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#10
JUN 08 |
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“Beast of Burden”
Stryker’s Island Penitentiary
West River
Winslow Schott had to catch his glasses before they flew off his face as he stumbled forward into his cell. The rough hand that shoved him aggressively between his shoulder blades neglected to check the force it manhandled the Toyman with. He was used to the constant humiliation dumped on him like a giant safe seen in cartoons, but that didn’t stop the anger from swelling up in his chest, only to dissipate at the realization that it was useless to lash out. Winslow would only get the ever-loving crap beaten out of him followed by a week in the hole.
He hated the hole and the pain it brought, separated from the only provision allowed to him. Even if he couldn’t touch his precious toys through the Plexiglas case the very sight of them was enough to placate his dark soul. They served to keep what passes for his sanity intact, distracting him from the tortured thoughts in his own mind.
It wasn’t like he had any friends. The guard that rudely escorted him back to his cell didn’t bother to exchange pleasantries with Winslow; in fact the most pleasant anybody got in this place was the silence that followed their departure. This was a far more tolerable form of isolation.
Winslow dug a finger into his ear in an attempt to chase the water pocket trapped inside. He had just gotten back from his only shower of the day. His finger stopped twitching as something caught his attention. The Toyman stared in confusion at his toy shelf. Where did that come from?
Among the toys, in between a red toy robot and a green and white miniature Volkswagen bus, was a monkey rhythmically smashing cymbals together. How the Hell? That was not there before his shower, and even if it had been there was no way he could have wound it up to make it move. With curiosity and a cautious hand he reached for the case --
BOOM!
The cell door slid on its track and slammed closed behind him, locking him inside the cellblock. The echo was jarring, forcing him to experience the metal clang several times over the course of a second. An odd silence hung ominously in the space between, despite being fully occupied. Even for a man who could hear a fly’s heartbeat from a hundred yards away, and never truly in silence, it was imposing. Much like a person who listens to the radio at work, he had grown accustomed to the white noise human biology produced to the point he no longer consciously registered it.
Last time he was here it was absolute pandemonium and all of that fury was concentrated on him. Now, that he had a point of comparison, he decided he preferred then to now. If the hellish cacophony made the walk feel twenty times longer then, then the uncomfortable silence made this feel forty times longer now.
Superman took a deep breath and pushed his reservations aside. Now was not the time. He moved forward to the only spot bustling with activity, careful to resist the urge to look around and meet all of the eyes that he knew were glued on him.
From a cell on the third story a man looked down through the bars of his cell at the Man of Steel. One eye open, the other deliberately shut. He reached like he was about to pinch something, his thumb hovered inches away from his face and under his open eye. Then, with gusto, the pointer finger closed and opened repeatedly in an attempt to squish Superman’s head. Needless to say he eventually dropped his hand in failure, enjoying no more success in injuring Superman than a man with a gun or knife.
He could smell the chemicals and burnt flesh long before he reached the cell where Inspector Turpin waited for him along with a few prison guards and CSI.
“Thanks for comin’,” Daniel wiped his strained eyes. He had been staring at this cell for far too long. It was time to grab a fresh cup of coffee and a croissant. “It’s a freakin’ mess in there.”
Turpin’s words couldn’t have been any closer to the truth. The cell was trashed. It looked like a bomb had gone off in there. Which shouldn’t be a surprise…because one had. The bomb was powerful enough to blacken the walls and punch a hole through the cinderblock behind where the blast had originated. Superman remembered that there used to be a special toy shelf where the hole was now. His eyes swept down to the white sheet on the floor, but with his special talents he only saw the scorched body underneath.
From the damage it looked like he took the brunt of the blast to the face, then stumbled backwards into the bars before slumping to the floor lifeless.
“What the Hell is he doing here?” muttered an angry voice from behind.
Superman pulled his attention away from the body to see a pair of guards standing at the cell door. “Is there a problem?”
The guard sneered. “Yeah, because of you they couldn’t slap the Toyman with the death penalty. Thanks to you destroying that warehouse they lacked the evidence needed to really drill that creep! I knew one of those kids, asshole!” he took a step towards Superman.
Daniel Turpin put himself between the guard and the Man of Steel. “Back off, officer!”
Superman put a hand on Turpin’s shoulder. “No, its okay, Inspector, he’s right.”
“No, it’s not okay. A man’s been murdered, Sam! Now’s not the time for petty bullshit!” Turpin warned while staring the guard dead in the eyes. “So, maybe it’s in everybody’s best interest if you found somewhere else to be.”
