as ‘Fright’, Linda Friitawa, the albino protégé of Scarecrow, can generate an organic version of Fear Gas that emerged from her pores. The drug-induced coma the Asylum had kept her in had rendered her inert, but upon awakening, all those years of build-up were released immediately, and Arkham Island was currently a very scary place for everyone involved.

The floor under Cain’s feet suddenly felt less stable. She looked down but was immediately engulfed in a caustic substance that wrapped itself around her feet and ankles, then locked around her knees and hips. It spread up, rendering every articulated joint useless as she was restrained. Her arms were forced up and out, her legs spread, and her chin was pointed upwards so she could see the ugly visage of Clayface manifest next to her head.

“HEY, GIRLY. DID YA KNOW I’M NOT AFFECTED BY DRUGS ANY MORE? HANDY AT TIMES LIKE THIS DUNCH YA THINK?”

Black Bat said nothing. There was nothing to say. She slowed her breathing. Don’t panic. Clayface was constricting his body around her chest, crushing her ribs and choking her lungs of oxygen. Don’t panic.

“DOC FRIGHT SAID SHE’D HELP FIND MY FACE IF I KEPT HER SAFE. SHE’S GONNA RELEASE ALL HER FEAR GAS AN’ WE’RE GONNA BE AT THE TOP OF THE PILE. GOTHAM IS ABOUT TO BECOME A MUCH SCARIER PLACE.”

“--Scarier ‘cause your ugly mug is gonna be out there for the world to see?”

Clayface turned at the voice but was struck square in the face before he could say anything. Whatever hit him erupted on impact, and a vicious cold field spread across his body in seconds.

Before it could spread toward Black Bat, dual batarangs flew and shattered the connective tissue between Clayface and the vigilante, and Cain was free instantly.

“I told you… to stay away…” said Black Bat. She changed the settings of the rebreather she wore to provide more oxygen, topping her back up after her near-death experience. She may have felt drained, but she wasn’t going to let a thing like oxygen deprivation stop her.

Folding herself out of an air duct, Robin shrugged as he cape flapped down around her head. “Boss always taught me that Robin’s shouldn’t always listen to their designated Bat-person, BB.”

“Red Hood… shouldn’t be responsible… for training vigilantes. But I’m glad… you listened to him… and not me.”

“That’s okay. Uh, just so you know, I hacked into the security cameras on my way down here. I know where Fright is.”

“Then lead the way… but please, keep quiet.”


Deep under the sea aboard a secret, highly advanced laboratory constructed from the remains of the Justice League’s old sea bound headquarters Laputa, Hourman and Jesse Quick watched as the Atom analysed the black box from Rip Hunter’s Time Sphere.

Around them, other super scientists had arrived on the scene; Will Magnus and his lab assistant, Amalgam; Doc Robotman, the brain of Cliff Steele imprinted with Niles Caulder’s intelligence; the mourning Ted and Kimiyo Kord, aka Blue Beetle and Doctor Light, who had witnessed Booster Gold die earlier that day at the Gordon / Grayson wedding; Sarah Erdel; Jesse Wells and many more.

When events of this magnitude occurred, it was clear to those who took action that there were some better suited to figuring out the cause of the problem, rather than throwing down and dealing with the effect. The gathered scientists were collectively referred to the Brain Boxes, and they’d solved many an issue before the Justice Leagues or Societies had to throw a punch.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said the Atom.

Hourman agreed. “Future tech. Far future. I saw it in my flash forward. I saw lots of stuff…” He trailed off, and Jesse, his wife, squeezed his hand. “…And I know I need to stop it all. Absolutely all of it.”

“What did you see?” asked the Atom.

Hourman opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, all the while trying to figure out what to say. “I saw a lot more than an hour into the future.”

Knowing better than to press when someone gets as dramatic as that, the Atom turned his attention back to the black box. Jesse took this moment to take Rick by the hand and take him into a quiet corner, and he didn’t object. He would never question anything his wife did.

“Rick, you were knocked for a loop by whatever it is you saw, you need to tell me what happened. I’m not sure I should have even let you leave the medical bay.”

“Jesse, I, I saw the doors opening, all of them, and I was too late to do anything about it. I saw Libra kill Rip Hunter, and then the Atom. The black box is important, because I saw Libra take it with him… And I saw the entire planet die. Every man, woman and child die. Not just once, but forever. Every moment they ever existed in, every moment we existed within, we died in every single one, like our entire life was death. It was… It was enough to knock me for a loop, like you said.”

Across the way, the Atom was growing more agitated. “Godammit! I can’t figure out how to access this damn thing!”

Blue Beetle wandered over. “That’s Time Sphere tech,” he said, flatly.

