Chapter Five
Acceptance. . . with Asskickings!
The Worldsoul
Some would argue that history, as Jean-Jacques Rousseau once claimed, was little more than a series of unanswered questions. These unknowns, born through the unending events and variables that drive us to this present point, is a part of who we all are that remains constant while we change and time continues to flow upon its orderly way, the growing number of these uncertainties brought about either through sights unseen or through the passing of those who could directly provide the answers. In fact, perhaps the most significant hallmark of any society was the desire to search for the answers to these infinite unknowns, to acquire a greater understanding of the matters and circumstances that we can only hope to guess and hypothesize about. It is an endeavor that countless souls from innumerable points within the cosmos have spent their lives within, struggling and straining to obtain just a small portion of all there is to find.
After all, it wasn't as if one could know everything there was to know about how we came to be. To think otherwise would be foolhardy at best and potentially dangerous at worst.
Krona had disagreed.
Then he proved everyone wrong. That unprecedented accomplishment now merely added just another sliver to the cold smirk he bestowed upon the supposed champion of Earth-2 as the aged Kryptonian warily looked up to behold him. The azure-skinned Oan could still hear the dissenting voices of his theoretical peers rooting around in his subconscious, the frightened fools who warned him of the great calamity that would arise should one successfully observe the origins of the universe itself. Of course, he only needed a morsel of his phenomenal intelligence to realize that it was they who did not fully understand, how his ridiculously inferior collaborators could have never understood the true glory of what he had done. They could not possibly have been able to hone their minds and abilities to a precise point that would allow them to pierce the temporal barrier surrounding all of reality and allow him to witness the beginning of time itself.
The ensuing creation of the so-called Multiverse was nothing but another happenstance brought about by his efforts, a twist in the path of history that he had chosen to weave and fashion to his desire. He gladly recognized this as he looked down upon a product of his own creation, the god-like being well aware of what Kal-L would say before the faded fossil had even begun to move his lips. Of course, given his desire to maintain decorum, he allowed the Superman of Earth-2 to speak his peace.
"I would have hoped that you would have learned your lesson the first time you attempted to change the course of reality," he began in what Krona found to be a profoundly ingratiating manner.
Krona first replied with a blatant scoff, the ancient Maltusian nobleman almost amused by the easy predictability. "Do not regard me as some form of unwitting Eve who blindly brought about Eden's fall," he replied coolly. "Those who claim I brought evil into being were little more than avaricious scholars angered by the realization of their own limitations. My past efforts bore fruit whose worth could not possibly be matched in the eons that have passed. This day shall merely serve as a continuation of my diligent efforts."
The mastermind who was indirectly responsible for molding The Guardians of The Universe themselves cast his firm gaze down upon The Sentry, the cold heat emanating from the alien's beetle-black orbs prompting the conflicted hero to momentarily shrink back with fear and uncertainty. He didn't require his telepathy to make out either the shadowy murmurs rising up and around the poor fool's subconscious or the recognition that the Earthling's sheer power that provided the fool with his continuous source of downfall.
"What you're doing will end countless lives!" Kal-L bellowed back, the sheer force and conviction behind the old man's words prompting Krona to roll his eyes. "You had your chance to pick how your life would go and you chose wrong and I won't allow you to hurt others simply because you want another shot."
"Tell me, Kal-L of Krypton," Krona replied in a bored manner befitting of a creature who had long grown weary of explaining themselves to someone who could simply not understand. "How would you have reacted if someone beneath you had been similarly affected if your idiotic attempt to restore your beloved proved to be a success? Could you even imagine how many lives you would have callously erased simply through your own misguided whims?" The creator of the dimensional bleed controlled his need to smile as he observed Kal-L's wide brow furrow with anger and concern. "Puppets like you would never know the true benefits and consequences of such remarkable endeavors. This is why you and your ilk shall be allowed to play your role and merely stand aside as I erase the slate and start anew."
The former manifestation of Entropy could barely hold back a sigh as Kal-L rushed at him, the expendable Kryptonian throwing a punch with enough force behind it to alter the rotational path of a brown dwarf star. Avoiding the blow or telepathically influencing the alien to swerve off path would have been child's play, of course, but Krona allowed the punch to make contact if only so he could admire the look on his opponent's face when his attack bounced off his psionic force barrier. He didn't allow his startled adversary a chance to recuperate as both the power within his blood and the energy gained through his pursuits into the unknown allowing him to easily choke the life from the weary Kryptonian merely by sheer force of his will. The force he put into hurling the poor fool against the face of his precipice felt quite satisfying as well, the flickers of disappointment and realization on Kal-L's face emboldening him to continue his silent and grisly deed.
FWOOM!
"Summoned our courage, have we?" Krona asked while stretching his right arm backwards in order to easily catch The Sentry's outstretched fist. A combination of telekinesis and sheer physical force allowed the Oan to quickly shift the blonde-haired hero so he stood inches in front of his face, the bouquet of confusion wrapped around the face of his latest attacker providing a wondrous aroma. "A child could sense your fear of what you are, Robert Reynolds," he ruthlessly informed his newly-captured prey. "So do not tempt your fortunes by attempting to sneak up on a god."
Krona's continued attempts to restrain and strangle the stronger of his two opponents left him with not as much as energy as he would have liked to donate to the task of sending the conflicted champion barreling into the rock wall of his longtime prison, the collision between flesh and stone setting off a noticeable tremor that managed to bring a slight smile to the genius's face. The supercilious smirk only inched further upward as The Sentry rushed at him again, the power of The Void filling him as both human and demon recognized the magnitude of what lay in front of them.
"Why do you continue to fight, boy?" Krona asked while fending off the blindingly fast series of jabs, hooks, and haymakers. "Could it be that you simply cannot see what you can gain from my efforts? You would no longer have to struggle with the darkness that eats at you with each passing day. There would be no more conflict over which of your pathetic halves remain in control of the monotonous whole. No more struggle to continue to hold everything in check."
