Chapter Seven
Rose Nylund Never Had a Brain
Oa – Green Lantern Corps Headquarters – 2.37 Light Years from Artificial Dimension Breach #2B79 as classified by the Oa Council
"Robin the Fourth: double the efficiency with half the testosterone-laden angst. How may I connect your call?"
The calm chortle and the slow, back and forth shake of his head provided a true testament to the listener's ability to stay cool under pressure. "Well, judging from that greeting, I'll take a shot in the dark and say that your boss isn't anywhere around to hear you."
"Hallie!" Stephanie Brown cheered from the other end of the comm. Link. "Okay, so what do you want? We're trying to tidy up Arkham here so Batsie won't yell at us when he gets back.
Hal Jordan couldn't hold back his sigh as he took in the unflattering nickname that the younger Green Lantern's had assigned to him as he self-consciously ran his right hand through his wavy, brown hair. "So I'm guessing that the triangulation point on Earth has already been taken care of?" he hypothesized with upturned eyebrows, the current chairman of the Justice League not surprised but still pleased by the likely conclusion. "Is it too much to hope that you guys have Krona shut down as well?"
"Don't really know about that one. . . OH, GO GET RIBBED FOR YOUR PLEASURE, YA CONDOM WEARIN' FRUTICAKE!," Stephanie bellowed back, her response doubtlessly interrupted by The Flash rushing by in order to yell at her for slacking off on the job. "The last we heard was that Bats, Puppy, and a bunch of other guys went into that Worldview thingamajiggy to take care of that after Billy Boy kept everything from going kablooey."
The first of Earth-1's Green Lanterns thought that bit of news over while rubbing the sparse hairs that had grown upon his cleft chin over the course of the last 36 sleepless hours. "And that would explain how nearly 5,000 Corps members and roughly half the universe seemed to suddenly be wiped from existence before putting itself back together again."
"Aw geez," Stephanie said sourly. "You didn't die, come back to life and go evil this time, did ya?"
"I'll have you know that I did not die and I'm still on the side of the angels. . ." Hal quickly snapped back, the former stunt pilot then taking a moment to consider his company before adding, ". . . for lack of a better term," his extra bit of explaining earning him a disgruntled pfffft from his younger comrade-in-arms. "Ganthet and the rest of the Guardians have managed to put a stopgap seal around The Worldview itself in order to block off any more potential matter or anti-matter flow resulting from Krona's magic but the whole area is blocked off from entry and there isn't a spell in the world that can do us a lick of good if the bleed expands like that again."
"Well, at least that buys us some more time, I'm guessing," Stephanie considered. "I'll just have to remind myself not to eat any blueberry muffins in the near future lest I gnaw on one of my supervisor's distant relatives. . . ooh, hold on a second. . . HEY! SHUT THE FUCK UP, YA CARROT-TOPPED, JOKER WANNABE! I'M ON THE MOTHERFUCKIN' CORPS COMMUNICATION LINE HERE!"
The elder of the two Green Lanterns busied himself with grazing the tip of his tongue against his upper mandible as he thought over the possibilities. "Um. . . Stephanie? Is there something going on that I need to know about. . ."
"GOT YOUR ASS KICKED BY ARROWETTE AND YOU DON'T THINK I CAN'T DO SOMETHIN' TO YA?" Stephanie raged on, the fair-haired Gothamite decidedly ignoring Hal's pertinent and perfectly legitimate query "Awwwww, come on, Cissers! You know I don't mean it like that! WHAT? WHAT ABOUT MY MOM? OH, THAT'S IT! YOU'RE GETTING THE MUZZLE!"
Colonel Hal Jordan, decorated and distinguished member of both the United States Air Force and the Green Lantern Corps, took a moment to once again question the admission policies of both Bruce Wayne as well as The Green Lantern Corps. To his credit, he did somehow manage to avoid letting out another sigh of annoyance while simultaneously managing to move on to the next matter on his agenda.
"Just in case anyone on that end is interested, the Corps members assigned to examine the dimensional bleed have concluded that there's no way The Worldview alone could have possibly provided Krona with the energy he would need to create an artificial breach of this magnitude."
"Yeahbutwha?" Stephanie inquired in her own astute fashion, the impromptu verbal word jumble providing a strong sign that she hadn't been paying as much attention as she should. "Soooooo. . . you guys are sayin' that somebody else has got a hand in all of this?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Hal answered back in a rather matter-of-fact manner. "And let me just say that I'm quite pleased that you actually can pay attention to someone not wearing rubber bat ears."
"Aw, go make some salad dressing, Paul Newman," Stephanie clawed back, the image of Robin's undoubtedly narrowed eyes almost forcing Hal to laugh. "Well, I guess that'll give us something else to look over if we don't all die in the next few minutes or so."
"Well, I'm just trying to look on the bright side here," Hal replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "You know, I'm starting to think that somebody out there is really giving me the raw end of the deal when it comes to the whole cosmic crisis thing."
"Yeah, I know what you mean!" Stephanie agreed, the younger Green Lantern always happy to find somebody to complain with. "And I thought for sure I'd be in the main event too 'cause I've been on a real roll lately! But, come on, I go from Parallax to Sinestro to a friggin' souped-up Poison Ivy?!"
"At least you got to do fight somebody," Hal bit back, his own occasional yearnings for the spotlight egging him on. "I was doing clean-up detail while you guys were taking on The Anti-Monitor and the best I could do in Gotham was a throw down with a giant elephant man."
"Aw, come on. We couldn't have summoned The Spectre if it wasn't for you," Robin offered off in an attempt to placate one of Earth's greatest champions. "Andyou kept Brother Eye from totaling half of South America and you were pretty much the public face of global defense for a year while Superman and Wonder Woman were out traipsing around trying to 'find themselves'," she added, the disdain in her tone when speaking the last two words prompting Hal to let out a derisive snort.