The other guard tugged on the aggressive ones arm. “C’mon, Sam, lets get some chow.”
With the last parting shot Sam spat on Superman’s red boot, then turned away. The tension in the air grew thicker. The other guards and CSI struggled to remain busy on their tasks.
“I’m sorry, Supes, some people just have no respect,” Turpin said, while mentally upgrading that cup of coffee with a half bottle of Bailey’s. “We still haven’t figured out how the bomb got smuggled inside the prison,” returning the focus back to the crime. “And, our list of suspects is a mile long. Right now, I’m afraid we’re gonna hit a brick wall. Nobody will fess up to the bomb, and nobody is gonna snitch on the killer of a child murderer.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t imagine there was a lot of resistance in the plot to kill him. A child killers life isn’t worth very much,” Superman looked at the cell and shook his head in disappointment.
Pokolistan
He felt relaxed. For the first time in what felt like centuries he existed for a few brief moments without that tension one developed in their muscles from a constant readiness to strike like a coiled angry Drang. It would be a mistake, however, to assume that even in this fleeting flash of tranquility that his guard was down. One didn’t rise to the rank of General by being foolish enough to do that in any situation.
It felt…nice, he mused, to feel at peace with the crisp night air rolling over his bare skin like the rising ocean tide caressing the sand, still slightly sensitive from the hormones and endorphins that flooded his body, and free from the black biosheath that had acted like a second skin from the moment he was fitted with it at birth. It was rare, if not unheard of, for a Kryptonian to shed their biosheath for any reason as they had evolved beyond the conventional requirements of hygiene, the production of body wastes and even reproduction. The desire for immortality – that had been the crux of their society – the biosheath had all but granted and that was all that mattered.
Dru-Zod wasn’t one to wax philosophically about the past, especially when it directly affected his own life. If it weren’t for that obsession with immortality he certainly would have died centuries ago and he wouldn’t have liked that. But Zod couldn’t help but to wonder if it had hurt their civilization more than it helped. Granted, it wasn’t true immortality. One still died of old age, but only after living centuries longer than they would have naturally, and accidents could still happen. Without people dying sooner there came the need to put a limit on the population and without new minds randomly entering society the world grew stale.
A new birth could only be authorized when an opening appeared in the Register of Citizens, only after somebody died. Love had been replaced by genetics. The Science Council searched for the most genetically compatible match and took their DNA to join in a Birthing Matrix where the new life would mature. Sexual Intercourse wasn’t necessary; it was even outlawed. Zod had forgotten how pleasant the act was despite only experiencing sex once, back before his exile into the Phantom Zone, with his Lieutenant, the beautiful but cold Ursa. They were both Raoists who believed that Krypton had forgotten the meaning of life and had approached the situation like a pair of awkward Rondors.
Krypton’s soul had become as barren and lifeless as the planet’s surface that had been decimated over two hundred millennia before the era he was born into by a devastating war. Imagination, emotion and fantasy of old was replace by science and logic, just like the lush Crimson Forests and Jeweled Mountains that were obliterated, replaced by desert and rock – becoming mere myth over the eons.
Zod chuckled. With all of their fantastic science, cloning and other technology, the simplest answer to Krypton’s quest was held in a sun of a different spectrum of color.
Maxima stirred in the bed behind him. He turned, his arms behind his back, and silently examined her. Almeracians were notoriously known across the galaxy for being rather unimaginative and lazy with sex, only doing what was required to fertilize and little else. Even with Maxima’s prolonged exposure to humans and something called ‘Sizzle TV’, there was little she learned to spice up her actions, but coupled with the General’s lack of experience and knowledge it was the most mind blowing two days of his life.
Maxima must’ve felt his eyes gaze on her naked form and turned to look at him with emerald eyes. She scrutinized his face and noticed the inquiring look he had.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asked.
The General grinned, amused at the woman’s curiosity. “Home,” he replied. “Krypton.”
Maxima pushed herself up, letting the sheet fall from her chest, unconcerned with her modesty. “What was Krypton like? Superman hardly spoke of his home world, but I always got the impression, from what little he shared, that he missed it tremendously even though he did not grow up there or experience it personally. He only knew what he had learned from data crystals his father sent with him.”
“Krypton was glorious, but it was populated and governed by people who were foolish enough to believe that our civilization had achieved its fullest potential.” Zod continued to verbally recount his recent reflections as Maxima silently absorbed his words. As he spoke she confirmed her instincts that Zod’s character was exactly what she was looking for and what she had hoped Superman’s was. “Under my guidance,” he continued, “Krypton would have been a world liberated from the shackles that bound and doomed it. Free to explore whatever we wished with no limits on our desires.” The General paused, evaluating his feelings at resurrecting memories that should have stayed locked away in the depths of his mind. “But, in the end, even those who shared the same belief as I stood in my way…too short sighted and weak to act as necessary.”