Jesse and Rick rejoined the others, and Hourman nodded in agreement. “We think it’s the black box from Rip Hunter’s Time Sphere.”

“And it ended up here after it… after the sphere exploded?” asked Ted.

“Yes, yes, through the Time Pool,” said the Atom.

Beetle held out his hand. “May I?”

The Atom picked up the device and handed it to his longtime friend. “Of course. I’m having trouble with it. It was enough to try and kill me for, so--”

Beetle considered the device and with one twist, then a second, the entire box unfolded, revealing a small projector inside. He pushed his thumb down on the centre and then the entire room lit up as a holographic display activated.

“Oh my God,” said Jesse, amazed at the sight. They were standing inside a magnificent array of data, each bit and byte visualised by the projector inside the black box.

“How did you--?” started the Atom, but Blue Beetle was already engrossed in what he’d activated, scanning the information made available. “Ted?”

“The Time Sphere isn’t just a time machine, it also acts like a mapping device, so that Rip and… whoever she has with her… knows what they’re getting into prior to a time dive. It’ll have logged everything prior to the explosion, not only in the moments before, but every event in every direction. This is a map of our reality’s very existence. Every event to ever take place, condensed in a box.”

Doctor Light squeezed her husband’s hand and Blue Beetle managed a grim smile.

“So we can use this to zero in on what the play is here?” asked Rick.

Jesse’s eyes locked on a section of the holographic information that spun before them, noticing something that no one else had the reflexes to as well. “Guys. Wait. Did you see that?”

“What was it?” asked Doctor Light.

“Something just vanished. Blinked out.” Jesse pointed at another section, her hand zipping in it’s direction with a pop and zip of superspeed. “There. Another bit gone.”

“Is the information degrading?” asked the Atom.

Beetle shook his head. “Impossible. This is a hardened piece of technology. The only reason something would vanish is if that moment in time… ceased to exist. My God…”

“You mean--?” started Doctor Light.

Beetle swallowed down the lump in his throat. “…Time is being erased.”


Spectrum, the daughter of Hal and Chloe Jordan, had been communicating with the Challengers of the Unknown when she noticed her classmate frozen in place, looking off into the mid-distance as he stopped everything he was doing. Confident the Challengers had everything under control, she went over to the grey-skinned half-mutant, half-alien she called her friend, and addressed him in hushed tones. “Meteor, are you all right?”

Meteor, his wide, black eyes unblinking, began to whisper, and when others from the All-Star Academy noticed, Cyborg was quick to come over.

“What’s going on? Kid, are you all right?”

“I can hear my dad on the other side of the universe. He’s broadcasting.”

“Your dad? Captain Comet?” said Spectrum. “What’s he saying?”


Adam Blake, better known as Captain Comet, gripped the command console of The Cometeer III as the entire craft shook. Outside, the interstellar convoy he’d managed to draw together were under constant attack, and it was taking all the heroes under his command to keep the billions of refugees safe. They'd just driven off some immensity that wanted to absorb their fuel cells, but they were reeling from the damage taken. He'd convinced the remnants of the intergalactic peace keeping agency known as LEGION to reform in the face of the oncoming storm, but they were stretched thin, and it was rough going all the way.

At first, the in-fighting had been the worst of their troubles. The surviving war tribes of Khundia despised being ordered around by a mere human, and had made a pact with the Dominators, but after they tried to hijack The Cometeer, Blake had put them in their place. Now a truce held, tentatively, and they could welcome other survivors to the convoy.

It had been less than six hours. A wave of entropic energy had spilled out from the Source Wall and was closing in on them all. Entire worlds were enveloped by the caustic white field of energy that flowed outward, toward the centre of the universe, wherever that may be…

But the entropic energy wasn’t the only problem. With the Source Wall gone, the horrors that had previously been kept contained were also free. Monsters from before this iteration of reality roamed free, ready to cause chaos. Some had been devoured by the very same energy released at the same time as themselves, but others surged forward, and headed for populated worlds.

Void Hounds. The Dire Wraiths. Aangkar the Annihilator. The Anti-Imzadi. Their deeds had previously been known only in the legends of this universe, but with the Source Wall gone…

One of his officers turned to face Comet, and began to speak in terrified tones. “Captain! We have something on our sensors closing in! It looks like… I don’t… it looks like a storm in space! There’s lightning, sir! And we’re headed right for it!”

Comet pointed at the view screen and it activated. His officer was correct, there was something approaching, something horrific, and their sensors couldn’t pierce it’s skin to see what was inside. Even his psychic powers proved useless in trying to see the truth of the thing.

“Can we avoid it?” asked Comet.