"Well, I guess all we can do is just look forward to next time," Hal said after a bit of thought and self-assurance.
"Yeah," Stephanie agreed. "Unless we all die in the next couple minutes."
"Well, yeah, there is that."
The Worldview
"Do you realize the utter foolishness of what you've done, Mister Thomas?" Krona asked, the Maltusian scientist padding his present argument with a derisive look of utter disenchantment.
Unfortunately for the virtues of the classic strategic argument, the fused form of Lloyd Thomas and Robert Reynolds chose not to give any more time for the orchestrator of the chaos around them to talk as they surged towards him with a flash of black and gold. The phenomenal force that coupled their thrown left hook which crashed across their opponent's prominent chin threatened to break the limb that threw it, the jarring impact sending off a shockwave that thankfully flung the two wounded Supermen further away from what was to come. Barely wasting a second on the safety of their formerly conscious comrades, a quick teleportation allowed the two of them to quickly catch up with Krona as the creator of the Multiverse was also involuntarily hurtled away as well, an enormous sphere of energy forming around their joined hands as they moved to press their advantage. The discovery that they had waited too long was then quickly revealed as their powerful adversary swerved around the shot before countering with a telekinetic burst that collided hard with their shared sternum, the wellspring of pain leaving Lloyd hard-pressed to contain the power he put upon himself to control.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Krona continued on while punishing his rude listeners with surgical-like strikes to the face, neck, and shoulders. "The logic behind your employment of the Knal'tak-sho Fusion Chant was sound but you failed to fully consider the disadvantages that came with the useless sack of meat and bones you chose to be your physical vessel." A timely forearm block thought up by The Black Dog and put into place by The Sentry brought the battle to a more even footing and prompted Krona to let out a mild grunt. "Your half-breed paramour, for all her psychologically based shortcomings, was at least comfortable with the responsibility that would come with performing your shared tasks," the deposed Oan scientist continued to explain while simultaneously moving the fight forward with a flurry of punches that his opponent found hard to break away from. "Unfortunately for you, Mister Reynolds is no longer capable of such an honorable capacity."
"Sounds like an interestin' theory, all affronts to my lovely lady aside," Lloyd countered, the sound of his rough, British candor sounding quite out of place when blended with The Sentry's All-American countenance. "Might be a bit easier to piece together without all the ten-dollar drivel though," he offered while pushing The Sentry to batter away at Krona's abdomen with a pair of kicks before following up with a stern right cross that drew blood along the right side of their adversary's face.
"Don't be coy, you misbegotten child," Krona snarled only a fraction of a second after catching the left hand of his opponent. "I am merely attempting to inform you that you have aligned your fate with nothing more than a fallen champion, a failure whose mistakes and miscalculations have come to easily overlap any nobility that could have been garnered from his many past pursuits."
A blindingly bright flash of light spurt from Krona's eyes, the explosion of energy forcing a roar of pain from The Sentry's lips as he and Lloyd were hurtled backwards by the kinetic force that came with the spectral detonation.
"His mental instability and utter lack of self-control now strikes fear and apprehension in the hearts and minds of his allies more so than his foes," Krona continued while finally drawing blood with punches that cut into his opponent's face. "He forces the woman he loves to suffer through a laborious existence pockmarked by panic and insecurity while aligning himself with a band of manipulators, monsters, and murderers he could do away with a dozen times over were he equipped with the slightest degree of integrity."
Lloyd felt himself nearly lose control of the web of energy around his astral form as he felt the guilt and pain rising from his now decidedly unwilling partner, the dual tasks of controlling both the physical body and the power behind it threatening to become too much to bear. A series of careful leg parries followed by a palm thrust that landed across the left side of the mad genius' head bought him some precious breathing room but it still didn't stop the broadening smirk that had surfaced on Krona's face.
"He is weak, unsure, and a dismal waste of what he's become and now everything you know will perish by your choice to die alongside him."
Lloyd wished he could provide some form of fiery defiance (or at least fire back a particularly pithy retort) in the face of Krona's cold logic but found himself occupied as the creator of the dimensional bleed went on the attack once again.
"He's right. He's absolutely right," The Sentry mumbled from somewhere within the inner recesses of their shared mind. "All these things I've done that I'll never be able to make up for. All that damage to the city after the fight with The Hulk. . . the Skrull invasion. . . I'll never be able to make everything right. I'll always get it wrong. . ."
"Oh, for God's sakes," Lloyd interrupted while trying his best not to scream. "Nobody's askin' ya to do everything right! Just help me work on this thing we've got going on here in the present time! Just pilot the body while I make certain that everything else stays on the straight and narrow."
Needless to say, the worried mumbling that Robert Reynolds provided in return didn't give The Black Dog a great deal of confidence that The Sentry was ready for such a task. The British-born half-demon cursed his opponent for pulling off such a successful gambit and lambasted himself for not realizing it sooner and that distraction allowed for even more strikes and energy blasts to crash through his defenses as the long seconds wore on. Thinking quickly, he thought of never again hearing Scandal's reassuring words, of never being frustrated as Stephanie teased him or forced him to come out of his quiet shell, and of being robbed of seeing the calm on Kara's face as she slept beside him and put himself back in focus before the fear that came with such thoughts threatened to strike him down.
Come on, Billy Boy, he prayed while continuing to push himself forward. Give me somethin' more to work with here!
Kurt Wagner wished that he no longer had to move.
He would have given anything to stop his body from shaking because the quivering caused the dabble of his mother's blood that had fallen onto his left wrist to slowly slip down on its way to falling off his fingertips. He cursed his body for forcing him to breathe, the hitched inhales and exhales only prompting tears to leak from his eyes that much quicker. Each of his tiny failures only provided an infinite and unforgiving supply of reminders that what he wanted was an impossibility. He would eventually have to move, time would continue on, and he would have to move on while his mother and father would remain in this alley that reeked of rainwater and human refuse.