“Is that what lead to your exile into the Phantom Zone? Your ambition?”
Zod’s face darkened. It clearly wasn’t a subject he wished to dwell on. “That…and my misplaced trust in a man I once called friend. He accused me of being too aggressive, but I loved my world too much to see it wallow in tedium any longer. Afraid of the collateral damage and appalled by my illegal use of three clones that I had positioned with my army and two Lieutenants, he had alerted the Science Council of my impending revolution. My Lieutenants and I were immediately arrested. The clones were captured and disposed of hastily. Ursa and Non were sentenced to rehabilitation and would be allowed to return to society once their treatment was completed. My sentence to the Phantom Zone was a judgment of pity,” Zod spat the word. “The Council saw my attraction to the old ways of art and culture too strong and dangerous. I was irredeemable.”
“Their verdict was stunning, the first sentence in nearly a hundred centuries. Ironically, their condemnation was also my salvation from a doomed world. I doubt they expected me to survive in the Phantom Zone, where physical matter means nothing and the mind is everything. But I am a master of Torquasm-Vao. My unparalleled mental discipline guaranteed my survival while others sentenced centuries ago had dispersed into the ether. It was only a matter of time before the Zone would be breached again and I sought my freedom. Now that --”
The General’s thoughts were interrupted as his extraordinary senses detected a slight excitement in the air vibrations; a tiny wail in the 1.089-decibel range. Maxima must have felt something too as her head tilted towards the disturbance. From the dark shadows of the personal quarters floated an attractive semi-transparent young brunette. Her face was expressionless.
“I have found the samples you requested. They’re being held in a Hospital in Metropolis.” Faora despised how quickly Zod embraced Maxima and gave her a position of power in his plans. She wasn’t sure, as a remnant of a sentient program expunged from its vessel, if she could feel jealous but she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit that much to herself.
“Good. I want you to retrieve those samples…all of them. Just do not kill anybody. I do not wish to draw attention until the time is absolutely right,” the General replied. He then turned his attention back to the naked woman in his bed. “You may leave,” he said offhandedly to Faora.
Faora silently accepted her order and dispersed from the room leaving the General and his wench to continue their deed.
The River Phlegethon
The Seventh Circle of Hell
Schott was utterly terrified. The searing pain that overwhelmed his naked flesh was unbearable as he boiled, totally submerged in the middle of a thick, heavy, rancid river of blood. Colossal heat blisters bubbled up and covered his mottled skin that hung loose on his stout frame. The more he thrashed against the powerful undertow, that struggled to pull him deeper into the bottomless crimson, the more the agony amplified.
The torment was all consuming making it impossible to focus on a single coherent thought that his body fought on pure instinct to drive itself upwards and out of the soup. Winslow screamed in pure anguish, but the thick blood that surrounded him poured freely down his gullet burning his mouth and tongue. His throat wretched and gagged as he choked on the disgusting copper-tasting fluid. But his body’s attempt to evacuate the blood only resulted in more rushing in…until he mercifully broke the rivers surface and puked his guts out.
If he expected any relief, then he was completely wrong. The first breath of air Winslow hoarsely sucked down his raw throat was like swallowing fire. His lungs wilted in the dry heat, making the next breath he swallowed shallower and sooner – compounding the distress dramatically. Despite the intense heat of the air Schott splashed furiously in the boiling blood in an attempt to stay afloat. Every inhale and exhale was supreme agony, but it was far preferable over drowning in the crimson muck.
Through the constant agony he felt multiple pricks in his arms and back - like something had dug into his meaty, blemished flesh. Schott couldn’t feel himself being pulled against the current of the river, but he repeatedly bounced off of other poor bodies damned to simmer in the gory stew before he was yanked free from its mighty grasp. He was dragged onto coarse burning sand that cut like tiny shards of glass, shredding his tender flesh into ribbons; the blisters burst spraying water that sizzled on the Hellish beach as it vaporized.
Winslow’s bare skin fried as his body rested on the tiny angry coals, an awful burning stench wafted up his nose. A primal scream roared by his throat but it came out as a pathetic whimper.
