Prologue: Departing Yesterday

Twisting and turning in a bed almost too small for him, Clark Kent just could not fall back asleep. He sat up, stretched his broad shoulders, and ruffled a hand through his thick black hair. His childhood bedroom was dark except for the faint glow from the digital clock on his nightstand. It read 6:19 am.

His best friend Jimmy snored softly, fast asleep on an air mattress squeezed into the already cramped room. Jimmy and Lois had stayed the night at his parents' place, with Lois slumbering in the guest bedroom down the hall. Clark focused, listening with his sensitive hearing for signs of anyone else awake in the house. Not surprisingly, all he heard were snores and slow breaths of sleep along with the other minuscule sounds of an otherwise silent house—he sorely missed this quiet since moving to Metropolis.

Gently, Clark shoved the blanket off himself and tip-toed—an otherwise laughable sight for the six-foot-four-inch linebacker build of a young man—over to his rustic oak dresser to pull out a red and yellow Smallville High sweater and a pair of jeans. After changing, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on—solely out of habit rather than necessity. His Ma said they helped detract from the vibrant sky blue of his eyes that he'd been self-conscious of since he was a kid.

Before leaving the room, he grabbed a pen and notebook paper from his desk and wrote a brief note for Jimmy to find when he woke up later. Clark snuck out of the room, shutting his bedroom door ever so slowly. Continuing to tip-toe down the upstairs hallway, he skipped over the floorboards that he knew would creak and then softly climbed downstairs.

Yesterday, what was supposed to be a warm and happy Thanksgiving evening for Clark with his family and friends turned into a day he'd only envisioned in recurring nightmares from the past month.

Before the nightmares started, Clark was doing his best to have a normal life. But one day changed everything—his first day as an intern at the Daily Planet. After almost revealing his superhuman powers during an investigation, Clark decided that he needed to finally learn more about himself.

Plus, he'd wanted to find a way to use his unique abilities to help others more openly. Soon enough, he'd begun flying around the city of Metropolis in his Superman alter ego. Stopping traffic accidents, rescuing people from fires in high-rises, and saving cats stuck in trees. Helping people (and furry friends) was his calling.

However, since his debut, Superman had found himself facing numerous deadly situations. Fighting criminals with high-powered tech weapons, being tracked down and interrogated by the US Army, stopping Metropolis from being destroyed by Dr. Ivo-turned-Parasite supercharged into a kaiju. Clark never wanted to fight anyone—he only wanted to help.

More and more, he realized his powers were a double-edged sword. He could use them for good, but they had the potential for destruction. And the more he learned about himself, and his people, the more he feared he'd been sent to Earth as a weapon, as an invader.

He wanted to feel human, not so alien. He just wanted to feel—to be—normal.

—T&J—

Clark's latest nightmare almost came true just the day before. In his mind's eye, he couldn't help replaying those scenes.

Thanksgiving had started peacefully, with Clark and Lois Lane—a fellow Daily Planet reporter and his girlfriend of just over a month—arriving at his parents' house. They were greeted with warm welcomes.

Things began to tilt when Lois's father arrived. Clark nearly panicked when he realized the man was The General—the general who captured, interrogated and sought to kill him as his hero alter ego, Superman.

Then Clark's best friend since college, Jimmy Olsen arrived and everyone wanted to use him as a sounding board. Pulling Clark and Lois outside behind his parents' house, Jimmy tried to set things straight with his drama-fueled friends.

Clark picked up that strange orb that fell out of Lois's bag and rolled on the ground by his feet. He was left speechless when the data sphere displayed a recording from some sick and twisted universe, an alternate version of Superman with emotionless eyes destroying a city in cold blood. The orb then opened up, revealing that tiny glowing green rock that sent his whole body instantly into shock. He'd collapsed, writhing on the ground in agonizing pain as green poison coursed through every fiber of his being.

Everything exploded into chaos.

Rising from the earth, the ship that brought him to Earth activated some sort of security protocol. It began launching dozens of high-tech robots to attack any perceived threats.

Superman took down as many robots as possible to keep everyone else out of harm's way. With each robot taken out, only more kept appearing until the ship determined the need to signal for backup.

