Cloning science was hardly an exact science, especially on Earth.
In other planets and cultures, the technology had advanced enough to develop a powerful industry around the idea of cloning. Permanent, renewal, workforce that matters little if they die in troves, as they can just be re-cloned again as many times as it is necessary. That has provoked more than one civil war among several civilizations.
However, on Earth, cloning science is a bit of a mix-bag. Sometimes, the clones worked perfectly fine, and other times, the clones are defective, lacked something, they are with serious mental issues, so on and so forth.
Mad Scientist was almost a real profession on Earth, where any two-bit scientist believed themselves to be the next Einstein, Tesla, or Marie Curie, and decided to push the limits of reality a bit more. Half of the metahuman origins came from the results of this kind of demented experiments, there was even a non-written agreement among the metahuman community, to divide the origins of the metahumans into three or four categories.
Genetics, Magics, Technology, are the most common and accepted categories. Alien?. Genetics. Metagene?. Genetics. Mysterious Artifacts?. Magic. God's Blessing, Incarnation?. Magics. Super-soldier serum?. Genetics or technology, your pick. It was almost the metahuman equivalent or small talk between heroes, or villains, of all kinds, compare notes and see who or what fucked up their lives or put them on the path of heroics or villains.
In one particular case, cloning was used to make a weapon capable of slaying Earth's greatest defender, and to have their own superman under their command. Despite being very intelligent people behind the science, they, more often than not, prove to be completely, and absolutely morons. But, megalomania, narcissism, egomania, and in general utter selfishness were pretty common. The original idea was to create loyal, capable, and efficient minions that can work, fight, and survive no matter the circumstances, or environment.
It was called the Genomorph project.
The basis of the Genomorph project was cloning. Batches and batches of genetically crafted "genos", capable of fight metahumans on equal ground, and capable of building facilities, along with telepathic communication. They were the wet dream of the military, although, they considered the genos, as little more than walking, expendable, meat. Useful to drown enemies in hordes of enhanced, genetically, crafted hunters, warriors, heavy troops, etc. The problem was the growing vats of the genos. It was expensive tech, very expensive tech. However, the leaders of the "Light", the association of powerful villains all over the world, saw the genos as an incredibly useful tool and decided to take it for a spin.
If they can clone such a wonderful tool as the genos, would they be capable of clone something a bit more exotic and powerful?. Like, for example, a Kryptonian?.
The scientists behind the genomorph project had a collective stroke, a nerdgasm, and a chill running up their spine, at the idea. Any sane person would have several doubts about the idea of cloning superman and brainwash the clone to be their weapon, but the money fall from the sky as if it was the Great Flood, and any principle went down the drain. They got to work, using the genomorph project as a basis, and, in time, they got adequate enough results.
The original project Kr; the chemical symbol of Krypton; was called Match, and due to how the cloning process was very experimental with the complex Kryptonian DNA, it did not work as well as they hoped. Match was unhinged, the cloning process, along with the constant telepathic teachings of the imp-sized telepathic genomorphs did not fit as well as the scientist would have liked. Sure enough, it was a perfect Kryptonian clone of superman, possibly better, as they had to fill some holes in the DNA sequence to make Match a weapon, but his mind was not perfectly developed, the complexity of the Kryptonian DNA was way above the skill of the geneticist of the project.
Technically a failure, technically a success. They put him into storage and went for round two. However, this time around they decided to take a different approach. They cooked up a hybrid clone, a clone that will have human DNA so its mental faculties will be more developed, and they can carefully craft him. Again, the project was considered a success, but with the small caveat that the clone had not full Kryptonian powers. Theoretically, with age, and constant solar absorption, he will develop it, as his true Kryptonian powers. They wanted a weapon, but not an uncontrollable weapon.
It worked like a charm, and Project Kr was shelved for future activation, along with Match and the small addendum that they created to have Match relatively controlled in case of escape or conflict of interest. Project Kr 1.5 was designed to be the moral monkey of Match. A clone, a younger clone, that will act as the consciousness and moral anchor of Match. Of course, when the intention behind all this was to create a weapon, the term moral is very debatable.
Anyhow, Cadmus put the champagne out with project Kr and the exit of the genomorphs, and for a while, everything went perfectly fine, unfortunately, life among superheroes is a biography of everything that could possibly go wrong, or that it is supposedly impossible to happen. And one of those days, a bunch of sidekicks of the Justice League discovered Cadmus and start the kind of bonfires that would forever change the metahuman landscape. Of course, none of them really understood what the heck what they were doing, but they were heroes, and they believed they were putting an end to a mysterious, and obviously illegal, secret lab of evil, especially when the locals had the hero called Guardian under constant mind control, and they were cloning Superman to use him as a freaking weapon.
So, they destroyed the place and forgot about the other clones down there.