Schott had no idea what was going on around him, oblivious to the thirty tiny hooks that pierced his back and arm fat that tugged him across the barbed sand, leaving a trail of his own blood behind him. Dried blood crusted his eyes shut and clogged his ears, sparing him the awful sight of eternal suffering inflicted upon nearly a million souls imprisoned in the circle and their raucous cries of torment.
Finally, for what felt like miles, the dragging stopped.
There was some intelligible muttering from above him. A pair of vulgar unearthly voices that somehow cut through the hellish dissonance with supernatural ease.
One of the voices belonged to a woman wearing a loose yellow sash that narrowly draped down the middle of her body, stopping shortly above her knees. Her choice in clothing did little to cover her otherwise naked dark red skin that was so taut it revealed every developed muscle on her petite frame. She stalked over to the feeble, weeping sack of flesh on bare feet that dug into the scorching sand – unhindered by the immense heat – dug four pointed fingers into Schott’s scalp and violently yanked his head up.
Schott’s neck was almost ripped free from his shoulders.
Blaze leaned over; the long horns that protruded from her skull – adorned by a shiny silver helmet – nearly impaled him as she hissed into his ear.
“I would love to welcome you to your fate in Hell, but I’m afraid you won’t be here long. I’ve got wonderful plans for you…My Toyman.” there was crude glee in the demon’s voice.
A cold shiver of terror ran down Schott’s spine.
Over Metropolis
The dark gray clouds were especially thick this afternoon, blanketing the city like a cozy comforter and blocking the sunlight that struggled, to no avail, to break through the fluffy barrier. The sky threatened rain, but he could feel that while the air was close to total saturation it just wasn’t going to get cold enough to shower the earth today. The muted sunlight bathed Metropolis in a gray light that dulled the normal vibrancy of the city and seemingly brought the usual high pace of activity to a sluggish crawl - even if it realistically did not.
All of that was just fine with Superman who – after stopping two bank robberies, a mugging, an apartment fire and pulling a kitten out of a drainage pipe once he left the prison – was in no mood to enjoy the day and, frankly, didn’t care if anybody else below him did either. His eyes were closed; his breathing was slow and drew the moist, heavy air deep into his lungs and pushing it back out. Even at 25,000 feet above the ground it was hard for him to escape the noise of the bustling city, but it was mercifully quiet for the moment…until an unearthly roar suddenly replaced the tranquility of the quiet wind and the birds chirping 3 or 4 thousand feet below.
There was an amazing energy to the roar that it vibrated his very core and everything around him, including the very ground he unexpectedly felt under his feet. Superman’s eyes snapped open in absolute shock. Who, or what, could possibly sneak up on him with such power? It was a rarity for Superman to be surprised. No matter the nature of the being there were always some sort of telltale signs of their presence.
Superman’s concerns were immediately heightened once he recognized his new surroundings. Aside from the exhausting heat that even made him slightly uncomfortable and the reddish rock and orange flames, there was nothing more distinctive than standing in front of the Gates of Hell to really make known where one was.
“How the --?” The Man of Steel stopped short. It probably wasn’t proper to ask how the Hell something happened while standing in Hell.
There wasn’t anything near him other than the gate that stretched impossibly tall in front of him. He tilted his head in curiosity at the weird fluid like motions on the face of the gate. It almost looked like a swirling marble; oil on water. But a closer inspection revealed something much different. Ghostly human forms swirled around on each other in a thick mist, their mouths agape in an eternal warning of misery that waits for the damned behind this barrier.
Superman gradually reached to put his hand on the face of the gate when he noticed a pattern forming…it looked like words etched in English.
I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN PEOPLE.
I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL SORROW.
SACRED JUSTICE MOVED MY ARCHITECT.
I WAS RAISED HERE BY DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE.
PRIMORDAL LOVE AND ULTIMATE INTELLECT.
ONLY THESE ELEMENTS TIME CANNOT WEAR.
WERE MADE BEFORE ME, AND BEYOND TIME I STAND.
ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE.
“Worry not, Clark, those words are not meant for you; this day, at least,” Lord Satanus declared, announcing his sudden presence to the mortal hero. The demon stood at 7’2”, nearly a foot taller than Superman, with pure snow-white robes covering his dark red skin. His face was shrouded in darkness from the steel helmet that hugged his skull, allowing two obsidian horns to protrude. “Though I wonder if, in the end, Hell really is the likely place for a being of your reputation; I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Trust me, you don’t want me down here for eternity. One day you might find yourself and the rest of the so-called ‘Lords’ of Hell chained in humiliation,” Superman replied as he turned to face the demon. “If you doubt me on that, then you’re welcome to try.”