The sky ripped open like a dragon's flaming red mouth. The portal was just like the one in the General's memory. A ship indescribably large began crawling through as if in slow motion.

Apparently, the glowing rock could render the alien robots nonfunctional. Clark took the orb (with the rock) from Lois with a bittersweet kiss goodbye, not knowing if it'd be their last.

Superman pushed his ship up, up, and away into the sky, more attack drones hot on his heels. He body-slammed his way through the hull, continuing to fight more robots once inside. Already on his last legs, Clark feared he wouldn't make it through.

The robots were similar, yet noticeably different from the OMACs. However, these ones were raw alien tech and programming, unaltered from human tampering. No one but the ship's AI commanded them.

But mulling it over, hadn't the holographic figure of the older man in the white uniform been the ship's AI?

The AI helped Superman take out the drones and led him to the heart of the ship where he could destroy it from the inside out. It was strange though. The hologram AI obviously hadn't had complete control, otherwise why not just deactivate the security system?

Why help when invading and conquering was their goal all along? Had Clark jumped to the wrong conclusion that morning when he yelled at the AI?

Clark couldn't get his mind off that holo-figure. Recalling the garbled phrases it spoke to him, he picked out one word—kryptonite. Kryptonite must have been the name of that poisonous green rock.

And despite the frustrating language barrier, there were definitely words the AI had unexpectedly spoken in English.

Right before launching him back to Earth, the man gently caressed Clark's face—the feeling was actually tangible on his skin. He'd said, "Kal-El. My son. Live." The memory was fuzzy, yet crystal clear, all at the same time.

When Clark repeated the words back to himself—"My son. Live."—he felt a vice grip in his chest and a knot in his throat. Was that man some memory of his Kryptonian father? Although the word Kal-El was foreign, Clark had heard it numerous times now, always feeling like it was directed at him. Was that… Was that his birth name?

Clark had so many questions. "Who am I?" still begged for more answers. Every time he felt like he understood something, three more questions arose.

Barely able to move, lying prone in the upended earth of a massive impact crater, Superman didn't feel so super. After Lois defended Superman to her father—who was ready to shoot him dead on the spot, no questions asked—the man simply vanished. Jimmy and Lois helped pull Clark out of the crater and then dragged his dead weight back to the house.

They all just acted like everything was back to normal and sat down for Thanksgiving dinner. The empty chair across the table and Clark still in his suit was a painful reminder, however.

He knew Lois was silently reeling from her father's involvement as well. What could he possibly say to her after everything else he'd already put them through? Instead, he'd just squeezed her hand with a reassuring half-smile.

After dinner, Clark spent a while just holding Lois quietly on the couch. They sat cuddled in front of the fireplace wrapped in a warm blanket quilted by his Ma a couple of years ago. A cup of tea was in each of their hands. Lois did her best to soothe the tension in his weary body with tender touches and his mind with sweet words. He returned the gestures in kind.

His parents and Jimmy kept to themselves, tidying up after dinner in the kitchen to give them some space. His parents kept shooting worried glances at each other and toward the living room. (Jimmy silently formulated plans for his newfound wealth from selling Flamebird, his prized video streaming channel.)

Clark knew everyone had a million questions, himself included. But he was so exhausted and overwhelmed that he just wanted to rest. They'd get a chance to talk more tomorrow.

And so tomorrow had come, and Clark continued with the mission at hand—investigate that ship and keep everyone safe.

He quietly made his way through the living room and dining room into the apple pie-scented kitchen. After slipping on his well-worn sneakers and brown jacket, Clark exited the warm, sleepy farmhouse. He softly pulled the creaky back door closed behind him.

Maybe tomorrow will be normal.

—T&J—

In a very far-off world, in another little nowheresville town…

A tall, simply dressed man tapped the keys of an old, out-of-tune piano with his right hand in a familiar melody. His long, blond hair fell around his young-looking face.

The rhythmic notes echoed throughout the spacious yet completely empty tavern. The room was a little drafty, but warm rays of sunlight crept in through the ceiling-high windows. The wooden floors and neutral colors of the room at one time may have made an inviting atmosphere, if only the place hadn't been abandoned.