And he would never get them back.
Ever.
The weight of that realization forced him to be silent, the despair refusing to leave him with even the energy to say anything to combat the wrong of it all.
"Are you all right?"
Kurt spun around in order to let out a silent snarl at the source of the unwanted sympathy, his tiny hands still holding a tight grasp on his mother and father's bloodstained coats. The moment of surprise was an unwilling display of weakness and vulnerability, faults that he would never allow himself to suffer through again, and the fact that he had failed prompted him to lash out both at the stranger as well as himself. His own self-hatred was even enough to hide any shock or fear he could have felt from the unwanted trespasser's bizarre appearance, the monster's indigo-colored fur and pointed tail only providing him with an even more stressing reason to do whatever he could to keep this enemy away. The unfettered compassion radiating in the creature's yellow, pupiless eyes was completely lost on the heartbroken child, the low growl rumbling from his throat and barely escaping his clenched teeth providing yet another menacing warning to stay away.
"I do not want to hurt you," the abomination said gently, the soft lilt of an Eastern Germanic brogue making Bruce Wayne sound far older than he should have been. "I. . . I lost my parents too. . ."
Kurt cocked his head to one side the way a hungry animal would examine someone it wasn't quite ready to trust. Lowering his hips in order to protectively stoop above his mother and father, he narrowed his deep, blue eyes while slowly giving Bruce another once over.
"How. . . how did you lose them?"
Bruce offered a somewhat lopsided grin as he deftly moved the long fingers on his right hand to scratch at an imaginary inch on the back of his neck. "I never knew my father and my mother abandoned me on the day I was born," he finally said gently, the lack of animosity in his voice clearly indicating that what could have been grievous wounds had left nothing but an everlasting scab to be glossed over every now and again. "But now I have others who care for me, who watch out for me despite what I may appear to be."
Kurt's eyes were wide and facing straight ahead but he still couldn't see. How could such a thing be even possible?
"What will I do now?" he asked dimly, the enormity of his conundrum forcing him to lower his head before looking back up at the familiar stranger with a panicked desperation. "What did you do?"
The kindly, young abomination extended his long, stringy arms wide with all the charm and grace of a veteran stage performer responding to a raucous crowd. "I will choose to make the world my stage," Bruce responded with a wide smile, his living dreams of daring deeds seemingly dancing in front of his senses. "I shall show everyone that our lives are what we choose to make of them and not the labels that are handed to us. The love I will have for life shall overcome the fear that seeks to suffocate us all."
The other boy took a moment to think that over, the temptation provided by such an impressive undertaking enough for him to loosen the death grip on what remained of his mother and father. His lips seemingly stumbled over the words lodged in his throat as he observed Bruce looking down on him with an excited gaze.
"But that. . . but that's impossible," Kurt almost whispered, his voice not holding a hint of malice or intent to do harm but still managing to do more harm than anything else he could have chosen to do. "You can't change what other people think about what they see, at least not every time." It was a realization born from wisdom that could not have possibly been realized by the cognitive limits of a child but the boy still couldn't help but feel the gap in his heart that came with the inevitability. He felt his eyes narrow as a hot, remorseless anger eagerly rose to fill that aperture, the cold fury reducing what was once a desperate scream to a growl of defiance.
"I will hone my body and mind in order to put an end to all crime. I shall show all those who seek pain upon others to know the fear they create with their own immoral deeds. No one will have to suffer the misery that I was forced to endure at the hands of monsters and maniacs who relentlessly pursue their own desires regardless of the safety of others."
Kurt's stern vow gave Bruce enough time to recover from his own pain, his elfin ears twitching as his mind was suddenly struck with an impressive insight of his own. "But you can't change everything that makes the world, ja?" Bruce asked, his tone suddenly losing a fair share of its exotic accent. "After all, if we do not know emptiness then how can we know when or if we are ever truly fulfilled?"
A million counter statements seemed to simultaneously rise onto the tip of Kurt's tongue, the massive litany of words fervently trying to make their presence felt. Of course, there was no way that such havoc could produce anything of use and the silence that soon followed was only interrupted by the sound of besmirched rainfall continuing to sweep down onto the alleyway around them, the feeling of loss and uncertainty giving way to a sense of absolute helplessness that seemed impossible for any child to overcome.
"We will never receive what we truly desire," Bruce finally said, his indigo fur melting into the surrounding shadows as if he were attempting to hide from the world. In turn, the harsh truth behind the realization prompted Kurt to lean even closer to the blood-stained bodies at his feet, the child desperately looking to be protected, to be guided down the path that would lead him to becoming whatever he was supposed to be. However, as the two boys caught each others' eyes once again in the midst of their wanderings, a new thought occurred to them. That shared understanding prompted Kurt to twist his mouth upwards in a wide grin that the child of Thomas and Martha Wayne would find quite uncomfortable while Bruce responded with a half-smirk that didn't look the least bit right on Nightcrawler's sharp, angular features.
"But what else is there to do but to try?" Kurt asked, his body seemingly bathed within a golden-white light that stayed with him even as his pale skin and childish frame grew taller, thinner, and surrounded by fur. His gleaming eyes suddenly found themselves hard pressed to decipher whatever was going on within the similar glow expanding around his comrade but it still didn't take long to recognize that Bruce Wayne had also been restored to his proper body and mind, the taller but more muscular detective not even bothering to examine himself as a clap of thunder blasted above their heads.
Nightcrawler supposed that he could have offered some kind words or friendly advice as Batman spent a handful of seconds unwilling examining the illusion of the two bodies laying still on the filthy ground, never to rise again, but a shared memory quickly caused him to soften his gaze and wait for whatever was to come.
"It never ends, does it?" Batman asked as he extended his hand.