Lord Satanus took a moment to study the mortal’s face. The cold fury in his clenched jaw and unwavering blue eyes betrayed the seriousness of his threat. It was enough to cause the demon pause. “Yes, well…that’s not why I brought you here.”
“Then why am I here?” The one thing Superman didn’t betray was his innate unease in dealing with supernatural creatures – especially those as imposing as Lord Satanus – as their enchanted nature exploited a major weakness of his to magic. So along with that and the rare need to look up into the eyes of another being Superman wasn’t comfortable in this situation. But he would never show it. He wouldn’t give the fiend the pleasure of an undeserved advantage.
“My sister, Blaze, is setting herself up to harvest fresh souls that would gain her great power. Power that I cannot afford to let her earn,” Satanus explained as he marched by Superman to the gate. He placed his red palm on the face of the gate and immediately upon contact the swirling surface slowed to a stop. The gates smoothly swung open to reveal an inferno behind. Fire, inexhaustible heat and perpetual wailing assaulted Superman, but went largely ignored by the demon as he stepped through to the other side.
Even with his telescopic vision Superman couldn’t see an end to the circle of Hell revealed to him. What he did see brought the bile in his stomach to a boil. The millions of souls tortured in inhuman fashion with such appalling delight.
“Are you coming?” Lord Satanus asked with a touch of humor.
Superman hesitated then stepped through the gate. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Your discomfort will be short lived, I assure you.” Satanus motioned for Superman to follow his lead and then they walked deeper into the pit.
It wasn’t long before Superman found himself forced into action. They approached a woman who was lifted off the ground by thick rusted chains connected to hooks that pierced her wrists. Her arms were stretched above her head to the point they were dangerously close to being pulled free from their sockets. A leather whip cracked across her torn bloody back. She cried out as her naked body writhed in pain. Superman moved to stop the hulking gray skinned Minotaur that punished her, but a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder to prevent him from intervening.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Satanus warned. “There isn’t a soul here that can see you for whom you really are. Your heroic actions would go wasted…if it were your place to act in the first place.”
Superman shrugged the hand free, ignoring the demons words, but was then brought to his knees as a powerful blast of energy seared his nerves.
“It is not permitted for the living to interfere in the realm of the damned. You cannot alter the natural order of things.”
The man-bull noticed the altercation and turned its massive head to the hero. It bored Superman with pitch black eyes and angrily huffed putrid air from giant nostrils at his presence, spraying thick strands of mucus over the burning sand. It didn’t stay distracted long and returned its eternal concentration to the woman it beat.
“You were cautioned,” Satanus gloated, “but I guess you couldn’t resist ignoring me. It is in your nature after all to help those too helpless to aid themselves.”
“What did you mean?” Superman asked icily as he returned to his feet. “When you said nobody could see me for who I am?”
The demon laughed. “Superman in Hell? Could you imagine what would happen if just one of these slaves saw you here? The hope that would fester and spread like a plague through the nine circles? It would take half an eternity to break that hope, to convince the masses that you are not saving them.”
“This place is disgusting,” Superman spat. “Its very existence is unnecessary, and how you can be so callous about all of this is repulsive. One day this will all come to an end. I’ll see to it. Personally,” he vowed.
The grin never left Satanus’s face. “You’re wrong, Superman. I am not as unfeeling as you claim. All of this is quite amusing. It’s not called the ‘divine comedy’ for nothing,” the demon quipped as they continued their trek.
“Are we almost there yet? I don’t think I can tolerate this much longer.”
“Yes, actually, we are,” Satanus confirmed as they climbed a burning hot sand dune and stopped at its crest. The demon pointed to the bottom of the dune where several demonic children circled around a huddle man, sobbing from the severe beating inflicted upon him. Blaze stood a few feet away from the group, cackling and oblivious to the two men observing.
“I’m sure the man is unrecognizable in his current, damaged condition, but you’re free to take a guess if you wish.” Satanus gestured with his horns to the man.
Superman did not share any of Lord Satanus’s amusement. “Cut to the chase, Satanus.”
Below the beating grew worse. One of the demonic kids tore an ear free from the man’s head with pointed teeth. Blood poured down its chin. “That is your Toyman. My sister wishes to torment Schott’s soul; to use the brood you see to warp his psyche and transform him into a horrid beast to unleash upon the nightmares of your children. Thousands will die at the Toyman’s hands. The power Blaze could stand to gain from that I cannot allow. You must prevent this.”
“So now it’s okay for me to interfere in the affairs of Hell? When you benefit?”