The cool, clay building kept the heat from permeating indoors during the day and the chill from seeping in during the night. Unlike the unbearable temperature outdoors when the twin suns were high in the sky, and the sandy and rocky landscape shimmered with waves of heat. Or the frigid nights when the suns were replaced by two or three of the planet's five moons and the desert environment lost all warmth of the day.

The blond man could clearly remember playing this melody by heart as a child. However, whenever he tried to remember the time before two years ago, everything turned up hazy, if not completely blank.

Sure, he knew his real name, his likes and dislikes, people he used to know. He remembered growing up and the majority of his adulthood, but a chunk of memories from two years ago eluded him. How he wound up in this town back then, iles from any major city, was still a mystery.

He grimaced, hitting the wrong key on the far left side of the keyboard. It was a little difficult to play with only his right hand, but after a while, he had gotten used to making do with only one arm.

At one point, he had a prosthetic left arm made from Lost Technology. The prosthetic was damaged not to mention terribly uncomfortable with the way it integrated with his nervous system. Plus, it drew too much attention from the townsfolk. So he'd removed the prosthetic and hidden it away when he began living here.

He tapped a few more keys, holding the solemn notes as they faded one into another. Soft footsteps padded their way into the room from behind.

Lina, a tomboyish dark-haired young girl of about twelve years old stepped into the room to ask if playing helped him remember anything. A sad smile that didn't touch his eyes was hidden from the girl. After a beat, he turned around, shook his head, and smiled warmly.

She sighed and approached, intending to leave him with a tray of food for breakfast. She had a change of heart and instead dragged him back home and into the dining room for a more hearty breakfast with her and Grandma Sheryl.

Living with Lina and Granny was so peaceful. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt the warmth and safety of a family.

In his memories, the small number of faces of people whom he thought of as family would come to mind. Luida and Brad. Others back on Ship Three—or what they'd eventually simply named "Home." Rem. Nai…

But those times were relatively few and far between. He remembered being alone for many years. In the past, he'd made friends easily in his travels, but he would never stay in one place for any length of time.

Sometimes, he wished he could just live like this here forever. Finally stop running. At night, he often thought of how one day, it would sadly come to an end. He'd curled up on himself, falling into an uneasy sleep more often than not.

He tried not to dwell on those places and faces. They were all in his past now.

Even the name they'd all known him by wasn't what he called himself now. Now, everyone here in town called him Eriks. A common name, easy to blend in with. He'd made plenty of friends here. And, of course, Lina and Granny were like family. Maybe this could be home?

Yes. Here he felt loved. Here he felt at peace.

—L&P—

Hopping back into her weather-worn, sand-coated company vehicle, Meryl Stryfe, senior journalist for the Bernardelli News Agency, took one last look out her window. Where once boasted a sprawling metropolis, and the largest of the seven cities of No Man's Land, now only rested the iles-wide crater of Lost July.

The twin suns were high and bright in the noon-time sky. Meryl adjusted her sunglasses, which shaded her eyes from the blinding glare of the never-ending sandy wasteland.

She adjusted the driver's side fan to cool her better. After standing outside briefly in the sweltering heat, she was already boiling. Her gray tank top stuck unpleasantly to her sweat-slicked skin.

Meryl pulled out the crumbled-up wanted poster out of her pocket—the one she'd ripped down earlier. She smoothed out the crinkles and took another look at the familiar grinning face and absurd reward amount printed on the paper. Then, with a scoff, she tossed it on the passenger seat, which already sat a stack of old, yellowed newspapers.

The young woman had driven all the way to JuLai to pay her respects to her late mentor Roberto and that enigma of a man she'd met over two years ago. She wasn't sure that man was still alive, but somewhere deep in her gut, she felt he had to be out there. Vash the Stampede. The Humanoid Typhoon. The Sixty-Billion Double-Dollar Man.

She left behind a photo of all four of them—including the grouchy undertaker—a pack of cigarettes and a flask.