A year later, Conner Kent, or Project Kr 2.0, was conveniently informed of the existence of Match, and how the leader of the genomorph community, Jubilex, has formed something akin to a genomorph society, and city, on the underground caverns under the former Cadmus labs. Technically speaking, all genomophs were the relatives of Conner, aka Superboy to the general public, and they considered the clone of Superman, akin to a brother. A brother that was more advanced than them and that was destined to help them out of being merely convenient meat tools and warriors.
So, Conner found the pod of Match, opened it, got a fist to the face, and a screeching mad clone, he had to fight his own twin, so to speak, luckily, Conner only had to fight for a bit, before the final strands of an accident clicked in the mind and soul of Match, and free the clone, along giving him the headache of the century, and way too much information about everything, way, way too much information.
And that brings us to the very awkward conversation happening right now at the apartment of Lois Lane and Clark Kent, on Metropolis.
Metropolis
Clark Kent and Lois Lane Apartment
Tuesday 22:25 PM
"And that would be it", Match, the prototype clone of superman, ended the tale, nursing a glass of scotch on ice, with the kind of stare that war veterans tossed at the bottom of the bottle. "Any questions?".
"All the questions", chuckled Lois Lane, who had been taking notes, as Clark Kent, alias Superman, and Conner Kent, alias Superboy, just stood there with the kind of look of someone that has been sucker-punched their brains into a blender.
"Shoot then, pencils". Chuckled Match in a dry tone.
"What's the adorable little thing role in all this?". Lois pointed with the ball of her pen to the sleeping, small little blonde girl that has come with the two clones of her boyfriend. Lois knew that being the lover of Superman was going to be quite the ordeal, but sometimes, the absurdity of the situation was way too much.
"Told you already", shrugged Match. "Moral monkey, conscious pet, relay for more orders, and maybe public relationship through the power of cute?". Match numbered some of the lines on the documents of Zora, not still of the House of El. "She was created to be my anchor in case I went a bit overboard, and to kept me grounded, and supposedly sane, the project did not go as they intended and Zora is a Kryptonian, eight years old, small girl, with serious sentimental and emotional issues, and that brings me to the elephant in the room".
Match emptied his scotch, without even noticing the burn of the liquor, and really wishing that this would bring him even a freaking buzz. Anything to lessen the impact of what he is about to drop at the feet of his "brother" and "Prime father". Okay, cloning families are confusing as fuck.
"More than anything else in the world, Zora, aye, I named her, she needed a name beyond Project Kr, you, thing, meat, or operative Kr Beta", Match listed some of the names for Zora in her official documents, "anyhow, Zora's is hellbent in knowing "daddy"". Of course, that word made Clark stiffen like an iron rod, and pale considerably, along frowning, grimacing, and making way too many different facial expressions.
"See that, brother?", Match turned to Conner. "That's why he is not all that keen on knowing you but has also tried to help you, in his own way".
"Kal-El of the House of El", Match called directly to Clark and he blinked, surprised by the clone sudden usage of his Kryptonian heritage name, and customs, "as the last living survivor of the House of El, yours is the last words in the House of El, meaning that everything that I am about to reveal falls under House secrets, and only you can approve of its reveal".
"How do you know so much about Kryptonian customs?", asked Clark, a bit dumbfounded by Match's knowledge.
"Genetic information, stolen fragments of an alien database, and Cadmus´ anthropologist deductions", Match shrugged, "oh, and sheer dumb luck Norse ritual made as a joke with unexpected consequences".
"Pardon/What/Uh?", was the confused expressions of the trio on the room at Match's words.
"Still waiting for the permission", Match telekinetically served himself another scotch, and out of thin air, solidified two ice cubes to make the drink perfect. Another show of the blatant differences between the two clones. Conner's frown was to be expected, his lack of Kryptonian powers stung Conner really badly.
"Oh, ah", Clark recovered, "I don't know what you are about to reveal, so I am as in the blind as the rest so..okay?". Clark was as lost like the others, his Kryptonian heritage was something that annoyed Clark deeply in the past, but with time, and living among humanity, being part of the Justice League, etc, has granted him a wider perspective of things.
"First of all", Match nursed his scotch, "a small tidbit about Krypton's society, clones are the lowest of the low". Match dropped the bomb, and Conner widened his eyes, soon followed by the others, who started to see where the conversation is going. "Depending on individual Houses, we are talking between "beloved pet" and "walking spare parts" levels".
"Oh my god", Lois almost dropped her pen, and the reaction of the other two was nothing better. Clark looked green and Conner seemed as if someone has kicked him in the balls.
"The House of El was more progressive than the others, but from their perspective, a clone would be akin to your toilet suddenly growing legs and arms and calling you daddy". The words of Match produce an increase in the green color of the individuals surrounding him.