The Sentry could sense time itself seemingly slow down around him, his expeditious efforts to put so much as a dent in the frame of his exponentially stronger foe suddenly slowing down until it seemed that all he could do was move at a crawl. His opponent did not appear to share the same quandary, however, the dangerous glint in the alien's eyes a clear sign that Krona was convinced that he had the situation well in hand. He felt Krona's right palm slam into his chest and suddenly felt his body spin out of control, his efforts to maintain his equilibrium quickly cut short by another harsh crash into the surrounding stone. His vision begin to spot and sputter, the combined traumas of his own physical pain and Krona's temporal manipulation continuing to wear on him as the impossibly clever madman dragged his tired body so it would float listlessly besides Kal-L's.
"I had expected this kind of utter ineptitude from you, Robert Reynolds," Krona confessed to one of the many pawns he had dragged onto his still-active chessboard. "However, I must confess that I find your incompetence to be mildly astonishing, Kal-L of Krypton. Perhaps the fault was mine to expect so much from the chosen champion of a weak-minded sentinel like Shazam's legatee."
The flash of another knowing smile lit up Krona's otherwise thickset countenance. "Would it have been wiser to create more of a commotion in my efforts? If only so that I would face greater resistance? After all, what good is an accomplishment if there is no worthy soul to witness it as it happens?"
"Well, gosh. I really hope you didn't forget about me."
The rush of red, blue and gold put was able to summon just enough strength to send Krona sailing off his feet, the intensely physical interruption coincidentally enough to break Kal-L and The Sentry free. The former fell to his knees, his wrinkled skin a mild shade of blue as he rushed to bring air back into his deprived lungs while the latter looked at the new arrival with a mixture of confusion and awe.
"Sorry I'm late," Kal-El began while helping his older counterpart back to his feet. "That being said, it's been a pretty rough day for me and I'm lookin' for somebody to take it out on."
Kal-L couldn't help but chuckle while keeping an unwavering eye on Krona as he rose back to his feet. "Something tells me you could have picked a better target," he offered with a wry reply.
Arkham Asylum
Logan had once told him that finding somebody to watch your back was like trying a new kind of beer: you're always going to be a little interested, a little worried, and you never knew whether or not it was going to bite you back on the ass until it was probably too late to do anything about it. It was one of the first lines that the roughly hewn Canadian had to offer him at the end of his disastrous first day at Xavier's lush Westchester mansion and it somehow stuck with Kurt Wagner as years of fighting and living life had transformed him from an optimistic pup to a realistic man. Of course, given the awareness that one usually found with the trials of adulthood, Nightcrawler also realized that Wolverine's arsenal of beer-related comparisons, which could arguably match up evenly with the number of days the hard-living mutant had survived, were mostly catered to fit the thoughts of a perpetual loner and rebel, two stigmas that the blue-furred mutant rarely ever chose to place upon himself.
That being said, it was quite apparent that his automated adversaries were not having any trouble at all with handling the difficult art of fighting as a team. The sight of the duplicates of some of his oldest colleagues brought him back to his first time in Xavier's so-called "Danger Room", a time when he was still a lanky and excited young man barely into his twenties whose lone experiences with violence were ducking and fleeing from angry mobs who wanted to erase his supposedly wicked influence. His memories of how the quintet was somehow constantly able to find him wherever he ran or crawled despite all the distractions offered by his similarly green colleagues provided a constant reminder of how much he could learn, that recollection of one attack flowing into another and then another and then another until even his impressive speed was not enough to allow him to keep pace.
To make a long story short, his very first skirmish as an X-Man ended with him nursing three cracked ribs, Piotr being frozen against the western wall, and Ororo being painfully brought down to the metal floor by a telepathic blast while Shiro Yashido was yelling and threatening to contact the Japanese embassy in order to report on unfair training practices and Banshee was merely standing in the corner shaking his head, the veteran Interpol agent doubtlessly wondering what he had done to earn him the punishment of being on this new team of misfits and oddities.
Conversely, ten years is a long time to expand upon one's bag of tactical tricks. Nightcrawler proved this as he employed his metahuman speed and awareness to easily dart between one opponent and the next, the lithe fighter providing just enough time for his persistent adversaries to get a good glimpse of him before scurrying off once again. All his acrobatic efforts all served as part of a singular distraction designed to assure the safety of his less mobile partner and Kurt found himself pleasantly surprised as Batman quickly picked up and accepted his silent request, the so-called Dark Knight of Gotham City quickly adopting his role of attacker. He almost let out a gasp of surprise as Batman brought down the robotic Angel with a disturbingly precise throw of one of his bladed boomerangs, the short, sharp edge slicing through the inch of metal that served as the link between the robot's back and the stump of its artificial wings. The damage was more than enough to send the mechanized copy of Warren Worthington III crashing hard onto the linoleum floor in a shower of sparks and sputters, the idea that a normal human could possibly make such an impossibly precise shot was hard for even someone as well-traveled as him to believe.
"We don't have time to fool around with this," Batman sternly proclaimed before twisting his body into a side somersault that kept Cyclops from incinerating the detective's skull with a powerful optic blast. "Stop dancing and start fighting!"
Kurt Wagner let out a customary chortle at the familiar display of indignation while briefly checking to see that the Angel robot was indeed down for the count. "How can you rob a performer of their chance to entertain like this, Herr Batman?" he asked while vaulting over the metal office table sent his way by Jean Grey's telekinesis. "Still, I suppose I must agree that time is of the essence."
A loud BAMF! sounded out through the somewhat cramped quarters of the third floor lobby as Nightcrawler finally made his move, the scent of brimstone filling the air as the mutant teleported to Batman's back. His unexpected move not only left him with just enough time to hand his spare rapier to his somewhat startled colleague but also allowed him to catch Iceman's interest before he chose to teleport for a second time, this time with Batman in tow so his efforts would leave Cyclops's next blistering attack to slam into Iceman's chest. The sound of the robotic facsimile of Bobby Drake slamming into and through the eastern wall rang through the sensitive cochleas of the elfin-eared mutant as he and Batman reemerged behind Cyclops, an unspoken signal prompting his erstwhile partner to rush forward and strike at the dangerous automaton with a fastidious stab to the back of the neck that sent the quasi-Scott Summers down in a useless heap. As effective as the opening move was, however, it also turned out to be a half-second too slow and the time it took for Batman to launch a healthy array of C-4 at the remains of Angel and Iceman proved to be just enough for The Beast to catch up to them.
