Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics, or anything associated with said franchise.
Accolades/Appreciation: Thanks for ANY/ALL of the reviews! I really appreciate them, and I take them all into account.
Author's Amendment: And yes, I am aware of the "length issue," of the chapters. It HAS to be that long (AT LEAST For The FIRST FEW Chapters), until I Have introduced all of my major characters, and "set-the-scene." ...Then, after I have done that, they'll get progressively shorter, until their length is uniformed, and they'll be WAAAY shorter than original ones, and MUCH MORE readable. ...Also, I am aware of the very dark nature of the first few chapters. ...BUT, please be aware that the story has NOT YET EVEN BEGUN! BELIEVE ME, when the action starts, the heroes will have some REAL PERSONALITIES, nice one-liners, awesome quotes, and, some REALLY GOOD senses of humor (Just Look At Chaos). I am making it that dark on purpose. As it is said: "The dark always looks darker right after a great light." That is VERY TRUE. ...HOWEVER, the inverse is also true: "The light always looks brighter, after a great darkness!" I am making it so very dark, so that, when the heroes (BOTH Cannon, AND, OC) enter into the mix, the hope that they give the world, and the readers, will be that much greater! Don't worry, it'll only get MORE ACTION-Y, MORE COMICAL, and BRIGHTER, as it goes on! …Anyways, THANKS for reading, reviewing, favoriting, subscribing, etc… I REALLY appreciate it! READ ON, READERS!
V. Light in the Darkness
"…Azarath. …Metrion. …Zinthos…" the boy whispered silently. He was silently and stealthily perched atop the central roof of "Wayne Enterprises," and he was focusing—hard. He was mediating. It was nighttime in Gotham, and it was his favorite time of the day. Of course, he didn't have "favorites," per se. He couldn't have "favorites," because he didn't truly like anything.
He only had things that he detested less than everything else. He wasn't the happiest of teenagers, but then again, being one-fourth demon did that to people. He was sitting—or levitating, rather—a few feet above the roof's floor, his eyes closed, and his legs crossed. His dark blue cloak was draped over his body in a way that perfectly concealed his body—which upon closer inspection, seemed to be very physically fit, with a skin tone slightly darker and greyer than normally acceptable for a human—and his hood was lowered and not currently in its usual place over his head. He was doing his best to focus, and he was succeeding as best he could, until a loud sound forced his tightly closed eyes to whip open.
He looked around his general vicinity, and he scanned his surroundings, looking for the source of his disturbance. He huffed in annoyance, and he closed his eyes once again. He regained his focus, and he once again began to meditate.
"…Azarath. …Metrion. …Zinthos…" he repeated his mantra. His dark blue hair wavered slightly in the weak wind, but he did not notice, and he kept his dark eyes shut. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, keeping his breathing, heart rate, levitation height, and all other miniscule movements in check, proportion, and balance with one another.
His focus deepened, only to be completely shattered once again. "…Azarath. …Metrion—" he began to chant, but he was cut off by the loud echo of a jewelry store alarm before he could complete his chant. This time his eyes whipped open, and he knew that he would not be allowed to close them any time soon. He sighed in deep frustration.
He lowered himself onto the roof's floor, and he got to his feet—very quickly. He walked to the edge of the roof, and towards the deafening sound of the alarm. As he walked over to the edge, he walked very slowly, but he walked with determination, and purpose. His speed was well expressed, not in his motion, but in his attitude.
His experienced and well-trained eyes surveyed the streets below him. He scanned the streets for some time until finally he found what he was looking for. The three crooks were fleeing west along East Street. He couldn't help but smirk at the irony and stupidity of the robbers. They had ruined his night. Now, he was about to ruin theirs.
The teenager watched the three men flee, and he tracked their exact movements, their exact attitude, and the locations of any and all possible weapons. He did this all very quickly, and in a shadowy blink, he pulled his hood over his head, and he was gone, vanishing into the night without a trace.
Of the three masked men fleeing the scene of the crime, the one in front—the one appeared to be their leader—was the first to feel the wraith of "Shade Shifter." A shadow appeared in front of the man, and before he could react or even utter a single word, the shadow disappeared, seemingly diving into the asphalt below him.
"…What the hell…?..." the man asked himself anxiously as he came to slow and steady stop. His two comrades looked at him with a very confused expression as they stopped as well, apparently not having seen the apparition moments before.
The same shadow then emerged from the asphalt of the street, and he was now directly behind the man he had targeted earlier. The two other men now saw what had made their friend man so anxious moments before.
"J-J-Ji-JIMMY!" they both said in unison, addressing their apparent leader, whose name was name was evidently "Jimmy." They were far too late, though. The shadow was faster. A smirk appeared on Shade Shifter's face, although none of the men could see it behind his dark hood.
Shade was in the perfect position behind his target, so as to not give away his location, yet still attack his enemy at the right angle. Unfortunately though, due to the other men and their yells, Shade now had limited time to perform the actions that he needed to, as the man in front of him began to turn around.
The man began to turn, but he never got the chance to face his attacker, as Shade whispered, "…Zinthos…" thus finishing his preciously interrupted chant. The familiar shape of a raven grew from the boy, and it surrounded him and his target, and both disappeared.
Shade Shifter appeared mere moments later; however, the man that he had taken with him was now nowhere to be seen. The dark teen now approached the two remaining men, and they were clearly afraid—they were practically drowning in their own fear—and, as such, they reacted instinctively.
The two men drew their handguns, and they proceeded to open fire on the approaching shadow. Shade smirked once again. He swiped his hand at a perpendicular angle to the incoming bullets at just the right time—he did not have super speed, but he did have excellent reflexes—and he created an apparently solid shield of pure darkness out of thin air.
His shield made contact with the bullets, before they made contact with him, and the bullets were promptly deflected. The fear that the two remaining men felt escalated to new heights, and it showed. That was good. Shade fed of that fear, almost as much as a "Yellow Lantern" would have. He enjoyed seeing his enemies in fear. It was better than seeing them in pain. More often than not, it was more painful to his enemies, than actually being in pain.
The shadow continued to approach the two dumbstruck and fear-filled robbers before him.
"I do not believe that," Shade said, pointing to the small but noticeable bag of diamonds in one of the robber's non-dominant hands, "belongs to you. Perhaps you would care to return them." Shade suggested, being very clear that he was only going to give them one chance.
The two crooks turned to each and then back to the teenager. Their former and apparent fear now turned into amusement and anger. One of the criminals spoke.
"Beat it, kid! Whatever little magic tricks you've got, we've got some real 'party favors,'" he gestured to his gun, "that'll make you run scared like the little kid you are!" he finished, chuckling slightly, and even though he chuckling, he was also clearly angry. Shade shook his head ever so slightly. At least he tried.
He now addressed the two doomed men before him. "You think that you know of fear? You know nothing of fear. Oh, but you will." he stated menacingly, and just as the two opened fire on the boy, his dark figure sunk into the pavement once again.
He reappeared behind the two men, and he turned his body very swiftly, delivering a silent and strong kick to the skull of the one closest to him, effectively dropping him to the ground, unconscious.
Shade left only the robber with the bag of diamonds standing. The only remaining crook was now experiencing a new level of fear, and he was sure that he wanted to be in his partner's position: unconscious on the ground. Shade turned his attention to his now stunned and stupefied foe.
"Are you afraid, yet?" he asked the petrified man. He nodded ever-so-slightly. "Good." Shade responded, and he proceeded to drop the last of the fleeing robbers.
Moments later, the Gotham City Police Department had arrived at the scene. Detective Sarah Storm—the biological sister of the late Lana Grayson, and sister-in-law of Dick Grayson—stood by the wall of the alley, examining the three unconscious masked men, and the bag of diamonds that were strung-up next to them. There was note that accompanied them. She retrieved the note and read:
"Dear detective, please keep your trash off the streets, thank you ever so much. The night is already full of deadly creatures. It needs not be full of morons as well.
