Another time…
Extinction.
It was but a single word, and yet Ro-El felt himself buried beneath the weight of it.
He sat, head cradled in his hands and alone within his workshop. His life had become a solitary one, only partially by choice. ‘Hope’ was what the crest of his lineage represented, but it was ‘obsession’ that had become his life’s defining trait. It had cost him a great deal, but he could not un-see what he had seen, he could not unlearn what he had learned. The truth, he could not escape it, and he was crushed by its existence.
With a sigh that was as much furious as it was resigned, Ro-El fitfully rubbed his eyes with his open palms before looking back up at the projections before him, the three-dimensional map of arithmetic charting a course that was nigh impossible to follow. But he knew the path of it well enough, he had followed it to its conclusion far too many times now to become lost on its ever-darkening roads. The destination was the same, no matter how many times he tried to change it.
Extinction.
A year, a hundred, a thousand, a million, it didn’t matter, Krypton’s days were numbered as if the planet itself were predestined to die, its very structure designed to collapse. It was madness, surely, he had been gripped by a mania that defied rationalisation, what other reason could there be?
Why could no-one else see it?
Madness.
Ro-El had finally lost his mind.
…
But what if he hadn’t?
He stared at the projection, a formula of doom, what if he was the one sane man of a species in denial?
What if he was right?
He sighed again, rocking on his haunches, the House of El’s dirty secret, the son who had gone quite mad, rubbing at his eyes as though he could blind himself from the truth.
What if he was right?
Extinction.
….
There had to be a way, there had to be a means to escape their destiny, there had to be a route towards survival.
There had to be a way to save them…
Extinction.
It was but a single word, and yet Ro-El felt himself buried beneath the weight of it.
He sat, head cradled in his hands and alone within his workshop. His life had become a solitary one, only partially by choice. ‘Hope’ was what the crest of his lineage represented, but it was ‘obsession’ that had become his life’s defining trait. It had cost him a great deal, but he could not un-see what he had seen, he could not unlearn what he had learned. The truth, he could not escape it, and he was crushed by its existence.
With a sigh that was as much furious as it was resigned, Ro-El fitfully rubbed his eyes with his open palms before looking back up at the projections before him, the three-dimensional map of arithmetic charting a course that was nigh impossible to follow. But he knew the path of it well enough, he had followed it to its conclusion far too many times now to become lost on its ever-darkening roads. The destination was the same, no matter how many times he tried to change it.
Extinction.
A year, a hundred, a thousand, a million, it didn’t matter, Krypton’s days were numbered as if the planet itself were predestined to die, its very structure designed to collapse. It was madness, surely, he had been gripped by a mania that defied rationalisation, what other reason could there be?
Why could no-one else see it?
Madness.
Ro-El had finally lost his mind.
…
But what if he hadn’t?
He stared at the projection, a formula of doom, what if he was the one sane man of a species in denial?
What if he was right?
He sighed again, rocking on his haunches, the House of El’s dirty secret, the son who had gone quite mad, rubbing at his eyes as though he could blind himself from the truth.
What if he was right?
Extinction.
….
There had to be a way, there had to be a means to escape their destiny, there had to be a route towards survival.
