The world around us has a way of changing dramatically at a moment's notice without warning, leaving us at a loss in the sudden wake of our lives being upturned dramatically. Often, it can prove to be a trial that shapes us and determines our quality - what kind of person we really are before we even know ourselves. It can be frightening to experience such tumultuous changes to your life, but persevering through it can make you so much stronger than you ever imagined and open the door to new horizons and new adventures the likes of which you had never imagined.
This story is one such tale.
It has been three years since the Time Patrol's efforts to thwart Mechikabura's Qliphoth, and in the aftermath, the damaged shards of the multiverse needed to be patched together into a single universe in order to save all of reality. The world is so familiar to our heroes, and yet so foreign now, with the differences being known only to those brave select few who fought to prevent calamity. The rest of existence? Is gratefully and graciously none the wiser to the truth and assume this remade world is the one they were born into and have lived in all their lives. Our story begins in Hercule City, a once small metropolitan capital that has now since swelled and grown into a colossal urban jungle that has no shortage of life and wonder between its skyscrapers and alleyways. Normally, the noisiest of days included the clamor of car engines and the hustle and bustle of people walking to work and going about their daily lives while rewatching old footage of the legendary martial arts champion and savior of Earth, Hercule Satan, in preparation for his next exhibition at any upcoming tournaments. However, today is a day where that sort of idyllic urban cacophony of sonic resonance was shattered by explosions and a small sedan flying through the air before a black and blue blur caught it from the sky as it arced through only for it to suddenly apparate with another flashing zip of that selfsame blur, gently placed onto the ground. A roar of battle echoed out as a large behemoth of a humanoid came barrelling through the alleyways and slammed his colossal fists onto the ground. The creature was at least twelve feet tall with large tree-trunks for arms that dwarfed the rest of his proportions, giving him the impression of some ape-like entity with a face that seemed more rodent than anything else with leathery purple scales for skin and what could only be described as a green leotard for wardrobe while he beat his chest and smashed through the tight passage to expose himself to the busy traffic of the street.
"Fool! You might be powerful, runt, but Githraznak the Black has destroyed worlds far greater than this one! You think yourself worthy of that mantle, but you'll be nothing but another footnote in the stories of my conquests! You are no–"
A relatively normal-sized fist vibrated into view, the same blur from before making a course correction into Githraznak's perimeter as he boasted before that much smaller fist crashed into his jaw and face, silencing him with an uppercut that echoed with the force of a thundercrack and in a flash, the colossal alien invader was sent flying before the blur of momentum dispersed and Superman had revealed himself. Clad in his signature blue combat uniform with baggy black leggings and red accents, his furry prehensile tail swayed lazily as his thick and wild mane fell back into place over his shoulders. The bright red S emblazoned across his chest over the black canvas, he took a casual and relaxed posture while gazing skyward - However this guy got here, he could go home with his tail between his legs the same way. Either way, Sparga-Do̅ was relieved to be rid of that problem. Having officially taken up the mantle of Superman since his surrogate father's passing, the Saiyan Kryptonian hybrid let a calming huff escape his lungs, cycling clean oxygen into his system and refreshing his senses.
Sparga: "Well that solves that problem. Now for the collateral damages."
Thankfully, the invader this time wasn't as much of a threat as he believed himself to be - they rarely ever do. Three long years spent thwarting would-be conquerors from other worlds across the stars seeking to prove themself as superior to the new Superman meant Sparga was well-practiced in mitigating damage to the population. And this one wasn't even anything to write home about. It was definitely exhausting how frequent it was, though. These sorts of occurrences were at a minimum, two or three times a week if he was lucky. They rarely offered much difficulty to the young Superman, but the frequency at which they occurred was a point of annoyance. Sparga was about to begin turning around to assess the collateral damages sustained but his instincts kicked in and a sudden burst of energy flared in his senses, alerting him that this one was actually tougher than anticipated. Before he could finish pivoting at the heel, Sparga's awareness felt the surge of power in the skies above and as he looked up, Sparga caught sight of something that looked like a meteor racing back down toward him before it sent its massive tree trunk sized fist to slam down on him. Githraznak roared in rampage and explosive fury as he swung both broad forearms down in order to pulverize the would-be hero who stood in the way of his conquest. With each hammering blow of his fists, an explosion of energy erupted and rang out in repeating concussive shocks of power that caused even the brickwork of nearby structures to fracture and crack, windows shattering and turning into shards of shrapnel and with each thundering strike, the cloud of smoke and ash that fired off with each explosion of energy only grew larger. After several prolonged moments of unstopped and uninterrupted blows, Githraznak the Black took a step back and reveled in his efforts with an uproar of laughter.