"Of course, thanks to his upbringing as a human", Match pointed to Clark with his drink, "he is way more open-minded to the idea of clones, but his genetic heritage is revolted by the mere idea. Hence, the conflict on him whenever you are a topic of conversation", Match turned his stare to his "brother". "And now, out of fucking nowhere, he had two walking, talking, meat pieces with his face, and a small girl, that is the carbon copy of his real cousin, calling him daddy. I pity the lad more than anything else".
"Hit the nail in the head, good lord", muttered Clark, trying to make head or tails about what's going on.
"That's, I don't even know what to think about it", Lois was scratching something on her notepad. "In Earth cloning tech is not all that advanced to…".
Match, Clark, and Conner observed with a raised eyebrow, making Lois realized that someone has managed to cook up three clones of an alien race on earth.
"Nevermind", she huffed, scratching another line on her notepad. "But, I take that you are a bit different than the others", Lois focused her attention on Match that was looking between his glass and the bottle of scotch. "Kryptonians and magic are like water and oil".
"A common misconception. There were Kryptonian magicians", Match corrected, "but true, I am different than Conner and Zora".
Now Conner was really paying attention to Match's words. Perhaps he was wondering how to compensate for his lack of Kryptonian powers with magic, however, Match's magic progress came from an accident, and the overload almost fried his brain. That's why Match attacked Conner as soon as he awoke in his pod, with the universe screaming directly at his brain, and way too much knowledge being crammed in his brain, at the same time.
"Zora is an incomplete clone", Match took a sip from his glass. "Physically stable, but with stunted emotional growth, and glaring holes in her education. Conner is a human/hybrid clone, when they cooked me up, they saw that the Kryptonian DNA was a bit more complex than they expected and I ended up as little more than a physically perfect clone of superman, but with the mind of an enraged caveman".
"True", Conner massaged his jaw, due to the punches that they had at the cave.
"Sorry about that", Match smiled sheepishly. "My awakening was brutal, and I reacted in fear, anger, and panic. I punched first, ask questions never".
"And you?", continued the argument, Clark. "If you lacked such higher mental functions, why are you so collected now?".
"See aforementioned Norse ritual joke". Match pointed out. "One of the scientists that they dragged into this mess was a geneticist from Uppsala University called Osvald Blutsson, and out of funny shenanigans, he decided to carve with a permanent pen, some runes on my pod".
"Magic does not work that way", Clark deadpanned at Match explanations, followed by the nods of the other two listeners to the tale. "I am hardly a magician, but I know Doctor Fate, and Captain Marvel, and I have picked enough of their magic-talk to know that, what you are telling me is impossible".
"Aye, magic should not work that way". Match sighed deeply.
With the kind of sight that Clark has let go more than once, and that Lois recognized as the kind of sigh that a man that has seen way too much, was trying to get his shit together, even if the entire world was against it.
"Unfortunately, Osvald was a Homo Magi, a Homo Magi from the same bloodline as the heroine known as Ice, even without training, when the lad carved the runes; drunk out of his ass, mind you, he channeled magic through the permanent marker, and created a magical bond".
"So, he gave you magic?". The skepticism in the tone of Lois was blatant.
"Nay, he sent me into a Seidr trance". Match corrected, and judging from the looks of the others they did not see what was the difference.
"The wanker sent me to the magical equivalent of hanging nine days from the branches of Yggdrasil", Match tried to explain. "Sent my astral projection into a mystical travel to the charred remains of Yggdrasil, impale me to its branches, and witness the secret of the runes, the seidr, the galdr, and in general all of the destroyed Asgardian civilization, that includes a milliard of conflicts with other pantheons and advanced civilizations, including the original Martians, and the Guardians of Oa, before the Green Lantern corps was even formed".
Match sighed, emptied his glass, paused for a second, telekinetically picked the scotch bottle, took a long swing of it, and then, he felt his mind organized enough to stare back at the listeners and continue with his explanations.
"So, nay, the wanker did not gave me magic, only shove it into my brain with a rusty pickaxe and drunken shenanigans".
Now, the body language of Conner indicated that he was no longer all that interested in learning magic. Clark was green again, and Lois was staring at the infinite. With the kind of expression of someone that was listening to the kind of tale that needed copious amounts of booze, just to begin to be understood. Without even a word, a glass with scotch floated at the hand of Lois, that mumbled a quick thanks to Match and proceed to gulp the booze down.
"It took me nine months to be able to run two brain cells together", Match growled, remembering the migraines. Only thanks to his Kryptonian physiology, did Match survive the process. "After that, I was just floating around in the chemical and telepathic coma that the Cadmus guys put me in, until Conner found, and opened my pod, along with Zora's pod".
"Sorry", simply said Conner. "I did not know about any of you until the last week".