I'll be watching,
The Shadow, Shade Shifter."
She put the note down, and she smirked. The last line of the note would have given anyone else a sense of foreboding and uneasiness, but it gave her a little hope. Gotham had been graced by the presence of a hero, and that hadn't happened in a very long time.
Detective Storm's long brunette hair, which was currently tied-up in a ponytail, rustled slightly as the brisk night breeze blew through the street. Her deep dark eyes were met by the equally deep and dark eyes of her superior, Commissioner Cassandra Cain.
Cain kept a close eye on Sarah. Sarah Storm was well-trained, very well-trained, but nonetheless, Cain felt that Lana—being Dick's wife—was family, and as such, so was Sarah, and she refused let the woman out of her sight for any more time than was necessary. Cain was not going to lose any more family. Detective Storm often complained about Cain's protective presence, and she had a valid point—she could take care of herself, very well—but it did not matter. The commissioner's word was final.
Cain raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" she asked the detective.
Storm smirked and handed Cain the note. After her quick eyes scanned the small document, Cain proceeded to smile as well. She put a cigarette in her mouth, and she lit it up as her smirk widened.
"He may not be Batman, but sure knows how to leave a 'lovely' note just like him." the commissioner commented, still smirking, as she exhaled some smoke.
Shane walked through the lonely streets of Star City, tired and weary. He was tired—but not physically. Physically, he was well above the average or norm of the stamina, speed, and strength of any normal human—let alone a human teenager.
But, mentally, he was drained. The past week had taken its toll on him. He had tried his very best to live in that house—in his sister's house. But, he could not. That marked the fourth, and final of the many houses that he had tried to occupy, since his sister's demise.
She was the last link that he had to any emotion—let alone the ones that weren't destructive.
Both of his parents had been eliminated in the "Hero Hunting," and he knew that, had he been there to assist them during the attack, he would have been absolutely no help, yet he was always blaming himself for not being there. He wished that he had died when his parents had died. But he wasn't there, and the reason that he wasn't there ate away at him constantly.
He wasn't there, because he didn't want to be there, since he, at the time, didn't like his parents—he didn't respect them—and he would always regret his sentiments towards them in their final moments. Then, reading their will only made things worse. They respected him, and they loved him.
He was the illegitimate child of Jefferson Pierce and Sarah Simms. His father's ex-wife, Lynn Stewart, had been deceased for some time before his father had ever met Sarah.
Sarah Simms was a physical therapist, a rehabilitation expert, a teacher in a school of and for the disabled, and a general nice and kind-hearted person. The fact that Shane's father needed her help after the "Black Lantern Corps" had visited Earth was inevitable.
The "Black Lantern Corps" was an organization that consisted of deceased and decrepit revenants—or beings brought back from death itself—of old foes and enemies of the Justice League, Teen Titans and any other heroes in general. The "organization," "The Black Lantern Corps," was led by their leader, Nekron—the bringer and master of death itself.
The Black Lantern power rings worked like so many of the other power rings that fueled the other seven Lantern Corps, except the "emotion" of these rings was "death." Nekron's sole purpose and goal was to eliminate life, wherever, and whenever it may have existed, and thus, he began his "extermination" on the planet where the greatest amount of heroes—heroes that he considered "threats" to his mission—and that planet was none other than Earth.
Nekron had been successfully stopped, though. Hal Jordan had united the power of the seven rings and emotions of the original emotion spectrum into one, vastly powerful, and immensely limitless ring—the "White Lantern Power Ring."
This new Lantern Ring allowed Hal to temporarily form the "White Lantern Corps," whose members consisted of heroes who were already fighting the "Black Lantern Corps" on Earth, and together, they put an end to Nekron and his attack. However, the immense physical, mental, and emotional strain that using the White Lantern Ring had put on Hal was great, and he scarcely wanted to experience that ever again.
Jefferson Pierce, also known by his superhero alias "Black Lightning," had helped the other heroes during the "Black Lantern Invasion" of planet Earth. He had gained a good number of his commendations and honors that had adorned his symbol in the Justice League's Watch-Tower due to his heroic actions during these attacks.
He had done a marvelous job at defending innocents and repelling the attacks of Nekron during the conflict. Unfortunately, however, he was also severely injured during the assault.
After some reparative surgery and recuperation, a good amount of rehabilitation and physical therapy was needed. That is when Jefferson met Sarah Simms.
She was then operating and working out Metropolis—Jefferson's home city—and thus, the meeting of the two was inevitable. Upon first sight, Jefferson felt immediate guilt for his affection to the kind woman because, although his wife had passed peacefully years before, he felt that Lynn still held his heart. Feeling this guilt and regret, Jefferson closed himself off from the woman.
He was stubborn, cold, sometimes rude, and seemingly uncaring and ungrateful for the countless hours, and large amounts of moral, physical, and mental support that she had given him during his rehabilitation. She only smiled at his actions though, and he cursed her because that stupid smile only made him all the more attracted to her, and for some unforeseeable reason—unforeseeable to Jefferson anyways—the colder he became, the more she began to love him.
She was used to this kind of stubbornness and introverted behavior. She knew that it meant that he cared. She knew this from experience. She had experienced it with one of her former friends—who, coincidentally, was also a man who had stolen her heart with his heroics as well, a man named Victor Stone, a man known by his superhero alias: "Cyborg."
She had never told Victor that she loved him though, and she had always regretted that decision. She was determined not to make the same mistake twice.
Jefferson and Sarah became very close, but neither admitted their true feelings for the other, until the night that they thought that they would lose the other.
When Jefferson was in-costume and on patrol one night, he had stopped by the rehab center, and even though he claimed that it was "strictly business," both Sarah and Jefferson knew that the visit wasn't due to business, but rather, pleasure. He may have been cold, calculating, and seemingly uncaring to Sarah, but he didn't keep any secrets from her. She knew that Jefferson was the hero known as "Black Lightning."
She had enough experience with superheroes, their alter-egos, and their secret identities in the past to be considered a trustworthy and well-meaning ally. Unfortunately though, having Black Lightning in costume around the rehab center attracted the wrong kind of attention.
A rival gang of a patient that Sarah was tending to came to the center that night. Slowly and surely, they made their way onto the property of the center's main compound. They intended to scare her; however, upon seeing the hero Black Lightning in her presence, their animosity, audacity and anger towards the kind-hearted woman only skyrocketed. They now intended to kill her, and her hero counterpart.
Black Lightning was a very attentive and vigilant hero, however, due to his intense "conversation" that he was at-the-time engaged in with Sarah, he did not notice the armed men approaching the two. The moment he did notice them, however, it was far too late.
The men opened fire, and few of their stray bullets caught Jefferson in the left arm, and another few went flying towards Sarah. Jefferson did his best to intercept the path of the bullets, but for the most part he failed. The wounds that the two sustained were not life-threatening, but they were severe.
After seeing the wounded condition that the men had left Sarah in, Black Lightning broke the sacred rule of superheroes. He killed the armed men, all of them. Using his metahuman abilities, his intense training, well-honed skills, and physical prowess, he made quick and short work of the bloodthirsty men that he had set his sights on.
After he was finished with the attackers, he returned his attention to Sarah. She was still alive, breathing, and even speaking well. However, she had lost a significant amount of blood, and the blood loss was not showing any sign of slowing or stopping.
She was becoming lightheaded and dizzy, and Jefferson knew what that meant. He had only one option. He performed a few crude—yet somehow also very sanitary—field procedures and he donated some of his own super-powered blood to her own body's dwindling blood reserves. He then carefully and crudely closed her own wounds, using his electricity and lightning, and he cauterized them.
Sarah was alive and well, but by this point, she was weak, and she had passed out. All throughout Jefferson's procedures, he continued to ask about her wellbeing, and he constantly inquired about her pain, comfort, and preferences. All Sarah had responded with—and constantly responded with—was that she was fine, and he need not worry about her.