About two years ago, her life had flipped upside down. All because she'd been assigned to partner with Drunkle Roberto to cover the hot news story about the dangerous outlaw said to be stealing Plants from all the major cities. Back then, Vash's bounty had only been a humble six million.

When they first tracked down—or rather, stumbled upon—Vash the Stampede, he spun them this unbelievable tale of an evil identical twin brother who was, in fact, the real culprit. Ever since the devastation at Jeneora's Rock caused by Millions Knives—the man whom Vash admitted was his brother—and his goons, Meryl had unwittingly gotten swept away in the Stampede's story.

Vash might've been the one tied up by rope when they'd met, but the tables had quickly turned.

As any good reporter learns, Meryl soon discovered that the Vash story was much wilder than they could initially fathom. Numerous times Roberto thought it best to give up while they were ahead (and still alive) once shit started hitting the fan. His reluctant cynicism and her eager naivety mixed as easily as oil and water did.

Along the way, their little group met both friends and foes. Nicolas D. Wolfwood, the undertaker, who spouted his counterpoint of ideals to Vash's. Those poor souls altered by Dr. Conrad's twisted human experiments sent after Vash in a blind, mindless assault. The caretakers of the SEEDS ship, stuck in time since the Great Fall, but a source of hope for mankind's future with their surviving Lost Technology.

Each incident tested the party's resolve and character.

At the end of their journey to JuLai, Vash's brother Knives revealed his plans for the Plants—to create his New World as envisioned. Meryl watched in horror, just as helpless as Vash, as his brother set his plan into motion.

Things happened that Meryl didn't fully understand, but she knew everything was all wrong. Vash did not want what Knives wanted. Vash didn't want his memories erased. He wouldn't want the Plants to have this fate forced upon them.

The tiny derringer—the last bit of protection given to her by her mentor, a man who lay bloody and unbreathing in the elevator where she'd left him—rang out as she shot at the bulletproof glass between her and the tank full of Plants. Vash's unmoving form glossed over in a metallic-like sheen. Knives blades pierced into him, a rippling Gate torn open behind his brother. Dark vines snaking along, engulfing the room and out into the city.

Finally. Finally, Meryl's voice or some other miracle broke through to Vash, awakening him from his trance. But it wasn't the end by far. Vash and Knives battled for the fate of all mankind, all of Plant-kind, and the future of No Man's Land.

Again, all Meryl could do was run and take cover. What could she really have done in the presence of such otherworldly beings? That was only the second time she thought that way of Vash, and it still surprised her that she had.

While Meryl and Wolfwood escaped mostly unscathed, Roberto died saving her. Conrad fled, escaping justice for the sickenly questionable methods he used in the quest to create a stronger race of humans and ensure their survival.

And the whole city had disintegrated in an instant. A million or so innocent lives were extinguished, with no bodies to bury.

Meryl still had nightmares about the beam of light and explosion that wiped the city off the face of the planet.

And the sixty-billion double-dollar question was, "What happened to Vash the Stampede?"

—L&P—

Chapter 1 - Just Another Normal Day

A crisp November breeze carried the smell of smoke, tilled soil, and a foreign metallic scent through the air. Clark Kent stood uneasily on the back porch of his family's farmhouse, listening to the whistle of wind meandering through the amber waves of the wheat field.

The previous night, Clark had retired to bed early. He crashed soon after his head hit the pillow, exhausted from the day's events. After a restless few hours of sleep, he'd woken up before the sun rose—the sky outside his window still dark. Thoughts swirling in his mind prevented him from falling back to sleep.

Clark couldn't put off examining the alien craft that'd crashed the day before. He worried that robots or alien soldiers or who knows what might be aboard that invading spaceship at that very moment. Stupidly, he hadn't even checked the night before. So he'd left the house at dawn to do so before anyone else woke up.

Before flying over to the ship, he spent another moment leaning on the porch railing and admiring the expanse of corn and wheat fields, sadly mired by the sight of that unwelcome ship.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, and an early morning frost lightly coated the grass and crops. A thin mist hung above the expansive flat farmlands of Smallville. The sky was a soft blend of yellow, orange, and pale blue, with wispy clouds tinted a pinkish-gold. A few chickens clucked over by the barn, and a songbird or two sitting in a tree chirped, but it was otherwise quiet.