“I’ve already tried evasive manoeuvres, but it’s locked onto us. No matter where we go, it’s going to follow!”

“Right. Prepare shields. Every ship that can take a hit, let’s circle the wagons.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” asked the officer.

Blake shook his head. He had no clue. There was one thing left to him, and he hoped it wasn’t too late. He closed his eyes, pooled his psychic resources and began to send a message, on repeat, across the universe. He felt blood dribble down his nose, but he had to put the call out: {This is Captain Comet of the LEGION, with a distress call across all known frequencies. We have managed to secure the continued existence of numerous worlds across the universe, but we need assistance if we are to keep the billions of lives we’ve secured safe. Our coordinates are encoded in this transmission. We cannot maintain our current speeds and outrun the destructive wave that is approaching from all corners. Please. We need help. And if you are a survivor, and you’ve made it this far, join our convoy, and we can ensure the continued existence of you all, for as long as there is air in my lungs, the LEGION will protect you. }


“That’s a mean looking cloud,” said Nightwing, looking over at Arkham Island, where a noxious plume of grey-green smoke had started to rise off the madhouse. “It’s Fear Gas, isn’t it?”

Batwoman checked the information fed to the pad hidden on the inside of her wrist and nodded. “Yes, and I’ve already started cloud-seeding protocol. When we reach optimum levels, a downpour will trigger and neutralise the toxin, but I’m just hoping our luck turns and the cloud doesn’t hit the mainland before that.”

“Hey honey, this is our special day, our luck will hold out,” said Nightwing.

The duo was busting heads in the Financial District, where the majority of the escaped criminals from Blackgate had swarmed. They’d figured out-- correctly-- that every single vault had opened along with their cell doors, and were hoping to make a quick buck out of the chaos.

The to-be-wedded couple had a thing or so to say about that. The GCPD kept their distance, preferring to avoid the war that the duo was waging, and utilising their resources where the vigilantes couldn’t. There had been reports of two of them on Arkham, and two of them here, and that meant there was a whole city to protect in the in-between.

Soon enough, Batwoman and Nightwing were victorious, and they kissed passionately above the broken and unconscious bodies of their enemies. Babs looked Dick in the eye and smiled. “We might just get--”

Something distracted her, leading Nightwing to follow her gaze. There was a blur in the distance, toward Arkham Island, but by the time he found the point she was focusing on, there was nothing for him to see.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I thought I… it must have…” Batwoman trailed off. “C’mon. Lots of work to be done today.”


Sinestro wiped the blood from his lips as the swarming, buzzing, all-devouring Manhunter that loomed over Oa knocked him back, but his force field held, even as the concussive force rattled his bones. The Honour Lanterns had followed his orders, and without the Central Power Battery fuelling the energy systems of the planet, Oa was dark. The sun had just been devoured by the entropic wave and soon Oa would be gone. Lost to the destructive force that now roamed the universe.

Sinestro knew what he had to do. If he allowed the nanoswarm to leave Oa, it would use the signatures of the rings it had absorbed during the initial prison break to track the survivors to the Emerald Cove, and then the premier peacekeeping force of the universe would be done. He had managed to use his ring as a magnet of sorts, keeping every stray nanite attached to the Manhunter’s whole, but if he fell, or if he left, or wavered, or his mind slipped a split second, they would be able to break free and escape at the end of the cataclysmic battle on the planet he thought of as his second home. But with that in mind, he had a plan, one that would remove every trace of the insidious threat from Oa, and all it would take is his ring performing one final act.

“Ring,” he said, blood bubbling up at the back of his throat, “prepare self-destruct protocols.”

<Such protocols do not exist,> replied the ring in a terse voice that mirrored Sinestro’s own.

“Well, since I was the one who designed it into you, I should bloody well know what does and does not exist,” spat Sinestro, blood flying from his lips as he hardened his will, kept his forcefield secure even as the very buildings that once made up Oa were used against him, sent flying and crashing toward the lone Green Lantern even as he battled against the festering attacks that tried to seep through the shield that kept him protected.

<…Sinestro Protocols activated,> answered the ring. <Counting down. Sixty seconds…>

“In silence, please,” said Sinestro, and his ring muted, and he dug deeper into the bodily mass of the giant Manhunter monolith that crushed every aspect of Oa underfoot as they battled. For this to work, he would need to get to it’s heart, to it’s centre, and if that was caught in the destructive blast that was his ring’s end, the nanoswarm would be done.