Satanus diverted his attention from the lynching and stared daggers into Superman’s eyes. “Would you prefer to see Blaze tip the scales to her favor? Your realm would stand to lose much more than I if such a thing were allowed to happen. But if you don’t wish to help, then I will not argue as I did my part to inform you. I just hope you’re prepared to attend every funeral of those dead and explain to their mothers why you did nothing to stop this.” There was an odd authority in Satanus’s voice. It was beyond his normal tone of dominance.
The tendons in Superman’s clenched fist stretched with the tensile force of an elevator cable. “Can’t you take him under your protection? You have the resources.”
“It’s not that simple. As long as Schott’s black soul remains in Hell it will be sought after, if not my sister than the other Lords who have similar designs. No, you must remove him from here to a place no demon can get their clutches on him.”
“Aren’t you interested in using him the same way? As a tool for slaughter? I doubt mass genocide is above you.”
The demon lord returned his gaze to the thrashing. “I remain in dominion of my territories by playing it smart, by making numerous strategic maneuvers that appear small but carry multiple gains. This amateurish plan reeks of desperation and short sightedness. They’re sloppy, doomed to fail. Blaze is too lazy to work for her power and I refuse to let her surpass me due to some ‘get rich quick’ scheme, as it were.”
The demon’s words made a weird, abhorrent sense. “Fine. I’ll play my part. Where do I take Schott and how do I do it without Blaze knowing what’s going on?”
The amusement returned to Satanus’s shadowed face, his lips parted in a smile. “Trust me, where Schott’s going…she won’t see this coming.”
Metropolis City Hospital
Faora stealthy phased through the laboratory wall on the hospital’s twelfth floor. None of the four occupants saw the invisible woman observe them in an unusually advanced lab for a hospital. Metropolis City Hospital’s partnership with S.T.A.R. Labs rewarded them with many of their state-of-the-art technologies that most hospital’s lacked access. This joint venture allowed MCH to diagnose and treat many rare and difficult diseases, while at the same time exposing S.T.A.R. to biological, viral and bacterial samples they could never get their hands on without removing it from MCH’s property vaults.
One such case a doctor worked on involved an extremely rare cancer developed from over exposure to a wide range of radiations, including the uncommonly found Kryptonite. Fortunately S.T.A.R. Labs had an extensive dossier – along with full medical reports spanning many years – on the subject who developed this cancer: Superman. He was hardly a stranger to the world’s leading science institute as the local lab in Metropolis helped and aided him with many mysteries concerning his body.
The cancerous samples were what drew the sentient sinister program there. When Faora turned tangible and visible it was already too late for the scientists to react. Beams of energy erupted from the woman’s hands and eyes, shocking their nervous systems and dropping them in seconds to the floor unconscious.
She snickered to herself, knowing that they were lucky she was under direct orders not to kill them. Otherwise they would’ve been reduced to piles of goo to be mopped off the floor.
Faora moved over to the station where the samples were and absorbed them into her body. She then placed a hand on one of the primitive computer towers and promptly downloaded all of the data gathered off the archaic hard drives. It was often she wondered how the humans were able to evolve out of the primordial ooze and achieve what they have with nothing more than the equivalent of sharpened rocks and pointed sticks.
Regardless…the files were complete and the samples were secure. With her tasks accomplished, she faded from existence.
The Nevada Desert
Superman was happy to be freed from the netherworld. The cool breeze coming off the desert sand couldn’t have felt any better after the scorching heat of his previous location. Satanus was perfect in his aim, putting the Man of Steel right outside the mouth of a cave that didn’t seem to fit in the otherwise barren landscape. Though he guessed, given the nature of the cave, it wasn’t supposed to make sense to anybody other than the being that created it.
He walked inside for a couple of yards until the light from the cave’s mouth began to dim due to distance. Once he was satisfied with how far he went he called out a name.
“Hal? Hal, I know you can hear me. I need to talk to you.”
Seconds passed before a chilly sensation danced up his bones, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. There was always an uncomfortable feeling to his old friend’s presence that was different from anything he had ever felt. It went beyond his normal phobia of the supernatural.
“If I had known to expect company I would’ve hired Bruce’s butler to tidy up my abode. I feel terrible for neglecting it, but even for a man who can be in a quadringentillion different places at once I still mange to get overwhelmed,” the Spectre commented as he formed out of the shadows. His green robes were pulled tight around his body, but the hood was already down to reveal the pale face and green domino mask normally hidden beneath. “Anyway, Clark, to what do I owe pleasure?”
Superman wasted no words. “I need you to do something for me…”
The Spectre knew better than to imagine that Superman simply stopped by to say ‘hello’. The hero’s tone told Hal that he meant business.
