Dragon Ball Superman - The World's Strongest Saga - JeckParadox (2024)

Chapter 1: World's Strongest Saga

Chapter Text

World’s Strongest Saga

January 1939

“The readings don’t look good, Doctor,” the young man in the labcoat said, looking over the printout steadily spewing from the massive machine, “You don’t have much time left, if this is allowed to continue.”

“There’s nothing that can slow it?” asked an old gray-haired man on a slab. Dozens of machines were hooked into him, monitoring him, feeding him through tubes. A metal panel covered almost half his face, wired and cables attached to it through a spot that covered where his eye would be.

“You could forgo the use of your powers entirely,” the younger suggested, only to dodge as a set of surgical tools set on a table nearby lifted into the air and launched themselves at him, “It was just a possibility! It would slow down the degradation. See, even that small use caused a spike-” the assistant said, grabbing part of the data being printed out and turning it towards the other man to see.

“These are my powers, I worked hard to master them, and I will not give them up to live as a- a mere human being! I’m supposed to be something more!” the old man protested, “Curse this weak body.”

“The body is the problem,” the young man agreed, “This strange energy you draw from- your body does make it, seemingly nonstop, but only in scant amounts. And every time you use your powers, you drain more than your body can produce, causing a strange kind of cell death. The energy seems to play a vital, if never before noticed, part in keeping cells healthy and alive. The tests we’ve done on animals indicate that the younger, stronger, and healthier the body, the more energy is produced. If there was some way we could just make you younger-”

“There is,” the old man said suddenly, “I never thought of it before, but there is. You’re right, Silverstone, my body is the problem. My body. But not… me.” He smiled, “Everything that’s important; my personality, my memories, my powers… they’re all tied to one thing. And one thing alone. My brain.”

“Your brain, Doctor?” Silverstone asked, confused, “Well, yes, that’s true but…”

“Why did I never see it before?” the patient asked, “Surely we could figure out how to make it happen. If I need a stronger body to use my powers and survive, then we’ll find a stronger body, and put my brain into it. Simple.”

“Hah, yes, simple. Right,” the younger man said sarcastically, “A brain transplant. Simple.”

“No, you’re right, of course. It’s not simple at all, is it? We’ll have to conduct tests, discover which kinds of animals, even which kinds of people, possess the most of this… vital energy,” the patient continued, “And once we know that, we’ll have found our perfect host. We’ll perform the transplant, and then everything will be fine. I’ll have a body that can support the sheer might of my brain. The world’s strongest, in muscle and mind! Something beyond human- something ultra-human!”

“Yes sir, Doctor Wheelo,” Silverstone said, “We’ll get started right away. It should be no time at all before we’ve found what you’re looking for.”

“Oh,” Wheelo began, “No, I’m afraid that it will take a long time. Time that I don’t have,” he said, before turning his gaze on his assistant, “But it’s time that you’ll have, Silverstone, young man that you are.”

Silverstone took a step back only to freeze as Wheelo’s telekinesis seized him in place, “Sir, but… I’ve been helping you! You’re my mentor, I owe everything to you! Don’t take out my brain-”

“I’m not going to kill you, Silverstone, you’re my valuable assistant, my right hand, my confidante,” Wheelo said, looking hurt, “and if that’s not enough, then the fact that a brain transplant has never been successfully performed, and I’m not going to do our very first test case on myself, should tell you you’re not in danger any time soon.”

Silverstone let out a sigh of relief, “I… I’m sorry for doubting you, doctor.”

“No, what I mean is, that this will be your project. It will be your task. As for myself… I’ll be putting myself into a deep freeze, to prevent the further degradation of my body. You’ll figure out how to do the transplant, find me a host body I can use… and then you’ll thaw me out, and perform the procedure.”

“That’s… an awful lot of trust to be putting in me, sir.”

“Well,” he reached out, and rested the top of his hand on Silverstone’s head, “Trust is easy, when you’re a telepath.” His power flexed- he felt the life force of his body drain even further -and he reached into the mind of his assistant.

When Wheelo opened his mind’s eye, he was within the mind of his assistant. He watched as memories swirled around him and played themselves out. Their interactions, his fears, his worries, his hopes, flowing around them like a river.

<Irrelevant. Your only concern should be me.> Doctor Wheelo thought, pressing his will into the river around him and changing the shape of it.

It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t unsubtle, the changes he inflicted on his young assistant’s mind. He had simply rearranged priorities. From that moment on, the greatest goal of this young man’s life was fulfilling Doctor Wheelo’s ambitions. More than any other drive he had previously; for success, for happiness, for comfort. It was overridden.