There had to be a way to save them…
ISSUE #11 (February 2020)
Written by Emma Woods Featuring: |
"THE ERADICATION MANDATE: PART 2"Earth
T The Artic… Now… The Fortress of Solitude was aptly named, both for its seclusion from humanity, and the manner in which it dominated the skyline. The crystalline structure thrust up from the ice and stretched towards the heavens, one final monument from a doomed world, one final gift from his lost father, a bastion from which to protect Earth. Superman and Power Boy sped towards their destination at impossible speeds, cutting a path through the sky even as the Fortress acknowledged their arrival, its plentiful security systems deeming to allow them unhindered entrance into its airspace. As they arrived before its gargantuan doors, the surface of which reflected the glimmer of morning light, they slowed their momentum before coming into land, the father and son duo striding forwards as the doors swung inwards with stately grace. Superman’s mood was sombre as he entered his fortress, Power Boy by his side as they strode into all that remained of long, lost Krypton, the environment alive with activity. His concern deepened upon his discovery that the AI that governed his citadel was already responding to a recent anomaly with an almost panicked intensity, Clark coming to stand before a console as the doors to the Fortress swung shut behind them. “What’s going on?” Chris questioned, Superman’s second son left in somewhat of a daze by the sheer intensity of activity taking place around them, he had never heard the crystalline structures that made up the walls respond to any stimuli with such… vigour. They were singing, and the melody was not soothing. “Is it me, or is the AI panicking? Can it even do that?” “I don’t know,” Clark was behoved to admit and, although his concern deepened with each passing moment, he remained a soothing centre of a bustling storm. He had been correct to assume that the auditory assault that had momentarily crippled the Kryptonians of Earth had not been a passing anomaly, but as to what event it was proving a precursor of remained frustratingly out of reach. Superman placed his palms upon the console before him, interacting directly with the citadels AI, seeking to bring serenity to its panicked systems. It was only then that he realised the startling truth, an epiphany that came far too late. The Fortress of Solitude was under attack. Everything shut down, an ear-piercing shriek preceding a sudden and abrupt collapse of all systems, the AI compromised on every level as the lights went out. They were replaced soon after, the interior of the Fortress bathed in blinding, crimson light, both of the Kryptonians crying out, gripped by painful spasms as their cells were bombarded by red, solar radiation. Superman fell to his knees, gritting his teeth as he physically felt himself being robbed of his superhuman might that was gifted to him by Earths, yellow sun, his skin burning with the sudden reversal of his physiology. He felt so weak, just as he knew his son would be experiencing the same symptoms, their bodies struggling to compensate with the swift reversal in their metabolisms. Before he could speak, further life returned to the Fortress, after a fashion, light flashing just beyond the console before him, multiple beams conversing to assemble a single, towering image, a holographic representation of a blank, featureless face. “Kal, of the House of El,” the apparition spoke, it’s tone dispassionate, “The Last Son of Krypton. Lor, of the House of Zod, the Last Exile of Krypton.” “Who…” Superman managed to exhale through clenched teeth as he found his feet, becoming the master of his own pain via an indomitable force of will. “Who are you? What do you want?” Origin paused at that, as if considering its next words. Without further explanation, it uttered but a single one. “Salvation.” The Amazon… “Our creator?” Lena Luthor incredulously wheezed through what had been her recently constricted throat. She was on her hands and knees upon the obsidian floor, the Director of the DEO struggling to inhale now that she was no longer being throttled. She could feel the ground beneath her fingers trembling, vibrating in time with the pulsing, violet luminance thrumming from the scripted walls. Jerimiah Danvers, her chief of security, lay crumpled in a heap nearby, Lena uncertain as to whether he was even breathing. She considered moving closer to make certain, but she discarded the notion quickly, her attention enrapt by more immediate concerns. Origin, the featureless figure that bestrode the gargantuan hall as its master had called itself, bestowing upon itself the responsibility of ‘creator’. It would not be the first xenoes that she had encountered to make such a claim, she hadn’t believed them then either. “A grandiose accomplishment,” the Director forced herself to stand, “if true.” “Accomplishment?” Origin paused, arms outstretched as it manipulated a spectrum of light that Lena, as merely human, was not privy to see. It hesitated, it did that often Director Luthor noted, even during this short period of observation, considering its motives with a faceless expression. “No,” it disagreed with her evaluation, shaking its head with the smallest of considerations, “not accomplishment.” It returned to its task, manipulating the air around itself in a manner that Lena could not decipher, evaluating something that she was not aware of based on parameters that she didn’t know. It was galling to find herself so ignorant, more so to be treated as so… irrelevant. It paused, looking at her for the barest moment before coming to