“No Manhunter survives me,” said Sinestro, and he closed his eyes as his finger began to throb, and with one last breath his ring detonated, sending shockwaves through the nanoswarm and destroying it from the inside out, the immense explosion causing whatever was left on the surface of Oa to turn to glass, and sending ruptures through the ground that caused the volcanic systems beneath the ground to burst, spurts of magma and noxious gasses filling the air.

By the time the emerald smoke cleared, there was no no trace of the Manhunter's nanoswarm left.

And Sinestro was gone.


Black Bat and Robin knew where Fright’s cell was located and thanks to some research done on the fly, they knew which tower in Arkham’s grounds would provide maximum coverage of a mass dispersal of the villain’s organically generated Fear Toxin. While the others dealt with the breakouts across the island and over on Blackgate, it was up to them to rout this one, and they would do their job no matter what.

If the world was going to end, it wasn’t going to start in Gotham City.

“Have you faced off against this one before?” asked Robin.

“Yes.”

Not at all engaged by the answer provided, Carrie Kelley pressed. “Yeah? How’d that go?”

“She’s been in a coma since.”

“…Well, that’s one way to resolve an argument.”

The duo turned a final corner, and Black Bat pulled Robin back before they went any further. From inside the sealed room she could hear the chaos of battle unfolding, and without knowing what exactly awaited them, she wouldn’t lead Robin any further. Before she could formulate an adequate response, there was silence, and the two of them were alone in the corridor without knowing what had unfolded in the tower.

“What was that?” asked Robin.

Black Bat had tensed up. “I recognise those sounds.”

“What do you mean?”

Black Bat shook her head. “The sounds of the violence. The sound of muscle straining against technique. A hybrid style of Musti-Yuddha and Kapu Kuialu. There’s only… but… it can’t…” Gripped by some inner turmoil, she cast aside her doubts and slapped Robin on the arm. “Come on!”

The two vigilantes surged through the door and were surprised to see Fright bound on the floor, shaking uncontrollably as tears streamed down her face. There was an empty syringe cast aside near her body, and a knick in her neck weeped a single bead of blood.

Robin ran her hands through her hair. “Whoa, did someone beat us to her?”

Black Bat grabbed Fright and yanked her upwards, noting the reinforced chord used to restrain the villain. “Who did this to you? Who did this?”

Fright blinked, all-too human in her reaction to some acute terror she’d experienced seconds before. “It-- it-- was-- him-- it was-- it was--”

Fright fainted, a human dirty bomb defused by some unknown entity.

Black Bat turned sharply toward Robin, who had rushed over to an open window when she’d noticed the curtains flapping.

“What do you see?”

“N-nothing. Just… just the darkness, BB,” whispered Robin, as a figure in the dark put a finger to his lips, a silent promise between the two to keep a secret…


The Shining City was empty. Zauriel walked the gold cobbled paths that would lead her to the Radiant Spire, but there was no sign of any of her brothers or sisters in the skies above or walking the streets alongside her.

“Where is everybody?” she asked.

She resolved to head to the spire. The Celestial Throne would be where the Host gathered to discuss their plan of attack, and it would be where the Presence would manifest if now was the right time for it to return home. She wondered if her creator would be there, if the lifeblood of existence would finally return home at the end of all things.

The doors to the Radiant Spire were open, so Zauriel walked inside. The staircase would take a normal person days to ascend, so she flapped her wings and made her way up quickly, and within a matter of seconds-- not that time mattered in a realm like this-- she was in the throne room.

And it was empty, apart from the man who sat on the throne.

“Hello, my dear.”

Surprised, Zauriel drew her flaming sword and levelled it at the desiccated figure who leaned forward, his elbow on his knee, his palm around his chin, a smug expression on his weaselly face.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Smiling, the figure raised his free hand, beckoning something forward. From out of the shadows, an impossible act took place-- the hosts of heaven surged into the room from the fringes, their wings filling the room, and the only thing Zauriel could think to do before they hit was to fling her flaming sword at the Key with all her might--

--But she missed! And the sword flew past the stranger’s smug face, through the body of the throne with an almighty crack, and straight through the walls of the Radiant Spire to the skies outside!

The Bull Angels made first impact against Zauriel, slamming her into the ground, while the Eagle Angels shrieked as their fists flew, dozens of punches being thrown as the winged avenger was unable to fight back.

Within seconds, the battle was over, she was restrained, and dragged before the throne of Heaven itself, and the man at the top of the pile. She looked around, her head heavy from the repeated punches inflicted, but even through the pain she saw that the faces of every Angel shared the same new addition. Across their right eye was the tattoo of what appeared to be a key.

The man brushed celestial brick dust off his shoulder from where the flaming sword went through the throne and then stuck his fingers through the new gap in the chair. Chuckling to himself, he looked down at where Zauriel was being held down by four Bull Angels. “What is it that they say? ‘Come at the king, you best not miss?”