What was most important was Wheelo.

The deep-freeze chamber would be built within the month, and the scientist slipped into stasis, confident that his assistant was properly motivated to have things well in hand when it came time to revive him.

July 1991

Wheelo slowly opened his eyes, and reached up to touch his face, only to accidentally punch himself. “Gah!”

“Please Doctor, be patient,” a faint, raspy voice said. Wheelo blinked, and glanced to the side, staring at the old man looking down at him. He had sallow skin, and was missing a few teeth. Only a few hairs clung to his head. A labcoat was draped over his hunched shoulders.

“Who-”

“Ah, I suppose I do look a little different, don’t I? Both of us do,” the old man said, smiling wide, “It’s me, Silverstone. How do you feel, Doctor Wheelo?”

“I feel…” he reached down to his chest, and blinked in shock at the sight of his own arm, at his own body, “...what the hell…”

“How do you feel?” his now-elderly assistant asked again, “Your powers, use your powers!” he urged.

Wheelo frowned, but reached out with his mind, feeling the area around him. It wasn’t his lab, he realized, it was an entirely different building. A huge space, with dozens of rooms. He felt other minds within the building, many of them… odd. He seized his own body with his telekinesis and lifted himself into the air. Immediately he felt the strain- but it wasn’t painful. There was drain on his stamina, still, but it felt more like trying to lift and hold something heavy rather than being pushed to his limit after having already ran a marathon.

“It’s… better,” he admitted, before flinching as Silverstone let out a howl of delight.

“Yes! Yes, finally! Hahahahahaaaa!”

“Silverstone,” he barked, “I said better, not ideal. Even now, I can tell that my powers can’t be expressed to their fullest!”

Silverstone’s expression shifted in an instant, from overwhelming joy to utter despair, “No, no, I’m so sorry Doctor, I’m so sorry! I- I can make it better! I can find an even better host.”

“If you could find a better one, why haven’t you gotten that one?” Wheelo growled- and to his shock, his body actually growled. A deep rumble formed in his chest. But then, he supposed that made sense, considering his body was no longer human, or even humanite. He was now, it seemed, in the body of an albino gorilla. Of all things- he could feel the fur on his back standing up in anger. “Why didn’t you find me a body that was at least human!?”

“...I spent so long looking,” Silverstone moaned, tears running down his face, “I spent so long, Doctor Wheelo. Developing the technology to do brain transplants. Maintaining the condition of your cryogenic equipment. Analyzing countless animals and people to try and discover just what the vital energy your powers sap you even is! It’s been more than fifty years. Fifty years and I never stopped working for even one day!”

“I’m not interested in excuses. Why am I a monkey?”

“An ape, actually, just like you were before, just a different species of one,” he corrected, “In particular, you are now previously-unknown breed of mountain gorilla I found in an area of Africa known for-” Silverstone began, only to hiss in pain as he was shoved backwards by a telekinetic wave.

“I told you to explain! I don’t care about its phylum. I want to know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“...I found apes who, naturally, it seemed, had psychic powers… similar to, but less than your own. A body already adapted to the use of telekinesis. And… one that naturally possesses more vital energy, more Ki, than even a human professional athlete. It seemed like an ideal body, once I expanded the skull casing to suit your own brain.”

“Ideal? Ideal!? Why am I a dirty animal when I am supposed to be a man who surpasses all things humanite?”

“Uh, technically… your current body belonged to a female gorilla. So… you’re not really a man in either sense.” Silverstone muttered. Wheelo snarled, and threw himself forward, bounding across the ground and grabbed the arms of the old man in front of him, squeezing down with a threat to shatter them, “I- I can still help you!” Silverstone begged, “Remember? I can find you a better body. This one just seemed to be the best fit for your powers. But there are other bodies, that- they aren’t psychic, but they possess more Ki. And they’re human.”

“Whose bodies?”

Silverstone smiled wide, hopeful and manic, “Whose? Why, the bodies of the world’s strongest! Superheroes. The cream of the Metahuman crop. It’s just… it seemed like such a risk, when this body seemed to fit the bill, and could be captured without causing so much of a stir. Nobody complains when you kidnap a gorilla from a species nobody knows exists, but… the whole world would look for a missing All-Star Squad member.”

“All-Star Squad?” Wheelo asked, not recognizing the name.

“Ah, right, you were frozen just before World War Two,” Silverstone said.

“World War Two!?” Wheelo demanded, dropping the old man to the floor.

Silverstone groaned, but pushed himself back up to a standing position. “There’s a lot to fill you in on, Doctor. But it’s so good that you’re back. Please, follow me, we can discuss things with my subordinates.”