Kurt resisted the urge to laugh as he grasped the elder man's hand and shook it firmly. "No, I'm pleased to say that it does not," he answered with a hint of a wistful air, his lively tone prompting The Caped Crusader to reply with a half-smirk that threatened to break into a smile .
"I suppose that can be an occasional comfort," Bruce finally offered, the hardened soul absolutely unwilling to offer anything that could have been remotely confused with the cheerfulness his comrade was eager to provide. "We have a job to do."
"Ach, yes," Nightcrawler said as he allowed Batman to cease the handshake. "Yet another attempt to achieve our futile dreams so that others can carry on their merry ways." Kurt couldn't help but show his teeth in a wide grin as he watched Batman seemingly do war with his instinct to respond with an angry glare. "But enough poetry, I suppose. Shall we continue onward?"
Despite his intentions, Batman responded to the pithy words with what could almost be considered a grin.
"I see no reason not to."
It suddenly didn't matter to Lloyd whether or not The Sentry was too far gone to take heart in the recent goings on. Just like everything else in the present time, he found himself somewhat content to break out a smile of his own. "Now we're getting somewhere," he announced only a moment after successfully pushing back Krona's ambitious offensive with a hastily made solar flare. The surprisingly confident young man took a moment to get a better hold of the power around him, the superficial wounds and interior physical damage that Krona had been eager to divvy out healing quickly despite the strain that came with the efforts.
"And just what are you so foolishly confident about?" asked Krona while providing an irritated snarl.
"Oh, don't mind me. Just made a little observation that suddenly makes me pleased as punch," Lloyd cheerfully countered, his borrowed body suddenly surrounded by a firm nimbus of midnight-black energy. "Ya know how ya tried to shake me off my game with a little fear and insecurity?"
Krona's sudden rush forward didn't provide The Misfits' second-in-command with the most coherent of answers but it was still enough to convince him that he was on the right track. A familiar smirk slipped onto The Sentry's face as he continued to wait for just the right time.
"Well, quid pro quo, ya blueberry-tinted sot!"
Krona couldn't help but be surprised as he found himself suddenly surrounded by an impenetrable flurry of black, bat-shaped energy bolts that briefly floated around him before seemingly slinking their way forward in order to do their work. That surprise turned to outrage and that momentary misstep was enough for the sharp-looking slivers of dark light to somehow pierce their way through his psionic-based defenses. The sinking fear that dove into his thoughts with every successful strike only intensified the physical pain that spurted through every inch of the scientist turned god as his skin was cut and frayed and greenish-black blood spurted from every aperture.
"Gee, boss. Anyone ever tell you that you're a little obsessed about wot you do?" Lloyd asked while continuing to manipulate Krona's suffering.
"Just get back to controlling our energy reserves," Batman replied, his menacing grumble making its presence felt even through his telepathic speech. "Nightcrawler, do what you can to get the owner of this body back into commission so he can do his job."
"Ach, you do not even give time for a gentleman to familiarize himself, Herr Wayne?" Nightcrawler asked in return, the lightheartedness in his own candor just as recognizable as the gloom found in The Batman's tones. "And to ask me to avoid the temptation of such a bountiful stage. . ."
"Give it a test drive, elf," Lloyd fired back over Bruce's grumbling. "I think I'll be able to get this thing through its paces. After all, I do know a little bit about teleportation."
"Yes, but you are merely a student upon my theater young man," Nightcrawler countered in a decidedly bombastic manner while keeping his mind's eye locked on Krona's increasingly successful efforts to break free of the web of dark energy. "Allow me to show you how it is really done."
Wagner found himself quite elated with all he had at his disposal and was all too happy to express his enthusiasm with one teleportation after another after another, the immense physical constitution of Robert Reynolds' body working with Lloyd's energy manipulation abilities to make what was an occasionally stressful exercise into something as simple as breathing.
BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF! BAMF!
Krona's own agony could barely be heard over the sound of the fused warrior exiting and reentering the dimensional space created within The Worldview. Each arrival was immediately followed with a single strike designed to incapacitate the already aggrieved Maltusian as The Sentry's brawny limbs were shifted into weapons of precise destruction at the hands of one of the most talented hand-to-hand combatants of his time. Even the scientist's impressive metabolism and regenerative capabilities found themselves hard pressed to repair the mounting damage, the reek of brimstone floating down his nostrils mixing with the taste of his own blood to turn his stomach and threaten to overwhelm his senses.
"ENOUGH!" Krona roared before summoning as much temporal energy as he could find and spraying it out in all directions. The desperate but still calculated maneuver bought him the time he needed to charge up a far more dangerous collection of telepathic energy to be summoned at his beck and call. "Your futile defiance ends now!"
A decidedly Black Dog-like smirk emerged on the face of the fused warrior as it summoned the Mugalshir to fall into his left hand, the eldritch properties of the gleaming silver saber providing enough of a buffer to easily deflect the blast away. The smirk then shifted into a snarl as a quick round of teleportations brought the champion to Krona's back then again to his front before finally appearing on the left side in order to take a running slice at their adversary's gut. The series of feints and ruses wasn't quite enough to draw the results they desired but the anguished grunt that emerged from Krona's lips as the blade dug an inch deep into the Maltusian's abdomen did provide somewhat of a satisfactory reward for their efforts.
"Black Dog, do we have enough energy to eliminate Krona?" Batman asked as he continued to pilot the efficient machine that Robert Reynolds had so quickly left behind.
"I'm thinkin' so," Lloyd replied. "But it's still not enough to get done what needs getting done. We still need that last piece of the puzzle."
Batman could even feel the brow of his astral form crease in concern. "Well, then I would advise you to tell Batson to hurry along," he advised his second-in-command while keeping an eye on what was certainly an increasingly angered demigod. "Because evidence is suggesting that this target isn't going to let us sit by and wait."