“Who… are you?” asked Zauriel.

She looked around at the legion of Angels that filled the throne room. It was like the dimensions inside had extended to make space for them all, and she couldn’t remember the last time they’d all been together in the same room at once. Those with the animal aspects, those who looked more human than not, those who were complete abstractions and hard to comprehend on a human level, they were all here at the same time, which Zauriel thought should have been an impossibility. Who was this man, and how had he managed to do all this?

“Well, it’s no surprise you don’t recognise me, I’ve been out of the game for a while,” said the man, rubbing some debris between his gnarled nailed fingers, “but you can call me the Key. And when the world ends, and I accept my reward… you can call me ‘God’.”


Sinestro opened his eyes, and found himself suspended in an emerald bubble, surrounded by four of his dearest friends. Hank Henshaw, Kyle Rayner, John Stewart and Katma Tui had arrived at the very last moment, scooped Thaal out of the event horizon of his ring’s destruction, and now they were shooting away from the entropic wave.

“You Earth-Lanterns,” hissed Sinestro, relieved more than anything, but with a reputation to uphold, “when was the last time you followed a damn order?”

“You should know us better than that, old man,” said Kyle, his ring knitting his mentor’s wounds together as they soared through space.

“It was their idea,” replied Hank. He looked back at Sinestro, gave him a warm grin, but then his eyes widened as he witnessed what was occurring back on Oa. “Oh my God.”

The quintet had all seen planets die in their line of work. Whole solar systems had been lost when the forces of evil might had become too strong, but when they witnessed Oa die, it shook them to their coffers. Oa was the centrepiece of the universe. A point in space where you could come and be safe, no matter what. They’d fought wars over her, they’d done everything they could to maintain her, and for the last decade or so, it had been a haven. Even as space extended, 3,600 sectors folding out into 7,200 after one adventure, requiring the doubling of their forces at one point, Oa was always the mainstay of the Corps, even taking into consideration their greatest allies.

And now, as the surface split open, the mantle shattered, and the swirling, surging, emerald core bubbled and popped as it was exposed to the vacuum of space at the exact moment the entropic wave caught it, Oa simply died, like everything else did when the time came.

The Green Lanterns steeled themselves as the shockwave hit, and they allowed it to send them toward the sector border. The entropic wave kept coming, but the speed was consistent, and with enough willpower they could keep ahead of it.

“We need to regroup at the Emerald Cove,” said Sinestro. He held his hand out to Kyle, who tapped Hank on the shoulder. The two Lanterns slammed their rings together and a third generated out of their combined light, slipping onto Thaal’s finger so that he was back at his fighting peak. “I had the Honour Lanterns move the Central Power Battery there.”

Katma agreed. “That’s where we’re headed now. But there’s something you need to know.”

John cleared his throat and began to explain. “Reality itself is reconfiguring in the face of this threat. With Katma’s help, I’ve surveyed the architecture of the universe. Even taking into consideration how we absorbed the Forbidden Sectors into the 7,600 over a decade ago, Oa was the centre, but now, everything’s point at Earth-- Earth just became the centre of the entire universe.”

“Again? Typical,” said Sinestro.

Kyle could ave laughed. “That’s your response? ‘Typical’?”

“The universe is ending, of course it has everything to do with Earth. Let’s assemble the Corps. We need to figure out our next move.”


Flamebird twisted in midair and with a flick of his fingers, his tactile telekinesis unravelled the atoms that held together the last of Thaddeus Killgrave’s automatons. When the old man had been released from prison by thanks to the chaos some unknown force had unleashed, he’d made a beeline to his old lab and then activated every single killing machine he’d ever built. Within an hour, the heroes of the city had dismantled the majority, but the final one, the one with the neutron bomb at it’s heart, was Flamebird’s responsibility in Superwoman’s absence.

“You’ll never make it out of the city in time!” shrieked Killgrave, cackling at his final gambit, the one that would wipe Metropolis off the map. Flamebird held him in his tactile telekinetic grip, keeping him close in case he needed his diabolical expertise to defuse the weapon.

Thaddeus was always a straight forward threat, but his one irritating feature was that he was tenacious. Every year or so he’d escape from prison, no matter how deep they buried him, and he’d vow to make Metropolis rue the day, etc, etc. His biggest complaint? The city never should have ignored him in favour of that golden boy Lex Luthor, and they never should have brushed him under the carpet after the arrival of Superman! He wasn’t ever the most charismatic figure in the world of super-science, but after everything, after all his struggles, soon Metropolis would remember him as--

“Why would I even try taking your bomb out the city?” asked Kon-El, grinning.