Clark shuddered a little, the air he breathed out misting visibly from the cold. Although the cold didn't bother him, Clark zipped up his brown fall coat so it didn't flap in the wind.

What little rest he'd gotten helped restore his strength and powers, and the warm sun on his skin rejuvenated him even more. He hovered off the edge of the porch, taking off in an easy glide low over the fields of the Kent Farm toward the ship in the distance.

Smallville, Kansas. The Kent Farm. Home. The one place Clark had felt safest most of his life. The home where he was raised by two amazing, kind-hearted Midwestern parents. The only family he's ever known.

Now, that other, alien side of him was crawling its way to the surface to rip apart that net of safety and comfort.

He dreaded more attacks on his family or even Smallville and beyond. Would the General—General Sam Lane, Lois's father—and his task force be back to investigate and try to bring him down again? Was his mere presence putting his parents and friends in danger?

The events of everything that had occurred since his superhero debut, and especially yesterday, kept replaying over and over in his head. He couldn't help but blame himself for everything, the guilt tightening in his chest.

—T&J—

About a mile from the house, Clark touched down on the soft earth, shaking off yesterday's memories. He gazed up and up through his black-framed glasses. Before him rose the towering portion of an alien spaceship wedged into the broken earth. The craft's bow climbed a hundred stories or more into the air. Its shadow crept ominously with the light from the sunrise over the otherwise serene farmland.

Unlike his long-buried ship, this one seemed more intentionally constructed—rather than grown organically over time in a haphazard design. To his mind, the gunmetal gray, white, and blood-red scheme of the sleek alien technology symbolized inexplicable destruction and chaos.

He hovered up higher into the chill autumn air, circling the spire of the ship's bow. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. Everything seemed still and quiet. But, so had his childhood spaceship, until just yesterday.

Lowering his glasses, he tried his newfound power to see inside the ship. He wasn't sure if it was because this x-ray vision was still fairly new and he hadn't quite mastered it, or the ship's material was made of something special, but it was impossible to peer past the exterior.

When he'd touch similar alien tech, he got visions despite how unclear and brief they were. He debated on whether to try seeing if the same thing happened again.

"C'mon, Kent. What's the worst that can happen from a little vision?" He wanted to laugh but couldn't. Hesitantly, he gulped and reached out to touch the ship's surface.

Immediately, the vision flashed before his eyes. He could see the fiery remains of the rest of this ship in space on the other side of the portal. In the distance, another huge, alien spaceship of a different design and a planet came into view. Large, yellow explosions filled the atmosphere of that planet. And almost immediately as it came, the vision cut out.

Clark gasped and pulled back his hand as if it'd been bitten. He floated shakily down to the ground, stumbling over to find a tree to lean on. The poor tree buckled from his carelessness, and a flurry of brown and orange leaves fell around him, a few landing in his hair.

An awe-inspired whistle pierced the silence to his right. "That's sooome ship, that is."

Clark lept back with a startled yelp. Then, quickly, his stomach dropped, and distress turned to irritation. "You?! What are– How did you escape the League of Lois Lanes?!"

A familiar little bluish-skinned imp floated at eye level, legs crossed and a cheek resting in his palm. His locks of white hair and short orange cape waved slightly in the breeze. The imp had been gazing at the ship but turned a mischievous smirk to Clark.

"Oh, hey, Dependable Clark! I missed having fun with you. So, I left those loser Lois's behind. Boring lot they were," said the imp who'd last introduced himself as Mr. Mxyzptlk, or Mxy for short. The intonation and pitch of his voice rose and fell as he spoke.

To himself, Clark grumbled, "No, no, no. Why can't anything ever be normal?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, nudging up his glasses. He knew a metaphorical headache was coming.

He tried to fly away and hide, hoping the imp was just in his imagination. Despite his speed, when he landed on the other side of the field, Mxy was right there waiting with arms folded comfortably behind his head.

Groaning loudly, Clark lowered his shoulders in defeat. "Now what do you want?"

