Disclaimer: Anything or anybody you can recognize is not mine, they belong to their respective owners. That's probably DC and Marvel. I'm just using ideas and concepts. So let me repeat, I do not own anything but the plot. So stop suing.
A/N: Let's see where I'm gonna go with this.
Prologue:
All Endings are the Same
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Live well. It is the greatest revenge. - The Talmud
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Sure, life is pretty good. Not living mind you, because some people are just unfortunate enough to have a pretty shitty living. Just life in general. You breathe, you run, you jump, you walk, you swim, you play, you fuck, you love, you sleep, you laugh, you smile, you birth, you whistle, you cook, you eat, you drink, you think, you imagine, you swear, you write, you read, you speak, you sing, you do, you dig? After all, all this stuff and more is what makes it all worthwhile to go from point A (the time you are brought out of the womb covered in placebo and other birthing fluids) to point Z (the second you end up permanently dead, reincarnation not included). Not only is it good it is pretty simple too. The difficult part of the timeline of life is those other twenty-four points (and often usually more), which we shall call our life-defining or changing moments, between A and Z. These moments are easily categorized under the headers of professional, social, personal and puberty.
Well at least it used to be just four categories. Since the world ended and was subsequently revived (though it is practically on life-support) "survival" pretty much defined itself as the fifth moment. The defeat of Trigon four years ago did not bring back peace and it did not undo the damage that occurred. The Earth remained scarred, battered, bruised and in most cases, crippled. The red skies returned to blue, the oceans of lava reverted back to water and the land teemed once again with vegetation.
Yet the cities remained broken.
All of humanities achievements and urban dwellings across the planet are still the skeletal husks during Trigon's short rule, from the sprawling metropolises to the tiniest of hamlets. Entire neighbourhoods are still a wasteland of rubble, skyscrapers are still missing floors and look like jagged spears against the skyline, streets are broken and uneven like cracked skin, monuments are no longer national prides but are painful reminders of a destroyed past and doors continually jammed. Damaged dams broke and caused flooding in areas of hundreds of miles submerging whole towns and drowning entire populations. Factories became hazard zones. Electrical power is almost practically non-existent. Medicine is a precious commodity. Food and water are constantly in short supply.
Cities can be rebuilt. Unfortunately lives cannot so easily.
Less than one-tenth of the world's population returned to life. For some survivors the one thing more terrifying than having being turned into stone is to be surrounded by those who have. Statues, statues, everywhere. Where there was once a person, there are now statues. Entire families endlessly sitting at a table for an untouched dinner. Babies holding tears in their eyes that will never be shed. Faces forever contorted in excruciating pain. Parents holding stone children, lovers holding stone lovers, wives with stone husbands, dogs licking stone faces.
Perhaps after the realization of a world set in stone finally sunk in, plans to save those still frozen would have been a priority if it had not been for the dozens of nuclear power plants that were critically damaged in Trigon's world. A quarter of an hour after Earth's reversion to blue and green, the entire planet became dotted with angry orange, red, white and grey mushroom clouds. What cities remained standing but were unfortunate enough to have damaged nuclear plants were quickly wiped out, erasing the lives of the survivors and all traces of the frozen population. Whole new diseases became widespread because of the chemical spills of factories and radioactive dust. Land became parched and dead. Strange beasts began appearing, some mutated animals, others formerly human, all carnivores.
Whole governed nations broke down when they saw their leaders set in stone. There are those who still talk about the senator found doing an impressive imitation of the Thinking Man statue on the seat of a toilet. The irony that he too was set in stone was not lost to them. So the people turned to their heroes knowing that in such times of crisis they were the answers, they would help them, they could set things right, they were saviours.
Then the people finally discovered the pieces of the Man of Steel. It seems that unfortunately he was flying to stop some other minor crisis at the time he turned to stone. Statues are not known for flight. Then the madness set in. Whatever population remained whole panicked and screamed and feared and cried and went mad. They demanded answers. When they did not get any they went seeking it themselves. Communication broke down. The world ate itself up because when there is nothing identifiable to hate, hate everything identifiable.
Fear drove groups of people to madness, setting them upon a path of nomadic raiding, backstabbing and destruction. The darkest depths of the human soul were revealed the following months after Trigon. Murder, rape and thievery became as common as eating, sleeping and shitting. Small pockets of dictatorships sprung up in traditionally democratic countries. Fascism returned to central Europe, southern Asia and parts of the United States. People once disillusioned with their meagre beginnings became charismatic leaders urging their citizens to rise up against those responsible. Often this included anybody outside their society.
The world became a patchwork quilt of ever changing borders and realms of failures and chaos. People once again became valuable resources and slaves, both for labour and pleasure. There was no discrimination in facing the hardships of survival for both young and old. The planet was awash in the dark tide of Trigon's wake. It seemed that though he may not be physically here, his corrupting essence remained and seeded itself into the Earth's core infecting all who live and breathe. He left hell as a nice welcome back present. Not everybody is going to accept that.
There were more heroes around the world than anybody could have ever imagined, others emerging from behind the shadows. Extraordinary people who would not let their piece of the planet fall to corruption and decay they fought against the rising dark tide. Where they could, they offered some semblance of peace, law, order and justice. For four long years people fought and died to preserve a bit of humanity in a world gone to hell.
In one particular city remained a group of heroes who fought for the old ideals since the beginning. Though the world became dark and embittered they retained the impetuousness of youth never losing faith that there was something other than darkness in the human soul. They may have wavered, they may have been confused but they grew and matured to symbolize an unforgettable hope.
A girl once apprenticed to the greatest detective in the world.
A boy seeking redemption for the destruction unleashed by his fate.