Killgrave’s entire expression drooped. “Wait, what?”

Pulling the weapon close to his chest, his aura of crimson flames washing over the chassis of the bomb, Flamebird readied himself. “Fire is fire is fire, Tad. And you know what the Flamebird thrives on? Spoilers--”

Before Killgrave could respond, the bomb slipped into Flamebird’s body like he was made of water-- there was an immense flare in the skies above Metropolis as the weapon detonated, but instead of raining destruction down and slaughtering millions, the young Kryptonian’s body was infused with even more power than before!

“Oooooh what a rush!” said Kon. He looked at Killgrave, who was still gibbering, a mild case of sunburn across his craggily features, and then with a a gesture rendered him unconscious.

“Nice move, kid. But shouldn’t you try and detonate bombs outside the city?”

Kon looked over at Green Lantern as the latter flew around him, and grinned. “Not the first bomb I’ve dealt with. The Flamebird entity that inhabits my body will deals with the fallout, and it thrives on the explosion itself. You’ve been out of the game for a while, haven’t you?”

Hal Jordan couldn’t disagree. He’d spent the last ten years or so raising his daughter, while his wife, Chloe Jordan nee Sullivan, had protected the world from the shadows as the Weatherman of the Global Peace Agency. He’d been fine with the arrangements, his family tucked away in an idyllic town kept separate from the rest of the world, and he’d even flown in his spare time, but with the ring back on his finger and his commission reactivated… he thrived on the situation.

“Who am I to doubt you? Any relation of Supes’ is good by me. But I should be honest with you, I always thought if these asses got their act together and teamed up, we’d be in trouble. Less than half a day in and we’ve actually rounded most the escapees up. We’re dealing with a lot of property damage, a lot of the prisons are rubble, but we have the bad guys back in custody. Maybe this whole thing isn’t as bad as we thought it might be.”

“I wouldn’t jinx it,” said Flamebird.

Hal slapped his forehead comically. “Damn! You’re right!” He chuckled, then looked across the city, where two figures exited L-Tower, at the heart of Metropolis. “What’s going on over there?”

Flamebird turned and squinted. He made out Blue Lantern and, crouching on a cerulean pad, Batman. They were leaving Lena Luthor’s pad, and neither of them looked happy. A split second later, an energy discharge blew out all the windows in Lena Luthor’s office.

“Whoa! What was that?” asked Green Lantern.

“Something must have happened to Superwoman… my cousin…” said Kon.

Green Lantern grimaced. “Yeah? Do you think Luthor had something to do with it?”

“‘Do with it’? Man, you are out the loop. If… oh. Oh, no.”

Kon’s shoulders slumped, realisation slapping him in the face. The bottom of his stomach dropped out when things clicked together.

“I gotta go. Lena’s family. I gotta… I gotta… you got this, right?”

“Yeah, go, go, shout if you need anything. Anything, kid.”

When Hal Jordan first resigned his commission in the Green Lantern Corps, it was in the aftermath of an event that he believed had left his daughter dead. Chloe had nearly died, and it took all his will to bring her back. The look on Kon-El’s face, just then, shook Hal to the core, and he knew exactly what the young man was going through. As Flamebird zipped toward L-Tower, Hal shook his head, dreading what might come next.

“Damn,” he whispered.


“I’ve been asleep for so long. Sleeping on the celestial knowledge gained by stepping across the threshold separating the living realm and the heavenly,” purred the Key, holding Zauriel’s face up to his as the Bull Angels held her fast in their unbreakable grip. “When they woke me up, they asked me to open every door, and look where that’s left us.”

“How… are you… doing this?” asked Zauriel through gritted teeth. “What have you done to the host?”

The Key leaned back on the throne of Heaven and laughed. He reclined, hands behind his head, feet on the arms of the grandest chair every created. “I can see the mechanisms behind every closed door, and with the wave of a hand, I can unlock them. And you know what else I saw? I saw how to unlock the doors in your family’s heads that would let me climb inside and make them mine.”

She focused again on the tattoos across the right eyes of the Bulls, the Eagles, the Lions, every faction of Angel present. Their facial expressions were devoid of emotion, but they moved as one, a flowing swarm of winged avengers all at the beck and call of the snivelling, devious villain sat before her.

“To what end?”

“Oh, dear; that would be telling. And we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted while we wait out the end of time itself.”

Zauriel's eyes opened wide. “What?”

“Keep up, my dear. It’s obvious all of reality is about to end, and we’ll be sat above it all, waiting to guide the rebirth of existence. Now, for some reason I can’t clamber inside your brainpan like I can the others. Why is that?”

