It's a wonderful thing...
...to be have enough free time to write and draw (well, practice drawing, anyway), and it's a wonderful thing to share those things, too. Though not as much time as I would have liked, in the present case. I'm heading off on a holiday for the next week. Sure, I expect it'll be fun. The thing is, I wasn't planning to make a new entry until I'd completed yet another chapter of that original fic I'd posted below, mostly because there really isn't much else to write about here nowadays. Ack. I am a boring man. In any case, the chapter's still unfinished, obviously.
I really need to think of stuff to update with more often, frankly.
One thing that has crossed my mind was that maybe I could submit the already written portions of Champions of Eternity to Tilly's challenge on GAFF. The fic is, after all, an experiment in the same spirit as the challenge--write a powerful central OC with a canon romance that isn't GAFF. Though that'll have to wait, of course.
In any case, I'll just put the second chapter of Champions of Eternity up here. Stalker goes to a meeting and meets interesting people, stuff is revealed as to what he is, only to raise more questions, and the chapter probably turns out to be just as incomprehensible as the fandom it's based on.
The Throne was a mobile universe, built from the purified debris of a corrupted reality by the telekinetic adventurer Jackson King. On a world orbiting a star located almost exactly on the center of that universe, the Monarchy, the eclectic band of allies gathered by King, made their home.
Stalker came out of Hypertime almost directly over the north pole of the planet, decelerating to allow gravity’s pull to take him down to the planet’s surface. A glint of sunlight against highly polished metal caught his eye. He looked up.
Circling the world like a giant wheel, a great gold ring of eldritch machinery spun majestically in the light from the system’s yellow sun. Great arcs of rainbow light danced and flickered across a million antennae, casting weird patterns across the planet’s surface. Through his superhumanly enhanced senses, Stalker could see the millions of superstrings tethered to the ring reaching off into infinity, to other stars where machinery equally incomprehensible waited to be brought to life. The sheer scale of it all boggled him.
He touched down on a wide stone plaza almost directly under the ring itself, the dancing rainbow light causing the polished flags to appear to be changing colors almost dizzyingly fast. In the distance, a gold-pillared hall stood. This would be the meeting place, Hal Jordan had told him. Standing under the wide portico, he could see several strangely attired figures moving about in conversation.
As he approached the hall, several of the figures standing on the portico turned to regard him. He made a quick survey of the individuals gathered there-a veritable pantheon, it seemed, of the luminaries of the multiverse. There in the corner was Kang the Conqueror, exchanging a few terse words with the time-traveling thief Chronos. Before the great bronze doors, several incarnations of the Gallifreyan Time Lord known only as The Doctor were having a reunion while their sidekicks held a small party of their own off to the side. Standing on the steps, the Bleed-traveling group of superheroes known as the Authority were glancing round warily. They and Jackson King had had a none-too-friendly history together, Stalker recalled. He smiled, grimly. He ought to be flattered, he supposed, that whoever it was who’d called this gathering had numbered him among such august company.
He stood silently under the giant pillars, watching the heroes of the multiverse mingle. It was strange, he thought. He’d read about them, back when he’d been a mere man, a boy, in fact, confined to one planet within his home universe. He’d thought it a grand thing, to be so free-to see the wonders of a universe far larger than most people, even in his day and age, when the fruits of science had spread across the globe and the future had never seemed brighter, would have thought. He shook his head. Two hundred years on, and those times still seemed almost like yesterday. He just wished he could have met them under better circumstances.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall young man walking towards him. He turned.
The man was strongly built, with the well-developed body that most active superhumans tended to acquire after a few years in action. Calm blue eyes in a frank, open face looked out from under a mop of curly white hair. About his shoulders, he wore a high-collared cape, fastened by a gold chain across his chest.
On his chest, below the chain, reflecting the rainbow light that danced in strange patterns across the sky, he wore a shield. It was a simple design, one known, and in some quarters, feared, throughout the multiverse.
“Superman?” whispered Stalker. But-his eyes went back to the other man’s face. No, not him.
“My father, actually,” said the young man, as he drew near. “I seem to have picked up the name ‘Hyperman’ on my travels-it’s what I’m better known by nowadays.” He held out his hand.
Stalker took it. “I…call myself Stalker,” he replied. He looked round once more at the assembled heroes. “This is…rather a formidable assemblage, isn’t it?” he commented, more out of a feeling of obligation to make conversation than anything else.
Hyperman shrugged, his gaze following Stalker’s across the portico. “I suppose,” he replied. “At least, objectively. Growing up with my parents tends to skew my perspective somewhat. I had planet-throwing superhumans as my surrogate aunts and uncles.” He laughed.
Stalker smiled politely. “That’s true,” he said, nodding. He looked at his companion once more. “Ah,” he began, hoping he wasn’t being too forward, “who is your mother, anyway?”
“Wonder Woman,” replied Hyperman. “I got powers from both sides of my family-the strength, the speed, the durability and everything else. And then there’s this.” He spread his arms wide. “Traveling the Multiverse, walking the higher dimensions. It’s a good life.”
“It can be,” said Stalker. He sighed.
Hyperman looked at him. “Do you think so?”
“It can be a wonderful life-new things waiting around every corner, new wonders, sights and sounds. But the stakes-we live large scale, Hyperman, and the stakes are just as high.”
“There is that,” the son of Superman agreed. “It’s not just the planet anymore, or even the universe, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.” They lapsed into silence awhile. Stalker wondered if he should attempt to start the conversation over again-he had never been adept in situations such as these, and had never been able to maintain one for long. Part of the reason, he supposed, why he had worked alone and in secret for so long.