He didn't believe a word that she uttered, and he had good reason to do so. After he had finished his procedures, Sarah lay on the asphalt, unconscious, but alive—very alive. He then used all of his remaining energy and effort—which, due to his own injuries and physical strain, by this point was not much energy or effort—and he proceeded to revive her, by using his own hands as a human defibrillator.
The process worked, but unfortunately, he lost his last amounts of energy and reserve strength and stamina with that final shock, and at that point, he was then the one who was lying unconscious on the cold asphalt. Sarah quickly regained consciousness and awareness, and her memories flooded back into her with an astounding clarity.
She went to thank Jefferson, only to find that he was next to her, unconscious and unmoving. She then proceeded to lift him up—carefully—and she found the task surprisingly easy. She carried him to the nearest hospital, and due to his status as one of Metropolis's premier superheroes, he was given the best treatment possible, although entire time, she made sure that his mask remain on.
After they had both recovered and recuperated, Sarah had asked why he had been so "stupid," and had attempted to sacrifice his life for her own. He responded that he found that she was more valuable than him. She found that hard to believe, and when she pressed him to give a reason as to why he thought that highly of her, he responded—out of anger, angst, guilt, regret, and many other countless pent-up emotions—that he loved her.
He expected some form of reciprocation, but he did not expect her to respond so fast. Her lips were on his before he could take another breath, and he would have sacrificed all the breaths that he had remaining to continue kissing her. That began their relationship, which was, from that point on, as strong as steel itself.
The fact that they had shared more than their love was simply something that strengthened their relationship. After a few odd occurrences and experiences, Sarah was promptly taken to "S.T.A.R. Labs," in the heart of Metropolis, to be tested her for metahuman abilities.
The tests returned positive, and the two had very different reactions. Apparently Jefferson's blood had not only saved her life, but had also injected her with his mutagenic and metahuman genes as well, but they were latent and non-dominant at that point. What had activated the genes, and as such, Sarah's metahuman abilities as well, was the defibrillating shock that Jefferson had delivered to her heart to save her life.
Now, they both had complete and utter control of every electron in their body, as well as the ability to bend, warp, project, shoot, and twist their own electrons, and thus, lightning itself. She was ecstatic. She wanted to go on adventures with him, but he refused, thinking it far too dangerous. She frowned at this, and she continued to persist, but he continued to resist.
He continued to resist, only until she had proved how useful she could be in the field. She had proved her usefulness by saving his life. That week, the headlines of the newspapers were buzzing about how the new hero, "Super Shocker," had freed Black Lightning from his latest predicament, and helped him bring down the criminals that he was after.
From that point on, the two truly were inseparable. Jefferson had agreed to train her and allow her to accompany him his many adventures—for more reasons than one. He found that her new costume suited her figure very well, and she quickly took notice of this, and she exploited his mental weakness of this fact whenever she could.
The two continued to fight crime, and they balanced their love life with their vigilante life, but they never became betrothed or married because they felt that it would expose them, and it would lead to a family and weaknesses, and neither of them wanted that. But, regardless of what they wanted, that is what they got. Soon, Sarah was pregnant, and some time later their son, Shane Simms would be born.
Shane had grown up with both of his parents, and he loved and respected them both, until he realized that his two older sisters, Jenny and Anissa Pierce, had another mother, and that he was an "illegitimate" child. Shane had not known this information, until he had stupidly stumbled upon it.
He was furious at his parents from keeping this from him. But, then again, he really should have guessed that he wasn't completely related to his sisters, as they were completely African-American, and he was Half-White-Half-Black. Regardless of this fact, he loved and respected his sisters—always. It was his parents whom he did not respect after he found the information that they had been withholding from him.
In that instant, his anger reached new heights, and when his rage peeked, he discovered another secret that his parents had kept from him: he was a metahuman, a superhuman. He had the exact same abilities and powers that his parents used to fight crime so many times in the past. However, after experiencing this newfound power, he demanded an explanation, and his parents reluctantly gave him one.
He could not handle what was coming out of their mouths, and he made a rash decision that he would regret ever since. He left. He ran away. He was found by his older sister, Jenny—who, at the time, was operating under the hero alias "Lightning"—and she tried her best to convince him to go home. He refused at every attempt that she made, but in turn, he developed a serious reliability and respect towards his sister.
He was now homeless, though, so he took-up residence with one of the few people who would allow him to do so, and who would also enjoy his company. He lived with his sister, Jenny, for some time, and she taught him how to control his abilities, but she soon found that his abilities, unlike the rest of the family, were deeply dependent on his emotions.
He tried his best, and he pushed himself to, and beyond, his limits, but still he was always unstable and out-of-control.
When his parents were killed, it only made things worse. He reached their home time just in time to hear their last words, and their last words made him respect, love, and cherish them. Those words also made him simultaneously hate himself.
They told him that they never married, to protect him, and that they would have gladly sacrificed themselves to save him, because he was their son, their flesh-and-blood, a part of themselves, and as such, they wanted nothing more than for him to be safe. His rage soared at that moment, and the people who had killed his parents, people who called themselves Hero Hunters, were the ones who felt the lethal wraith of Shane Simms.
He killed them. They were already terribly injured, due to their long, demanding, and violent battles with Shane's parents, and they were not expecting another threat to their well-being. Even though this was true, the Hero Hunters that were assigned to hunt Black Lightning and Super Shocker should have easily killed Shane, but there was something about this boy that prevented them from doing just that.
Shane had his abilities and powers at his disposal and control—for the most-part, and he was well-aware of their functions and how to use them—but, as he had previously discovered in his intense training with his sister, his abilities were deeply dependent upon his emotions as well. His rage fueled his conquest. The anger, guilt, and thirst for revenge that he felt that night gave him enough power and prowess to easily end his enemies, so he did end them—both of them.
That was so long ago, though. Since then, his sister Anissa had passed away in the Hero Hunting, taking her Hero Hunter with her, while Jenny was somehow able to defeat and escape her Hero Hunter, almost unscathed. Jenny had continued to train him, to teach him, to push him to and beyond his limits, and it only brought the two closer than ever, but that closeness only made her death all the more difficult for him to experience.
During her dying hour, she had revealed how she had beaten her Hero Hunter. She had "super-charged" her entire being, thus rendering her a walking being comprised completely of energy. She still kept her human form, but her powers, prowess, and energy output had been greatly increased. Using these new "upgrades," Jenny easily bested her Hero Hunter. Unfortunately, the downside and cost for "super-charging" herself was the extreme mental, physical, and emotional strain that it had put on her body, thus shortening her lifespan.
She knew that this would happen, and thus, she had pushed her brother to do better, to be able to fend for himself. In her last moments, she made him promise to take care of himself. He had begrudgingly promised her that he would. He wanted to take any or all of his deceased family members' places.
None of them deserved death. He had shunned them. They were the people who had loved and raised him, and he had shunned them. In their dying words, he had made peace with all of them, but he had never made peace with himself. He wished that he could switch places with them. He constantly wished this on himself.
Shane walked the streets, alone and alert. His jet-black hair was spiked-up, but it was not being held solidly in pace, as his wavy soft hair rippled in the wind, like waves on a rough sea. His skin was well-concealed by the grey sweatshirt that he now wore as he continued to walk silently along the deserted street.
His perfectly tanned skin was a light brown color with the perfect mix between his mother's skin tone and his father's skin tone. His golden-yellow irises gleamed with a luminosity and intensity that was clearly not human—or not completely human—and they were eyes that were well-trained. They were odd eyes, but they were somehow intriguingly enticing as well.
He continued to walk the lonely streets of Star City, looking for trouble hoping to find someone take his anger out on. He was beginning to think that it was lost cause, and then just as this thought entered his mind, he found proof to suggest otherwise.
Shane continued walking, and he came upon a group young unorganized gangsters, led or accompanied by, a very small group of young, untrained, untamed metahumans—superhumans. They were a group that had been terrorizing the local neighborhoods, and by their attitudes and expressions, they did not intend to stop. Shane smirked. They wouldn't stop, but Shane would stop them.
