Chapter Six
Kubler-Ross needed more stages. . . With Urgency!!
Wade was definitely starting to see the appeal of spending a day dozing upon the sun-kissed beaches of Porto Vajerto, the slow steady force of a neap tide keeping the waves calm and quiet as the tanned mercenary drunk a pina colada from the hollowed out half-shell of a coconut. Though he certainly could have been irritated by the gaggles of children occasionally running past his prone but taut body, the enthusiasm of the little brats seemingly unquenchable as they doubtlessly kept their parents on their physical and metaphorical heels, the underlying serenity of the scene didn't allow him to unearth even the tiniest urge to shoot bullets at their feet. Instead, he made sure his mask remained nice and tight over the upper-half of his face while making sure that his drink stayed in his left hand while continuing to keep his right arm wrapped around one certifiably hot tamale.
"You're rather quiet today," observed Theresa Rourke, the Irish-born beauty wrinkling her nose as the unrelenting sun continued to cause her skin to freckle. "Are ya sure yuir havin' a good time just sittin' 'ere like this?"
"Oh yeah," Deadpool replied lazily but without a hint of doubt or hesitation, the certainty in his response working with the added strength he put into his one-armed embrace to tempt Terry into letting out the slightest of relieved sighs. "I mean, what's not to like? I've got good booze, good weather, and very good company that's willing to let me work out most of my sick, deluded sexual fantasies." The longtime mercenary chuckled at his own good humor while not putting any effort into stopping his lover from prodding at his chest with mildly irritated jabs of her fingers. "Best summer vacation any Avenger could ask for, I say!"
"Well, I suppose that's something I kin live with," Theresa replied while taking a sip of her own bottle of bourbon. The Merc with A Mouth waited patiently as his lady love took allowed the bitter alcohol to slide down her throat, his memories of Terry's past threats to mercilessly beat down the next bartender who recommended that she try a cocktail still producing a happy buzz in his brain. "Still," the mutant known as Siryn wore on while fixing her green eyes on the early sunset, "I'm still findin' it hard to believe that all this is happenin'."
"Ahhhh, it's not too surprising," Wade easily replied as he momentarily drifted his eyes away from Terry's soft fountain of red hair and involuntarily bore witness to some shenanigans on the surf. "HEY! We're trying to keep a PG-13 rating here, Tobey Maguire!"
Peter Benjamin Parker's allowed his left hand (or, more appropriately, the middle finger of said hand) to respond to his fellow former vigilante while keeping the rest of his body on the more important task at hand, the Brooklyn-born photographer apparently confident enough with his own strength and flexibility to continue to swap spit with the girl still wrapped around his back. Of course, that wasn't to say that Katherine Pryde wasn't putting her own energy into the effort, the lissome, occasionally intangible mutant employing her own impressive flexibility to get as close to her lover and fellow child prodigy as she could. As jealous as he used to be about the guy's successful film trilogy and phenomenal merchandising deals, Wade had to admit that both the doe-eyed, wall-crawling geek and the Pollyanish computer nerd deserved a great deal of their present happiness. After all, anybody who was forced to endure the focused editorial mandates of Joe Quesada and Chris Claremont for the better part of a decade deserves a little bit of relief.
Shifting his eyes away from the disturbingly cute couple, The Merc With A Mouth quickly moved to check on the rest of his fellow Avengers as they too attempted to rest and relax in their own preferred manners. First up was Jessica Drew, who was calmly sneaking behind the previously mentioned duo with slow, sneaky steps, the dull, golden glow from her left hand a good sign that the lively former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent known to the world as Spider-Woman was about to pull a vicious prank on her fellow wall-crawler and surrogate younger brother. Next was Cain Marko, the towering muscleman seemingly rooted to the nearby tiki bar while not looking the least bit like Vinnie Smith and seemingly rewarding his slow but steady climb to the apparent side of the angels by downing one keg of beer after another. A mildly exasperated sigh from a beautiful, fair-haired figure reclining on a nearby beach towel indicated that Karla Sofen was also taking some time to monitor the other members of her team, the former licensed psychologist and card-carrying member of both The Thunderbolts and The Masters of Evil no doubt annoyed at the immature antics of the bizarre, quasi-family that she was at least an observer of, if not a proclaimed part.
And, of course, no examination of the team that had served as the planet's first line of defense for nearly half of a decade would be complete without mentioning the mustachioed billionaire calmly tending to his crowded barbeque grill. Indeed, although it was safe to say that the slightly rusted cooking device was hardly as fancy or expensive as the advanced suits of armor that had prompted news agencies across the globe to dub him The Golden Avenger, the light beads of sweat sliding down Tony Stark's temples was a sign that he was still hard at work. Giving Wade a brief nod before returning to his chosen duties, the former arms maker and current face of modern-day American industrialism managed to look quite content while hastily preparing food for not only his fellow Avengers but also for the smattering of youths and attractive young fillies that have gathered to watch him work. It was only a matter of time now before the thirty-something wunderkind would begin to spin tales of his many exploits while handling questions concerning some of his current comrades who wasn't as comfortable with the public, the team's senior member once again commanding the spotlight that he always seemed compelled to stay within.
"Oh, Wade," Theresa said with an almost dreamy softness before pressing her lips on a spot of muscle around Deadpool's collar bone. "Believe it or not, lover, I think I can find a way just to make this a little bit better."
"Oh, yeah?" Deadpool asked with a swarthy smile. "And what would that way involve, Red?"
Wade turned to see what appeared to be a child-like version of Ronald Reagan, complete with curious blue eyes and the classic, jet-black "Big Boy" haircut, lounging against the side of his torso while sporting a mildly impatient smile.