He was saved from making this decision by Hyperman. “And what of you?” he asked.
Stalker raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”
“Let’s just say I’m curious. Where do you come from, now? You’ve been active enough these last fifty years that people have started passing rumors about you. Nothing too solid, but enough that people have started to wonder.”
“Well now,” said Stalker. The rightmost corner of his mouth rose in a grim half-smile. “Have I been that conspicuous? Heh.” He sighed. “It was inevitable, I suppose. It’s not as large a multiverse as many suppose. What have they been saying?”
“Aside from the usual speculation about any possible motives and sinister intentions you may have? There are some who say you’re something of a multiversal ghost, appearing out of nowhere at random to ward off impending doom. Others say you’re an alternate of my father in disguise, which is, to be honest, ridiculous, while still others believe you’re one of the Interstice People.”
“Ah!” cried Stalker “They believe that, do they? Hah!” He chuckled, sourly.
“Odd, isn’t it?” said Hyperman. He shrugged. “Still, the wildest rumors can be true. The fact that it took Spectre to find you does seem to support some of the wilder theories.”
“Oh, I do imagine it would,” agreed Stalker. “And what do you think, Hyperman?”
The son of Superman smiled. “I prefer to wait for evidence to present itself.”
“A wise choice,” mused Stalker. “I do suppose the truth will out one day. Better now than at any other time. I give you the truth: I am an Interstice Man. I was thrown into this world of dreams and childhood heroes when a machine of my own devising failed.” He chuckled. “I’d be lying if I told you that wasn’t exactly what I’d made damned thing to do, however. I just didn’t expect it’d be in such a…spectacular fashion.”
Hyperman had taken a step back. “An Interstice Person!” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “That is surprising. You’re hardly typical, are you? I’d have expected you to have made yourself much more conspicuous before now.”
Stalker smiled. “I like to keep myself to myself. Besides, for people like me, conspicuity is hardly a positive survival trait.”
“There is that,” said Hyperman, smiling. He looked around. The heroes assembled on the portico had begun filing into the golden hall. “Well. It looks as if everything’s getting started,” he mused. He turned to head into the cavernous interior himself. “Coming?”
Stalker smiled. “Certainly.”
***
The interior of the meeting-hall was dim, the only light coming from a few strangely glowing crystalline globes floating high among the rafters far above the heads of the gathered heroes. Several heroes floated upward, taking up stations above the dais in the center of the room. A great hologram of the multiverse sprang, shining, from a jeweled projector set within the ornate pattern inlaid on the marble floor.
Standing on the dais, just beyond where the lens sat, was a burly, dark-skinned man. Slowly, he looked around, surveying the assembled heroes with an impassive air. Light from the turning facets of the Multiverse Crystal sparkled across the polished surface of a golden arm, the appendage crafted almost perfectly to resemble one of flesh and blood. His eyes glowed with an uncanny golden light.
Upon the man’s chest, reflecting also the light from the hologram, was a stylized gold crown, seemingly made of the same material as his arm and shining bright against the blackness of his costume.
As the hall began to fill, the man gestured. With a shifting of gears and the sound of metal sliding across metal, several panels within the pattern slid aside. An ornate lectern rose into place, light gleaming across intricate Art Deco curlicues. As unseen engines locked the lectern into place, the dark man stepped behind it, placing a hand on each side as he did so.
Good day. An immense telepathic voice boomed throughout the hall, silencing the last few conversations taking place. The man at the lectern shifted slightly, the strange glow emanating from his eyes seeming to pulse in brightness as each syllable was pronounced. It’s good to be seeing you here-all of you, the voice continued. The man’s gaze shifted slightly, toward the corner in which the Authority were seated. We’re going to need a lot of heroes by the time this is over.
There are some of you here who may not know me, the voice went on. My name is Jackson King. And I bring bad news. Some of you may already know this: reality is alive. King gestured toward the glittering snowflake hovering above the dais. The principles upon which the multiverse operates are mathematically similar to those governing the functioning of a living organism. Like cells, universes are born, die and are replaced. The similarities are almost exact.
As King spoke, fine lines appeared within the hologram, tracing a square round a small portion of the Multiverse Crystal. The region within the square expanded, filling the entire field of view projected by the emitter. The viewpoint zoomed in twice more, until, finally, a small cluster of universes was the only thing visible within the holographic field.
And, as with all living organisms, the workings of the multiverse can go horribly wrong. King’s telepathic voice was grim. As the assembled heroes watched, that facet of the multiverse crystal lying almost at the center of the field of view turned an ominous, sickly green. The edges of the facet seemed to quiver, as if unable to contain the malevolency eating at the heart of the universe within.
There was an ominous tearing sound. A great, squamous tentacle of living, mutated space arched upwards, plunging wetly through the boundaries of the next universe over, a sickly, slightly luminescent ichor spreading out from the edges of the wound to devour that universe as well.
Somewhere in the Bleed, in one of possibly a hundred billion universes, something changed. The cosmological constants of that universe were thrown awry. The degeneration of space was the initial result. When the degeneration had filled its own universe, there was only one way to go. Metastasis occurred.
Jackson King looked round at the assembled heroes, his glowing eyes unreadable. There was an undertone of iron in the man’s telepathic voice as he spoke once more.