"Never a dull moment. . ." Nightcrawler mused before gritting his teeth and slipping through time and space once again, this time so he would arrive straight in the path of the robotic Hank McCoy before it could try and rip Batman limb from limb. The relief he could have taken from the fact that the good Mister Wayne turned out to be fast enough to avoid the potential collision was easily swept aside as the weight of The Beast fell almost completely on his chest as they toppled to the ground, the tiles cold and cracked against his back as they rolled around and around on the floor. Of course, it didn't take long at all for the android to break free of the childish nonsense, the glint of metallic fangs shining off the overhead lights as it rushed forward to tear into the momentarily stunned mutant.
"GET DOWN!!" he heard Batman yell before a trio of explosive Batarangs sunk into Beast's back, the quick warning leaving Kurt just enough time to recover himself and roll away from the combined blast that quickly left the robot a decapitated pile of rubbish and circuitry. As successful as it may have been, Nightcrawler also knew enough to realize that he and his comrade had wasted far too much time, the manifestation of their error finally coming to life as they were thrown against the northern corner of the mostly destroyed room. The artificial rage on the one remaining android was obvious as it moved closer towards them with even, determined steps, the creation's green eyes seemingly burning with the concentration it devoted to its actions.
"Is. . . is this one always so much trouble?" Batman asked, his lips barely moving while the rest of his body fruitlessly struggled to break free of the telekinetic energy around him.
You have no idea, Nightcrawler couldn't help but think as the reproduction of Jean Grey continued her quest to crush their bodies into a fine pulp. After taking the slightest of moments to ponder over how much pain he would be in after going through with his profoundly foolish plan, the downy acrobat felt his head spin as he teleported away from the cluster of energy around him, his brain seemingly churning within its own protective fluids as he desperately concentrated on getting his body where it needed to be. The physical exertion caused the bile in his stomach to churn and his sore ribs to let out a lurch of defiance as he landed on top of Jean's shoulders, his long fingers quickly moving to wrap themselves around the robot's neck. Another BAMF! then sent him to the other side of the room, the head of the robot cradled within his hands assuring him that their lone remaining opponent was not likely to bother them anymore. He dimly heard the impact of metal against tile as he fell to his knees, his attention mostly wrapped around his own agony as both he and Batman struggled to recover from their exertions.
As momentarily weary as they were, however, it didn't stop either of them from hearing either the mocking laughter or the slow, measured clapping. It didn't take much motivation for Nightcrawler to give Batman the task of seeing what was in store for them next, the mutant barely in control of his body as his face momentarily slid against the cold, cracked tile in a state of near-exhaustion.
"I think you underestimated your little friend there," proclaimed a voice unknown to Kurt's ears. "Would have never thought that a preacher would have that kind of violence in him."
The source of the words may have been unfamiliar but the cold, deep laughter that followed in response was not. Indeed, the sound of it was more than enough for Nightcrawler to momentarily ignore the pain and jerk his body upward so his eyes could take in the sight of a walking nightmare. Though many would have been deeply intimidated by the animal's long, scraggly mane of blonde hair or the man's seven feet and 400 pounds of pure muscle and ferocity, Kurt was well aware that the true source of the man's terror lay in his eyes, the black pupils centered around a face marred by a sick combination of bloodlust and hatred. It was those eyes that told the man's unfortunate prey whether or not the monster would merely kill everyone in the room or torture them first and it only took a mere cursory examination to see that the murderer clearly had chosen the latter.
"Well, ya gotta remember that the elf's got a little animal in him too," Victor Creed finally replied, the feral assassin known as Sabretooth already focusing on who he had chosen to hunt. "An' here's hopin' this clown's got more bite than I'm seein' in him right now."
"Oh, there's no need to worry about that," the other hunter assured his more untamed comrade, the helmet that obscured the mercenary's face seemingly wreathed by the stolen neural energy that greatly enhanced his already impressive supply of battle skills and knowledge. "Just be sure to save me the good detective's heart after you rip it out of his chest."
"Prometheus," Batman greeted with a cold growl. "I would have thought you to be smart enough to avoid being dragged into a situation like this."
"Now, now, there ain't no need for a schoolyard sissy fight," Creed coolly intervened after seeing his unlikely comrade begin to bristle. "And besides, he ain't the one you gotta be worryin' about right now."
No more warning was provided as Victor Creed leapt at the still struggling detective, his vibrant motion followed only seconds later as Prometheus executed a flawless double somersault that brought him straight in front of Nightcrawler.
And, with no further warning, the fight began once again.
Wade Wilson couldn't even remember the last time he had been this nervous. Now, granted, a handful of decades of living with both a brain-eating cancer and a healing factor that continuously tried and failed to fully patch up the damage wasn't exactly great for keeping up much of a long-term memory but the fact remained that there were only a handful of things that he could remember being more anxious about. Maybe the first time Terry asked to see him without his mask. Oh, or when he asked Typhoid Mary out to dinner after she had eviscerated those kindly Japanese tourists.
Or maybe he had reversed those two. Nah, that was probably right.
Still, as confused as he momentarily was, the fact remained that Deadpool was metaphorically shaking in his blood-stained boots, so much so that he could barely notice the bullet piercing his skull at the point just above his right eye while he kept his other eye on his much more serious counterpart. The use of the Cyclops head to lay down some smack may have considered to be charmingly cute and clever in a sadistic kind of way, the decorum and out-and-out seriousness of Slade Wilson was clearly not something to be taken lightly.
