The planet Krypton exploded, taking with it a civilisation which had existed through millennia of peace and scientific advancement. The planet's greatest scientist Gar-El had sent his infant son, Yordi, to a small green planet called Earth, appearing in a large city of Europe in the year 2000. Gifted with superhuman strength and the advanced technology of a long-deceased civilisation, and disguised as Marc Costa, mild-mannered reporter for the Evening News, he fought a never-ending battle as the defender of the weak and the administrator of justice: first as Super Boy and now as Super Man.
As the infant Yordi's ship traversed hyperspace towards his new home, it dragged with it artifacts from his abandoned point of origin. Some fell to Earth, but others were scattered across space and time, and it became one of his missions to gather them and render them harmless.
Super Man had begun his adult career by catching the woman named Marise after the villain Cornélius Kramm had tossed her from a skyscraper window. Forty years later, her ebony hair greying and laughter lines creasing the corners of her eyes, she still looked as beautiful to him as the day they met.
Her hands ran along the contours of his face, touching the grey at his temples. "I hate these … these house-cleaning trips you have to do. They always make me worried."
He took her hands in his. "They're safer than another conflict with the Brotherhood of Evil as I've had before. And this trip will only be a couple hundred years in the past, there shouldn't be any aliens or – "
She leaned forward to kiss his lips quickly. "I know. But at least when you're going up against the Brotherhood or Kramm, I know I can see you. Remember that as strong as you are, you're not invulnerable, Marc."
He nodded, and returned the kiss. "I'll always return to you, Marise Costa."
"You better."
It was the year 1793 when the futuristic ship Imperia landed in an isolated area. Marc Costa disembarked, clad in a plain blue attire of the period, complemented by a red cravat and a green vest. He activated his ship's cloaking device, and concealed his rocket belt and his helmet in a pack he carried at his side. On foot, he began the long trek to Paris.
He passed into the city, senses alert to the sounds and smells it presented to him. He had time travelled relatively rarely, and in some ways he found the experience even more fascinating than his periodic trips to alien planets.
He heard a commotion ahead, and without a thought hastened to the source. He saw a mob of men attempting to force another man from his house, the group shouting obscenities and something about defying the revolution's providence. He was about to interfere, when another man's voice cut through the crowd. "Release Ramsey Norton, he is not to be taken to the guillotine by such as you."
Costa looked up, and his eyes widened to see a figure cloaked in black. "Le Justicier!" came the astonished sound from the mob. The time traveller had heard of him, of course, famous even in his day from the biography penned by Baroness Orczy, but he had never thought to encounter the man himself. He recognised as well the laughing, scarlet-clad woman who accompanied him: Les Ailes Rouges.
He watched as the heroic pair swooped down on a pair of ropes, and even without the superior strength and technology that Costa possessed, they managed to disrupt the crowd and gather Norton up to safety. As the woman assisted the imperilled man up over the rooftops, the cloaked figure laughed and taunted the mob.
"They seek him to,
They seek him fro,
But where he is
They do not know!
To those who would separate his head from his shoulder,
Beware, mes amis...for Le Justicier grows bolder!"
The legends of Le Justicier, as well as his American descendants such as Le Chauve-Souris, had been one of the inspirations which had led the young Yordi to take up the guise of Super Boy in his youth, the way his own activities had themselves inspired some of his contemporaries to seek out adventure. It looks like I'm not needed here, Costa thought to himself.
At the Paris home of Captain Bruce Wayne, the former soldier peered through the red of the wine glass at his assembled family - his parents Thomas and Martha Wayne, his sister Rochelle, and his wife, the former Janifer St Cyr. "This Justicier puzzles me," his father said. "He claims to have no connection to King Louis XVI and his Bourbon Battalion, yet he so actively works against the Revolution. He ought to be supporting it!"
Bruce yawned. "I don't understand your obsession with this vigilante, father," he said, his voice languid. "I'd almost think he involves himself in these escapades solely to vex you."
"I'd almost think it would be better to be a counter-revolutionary than to be so … so disaffected at all times," Thomas Wayne said, seething.
Martha Wayne's eyes widened. "Thomas! Don't say such things aloud!"
Janifer covered her face with her fan, and averted her eyes. Le Justicier had rescued her own parents from the mob when they faced a brutal death by guillotine, but her husband – who had seemed so dashing in his military gear when first they met – had turned out to be nothing but a worthless fop. He and his father engaged in these seemingly endless spats, while his sister watched, silent and amused. She rose to her feet and walked to her husband, taking his hand. "I can see you are tired, sweetheart, and in truth, I believe it has been a long day for me, too. Let's retire, and perhaps we can look forward to some more pleasant news in the papers tomorrow."
"Of course dear. All these debates can cause a strain to the system." Bruce stood up to accompany her as they walked up the stairwell to their bedroom. Rochelle watched them, her brow furrowed. Despite their life of shared adventure, Bruce had never confided in her about the strain caused by carrying his necessary masquerade into his most intimate relationship, but she was attuned enough to his nuances to understand the strain it took on his heart. One day I hope none of this will be necessary, she thought to herself.
The oil light burned in the darkness of the laboratory as the alchemist peered at the glowing green substance he had salvaged from the comet which had fallen to Earth days ago. It had properties he had never observed before in any terrestrial element or compound. Finally, he arrayed before him a series of metal statuettes he had gathered over the years, and he carefully poured the substance over each of them. He had no way of knowing it was a liquid core for one of Krypton's self-aware 'brainiac' artificial intelligence systems, irradiated by the planet's explosion.