Slade did not even want to consider the offense he felt when the odious imitator currently attempting to kill him had claimed to be some alternate version of himself. Quite frankly, the mere thought that such a noisy, impetuous, impertinent, unprofessional, bloodthirsty clown could possibly be considered a contemporary was threatening to make him angrier than any form of short-term mutiny his recalcitrant daughter could provide. And don't start to think that the fact that Deadpool had managed to nearly match him strike-for-strike did anything to improve his disposition towards the self-proclaimed Merc With A Mouth. Oh no. He could confess that the man's instinctual knowledge of battle could be impressive and his knack for employing his phenomenal healing abilities to provide room to perform maximum damage to his opponents could be considered sound logic but that didn't mean that he was like him in any way, shape, or form.
He would only have to open his ears to disprove that.
"I mean, how on Earth can you take down seven Justice Leaguers without even breaking a sweat but then you can't beat 'iddle Dick Grayson one-on-one, like, twelve issues later!" Wade exclaimed while bending his right arm back for a Jujitsu-style cross-blade block before countering with a left-handed thrust that came inches from slicing into Slade's right ear. "And let's not even get into the fact that Geo-Force beat you by stabbing you with your own sword! Friggin' Geo-Force! I mean, you would never see me get my keester handed to me by a shameless Namor rip-off like that!"
Deathstroke fought on while continuing to have no idea what his far chattier adversary had to say, his phenomenal intelligence and supply of battle instincts enabling the veteran warrior to move quickly from one sword-style to the next. He cut through Wade's pectoral muscles with a left-handed lash, sliced off a sizeable chunk of the mercenary's left shoulder with an overhand slash, and did his best to shut the prattler up with a right-handed thrust that cut through the cartilage surrounding Deadpool's trachea like a hot knife through butter.
"Ooh, and I've never had any of my body parts shot out by one of my exes!" Deadpool added almost a second later, the blood-drenched gap in his throat seemingly closing itself up while the rest of his body worked to ward off Slade's concentrated efforts to slice off as many of his body parts as possible. "Shot at, of course, but not shot off. . . well, unless you count that rather embarrassing spat with Typhoid Mary but I'll have you know my left testicle grew back, thank you very much! Oh, and speaking of girlfriends, what the hell was up with you and Tara Markov? I mean, the girl was like, 15, and you were just drillin' that psycho chica like you were looking for oil in her. . ."
"GRAAAAAAAGH!" Deathstroke bellowed, his inconsolable rage allowing him to somehow weather the pain that came when Deadpool managed to knee him right in his Jack and The Curly Q's. His powerful right hand snacked forward and wrapped around Wade's throat, the strength of his grip easily snapping his opponent's hyoid bone before tearing through the thyroid cartilage surrounding Deadpool's Adam's apple. Wrestling the still-gurgling mercenary down with a modified rolling shihōnagethat left him holding his opponent down with a forward mount, he abandoned the sword in his left arm in order to put more force in his upcoming, two-handed efforts to cleave Deadpool's head off his shoulders.
"Oh, wow, that was pretty good," Wade managed to gasp out, the temptation to avoid expressing any of the available sexual connotations surprisingly absent from his thoughts.
"That's enough, Deathstroke," warned a firm but serene voice, the light tones somehow managing to cut through the festering rage that rumbled through the Vietnam War veteran. "We no longer have the time to waste on such trifling matters and now we must focus upon the task at hand."
Deadpool looked on as he watched his more serious counterpart let out a grunt of anger, the moment of hesitation forcing the former Weapon-X member to roll his eyes. "Man. Saved by the bastard child of Ronald Reagan. No way I'm going to be able to live this one down," he thought aloud while continuing to look on with a surprising degree of patience as the aforementioned godchild appeared next to them, the sight of Billy Batson's tranquil countenance painting a strong contrast to the rage and frustration pouring over the soldier's shrouded face.
"You know better than this, Slade Wilson," the former Captain Marvel continued on with a sense of quiet urgency. "Clear your thoughts away from what is being said on the outside and choose to focus on what lies within. Take in this portion of yourself and ask why they would behave in such a way. Why would you continue to speak even when there is nothing more to be said?"
Deathstroke couldn't help but feel his own sneer as his powerful mind found itself attracted to the logic in the wizard's otherwise cryptic request. Taking a moment to make certain that his prey could not escape, he cast his memories back to his fellow soldiers clustered around him in that foxhole in the Western foothills of Khe Sahn, his supposed comrades, and how many of them would joke and skitter about confidently even if it was clear to Slade that death would soon be approaching their door. A portion of his mind's eye then forced him to once again sit on that oaken piano bench that Adeline had picked out for him, that polished slab of Brazilian mahogany that perpetually sat at the center of his old manor house as if it were always waiting for him to play the piano it accompanied. Of course, he himself had little more than a supporting character himself in those special shows, his quick fingers helping Joey through as the boy coursed his way through another wonderful song that lifted both the ears and the spirits of the milling crowd around them.
But his precious boy would hardly ever be listening to the applause provided by the surrounding horde. He only had eyes for him and that realization brought Slade to respond with a small but honest smile that made the son he killed with his own two hands reward him with the brightest smile he had ever seen. The happiness that came with that summoned forth another litany of scenes of his youngest child, his thorn-laden Rose, the rebellious little hellion who had endured so much hell at his behest but still managed to give him another undeserved chance to make things right. He continued to earn that reward with every unkind word or incomprehensible argument that came about whenever silence was the far wiser option and the thought of seeing his daughter again made him realize something he was already well aware of.
"Get up, kid," Slade gruffly ordered while rising back to his own two feet, the approving smile that Batson had for him going unnoticed by the usually attentive former mercenary. "But do yourself a favor and save your talk for another time."