Those of you who know me-what do you know me as? A year ago, I was a bureaucrat in charge of the United Nations’ Office of Superhuman Affairs in my world. Before that-before they fell in battle, I was Weatherman, commander of the UN’s own superhuman strike force, Stormwatch. In the past year- he paused, looking around once more before turning round to stare straight at the Authority -I have fought a greater war. This universe was once a part of the monster. My companions and I have reclaimed it from the twisted likenesses of heroes from our own world who corrupted it. The Throne is a universe-wide machine, capable of inoculating other universes against this Reality Plague.
The Cancer has consumed over a hundred million more universes.
King’s words sent a furious hubbub of excited voices echoing throughout the vast chamber. Floating by one of the massive pillars supporting the roof of the chamber, Stalker frowned. His hand, resting on the pommel of his sword, tightened about the hilt. He stared, grim-faced, at the hologram; at the universes within, almost all now totally consumed by the horrid corruption that had overtaken the first one.
“And we never knew,” he whispered, “until it was too late.”
Hyperman raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” he asked.
“I just came from one of those universes.” Stalker nodded toward the hologram, now looping through the animation of worlds being consumed. “Can you see what it does, Hyperman?”
The Son of Superman considered the image. “It’s creating a favorable environment for itself-breaking down the barriers between universes.”
“This was what Spectre was told me-when he came to get me. The infected universes-they’re blending into each other. Can you imagine what would happen?”
Hyperman nodded, grimly. “Chaos. Complete randomness. Nothing even remotely resembling sanity in there.
“I don’t think human language-or any other for that matter, is capable of describing what’s in that thing.”
“I know,” said Stalker. He sighed. “I saw it happen.”
“You say you were actually in one of those universes as it happened? How, man? Did you-”
“I stumbled onto it,” grated Stalker. “There was a place there-a wondrous place which I loved. The creatures there-they were some of the most beautiful creatures in the multiverse. They made that place alive. That thing killed them, Hyperman. Those things it sent-that planet is no longer fit for life.”
“Good Lord. My condolences.” The Son of Superman placed a friendly hand upon his companion’s shoulder.
Stalker smiled, gratefully. “Thank you, Hyperman. Thank you.” He looked down at the dais. A slim young woman had joined King there. The telekinetic adventurer had stepped back, allowing her to take the lectern. Stalker eyed her interestedly.
The woman was obviously inhuman. Her skin was purple, her hair a darker shade of the same color. From his vantage point, Stalker’s enhanced senses could make out the pronounced points to her ears. Her eyes were a solid white.
She was clad in a tight green leotard, falling away below her waist to form a loincloth-skirt showing off a well-muscled pair of legs. A quiver of darts projected over one shoulder. About her forearm, she wore a strangely ornate bracer of an unidentifiable red metal, into which was set a clear blue gem.
Standing at the lectern, hands folded before her, she looked round at the strange and powerful beings assembled in the room. Nervously, she fingered the gem, as if drawing comfort from the feel of its surface against her skin. She took a deep breath.
“Excuse me.” Unseen devices picked up the woman’s voice, amplifying and broadcasting it to the furthest corners of the room. She looked round. While her fingers still restlessly stroked the smooth surface of the gem, her voice was clear, and her gaze steady. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Clarice Ferguson. I’m a mutant. I lead a team of people like myself. We call ourselves the Exiles. One year ago, we were drafted into fighting this cancer. It is real.
“We have seen the histories of entire universes twisted into darkness. We’ve seen all hope for the future, in a thousand worlds, crushed by things that should not-could not-have happened.” Her voice grew almost deathly soft. Even through the enhancement, the assembled superbeings had to strain to hear her speak. “We have seen good men and women-heroes-perverted beyond recognition, transformed into monsters as bad as those they fought.” She looked around. “I recognize some of you here. They were you…”
As she trailed off, the murmurs started again. There was a frantic edge to the sound this time, a mixture of shock and disbelief. The crowd standing about the dais stirred.
Pushing through the packed ranks of heroes came a figure cloaked and cowled, head to toe, in black. Twin peaks jutted like giant ears from the top of his cowl. As he stepped forward, those near him moved back, as if repulsed by the aura of menace that seemed to hang about him like the cloak upon his shoulders. He stopped before the dais, regarding its two occupants with an grim stare.
A frisson of excitement ran through Stalker as he looked down at the man. First Hyperman, and now him. These were legends in the Multiverse, their reputations towering over all others. He had been to realities where, squatting about a fire with stone-using natives, he would hear stories of them-the more-than-human survivor of a lost people protecting his adopted home; and the orphaned son, driven by inner demons to ensure no child would have to face the loneliness he had.
“This…cancer. Did you call us here to fight this, King?” the man asked. His voice, harsh as steel upon sand, echoed through the pickups and across the great hall.
Of course I did…Batman. King stood, arms crossed, beside the lectern, looking down at the Dark Knight Detective with an unreadable expression on his face.
The Batman returned the stare. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Very well. And what exactly is it you want us to do?”
King seemed to sigh. I understand you have duties in your home universe, Batman. I’m not going to require you to abandon them. This is more of a warning: keep an eye on your neighbouring universes. If they fall, so too will your own. Do not allow this to happen.
Batman nodded, curtly. He and King continued to regard each other silently for a few moments. Then, King turned away. His gaze swept the assembled heroes. But we’re not going to stop this thing just by sitting and watching. We need to take the fight to this damn thing. I know many of you are free agents. Out there, millions of universes remain unguarded. Think of that. Technologically backward. No superhumans or magic to defend themselves with. King’s mental voice sank to a whisper. Think on that. Make your choices.