Shane pulled out and donned a pair of "Specter Shades," a special set of sunglasses, to prevent his "Fatal Flare," and lightning attacks from damaging his "Electrically-Enhanced-Eyes." He also donned these shades to conceal his eyes and identity as well.
The dull grey sweatshirt that he was currently wearing was in deep contrast to the colors that raged on his insides. The sweater was made out of a "Power Polyester," a material that his mother had specially made to withstand their family's high level of body heat and their intense and lethal lightning bursts. His father had his newest costume out of the material, and it had proved very useful.
His sisters and mother had followed suit. He had never had a costume, so his mother had taken to creating hand-made garments for him to wear to everyday places, without the possibility of getting angry and spontaneously "lighting up," and having his flammable clothes combust as a result. It was a very useful material for people in his unique position.
He pulled his hood over his head, and he quickly and quietly approached the group of teens. He quickly noticed a small boy on the ground in the center of the rabble-rousing teens. He was badly beaten, and the teens around him were taunting him with humiliating and degrading remarks. The small boy appeared to be a metahuman as well, although he either had little control over his abilities, or he did not want to use his abilities, for fear of upsetting the older, more menacing metahuman teens.
Shane silently slipped into the crowd of teens, and he quickly noticed that only three of the teens were truly metahumans. The rest were simply spectators, and as such, would serve to be absolutely no problem for Shane to deal with. He did not know exactly which abilities the three boys possess, but he did not care.
He approached them, nonetheless. The small boy on the ground was injured, bruised and battered, and lying helpless on the cold asphalt floor of the alley when Shane arrived. The largest boy there—the apparent leader of the group—seemed to be leading the rounds of torments and torture that they were putting the boy through. His fist balled up in furious flames, and just as he did so, Shane spoke up.
"You know, if you wanted to start a 'fire,' then you should really ask an expert." Shane addressed the pyrokinetic boy before him. As he spoke, Shane snapped his fingers, sending sparks of vicious voltage sparking from his fingertips.
"Beat it kid." the boy replied, and just as he did so, his foot was set aflame and the flaming foot went flying straight at the small boy's head. The older boy's foot never made contact with the small boy's head, though.
Shane's entire body became a free-flowing stream of electrons, and he took-on the apparent form of a mobile and sentient bolt of lightning. This new form that Shane had acquired arched towards the smaller boy quite quickly—Shane could not move as fast as lightning, but he could move very quickly—and he scooped the small boy out of the way of the incoming flaming foot.
The lightning bolt reformed into the shape of a human boy in grey sweatshirt, and Shane now had the small boy in his arms. He set the boy down gently, and he spoke to him.
"Run." Shane spat at the boy. It was a very vehement tone, but the boy took it very nicely, and he nodded his head and fled, screaming as he did so.
"T-Thank You!" the boy yelled to his savior over his retreating figure, and although boy had an obvious limp, the three metahumans—and the many spectators—let him go. They had another interest entirely now. The pyrokinetic, whom Shane had designated as being the leader of the group around him, addressed the boy with his hood on.
"You just ruined our fun, kid!" he screeched at the grey-clad teenager before him. His two metahuman cohorts turned their attention towards him as well, and they all prepared to attack.
Shane smirked, although behind his hood they could not see his facial features, and he responded with a slight chuckle. "That's funny, because my fun just started." Shane responded, and although they could not see that he was smirking, they could easily tell from his tone that he was doing just that.
The three metahumans charged the hooded boy, and Shane easily evaded their incoming attacks, as his body became a living lightning bolt, and his free-flowing electrons spread out over the sparse area, only to come back together not even a full second later, and then, there Shane stood, behind the three angry teens, completely unharmed and unamused.
His smirk widened. This time, the metahumans charged him one at a time. First came a boy with heat vision. Shane avoided his lethal eyeshot laser by performing aerial flip backwards. The moment he had regained his footing and landed on the ground, Shane spun around and swiftly kicked the boy upside his head, turning his leg into an electrical conduit and surrounding his leg with a fatal field of electrical energy as he did so, thus transforming his leg into a sharp, stinging blade of lightning. The boy promptly fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from the head.
Next came a boy with slight super strength. He charged Shane with speed, but he did not show any form or focus. In a blink, Shane had changed once again, and the living lightning bolt traveled through the air above the metahuman boy and landed on his other side, behind his back. Shane then took the boy by his neck, and flipped him onto the ground, crushing his skull against the pavement with enough force to knock him out as he did so.
Then, there was one.
Shane stood there silently, waiting for the pyrokinetic to charge or attack him, but he never did. He launched a projectile instead. The flaming ball of fire hurtled towards Shane's face, but he didn't move or budge in the slightest. Just as the projectile was about to melt the teen's face off, Shane raised his hand up, and with a quick swipe, he wrapped his hands in electrical energy, deflecting the fireball that the pyrokinetic had launched, and the flaming ball of fury went zooming off in a different direction.
The pyrokinetic was surprised and enraged at the same time, but before he could react—even in the slightest—Shane made a quick movement with his hands, and he shot a bolt of lightning from the fingers on his right hand, which promptly struck the pyrokinetic in his legs, thus wounding and crippling him.
The pyrokinetic yelped in pain and anguish as he fell to the ground, clutching his singed and open wound. The living lightning bolt appeared again, and in record time it soared to the pyrokinetic's side. The lightning reformed to reveal the grey-clad teenager that had given this small gang so much trouble. The boy that had almost kicked the younger boy earlier was now in his former victim's position, as Shane rendered the boy unconscious with a swift kick to the head.
The pyrokinetic felt to the floor, unconscious and unmoving—out cold. Shane's smirk widened once again, and he turned his attention back to the other teens that were standing around the small boy that was about to get beaten.
Shane scanned the audience once, and that was all it took. They all began to disperse with record speed, and soon the alleyway was clear of everyone except the teen with the grey sweatshirt.
Shane's smirk subsided and he continued on down the lonely road that he was taking. He sighed. He was still angry.
Sam huffed in frustration. She wanted to do more than just huff in frustration, though. She wanted to kill in frustration. Her deep blue eyes looked into her brother's own ocean eyes, and she focused deeply. She had to get him to see reason.
"I was only going to scare them! I wasn't going to ki—" she started, addressing him, but before she could finish he interrupted his little sister.
"Sam, you and I both know that you were going to kill them." he responded somberly.
She was slow to respond, but when she did respond, she stopped with her charade. "Fine. I was going to kill them. They would have deserved it, though. I mean, are you deaf? Did you hear what they called you? You are not a decrepit disabled old man! You are Jon Kent! They have no idea how many times you risked your life to save their own pathetic existences. What right do they have to call you a—" she started her raging rant, but he cut her off.
"…They have every right to call me that. That is exactly what I am…" he trailed off, sounding defeated, and obviously believing what he just said.
Sam went wide-eyed and raised her eyebrow. "Don't. You. Ever. Say. That." she addressed her brother in a very warning tone.
"Sam, I'm not dad. Stop thinking that I—" Jon began to defend his view that he was a crippled old man, and nothing more, but Sam interrupted him before he could finish.
"Maybe not. But, you sure as hell have a right to wear his last name—and proudly wear it, at that—which is good. At least one of his children can do that." Sam finished and exhaled deeply.
Jon looked at his sister like he wanted to slap her. "You have just as much right as me to—" he started, but as Sam cut him off, as was the general pattern in this ongoing conversation that the two were having.
"No. No, I do not. What right do I have to wear that name? You and dad were the two of the greatest heroes of our time. Only Doomsday and Darkseid could stand up to you two in mere strength, and almost no one could match you in wills—even the Lantern Corps had to admit that. I tried to be that person—that person that dad was, the person that you were—no, that you are—and I did just the opposite. I crippled the man who was wearing the Superman title—and rightly wearing it, as well—and I acted like the rash little girl that you both taught and trained me not to be. I crippled Superman! How can you ever say that I deserve that name? I do not. If dad was here during the 'Hero Hunting,' then the Kryptonians would probably still be here. But, instead I was there, and the Kryptonians were all killed or crippled. Dad didn't train me and teach me so much because he saw my 'potential,' to be a 'hero,' but because he saw my potential to be a 'nuisance,' and he knew that without that training, I'd be one of the people that he fought so hard to sto—" Sam's rant was interrupted by the bone-crushing hug that her brother trapped her in.