"Aw, I knew I could depend on Dependable Clark. Actually, there is this itsy bitsy, teeny weeny thing you could help me with." He smiled with rounded cheeks and a snaggletooth, but there was that devious glimmer in his eyes that screamed, 'I'm up to no good.' He floated over to hug Clark around the shoulders with one small arm.

Clark leaned away, but that didn't help. Suspicion laced his voice, "What might that be?"

—T&J—

A few minutes ago, Meryl had checked the regional map, noting she was still at least another dozen iles from the next caravan rest station. Both her vehicle and herself would need a recharge. Then, scout a place to camp for the night before heading back on the figurative road in the morning. It'd take another couple of days to get back to December, weather permitting.

The reporter flipped through the radio stations, hoping to find some decent music instead of the depressing July 21st anniversary news.

Especially the portion about how Vash the Stampede was still at large, and he could essentially go and bury his head in the sand for murdering ninety percent of the population of JuLai. Meryl could only hear the radio host's voice repeat the same berating lines on No Man's Land Broadcasting so many times before she'd want to take up smoking herself.

For two years, Meryl stubbornly denied Vash was solely responsible for the tragedy of Lost July. She just knew and saw too much. She saw enough of what Knives had done. But who would ever believe her?

She'd written a prize-worthy article, but her editor had refused to publish it. He thought she had gone a little crazy from being in the field for so long. Especially for just making it out of JuLai with her life. It was a miracle.

Instead, she shamefully wrote the article the people of the Seven Cities Union wanted and needed to read. A story full of only half-truths. For a while, without Roberto, she felt lost—an imposter of a reporter.

To lick her wounded pride and heal her heavy heart, Meryl demanded to be put on any story of Vash sightings. Her Chief reluctantly agreed after she put in a few months of solid work on puff pieces.

For the next year and a half, she worked alone, and that's the way she liked it. She could go where she wanted, and tackle the angle the way she wanted. She grew a backbone and stopped taking crap from her fellow reporters. The nickname Mad Meryl, fortunately, was starting to fizzle out.

All in all, each sighting of the outlaw turned out to be just a rumor or an imposter. She would know the real deal when she saw it.

One day, she was going to crack this story wide open. Show the people of this desolate sandball of a planet the truth. She couldn't let Vash's sacrifice be for nothing.

Her coworkers couldn't see why she wouldn't let the story go. She'd never get anywhere in her career until she moved on.

To top everything off, the Chief thought she'd needed a junior partner, huh? Some Milly Thompson specifically requested to train under her? She smirked, glancing at the can on the dashboard still full of cigarette butts Roberto had left as an unintended momento.

"Hey, newbie," she practiced in her gruff Roberto voice.

It was going to be a long, swelteringly hot drive back to December.

—L&P—

"You know, I got tired of those pesky Lois's chasing me all over the multiverse."

The imp zipped around Clark, making the taller man dizzy, trying to keep up. It was way too early for this, he thought.

"I played around as Impossible Man in Marvel Land back in the day. But I decided that act was yesterday's news—(ya like that reporter pun?) So, I said hey! Why don't I try out a whole new universe? I heard about this shiny new 'Orange' universe from my dear Ms. Gsptlsnz, so I just had to take a peak."

Mxy kept rambling, talking with his hands just as enthusiastically.

"Apparently, there's a pretty interesting plot going on over in that universe. Watching it unfold was like going to an IMAX movie!"

A slack-jawed Clark blinked a few times and then shook his head. "Umm, haha, uh, what? You're losing me… I didn't understand half of that."

Mxy twirled his free hand like it didn't make a difference.

"What a show! There was action, drama, and character deaths—oops, sorry, spoilers! (if you didn't see the finale, get out of here you dummies!)"

Mxy manifested a bag of popcorn and popped a kernel into his mouth. He titled the bag to Clark, to which Clark waved no thanks with a restrained grimace.

"Giant plant monster spreading across the city, good guy versus bad guy in a truly epic fight scene, flashy energy beam blasting into space, huuuge explosion, city destroyed! (Buh-bye JuLai…)" Mxy waved a hand across the air as if painting a picture in front of them, finishing with a flare of his fingers to represent an explosive conclusion.