There was a pause. Then, silently, Hyperman dropped from beside Stalker to land upon the dais. “I’ll go. I can’t do otherwise.” Below the platform, the Batman smiled. Hyperman acknowledged his father’s old friend with a friendly nod of his own as the latter faded back into the crowd.
Several of the Doctors made their way up to the dais. One of them-the Third, thought Stalker-walked up to King, his hand outstretched.
“You can count us in, Mr. King,” he said, taking King by the hand. “What sort of a plan have you got in mind?”
King looked around. One by one, heroes, even a few known super villains, all came forward to offer their service.
Stalker took a deep breath. Well, he thought. Can’t remain hidden forever. He dropped down, landing beside Hyperman. “Count me in too, sir,” he said quietly.
King nodded at the assembled crowd. Good, he said, looking round at the throng. So it begins!
***
Stalker stood on the plain before the hall, looking up into the rainbow sky. He felt tired. He could go on for several weeks more on end, he knew, but still…the last few hours had not been the most pleasant for himself. There would be more to do once he returned home, he knew. There were the survivors to deal with. The world the Chaos Marines had attacked had not been a populous one, by most standards. Still, he found it all too likely that he would find himself with a million people-or more-on his hands. And then-and then there was Amalthea. He sighed. He wondered if she could thrive, living out in the higher dimensions with himself and thousands of other humans.
Once, the Last Unicorn had been strong enough to win her race free from captivity. Would she, he wondered, be strong enough just to survive after this? He gathered himself to leap back up into the sky.
He heard footsteps behind him.
“Stalker! Wait!” Stalker let the energy he had gathered to take flight dissipate. He turned.
Hyperman stood behind him. Slightly behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, was Jackson King.
The Son of Superman turned to address their host. “Jackson, allow me to introduce Stalker. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
The telekinetic adventurer nodded. Striding up to Stalker, he extended his hand. A pleasure to meet you, he said. I must say, you’re somewhat of a mystery to most of us. To tell the truth, I hadn’t expected you here.
Stalker took the proffered hand and shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. King,” he replied. “To be honest, I do prefer to keep myself to myself. For people like myself, being too conspicuous can be fatal.”
I understand, came the telekinetic reply. That won’t be an option for you in the foreseeable future, I’m afraid. The corner of King’s mouth rose in a sardonic smile. It’s a much larger threat we face than any before. We’ll all have to get used to living widescreen. We have made overtures to…others of your kind, you know. For something this big, I’d think you lot would be excused a little powerplaying now and then.
Stalker smiled back. “That’s…reassuring to hear, I suppose. Anybody I know about?”
Perhaps. The Hippogriff. Kitsune. Nightmare. A few of the more…stable ones. King shrugged.
“Relatively speaking, I suppose,” muttered Stalker. He’d heard of those three-the Hippogriff was the leader of a galaxy-spanning army of peacekeepers in a universe of magic, mysticism and high technology, while the notorious shapechanger Kitsune had been known to haunt the American heartlands, assisting, whenever he wished, the efforts of the brightly colored heroes native to his adopted plane. The Nightmare was one of the more notorious of the Interstice People-he had burst onto the scene as a superpowered martial artist, capable, it was said, of matching the legendary Akuma himself. All three, Stalker knew, had gathered considerable opprobrium to themselves due to the rather…brash manners in which their exploits had been carried out.
Indeed, agreed King. To be honest, there are those among us who would regard you with the same suspicion as they would those three. He regarded Stalker with an appraising eye. I suppose you might be given the benefit of the doubt, given your prior record. You’re not going to prove us wrong, are you?
Stalker nodded. “Thank you, no,” he said. The corner of his mouth rose, slightly. “I can’t say I blame them,” he added, carefully editing out some dry words on that subject that he wanted to say. “People like me, we come in, we cause a big mess adapting to our new environment, and then we self-destruct. Frankly, it’s bloody tragic.” He sighed. “So many dreams, come to naught.”
Perhaps, said King, noncommittally. He looked at Stalker, then back at Hyperman. The Son of Superman nodded grimly. Unspoken between the three of them were the words that King had very carefully not said. Or perhaps-just more symptoms of the plague infesting the system.
There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Then, Stalker cleared his throat. He nodded at his two companions. “I’m afraid I need to take my leave,” he said. “There’s probably injured people waiting for me-on board my World Sphere.”
King nodded. A word of advice, he said.
“Yes?”
You work alone. You would be wise not to do so for the duration of this conflict.
Stalker raised an eyebrow. “It’s always worked before,” he pointed out.
King’s eyes narrowed. Not now, it won’t. As I’ve said, live widescreen. You’re not going to be able to even hurt this thing by attacking it or its manifestations inside the Bleed. Your job is to hold the line until we can get to you and inoculate whatever universe it is you’re in. Get used to fighting the big battles-in the open. You can’t be everywhere and do everything. Most of all, you need people who can do all the shit that you can’t. Do you understand?
Stalker blinked, taken aback by the telepathic diatribe. Slowly, he nodded. “I understand, sir,” he replied.
King nodded. Good. He clapped the other man on the shoulder. Goodbye, Stalker. Good luck.
“Goodbye, Mr. King, Hyperman.” Stalker nodded at the other two as he rose into the air. Looking down, he saw Hyperman raise an arm in salute. He grinned, and returned the gesture. Then, looking up into the stars, he shot up, out from the planet, and into the darkness of space.