Githraznak: "Ha! Hahaha! You see!? You might be strong, but you're still just some punk who thinks he's Superman!"
His hysteric chortling went on and on until he caught sight of two sizzling red lights glowing within the smokescreen kicked up in the wake of his onslaught and his celebration was cut short immediately. A single footstep clapped against the cracked asphalt and as the smoke cleared, Sparga emerged - Unharmed and wearing an expression that straddled the line somewhere between bored and annoyed. His right fist clenched so tight that his knuckles sharpened white hot and before finally putting an end to this, Sparga offered one correction;
Sparga: "I am Superman!"
Faster than a bolt of lightning, Sparga's fist shot forward in a whirling arc to crash his striking hand back into the alien invader's jaw and deliver yet another sundering uppercut. Githraznak's body found itself ejected upward so quickly back into the sky that the air itself ignited from friction while he hit escape velocities. There was an intensity to this attack that the first one lacked, a dedication to ending this tired scene and sending this blundering raider packing so that peace could be restored. With a powerful and mighty blow that sent the winds whirling up to cyclone in the skies up above, Sparga's eyes followed his challenger as they soared skyward and made sure that he wouldn't need to exert himself further to waste further time when he could be devoting his aid elsewhere; Yep. Definitely out of the planet's atmosphere now. If he had breached Earth's airspace without a ship, then he could definitely make his way home without one
Finally able to relax, Sparga turned to inspect how much actual property damage was done, and thankfully, had very little he needed to pick up after. But the nearby crowd of onlookers closing in to see what all the commotion was about made him nervous. It was one thing to have to deal with civilians in the way of the fight, let alone interposing themselves into the clean up, what always came after was another. But maybe this time it would be different? The nearby citizens were quieter than normal after he protected them from alien invaders or natural disasters… Maybe –
"Hey! Hero!"
What felt like rotted and old fruit hurled at him splashed and splattered onto his shoulder and Sparga turned to see the remains of an old and moldy tomato exploded all over his chest. Ahh. There it is. Sparga craned his neck toward the direction the tomato came from before it hit him and he saw a middle-aged man with an angry expression flipping him the bird before shouting;
"We don't want you caped crusaders comin' back! Us regular folk don't need your kind no more, remember!? Now get outta here before you cause us any more trouble!"
"Yeah, fly home, hero! We can take care of ourselves!"
A sad smile washed over Sparga's features as he nodded solemnly. Kal-El's regime and the scars of tyranny it left behind were still sharp and fresh in Earth's mind. Try as he might to restore the hope his father's image invoked before his fall from grace, all people cared about anymore is how powerless they were during the One Earth Regime and how desperate they were to prevent it from ever happening again. Costumed heroes have long since been outlawed and publicly denounced since the regime's fall. People have long since let go of their fear of superpowered metahumans or aliens posing a threat to them, and instead choose to stand their ground in the face of overwhelming opposition to die with their pride intact, waiting for this Superman to prove himself as much a threat to mankind as the previous. But Sparga wasn't like his father. He wasn't going to break the code of a Superman that Kal did. He couldn't afford to. The ideals he was raised on and lived by were so personal and important to him that even if all of Earth hated and reviled him, he needed them to feel safe and hopeful so they could have that luxury of being resentful. So with a heavy heart, the Superman lifted his hand and swiped the rotted fruit off of his suit and began to lift off of the asphalt to fly away. Where he was going, he hadn't decided yet. There's probably somewhere else that needs his assistance, he'd find it quickly. But for now, he decided it best to just let these good people have their safety and their passion.
He didn't begrudge them their resentment for the symbol he wore. How could he? There were still so many people who lived through Kal-El's regime and the fear that gripped their hearts was one that you didn't just forget. He was even proud of how brave they were in the face of that fear - That kind of confidence in the face of something you're scared of and all the dangers it entails is admirable, worthy of praise. But they hated him all the same. And even a Superman could only carry on with that kind of hate from the entire world for so long. But being Superman meant having a responsibility to this planet to protect it, no matter how they felt about him. That was something Kal lost sight of when he gave in to his grief and killed the Joker. And then just didn't stop killing. The whole world had to suffer under one man's anguish as his trauma drove him to turn from Mankind's greatest hope to its darkest enemy.
And Sparga wasn't there to stop it. He was too busy hiding from his mistakes in another world, another reality that let him pretend he had a fresh start, a second chance to act like he wasn't flawed for seven long years. Seven years for Kal-El to burn the world that raised him to the ground so he felt like he was still in control. And when Sparga was suddenly pulled back into his home dimension, the harsh reality of his absence made the guilt of his running away hit all the heavier. He couldn't let it slide, he couldn't allow it to go on any longer. That was probably the hardest fight of his life. How can you look the man who took you in as his own and raised you, nurtured you and taught you everything you believe in and watch him become everything he stood against? How do you stand up to him? How do you bring him to heel so he could face justice? Well… In Sparga's case? With both feet planted firmly on the ground and fists clenched tightly while saying "Enough is enough."