She suspected she knew the answer. Ever since the release of Nekron from the Black Sun over a decade ago, she wore Heaven’s blueprint for the next version of reality on her skin. She was the Presence’s own guarantor of the future, the one who would be there when the lights of reality went out ready to turn them on again when the new owners moved in.

“Well, there’s plenty of time for us to find out. Until then, I think I wouldn’t mind your Bull brothers beating the ever-loving crap out of you. How about we start there?”


Currently situated above a hellmouth of epic, broiling proportions, the House of Mystery contained dozens, if not hundreds, of magical practitioners, the invocation of the Shadowpact drawing anyone who could act for the betterment of the mystical world to it’s doors.

The homeowners had assigned tasks-- Doctor Occult was on the roof, leading members of La Mística, Mchawi Malkia and the Torden Drittsekk in the fortification of the skies for what was coming next.

Downstairs, led by Rose Psychic, the magicians of numerous realms were chanting in unison, their voices dancing and swirling together, even though they spoke in different languages, different dialects. Some signed with their hands, others cast spells with bodily fluids and sigils. This was a moment of importance, and everyone knew it.

Even John Constantine, who only heeded the call because his long-suffering wife gave him the look, was throwing his all into it, though his hand nervously played with the bic lighter he kept in the old trench coat he’d retired a few years earlier.

Materialising in a flurry of light, Traci Thirteen-- fully garbed as Doctor Fate-- stepped into the library, where Zatanna Zatara-Constantine was hydrating, her lips and throat dry from the near non-stop memetic incantations she’d been whispering and screaming in equal measure. Her cousin, Zachary, had stepped in to fortify her corner of the spell work, but she’d get back to it once she could speak again.

“I should have bought a pack of lozenges with me,” croaked Zatanna.

Fate plucked a packet from thin air and offered one to Zee, who accepted with a masculine chuckle.

“Never leave home without them,” said Thirteen, her voice amplified and distorted by the helmet she wore.

“You’re a life saver,” said Zatanna. “You know what you’re here for?”

“Rose and the Doc filled me in,” said Thirteen. “I’m going to go into the annex. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it!” shouted Constantine. He looked impressed with himself, but Zatanna shot him the look again and he continued his incantations.

“I’ll speak to him later. dooG kcul.”

Entering the annex next to the library, Traci quickly reviewed what was required for her. Utilising the mystical might of Nabu, instead of adding to the barrier the magicians had formed to prevent the forces of Hell pouring out from the netherworld and entering Earth realm, Doctor Occult and Rose Psychic had requested that she close the doors, the ancient magicks at her command the only ones capable of performing such a task.

The ankh sigil formed slowly, her fingers moving delicately and deliberately. The coming spell work would need focus, poise, a steady hand and clear intent. She knew the runic movements like nobody else, but that’s what came with being the chosen bearer of the Helm of Fate. The successor of a lineage that stretched from Nabu, all the way through to noble Kent and Inza Nelson, the ghostly James Corrigan and beyond, to this moment in time.

Traci Thirteen, daughter to a professional sceptic and magical royalty, performed the rite of the seventh promise, the ankh solidified, and then there was a rumbling surged up at the feet of all the magicians gathered-- doors slamming. Gates closing. The spell cast the nefarious demon forces back down to the pit, closed the gates after them, and that was one less concern for the good guys.

Doctor Fate returned the library and saw some of the magicians and warlocks already retreating to wherever they’d answered the call from. Others stayed behind, the house-wisps providing refreshments to those wiped out by their spell work.

Rose Psychic, threads of silver in her hair, beamed as Traci allowed the Helm of Fate to float off her head and hover beside her. “Good work, kid.” She ran a hand through her hair and tutted. “I think I put on a decade focusing all the magic needed to keep the Adversary’s forces down.”

“Yeah, I’m right knackered,” said John Constantine. He was about to light a cigarette when his wife, Zatanna Zatara, snatched the lighter out of his hand-- and then with a flourish of sleight-of-hand vanished it out of thin air, a trick that caused the caustic magician from Newcastle to roll his eyes. “Love, not even when we save the world?”

“Especially not then, Con Job. Batwoman wants a sitrep, then we need to move on. Unless there’s a pressing magical concern, we need to keep moving, this physical/metaphysical prison break isn’t going to resolve itself.”

Before Traci could say anything, the ceiling ripped open and instinctually she reached out her hand, clasping the handle of whatever had shredded through the mystically fortified walls of the House of Mystery. Her helm asserting itself over her head, she looked at what she now held, the magicians around her all on the back foot, their defensive spells woven, their instincts ready to kick in.

“Is that--?” started Rose. She reached out toward Thirteen tentatively, unsure of what to do.