There we go. Anybody who's reading this, see you in a week or so, and a few days after that, I probably will finish chapter 2 of Sara. Bet that's a whole lot more interesting than Stalker, isn't it? :P
I really need to think of stuff to update with more often, frankly.
One thing that has crossed my mind was that maybe I could submit the already written portions of Champions of Eternity to Tilly's challenge on GAFF. The fic is, after all, an experiment in the same spirit as the challenge--write a powerful central OC with a canon romance that isn't GAFF. Though that'll have to wait, of course.
In any case, I'll just put the second chapter of Champions of Eternity up here. Stalker goes to a meeting and meets interesting people, stuff is revealed as to what he is, only to raise more questions, and the chapter probably turns out to be just as incomprehensible as the fandom it's based on.
The Throne was a mobile universe, built from the purified debris of a corrupted reality by the telekinetic adventurer Jackson King. On a world orbiting a star located almost exactly on the center of that universe, the Monarchy, the eclectic band of allies gathered by King, made their home.
Stalker came out of Hypertime almost directly over the north pole of the planet, decelerating to allow gravity’s pull to take him down to the planet’s surface. A glint of sunlight against highly polished metal caught his eye. He looked up.
Circling the world like a giant wheel, a great gold ring of eldritch machinery spun majestically in the light from the system’s yellow sun. Great arcs of rainbow light danced and flickered across a million antennae, casting weird patterns across the planet’s surface. Through his superhumanly enhanced senses, Stalker could see the millions of superstrings tethered to the ring reaching off into infinity, to other stars where machinery equally incomprehensible waited to be brought to life. The sheer scale of it all boggled him.
He touched down on a wide stone plaza almost directly under the ring itself, the dancing rainbow light causing the polished flags to appear to be changing colors almost dizzyingly fast. In the distance, a gold-pillared hall stood. This would be the meeting place, Hal Jordan had told him. Standing under the wide portico, he could see several strangely attired figures moving about in conversation.
As he approached the hall, several of the figures standing on the portico turned to regard him. He made a quick survey of the individuals gathered there-a veritable pantheon, it seemed, of the luminaries of the multiverse. There in the corner was Kang the Conqueror, exchanging a few terse words with the time-traveling thief Chronos. Before the great bronze doors, several incarnations of the Gallifreyan Time Lord known only as The Doctor were having a reunion while their sidekicks held a small party of their own off to the side. Standing on the steps, the Bleed-traveling group of superheroes known as the Authority were glancing round warily. They and Jackson King had had a none-too-friendly history together, Stalker recalled. He smiled, grimly. He ought to be flattered, he supposed, that whoever it was who’d called this gathering had numbered him among such august company.
He stood silently under the giant pillars, watching the heroes of the multiverse mingle. It was strange, he thought. He’d read about them, back when he’d been a mere man, a boy, in fact, confined to one planet within his home universe. He’d thought it a grand thing, to be so free-to see the wonders of a universe far larger than most people, even in his day and age, when the fruits of science had spread across the globe and the future had never seemed brighter, would have thought. He shook his head. Two hundred years on, and those times still seemed almost like yesterday. He just wished he could have met them under better circumstances.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall young man walking towards him. He turned.
The man was strongly built, with the well-developed body that most active superhumans tended to acquire after a few years in action. Calm blue eyes in a frank, open face looked out from under a mop of curly white hair. About his shoulders, he wore a high-collared cape, fastened by a gold chain across his chest.
On his chest, below the chain, reflecting the rainbow light that danced in strange patterns across the sky, he wore a shield. It was a simple design, one known, and in some quarters, feared, throughout the multiverse.
“Superman?” whispered Stalker. But-his eyes went back to the other man’s face. No, not him.
“My father, actually,” said the young man, as he drew near. “I seem to have picked up the name ‘Hyperman’ on my travels-it’s what I’m better known by nowadays.” He held out his hand.
Stalker took it. “I…call myself Stalker,” he replied. He looked round once more at the assembled heroes. “This is…rather a formidable assemblage, isn’t it?” he commented, more out of a feeling of obligation to make conversation than anything else.
Hyperman shrugged, his gaze following Stalker’s across the portico. “I suppose,” he replied. “At least, objectively. Growing up with my parents tends to skew my perspective somewhat. I had planet-throwing superhumans as my surrogate aunts and uncles.” He laughed.
Stalker smiled politely. “That’s true,” he said, nodding. He looked at his companion once more. “Ah,” he began, hoping he wasn’t being too forward, “who is your mother, anyway?”
“Wonder Woman,” replied Hyperman. “I got powers from both sides of my family-the strength, the speed, the durability and everything else. And then there’s this.” He spread his arms wide. “Traveling the Multiverse, walking the higher dimensions. It’s a good life.”
“It can be,” said Stalker. He sighed.
Hyperman looked at him. “Do you think so?”
“It can be a wonderful life-new things waiting around every corner, new wonders, sights and sounds. But the stakes-we live large scale, Hyperman, and the stakes are just as high.”
“There is that,” the son of Superman agreed. “It’s not just the planet anymore, or even the universe, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.” They lapsed into silence awhile. Stalker wondered if he should attempt to start the conversation over again-he had never been adept in situations such as these, and had never been able to maintain one for long. Part of the reason, he supposed, why he had worked alone and in secret for so long.
He was saved from making this decision by Hyperman. “And what of you?” he asked.