"Well, first you have to wake up since your world is about to be destroyed."
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The Worldsoul
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" WHAP!
"Argh! Son of a. . ." Deathstroke squawked while stumbling back from the impact of the right hook that Deadpool had thrown his way. "What the hell is wrong with you, kid?" the silver-haired assassin asked while biting back the irritation that came with blood sliding against the stern contours of his mask.
Several long seconds past as Wade thought over that thoroughly appropriate question, the fact that he could remain silent for so long nothing short of an aberration of nature. Then, realizing that the contents of one of his most cherished dreams had just been played for dozens of people to see, he chose to combat his embarrassment the only way he knew how.
"You ruffled the ridges on my stylish leotard!"
The serum circulating through Slade Wilson's veins had transformed him into a creature whose maximum intellectual capacity could no longer be properly calculated by any ways or means of assessment. That being said, the man known as Deathstroke the Terminator didn't have the slightest whit of a chance in understanding whatever his far more psychotic counterpart had to tell him. The MP5 bullet he managed to swerve around by a matter of a half of an inch provided a much clearer message, however, and prompted him to yank an already blood-stained straight sword from one of the scabbards strapped to his back. "I'm finding it difficult to believe that someone who is supposed to be a duplicate of me could do something that stupid," he confessed while fending off the next spray of shots with some timely well-practiced parries.
"Awwwww, that wasn't stupid," Wade countered while holstering his now smoking semi-automatic machine gun before pulling free a sword of his own. "And quit ripping off the Cyborg Ninja! That's Lloyd's job! And besides, this is just the opening for the absolutely necessary hero vs. hero fight that's always happening in crossovers like this!"
"Please tell me that this is just the beginning of one of your infantile attempts at humor," Slade replied rather crossly, his orange-and-black mask failing to hide the irritation etched all over his wizened face. "Because, otherwise, you're making absolutely no sense at all."
Deadpool simply shrugged his shoulders. "Well, welcome to the world of comics, binky boy," he countered while giving the sword in his right hand a playful twirl. "ALL HAIL ULRIC THE CONSTIPATOR!"
"Shouldn't we be stopping them?" Nightcrawler asked with a surprising degree of serenity despite the noise of the ensuing swordplay and occasional gunfire, the X-Man not that surprised that the two masked assassins were apparently quite comfortable with abandoning any sense of sanity. He almost thought of joining them on that trail as his shimmering yellow eyes swept upward to gander at the strange milieu around them. It appeared to be little more than an ethereal void that had washed over them with a seemingly impenetrable escapade of blues, greens, and reds and an innumerable number of pastels in between, the seemingly empty space somehow keeping him and his comrades aloft despite the lack of existing matter that would normally be required for such a feat. His yearning for the fantastical made the sight seem somewhat interesting but the fact remained that the elfin-eared mutant suddenly couldn't help but feel as if he were some kind of caged animal being looked upon by others he couldn't begin to see.
"I'm afraid that the matter is hardly the most pressing point thing on our agenda," Billy Batson reminded Nightcrawler, the young man's blue eyes flashing as he employed his phenomenal sensory abilities to more efficiently examine the supernatural landscape around him. "After all, it's not as if they will have a place to battle if what's to come doesn't go according to plan."
"Perhaps we can spend less time with gallows humor and more time with explaining just what has to be done," Batman said with as much patience as he could muster, the detective's senses and thoughts torn between the mystic being standing to his left and the unknown infinity around them.
Batson provided a curt nod before following the request. "The mystical vantage point provided by The Rock of Eternity allowed me to access enough of the temporal energy brought into being by Krona's dimensional bleed to keep the portal from enveloping our reality completely," he began while stretching his long fingers forward and downward so they would stand parallel to his abdomen, the bones and muscles bent in a manner that would allowed for easier sifting from one form of spatial manipulation to another. "It is a stopgap measure to be sure but at least it offers us more time to bring an end to the bleed without having to search for the source of it."
"So this Krona remains the focal point of our ambitions?" Nightcrawler asked while creeping around to Batman's right.
"Indeed." Golden flickers began to fade in and out of the wizard's eyes as the eldritch energy stored within him continued to intensify. "Stopping Krona's casting eliminates the chief triangulation point of the spell and eliminates the bleed before it can spread past the barriers I have established."
"Very well," Batman noted, the slight hint of a growl in the shrouded man's tone indicating that a question was to come. "But that doesn't explain why you chose to drag us into the middle of this war zone."
Nightcrawler joined Batman in casting a cautious look at Shazam's heir, the concern spiking even higher as Batson countered the unasked question with a quick raise of his eyebrows. However, the time between realization and action might has well have been an eternity to the former Captain Marvel as he struck the two champions with a wave of purple energy, the powerful sleeping spell taking hold of his targets with its usually impressive speed. He cut off the spell the moment Wagner's lithe frame had slid forward, the indigo-furred mutant still struggling to ask why or what was going on until his consciousness was finally stolen from him, the mystic defender of Earth-1 saying or doing nothing to prevent Batman and Nightcrawler from being swept up into the crackling void of energy circulating around him.
"Perhaps I owe a thanks to Victor Creed," Batson couldn't help but say as he watched his two comrades drift into the nothingness. "That fear toxin may be just what the doctor ordered."
The two Supermen continued their unrelenting mission with unabashed bravery, the thought of potential quarrels or tactical miscommunications now almost nonexistent as the two alien champions attacked Krona with precision and timing that could only be learned through decades of experience in battle. Their thrown punches, whether they were short jabs designed to distract their foe away from the presence of a more looming threat or hooks, haymakers, or uppercuts specifically designed to cut skin, draw blood, and break bones, were each placed with as much time and precision that could be allowed by their formidable adversary. They also shifted quickly from high to low, wisely gunning for limbs and vital organs just as frequently as the head or chest while always staying on the move, the burns and scars all over their tired bodies still providing them with the wisdom of remaining still for too long.