That didn't make it any easier, of course. But here he was now, a new Superman for a new world. And then he returned to that dimension he hid in where he could continue pretending like his home didn't need him any longer. But fate has a funny way of laughing in your face when you're wrong about something. When Towa and Mira revived the darkest King of the demonic realm to help them bring their goals to fruition, the Qliphoth that they created threatened not just both dimensions that Sparga cared for, but all of creation. That threat was dire and the Crisis that he and his comrades faced was one that would prove to Sparga that the world did indeed need a Superman to keep it safe. In the aftermath of such a Crisis, all the damaged dimensions needed to be stitched together patchwork to forge back a safe reality that existence could once again expand from and the world that Sparga was trying so hard to hide from his past from and the one that he was hiding in were suddenly one before he could really even make sense of the implications. But his needs didn't matter. There were too many lives at risk if they didn't do this. And if he had a choice in the matter? He'd go back and do it all over again.
Sparga wasn't sure where he was flying to, he just knew that the people needed space from him. The symbol on his chest he still so proudly believed in was still one of terror for the Earth and while he liked to believe that his every action in the three years since his active career as Superman began helped chip away at that anger, the truth of the matter is that the people of Earth still had so much fear and resentment of that bright red S. He couldn't even blame them for it, either. So when he saved them, he always made sure to make himself scarce and move on to the next disaster he could avert. But he was thankfully not finding anything needing the attention of a Superman, so he just drifted among the clouds and ruminated on his circumstances. Having to restore the hope that the symbol he wore on his suit was not an easy task, but Sparga knew it was the obligation of any good Superman. With a heavy sigh, he stared into the crystal blue expanse of cloudless horizon while lounging in empty air. It was a peaceful moment and he didnt get many of those anymore. Running his hands through that long cascading mane of spiked tresses, he let another exhale flow from his lips to compose himself before adjusting his posture and taking flight to Conton City.
Several short minutes of flight to clear his head of his troubles later and he finally arrived into Conton City's skyzone. Conton was a very different city from so many others, with a lot more metahumans and aliens making themselves comfortable to build a much more diverse biome than many other metropolitan areas. In fact, there were so many diverse lifeforms in Conton City that it was presently the only one on Earth that required a flight license for individuals who could propel themselves through the air without a vehicle, though West City and Neo Gotham were presently in talks to begin instating that law themselves. The airspace was just so busy with people flying about so casually that collision incidents were a lot more common than they liked to pretend otherwise. For years, this was Sparga's home while he hid from his past. For seven years, he busied himself as a Time Patroller while pretending he could run from his own life and he made a name for himself as a Time Patrol Ace thanks to his immense strength and skill before turning his resignation in and going freelance to protect Earth in the bright blues and reds he wore now. Once he soared into and through Conton City's airspace, he made his way toward the large portal that only the Time Patrol's most trusted and elite members could cross. Once having done so, he'd land onto the walkway leading up to the vault and let his boots clap against the stone tiles while looking around. His gaze turned to the left and the right while he scanned about in search of the person he came looking for, and then her voice cut through to catch his attention before he finally saw her.
Chronoa: "You do know you're not allowed to be in here anymore."
The whimsical tone of the song in her voice as she teased caught his attention and the Saiyan Kryptonian hybrid's smile softened as he caught sight of the tall woman clad in hues of white and gold step toward him. She was just ever so faintly taller than him but his mane's wild spikes gave the illusion he was of greater height and as she approached, her golden eyes beamed with mischief while she strode forward to plant a gentle kiss to his lips. The Supreme Kai of Time was a woman who was always more than willing to make time for a bit of relaxation and joy to stave off the boredom of her responsibilities so when Sparga returned, she couldn't resist darting off to greet him with that warm affection that won him over in the end. He returned the kiss with a soft grin etched on his features and his tail swayed lazily in content.
Chronoa: "Earth's mighty hero, Superman, trespassing in the Time Patrol's sacred secret sanctum. What will the people think?"
Sparga: "That maybe I'm coming home to my girlfriend so I can take a well earned break from fighting crime and saving the world?"
Chronoa laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped into his arms with feigned shock as she tilted her head back to play at distress.
Chronoa: "Oh, but Superman! What will the people think! The scandal! The trashy rag articles that will speculate!"