After a moment, he casually flicked another popcorn puff into his mouth.

"Ok, here's the thing, pal." Mxy tossed the popcorn bag over his shoulder, but it just disappeared into thin air.

"With my awesome fifth-dimensional power, opening a gate to another universe is like child's play for me." He glanced down and buffed his fingernails on his tunic. "However, the energies of these universes don't really like to mix." Mxy summoned a bottle of bleach in one hand and a bottle of vinegar in the other briefly before he slammed them together and they disappeared in a puff of smoke ("Don't do that at home kids.").

Mxy sighed and paused for effect. He glanced subtly back over to Clark.

"Uh, so what are you getting at?" Clark asked, worried where this was going.

He began to fidget with the zipper on his coat. He just wanted to take care of this Kryptonian ship, return to his house, and try to salvage the rest of his extended weekend.

"So these two fellas—the big guys fighting in the finale. They got their own fancy interdimensional powers, which I'd explain to you, but you know, where's the fun in that? It's all very technical, relativistic physics, yada yada. (I think it's all sci-fi anyway. Who comes up with this stuff?) Anyway, the residual energy from lil ol' me clashes with that big ol' energy blasted into space by those super freaks."

Mxy turns to look at Clark with an uncharacteristically serious expression—no smirk, no shimmery twinkle in his eyes. "Now, see what I'm getting at?"

Clark frowned, worried but also perplexed. He shook his head. "Um… no? But I'm assuming it's something bad?"

Mxy rummaged through his cape and eventually whipped out what appeared to be a small whiteboard and dry-erase marker. He bobbed up, crossing his legs again in mid-air. Then, he doodled something for a minute, sticking his tongue out a little in concentration as he did so. Popping the marker cap back on, he turned the board to Clark.

A four-circle Venn diagram was drawn on the whiteboard. Mxy pointed to the top left circle of the diagram. "Here's Earth-12, your mudball of a planet Earth. Here's some random solar system in your universe that contains nothing of note (but it's here for representational purposes)." Mxy pointed to the circle on the same side as Earth-12 but below it.

Then he pointed to the top right circle. "Next, here's the Earth of this 'Orange' Universe, (sadly, no Superman—what a pity no Clark to have fun with). Annnd finally, this here is No Man's Land, in the solar system like this other boring one, but in the 'Orange' Universe." The last circle was the bottom right.

Clark followed along and examined the diagram. He was no astrophysicist but he'd always been top of his class, and he'd gotten a college degree—he's a pretty smart guy. "Okay, I think I follow…"

"I knew you could, Smarty Clark!" Mxy beamed, nudging Clark with a tiny elbow. Clark chuckled sarcastically and tried not to roll his eyes.

"Anyway…" Mxy grabbed another marker, this time a red one. He colored in the intersection of the two bottom circles—the unremarkable solar system and the one containing this 'No Man's Land.'

"This," he pointed with the marker. "This is where we got that itsy, bitsy problem I was talking 'bout." He raised his hand and pinched his finger and thumb together but left a little gap.

Clark remained silent, waiting for him to go on. When Mxy didn't continue right away, he sighed heavily. "Why do I feel like it's a whole lot bigger than that? What kind of chaos god only makes 'itsy bitsy' chaos?"

"Well, in the grand scheme of the omniverse... (You do realize how big the omniverse is, don't you? No. Probably not.) I believe this problem is pretty dang small in comparison to, say, some of your multiverse's crises, but that's for another story." Mxy winked to seemingly no one in particular. "I digress."

"Yes, please. Let's stay on one crisis at a time?" Clark grinned wearily, walking over to sit on a large rock.

He glanced across the fields, realizing the sun had risen well past the horizon. His parents, Lois, and Jimmy were probably awake or starting to get up by now. All of them were fairly early risers. He didn't want them to worry when they realized he wasn't there.

"Of course, of course, Priorities Clark. Let's see, how do I explain this?" Mxy made the whiteboard also magically disappear into thin air. He returned to his cross-legged pose with his hand on his chin.