She was on the verge of tears—tears of anger, tears of guilt, tears of hate, hate for herself. Jon looked down at her and he wiped her tears away. "No, Sam. You're wrong. Dad trained you, he taught you, because he did see your potential to be hero. He sacrificed himself, to stop Doomsday, so that you would have a safe world to live in. And he'd do it again. You were his daughter. You were his flesh and blood. You are his flesh and blood. You are a part of him. Dad came from a dying a world, and he knew that he was never going to let another world that he loved die. You became his world. Don't you ever doubt yourself or your abilities. You are Samantha Lane. You are the daughter of Superman! You are a hero. Dad didn't kill. I did. Doomsday killed dad, and I killed Doomsday. That does not make me bad, though. I stopped this world from dying, by stopping that monster that would have destroyed it. I did that because I saw something worth saving in this world. I saw the human instinct. The instinct in humanity was worth fighting for. They had the instinct to live, to continue to live. They had the instinct to fight to live. That is what I found value in—that human instinct. That is what dad found value in as well." Jon said to his sister, cupping her chin and lifting her face to his own eye level.
Sam just looked at him, speechless.
"…And you have that instinct as well. Don't you ever forget that. You are the last of the Kryptonians, the last of the 'Human-Hybrids' and, as such, you have a right—no, a privilege —to protect that instinct at all costs. …And, you did not cripple me, Sam. I did that to myself. I should never have put you in the field to fight those monsters. You were far too young, and I should have known that. Kara and Conner knew that, but I didn't listen to them. My mind wasn't working correctly. All I thought was that there were four Hero Hunters, and there were four of us, so we should have been alright, but I was wrong. I shouldn't have put you in that position. You weren't ready, and it was my fault that you weren't ready, not yours. I was crippled, because I put myself in harm's way, for you. …And, Sam, I'd do it again, and again, and again. You're my little sister. You're my flesh and blood too, and I saw exactly what dad saw in you as well. It's time you start seeing it as well." he finished his speech, brushing a strand of her jet black hair out of her cold blue eyes, which were now filled with tears.
Sam smiled up at her brother, and he smiled back. She quickly dried her eyes. She wasn't sure if she crying from anger, hate, fury, disappointment, or happiness—although the last emotion was a rare one for Sam to experience—but she was almost positive, that for the first time in a very long time, she was crying because she was happy.
Sam didn't cry often, though. She hated when other people saw her crying. She hated looking weak. She owed it to her father to be stronger than that. She owed Conner. She owed her brother. Conner Kent was Samantha's other brother—her deceased brother. Conner was also the clone of Superman, and Conner had been designed to replace Superman, incase Superman decided to use his powers for destruction, instead of salvation.
Conner had been created, by the ambitious agency called "Cadmus." Clark Kent, also known by his family as Kal-El, would not let his blood-bonded clone—his son —replace him, though—at least, not without the proper teachings, first. So, when Conner had been assigned to test his abilities against Superman, he had attacked Superman. And Superman had loved him, as a son—not right away, of course, but eventually the two saw eye-to-eye. And, so, Conner, Jon, and Samantha were the three children of Superman, all blessed with his power, skill, and tenacity—and all cursed with his enemies.
Sam's confused little mind seemed to reflect on all of this information, as she constantly thought about the words that her older brother—the only brother that shad left—had spoken. Jon nodded at her, and he began to get up from the couch that they were both sitting on to get his Kryptonite shot. Jon was crippled, but not in the traditional sense of the word.
He could still walk, talk, and move—albeit very slowly, and with great difficultly—but, what made him truly crippled was the fact that all of his powers, abilities, and gifts had been painfully stripped away from him. After the "Hero Hunting," Jon was left in bad shape—very bad shape.
All four of the Hero Hunters that had been assigned to hunt the Kryptonians had been dealt with, and they had been defeated, but the cost was great. Conner had been killed, and in order to save Sam from a similar fate, Jon had put himself in the path of one of his enemy's incoming attacks—one great enough to shatter an entire planet—and he took all of the hit, full-force. The results were disastrous. He was dying, and there was only one way to save him.
His cells had been so badly injured, so badly damaged and degraded, that they could no longer regenerate or reproduce. He couldn't make new cells, and the ones he had were damaged and dying. The only way to allow the remaining cells to regenerate and reproduce—through Kryptonian mitosis—was to flood them with radiation.
However, this required a specific kind of radiation, a kind of radiation that caused Kryptonian cells to flood with so much energy, that they had to reproduce to alleviate the potential burnout and destruction of the cell itself. It was the only kind of radiation that would do that: "Kryptonite Radiation." It gave Jon a chance to heal, but it also gave him a limited existence—or an existence that he saw as limited, anyways. He could walk, talk, and move—although with great difficulty—but he was forever doomed to be a "Crippled Kryptonian," as he saw it.
The small amounts of Kryptonite poisoning that he had received from his "treatments," although usually deadly to Kryptonians, were miniscule and almost insignificant, due to the constant antidote and anti-radiation steroids and medications that he took. However, the amounts of kryptonite poisoning in his systems were enough to completely sap him of all of his abilities. The reason for this was simple. All Kryptonians were vulnerable and weak, when exposed to or otherwise came into contact with Kryptonite.
Kryptonians were born, raised, and trained on a planet, where not only their gravity was more than 100-times-greater than that of Earth, but which also had a sun much weaker and older than that of Earth. Krypton—the home planet of the Kryptonians—had a large megastructure surrounding its atmosphere, which harnessed the energy of its nearest sun, in order to provide a limitless and never-ending power source and source of sustenance for the people of Krypton.
The object that gathered this energy was another megastructure, which was built around the Kryptonian's sun itself, and feed the sun's energy radiation directly into the atmosphere of Krypton to be collected and harvested by its people. This megastructure which was built around the Kryptonian's main sun created a manmade structure as large—or larger, rather—than an entire planet. This second "planet" was referred to as "Krypton-Prime," by the Kryptonians.
The solar energy, and radiation from their local sun was fed into the collectors of "Krypton-Prime," and it was then sent to and received by transmitters on the "Original Planet Krypton." Although "Krypton-Prime" was intricately important to the Kryptonians, no one saw the need to ever venture to "Krypton-Prime," for any reason, whatsoever. Unfortunately, though, this disregard for the workings of the Kryptonians' megastructure would cost them their planet.
When their sun went out with a supernova, the effects, energy, destructive power, and blast radius of the raging blast were compounded, increased, and multiplied by the collectors on "Krypton-Prime," and all of that energy—and the explosion itself—was sent directly into Planet Krypton's atmosphere, thus killing or eradicating its inhabitants. Those who did not die due to the initial blast would soon perish due to the planet's core exploding, because of the heat of the supernova that had caused the planet's core to become unstable. And, through some unforeseen miracle, if any Kryptonian had managed to survive any of this, there was one sure thing that would still kill them in the end. Kryptonite poisoning.
Only two Kryptonians would escape the dying world of Krypton, and unbeknownst to themselves—as they were babies at the time—these two survivors of Planet Krypton's destruction were related to each other by blood. They were cousins—Kal-El and Kara Zor-El. These two soon-to-be saviors of the world had escaped the treacheries of the dying Planet Krypton itself, but they had not escaped the treacheries of Kryptonite. Kryptonite was the largest weakness of the Kryptonian people, and it had been created in the destruction of their homeworld.