“Name it.”
“Huh…doesn’t look anything like I’d imagine it would.” Superman looked around in amazement at the endless rolling green fields. A fierce game of softball, umpired by Martin Luthor King Jr., took place next to him a couple yards away. The many spectators were gathered around a massive barbeque with Sam Kinison serving a plate full of pork ribs to Gandhi. Clark wasn’t sure what his preconceived image of Heaven was, but this definitely wasn’t the fluffy clouds and harps he’d imagine while sitting in his parents Methodist church back in Smallville.
The Spectre smiled at his friends wonder. “It rarely does.”
“So where do we go from here?”
“I’m afraid this is as far as I can take you,” the Spectre answered then turned his head to the right, away from the softball game. “But if you continue that way you will find the boy there.”
Clark extended his hand to his friend. “Thanks, Hal. I don’t know if you broke many rules doing this, but I appreciate it.”
The Spectre’s hand slipped out of his robes and the spirit shook the hero’s hand. “Think nothing of it. It felt good to help. Reminded me of the old days.”
“That it did. Take care, Hal.”
“You too.”
Their hands parted and Superman started on his trek. The Spectre remained still until the Man of Steel disappeared into the horizon and then he turned to enjoy the game.
Superman had no idea how long he traveled but as he approached a group of teenagers sitting around a large circular table he slowed. His eyes were automatically drawn to the table’s only blonde male. He looked slightly older than Superman remembered, but the face was still unmistakable. The innocence that masked the boys face was still present.
The boy didn’t look up from his book until he felt a presence come near. His eyes lifted from the book and widened in excitement at the site of the Metropolis Marvel. “Superman!” The jubilance was quickly replaced by confusion and almost sadness. “Wait a minute…you’re not dead again are you?”
The others at the table didn’t acknowledge the hero and kept on reading.
“No, Adam, not this time.” The two shook hands.
“Then what brings you here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
“Really? About what?”
Mindful of the others Superman asked if there was somewhere private they could go.
Adam Morgan looked around, forgetting that the others were there. “Um, yeah, sure…” Suddenly and without moving they were suddenly somewhere else far away from where they were. “How’s this?” the boy asked.
“Good. Listen, Adam…the reason I’m here…” Superman went on to explain about Toyman’s recent murder. That right now Schott was being groomed, in Hell, for a gruesome destiny at the manipulating hands of a demon that wished to harvest the young souls below. He wasn’t sure how Adam would accept the news that Schott was dead, given that it was Toyman who was responsible for releasing Adam from the mortal coil. What he was certain about, however, was how Adam would react to the news that how his making an unfair decision could avoid the impending massacre entirely.
“What?!” The mad scenario was almost too crazy for the boy to wrap his mind around. “No! I mean, how is that fair?”
“I--?”
Adam wouldn’t let Superman answer. “Do you think I want this?” he asked, implying his continued life in the paradise. “Sure, this is all really great. Everything you’d expect and more. But do you think I can really enjoy this knowing my mom is down there all by herself? That she has to miss me everyday as much as I still miss her? Knowing that she’s in pain everyday? Is that happiness?”
The boy jammed a finger on Superman’s chest. “Now you expect me to extend the Toyman any courtesy? To give him a reward for ending my life and ruining hers?”
“Adam…I wouldn’t pretend to understand what all this is like. I won’t even imply to know how hard of a decision this is on you. To let the person who murdered you and caused your mother unbearable pain the gift of eternal pleasure. But what I do know is that no matter how strongly you feel this isn’t about you. This isn’t even about Toyman. Neither of you deserve to bear this burden. This is about preventing the same pain you feel and the same loss your mom feels from being inflicted on others.”
Adam diverted his eyes to the ground.
Superman stepped closer and rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I wish I could say this was fair. I wish I could say that doing the right thing was easy…but it hardly ever is. The true measure of a man is what he’s willing to do, what he’s willing to take onto himself, for the right thing, and most of the time you’ve got to do things you don’t want to in order to make a difference. You’re right, Toyman shouldn’t have the privilege of being here…but there are thousands who stand to lose a lot. And…maybe with your forgiveness the sickness inside Schott will be healed and he can be offered a peace he would’ve otherwise been forever denied.”
Adam felt shame for wanting to damn Schott to the pit for an eternity. “So, it all comes down to me, huh?”
Superman simply nodded and waited for Adam’s reply. There followed a long period of silence as the boy considered factors so much larger than himself. Superman did not feel any stress, any doubt however about what the remarkable young man before him would decide.