"Ah! Got it." This time, he reached behind Clark, and when he pulled back, he held a box of off-brand plastic cling wrap. Mxy ripped two sheets of the plastic, the first he held out to Clark between his index and thumb with both hands on either side of the top edge. Clark took this sheet, and Mxy held the second. The sheets hung close to each other but not touching.

"See, normally, someone like moi can see through, and portal to and from, universes. The universes aren't supposed to touch, but they are oh so close. And even when they do happen to touch, they sometimes stick together, but it's easy to pull them apart, right?" Mxy demonstrated by letting the sheets touch, but he moved back and they pulled apart easily enough. Clark nodded in understanding.

Mxy then floated up but kept his arms lowered, so the plastic sheet was held below. His little bum stuck up in the air comically.

"Now, Super Clark, do me a favor? Eye-laser-thingy right through the middle of both of these."

Mxy's grin widened, his eyes back to sparkling.

—T&J—

Clark took a step back in surprise and looked up sharply at the imp. "What? Why?"

Mxy just floated back so they were both close again. "Worrywart Clark. Just a little heat-vision and it'll alllll be clear."

Clark frowned but reluctantly gave in. He pushed his glasses with the back of his palm to rest on top of his head. Concentrating on controlling his heat-vision, not meaning to create a destructive blast, he did as instructed. The heat was just enough that it melted a hole through the first sheet, and as it made its way through the second sheet, the melting edges wavered with the subtle movement and began sticking together.

Before the hole spread too wide, Clark extinguished the heat from his eyes. When he went to step back, Mxy let go of the sheet he held. Clark then realized that the two melted edges had fused together. They couldn't be easily separated, without the plastic tearing even further.

"Tada!" Mxy exclaimed, arms and palms wide. "This is what happened in the fabric of space and reality between two totally different universes. Just this is only like a one-to-one-trillionth scale. Neat, huh?"

"Neat? You mean… oh my gosh… there's what? A giant planet-sized melted hole connecting two universes? How is this a 'tiny' problem?!"

Mxy dismissively waved his hand, "Like I said, it's all proportional. So what do you say, Dependable Clark? Can I depend on your help?" He clasped his hands together and gave Clark the best puppy-dog eyes he could.

"Why me? What am I supposed to do to fix this? Isn't this, this tear in the universes out in the middle of some other galaxy?" Clark groaned and combed his hands through his hair, taking a seat back on the rock nearby. He already had so much to worry about here in Smallville, one little rural town on his one little planet.

"Yup! All the way out in the Triangulum galaxy, oh, roughly 2.73 million light years away from Earth. The universe sure is a big place, huh?" Mxy smiled and flipped to float on his back, gazing up into the sky. He knew he was close to cracking this Clark's shell. Almost every Clark can't help but be Superman, flying off to save the day no matter how big or small the trouble.

Clark sighed again. "Look Mr. Mxyl-whatever your name was—"

"Mr. Mxyzptlk."

"Mr. Mxyzptlk," Clark continued. He gestured to the alien ship. "Look at that. While I wish I could help you with this space-universe-hole issue, I have so many problems I need to handle here. My… my people are trying to invade this planet. And I have to find a way to prevent that. My girlfriend's dad is trying to terminate me, and he's recruited a bunch of thugs, armoring them with alien tech. People here are in danger. It's my responsibility to do something."

Mxy smirked and couldn't stop a good chuckle. "Hah, if you only knew what the other Big Bad General Lanes and the rest of your rogues gallery were like… Oh boy, this never gets old."

Clark did not find Mxy's nonchalance amusing or reassuring. He hated that this imp knew more about him and people he knew way more than he did. Clark crossed his arms, getting frustrated with this no-good so-called chaos god. Nothing but a royal pain in the…

"Well, it would help a whole lot if you shared a little about what you know… A lot of destruction could have been avoided." He didn't want to beg, but maybe the imp could be reasoned with.

Mxy wagged a finger, shaking his head, and began tsking him. He stopped just before the third "tsk" however.

"Ya know… You might be right."

—T&J—