Upon planet Krypton, Kryptonians lived normal lives and exhibited no extraordinary abilities or powers. However, when a Kryptonian was sent to another planet—preferably one much like Earth—he or she experienced a major power-boost, as the comparably weak gravity of Earth allowed them to perform amazing feats that they would have been previously unable to do. The aspect that truly affected he Kryptonians, and as such, made them stronger, swifter, and more durable than most would have ever imagined, though, was the fact that, when they encountered a sun much younger and larger—and as such more powerful than Krypton's own sun—their own power increased as well—to almost unimaginable limits.
The longer that a Kryptonian spent on a planet like Earth, one containing the same conditions, the stronger, more agile, and better the Kryptonian became. Thus, Kal-El, Sam's father and Earth's most prominent Superman, was the strongest Kryptonian to have ever walked on Earth. Being raised and trained on planet Earth since birth had played a great role in that fact.
Kryptonite was simply the material of the surface of their homeworld, with the addition of enough excess energy and radiation to weaken even a powerful Kryptonian. The reason that Kryptonians were so weak and fragile when exposed to Kryptonite, though, was due to the simple fact that Kryptonite radiation prevented Kryptonians from absorbing any kind of solar radiation. The large amounts of Kryptonite radiation in Jon's cells now prohibited the radiation of the yellow sun of Earth from powering his abilities or charging his cells.
Jon had, since that point of becoming powerless, looked down upon himself, much like Sam had looked down upon herself as well. Surprisingly, the only true worth that the two siblings saw was in each other.
Jon continued to try to get off the couch, but Sam stopped him. Sam forcefully pulled her brother back onto the couch. He looked at her in shock, but she only smirked in return.
"Sit down. I'll get the needle." she explained. He smiled and nodded at her.
Sam got up and returned moments later to the couch in the main room of their apartment with a needle and some rubbing alcohol. Their apartment was in upper-west Hong Kong, and they were currently sharing it with Stephanie Brown—the hero known as "Black Bat."
She sighed as she sterilized the injection area with some rubbing alcohol, and she finally administered the green liquid contained within the syringe into her brother's waiting arm. He cringed slightly, but he made no other movements. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. She got up once again, and she returned soon thereafter, holding two pills and a glass of water; they were his anti-radiation antidote medication. Jon nodded, and he took the medication without hesitation. Sam sat back down on the couch, and he smiled at his sister.
Jon tossed her the remote, and she proceeded to give it back to him. He looked at her quizzically, but he shrugged it off. He turned the television on, and the first thing on the screen was a breaking news story about a hostage situation in downtown Hong Kong. Sam looked at the screen with dismay. She quickly got up from the couch, and she went for the door of apartment. Jon stopped her with his voice.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked her.
"Out." she replied solemnly.
"Sam, Steph has got that covered. I promise." he responded.
"I know. That's what I'm worried about. She might not leave any left for me." Sam responded, turning around and smirking at her brother as she did so. Jon chuckled lightly.
"Alright, but make sure to conceal your identity." he replied, tossing Sam one of Steph's old domino masks that she wore during her days as "Robin."
Sam caught the mask, and she quickly put it on and tied it off in the back.
"Just stay out of Steph's way, for the most part, at least." Jon pleaded.
His sister gave him a knowing smirk. "I'll stay out of her way, when you get in her way." she replied, her voice dripping with innuendo and suggestiveness.
Jon raised an eyebrow and went slightly red in the face. "…Um… …Excuse me…?" he questioned his little sister.
She smirked once again. "You know exactly what I meant by that." was all she said in response.
Jon's redness increased exponentially. "Just go." he said softly.
Sam smirked once again before she disappeared, and then she was gone, off into the night, always silent, always stealthy, and always staying in the shadows.
Terry's eyes popped open, and he sighed at the prospect of another day. He turned on his side, and he silenced his alarm clock. His dark grey-blue eyes stared in utter hatred at the clock for a moment, before he closed them once again. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and the moment he opened them again, he was up, out of the bed, and completely alert.
Terry opened the small miniature refrigerator located near his bed, and he quickly downed a fresh and cold bottle of water. He then took a protein bar from the same fridge, and he proceeded to practically inhale it. He then downed another bottle of water from the same fridge.
Then he stretched, and for the man—who was in his very early thirties—his elasticity and limberness were astounding. He then rolled and cracked all of his durable joints, and he sighed deeply, because he knew what came next.
He rushed down to the basement of his modest apartment, and mounted his treadmill. He set the speed setting to maximum, and he set no time limit for his run. Then he started his run, and his stamina, speed, and endurance were put to the ultimate test in human capabilities—a test which he easily passed.
Moments later, after the treadmill showed that he had run over ten miles at its maximum speed, he stopped the machine and dismounted it. He then walked over to his free weights. He grabbed two fifty-pound dumbbells, and he then proceeded to do fifteen sets of twenty-five lifts with the dumbbells in each hand, and his form was excellent.
He relaxed for a few moments, before quickly dropping into a sit-up position and performing 500 consecutive sit-ups, each of growing intensity, power, and pace. He sat up the finial time, and he caught his breath, and his breathing normalized far faster than the average human's breathing would have stabilized.
He got to his feet, and he made his way back upstairs, to his bedroom. Once there, he made his way to his adjoining bathroom, and was quick in taking a shower and brushing his teeth. After his morning rituals were completed, he heard a deep growling in his stomach, and after donning a black t-shirt, and just as he was about to descend downstairs to feed himself, there was a knock at the front door.
He paused for a moment. He was not expecting company today. His eyes narrowed at the suspiciousness of this. Bruce had instilled such suspicion in him, and it wasn't always a good thing, but lately Terry was beginning to see the value of such a level of paranoia—a healthy level of paranoia.
Terry carefully and cautiously opened his front door to reveal the beautiful black eyes of his ex-wife, Dana Tan. She was very unhappy, or so it seemed. Terry was somewhat shell-shocked. He did not expect her to visit today. Then again, he never expected to visit unless he had to…
'...Damn! Not today! I couldn't have forgotten!' Terry thought to himself. Apparently the annoyed expression on Dana's face was enough to answer his self-asked questions.
"You forgot, didn't you?" Dana asked the dumbfounded man in front of her.
Terry quickly shook off his stupor. "…What? No! Of course not! How could I forget my baby girl's competition?" he asked in utter disbelief.
Dana rolled her eyes. "Just don't screw anything up, okay?" she requested.
Terry smirked and nodded.
"…Oh, and Terry, I know that the clown is back, but listen to me, don't you—" she started, but Terry cut her off.
"Dana, I have no intention of putting that suit back on. Dick can handle that. I am done with Batman." he whispered to her.
She looked at him wide-eyed. "I wasn't going to suggest that. I was only going to say keep the danger level around Diana down. …Are you sure that hanging up that suit is such a good idea? It was one of the few things about you that I actually liked." Dana responded, smiling.
Terry chuckled slightly. "Well, thanks Dana. It's nice to know that that only part of me that you liked wasn't even technically 'me.'" he replied.
She chuckled slightly too. "It wasn't the only part. …But, it was one of them." she said, smiling.
Terry smiled back. 'Why does she do that? She has to know what she does to me!' Terry thought to himself, and undoubtedly, Dana had a similar thought running through her mind.
Just as Terry was about to respond, their daughter walked into view. Diana McGinnis was about her father's height, with her mother's dark raven hair, and eyes of an interesting color, with a noticeable silver streak in her irises. She walked up to her dad, bags and suitcases in tow.
"Hey dad." she said, smiling up at her father.
"Hey Di." he responded kissing her on the forehead.
"Where am I staying?" she inquired quizzically.
Terry froze for a moment. "…Uhhh..." was all he could muster.
Dana rolled her eyes, but her daughter was the first to respond verbally. She narrowed her eyes at her father. "You forgot, didn't you?" she questioned him.
He looked at her seriously. "Di, I could never forget about the most important—scratch that, the two most important things," Terry looked at Dana as he said "two," and she proceeded to blush slightly, "in the world to me." Terry finished, and his daughter smiled.