Oh, and the Ron Perlman voice too! Daaaaaaaamn scary and definitely not deserving of being linked up with Matt friggin' Murdock in the Amalgam universe. Dare the Terminator, my ass! Oh, shit! And he's coming this way!
"Mister Thomas, exactly why is there an ignoramus among your ranks who is apparently copying my attire and is apparently too stupefied by my presence to do anything useful?"
Even someone as deaf to the world of social dynamics as Deadpool could realize that this historic first meeting had gotten off on a bad foot. To his credit though, he did his best to compensate by using his recently reloaded MP7's to shoot a variety of holes into a collection of Arkham Asylum inmates. He then turned back to Slade with a hopeful grin (through the mask, anyway) much as a puppy would when presenting its master with some chewed up animal or toy.
"Impulsive, anti-social, and prone to waste both time and ammunition," Deathstroke quickly assessed while using his short swords to easily remove the hypnosis-causing helmet off the head of Paul Dekker before the criminal known as Crazy Quilt could put it to any nefarious use. "I believe that Batman has finally found someone more worthless than you, Harper."
"'EY!" Arsenal barked back in an Eric Cartman-like display of defiance while warding both The Silken Spider and the still bloodthirsty Great White Shark with a precise pattern of gunfire. "Don't rope me in with that guy! I'm just trying to survive this whole titanic crossover event until life puts me back into doing something more useful!"
"Apparently he's from some alternate reality," Arrowette explained, the fair-haired archer quickly realizing that Lloyd still had his hands full with the killer robot. "Maybe he's just a really big fan of yours or some out-of-the-closet otaku?"
Deadpool took the potentially humiliating suggestion and did his best to run with it, the loud-mouthed hired gun briefly ceasing his efforts to kill people in order to appeal to his counterpart. "I'm you from another reality!" he explained excitedly, the exclamation at least giving him enough attention from Slade to allow the other masked mercenary an opportunity to roll his one remaining eye before turning away once again. "Oh, and let me just say that you were really cool when you took down The Justice League single-handed in Identity Crisis. I mean, I didn't like that you turned out-and-out villain again because of that Teen Titans cartoon and just because Geoff Johns needed a good villain for the new comic book but Matt's done his best to sort of paint you as an anti-hero and I've always thought that suits you a lot better and. . ."
"Black Dog," Slade interrupted with as much serenity as he could muster. "Kindly inform me of what is going on before I decapitate this cretin."
Lloyd did his best not to let out an impatient grunt as he continued to ward off Arcade's death machine with a blast of eldritch energy that could do little more than force the machination back before soon petering off of its impressive shielding. "Someone's created some form of dimensional bleed that's linking our reality and his reality together," he explained through a quickly established telepathic link while maintaining his warding efforts with his left hand and summoning a whirlwind of energy with his right hand that gave his weaker comrades a bit of breathing room. "And whoever's behind it all has strengthened these guys in order to buy themselves some time but the bottom line is that if we don't shut it down then it could take out both dimensions and a whole lot more."
Slade did not even so much as nod as he leapt back into the action, the mercenary casually tossing the head of the automated Scott Summers over to Arsenal in order to give the red-headed sharpshooter something more efficient to work with. "And do we have any idea on how to stop this from happening?" he asked while unleashing a flash grenade that blinded a handful of his surrounding foes.
"Don't suppose you've heard of the Wiccan Rule of Three?" Lloyd asked back while Roy was busy cackling at the wonderfully destructive powers that stolen eyebeams could offer him.
"Hey, Slade!" Deadpool broke in. "Watch me blow up Clayface again!"
"Do we know what or where the marks of undoing the spell are?" Slade soldiered on while decidedly ignoring any other efforts to draw his attention.
Lloyd let out an audible curse as a smatter of sweatdrops that had been gathering from the exertion of his efforts began to fall onto his upper lip. "Batman and one of our other guests are making their way to the triangulation point inside the asylum and we're countin' on Billy Batson an' his ilk to take care o' the other two!"
Slade allowed himself some time to digest the potentially confusing round of information, the occasionally wayward father of three taking a moment to ensure Arrowette's safety by launching a trio of shuriken that served to both harm and disarm Firefly before he could attempt to incinerate the young woman. "And, given that the integrity of such spatial rifts tend to be greatly linked to the specific relationships between the connection points," he began to hypothesize while employing a fairly healthy portion of the 90 percent of his brain he was always able to put into play. "Would it not be unwise to believe that we would be better off bringing a potential source of the dimensional merge towards those points?"
The Black Dog briefly tore himself away from his life-or-death struggle in order to shoot an intrigued look at his comrade, the former student of Mao Tenryu beginning to catch up with what Slade had already considered. On the other side of things, the brief moment of consideration allowed Slade to continue to work with Roy in order to keep the impressive array of adversaries from surrounding them with a combination of gunfire, sword-slashes, and optic blasts that soon forced more blood and disheveled dirt and grass to stain the impromptu battlefield.
"Did ya see me! Did ya see me!" Deadpool giddily yelled out over Lloyd's epiphany, his exhilaration brought about by blowing up another copy of Clayface apparently too much for him to keep in. "Awwwwww, you're not watchin'!"
"Right, we don't have any more time to play this safe, lads and lass," Lloyd finally declared while extending his telepathic declarations beyond Slade to reach both Cecilia and Roy. "Cissie, get ready for ya shot!"
"Right, boss!" Arrowette fired back, the markswoman already analyzing what she had been asked to do without even being told just what it was.
"Ooh, I always do love when I can make a good plan fall apart!" Arcade crowed from the safety of his robot's cockpit. "Even your best efforts have met with miserable failure at the hands of my brilliance and soon you shall be nothing more than grit under the boots of my incredible creation. Perhaps it will just take your arrival in front of the gates to hell before you can finally appreciate my genius. . ."