Sparga: "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll be quick. I don't want Trunks to catch me here anyways."
With a mischievous glint of his own twinkling in his eye, he leaned in and nuzzled the crook of her neck while she ran her fingers through that wild lion's mane of hair he called a head and massaged his scalp. Her touch was soothing and he instantly deflated and relaxed at the sensation, letting the stress from earlier wash away.
Chronoa: "Oh, stop. It's fine. If I say you can stay, then you can stay, you know that. When are you two gonna act like grown-ups and talk it out? You can't be mad at each other forever, you know."
With another deep breath spreading through his core, he bristled and stood upright to step back while bringing his left hand up to massage the back of his neck and work the knot building up. Chronoa's expression began to sink as he retreated and she straightened her own posture, bracing herself. This was becoming all too normal for them and it was taking its toll on the both of them - And it showed.
Sparga: "Well maybe if he wasn't the one who started it in the first place, I wouldn't be so defensive. He's the one who got all up in arms about everything."
Chronoa: "See? There it is. You two can't even stop yourselves. You both keep acting like the other one is responsible for the whole problem. Sparga, the two of you were best friends. Why can't you just try? For me?"
Another low sigh slipped from him as he waved a hand up defensively, trying to find the words to rebuke her valid point but found none. He pulled his gaze away from her, trying and failing to find something - anything else interesting to change the subject. But he couldn't. And he couldn't deny that she was right. So it was all he could do to cave in and reluctantly spit out the acceptance.
Sparga: "Fine. Fine. I'll… I'll try to talk to him next time I see him. I didn't come here to fight anyways. I just wanted to ask if we're still on this weekend."
Chronoa's features softened as she took him in and noticed the stain on his shoulder, wiping it away to barely a smudge. Watching him bear the weight of the world on his shoulders and get nothing but vitriol in return was hard but any conversations they had to try and convince him to change course were always met with the same dead end. Pulling him in to another embrace, she held him tightly and gave a kiss to his forehead.
Chronoa: "You came all this way just to hear an answer you already knew. Yes, I'm still gonna visit you this weekend and we can pretend all our responsibilities don't exist. Just please try not to go so hard on yourself in the meantime? I don't need you overworking yourself trying to stop a tsunami while putting out a forest fire. You need to rest too, you know."
Sparga's smile was a little rueful and heavy this time as he huffed out a small chuckle and waved off her concerns with a light-hearted nod. Slowly turning to walk away and march toward that portal that would take him out of the Time Nest and back to Conton City.
Sparga: "You worry too much. There's not a problem in the world I can't handle. I'm Superman!"
His tone wasn't even one of false bravado like she heard in so many other Time Patrollers. He genuinely believed himself invincible in comparison, his pride and ego swelling far greater than any other Saiyan she knew. If there was one thing Sparga was, it was confident. Maybe overly so. But it's not like there was anyone out there who could actually humble him. It was probably the one thing she found grating about the hybrid; He always found a way to prove himself right in the end. To prove himself stronger than any opposition and thus invalidate any concerns that people had about his well-being. Loving Superman was not easy. And as Sparga crossed through the portal and out of earshot, Chronoa sighed with slumped shoulders and rubbed her brow in annoyance.
Chronoa: "I know. And that's the problem."
Conton City was, in a word, unique. Sparga spent seven years of his life in this city and could even remember back when it was called Toki Toki city, and had born witness to so much rapid change to this metropolis and its diversifying biome. It was familiar stomping grounds, and that was always a comforting feeling for him. He walked through the city's grand streets to arrive at the recognizable plaza and stare at the golden statue in its center. A soft smile graced his features as he took in the sculpture and all of its detail. It was well-designed and whoever carved it certainly had an eye for finer features that made for an impressive and memorable display, something you'd expect to be worthy to sit in the center of one of the grandest cities on Earth.
Sitting back on a park bench and taking the sight in, the Saiyan Kryptonian hybrid let his tail sway lazily over the side while leaning back and letting his arms brace against the backrest. It was peaceful, serene and it reminded him of why he did what he was doing.
And then, a cry for help sounded off. Someone screamed for aid and Sparga's ears perked up. Not in Conton City, no. Too far away, too distant. Further out. He needed to move if he wanted to make it in time. With no time to waste, Sparga leapt off of his seat and took flight. It was a heavy burden to have to carry the mantle he wore and the sins it carried, but that weight was so small in comparison to what this world might be like if someone didn't. Sparga knew this world still bore the lingering scars of tyranny under the symbol on his chest that meant so much to him, but that didn't mean people didn't need saving, that they didn't need help. It wasn't the job that people wanted done, but no matter how they debated it, this would look like a job for Superman.