"…So, where am I sleeping then?" she asked again.
"…You can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch." Terry responded smiling lovingly at his daughter. She smiled back.
"Cool. Thanks dad." she replied, kissing him on the forehead and heading inside the apartment.
Terry watched his sixteen-year-old daughter walk into the house, and as soon as she was out of sight, he turned his attention back to Dana, who was looking more and more anxious by the moment.
"…Dana?..." he questioned her troubled expression.
"…Huh…?" she responded, slowly snapping out of her reverie.
"Dana, she'll be fine. I promise." Terry assured her, crossing his heart and smiling.
Dana nodded and smiled in return. She knew how protective Terry could be of Diana, and she was sometimes appreciative of that. It pushed their daughter to prove to her father that she could protect herself, which in turn, pushed herself to ascend to his level in mental magnitude and physical prowess. She was almost as skilled as her father was in basic hand-to-hand combat, and that was truly remarkable, seeing as her father was one of the few men to claim the title of Batman.
In fact, Diana's physical prowess was a major reason in the fact that she was staying here, in Gotham, for the next few weeks. She was a serious competitor, and her high-ranking in the state's track-and-field community meant that she had many races to run—races to run, in Gotham.
However, this presented a problem to her mother. Since her mother lived outside of the city, the only logical option was for her stay here, with her father for the next few weeks, and Terry couldn't have been any happier about the arrangement. Dana, however, had some reservations, and they were obviously painted on her face.
Dana was worried, and rightly so. She had moved away from Gotham for a reason. It didn't hold too many happy memories for her.
Terry eyed Dana carefully, and he gestured to her fire red dress that she was wearing. "What's with the dress?" he asked her, scrutinizing the dress in a way that would have made any other woman blush a deep pink. Dana, however, showed no sign of being affected by it.
"Job interview." she responded, and he nodded in understanding.
Dana looked Terry square in the eye, and she spoke slowly and seriously. "Just be careful, Terry." she commanded him, leaving no room for debate, and it was obvious and clearly implied that she wanted both him and Diana to be careful. Terry nodded in response. Dana started to walk away, and just before she left his view, he called out to her.
"…Hey, Dana!" he called, and she turned around.
"…Yeah…?" she replied, a little taken aback.
"You look good in that dress." he said, indicating the searing scarlet red dress that she was wearing, and smirking as he did so.
Dana rolled her eyes. "Thanks Terry." was all she responded with, smirking as she did so. Then she turned around continued walking out of his peripherals.
Terry closed the door, only to find his daughter standing there, looking at him with a knowing smirk on her face.
"…What…?" he asked her.
"You still like mom." she retorted, smiling.
Terry smirked. "Nope. I just think that she looked pretty hot in that dress." he replied.
"Eww." Diana responded to her father's quip, and she proceeded to leave the site of his latest disgusting remark.
Terry chuckled in amusement. These next few weeks were going to be fun.
Mar'i awoke with a slight start. Her deep violet eyes scanned the empty dark room around her. She sighed in content. It was only a dream.
She edged her way out of her bed, and she did so slowly. She was still slightly sore from the most recent beating that her mother had given her in their last training session, and she was careful not aggravate her already tired and exhausted body.
Not even a full hour had passed since her last training session with her mother—and since her aunt and uncle had taken their armies to confront "Sunstorm," and his army of renegades and rebels. Her aunt and uncle still had not returned.
She eased her way out of her bed and out of her room. She quickly checked the silent hallway and noted that no one else in the palace was awake—or so she perceived. She exited her room, and she quickly and quietly made her way back down to the training courtyard. She reached the balcony that was overlooking the courtyard, and she stopped, gazing at the three moons up above her. She stared off into the night, and she sighed very deeply.
She walked over the other corner of the balcony, where she was greeted by the view of a large, rolling green field—one as large as the average large city on Earth. The field was littered with craters, blackened soot marks, and residue from exploding starbolts. It was the testing range—the place to test the range, effectiveness, accuracy, radius, and general destructiveness of ranged array attacks, new or old.
Mar'i sighed deeply, and closed her eyes. She brought her two hands together so that the index finger and middle finger of each hand was touching its counterpart in a triangle-like shape, and she began to focus—hard.
She drew all of her remaining energy, emotions, effort, stamina, and will into the tips of her four fingers that were touching. Slowly but surely, a small, but concentrated and condensed, violent violet, spark began to form between her touching fingers, and Mar'i could feel its energy.
She waited for as long as she could withstand, drawing as much energy, stamina, and power as she could from every part of her body. Soon, though, she was forced to open her eyes, as the strain that she was putting on her body became too great for her to withstand.
She looked at the purple spark that she held in between her fingers, and gazed upon it in awe. This small spark, no larger than a quarter, had taken almost all of her energy, stamina, power, and focus to muster and create. Not only that, but she knew that, upon impact, this small spark could level an entire city—well it would have been able to level an entire city, had she done it right, and had she had enough energy to create a real spark, without feeling so drained and weak.
She was weak, though. Her heart rate was racing faster than should be allowed—even for her—and her breathing was rough and ragged. Sweat beads had formed all over her body, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep sleep. Her body had taken its toll from generating the small spark between her fingers. She looked out upon the vast field before, and she contemplated launching the blast, but argued against herself for obvious reasons. The sound and light emitted from such a blast would surely wake her mother, and she did not want to wake her mother.
Mar'i sighed as she decided what to do. Just then, a voice was heard from the balcony, and it made the decision for her.
"Shoot it." her mother said from a few feet behind her.
Mar'i turned around to look at the speaker in surprise and shock. She hadn't even heard her approaching. Kori smiled at her daughter, and she repeated her words. "Shoot it." she said again.
Mar'i nodded, and she turned back to the large testing range before her. She swung her arm back and forwards, releasing the small purple spark from her fingers as she did so. The spark flew for some distance, and it took some time before it made contact, but when it did make contact, it was very clear.
The resulting explosion was large—very large—and the sound was not only ear-splitting, but also mind-shattering. The very violent violet aura enveloped a large chunk of the green field below the two Tamaranian women. The radius of the blast was large enough to demolish a small city. It was powerful blast—a very powerful blast—but it obviously took its toll on the one who had launched it. Mar'i dropped to the ground, out of breath, on the verge of collapsing, and obviously out of energy.
Her mother was quickly at her side though, and she quickly helped the girl to her feet. Mar'i's breathing soon evened out, but she was still obviously very tired and exhausted. Kori hugged her daughter for a few moments, before she released her, making sure that she could stand on her own. After she made sure that she could keep her own balance, Kori addressed her daughter.
"Good. Very good. Your use of the ranged 'Supernova' attack is very skilled, and it is commendable how much progress you have made." Kori said, smiling at her daughter.
"…But…" her daughter urged her on.
Kori raised an eyebrow. "…But, what…?..." she responded.
Mar'i sighed. "I know when you're holding something back. What did I do wrong?" she questioned her mother.
Kori shook her head, smiling as she did so. "You did nothing wrong, Mar'i. You did everything correctly. Mastering this talent can be done no other way, except through intense and repetitive practice and training." she replied to her daughter's question.
Mar'i smiled at her mother's comment. The, she developed a devious smirk on her face. "…Well…" she trailed off.
Kori raised an eyebrow, yet again. "…Well, what…?..." she asked her daughter.
"Why don't you show me what the 'Fully-Mastered Form' of the attack looks like." she suggested, and her mother smiled at the prospect.
"Very well. But, I warn you, this will be devastating." she informed her daughter.
Mar'i smirked. "I'm counting on it." she replied.
Kori chuckled. "Very well then." was all she said, and with that, she proceeded to perform the attack that her daughter had achieved just moments before.
Koriand'r arranged her hands in the same manner as her daughter had done moments before. She focused her energy, her emotions, her effort, her stamina, her power, her will, all into the fingertips of her touching fingers, and soon she was at full capacity, far before her daughter had reached her minimal energy capacity.