Lloyd Thomas needed little motivation to sweep the sound of Arcade's taunting aside, the half-demon quickly focusing on nothing but his own power. Molding that supernatural energy with all the ease and grace of Sadanobu with a lump of clay, he let loose a thin, bright beam of energy whose mere heat and magnitude forced his own skin to burn and bubble before launching up to meet its target. For all his boasts of superiority concerning his intelligence and the fortitude of his latest creation, the longtime thorn in the side of the X-Men couldn't help but yelp like a frightened pup as the blast came his way, the red-haired employee of Krona not even bothering to hide his fear as the attack collided with the robot's force barrier with an intense light that blinded Arcade with a well-practiced ease.
THUNK!
The scream of fear quickly turned to one of physical agony as Cecilia's steel-tipped arrow buried itself into Arcade's right shoulder blade, the temporary overload of the robot's protective measures apparently allowing Arrowette just enough time to line up the complicated shot. The cowardly killer continued to display his miseries as The Black Dog quickly dragged him out of his still functioning creation, a quick teleportation allowing both captive and captor to quickly return to the ground below. Several long seconds passed before Arcade realized just where he had been shuffled off to, a length of time far too short for him to see through his misery and notice the fist flying straight at his face.
"Well, how about that?" Arrowette noted after delivering a right hook that sent Arcade crumpling to the ground unconscious. "Been a long time since I've been able to strut my stuff like that."
"Excellent shot, Miss King-Jones," Deathstroke couldn't help but compliment, the veteran soldier willing to acknowledge battlefield brilliance when he saw it.
"Not really," Cecilia countered while shifting her attentions back toward Arcade's still enthralled ground troops. "I was actually aiming for his head."
"Looks like we're needed elsewhere, you lot," The Black Dog added while hastily employing his telepathy to grab the still fussy Deadpool. "I suppose we'll have ta leave the bitter dregs to the two of you."
"Oh, goody goody gumdrops," Roy loudly replied while Lloyd, Slade, and Wade quickly made their way towards the asylum. "Hey, Cissers! Am I the only one thinking we just got abandoned?"
Cecilia found herself a little too occupied to shrug her shoulders, her upper body straining to fire off another precise shot that forced Amygdala to almost eat a fire extinguisher arrow. "Hey, I took out one of the main bad guys so I don't care anymore," she replied rather gleefully as her overly muscular target went down while coughing up an enormous dosage of nitrogen foam. "Besides, what are the odds that we're going to die off screen, I ask you?"
Gotham City – Chief Correctional Office – Fifth Floor
The Flash didn't need his ability to sense motion and kinetic energy in order to realize that something was afoot and he didn't need the realization that his unknown quarry had somehow managed to elude him to recognize that he should remain on his guard. The dark and desolate state of the city government office only provided the cherry on the precarious sundae, the utter silence that surrounded him and swept through the normally bustling halls and cubicles making the scene a blatant sign that a good degree of mischief was currently at work. He used the kinetic energy that circled around his body to light the way, the golden sparks rising up from his specially prepared speed suit seemingly doing their best to pierce the standing gloom before falling silent as he entered another foreign area, his steps soon taking him into a long hall that started at one end of the building and most likely ended at the other. What truly interested him, however, were the holding cells that lined the space on both sides, each and every one of them empty and devoid of any physical sign that anyone had ever been there. However, as a flicker of his kinetic current struck one of the iron bars with a soft sizzle, the young father of two couldn't help but sense so much on the edge of his psychological periphery, hear the words of those who had resided there.
"This was where I begun my career," a somewhat familiar voice announced, the exact identity of the speaker momentarily escaping The Flash as he continued to cautiously make his way forward. "I worked with juvenile offenders, making sure that these kids had some place to go after they were let out. It was a time when I still thought that I could change the city by working at it from the inside." A murky chuckle sounded out from somewhere Wally couldn't place, the tone of the laughter one of someone who seemingly couldn't believe their own foolishness. "Catch the darkness while it was young and still growing and try and drag it into the light."
Wally's eyes narrowed as he finally found who he was looking for, his mind suddenly alive with some of the more damning stories that Richard had to say about him. He had always thought whole story behind the man seemed more than a little ridiculous and, truth be told, the face-to-face encounter left him to assume that he was nothing more but another of Gotham's misfit criminals.
"I'm guessing that you're dealing with that struggle now," the man continued while bringing a pair of twin revolvers to bear, the long barrels pointed directly at Wally's eyes. "There's no use trying to toe the line, son. You can't teach villains to be heroes and any attempt to do so will make you even darker than they are."
Wally could only dimly hear the dry click of the safeties being taken off. Not because the sound was blunted off by the distance or that something was wrong with his ears, mind you, but because his attention had suddenly become far more focused on the sneaking sensation that began at his feet and ran up through the rest of his body, the shiver that ran through his spine quickly coinciding with the chill that ran through his gut.
His speed had been taken from him.
"Hero and criminal. . . man and superman. . . The big man says you can only be one or the other," Harvey Dent declared while moving to the decidedly weaker Misfit with even, measured steps. "And you've straddled the line for far too long to avoid judgment."
Needing no more words, Two-Face opened fire.
Carroll Avenue – Gotham City Fashion District
Kara Zor-el found that she rarely ever had any reason to visit this part of the city. Her cravings for wishing to observe or take part in searching for current fashions had always been either rare in coming or absolutely nonexistent.
She spent two years fighting crime in a belly shirt and a short skirt, for Rao's sake.
The fact that the area posted one of the city's lowest crime rates only added further motivation to stay away from here during her patrols, her confidence in the local police quite high when it came to the task of dealing with the usual dilemma of the occasional purse snatcher or uncreative mugger. As diligent as she wished to be when it came to fighting crime and generally doing what she thought to be her part, The Last Daughter of Krypton also found comfort in knowing that some of what she had been asked to watch over was already in good hands.