a decision. “Unacceptable,” Origin degreed, the single word somehow echoing with the threat of a death sentence, the utterance met with a sudden, violent shaking of the floor. It passed almost as quickly as it had begun, but it was enough to almost knock her from her feet. The violet luminance of the walls pulsed with ever greater intensity. “Parameters remain unmet,” Origin stated, launching into a stride that crossed the distance between itself and Luthor in a single heartbeat, reaching out a massive hand to grasp her forehead. “Escalation required.” It didn’t reach her, a flash of a muzzle and the harsh bang of a firearm immediately preceding several bullets ricocheting off the side of Origins obsidian cranium. Jerimiah Danvers was back on his feet, grimacing with the left side of his face crumbled in against his skull, his rifle pulled up against his shoulder as he emptied the magazine of his weapon into Origin. In the end, it did nothing but draw his attention, the master of this domain turning from Lena and striding towards the chief of security, physique bleeding menace before he grasped the man by his throat and lifted him from the floor. With a lack of care, Origin stared into the half crumpled face of Jerimiah Danvers, evaluating with dispassionate focus. “Unacceptable,” Origin decreed, the intensity of his grip tightening as his captive gurgled, words failing to escape his lips as light dimmed in his remaining eye. With a sudden pulse of energy radiating outwards from Origin’s physique, the man within his grasp was consumed by blinding light, every molecule in his body broken down on a genetic level within a single moment. Jerimiah Danvers, father to be, was reduced to a cloud ash in a fleeting instant, everything he would have been left to flitter through his murderers’ fingers. “Eradicate.” The Kent Farm… “How are you feeling?” Kara queried, doing her best to prevent the concern that she felt from lacing her tone, keeping a measured pace as she walked her young cousin home. “Ok,” Jonathan nodded, the young boy holding a bloodied handkerchief up to his nose. It had been bleeding on and off for the last fifteen minutes, along with bouts of dizziness that came and went without predictability. “I think.” Kara smiled down at him, hoping that it was a reassuring gesture as she could see their home emerging as a small dot on the horizon. Truthfully, she was deeply troubled by his condition, and the sooner she could get him back to his mother, the better that she would feel. The temptation to speed him to their destination within a matter of seconds was a strong one, but given she wasn’t certain as to what was responsible for his frequent loss of equilibrium, she wasn’t taking any chances on upsetting it further. The auditory assault, whatever it had been, had stuck Kara far harder than it had Jonathon, but only in the short term. The effects on her had passed relatively quickly, but her cousins hybrid physiology was reacting differently, the long-term side effects proving to be troubling. “We’re almost there,” Kara smiled back down at him, “you’ll feel better after a lay down.” “And something to eat,” Jonathon nodded enthusiastically, still holding the handkerchief up to his nose. Kara smiled at that, this time sincerely, her brow arched in amusement, “Something to eat? Really?” “Oh, yeah,” Jonathon nodded again in response, “I’m starving.” Kara put an arm about his shoulders before raising the other to shield her eyes, the Kent Farm now even bigger on the horizon, “I’m sure we’ll be able to find something, I think your brother has…” She didn’t finish her sentence, not as a sudden rumble forced her heart to skip a fearful beat, the all too familiar grind of tectonic plates grinding together filling her heightened senses with a chill from her nightmares. The tremor hit a fraction of a moment later, rippling the very ground beneath their feet as though it were a tossed blanket, followed swiftly by the roar of buckling earth. The tremor passed as quickly as it arrived, and yet Kara held her breath regardless, turning her gaze to the opposite horizon and watching the ripple continue on its path across the planet’s surface. She didn’t want to exhale, she didn’t want to jinx it, she didn’t even want to entertain the thought of history repeating itself. Jonathon, on the other hand, was more than prepared to voice his query. “Did you feel that?” Gotham… The Batcave… “Everyone felt that,” Batman answered Robin’s question as he lent forwards in his seat, the bank of monitors before him scrambling to provide him with pertinent data. With practiced efficiency, he pared out what was relevant from what was conjecture and began formulating a complete picture in his mind. It was taking longer to do so than he was satisfied with. “A worldwide tremor?” Robin looked unconvinced; Damien’s own attention far more localised to his more immediately surroundings, Gotham itself. His eyes darted from one surveillance screen to the next, and the twitch in his shoulders betrayed his desire to be outside. “That strikes me as an unlikely possibility.” “Much of what we encounter is unlikely and, in this case, it is a reality,” Batman confirmed, leaning back in his seat with a calmness that many mistook for detachment. “Tsk,” Robin shook his head in irritation, evidently far more interested in what was taking place right in front of him than searching for a bigger picture. “Looting,” he reported, watching several monitors where stores were already being broken into. “A little panic, and order is abandoned.” “Have Red Robin lead efforts to quell the unrest,” Batman directed, not needing to waver