Stalker raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”
“Let’s just say I’m curious. Where do you come from, now? You’ve been active enough these last fifty years that people have started passing rumors about you. Nothing too solid, but enough that people have started to wonder.”
“Well now,” said Stalker. The rightmost corner of his mouth rose in a grim half-smile. “Have I been that conspicuous? Heh.” He sighed. “It was inevitable, I suppose. It’s not as large a multiverse as many suppose. What have they been saying?”
“Aside from the usual speculation about any possible motives and sinister intentions you may have? There are some who say you’re something of a multiversal ghost, appearing out of nowhere at random to ward off impending doom. Others say you’re an alternate of my father in disguise, which is, to be honest, ridiculous, while still others believe you’re one of the Interstice People.”
“Ah!” cried Stalker “They believe that, do they? Hah!” He chuckled, sourly.
“Odd, isn’t it?” said Hyperman. He shrugged. “Still, the wildest rumors can be true. The fact that it took Spectre to find you does seem to support some of the wilder theories.”
“Oh, I do imagine it would,” agreed Stalker. “And what do you think, Hyperman?”
The son of Superman smiled. “I prefer to wait for evidence to present itself.”
“A wise choice,” mused Stalker. “I do suppose the truth will out one day. Better now than at any other time. I give you the truth: I am an Interstice Man. I was thrown into this world of dreams and childhood heroes when a machine of my own devising failed.” He chuckled. “I’d be lying if I told you that wasn’t exactly what I’d made damned thing to do, however. I just didn’t expect it’d be in such a…spectacular fashion.”
Hyperman had taken a step back. “An Interstice Person!” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “That is surprising. You’re hardly typical, are you? I’d have expected you to have made yourself much more conspicuous before now.”
Stalker smiled. “I like to keep myself to myself. Besides, for people like me, conspicuity is hardly a positive survival trait.”
“There is that,” said Hyperman, smiling. He looked around. The heroes assembled on the portico had begun filing into the golden hall. “Well. It looks as if everything’s getting started,” he mused. He turned to head into the cavernous interior himself. “Coming?”
Stalker smiled. “Certainly.”
***
The interior of the meeting-hall was dim, the only light coming from a few strangely glowing crystalline globes floating high among the rafters far above the heads of the gathered heroes. Several heroes floated upward, taking up stations above the dais in the center of the room. A great hologram of the multiverse sprang, shining, from a jeweled projector set within the ornate pattern inlaid on the marble floor.
Standing on the dais, just beyond where the lens sat, was a burly, dark-skinned man. Slowly, he looked around, surveying the assembled heroes with an impassive air. Light from the turning facets of the Multiverse Crystal sparkled across the polished surface of a golden arm, the appendage crafted almost perfectly to resemble one of flesh and blood. His eyes glowed with an uncanny golden light.
Upon the man’s chest, reflecting also the light from the hologram, was a stylized gold crown, seemingly made of the same material as his arm and shining bright against the blackness of his costume.
As the hall began to fill, the man gestured. With a shifting of gears and the sound of metal sliding across metal, several panels within the pattern slid aside. An ornate lectern rose into place, light gleaming across intricate Art Deco curlicues. As unseen engines locked the lectern into place, the dark man stepped behind it, placing a hand on each side as he did so.
Good day. An immense telepathic voice boomed throughout the hall, silencing the last few conversations taking place. The man at the lectern shifted slightly, the strange glow emanating from his eyes seeming to pulse in brightness as each syllable was pronounced. It’s good to be seeing you here-all of you, the voice continued. The man’s gaze shifted slightly, toward the corner in which the Authority were seated. We’re going to need a lot of heroes by the time this is over.
There are some of you here who may not know me, the voice went on. My name is Jackson King. And I bring bad news. Some of you may already know this: reality is alive. King gestured toward the glittering snowflake hovering above the dais. The principles upon which the multiverse operates are mathematically similar to those governing the functioning of a living organism. Like cells, universes are born, die and are replaced. The similarities are almost exact.
As King spoke, fine lines appeared within the hologram, tracing a square round a small portion of the Multiverse Crystal. The region within the square expanded, filling the entire field of view projected by the emitter. The viewpoint zoomed in twice more, until, finally, a small cluster of universes was the only thing visible within the holographic field.
And, as with all living organisms, the workings of the multiverse can go horribly wrong. King’s telepathic voice was grim. As the assembled heroes watched, that facet of the multiverse crystal lying almost at the center of the field of view turned an ominous, sickly green. The edges of the facet seemed to quiver, as if unable to contain the malevolency eating at the heart of the universe within.
There was an ominous tearing sound. A great, squamous tentacle of living, mutated space arched upwards, plunging wetly through the boundaries of the next universe over, a sickly, slightly luminescent ichor spreading out from the edges of the wound to devour that universe as well.
Somewhere in the Bleed, in one of possibly a hundred billion universes, something changed. The cosmological constants of that universe were thrown awry. The degeneration of space was the initial result. When the degeneration had filled its own universe, there was only one way to go. Metastasis occurred.
Jackson King looked round at the assembled heroes, his glowing eyes unreadable. There was an undertone of iron in the man’s telepathic voice as he spoke once more.
Those of you who know me-what do you know me as? A year ago, I was a bureaucrat in charge of the United Nations’ Office of Superhuman Affairs in my world. Before that-before they fell in battle, I was Weatherman, commander of the UN’s own superhuman strike force, Stormwatch. In the past year- he paused, looking around once more before turning round to stare straight at the Authority -I have fought a greater war. This universe was once a part of the monster. My companions and I have reclaimed it from the twisted likenesses of heroes from our own world who corrupted it. The Throne is a universe-wide machine, capable of inoculating other universes against this Reality Plague.