That being said, the young heroine of this scene could not help but find herself intrigued by the unequivocally bizarre seen taking place below her. After all, elaborate tea parties taking place in the middle of one of the city's most-crowded intersections were hardly the most common of occurrences. The opulent long table that held the food and refreshments for the impromptu soiree was large enough to block the road entirely in all directions but it didn't appear that anyone was ready to complain, at least judging from the cluster of empty cars and the sight of several hundred people that had apparently gathered to enjoy the festivities. The seating for the party was not merely limited to lavish highback seats but also lawn chairs, recliners, inflatable chairs sporting the Gotham Knights logo and dozens of other seating devices that lay in between on the cycle of style. The age range of the guests was just as diverse as everyone from infants to the elderly had all come to partake in the festivities. Some were attired in the finest of formal business wear and the latest in global fashion while others sported more informal apparel such as t-shirts, blue jeans, and wife beaters.
Still, despite the size and number of discrepancies that could be found within the crowd, the accompanying distractions did nothing from stopping each and every eye from turning towards Kara as she made her way to ground level. The half-Praxian couldn't help but be taken aback by all the attention suddenly focused upon her, the trepidation only ratcheting higher as each and every person around began to move towards her with slow, shuffling steps. The first person to come within grasp of her was a tiny five-year-old with black pigtails and impossibly large, brown eyes, a toddler that looked like something that had walked out of a Rockwell painting.
"We're so pleased that you can come," the girl said with agonizing sluggishness, her timbre all but lifeless as the slack expression on her slightly-tanned face. "We've been waiting for so long to see you."
Kara's quick eyes roved over all the slack countenances and roving eyes and couldn't help but feel her skin begin to crawl. Now eager to get to the bottom of the scene, she quickly weaved her way around the surrounding crowd in order to make her way to the head of the table while avoiding all the offers of tea and crumpets. Unlike all the others around her, the man waiting for her on the opposite end looked as calm as a clam in sand, the excited grin punctuated by his large front teeth and accentuated by his overlarge head and the green-and-brown top hat that was perched on top of it.
"Oh, how long have I waited to have you accompany me, my dear Alice," Jervis Tetch warbled in an almost worshipful manner, the rise to his feet so quick and sudden that the cup of tea he had just been drinking toppled over in all the jostling. "All these guests I've been honored to find and so many hats I want you to try." His focus suddenly snapped at the sight of noticing something that only he could see. However, the sudden burst of temptation faded away as quickly as it appeared and was replaced by a look of confusion and slight apology. "But, you haven't partaken in any of the treats I've prepared, my little lass. Please. . . eat!"
"Uh. . . I think I'll pass, thanks," Kara said with more than a hint of apology, the numerous food-laden platters suddenly being presented to her making the offering that much less appealing. "But I wouldn't mind if you wanted to go back to Arkham peacefully. I know that you're not responsible for this, Mad Hatter."
Tetch replied with an insulted tut while shaking his head to and fro. "How now, little Alice. Why would I return to such a dreadful scene while your succulent blood refuses to teem?"
"Yowch!" Kara yelped, her sudden surprise causing her to involuntarily bump into the table in front of her. Turning her eyes toward the source of her pain, she looked down to see that the black-haired girl had dug her teeth into her right forearm, a trickle of blood somehow bubbling along the girl's front teeth. "What in the world?" she couldn't help but ask as she quickly shook the child off.
"Your refusal to dine was vulgar and rude," the hypnosis expert known as The Mad Hatter said with a murderous smile, "now, to me and my friends, you're nothing but food!"
Gotham City – Robinson Park
Stephanie quickly toned down the emerald aura around her body as she drifted down to the lush foliage and greenery that now surrounded her, the stiff Gotham summer apparently doing little to harm the beauty of the city's largest publically owned landmark. There were no sign of the familiar carriage horses save for the desiccated remains that lay festooned along the bank of the south pond and the dozens of art exhibits and public projects that populated the 800-acre lot of land all looked as if a very focused hurricane had run through them in order to eliminate everything that had not been made by Mother Nature.
"Gee, I wonder who I'm about to fight?" Robin asked aloud with every bit of monotony she could muster. The lack of emotion served as a sound contrast for the explosion of earth and soil that began at the center of the eastern amphitheater before spreading around the young Green Lantern for nearly a half of a mile in all directions. Doing her best to stifle a yawn, she calmly turned her eyes toward the center of the stage where the forced star of the attraction chose to make her presence felt. As annoyed as she was by who she had been asked to take on, the former Spoiler had to confess that she would have gladly killed someone to have a body like that of her foe. The ivory-green skin may have been a bit too much for her taste but the hourglass figure and the fountain of red hair that cascaded down the woman's shoulders and neck were certainly worthy of the front cover of any lingerie catalog.
Of course, the murderous look in Pamela Isley's eyes could very well have served as quite a turn off. After all, it wasn't as if most men really had a fondness for being messily slaughtered by a self-styled defender of Mother Nature regardless of whether or not it would get them laid.
"Hey, Pammy!" Stephanie began while greeting her malicious foe with a cheery wave. "How have the therapy sessions been going?" She couldn't help but frown as an entanglement of tree branches the width of her body sprung up from the ground in an attempt to either bludgeon or restrain her, the precise intentions left unclear as Robin zigzagged around the eco-friendly assault.
"FOUL ENEMY OF THE GREEN!" Isley bellowed back at the disrespectful young woman, the murderous environmentalist now known around the world as Poison Ivy far too encompassed with the task of killing the object of her nightmares. "It was you who took me away from my destiny. You forced me to fear everything that had ever truly loved me!"
"Awwww, all I did was take a giant weed whacker to that wacky little man-eating nursery you set up in Graham Park! You went coo coo for Cocoa Puffs all on your own," Stephanie countered while firing a wave of green energy that incinerated the ivory throne that Isley had created in order to keep herself above the fray. Momentarily amused in the way that the scarlet-haired psychopath panicked as she fell to the ground, her laughter kept her distracted enough to momentarily ignore the heavy footsteps sounding off behind her. Finally turning herself around, the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns opened her eyes wide with wonder as a massive elm tree came striding towards her, the control that Isley had apparently gained over the surrounding plants allowing the mighty creation of nature to lurch forward using its many branches to shuffle along the grass and loam.