"Nay, do not worry", I waved Conner's concerns off. "You were not supposed to know shit about us. I am sure that Jubilex wanted to tell you, but the lad only knows what is on the databases of Cadmus, and in the databases of Cadmus, Zora and I were considered "Uncontrollable assets".
"I don't even know what to do", confessed Clark. Lois was at his side in a second, trying to console the poor sod, who has seen his world turned upside down, twice, in less than a year.
Match did not need to be a telepath to see the equally confused body language of Conner. And to be completely honest, Match can understand, up to a point, how Clark was completely blindsided by this. Clark's heritage, his entire racial memory was screeching at him to put the clones back to the recycle bin, and Clark's earth heritage was telling him to help the kids, that are a bunch of innocent chumps dragged into this mess without a voice or a vote.
"For all that is worth, I am sorry". Match words did carry a tone of apology and understanding. "This is the kind of mess that would fry anyone's brain just thinking about it, and we are living it".
"So..what's next?". Conner made the question of the million dollars.
"That's entirely up to you". Match shrugged, and Conner stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
"I am a non-factor in any of your, or yours, plans", Match waved to Clark. "Right now, you have a bigger, blonde-haired problem on your hands". A blatant reference to Zora. "To make her, they tweaked the Kryptonian DNA a little. Physically, she will be almost fully Kryptonian, but her heat vision will be a shadow of the one of a true Kryptonian, on the other hand, her freezing breath, due to the augmentations on her lungs, will be something to behold".
Another long swing of the bottle of scotch went down Match's throat, who wished for something capable of giving him a buzz, and cut short how, utterly, awful he was feeling by screwing up the lives of Superman, Lois Lane, and his "siblings". Having empathy was the kind of sensation that Match could have signed off, but communing with the Tree of Life, had those small details hidden in the small print.
"The real problem is that Zora is very socially, and emotionally, stunted". Match continued with a frown and a grimace. "As far as Zora and her programming are concerned, she is your daughter. She knows she is a clone, and she does not care, and how it can not be otherwise, the brilliant minds", Match's sarcastic tone could have peeled paint from the walls, "at Cadmus erased any trace of the cultural disgust and disregard that the Kryptonian society had for clones, from her mind".
"My best guess, is that they wanted her to hate you", I stared at Clark, that was slumping on a chair, unable to believe the shitshow that has landed on his lap. "And to do that, they programmed a daddy girl personality on her, knowing full well that you will be utterly disgusted by her mere existence, then, she will be more than delight to point me", Match almost growled, "right at you, without an ounce of doubt about why were we trying to kill Superman".
Clark winced at Match's tone, and gilt and revulsion fought on his expression.
"The ire of a scorned woman is terrible", Match chuckled with dark humor. "The ire of a scorned woman capable of smash mountains into gravel, and freeze oceans with her breath, is even worse".
"Bloody hell", cursed Lois under her breath, and Match's humorless laugh accompanied such a curse.
"You can not be more right, lass".
Africa
Mount Kilimanjaro
Thursday, 2300 PM
You can expect a bloody mess when an indestructible body collides with a very destructible body at Match 3.
Fortunately, the very destructible body was a combat bot that the international syndicate of crime known as Intergang used to protect and carry most of their convoys around. Of course, such advanced combat tech, more than capable to stand their ground against most of the armed forces on the planet, were completely useless, when something hit them at Match 3 and with enough kinetic force to reduce a building to a smoldering crater.
After passing through one of the armored bots that protected the convoy, the rest of the machines, and goons, reacted quickly, and in a few seconds, several, energy and physical, projectiles were after the intruder. For his part, Match, was taking his time, dodging any shot that came too close, and perusing the diverse boxes with his X-ray vision. Intergang was clever enough to lay some lead into the metal of their containers, but at the same time, it was obvious what were the containers had something that Intergang did not want to be seen through X-ray vision.
Just by moving at its side, Match pushed a bot to the side, strong enough for the bot to bisect itself over the nearest crate, and whose upper body forced some of the humane goons protecting the place to dodge for cover, or be squashed by the broken bot. Match grabbed the door of the container, ripped it out of its hinges, and toss the door over his shoulders, smashing another couple of annoying bots.
What Match found was not among his calculations.
The bunch of varied aliens stared at him with a mixture of fear and hope, and Match sighed, knowing that shit has got complicated. As if things were not complicated enough.
A hand gesture and a rune manifested in the air, blocking any lost shot from the bots around, and protecting the aliens inside of the container from the battle around them. In the beginning, they were scared, but when the barrier protected them from a trio o humans that were unable to enter, and that punched the barrier with energy weapons without even shacking the thing, the aliens started to think that the strange human, maybe, could help them.