The Cancer has consumed over a hundred million more universes.
King’s words sent a furious hubbub of excited voices echoing throughout the vast chamber. Floating by one of the massive pillars supporting the roof of the chamber, Stalker frowned. His hand, resting on the pommel of his sword, tightened about the hilt. He stared, grim-faced, at the hologram; at the universes within, almost all now totally consumed by the horrid corruption that had overtaken the first one.
“And we never knew,” he whispered, “until it was too late.”
Hyperman raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” he asked.
“I just came from one of those universes.” Stalker nodded toward the hologram, now looping through the animation of worlds being consumed. “Can you see what it does, Hyperman?”
The Son of Superman considered the image. “It’s creating a favorable environment for itself-breaking down the barriers between universes.”
“This was what Spectre was told me-when he came to get me. The infected universes-they’re blending into each other. Can you imagine what would happen?”
Hyperman nodded, grimly. “Chaos. Complete randomness. Nothing even remotely resembling sanity in there.
“I don’t think human language-or any other for that matter, is capable of describing what’s in that thing.”
“I know,” said Stalker. He sighed. “I saw it happen.”
“You say you were actually in one of those universes as it happened? How, man? Did you-”
“I stumbled onto it,” grated Stalker. “There was a place there-a wondrous place which I loved. The creatures there-they were some of the most beautiful creatures in the multiverse. They made that place alive. That thing killed them, Hyperman. Those things it sent-that planet is no longer fit for life.”
“Good Lord. My condolences.” The Son of Superman placed a friendly hand upon his companion’s shoulder.
Stalker smiled, gratefully. “Thank you, Hyperman. Thank you.” He looked down at the dais. A slim young woman had joined King there. The telekinetic adventurer had stepped back, allowing her to take the lectern. Stalker eyed her interestedly.
The woman was obviously inhuman. Her skin was purple, her hair a darker shade of the same color. From his vantage point, Stalker’s enhanced senses could make out the pronounced points to her ears. Her eyes were a solid white.
She was clad in a tight green leotard, falling away below her waist to form a loincloth-skirt showing off a well-muscled pair of legs. A quiver of darts projected over one shoulder. About her forearm, she wore a strangely ornate bracer of an unidentifiable red metal, into which was set a clear blue gem.
Standing at the lectern, hands folded before her, she looked round at the strange and powerful beings assembled in the room. Nervously, she fingered the gem, as if drawing comfort from the feel of its surface against her skin. She took a deep breath.
“Excuse me.” Unseen devices picked up the woman’s voice, amplifying and broadcasting it to the furthest corners of the room. She looked round. While her fingers still restlessly stroked the smooth surface of the gem, her voice was clear, and her gaze steady. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Clarice Ferguson. I’m a mutant. I lead a team of people like myself. We call ourselves the Exiles. One year ago, we were drafted into fighting this cancer. It is real.
“We have seen the histories of entire universes twisted into darkness. We’ve seen all hope for the future, in a thousand worlds, crushed by things that should not-could not-have happened.” Her voice grew almost deathly soft. Even through the enhancement, the assembled superbeings had to strain to hear her speak. “We have seen good men and women-heroes-perverted beyond recognition, transformed into monsters as bad as those they fought.” She looked around. “I recognize some of you here. They were you…”
As she trailed off, the murmurs started again. There was a frantic edge to the sound this time, a mixture of shock and disbelief. The crowd standing about the dais stirred.
Pushing through the packed ranks of heroes came a figure cloaked and cowled, head to toe, in black. Twin peaks jutted like giant ears from the top of his cowl. As he stepped forward, those near him moved back, as if repulsed by the aura of menace that seemed to hang about him like the cloak upon his shoulders. He stopped before the dais, regarding its two occupants with an grim stare.
A frisson of excitement ran through Stalker as he looked down at the man. First Hyperman, and now him. These were legends in the Multiverse, their reputations towering over all others. He had been to realities where, squatting about a fire with stone-using natives, he would hear stories of them-the more-than-human survivor of a lost people protecting his adopted home; and the orphaned son, driven by inner demons to ensure no child would have to face the loneliness he had.
“This…cancer. Did you call us here to fight this, King?” the man asked. His voice, harsh as steel upon sand, echoed through the pickups and across the great hall.
Of course I did…Batman. King stood, arms crossed, beside the lectern, looking down at the Dark Knight Detective with an unreadable expression on his face.
The Batman returned the stare. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Very well. And what exactly is it you want us to do?”
King seemed to sigh. I understand you have duties in your home universe, Batman. I’m not going to require you to abandon them. This is more of a warning: keep an eye on your neighbouring universes. If they fall, so too will your own. Do not allow this to happen.
Batman nodded, curtly. He and King continued to regard each other silently for a few moments. Then, King turned away. His gaze swept the assembled heroes. But we’re not going to stop this thing just by sitting and watching. We need to take the fight to this damn thing. I know many of you are free agents. Out there, millions of universes remain unguarded. Think of that. Technologically backward. No superhumans or magic to defend themselves with. King’s mental voice sank to a whisper. Think on that. Make your choices.