Deadpool responded by quirking his head to one side like a curious puppy, the measure of kindness seemingly managing to touch even his own diseased heart. "Wow," he all but whispered. "I mean. . . all that rich character-related complexity. I mean, I don't think I've ever felt so much sympathy for a character since HIKEEBA!"
The cross leg lock that Deadpool managed to cobble together on a moment's notice even managed to take Deathstroke by surprise as the elder of the two masked mercenaries soon found himself flopping onto his back. Wade, on the other hand, did not even bother to hold back his mad cackling as he crept to perch above his fallen opponent, the menacing barrel of his Heckler and Koch MP5 squashing Slade's forehead between his skull and the cold metal.
"I can't believe that I finally get to be the guy who gets to shoot somebody point-blank in the head!" Deadpool burbled with a child-like glee, the psychotic mercenary not even bothering to notice that Slade made no effort to free himself from his perilous situation. "Ooh, then maybe I'll cut your head off just to see if it grows back! Or. . . or maybe. . ."
"Wade. . ." Batson interrupted, his voice holding a fairly healthy amount of patience. "Do you happen to remember the story your mother told you about the angel seeing the broken down demon in the alleyway?"
Wade Wilson had no choice but to roll his eyes in response to the moppet's attempt to consult the better angels of his nature. "Soooooo not listening to you. I'm the demon here, not Slade, so I don't have to respond. Lalalalalalala!"
"Very well. Then why not go ahead and be rid of him?" Batson countered, his attempt at reverse psychology nearly unleashing the full force of Deadpool's upchuck mechanisms. "But that does beg the question of what you will become if what you were born from becomes no more. Why, perhaps you will be nothing at all! Of course, I don't see a great many merchandising dollars in such a future. . ."
BANG!
Okay, so perhaps the bullet that bounced off of the cherubic face of the former Captain Marvel didn't do any physical damage. Still, Deadpool had to admit that it made him feel just a little bit better.
"Damn your Dumbledore-like logic and my occasional conscience," Deadpool grumbled before extending his left hand downward in order to offer Slade some help in getting to his feet. He found the older man's refusal of his kindly offer of assistance to be rather rude. After all, it wasn't as if he was trying to kill the guy. "Welllll, let's just get this MacGuffin party started 'cause we're on page 11 right now and we haven't even taken down the big bad yet."
The guardian of The Rock of Eternity did not even pretend to know what Deadpool meant by that as he put his impressive eldritch manipulation abilities to bear once again, his energy fusing easily with Lloyd's standing spell. It was only a matter of seconds before the bodies of the former combatants seemed to slip away from the living ether around them, the two halves of a peculiar whole mixing together within the havoc that Krona had created.
"The Rule of Three has now been put into play," Batson whispered before fading away, his business here largely concluded. "Let us pray that this shall be enough."
Lloyd rode The Sentry's body through the explosion of newly gathered energy with a well-practiced ease, his trust in Bruce Wayne to competently oversee the physical aspects of their joint venture well in place as he sensed the two new presences within their increasingly complicated creation. Deadpool, of course, was more than happy to let himself be noticed by anyone who could pay attention, his astral form easily swooping into The Condemner's domain as the talkative hired gun enthusiastically tried to engage in a predictably unusual conversation with The Black Dog's darker half. Slade, on the other hand, was far more subtle with his motions and maneuvers, the veteran warrior silently moving to aid Bruce in his labors. Lloyd allowed himself a quick sigh of relief in response to the turn of events, the arrival of the super-soldier enabling the physical half of the fused warrior to fight with far greater skill and clarity than even The Batman could provide.
Even someone with the professional detachment of Slade Wilson could barely contain the anticipation that washed over him in the midst of his present surroundings. His phenomenal perception analyzed the power within The Sentry's body, examined how the combined eldritch augmentation provided by Batson and Thomas increased that physical might, and even took a moment to observe the impressive power within the Mugalshir and found that even his powerful mind could barely contain the possibilities. Of course, that wasn't about to keep him from trying to discover them as he pushed his newfound vessel forward, his skilled hands allowing him to use Lloyd's saber to deflect any shots or blasts of energy Krona chose to send his way over the course of his travels. Naturally, the transition from defense to offense was as seamless as he had planned it, his forearms and wrists working easily to twist the mystic blade in his hands through a complex pattern of lashes and thrusts that allowed him to cut into Krona's flesh far more often than not. The anguished screams and words of defiance uttered by the self-made deity fell upon deaf ears as he kept his senses attuned to more important matters, his eyes and ears on the lookout for any energy-based counterattack.
"I will tolerate your foul play no longer!" Krona bellowed back only a moment after teleporting away from the decidedly uneven fight, the capacities of the Maltusian's impressive ego still not enough to convince him that his victory was still assured. "I ask you to confront your weaknesses and accept your limitations within an honorable milieu and yet you choose to resort to trickery and deceit! I cannot allow the ignoble fruits of your labor to draw their foul seeds," he declared while summoning forth his own impressive supply of eldritch and telekinetic energy. "Whether one-by-one or all together, you shall know my power and my right to rule!"
The fused warrior responded to the stern vow and the scattershot of energy bolts that followed it with a strong force barrier and some quick sword work that made certain that not one of Krona's attacks hit their selected mark. "Now, now, my dear psychopath," he then countered in a rather posh but still theatrical manner. "It is too late to change sides or the rules that go with them, ja?" A quick series of teleportations and surges forward allowed them to get to Krona with a quickness in order to batter around the creator of the bleed without the least bit of sympathy. "And it is not as if the good guys necessarily have to play by the rules all the time."
"And you removed honor from the equation the moment you put the lives of innocent people in jeopardy!" The Sentry added, the once-honored champion of his own reality finding confidence in the strength of those around him as he took control of a part of his own body in order to wallop Krona with a series of stern hooks and uppercuts. "I may not be where I want to be but I'm no longer going to allow somebody like you to convince me to stop trying to move forward!"