A girl with the power of the animal kingdom.
A boy made of near-unstoppable steel.
A girl whose voice could move souls or break walls.
A girl who cannot touch.
There were others over time that, though are not with them now, still fights along side them.
An alien prince.
A girl made of technology.
A boy whose size does not matter.
A girl with the ocean at her command.
A boy with spider senses.
A girl who never misses.
A girl who sings and sparkles.
They are a motley crew that though are strange are also so beautiful inside because they could not relent.
The chaos calmed down and the people began to recover, as did the land. The long fight against the tide seemed almost over as civilization began to creep back into existence. Thoughts of bright future loomed ahead because after all, whoever heard of two apocalypses in a lifetime?
The truth is that nothing is impossible even if it is unthinkable.
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Gasp!
A sharp intake of breath. No air. No lungs. No need to breathe.
Breath?
As it contemplated the idea of breath, it realized its consciousness. It could think.
Where...
What is it?
The first thing its conscious mind could comprehend was the silence. Then it saw (did it know?) the nothing of blind darkness. And then it noticed the darkness illuminated by shadows. That was the only way its awareness could describe itself to its present surroundings. Understanding within the dream, a dream that was reality. It could walk with no feet and it could fly with no arms. All it is and ever was is a witness.
The witness (the consciousness?) floated for an eternal second before an unseen force drew it towards the brightest of the shadows. Did force really exist?
In this place it knew everything about the shadows because there was nothing to know. Shadows with a presence are only there because they are there.
There. There. Here. Here. Here. Here, because it is supposed to be as all are supposed to be.
There were two of them within a wall of darker figures stretching beyond the invisible horizon. They spoke of everything but were not talking. The consciousness (the spectre?) listened in on them and it could hear voices echoing in the place with no walls. Words that made no sense but it could understand. It paid attention because it knew nothing else.
"... his time came... and it... has passed. The Tides now passes... to another." The sound was young and soft like a breeze. But there was no life behind its words.
"Yet the Scientist still exists for he is eternal. As long as the spawn lives so shall the prophecy." This voice was old and thunderous. It was controlled and spirited with anger. "His time did come yet it is not over. His presence is of the highest Tide."
"It... matters not. The laws can... not... be broken. Shall... all the waves... stop... before brushing... the shore... all because one... cannot recede? Impossible. Improbable. Impractical. The waves... must... continue to flow. There is... no other way."
A newborn infant will cry out of need even though it does not know of what it needs. It just understands. The spectre (the awareness?) struggled because it felt the same instincts (was itself a newborn? Must contemplate later). It could not let them continue. It did not want them to continue. It did not want to hear them anymore because as it listened, it began to fear.
"Thus his tide will continue upon the Pharaoh's beginning." A statement, voiced with finality.
The words were merely sounds within the darkness but the awareness (the figure?) could feel the pounding of inevitability. Inevitability? How did it know what that meant? In this plane of its current awareness it knew only the intent of the sounds of the shadows. They could not hurt it. They could not destroy it. They could do nothing but be part of the dream because they did not exist. So, why was it so scared?
"It... is... so... because the spawn... has made it... so."
"The Pharaoh also possesses the time of a High Tide."
"...Yes..."
An unseen smile that though could not be seen could still be felt. It was so cold (could shadows smirk?), "Did you forget? No, of course not you. Never you." (Can shadows stop smiling?), " Never more than one, never less than none, that too is the law."
Silence.
Silence.
And then.
"... An... Endless... Tide."
"Yes, an Endless Tide. But enough, he has listened long enough. Let him see now and let him learn."
The figure (the mind?) knew it could not hide when the shadows without faces turned towards it, so it did not. The mind (the soul?) knew it could not run away when the shadows with no form grew bigger beyond the universal proportions the closer they got, so it stayed still. The soul (the end?) knew of inevitability when the shadows that encompassed everything began to split open into a red horizon stretching beyond sight, so it accepted. The end screamed amongst the chaos of the swallowing shadows and roaring crimson.
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The Four Eyes smouldered.
The world burned hotter. In this place, the dark shadows and blazing sin bled together upon the dead earth that had stretched beyond universal measurements. Infernal rivers exploded high into the crimson sky only to fall and cover the land over a thousand lifetimes. The fires of a thousand consumed stars devoured all only to extinguish and then ignite a thousand more dead stars. Where there was never an End, Infinity ruled the land.
The Four Eyes raged.
Time became both standstill and faster. Floating continents that covered the sky, like an all-encompassing roof of falling earth, dipped and soared like deranged bird beasts. The ground that always moved bucked and hurled itself as if in its death throes, creating mile high tidal waves of liquid land. Up, that was always down, became left and right. Shadows became brighter than the light from flames. Fire began to freeze all it touched and ice began to burn all it overwhelmed. Where there was never Order, Chaos ruled the laws.
The Four Eyes hated.
The screams grew louder. The denizens of the Nine Hells cried for their lord, his pain becoming theirs, his sorrow breaking their spirits, his hate fuelling theirs. The ghosts of sin, the incorporeal hated, the murderous dead, the fallen ones and the damned. The giants, the beasts, the demons, the humanoids, the monstrous, insignificant, the intelligent and the mindless. The Overlords, the Abishai, the Cutiatu, the Imps, the Fell, and the unlimited number more of warring clans. Millions perish and billions more are born. Where there was never Peace, Destruction ruled history.
The Four Eyes smouldered. The Four Eyes raged. The Four Eyes hated. The Four Eyes planned. The Four Eyes smiled. The Nine Hells screamed.
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On a marble of a blue-green planet, on a broken coast, in a broken city, in a broken tower, came a broken cry.