his own attention, “the presence of our assets will help bring a sense of stability to the worst of the disturbances.” Damian displayed a commonable effort to disguise his own annoyance with the decision. With Dick in Bludhaven, Tim was often his fathers favoured lieutenant. “Will we not get involved?” “We will if matters escalate,” Batman informed, not drawing attention to his sons’ resentment towards his direct predecessor. “This could be a precursor to…” He stopped, a fresh screen popping into life displaying Oracle sat before her own bank of monitors, the furrow in the redhead’s brow unmistakeable. Her intelligence gathering network was second to none, and she had already been feeding him information concerning the current incident in the background, if she was making a more direct appearance to deliver a message, then it was one that needed to be listened to. “It’s the Fortress of Solitude,” Barbara cut to the chase, the original Batgirl more than familiar enough with Bruce to not waste time. “It just dropped off our grid, nothing coming in or out. Superman just went dark.” The Amazon… This was not the first time Director Luthor had left a man to die. It wasn’t something that she was proud of, but necessity demanded sacrifices, and there was little good she could do if she were as equally deceased as Agent Danvers. Whilst Origin had been more concerned with deconstructing her chief of security on an atomic level, Lena had pursued the better part of valour, exiting the central chamber in an effort to evacuate the xenoes facility. Her progress was proving to be frustratingly slow, the walls of the winding corridors pulsing with the same, increasingly nauseating, purple luminance as the central chamber. It hummed, the frequency just below her ability to consciously pick up, robbing her ability to see straight as she stumbled one foot in front of the other. She refused to throw up, no matter how much her gut convulsed, doing so would slow her down even further, and she had no time left to spare, the Director bracing herself against the wall as she struggled to remember the way out. Suddenly, and seemingly without warning, Lena found her passage blocked, her increasingly blurred vision filled with the silhouette of a featureless, obsidian man. At first, she believed that it was Origin itself, that somehow it had circumvented her escape, only to soon realise that the truth was far worse. There was more than one of it, many more, ranks upon ranks of the obsidian men marching down the halls in lockstep, smaller in stature than Origin, and yet still towering over the average man. They were identical, one after the next, a wave of featureless men all adorned with the crest of the House of El. The marched, around her, past her, only one pausing on its way towards its destination to regard her with a modicum of interest. It reached out and grasped Director Luthor by the throat, lifting her much Origin had done itself, lifting her from her feet and gazed into her genetic structure with eyeless sight. It held her there for long moments, Lena gasping for air and grasping at its unflinching wrist, before it saw fit to utter its judgement. “Acceptable,” it decreed with the same disinterest that Origin had declared the opposite of Jerimiah Danvers. “Propagate.” The Kent Farm… Kara felt the earthquake coming in the moments before it hit, and yet she remained rooted to the spot the moment the earth was ripped away from beneath her feet. Unlike her cousin, who had taken to the air just before he could lose his footing, Kara Zor-El was overwhelmed by a wave of crippling anxiety that no amount of Kryptonian might could overcome, half repressed memories washing over her senses in a wave of such severity, she scarcely still remembered where she was. As the earth shook and people across the world screamed at once, Kara’s past collided with her present as she tumbled and fell, the very ground bucking as the surface of a planet cracked, tossed and turned as it was subjected to the whims of an outside force that tortured it with upheaval. For a moment, it seemed as though it would never end and then, against all reason, it did, the world falling both deathly silent and impossibly still… Kara didn’t move, cradled in the grass with her hands covering her ears, her eyes screwed shut as her memories, fractured and distorted, replayed again and again the crystalline towers falling and a tidal wave of blood. Krypton was falling, just as it did every night, falling and dying again and again and AGAIN AND… “…kara…” She heard it as a whisper at first, distant but insistent and filled with a warmth, an empathy that did not belong in her shattered recollections of a dying homeworld. “…Kara…” She opened her eyes, the Last Daughter of Krypton looking up into the features of her young cousin, his face a mask of worry. “Kara!!” Kara blinked and, with a drumming of her temples, she sat up with a groan, blinking several times more to banish the visions of her waking nightmare, her heart beating a panicked rhythm within her torso. No, not Krypton, Earth, she was on Earth. “It’s over,” Jonathon exclaimed, the young boy clearly relieved that his older cousin was ok. “No,” Kara shook her head, rubbing her eyes as she exhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down before she stood back up. “No, it isn’t,” she reasserted her conviction, feeling it in her bones as she looked to the horizon. She had experienced the death of one world, there was no mistaking the sensation. Kara reached up to her shirt and pulled it open, revealing the crest of the House of El beneath. “Not again.” To Be Continued... |