Then Krona decided to quit toying with his prey.
Nearly two years of training to better endure the harmful effects of dark magic allowed Kal-L to avoid being completely disintegrated by the explosion of white light that washed over his body as he attempted to shield his younger counterpart from the forced of the impact. Instead, it merely felt as if his entire body was on fire and his throat let loose a horrific yell until it no longer had the available skin and muscle to broadcast his agony.
"Limitless potential, pointless results," Krona concluded before brushing Kal-El aside with a less powerful force blast before swerving to his right in order to address the next threat. He wasn't surprised in the least to find that the normally bright-blue eyes of Robert Reynolds had been twisted into deep pools of midnight black, the sight providing the strongest bit of evidence that The Void had taken over. Ebony tinted lightning spun and crackled around The Sentry's body as the golden-haired champion attempted to lay Krona low with furious punches and kicks. Of course, the unfettered rage that powered both man and demon also made the unwilling pair imprecise, sloppy, and quite vulnerable for a backhand that caused the fool to twist in the wind at breakneck speeds.
"Chaos shall always win out over force," the master of the dimensional bleed informed The Sentry in spite of the fact that his delirious couldn't have possibly heard him. "The violence within your dichotomy renders you into less than nothing."
The audible hum of an impressive share of eldritch energy being centered upon a single point convinced Krona to focus upon the next item on his agenda. "Well, this should at least be moderately interesting," the mad scientist mused with a heaving helping of mockery. The mere idea that the half-blood could think of doing any harm to him, in a blatant head-to-head assault no less, was nothing short of. . .
"AAGH!"
The Maltusian knew it was nothing but simple luck that the Earthling had thought to teleport to his back before letting loose his gathered energy, the golden beam of energy striking him squarely and forcing him to lurch forward. Likewise, the success of the vicious haymaker Kal-El that crashed harshly into his jaw was little more than outrageous fortune for his underpowered adversaries.
"Stall him for as long as you can," The Black Dog asked Kal-El through the aid of his telepathy while searching to reign in his real target. Giving himself just enough time to amusedly consider what The Last Son of Krypton would have thought if he knew he was being ordered around by the lover of his long-lost cousin, he then searched out for the most chaotic thoughts he could find and teleported his way towards it. "Whoa, hold on there, cowboy! Billy Boy said I should speak with ya!" Lloyd hurriedly exclaimed, the British half-demon finding himself hard-pressed to keep the larger man in front of him. A few seconds spent zigging and zagging back and forth was what finally broke his patience and prompted him to place his left hand on the fellow's left forearm.
Lloyd felt his eyes widen as his mind caught on to the presence of something quite familiar: a creature that was only slightly what it appeared to be. The expression was nearly completely duplicated as The Sentry experienced a similar epiphany, though his recognition was tinged more with confusion and hope rather than clarity and concern.
"You're not always fighting?" The Sentry asked with a state of near-wonder and awe while staring through the shell and straight at The Condemner itself. "How do you do it? How can you. . . how can I. . ."
"With a lot of patience and more than a little room for error," Lloyd slowly replied, the kindly smile on his face meant to assure his unexpected colleague. "Oh, and having a patient lady friend does its fair share as well, I've found."
The Sentry let out an almost unwilling chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, it does," he agreed before coming back to his full senses. "What do we have to do to bring this guy down?"
"Well, we've got nothin' at the moment, truth be told," Lloyd acknowledged, his confession causing his larger comrade to gnash his teeth. "Still, I'm thinkin' the pieces are startin' to come together 'ere. We're just gonna to have to stay alive until we've got the whole picture."
Robert Reynolds took the calm optimism in the younger man's tone and wished that he could share the same confidence (and the fact that Krona had gained the upper hand over the younger of the strangely costumed men didn't help him in the least). "No offense here," he finally professed, "but I'm hoping that whoever you've got helping you works quickly."
"Oh, no worries," The Black Dog replied while beginning to focus his own energy. "We're just waiting for the dramatic effect and all."
Gotham City – Chief Correctional Office – Fifth Floor
Wally could barely fathom how quickly the bullets moved past him, the small bits of lead and copper zinging over his head as he dove into the relative safety of another holding cell. Of course, it wasn't the velocity of the hot bits of metal that had changed but his perception of them, his body's sudden inability to process and motion with a near perfect clarity leaving his nerves shot and his lungs deprived of breath as he stood up back on his shaky feet once again. He wished he could have taken some satisfaction from the grunt of discontent rumbling from Two-Face's lips but also knew enough to know that it was only a matter of time before the former Gotham district attorney would have his sights set for another shot.
"What's wrong, kid?" the twisted monstrosity taunted the red-haired former Justice Leaguer while extending his right arm in order to get a better shot. "I would have thought that you'd be a fan of this little situation I've put you in." The horrific scars on the left side of Dent's face seemed to ripple and twist as his parched lips twisted upwards in a smile. "You finally have what you always wanted. You don't have to choose anymore."
Whatever other threats or taunts prepared for Wally's ears were drowned out by both the oncoming gunshots and the intensity of his heart pounding against his chest, the mild panic giving him just enough energy to leap back to his feet and once again get out of the way of Two-Face's sight lines. His mind did its best to race and find a better solution as the long-standing rival of both his boss and his best friend began to move ever closer, the realization that he had to think of something, anything looming ever closer as Dent continued to make his way forward. The empty cells left him with no projectiles to throw and with little room to hide as the seconds passed on without mercy or forgiveness, the former speedster's luck finally running out as his attempt to dive into an adjacent chamber left him with a bullet passing into and through his left thigh. The pain of the wound left him to impact face-first with the cement floor and the feeling of the blood pouring from the hastily made aperture only tempted him to complete the futile task of hiding in the cell's nearest corner, the merged scents of copper and lead blurring his senses and forcing his eyes to dim.