"Hey! Cool! It's an Ent!" Stephanie observed with a toothy smile. "Hoom hum! Hum! Hum!"
WHAM!!
Stephanie had some time to think about what she just done before she crashed through the window of a store nearly a tenth of a mile across from the park's western gate. Quickly rising back onto her butt, she shook her head back and forth to rid her hair of glass and her vision of the bats and black dogs flying around her head. Taking another moment to take stock of where she was, her formerly goofy grin returned to her somewhat scratched up face as she realized where the batty bitch had decided to put her.
"YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE ME!" Isley screamed as her self-created army moved towards their hated foe. "I shall force you to pay for the pain you brought upon me and all those that draw life from this glorious earth beneath us!"
Never one to turn down a challenge, Robin leapt from the shattered remains of the store window and prepared to take Isley on. Never one to be regarded as someone who leapt into something unprepared, she held the finest leaf blower that the neighborhood Home Depot could provide while both her wrists held an energy claw close in place.
"Allllll right," Stephanie resolved while using her ring to create a very familiar emerald-colored weed whacker that fell easily into her right hand. "You want a fight, psycho plant lady? WELL, BRING IT, BITCH!"
Arkham Asylum
"Slow, clumsy, and unfocused," Prometheus offered before countering the hook kick Nightcrawler fired at the left side of his head with a knee to the gut that almost forced the mutant to fall to his knees. "You rely far too much on your teleportation abilities and your freakish appearance to make up for your dearth of basic fighting skills," he continued to explain while firing a vicious right hook that slammed into Nightcrawler's skull and sent him spinning to the ground like an out-of-control top. "I hope that you at least recognize how ridiculously out of your league you happen to be at the moment. The greatest gift a warrior can ever receive before their death is to truly know the power of what killed you."
The data provided by his cybernetic helmet enabled the mercenary to easily avoid the leaping savate kick fired at his throat, his heavy gauntlets only providing a slight impediment as he caught his lighter adversary and briefly held him aloft before Nightcrawler teleported away. "You truly must accept the fact that you don't have a chance in hell," the dark counterpart of Batman tried his best to explicate his adversary's circumstances while blocking or swerving around every punch and kick Nightcrawler threw his way before sending his opponent down again, this time with a body blow-uppercut combination taken straight from the finest of boxers. "The combination of my decades of training and the technological enhancements offered by my battle suit allow me to adopt and employ the skills of the 30 greatest hand-to-hand fighters walking the planet, including that partner of yours getting ripped to shreds as we speak."
In contrast, Kurt felt that he hardly needed the depreciatory advice being offered by his quarry, the quick spit of phlegm and blood that flung from his lips a gesture born both of necessity and frustration. "Well," he finally countered with the lightest of growls. "Then perhaps it is wise that I employ another angle," he offered while reaching his arms back in order to once again take hold of the rapier and epee held within their leather scabbards.
Prometheus shook his head back and forth in a display of mild dismay. "You'll just run into the same problem once again," he said lightly before activating a switch on his right gauntlet that released his trademark shock baton that he quickly brought to bear, the short staff already brimming with thousands of volts of electrical current. "It doesn't matter what weapons you use or what style you try, freak. I can always find someone who can do it better than you."
Nightcrawler couldn't help but flash his fangs in a vicious smirk, the joy of knowledge too much to keep his enthusiasm in check. "Well, you appear to be quite the well-oiled fighting machine, ja?"
Considering himself a gentleman, he tried his best not to laugh at the expression on his opponent's face as he leapt into the fray, the third sword held easily by his pointed, prehensile tail at the forefront. "Then allow me to provide the monkey wrench."
Victor Creed laughed long and loud as Batman turned his fingers into knife points and jabbed them at the muscles surrounding his carotid arteries, the bloodthirsty beast taking in Batman's slight gasp of surprise as the countering swipe of his right claw missed the detective's jugular vein by mere inches. He took the half-second he had to savor the aroma of blood and sweat that surrounded his prey as Batman tried to smash his left kneecap with a kneeling right heel kick, the vigor provided by his accelerated healing factor allowing the bones and ligaments to knit themselves together in seconds while his right leg lashed out with a thrust kick to the head that sent Batman crashing hard to the floor.
"You wanna know what really pisses me off about guys like you?" Sabretooth asked while advancing towards Batman with long, loping strides, his presentation uninterrupted even by the Batarang the dolt with the silly mask through straight between his eyes. "All your tricks and bags of toys that ya bring to the table that make you think that you can match up with somebody like me," he continued on while ripping the razor embedded in his nose and the lower half of his forehead, his tongue quick to sweep away the blood that had spilled onto the sharp edge. "Still, I guess the fact that I end up rippin' ya little punks ta ribbons helps me sleep a little better at night."
Batman let out a grunt in response as he rose to his feet, the beginning of a Grade I concussion already clouding his perceptions. "Then who am I to stop you," he challenged while prepping his body into a classic Sambo stance, his right arm the lone body part out of place as it dipped down into one of the almost forgotten pockets of his utility belt. "Come and get me."
Creed was all too happy to oblige, his forward lunge far too fast for Batman to avoid. However, several decades of learning how to play the pain convinced the Dark Knight of Gotham City to merely swerve to the right, the partial dodge allowing Sabretooth's claws to rip through the armor covering the right side of his chest rather than his heart. He could dimly hear Alfred complaining about having to stitch him up because of his continued carelessness as he wrapped his enemy's now blood stained arm in a Jujitsu-style armbar. He ignored the sinister little chortle sneaking from the lips of his enemy as he wrapped his right arm around Creed's neck, the blood trickling from his tricep and shoulder blade causing his grip to momentarily slip before he could lock the hold in place.
Sabretooth continued to laugh, his efforts to escape his capture all but nonexistent. "Woulda thought a genius fighter like you're supposed ta be would know better," he said with more than a trace of venom. "'Cause we both good an' hell know you're gonna bleed out before I pass out."