The humanoid statuettes, their chest emblems labelled with the alchemical symbols for Or, Fer, Plomb, Mercure, Platine, and Tinnull, began to expand, shift and change, and Lord William DeMagnus stepped back, eyes wide in wonder.
Under cover of night, Le Justicier rapped in a quick, synchronised pattern on the door of the isolated rural cabin where Ramsey Norton had been hidden. Norton peered through the window, and then opened the door. "Thank you for returning for me. I was afraid – "
Le Justicier waved his hand dismissively. "I'd not rescued you to leave you to die here alone, monsieur." He dropped on the floor of the cabin a cloth bundle. "I've provided you with a disguise. You will be travelling north, and connecting with an ally of mine, a man named Sir Chauncey Berkeley. You will recognise him by the crimson chrysanthemum which he wears. He will be able to provide safe passage to England."
Norton bowed. "I owe you my life. I know there's no way I could possible repay you, but – "
"But you have spoken too soon," came a voice from outside. "It is time to face the judgement of the people!"
Le Justicier whirled around, to see a man with wild eyes addressing them, and at his side an entity out of nightmares: an enormous guillotine consisting of several differently colored metals, each segment of which sprouted an independent head which seemed to move about and track his movements independently. None of the foes he had encountered in the past, from the grotesque Herve Deinte to the maddening Madame DeFarce, had prepared him for such a sight.
He drew forth his flint-lock pistols, and the guillotine began to detach into component parts, each some peculiar simulacrum of a human. Their bodies started to elongate and loom over him in a terrifying manner. He fired towards the closest one in an attack, but his projectile only ricocheted off its metallic flesh, and he wondered whether he was fast enough, or untiring enough, to evade his unhuman enemies forever.
The simulacrum in scarlet seemed the most liquid of the sextet and, grinning devilishly, slid closest. Le Justicier's eyes looked for a exit route, when suddenly a red beam of intense heat blasted down from the heavens. He felt his skin close to blister, but the simulacrum shouted in anger as its surface began to bubble and melt. Le Justicier looked upwards, and was astonished to see another humanoid figure descending from the heavens.
The figure was caped and clad in red, with yellow boots and gloves, and on his chest a yellow 'S' in an inverted triangle. His features were hidden behind a helmet, and at first Le Justicier was unsure whether this was another artificial humanoid, but he soon realised it was a man. The newcomer descended from the sky, landing between him and his opponents. "Le Justicier," the man said, "My name is Yordi. I've travelled far, and am honoured to meet you."
"You've my thanks," Le Justicier said, astounded. "So you know about these … these métal men?"
Super Man adjusted the visor of his helmet. It was constructed using Kryptonian technology, and accentuated his vision, allowing him to see as far as distant stars and as close as the structure of the atom. "Not directly," he said, "although I believe they're my responsibility. The … source of their power … comes from the same place as myself."
Le Justicier's eyes widened, finding it impossible to imagine such a place out of the most outlandish fantasies of de Bergerac. "I'm grateful for any help you can give," he replied.
As the Métal Men prepared to attack once more, Super Man opened his helmet briefly, enough for Le Justicier to see that he was in fact, quite human in appearance. He gave his new ally a wink. "Shall we?"
The other man grinned back. "Le Justicier's sword stands ready!"
The world's finest heroes of two disparate centuries returned to battle, with Le Justicier in pursuit of Lord William DeMagnus as Super Man dealt with the unintentional scions of his home planet. It was Super Man's own pistol which generated beams of light as hot as the sun, and the simulacrums could not withstand the heat.
Lord William DeMagnus howled obscenities as he witnessed the destruction of his accidental creations. Carefully, Super Man was able to remove the remnants of the brainiac system. He knew that direct exposure to the irradiated substance would be fatal to him, but his uniform was lined with lead to keep exposure to a minimum. Finally, he stood. "They should be harmless now," he said.
Le Justicier peered at the small transparent tubes with their glowing green contents. "And that liquid was the … life force that powered those things?"
Super Man considered, and then nodded slowly. "They were never really alive," he said. "This liquid hosts miniscule machines, smaller than the eye can see. My people constructed them to act as helpmeets, although I believe the journey here may have driven them to a sort of insanity. I will reform them if I can, and destroy them if I can't."
Le Justicier struggled to understand the concepts his ally lived with. "I have always struggled for rationality and science against the prejudices of the world," he said, "but the things I've seen today are almost impossible for me to understand. I am grateful, once more, for your generosity and your help."
Super Man extended a hand. "The name of Le Justicier is held in the reknown even where I'm from," he replied. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said I was honoured to meet you at last."
Ramsey Norton watched the whole affair from afar. As he overcame his initial fear, his own scientific mind began to work quickly. Artificial men, he thought to himself, if one could construct one from the chemicals of life itself rather than unliving metals …
The Superman counterpart here is an amalgamation of 'Yordi' and 'Marc Costa, the Modern Hercules,' both translations of Superman comics published in France, with 'Super Boy,' an unrelated character.
The Batman counterpart here is from the Batman: Reign of Terror Elseworlds, although his and his Robin counterpart's names, Le Justicier and Les Ailes Rouges, are from translations of Batman comics published in France. Le Justicier's taunting verse is adapted from the one by Mike W. Barr.
Sir Chauncey Berkeley, aka the Crimson Chrysanthemum, is another DC Comics referent to the Scarlet Pimpernel, from the pages of The Inferior Five.
The Métal Men are from the Elseworlds 80 Page Giant.