"Awwww, can we pleeeeeeeease save the Saturday morning cartoon lesson for another time? I just finished dry heaving." Deadpool finally broke in before taking his own turn at the wheel. Putting all the speed that Deathstroke, Lloyd, Nightcrawler, and his charming self could bring to the table, he zoomed around their anguished adversary in order to use the flat part of Lloyd's saber to spank the creator of the Multiverse right on his blueberry-tinted fanny. "PAPA SPANK! PAPA SPANK! PAPA SPAI. . ."
The sole prisoner within The Worldview allowed himself to let out a wet, ragged cough as he earned himself some precious silence, his desperate gamble to twist the very fabric of the dimensional bleed allowing him to turn the reality he created into a weapon. Looking upon his fallen foe, the determined pest now torn in two by his hastily summoned infusion of anti-matter energy into what was once his prison, the Maltusian briefly narrowed his beetle-black eyes before letting out a long roar of laughter, his unparalleled intelligence once again allowing him to find accomplishment when nothing else could have. Of course, that joy of victory found itself to be short-lived as the fused warrior wasted no time in putting itself back together again, the stern determination radiating from both The Sentry's countenance as well as the thoughts of the majority of his hosts being sullied only slightly by the amused mood of the hero who chose to speak for them.
"Hello, you have reached the voice mail of a loud, extravagant death," Deadpool informed Krona with all the nasal-enriched boredom that he could bring to the table. "We can't come to the phone right now but, after the tone, we'll kill you as soon as we can. Thank you."
Krona could barely let out a gasp as the Mugalshir was thrown into the center of his chest, the sharp metal piercing his rib cage before plunging through his heart and sliding out of his back from the spinal cord out. His vision blurred as his body strained to recover from the damage as he could barely make out the white energy gathering around his adversary's palms as Deadpool's gravelly voice said the word that would finally bring about his attempt to remake all of existence within his own image.
"KA. . . MEEEEEE. . . HAAAAAAA. . . MEEEEEE. . ."
"Oh, for God's sakes," Lloyd finally broke in, the unfiltered silliness of the situation at hand becoming too much for even him to bear. "Can we at least finish the job with something cooler? Maybe a Makankosappo?"
"HAAAAAAAA!"
The temporal energy that constituted Krona's warped interpretation of The Worldview began to wither and warp away as the white beam crashed into his wounded body, the explosion of light disintegrating his once noble form and eliminating the final point of triangulation that held the dimensional bleed together. The disturbance of two realities worth of matter began to set off shockwaves that soon became too much for the single dimension to bear and even Lloyd's efforts to ward off the flow with the combined powers of The Condemner and The Void seemed to not be enough. The stern orders of Batman and Deathstroke went on unheard as The Sentry raced to aid the half-demon in his efforts, the distraction of their realities mixing together at an even faster rate than before forcing the formless space around them to stretch and strain.
A golden light suffused the body of the fused warrior as reality was once again transformed.
San Francisco
"AHHHH! FOOTBALL PRACTICE!" Deadpool screamed as he frantically opened his eyes, his reclined body jerking violently forward in a manner that forced his cat to be thrown violently to the floor. The feline's angry hiss soon mixed together with the rhythmic creaking of the disheveled springs of his broken-down recliner eagerly poking into his back as he struggled to recover his bearings. Refusing to pay attention to his still trash-strewn floor and the sight of Bob the Hydra Agent sleeping on the nearby couch in what appeared to be a drunken stupor, Wade struggled to make sense of everything he believed to have just seen.
Was it all a dream? Some figment of his warped imagination brought forth through dozens of hours of unchecked grief and consumption of corporate-made cleaning products?
"Woah. Hey now. Wait a second here. . ."
Perhaps his subconscious had allowed him to summon forth a fantasy that would enable him to become a hero of his own make and fashion? Imperfect, most certainly, but still someone who could save the day and protect the lives of those he cared for. It was doubtlessly a fine alternative to his existence at hand, a world that he couldn't possibly control. . .
"BACK UP THE TURNIP TRUCK, MATT!" Deadpool screamed up to seemingly nobody in particular. "Don't tell me you're going to make all of that a dream! You can't just spend three months writing 70,000 words of text and then break the conclusion down to the lowest common denominator! I mean. . . I like to think you're better than that, man!"
Silence reigned throughout the premises, the only sources of interruption stemming from Bob's noisy snoring and the muffled sounds of Wade's cat making a surprisingly complicated series of leaps that culminated with the patchy-looking pet firmly perched upon Deadpool's head.
"Oh, COME ON!" Wade pleaded, his frustration causing him to slump back in his chair and prompting his cat to dig its claws into his already bleeding scalp. "But. . . but what about all that stuff I read in your outline that was going to happen after we beat Krona? What about the respectful goodbye between Batman and Nightcrawler? And that scene where The Sentry finally grows a pair because of everything he saw and joins the New Avengers after making certain he gets his wife away from that phallic-shaped tower of his? Batman and the gang watching Zorro! Nightcrawler and the X-Men watching Grey Ghost?!"
Still nothing. Becoming slightly desperate, Wade let out a bit of a pained grunt as he plucked his cat off his head to give it a stern Batglare in the vain hope that the critter would have something to contribute. Sadly, there was no answer to be found there either.
"Well, you're too much of a continuity whore to ignore all the other story elements here, Mister Matt the Batman Fan!" Wade barked at the heavens. "Well, how about Hal and Nightwing showing up to take Kal-El back to The Watchtower? What about that call that Slade makes to Victor Stone convincing him to take Rose back on as a Teen Titan? I wanted to hear Cyborg say BOOYA, you know! And. . . and the big reveal that the whole thing was just Sinestro testing The Misfits again so they could be better prepared for what's coming up for them in Book Five?! Pleeeeeease don't tell me that you're so damn irresponsible that you're just going to end the story right here."