But Dent had already smelled the blood and the experienced boxer, detective and gunman chose not to draw his deed out any further. He rushed forward quickly to stop Wally's efforts to get back on his feet by ramming the butt of the gun in his right hand against the back of the younger man's skull. "Can't decide what you want to do with yourself, do ya?" the murderer growled while punctuating his hypothesis with a series of punches and pistol whips to his opponent's face. "Can't see what you want to do. Can't see what you need to do." The man's hyperextended left eye continued to widen as he became more focused on punishing the man he had been sent after, the same determination he had cultivated in dozens of courtrooms further motivated by the dark, rich red blood gleaned by his gloved fists.
Wally no longer had the capacity to count the number of times Dent had broken his defenses with a punch or a lash of metal, his thoughts solely focused on the battle to keep himself from blacking out from the pain. He had originally tried to do so by counting some of his more prominent faces of his past, more specifically the lives he could have helped change for the better if he had never endeavored to wrap himself in The Speed Force and be considered a hero. His uncle Barry came and gone as the bridge of his nose was shattered, Raven's ghostly presence wafted past as he struggled for breath and drifted away as Dent rammed his foot into his gut. Even Linda managed to stop by and give an interview as a cut above his right eye began to leak blood that dripped onto his eyelid but a lash of metal to the side of the head quickly convinced her that there were safer places to be.
Two-Face couldn't help but smile as he watched his adversary suffer, the deposed crime boss letting out a thick globule of spit that landed squarely on the center of Wally's forehead before leveling his guns so they would be pointing directly at the man's bloodstained skull. "You should have picked a whole hell of a lot sooner," he advised, the temptation to flip a coin conveniently forgotten. "'Cause somebody like me will be more than happy to do it for ya."
The sound of his children crying and screaming for him was enough to motivate Wally to desperately throw his right foot forward, the clumsy kick managing to catch enough of Two-Face's gut to throw off the bullets that would have brought his life to a quick and mess end. The mule kick that followed caught Dent's groin by a complete but fortunate accident but it did buy him enough time to garner the strength he needed to twist his body so that his next kick would strike Dent's hands and rid him of his guns. The sound of the dual revolvers clattering against the blood-stained floor was soon drowned out by a ferocious snarl as Dent countered with a stiff left hook that swooped down and struck Wally in the side of the head with such force that it was a small wonder that the younger man's skull didn't bounce off the cement.
"LITTLE BASTARD! YOU SON OF A FILTHY WHORE!" the villain roared as he sank to his knees, the formerly kindly soul wrapping his hands around The Flash's neck, his fingers giddily squeezing the life out of his wounded adversary. "WHO SAID YOU COULD CHOOSE NOW? AFTER ALL THIS TIME!" Fetid breath slipped through his gritted, yellow teeth as he felt the life begin to drain from his prey. "I'M THE ONE RUNNING THIS SHOW NOW, PUNK! ME!"
Wally couldn't help but disagree and showed his disapproval by summoning up what little, desperate strength he had left. The wounded, blood-deprived muscles in his left leg were more than happy to shrill their discontent as he bent his knees before pushing Two-Face away with as much strength as his lower limbs could muster. The merry prankster in him couldn't help but find a little humor in the fact that his own spilled blood had forced Dent to slip and fall on his ass but the urgency he put into stretching his right arm behind his head was summoned by the adult who had kept that inner child alive for nearly 15 years. He snatched up one of the abandoned revolvers with trembling figures, his eyes wide as he pointed the barrel straight at the spot on his foe's forehead that served as the border between Dent's handsome countenance and Two-Face's disfigured visage.
Two-Face fired back with a mirthless chuckle, the realization that the tables had been turned apparently providing him with some perverse amusement. "Suppose I should be a little bit pleased about all this," he noted with a grumble while reading the dangerous intent in the eyes of his adversary. "At least I finally got one of the kid's friends to finally see their place."
Now it was Wally's turn to let out a tired gurgle before sporting a confident, almost smarmy smile.
"Damn right ya did."
BANG!
Had he truly been thinking about it, Kurt Wagner could have never believed the luck that had been graced upon him. The thought of fears, nightmares, and other horrid matters, be they real or something drudged up by his overactive imagination had seemingly been shoved away from sight as he bathed in the warmth of all the excitement there was to be had. He enjoyed the laughter of those watching him cautiously as he launched himself forward, his long arms eagerly stretching forward to let loose with a series of swashbuckling thrusts and ripostes that had been gathered from a growing instinct that had long lain at the tip of his cerebral cortex. To ask for him to hold it back any further would have been laughably futile and the fact that his watchers did no such thing only caused his wide smile to grow even brighter.
"Take it easy on those bad guys, my boy. Otherwise you're going to overload the emergency ward and I'm going to have to work all night."
"Oooooh, hush up," admonished another observer, the tone of the reproving woman a great deal lighter than the baritone tones of her husband. "Did you enjoy the movie, sweetie?"
"Uh huh," Kurt replied, the boy not perturbed in the least by the suspicion that his skin should not be so smooth or devoid of fur. Likewise, the caution that could have come from the realizations that his eyes could not easily pierce their way through the shadows or that his fingers seemed to fit so easily with his mother's as they locked hands could have easily broken him from his good mood but those fleeting thoughts could bring no shock or surprise that could have broken him from his contentment.