In the meantime, Match stared at one of the remaining bots, and in a red flash, the bot melted to slag. Raising a container over his head, Match used it to smash the other remaining bots, raising the cracked container a couple of times more to be sure that both the container and the bots were turned to scrap. Something that Match really enjoyed, was fighting robots, as he could tear them apart freely, and will not have to worry about killing anyone. Having a consciousness was really a drag. Sure, he could kill, absurdly easily in fact, but Match preferred not to. In part out of sheer common decency, and in part due to sheer practicality. Killing someone will make Match a villain, and a villain is hunted by the heroes, the last thing Match needed was to be hounded by the Justice League, or even worse, his own fucking "brother" and his friends.
Also, that would break Zora's heart.
Telekinetically, Match dragged the humans, tore the weapons out of them, shove them into a broken container, and crush the thing into a metallic ball. Effectively trapping the humans inside, but not to the point of crushing them as if they were reduced to a pulp inside of a trash compactor. Lately, some authorities will come and deal with the aftermath, or the League, Match did not really care much.
Picking up one of the weapons, Match dismantled the thing with his magic and nodded in approval. Leaving apart the fact that it was used for crime, whoever had designed this plasma gun of sorts, really knew his stuff. It was not of use for a Kryptonian like Match; clone, what's not; but not every alien species out there had Kryptonian specs, and this plasma gun was more than capable that give even the sturdier races out there, a pause.
Waving the barrier, Match lets the aliens walk out of the container. Some cried the liberty, other grabbed guns and seek out the humans that had hurt them, staring in disbelief at the metal ball that holds the Intergang band now, and another just stare around, completely lost. Match lacked the Green Lantern trinket that would allow them to communicate with any living species, but thanks to his forced Asgardian heritage, Match had inherited the "All-Tongue", the first language form where all languages of the universe came. That is if Match wanted to talk, and Match did not want to talk. Liberating the slaves was just an extra, Match was there for another reason.
Floating near another sealed container, Match rip apart the seams of the container, tore the metallic walls of the cargo, and seek out his objective at the innards of the secure cargo. The objective of Match was very exotic merchandise, something that was out of the usual antics of Intergang.
Intergang was a crime syndicate that specialized in unique technology, especially alien technology of all kinds. From the abominable things out of the demented assholes of Apokolips to Breach, Kolorian, Martian, and whatever tech they can put their hands on. They make no distinctions, they took, dismantle, and try to replicate any weapons that they found, and sold them to any two-bit thug with the money to pay for the cannon. And in a world like this one, business was booming, crime was always lucrative, and having a plasma gun capable of melting anything two steps down Superman was more than welcome into any gang, of any city.
However, Match was interested in another thing entirely. Tech was interesting, sure, but Match had other worries in mind. Intergang was a technological gang mostly, so, when Match interrogated some low-level Homo Magi, in the search for a very particular item, there is little need to say how the hands of Intergang were the last ones that Match would have imagined behind magical artifacts contraband.
Punching some more street mages, shacking some more trees, ripping apart a couple of demons, and beating in a sex challenge an annoying Fairy later, Match got a time and a place. Mount Kilimanjaro, a smuggling operation using improvised Boom-Tubes, will hold one of the items in the list of Match. After a quick flight, Match fell upon the Intergang goons like the wrath of God, and there he was.
Smiling, Match found what he was looking for. Intergang did not know what to do with the thing and stored it inside one of their "Biohazard" more secure caskets. In other circumstances, opening that blasted thing would have taken days of a complicated, and difficult process, Match punched through the protective layers of the casket as it was wet paper, grabbed the objective, and with a wicked smile, rip it out of the destroyed container.
Match's objective was a rough ruby the size of a human fist, that reflects all the colors of the rainbow in a hypnotic pattern. The moment Match grabbed the jewel, a myriad of voices and whispers assaulted his mind, promises, wishes, voices, screams, an infinite cavalcade of ideas and emotions assaulted Match's brain.
"Shut up". Ordered Match, drowning the assault under a flood of willpower, making the magical artifact shut up immediately. "I am not in the mood, you are going to obey or, I swear on the Styx, I will toss you to the sun". The glow of the ruby vanish, and the echoes inside of it followed soon after.
With a growl, Match made the ruby vanish into a puff of smoke, safely stored into small pocket dimensions that Match crafted with Asgardian magic. It was his personal inventory, so to speak. A void space where unliving things could be parked up until Match needed it. Match thought the empty dimension was like a small splinter of the astral plane, but devoid of anything, not even though, and it was called Elsewhere, or something along those lines. It was bloody useful, Match fully admitted that.
Floating outside of the container, Match raised an eyebrow at some of the aliens dismantling the bots and looting the other containers. Well, they are survivors, Match will give them that, a lot of them seemed from advance enough civilizations, and even some of them did look human enough. Still, not his problem, Match raised his hand to the communicator that Conner has given him and called to his brother.