The seconds of silence that followed seemed more meaningful this time as Deadpool sat back to await the answer to his perfectly legitimate array of questions. The mercenary couldn't help but widen his eyes at the possibility that his constant attempts to break the fourth wall would finally bear fruit, that he, out of all the gods, heroes, and villains that had made their presence felt over the past 40 months, would prompt the creator to speak.
"WOHN WOHN! WOHN WOHN WOHN WOHN WOHN WOHN! WOOOOOOHNNNNN!"
"OH, VERY FUNNY! DO I LOOK LIKE CHARLIE BROWN TO YOU!" Deadpool spat back, the mentally diseased murderer now thoroughly insulted by the display of unprofessionalism. "And what do you mean you had to cut this story short so you can get it published on time? YOU ASS OF SHIT!! What kind of lazy ass excuse is that?!"
"Wohn wohn wohn wohn wohn wohn, wohn wohn wohn wohn, wohn wohn. Woooooooohnnnnnn."
"No! NO! Nononononononono! I'm not letting you end the story like this!" Wade declared while crossing his arms over his chest. "If anything else, I am refusing to leave you alone until you at least compensate me for all my troubles! I mean, I got pantsed by Wally friggin' West, for Rao's sakes so I deserve something for all my mental anguish!"
Deadpool remained still as he waited for the author to make his next move. He knew that he had occasionally been rude to comic book fans before, maybe occasionally to the point where he compared them to those otakus that ran around thinking that carrying a foam Buster Sword was actually cool but he couldn't allow this injustice to occur. The author's dozens and dozens of fans deserved a better ending and they were going to get it. No matter how long he had to wait. No matter what fresh tortures the author would drub upon him for daring to. . .
"What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk? I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk off my. . ."
Deadpool kept one eye shifted toward the heavens as he answered his phone, the thought that this might just be a clever trap staying strong in his mind as he brought his parched lips to the speaker. "Hello?"
"Wade!" exclaimed a somewhat cross but still cheery and hauntingly familiar voice. "What the devil is taking you so long, my boy? We're just about to get started!"
Not even the unfettered rage of Wade Woodrow Wilson was enough to shelter him from the joyous wonder that rose from hearing the voice on the other end of his digital tin can and string.
"BEA?! Is that you, my beloved, iron-haired beauty?"
A snort on the other end of the line nearly lifted Wade's heart to somewhere above his still recovering Adam's apple. "Who in the devil is this Bea, young man? This is Dorothy and right now my mother and I are waiting on you so we can start our weekly bridge game. And do hurry up, please, because that nice, red-headed Irish girl that just moved in with you is already here and I think she's not here for us."
Words could simply not express the joy that Wade felt with his handsome reward (and it wasn't because the author was so busy that he wasn't even going to bother to try).
"Right away, my darling! I'll even wear those slacks you bought me on your last trip up to Brooklyn! Bye now!" Hanging up the phone with an excited claap! he raced back to his bedroom while singing "Thank You for Being A Friend" at the top of his lungs, his thoughts of threatening his ever-kind guide through his latest misadventure now easily forgotten by his profoundly damaged mind.
Misfits Confidential
WHEW! Well, I've got to admit that, as fun as this story was to start writing on, it was quite a pain to actually get through and finish. As all of you might have guessed in the last few updates, life has been quite busy for me in the last few months. A good kind of busy, granted, but still an occasional nuisance nevertheless. That being said, I do hope that everyone enjoyed what was once a tribute to what of my favorite actresses as well as a thinly veiled display of my frustration at what they did to Deadpool in the Wolverine movie before turning into one of those hyperemotional bits that I always end up writing whenever I try to write a crack piece. I told you guys that I'm no good at this random story thing!
Come to think of it, I think I'm still a little frustrated. Ah well, maybe the stuff that's coming up will make me feel a bit better.
Next Issue Preview
(Cue dramatic voice)
Six months have passed.
Hal Jordan: The Justice League has regained its feet, the Green Lantern Corps is back to full strength and I don't think the world of ours has been this safe in a long time.
Dick Grayson: Soooooooo, everything's about to go to hell?
Hal Jordan: Oh, yeah.
A new threat emerges to challenge everything The Misfits have done and everyone they have sworn to protect.
Billy Batson: The scales of fate shall always be threatened by those who wish for more than what they are given. It will be up to you, Earth's chosen champions, to neutralize this threat before it can spread to harm all that lives.
Kyle Rayner: Something tells me we're not going to get paid for doing all this work, are we?
Wally West: Of course not, buddy. 'Cause, y'know, that would actually make some sort of sense.
New allies.
Zatanna Zatara: Well, well, well, I was wondering when you guys would show up on my doorstep.
New enemies.
Darkseid: I have witnessed the rise and fall of souls such as yours for countless millennia and the only constant that emerges is that I shall continue on.
Loyalties will be tested.
Lloyd Thomas: When the hell did you get the right to make that kind of decision?
Dick Grayson: How about around the same time it didn't matter what you thought about any of this!
Love will bloom and falter.
Kara Zor-el: I don't just love him. I just can't turn away from what I was and what I've become with him by my side.
The bonds of friendships will be broken.
Bruce Wayne: What do you want me to say?
Stephanie Brown: I don't know. Maybe just something I wanted to hear from somebody else.
And there will be. . . plenty of stupid jokes.
Cecilia King-Jones: Do you ever worry that this gun obsession of yours might have something to do with a some pent-up sexual frustrations?
Roy Harper: Possibly. Of course, I'm not certain how seriously I should take the argument of a girl who's constantly shooting arrows at everything that moves.
The Misfits begins once again in two weeks time with the beginning of Seven Little Soldiers and the next installment: The More Things Change. . . Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!