And why should it have? After all, if a child cannot know the satisfaction that comes with being with their family, with friends and loved ones that could and most certainly would protect them while working to guide him along the road that life would have to offer them, then what else can they truly have? And it was with that knowledge that allowed Kurt to remain completely unaware as another fellow made his presence felt, the man's hardened features accentuated by the poor lighting around the alleyway and the slow pitter patter of long-fallen raindrops that had finally slipped from the rooftop it had been trapped upon in order to plunge to the cold cement below.
"All right, pal," the gunman rasped while pointing the gun first at the father and then at the mother. "Don't want any trouble here. Just gimme the nice pearls and everyone kin go home safe an' sound."
It didn't matter that time seemed to slow down right in front of him, the sudden tardiness of fate seemingly giving him an almost infinite amount of time to move. He remained frightfully still as the impatient mugger reached forward in quickly mounting desperation, panicked as his father grabbed the robber's unencumbered wrist.
The barrel of the gun was pointed straight at Thomas Wayne's heart.
The trigger was pulled.
Smoke rose to mingle with the blood as the stranger fired once again.
The sound of dingy rainwater rumbled through his head.
The grunt that escaped Harvey Dent's scarred lips was a nearly even mixture of physical anguish and psychological frustration. The familiar pain of a bullet sinking into and through his left shoulder blade did little to compete with the frustration that came with knowing that he had been outfoxed by someone that he should have gotten the better of. Of course, the brash, toothy grin that The Flash replied in response made couldn't have made Dent's failure any less aggravating to him but that point was still rendered moot as the former car mechanic thrust the ball of his right foot right into the injured shoulder. Pain exploded through Two-Face's torso to the degree that he could barely let out a scream before passing out from the pain, the added ligament and tissue damage enough to overwhelm even his impressive constitution.
"Thought you could turn me dark, did ya?" Wally asked his unconscious foil as he painfully rose back up to his feet, his once difficult task suddenly made a great deal easier as a familiar flux of energy began to flow through his body once again. "But you broke the rules! Under section 37B of the contract signed by you, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if - and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy: YOU GET NOTHING! YOU LOSE! GOOD DAY, SIR!"
Two-Face could not quite cobble up an appropriate reply, his still body partially hidden from view by a smoky, green ether that seemed to be doing its best to escape his clutches. It was only a matter of seconds before the palpable array of eldritch energy had faded from sight, those sudden moments easily running hand-in-hand with Wally's sudden reunion with the power that once again made him The Fastest Man Alive. The victor then let out another tired breath as he felt his accelerated metabolism put itself to its newfound tasks, his advanced recuperative abilities quickly healing the cuts along his face and chest while closing up the bullet wound in his leg through a hasty reconstruction of sinew and muscle.
"Two-faced son of a bitch!" Wally spat out in a rather victorious manner. "DAMN, that felt good!"
Carroll Avenue
There were so many, many ways for Kara to dispel the dozens of entranced citizens of Gotham that had been manipulated to follow the disturbing enjoins of Jervis Tetch. To name just one example, she could employ her lanky yet phenomenally powered limbs to bat aside the humans the way her aggressors would likely deal with a troublesome fly. She could bring her light-bending speed to bear in order to summon a whirlwind that could scatter them like twigs, release the heat stored in her optic nerves to skin off their bones or make a simple fluctuation of her body temperature that would allow her to create a swell of glacial air that could render intense hypothermia in nearly three-tenths of a second.
But that wouldn't leave these poor souls safe and sound when all was said and done.
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
Her cousin had once stood before the eyes of this world and claimed that he sometimes felt that everything around him seemed to be made of paper, that sometimes even the slightest of mistakes could lead to something that would inalterably damage what he had sworn to protect. Granted, it was a phenomenally stupid thing to say in the presence of the public eye and it had helped spawn a backlash of fear and hatred for all things greater than human within the general public but the simple fact remained that Kara felt much the same. More so, as a matter of fact, and the fear that came with it was perhaps the one thing that kept her thoughts rumbling and her eyes wide open in the early hours of the morning.
She had told Bruce of that fear and he promised that he would do what he could to make things better for her. She whispered that trepidation to her lover while in the safety of their shared bed and Lloyd understood. He helped her not only find the ways to better control the phenomenal power within her but also gave her a good helping of avenues she could use to release the occasionally burdensome tension that came with the lessons (some of these paths being decidedly more entertaining than others). However, even with all the help and kind words and kinder actions, all it took was a single recollection of that last, fleeting look into her mother's eyes to give her the proof she needed to know that it would always be a struggle.
And this particular labor was proving to be quite taxing. Her dozens of hours of neurofeedback and meditation-based training kept her from falling to her knees in the midst of the struggle but left her no room to do anything else, the prickling sensations of more and more of Gotham's citizens digging their teeth into every bit of her flesh they could find.
"Delectable Alice, I must now declare, your anguish and pain sets my soul light as air," Tetch chattered on with a throaty moan as he slowly abandoned his seat at the front of the table in order to make his way forward, the sight of his greatest of wishes and most abhorrent of nightmares coming true leaving him in a near-dreamlike state. "Exquisite and lovely, your sight so appealing, yet absent of mind and with thoughts quickly fleeting."
Kara did her best to avoid creating a shockwave or a harmful spray of gravel as she leapt free of the clutching arms and sinking teeth before making a beeline for the hypnotist. Seeing the rupture of his idyllic scene, the so-called Mad Hatter responded with an irritated snarl before once again taking hold of a good portion of the half-Kryptonian's mind, his enhanced powers of mental manipulation allowing him to send the rebellious object of his desire crashing back to the ground, her flaxen hair spooling forward until the tips of it were a mere several feet from the tips of his polished dress shoes.