"Superboy here", came the voice of his "brother" so to speak. Match preferred to kept things simple, considering the nightmarish headache that it was the life of a clone.
"Hello brother", identified Match himself before anything else. "Sorry, but I have a situation here that could use a Green Lantern, or anyone with alien expertise".
"What kind of situation?", was the straight question of Conner.
"I crashed an Intergang operation, and one of the containers carried aliens. Slaves, I suppose". Match's reply was as much as to the point as Conner's question had been. "They are lost, confused, and, right now, armed as well", added Match after looking at the aliens pick up the guns from the floor, and from the containers, and already starting to form groups.
"We will be there as soon as we can", Conner informed Match after a second to digest the news of Match. "Then you could explain to me why are you busting Intergang operations, bullying street mages….and why I have a fairy calling me brother in law".
"Understood, I will be there", Match answered with a smile.
Of course, Match had zero intentions of being there by the moment that the team of Conner, or any Justice League member, appeared to clean up this mess. In part due to how Match did not want to give any explanations, and in part due to how Match explanations will not grant him any favors. It was one of the problems that Match had found, as soon as he got out of the pod, that his objectives, more often than not, required quite the heavy hand, if not directly breaking the law, and that would put him at the other side of the line.
To be fully honest, Match did not consider himself a hero, not even an aspiring one. Match was crafted, first and foremost, to be a weapon. Weapons are designed for one thing, and one thing only. Put the enemy down. Sure, one can paint a house with a shotgun, or building a wall with it, but the results will be lacking, put it mildly. That's why Match kept himself out of the usual capes shenanigans, or at last, as much as he could. Fortunately, most of his objectives can be achieved by screwing with known criminal syndicates, and villains, so, at the worst, Match could be considered a vigilante, instead of a full villain.
Ending the call with Conner, Match, floating several meters over the aliens, perused the convoy a bit more. Match has already got what he wanted, but these operations usually carried a lot of valuables, and, as the aliens had soon done, some good old looting was a respected practice. Match, due to the drunken shenanigans of the scientist of Cadmus, was an Asgardian as well now, and plundering was almost in his blood by now.
The aliens under him did not react with hostility, in fact, most of them just stared at him with confusion, and no little fear, not entirely sure about what to do. Some were already looking at him, and then at the other aliens as if they were juicy morsels, and other aliens were just trying to fix some of the broken robots or dismantling them to build a roof over their heads. Kilimanjaro nights are not for everybody after all.
Sadly, Match did not found anything else of value. Well, there were some interesting pieces of tech, but Match lacked the contacts to make anything out of them. Sure, thanks to the knowledge that the genos of Cadmus put inside his brain, and the Asgardian knowledge that the ritual shoved into Match's brain, Match was hardly a technological illiterate, but not a tech genius either. Match has already collected more than enough tech for his plans, and Match was sure that some of the tech presents had more than one shitshow attached to it, so, left it to the League was the better option.
Match was about to fly out of Africa, and into his next objective, when his senses picked up the crackling of ozone, the signal of a lightning bolt about to strike. Match react late, and the electric strike hit him fully, sending him spiraling into the walls of the mountain, and making him clench his teeth in soft pain. That discharge has not been natural, that carried the essence of divinity.
Easily freeing himself from the rock, and with his white suit already smoking, Match stared at the source of the attack.
At the same time, Match took mental note of fixing the white suit, again. Match wondered if there was a point in moving around with the solar suit of Cadmus. Sure, it was designed to support his Kryptonian powers but, it was not prepared for long-term conflicts, and it has not been adequately maintained since Match got out of his pod. Sooner or later, the suit is going to surrender, and be irreparable, and Match did not want to lose all that time looking for clothes capable of enduring Kryptonian level of stress. It was that or walking around in the buff, and something told Match that such a decision would be an unwise one.
The moment Match put his eyes on the attacker, Match had to admit that his heart skipped a beat. Match knew that the gods existed, and right now, Match had a goddess staring back at him, riding the storm, dressed in something very akin to Wonder Woman suit, and looking like a wet dream made flesh. Feminine curves that would make any hotblooded male experience a mighty throb at the loins, soft chocolate skin, the most beautiful white hair that Match has ever seen, and perfectly kissable red lips, all in an anatomically perfect and fit package.
Pity that her expression was one of hostility, Match was sure that her smile could win awards.
"Halt, intruder!", she thundered, making the lightning around her crash a couple of times around Match. "I am Ororo of Themyscira, and these lands are under my protection".
Match get out of the stone wall and raised his hands in surrendering motion.
"Well meet amazon, I am Match", it was common courtesy to present oneself first after all. "And I am not here to be an intruder, I have destroyed and Intergang smuggling and slavery operation", pointed Match down to the floor, where the aliens have already scampered, and much to Match horror, the boldest of them have already taken aim.