“Oh, bollocks,” said John. “Trace--”

Doctor Fate held the flaming sword of Zauriel in her gloved hand. “She never let this leave her side.” She looked up at the skies. “Something’s wrong in Heaven.”


Just because you knew a city inside out, didn’t mean it made travelling through it during wartime any easier, especially if your body was betraying you and you didn’t want to be seen.

With the roads mostly debris at this point in time, he was reminded of the time the forces of Apokolips descended, turning the city into one giant slave camp, and the fact it took his all to save his city from an army of gods, truly revealing his existence to the people in the final hours to help turn the tide…

What about when Doctor Destiny and Scarecrow salvaged an Apokoliptikan WMD and unleashed a zombie plague on the streets? The President of the United States had nearly annihilated the city to prevent the infection from spreading, but they’d survived that too, him and his closest allies…

Then later, when the mad doctor, Hugo Strange, tried to turn the city against itself, transforming the Narrows into a prison camp, when the walls went up and all the chaos that followed nearly dragged them all into the depths of hell…

And then when Scarecrow made his final stand with that militant force led by yet another masked monster… another dose of Fear Toxin, another lungful of poison to turn his body into the last death trap he’d ever face…

The sewers still stank, the reek waters permeating the thread of his costume as he trudged through them, headed to the specially marked ladder that would lead him upwards. He reached out a gloved hand and watched his fingers quake, and he knew that no matter how hard he clenched his first, the shakes would no longer abate.

The upper levels of Wayne Tower were long abandoned, but beneath them were the museum exhibits, a long, storied history focused on the four families of Gotham City, the Cobblepots, the Elliots, the Kanes and the Waynes. Some stories ended better than others, of course.

Unbeknownst to any of the visitors that walked through the exhibition, there was a bunker beneath their feet, maintained out of a pragmatic necessity that came with being the self-appointed protector of the city. Just because he’d relinquished that responsibility didn’t mean he’d forget everything he’d done in his time as her champion.

He struggled through the secret door, and trudged through the bunker, until he fell into the secret elevator that took him straight to the top floor, where his wife awaited. When the doors dinged open, he pulled off his mask and tumbled to his knees. He looked at his hands, watched them shake uncontrollably, then up at his wife, who rushed over from the window.

“Honey--!” cried Silver Wayne nee St Cloud, bundling up her husband’s head in her arms as she joined him on the floor.

Bruce Wayne, the first-- and to some only-- Batman, tried to pool his considerable mental prowess to control the spasms his body was experiencing, but he was betrayed by the Parkinson’s that now riddled his body. “I’m… I’m… I’m okay…”

Silver ineffectually pounded her fists against his chest, shaking her head. “You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot. You know you shouldn’t have done that. You’re not well.”

He unclipped his utility belt and tossed it aside, trying to free his body of the additional weight that came with the Batman costume he’d pulled on when the crisis first reared it’s head. “My city… my city needed me…”

“No! Gotham isn’t your city anymore! Your boys, the girls, they, they were there, they were dealing with. You didn’t come back for this, Bruce. You didn’t!”

“What… what did you expect of me?” asked Bruce.

“God! I don’t even know!” Silver turned away, tears streaming down her face. “You won’t… won’t even use the cure, Bruce. They gave you one, and you won’t take it.”

“I don’t deserve it,” replied Bruce.

“You deserve it more than anybody! You’ve given everything! And the monks give you a damn potion, they give you a get out of prison free card, and you refuse to take it!”

“It wouldn’t be fair… my body… I had…”

Bruce trailed off, knowing that his wife’s argument was completely valid. Their sojourn away from Gotham City in the wake of his Parkinson’s diagnosis wasn’t supposed to lead them on some quest for a cure to his ailment, but the legend of the Bat spread so far… and the monks of Nanda Parbatt were waiting for them. An elixir of ancient alchemical origins, a serum designed to give a dying champion a second chance, and… they’d presented it to him.

“I’m sorry, are we interrupting?”

Bruce and Silver’s attention snapped toward the open door, where two figures stood. How did they get passed the tower’s alarm system? How did Bruce not sense their presence before they made themselves known? When they stepped forward, a man and a woman, the former’s fingers up in a peace gesture while the latter had her hands in her deep pockets, Bruce knew the reason why.

“…Questions.”

Even faceless, Vic Sage, aka the Question, side-by-side with his partner-in-crime Renee Montoya, aka the Question, couldn’t help but smile as he replied, the shift in his features visible beneath that mask of his.

“Answers,” he replied, offering his hand to his old friend, and helping him up when the offer was accepted. “Do I have a story for you, old man.”