"I have asked you to portray your chosen role and you continue to fail miserably," Tetch nearly whined in protest, his discontent forcing him out of both his dreamlike state as well as his desire to engage in poetic verse. "What will it take to allow you to learn your place, my licentious slattern? Must I cause your filth-strewn blood to flow upon the streets like a summer rainfall?" His overlarge skull allowed his top hat to remain in place as he bent down and met Kara's eyes, his chapped lips only inches from Kara's pale, sweat-covered face as his stubby hands procured a wickedly sharp knife from his olive-green tweed sport coat. "Why can you never do as you're told?"
In his defense, Tetch had no real way of knowing that he had just picked a frightfully foolish approach of demeaning his chosen opponent. The realization only started to come to him as he was being carried high into the air, the large eyes of his lovely Alice shifting from their sparkling blue to a terrifying crimson red. Panicking quickly in the midst of the unforeseen circumstance, he tried desperately to bring forth the powers that Krona had bequeathed to him, the gift that would have allowed him to pierce through the defenses of even the strongest of wills but still found himself rather lacking in the face of a woman who had been twisted and manipulated in such a manner from the moment she came to being. His entire body continued to churn and struggle from the physical strain even as they came to a stop, the diseased man's only true source of consistency stemming from the unflinching anger in Kara's eyes.
"I'm only going to say this once," Kara said through teeth clenched so tightly together that her very molars began to creek. "Nobody controls me! Not now and not EVER AGAIN!"
It shouldn't have been too surprising that Tetch could not respond with anything that had the slightest sense of coherency. In fact, it was nearly a wonder that he was able to let loose with a terrified gurgle that caused a sliver of spittle to leak out the right side of his mouth. However, as satisfying as that sight could have been, Kara found it somewhat lacking and kept the bright blaze in her normally serene gaze as she pulled the Mad Hatter closer.
"Remember when The Black Dog tried to get some information out of you by treating you like a human yo-yo?" Kara asked, the horrified glaze that had run over Tetch's green eyes providing the answer. "That's my boyfriend. And please bear in mind that he's the sensible one in our relationship."
The former Supergirl didn't even give her adversary the time to scream before hurling him back to the ground, the half-Praxian's incredible strength forcing her living projectile to coast towards the ground at quite the impressive pace. She knew enough of her abilities to recognize that the combination of the velocity of his travels and his distance from the ground would quickly bring a fresh, new pain to The Mad Hatter's senses, his bones and muscles doubtlessly already threatening to stretch and snap in the face of the blistering winds and immense pressure. That being said, she gave it another few seconds before pouring on the speed and intercepting the sou'wester obsessed former technical designer, the venom in her words and actions fading away well before she had plucked Tetch into her hands the way a heron would snatch up a slow-moving snake. Her trip through the skies and down through the Gotham skyline was little more than a series of deep breaths and she soon found herself perched upon the rooftop of a high-end clothing store, the vantage point allowing her an unobstructed glimpse of the citizens below as they struggled to understand what had led them to attend what turned out to be quite the inauspicious gathering.
"Well, that was hardly the most pleasant way of working out my anger issues," Kara thought aloud, her face momentarily obscured by the emerald-colored dew wafting up from Tetch's cataleptic form before casting itself into the sky. "But it'll do."
Bruce figured that, if he just stretched his ears enough, he could hear the hum of the movie reels as they cycled the spools of film through their pleasant path. He did his best to remain quiet as he allowed his nose to explore with a smattering of tiny sniffs, the dark-haired boy finding himself nearly intoxicated by the combined scents of ozone, popped kernel corn, and the tiny drips of rainfall slipping through the apertures of the wooden roof above. He had wanted to ponder over just how many films had been played in this quiet building and how many people had come inside to enjoy the fantastical sights and sounds but, of course, it only took the opening notes of the beginning score for him to abandon the playful pursuit, the input of sound serving as a direct order to his eyes instructing them to turn towards the dilapidated screen. After all, it was now only a matter of time before the exploits of his hero, his inspiration would be subject to his perusal and that was a meal that would not wait to be consumed.
Yes, there were a few things that seemed a little off but the sensation wasn't nearly enough to overcome the happiness and contentment bubbling around his bones. Still, it did tempt him to take just a handful of seconds to take another look around the friendly confines. He scanned the wooden seats below and the families clustered around, gazed upward back at the thatched roof of the theater and then turned to meet the black-and-white screen and it wasn't until right then that it finally sunk home.
He was hanging upside down.
By a tail.
Not even Bruce could figure out how he managed to land on his feet as the shock brought about by his state of affairs caused him to lose his unusual grip. The muffled whoompf that rose from the wood below his feet prompted the children around him to let out shushes and other warnings for him to be quiet, the short warnings nearly drowned out by everything else that he could just now see. His gleaming yellow eyes roamed frantically over all six of his long fingers before focusing on the thumbs and the long nails that allowing him to dig into the ground with only the slightest of scrapes. The sight of his six toes, the long bones stretched to make his feet more animal-like than man, prompted the child to let out a mangled gasp as his brain struggled to take everything in.
What am I?
Only a second was needed before the understanding struck home.
I am the star of The Margali Circus, the greatest show in all of Europe. The toothy smile that snuck upon his face at this realization prompted some of the children around him to let out some quiet chuckles in response to his goofy behavior. And I am with my family.