The Seventh Circle of Hell
Blaze stalked in circles around the group of demonic children. Her plan was nearing fruition as Toyman’s torment increased at the hands of kids. She wanted his hate and anger focused on the insolent little brats to draw out and tease the homicidal tendencies buried within. The nearing success left a sweet taste in her salivating mouth…then she suddenly stopped pacing and her body grew still. Something felt wrong…out of place. It didn’t take long to figure out what was going on.
“NO!!” Blaze’s rage was as hot as the fires burning around her. She pushed the short demons out of her path and stared at the empty spot of sand where Toyman should still be. Instead something else permeated from that spot. Heaven’s stench was unmistakable. Blaze’s nose wrinkled at the holy unpleasantness.
“What’s the meaning of this?! He was mine!” she spat livid.
“What appears to be the problem, sister?” asked a condescending voice from behind.
Blaze spun and glared accusingly at her brother. “I should have known you would interfere!”
Lord Satanus smirked and began to pace around his sister. “I would deny your accusation, but we both know that would just be petty and unproductive.”
A glowing yellow portal shimmered open two steps behind Blaze. She furiously grabbed her yellow cape and wrapped it around her. “Tread lightly, brother. These transgressions you continuously inflict upon me will not go unpunished.” With her threat made clear she stepped backwards into the portal and disappeared.
Satanus chuckled and replied, if only to himself. “I would be disappointed otherwise.”
Metropolis
The moon hung high in the dark sky, the reflected sunlight turning the immediate area around it into a dark shade of purple. It was quiet, deathly quiet. Not a bird or a bat flew overhead and not a mouse or other type of nocturnal rodent scampered across the grass.
A figure stepped out from the shadows cast by the trees that outlined the property. The figure’s average slim body looked incredibly awkward when compared to the massive head that was easily four times too big. Fortunate for the figure the head was simply a massive, lightweight, mask that was supported on his shoulders and not his neck. The moonlight reflected off of the porcelain-like teeth of the giant smile book ended by rose-colored cheeks. His striped sweater vest that he wore over the white collared shirt kept him warm in the crisp night air.
He walked softly on the grass until he stopped in front of a long rectangle pile of dirt. If he cared he would’ve found it weird that the only marker to the fresh grave was the painted white wooden stake jammed into the ground with the word ‘Schott’ written by hand on it. It was the policy of the cemetery that known, convicted felons that did not had family to claim their body or handle their affairs to bury them in a remote plot of land, away from the rest of the cemetery, without a headstone or other expensive marker.
“Hello, father…” he spat at the grave. His voice resonated in the hollow mask, but the resentment was clear. Even though Winslow was not his biological father, he was largely responsible for turning him into the young man he was today after his old life died years ago when he was a boy, abducted and held against his will with five other kids.
Schott recognized that the boy was impressionable and twisted him until the boy sympathized with the captor. Hiro Okamura was the son of a businessman, destined to grow up with the entire world open to him due to his father’s considerable wealth. All of that was thrown away. Now, he knelt by the side of the grave and pulled an object out of his vests pocket. “I’m sorry.” He placed it carefully on top of the dirt.
He no longer identified himself by his name, Hiro, instead adopting the moniker of his mentor. Toyman stood and walked away from the grave without another word, leaving the toy monkey behind to clash the tiny cymbals all by itself.
Washington D.C.
The Flats at Dupont Circle
He hovered in front of the fifth floor balcony that overlooked the lit-up courtyard. The curtains were pulled shut over the sliding glass doors and he resisted using his X-Ray vision to peak inside. Instead, he could hear the occupant’s heartbeat inside the apartment and knew she was home. Probably ready to for bed sometime soon.
Minutes had passed before he willed the courage to reach out and gently knock on the glass doors. He could tell the sudden noise startled the woman, who probably spilled a little of the ice tea she was taking a sip of on her shirt. It was just poor timing on both of their parts. He could see her silhouette through the curtain; it grew larger as she approached the doors. She pulled the sliding doors open and was genuinely surprised to learn who her visitor was.
“Superman?” Catherine Grant asked. It had been nearly four years since she had seen the Metropolis hero. She wasn’t conscious of the fact that her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and she stood in her pink pajamas, with blue and yellow polka dots, from Victoria Secrets.
“Hello, Cat.” He looked at Adam’s mother with slight guilt. “Mind if I come inside?”
“Um, sure…” the Presidents Press Secretary stepped away from the threshold. “What’s up?”
Superman settled onto the balcony. “We need to talk.”
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The End...
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