"Shit, do not shoot!", Match scream came too late, and a bunch of aliens has already pulled the trigger of the guns that they have recovered from the Intergang goons.
A volley of plasma and laser fire, fly true against Match and Ororo. Thanks to the inhumane reflexes, it was easy for both of them to dodge the first barrage, but the aliens of the ground, at least the one that had decided that shooting was a good idea, have a lot of weapon fire to toss around, and the barraged continued. Match shot his heat vision several times, melting, or directly incinerating the guns that shot at him.
Match was about to zig-zag at match speed to take and destroy the guns of the aliens when Ororo got feed up with the entire situation, and raising in the sky, summoned a bloody electric storm, and started to rain lightning all over the place, destroying anything that the electricity touched, frying more than one alien; fortunately, Match hearing did pick up that those fried were still breathing, albeit shocked the hell out; and forcing everybody to try to seek out cover in the stone walls, and natural caves, of the mountain.
A couple of bolts strike Match, but it tickled more than anything else, despite being relatively young, Match was crafted to go toe to toe with Superman and win in a slugfest, so, a small electric storm was not a real threat for his life, however, the aliens down there were not that fortunate. Sure, Match did not give half a shit about the ones that decided that shooting them was a good idea, but others, the ones that tried to build a shelter, were innocent in all these, and something told Match that they will not survive a direct lightning strike.
Still, Match had to confess that Ororo was breathtaking when she was all "Goddess of the storms". Wait, breathtaking...that gave Match an idea, that Match knew, in his heart of hearts, that was a very wrong idea, but at the same time, the best idea he had ever had.
Smiling, Match fly at blinding speeds, saving some of the aliens from the electric storm, and depositing them onto a small cave, on the edge of the valley that Intergang used for their smuggling. In the surface of Match's tongue, gold magic drew a particular rune, and when the rune was complete, Match flew near Ororo, standing in front of her, and calling her attention.
"Amazon!, stop!", shouted Match calling the attention of Ororo. "They got the message woman, put an end to your tantrum!".
That was obviously the wrong words to say. Such words, especially to amazon, and one that had all the markings of being close to Wonder Woman, were fighting words. And that was what Match was hoping for, taunting the amazon, pushing her button so she went for the kill in CQC and stop raining bolts left, right, and center.
"You dare mock me!", enraged, Ororo reacted just as Match wanted, charging with her body surrounded by the electricity that she seemed to command.
Now, engaging in close combat with amazon was a suicide task, even if the Amazon was just a grunt from their militia. Due to the blessing of their patron gods, the amazons are always stronger than the average human, and in the case of Wonder woman, just shy of Superman himself. However, Match was now so attuned with divine energies, that he was more than able to determine that, strong and beautiful as this mocha goddess was, she was not the same divine scale as Wonder Woman. Meaning that a Kryptonian like Match was more than a physical match for her.
Locking fingers with Ororo in the blink of an eye, taking her by surprise by the sudden speed of Match, Match forced her arms onto her back, hugging her close to him. Ororo was about to claim for her liberation, and the cowardice of Match, when Match suddenly kissed her on the lips, fully, and with a liberal application of tongue. Now, that was shocking enough, and Ororo screamed bloody vengeance on her mind when she felt the tongue of Match invading her mouth, but before she could close her mouth, and bit the tongue of Match in bloody retribution, Ororo's brain pleasure centers flared like the fourth of July, making her eyes roll backward; not that it was such a difference, for when she used her powers, her eyes became pure white; and emit a deep, primal, and pleasured moan that echoed in their mouths.
Before Ororo had any chance to recover from the sudden, overwhelming, and completely unexpected pleasure, induced by the rune on the tongue of Match that activated the moment Match's tongue tasted Ororo's, Match sucked out all the air in her lungs, making her faint due to lack of oxygen. Match had, literally, taken her breath away.
Carrying the unconscious Ororo in a princess carry, Match floated down the floor, and with a couple of mental commands, lifted some debris, and prepare an impromptu bed for the amazon. Match was not going to lie, Ororo tasted divine, and it was not just an expression, she had divine ancestry of some sort running through her veins, but it was a distant ancestry, not demigod level as Wonder Woman. Match would love to repeat the kiss, albeit in more pleasurable and consensual circumstances, but the rush had worked, and Ororo was down for the count, with only her pride hurt.
And then, Match realized that he had hurt an amazon pride, and he had done it by kissing her, a male, dominating her, and stolen her lips, before his breath. Scowling, Match realized that he had seriously botched up and that he will have to explain a lot of things, if he ever wanted to show his face again near the Justice League, or any amazon, for what is worth it. Okay, this was a very, very, stupid idea.