The relief that ran through his veins quickly brought the boy back to where he should have been, his pupiless eyes nearly refusing to look anywhere but at the screen. The minutes passed on like a gentle eternity as he watched Don Diego de la Vega take on the wicked Captain Ramon with a style that was all his own. It could never be matched and never be duplicated but, oh, that did not stop Bruce from imagining the thrill of riding a jet-black Andalusian over the plains of America, his eyes sparkling as he saw himself taking on thieves and crooked soldiers with nothing more but his whips and a sharp rapier. He even didn't feel the slightest hint of disgust as the so-called Curse of Capistrano wooed the lovely Volita, a boy's natural distaste for witnessing romance easily overcoming his blind praise of the masked hero.
It was nothing less than his ambitions spilled out into the open for all to see.
And, like many of the most innocent of dreams, it was only a matter of time before the cruel hand of reality would intercede and push it aside. In fact, it hadn't even been kind enough to attack in a manner that was surprising or deserving of such a misfortune as his brother Stefan let out a cough that managed to catch the shoddy acoustics of the walls around them, the slight noise wafting downward to be intercepted by a craggy-looking woman who swept her eyes up in response. A familiar inevitability sunk into the boy's chest as he knew that the veil that had been cast on the crowd would no longer hold. They would no longer see him as an acrobatic boy in a vivid costume that served as the star of the show that most of them had doubtlessly saw just several hours before.
"MONSTER!" the old bat shrieked while pointing a withered ring finger straight at him, the force of her shriek quickly convincing others to see what could have possibly brought such fear to being. The small awning that he and his adopted brothers and sisters had been perched upon left no room for Bruce to hide and soon the one scream from below turned into a cacophony of confused questions, screams, and a litany of violent threats. A small handful of the others simply ran from the theater in fright of him, the unseeing rush of one boy jostling aside an old man so violently that he lost a hold of a silver cigarette lighter that quickly tumbled beneath the floorboards. Only a few seconds more were needed before the sound of rising flames were able to pierce the floors and make themselves heard to the mob above, the added plumes of smoke and the stench of burning nitrate film providing even more clues that the old movie house was no longer a safe place to be.
The inhuman speed and senses that his body offered had long allowed Bruce to have an intriguing perspective on life as he saw it. His ears allowed him to piece out the urgent warnings of his espoused family even as they all moved to scamper away from the danger and the noisy anger below morphed into a raucous, all-pervading fear. It allowed for him to watch the fire quickly incinerate the building's supports, the cracking and splintering of the wooden planks sending a handful of stragglers into the unseeing arms of the unforgiving inferno. His sharply tuned nose allowed him to sift through the sweat and fear and pick up the blood flowing from a nasty gash on the face of the little girl that had clapped so fiercely for him as he descended from the center ring and bowed before the crowd only hours before.
But there was nothing he could have done to prevent to girl from falling into the flames as well. And, as the frantic fight between Zorro and Don Del Oro completely drowned out the girl's screams, his heart could do nothing but shatter silently.
Gotham – Robinson Park
Despite being a lifelong fan of much of what her birthplace had to offer, Stephanie could never quite find the appeal of this place. Maybe it was her allergies that had come out to play whenever her mom had taken her here back when she was a kid or the lack of video games or the excess of bizarre art projects that were inevitably doused by the urine of numerous domesticated animals but the fact remained that the young Green Lantern had never been sold on the virtues of Gotham's most prominent public works project. Now, however, as the massive playground teemed with giant, walking trees, hellish tendrils of spiked ivy and sinuous branches that continuously threatened to either bludgeon her body or choke the life out of her surprisingly healthy lungs, she had to admit that she liked what Pamela Isley had done with the place. Sort of Ralph Nader meets Maurice Sendak.
Of course, there wasn't much of a chance that Bats would approve of the renovations (and gee golly you'd think that somebody who wanted to change Gotham for the better would be a little more open to things like this) so she supposed it was time to put an end to this mildly amusing madness. She started things off by putting her eldritch weed whacker to good use by fending off a flurry of thorn-laden vines while sending a spiral-shaped beam of energy straight between the makeshift eyes of the Ent that had bashed her through a brick wall only moments ago, the focused shot bringing down Treebeard's more polished cousin quickly and easily. Her efforts caused Poison Ivy to start screaming about one thing or another, most likely some bull hookie about ripping the flesh off her bones or wanting to restore the dignity of the green and blahdeblahdeblahdeblah but Robin quickly chose to tune out the scarlet-haired psycho as she went about the task of containing the hectic battlefield. After all, that was easily the best way for her to ensure the safety of anyone stupid enough to look and see what was going on while also keeping Isley focused on her.
A smart plan, all things considered. Maybe, when this is all over, she'll be rewarded with a cookie.
"Your polluted power from another world will never be enough to overcome Nature's fury!" Isley roared while continuing to employ her control over plant life to bring more foul machinations of twisted scenery to be placed under her command. A whirlwind of dirt and loam rose upward to surround the airborne Robin on all sides while a once-peaceful bushel of rose bushes rapidly grew and expanded upward in an attempt to sink their natural defense mechanisms through Stephanie's chest. "For you entire life you have swindled the opportunities this precious land has given to you and now you shall rightfully suffer for your mistaaack!"
An explosion of emerald light that sprang from the ring on Stephanie's finger and slowly expanded to cover the entire park finally managed to shut up the longtime eco-terrorist. As instinctual as the energy storm appeared to be, however, it quickly became clear that the hard light only affected the denizens of nature that Isley had chosen to manipulate while leaving the undisturbed plants and trees impressively alone.
"Ya know," Stephanie began before shaking her head back and forth in order to shuffle a good portion of the dirt off of her once well-conditioned hair. "I usually consider myself to be a fairly cheerful ray of sunshine. However," she explained before drawing forth her familiar pair of energy claws to easily slice through another angry series of mutated tree branches, "there are three things in this world that still tend to get under my skin."