There was a pause. Then, silently, Hyperman dropped from beside Stalker to land upon the dais. “I’ll go. I can’t do otherwise.” Below the platform, the Batman smiled. Hyperman acknowledged his father’s old friend with a friendly nod of his own as the latter faded back into the crowd.
Several of the Doctors made their way up to the dais. One of them-the Third, thought Stalker-walked up to King, his hand outstretched.
“You can count us in, Mr. King,” he said, taking King by the hand. “What sort of a plan have you got in mind?”
King looked around. One by one, heroes, even a few known super villains, all came forward to offer their service.
Stalker took a deep breath. Well, he thought. Can’t remain hidden forever. He dropped down, landing beside Hyperman. “Count me in too, sir,” he said quietly.
King nodded at the assembled crowd. Good, he said, looking round at the throng. So it begins!
***
Stalker stood on the plain before the hall, looking up into the rainbow sky. He felt tired. He could go on for several weeks more on end, he knew, but still…the last few hours had not been the most pleasant for himself. There would be more to do once he returned home, he knew. There were the survivors to deal with. The world the Chaos Marines had attacked had not been a populous one, by most standards. Still, he found it all too likely that he would find himself with a million people-or more-on his hands. And then-and then there was Amalthea. He sighed. He wondered if she could thrive, living out in the higher dimensions with himself and thousands of other humans.
Once, the Last Unicorn had been strong enough to win her race free from captivity. Would she, he wondered, be strong enough just to survive after this? He gathered himself to leap back up into the sky.
He heard footsteps behind him.
“Stalker! Wait!” Stalker let the energy he had gathered to take flight dissipate. He turned.
Hyperman stood behind him. Slightly behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, was Jackson King.
The Son of Superman turned to address their host. “Jackson, allow me to introduce Stalker. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
The telekinetic adventurer nodded. Striding up to Stalker, he extended his hand. A pleasure to meet you, he said. I must say, you’re somewhat of a mystery to most of us. To tell the truth, I hadn’t expected you here.
Stalker took the proffered hand and shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. King,” he replied. “To be honest, I do prefer to keep myself to myself. For people like myself, being too conspicuous can be fatal.”
I understand, came the telekinetic reply. That won’t be an option for you in the foreseeable future, I’m afraid. The corner of King’s mouth rose in a sardonic smile. It’s a much larger threat we face than any before. We’ll all have to get used to living widescreen. We have made overtures to…others of your kind, you know. For something this big, I’d think you lot would be excused a little powerplaying now and then.
Stalker smiled back. “That’s…reassuring to hear, I suppose. Anybody I know about?”
Perhaps. The Hippogriff. Kitsune. Nightmare. A few of the more…stable ones. King shrugged.
“Relatively speaking, I suppose,” muttered Stalker. He’d heard of those three-the Hippogriff was the leader of a galaxy-spanning army of peacekeepers in a universe of magic, mysticism and high technology, while the notorious shapechanger Kitsune had been known to haunt the American heartlands, assisting, whenever he wished, the efforts of the brightly colored heroes native to his adopted plane. The Nightmare was one of the more notorious of the Interstice People-he had burst onto the scene as a superpowered martial artist, capable, it was said, of matching the legendary Akuma himself. All three, Stalker knew, had gathered considerable opprobrium to themselves due to the rather…brash manners in which their exploits had been carried out.
Indeed, agreed King. To be honest, there are those among us who would regard you with the same suspicion as they would those three. He regarded Stalker with an appraising eye. I suppose you might be given the benefit of the doubt, given your prior record. You’re not going to prove us wrong, are you?
Stalker nodded. “Thank you, no,” he said. The corner of his mouth rose, slightly. “I can’t say I blame them,” he added, carefully editing out some dry words on that subject that he wanted to say. “People like me, we come in, we cause a big mess adapting to our new environment, and then we self-destruct. Frankly, it’s bloody tragic.” He sighed. “So many dreams, come to naught.”
Perhaps, said King, noncommittally. He looked at Stalker, then back at Hyperman. The Son of Superman nodded grimly. Unspoken between the three of them were the words that King had very carefully not said. Or perhaps-just more symptoms of the plague infesting the system.
There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Then, Stalker cleared his throat. He nodded at his two companions. “I’m afraid I need to take my leave,” he said. “There’s probably injured people waiting for me-on board my World Sphere.”
King nodded. A word of advice, he said.
“Yes?”
You work alone. You would be wise not to do so for the duration of this conflict.
Stalker raised an eyebrow. “It’s always worked before,” he pointed out.
King’s eyes narrowed. Not now, it won’t. As I’ve said, live widescreen. You’re not going to be able to even hurt this thing by attacking it or its manifestations inside the Bleed. Your job is to hold the line until we can get to you and inoculate whatever universe it is you’re in. Get used to fighting the big battles-in the open. You can’t be everywhere and do everything. Most of all, you need people who can do all the shit that you can’t. Do you understand?
Stalker blinked, taken aback by the telepathic diatribe. Slowly, he nodded. “I understand, sir,” he replied.
King nodded. Good. He clapped the other man on the shoulder. Goodbye, Stalker. Good luck.
“Goodbye, Mr. King, Hyperman.” Stalker nodded at the other two as he rose into the air. Looking down, he saw Hyperman raise an arm in salute. He grinned, and returned the gesture. Then, looking up into the stars, he shot up, out from the planet, and into the darkness of space.
There we go. Anybody who's reading this, see you in a week or so, and a few days after that, I probably will finish chapter 2 of Sara. Bet that's a whole lot more interesting than Stalker, isn't it? :P