Perhaps the "I was programmed as a weapon with the social nuances of a shotgun" card could work in this scenario?. Aye, Match decided that he was going to pull that card and plead the fifth if this situation came back to bit him in the ass, as Match was already more than convinced that it would.
Now even five minutes later, Ororo recovered from her sudden asphyxiation, in front of the confused team of sidekicks that operated from Mount Justice, and a Green Lantern, John Stewart to be more precise, that was shepherding the aliens into a green spaceship of some sort. Of course, the moment that she awake and saw Conner, she jumped at him, and tried to strangle the hell out of him, barely contained by Miss Martian, who was as confused as the rest. After some explanations and the reveal of the identity of Match, Ororo apologized to Conner, who was apologizing in turn for having a cretin for a brother and facepalming at the lack of social, and basic common sense, graces of his fellow clone.
Conner, Superboy, the enraged boy with the social graces of a bloody rock, was the one being the sane man. That was an indicator of how screwed the situation really was.
Of course, the fairy pest that had attached herself to Conner; as she saw Conner as the most likely method of founding Match again; did not help at all. The fairy managed, somehow, Fairy magic most likely, to convince Ororo to admit, much to her embarrassment, that Match kiss was the best she had ever had, but the amazon zapped the fairy when her questions got a bit too much and started to explain to Ororo why she should have let Match fucked her into oblivion with his magical cock. Literal words. The team was even more confused after that, and Conner facepalmed, so strongly, that he produced shock waves.
So, Match was right, the entire thing can only end well, aye sir.
Of course, as Match was trying to convince himself that denial was just the name of a river in Egypt, he had already Bifrost-ed the way out the Mount Kilimajaro and into a corner of Tunguska. Casting a small spell to make himself invisible, Match followed the train tracks, all the way to the first, big enough, Russian city, and after bargaining for a bit with the amused, and greedy, shopkeeper of a clothing store, Match walked out of the store with new clothes. As a side note, Match saw his reflection of the shop's mirrors and thought that a five o´clock shadow beard was adequate to make himself different from the rest of his clone siblings and genetic donor.
The All-tongue was perfect to move around and speak with the people without looking like a bloody tourist, well, at least not so blatantly, speaking a language was a thing, learning all the mannerism and customs of a population was another thing entirely. But, speaking the language without an accent, and being quick, short, and polite, helped to move around. On the downside, the red coat, and the obvious Superman T-shirt underneath was very eye-catching, anyhow, Match bought some "groceries" here and there, and after finding a seclude enough park, Match took a seat on the park bench, and plugging a small trinket that he had stolen from Intergang into a prepaid phone, made a long-distance call.
"Brother!" came the delighted, albeit childish voice at the other side of the phone.
"Hello, sweetie", laughed Match, happy to see that Zora was happy and well.
Leaving Zora with Clark Kent was a dick move of epic proportions, fortunately, Zora was open to the idea of living with her "grandparents", and for what Match understood, one can not a more wholesome childhood than with the Kents. That was one of the bets of Match about why Zora needed a family, and what a better family, that the one that has given Superman his moral values and principles?. So far, in the week that Match has been gallivanting around the glove, the bet seemed to have been the right one. Zora needs a stable, functional, positive environment to fix, as best as possible, the emotional and social stunt that has been programmed on her.
Match had a long-term plan to seek out the jokers working at the Cadmus labs, and broke them, piece by piece, for thinking that screwing up the mind of an innocent eight-year-old was a good idea. But that was a long-term project, after the Cadmus disaster, the earth seemed to have swallowed the rest of the genetic team at Cadmus. The more drastic methods to hunt down the rest of the shit-list of Match, will put Match at odds with the rest of the cape community, and that something that Match did not want, at least for the moment. Tomorrow?. who knows?.
Match chatted with Zora for a while, just chit-chat, nothing serious, nothing groundbreaking. Like any other day in the park, an old man took a seat at the other side of Match's bench, and proceed to feed the park birds. Just this small talk with Zora was enough to brighten Match's day.
"Sorry, Zora", Match saw the hour on the screen of the prepaid phone. "Tomorrow I will call you again, or maybe I will pay you a visit".
"Really?", Match can practically saw the smile on the small girl. If Supergirl was an indication of the kind of beauty that Zora will be in the future, Match is going to beat horny kids with a very big stick. "You promise?".
"I promise", smiled Match, a true, honest smile, the first in days. "Good night, Zora".
"Good night, brother".
Ending the call, Match unplugged the trinket of Intergang, and tossed the phone to a trash can, around twenty meters to the right. Sighing, Match turned his eyes to the old man on the same park bench as him, and after a couple of seconds, on where the man just stared back with an amused smile on his face, Match sighed again and spoke.
"So, what can I do for you, Mister Kent, or should I call you Doctor Fate?".