Despite her voluble efforts to espouse her own philosophy and way of thinking, Isley quickly showed that she wasn't willing to listen to any counterpoints by summoning a series of ivy tendrils that rushed to cut her opponent off.
"Number one is overcontrolling boyfriends with minor OCD issues," Robin continued while avoiding the vines with a series of airborne twists and turns that even Hal Jordan would have had a hard time duplicating. "Don't get me wrong. I loved the way Tim looked in his jeans and those weird, flannel overshirts he was always a fan of but, God, obsessive much? Number two are those damn meter maids who just seem to do nothing but ticket people who park in timed zones for a minute longer than they should. I mean, I'm working at a non-profit hospital! Don't you think they would find something more deserving to fuck with?"
Robin didn't even give her frustrated adversary the time to respond before sending Isley crashing to the ground with an airborne roundhouse kick. She stayed on her foe as the two of them rushed to the ground, her creative mind allowing her to quickly summon a spray of eldritch flame that, when doused upon her already aggrieved foe, caused Poison Ivy to let out another ungodly scream as she frantically rolled around on the ground in an effort to put herself out.
"And number three, and please listen closely here because I don't like repeating myself," the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns carried on as Isley continue to screech and suffer, "are people that don't think that I can hold my own." A quick snap of her fingers briefly preceded the dying down of the flames she had summoned, the damage of her onslaught having easily decided the battle. "So, okay, I'm not some half-demon child with a shiny sword and a couple millennia of field experience or an alien misfit who use to have some awful fashion sense and is now so damn good that she can run rings around me even when she's moping about her horrible, critically acclaimed past. The bottom line is that I'm still Robin and I'm still a Green Lantern and I'm still gonna go toe-to-toe with anything this bad world wants to throw at me and yooooooouuuuuuu. . ."
Stephanie slammed her fist into Isley's chlorophyll-stained cheek with a precise but powerful right hook, the impact of bone on bone producing a highly satisfying KRACK that rang sweetly in the Green Lantern's ears even after the woman known as Poison Ivy fell down to the earth.
"You just don't stack up," Robin informed her unconscious opponent in a matter-of-fact manner, her temporarily serious demeanor once again shifting back to its usual winsome ways. A slight smile once again graced her heart-shaped face as a green dew began to seep away from Isley's body and into the tall evening skies, the knowledge she gleaned with the aid of her ring giving her a good idea of what the mysterious energy meant in reference to her persisting troubles.
"All right, Puppy," she whispered softly. "We're all on board. Now it's time for you to clear the bases."
The Worldview
The Sentry could only guess what was happening as Lloyd suddenly became surrounded by a cloud of green energy, the unknown force seemingly crowding around the younger man like countless moths to an unending flame.
"Knew I could count on you lot," Lloyd grumbled while sporting a good-natured smirk, his eyes clamped shut as he concentrated on gathering all the spare temporal energy that Krona could provide.
"What are you talking about?" asked The Sentry, the fair-haired Avenger still phenomenally confused.
The Black Dog responded by opening his eyes, his normally hazel orbs now saturated in a bizarre silver hue. "Fortune smiles upon us, Mister Reynolds," he replied with a smile. "I know how we're gonna pull this one out and, thanks to me mates, I know exactly how to do it."
"Are you serious?" The Sentry inquired, his lack of understanding not enough to dissuade the hope he felt at the possibility of a solution. "What can I do to help?"
The British half-demon snaked his left hand forward to once again grab The Sentry's wrist, his small fingers seemingly bathed in an alien energy as he began a long-remembered chant.
"Qua illic est infirmitas una permissum lamino reperio suum vires in iunctum. Duos animes es unus. Duos es unus."
It was only fair that the master of all he surveyed was able to feel the explosion of energy occurring some distance away. However, the intrigue that Krona couldn't help but feel bubbling in his chest could almost be considered a betrayal of his own sense and nature and the mad genius quickly moved to defuse it before he did anything more. The sight of the blood-drenched cut along Kal-El's throat emboldened him with some measure of confidence before tossing the nearly dead Kryptonian aside in order to address his final challenge. Dying down the aura of energy circulating around him, the Maltusian allowed The Sentry to put on the greatest show of power that he could offer, the former champion of his Earth spreading the midnight-black energy of The Void to twist around and through the golden glow that radiated the strength of dozens of exploding suns.
"You saying you wanted to be tested?" asked Lloyd Thomas and Robert Reynolds, their voices merging together as one. "Try us on."
Misfits Confidential
Hey, everybody! Have you been waiting long?
Well, given that I keep telling my students that honesty is the best policy, I suppose it's only fair that I should just be upfront in explaining my absence. Well, the simple fact is that there was about a two-week stretch where life decided to throw me on a very busy crazy train to the tune of more work hours, a new apprenticeship, and an increasingly failed romantic relationship. Nothing that I couldn't survive or thrive from, mind you, but still a series of events that really made me recognize that I only had so much time for a certain number of things and writing turned out to be the big one. That being said, I think I've got everything back under a sound measure of control and should now be getting back to making biweekly updates. My apologies for the unexplained absence but, hey, this man's gotta pay his bills.
And write a next chapter preview, come to think of it.
Final Chapter Preview
All righty then! It's time for the main event: The Black Dog and The Sentry merged together to take on Krona with the fate of two realities on the line? But will the combined power of a schizophrenic Bendis creation and a shamelessly crafted original character be enough to take on the creature who has witnessed the creation of everything? What has Billy Batson done to Batman and Nightcrawler? Did Bob, Agent of H.Y.D.R.A. manage to get a ride home and how the hell is the author going to fit Deadpool back into the story? Find out in the seventh and final installment of With Apologies to Bea Arthur: Rose Nylund Never Had a Brain. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!