Kori opened her eyes, and she flung her emerald spark off into the distance, and soon it made contact with the testing range's floor, and the resulting blast was great and gruesome. The sound and light emitted from his blast was far greater than from the blast that Mar'i had launched earlier.
The force and aftershock of the blast knocked Mar'i back into the wall directly behind her, and her mother was quickly at her side. Kori was breathing deeply—very deeply—and she appeared to have used much more power, stamina, and energy than her daughter had previously done, but she hid it well.
Mar'i looked up at her mother, wide-eyed. She was still breathing very deeply. "Wow." was all Mar'i could say.
Kori smiled at her daughter and helped her up.
"That was an incredible amount of raw power." Mar'i commented, mouth slightly open in awe.
Kori's breathing was still very heavy and deep, and she helped her daughter up with some difficulty. Even though this was true, Mar'i's breathing was still heavier and deeper.
The two exhausted females looked at one another, a smile slowly crossing their faces.
"Believe me honey, through years of practice and instruction, your own tactics, talents, and skills will become even more powerful than what you just witnessed." Koriand'r assured her daughter, smiling.
"That is highly unlikely mother." Mar'i responded, sounding downcast and defeated.
Kori tilted her daughter's chin upwards, and she addressed her in a sincere, yet warning tone. "It will only become that powerful however, if you believe that it can reach that level. You must never lose that faith in yourself." she stated, promising her daughter.
Mar'i looked into her mother's eyes. "…But, my human half—" Mar'i started, but she was cut off by her mother before she could finish her statement.
"Your human half is a strength, not a weakness." Kori interrupted her daughter's train-of-thought.
Mar'i looked up at her mother with a somewhat quizzical and confused expression. "…How so?" she asked her mother.
Kori smiled as she explained herself to her daughter. "Tamaranians, and many species alike—Kryptonians, Daxumites, Krougarians, etc.—are far smarter, swifter, and stronger than humans are, and that is a fact." Kori started, but before she could finish, her daughter cut her off.
"…But, then, how is my human half a 'strength,' and not a weakness?" she asked quizzically, and her mother responded by continuing her previous explanation.
"…However, humans possess a trait that puts all other races to shame." Kori stated, and her daughter was now thoroughly intrigued.
"What is that trait?" she asked her mother curiously.
"Perseverance." Kori responded.
Mar'i raised an eyebrow. "….But all species have that trait. I do not understand…" she trailed off, and her mother filled in the rest.
"Yes. But, none of them have the kind of perseverance that humans possess. They have such perseverance, that it breaks down any and all barriers or boundaries that they might have. In other terms, they have no limits." she explained, and her daughter went wide-eyed.
"…How… …How is that possible?" she asked in awe, and her mother was quick to respond.
"Other races, ourselves included, have many abilities, powers, and characteristics that make us far stronger, smarter and swifter than the average human. We, like the Kryptonians, use our sun's solar energy and radiation to power, fuel, and sustain our cells, which in-turn charges and energizes all of our cells, which in-turn charges and energizes our entire body. This energy gives us the power and prowess to do amazing things—things such as control the size and density of our cells, and thus, change or altitude, or fly as a result; create starbolts; or even perform amazing feats of 'superhuman' strength. The humans, however, are born, raised, and nourished under a sun, and under a gravity, which allows them to live in an environment without the immense strain that is put on the bodies of other races, such as ourselves. This is a benefit in that the humans, in the regard that they have little or no strain put on their bodies, and thus, they can age without a strain on their physical or mental fitness. Species like ourselves, are required to constantly care and train, to reduce the strain on our minds, and on our bodies. This being true, it would mean that we are, as the facts show, smarter and stronger than the humans. However, humans have a perseverance, a will, which is far stronger than any race or species in existence. They have this willpower, because they need it to fight, to stand strong against foes of greater strength and speed. They have developed this willpower, this perseverance, as a direct result of constantly being belittled, bashed, or otherwise insulted by any and every other race out there. The humans saw something in themselves that the others did not see, though, and they developed their will to fight for it." Kori elaborated on her earlier remarks.
Mar'i went even more wide-eyed. "…What was it that they saw that was worth fighting for?" she asked in a quelled voice.
Koriand'r chuckled slightly at her daughter's tepidness. "They saw that they had the not the privilege, but the right, to live, to exist, among, and beside those supposedly 'stronger' species. They were here, already living, already existing, and thus, they had a right to continue to do so. They saw that the universe put them here, and as such, they had a right, a purpose, to continue to be here. So, they fought for that right. In their attempts to suppress, surpass, and otherwise supersede other races, however, they were unsuccessful, but they never stopped trying. Humans had a distinct physiology that allowed them to constantly surpass their limits, to break their barriers and boundaries, so that they had no limits. This was true, because their cells, their bodies healed after each injury, after each wound, but unlike every other species, when their bodies healed, it healed so that it was stronger that it was before the injury had happened. This was a great and useful trait that the humans had, and they utilized it well, but they were still never able to become equal to or surpass any other race, because they had simply been born too 'weak.' …But, you…" Kori finished, trailing off at the last word and gesturing to her daughter to finish for her.
"…But me, I wasn't born 'weak,' so I have…" Mar'i trailed off, and her mother finished for her.
"…So you have a body, mind, and will far greater than most your age—or most of any age, for that matter—but, you also have no limits, and have can ascend to whatever level you wish. That is how your human half is a strength." Kori finished.
Mar'i looked at her mother and nodded in muted astonishment. "…So, do all humans possess this 'willpower,' or do only—" Mar'i started, and her mother interrupted her once again.
"Not many humans even knew of the existence of other races until recently, and even now, their governments tend to keep it secret from them general public, but those who do know, they are the ones who truly demonstrate the near-limitless capabilities of the human race." Koriand'r responded, smiling as she did so. Mar'i looked up at her mother.
"…Like dad?" she asked with a hint of burning intrigue.
Kori smiled even wider. "Yes. Exactly like your father." she responded, smiling.
Mar'i smiled as well. "…Mom…?..." she asked softly.
"…Yes?" Kori responded.
"Will you tell me about him?" she asked. Kori looked at her daughter with a serious and solemn expression, and she eventually gave in and nodded.
Mar'i smiled at the prospect, and she peacefully rested her head on her mother's shoulder as the two sat down on the edge of the balcony, their breathing finally beginning to normalize.
Koriand'r began to tell her daughter the many stories, accounts, and tales of the legendary human: Richard John Grayson, Mar'i's father.
He was the human who stared an inter-dimensional demon straight in the face and wavered not once. He was the human who earned the respect and authority of so many other extraterrestrial species of beings. He was the human who had saved not only his own home planet, but many others, as well. He was the human who had six alter-egos, and each was just as great as the last. He was the human who had founded the original "Teen Titans." He was the human who had stared the fear-feeding beast, parallax, straight in the face and showed absolutely no fear, allowing the beast no pleasure in feeding on him. He had been one of the few beings to ever wield a yellow power ring of fear, and truly control, or master it, as his own control and mastery of fear was legendary—almost as legendary as his father. He was the human who was known by so many names, but across the universe, was known as a savior, and as a hero. He was Robin. He was Red-X. He was Renegade. He was Nightwing. He was Batman. He was Dick Grayson. He was a light in the darkness, and now more than ever, the world needed a light in the darkness.
Mar'i smiled at the fact that she was the product of two such great heroes, and she hoped that one day she would meet her father. She hoped that one day, she meet the light that had brightened not only her mother's life, but now Mar'i's life as well.
A/N: Hmmm… …Did I go overboard of the whole "Dick, The Legend," thing? …Oh, well… …He IS A LEGEND! …Just look at all of the things he did! …Anyways, ALL of my OC Heroes have been introduced. What do you guys think? Any thoughts, predictions, favorites? Do you think that you might have a favorite? If so, then who? What do you think of my "Dark-And-Deep," writing style? Please let me know! Please R&R! I respect reviews, and the more I receive, the faster I update! Stay tuned for the next update!