"I know I can't beat you physically," Batman fired back with an impressively dark hiss, the conviction in the vigilante's voice giving Creed the slightest temptation to pause. "That's why I'm choosing to beat you in a different way."
Anyone familiar with Victor Creed's long history as an assassin, mercenary, and outright murderer would recognize that the monster's greatest weakness had always been his overconfidence. As good as a hunter as he was, his belief that he would catch his prey in the manner he saw fit frequently served as his greatest strength but occasionally played a decidedly different role. The latter of possibilities began to hold true just seconds after Batman's defiant words as Creed's diligence towards the hunt kept him blind to the bizarre vapor that his foe had dropped on the floor only seconds before. His enhanced senses only allowed the potent chemicals within the gaseous mixture to flow that much faster through his system, the effects of the most potent form of fear toxin that Bruce Wayne could ever produce quickly taking its toll on the monster known as Sabretooth.
The roar that poured from Creed's lips was a combination of shock and rage, the volume of his bellow coinciding with the manner in which he released himself from Batman's grip with a violent shudder. The massive but leonine hunter sank to his knees as his active mind produced images of his father, of Logan, of Nathaniel Essex, of any soul that had caused him the slightest amount of fear and each of them turned to face him with dangerous intentions. Though his body remained untouched, his mind was quick to convince him that his arms spurted blood from a hundred cuts and his legs were set ablaze while a constant chorus of words soaked in hate and shame seemed to threaten to burst his eardrums. A mere handful of seconds passed before the fair-haired madman stooped into the fetal position, his sharp claws raking gently against his knees as he tried whatever he could to stay away from the pain.
"Gott im Heimel," Nightcrawler said in wonder while helping Batman back to his feet. "Not that I am about to complain but. . . what have you done to him."
Batman tried and failed to hold in a wet, ragged cough as he straightened himself to his full height, his blood-stained abdomen complaining every centimeter of the way.
"I beat him at his own game," was all he chose to offer, the boldness of his words mildly hampered by the fact that he would have tumbled back to his knees if his comrade was not holding him steady. "Where is Prometheus?"
Nightcrawler allowed the detective to answer that question for himself, a subtle nod to the northwest corner of the room leading Batman to the sight of a man in no condition to continue fighting. Only a cursory glance was required to see that the tendons connecting Prometheus's ankle and foot had been cut and the gashes along the bounty hunter's upper legs provided further proof that his latest rival was decidedly in traction. Prometheus's weapons-loaded gauntlets were severed from their grippings while the cybernetic helmet had been removed from the mercenary's head with a series of precise lashes, revealing a shock of silver hair and a faraway look in the man's eyes that seemed to indicate an attempt to avoid going into shock. Despite all that though, what actually attracted Batman's interests was a series of scratches across Prometheus's chest.
"The Mark of Zorro?" he couldn't help but ask.
It seemed that Nightcrawler was momentarily content with shrugging his shoulders. "I could not help myself," he finally confessed, his pupiless eyes letting off a hint of a merry twinkle. "Perhaps I should continue on this journey myself. Given that you look to be on the verge of death and all."
Batman let out another grumble, this one a clear note of defiance as he broke free of Kurt's grip and began to hobble forward. "We've got work to do," he said simply.
"Actually, I believe the precise situation is that I have work to do, boss."
The two tired vigilantes swerved around to catch the arrival of The Black Dog, the half-demon followed closely behind by Deadpool and Deathstroke, the former taking just a second or two to kick the fallen Prometheus in the stomach before stooping down and ruffling Sabretooth's hair.
"Oh yeah," Wade Wilson crowed upon realizing that all eyes were on him once again. "Something tells me the good guys are on the winning track now!"
The Worldview
"My victory is assured," Krona said simply while clutching the two bloody and broken Supermen within his unforgiving grip. "The energy that I require to expand the dimensional bleed has been collected and now I shall have the ways and means to fulfill my grandest desire."
The last survivor of the Maltusian race took a break from his victory speech to hurl Kal-El's limp body at the oncoming Sentry, the strength and velocity presented by the Superman of Earth-1 enough to send the blonde-haired champion crashing into the precipice once again. Throwing the other Superman on top of the pile of broken limbs was merely his way of adding insult to injury, just another small triumph to add upon the fruits of his efforts.
"The players have assembled and the die is cast," Krona declared as his body became encased within an impossibly bright aura of white light. "Judgment will be done."
The hypersonic pulse formed from everything Krona was and could produce streamed from his body and spread towards every direction. It rushed through the neurological make-up of Kal-El, Kal-L, and Robert Reynolds and mercifully rendered them unconscious. It traveled through the nearby point of triangulation before making its way to Arkham, the neurological feedback so much that the four heroes inside the building could not even scream before falling to the floor unconscious. Only seconds were needed as it finally reached the dimensional bleed, the psionic energy pushing the maw wider by an infinite degree until the two realities could no longer handle the strain.
And then. . . there was no more.
Misfits Confidential
Well, I suppose I should apologize for the delay on the update here. All I can really offer is my discovery that getting a variety of students with very special needs can be quite time-consuming and laborious. This, along with the realization that a 60-hour work week does not leave much time for purely creative writing and I've come to realize that there are a few things out of whack. Still, I'm really thinking that I can get on a more even schedule now that everything's starting to settle down. Don't ever think that I forget about you guys.
Or forget about the next chapter preview either. . .
Next Chapter Preview
Then again, there really isn't much to write here, is there? Krona won, reality is destroyed, and everything we knew and loved about The Misfits is long gone. So I wonder what I'm going to put in the next two chapters. Well, maybe I can finally get in that Avengers story with a definite tilt toward Spider-Man/Shadowcat shipping! Ooh! Or maybe I can finally get around to finishing that Harry Potter story! Well, whatever I do, be sure to stop by and catch the next chapter of With Apologies to Bea Arthur: Kubler-Ross Needed More Stages. . . with Detail! Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!