“Subordinates?”

“Yes! I couldn’t do this great work alone, so I found others. Others to help me,” Silverstone leaned in closer, “Between you and me, most of them were brought in as potential bodies for you, Metahumans with great potential, but they were all dismissed for one reason or another as your next host.”

Wheelo sighed, and watched Silverstone walk towards the door. His eyes lingered on the massive machines of unknown purposes, at the strange television screens and weird typewriters stationed at the desks. At the tools sitting next to the medical table he had been lying on, only some of which he could recognize on sight.

Fifty years…. Was a long time, it seemed, for technology to improve.

He tried to walk after his now-elderly assistant, only to nearly topple over. Sighing in humiliation, he began to make his way forwards on all fours, resting his weight on his knuckles in a way that felt natural.

He didn’t care who these All-Star Squad people were, or how much the world would notice. He would get his new body. One that suited his Ultra-Humanite brain.

Chapter 2: Super Senses 1

Chapter Text

World’s Strongest Saga Act 1: Super Senses

August 1991

Clark Kent quietly opened his window, but still winced at the slight groaning of wood. Was that loud enough to wake his parents? He couldn’t really tell anymore what the threshold was. Things that were silent to others were as loud as gunshots to him, now.

He floated out of the window, and rose up into the night sky, glancing at the moon.

It hadn’t even been three whole days since his friends helped him grow his tail back. Since they used the Dragon Balls to undo all the harm dealt by the Red Ribbon Army they could. Since he had the chance to meet his birth mom, and learned from her… all kinds of things before she had to return to the afterlife.

Three days living with these powers.

They had been a hard few days. The powers weren’t all bad, of course, but the super-hearing, as ever, was the worst. You’d be amazed what your eyes could adapt to, and now he didn’t flinch when whatever he was looking at would shift to ultraviolet, or infrared, or X-Ray, or macro- or microscopic. He had gotten used to recognizing things, no matter what field of vision he was seeing through, and it had only gotten easier with time to wrangle his eyes into showing him what he wanted to see.

But his ears were a little harder to deal with.

He heard everything. He heard bugs chewing on the plants in the garden on the other side of the yard. He heard the skittering of tiny feet in the walls and in the rafters. He heard every word his parents said to each other, at all hours, no matter where on the property he was. Discussions, swears, romantic moments that they thought were private. That he wished were private.

And he could hear the panicked squeaking coming from the barn. He could hear it from where he was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake, too full of energy to sleep.

He flew across the distance silently, and pushed the door open with a creak. Was it loud enough to reach the house? He… didn’t think he had ever noticed the sound from the house before. He floated up to the second level, and hovered over a mousetrap, and the unfortunate mouse who had been trapped.

Its heart was beating so fast.

He gently pinched the metal holding down the mouse’s leg, snapping it, and then caught the mouse before it could struggle away on its three working limbs. It tried to bite him, but its teeth couldn’t penetrate his skin. He closed his eyes, pulling at his Ki, and felt the inside of his palms warm as he pushed it into the mouse, healing it with a soft indigo light.

When its leg was okay, he considered just setting it down and letting it go, but… well, there was a reason there were mousetraps up here. If they let them just do what they wanted, they’d eat all the food meant for the other animals and get their droppings everywhere.

He carried it with him as he floated back down to the floor level, and found a box.

Actually, since he couldn’t sleep anyway…

As the sun started coming up, he heard movement inside the house. He turned towards it, and let his eyes shift- seeing through the walls and watching his parents slowly get up out of their bed. He didn’t have much time left, then. He zipped over the field, rushing in towards yet another mouse, and dipped down to grab it expertly, using his hands to shield it from the air, and brace it, as he shot back towards the barn and set it in the box with the others.

He picked up the whole box, then, and looked out into the distance. Carrying it relatively slowly so as not to hurt the animals inside, he flew over their cornfields, over the neighbor’s farms, and even further, towards the lake and the woods around it. He slowly came to a halt, and then descended and set the box down. He poked a few holes near the bottom, and let the mice finally escape, watching the creatures flee into the underbrush towards the trees. When the box was empty, he picked it back up again, and flew back towards the farm at a much higher speed.

As he descended, he saw his parents waiting for him outside, watching the sky.

“Still can’t sleep?” Jonathan asked, amused.

Martha seemed to find his disappearance less funny, “Where were you off to this time?”

“I-” Clark sighed, “I heard a mouse get stuck in one of the traps.”

“That’s what they’re for,” Martha acknowledged, “What did you do with it?”

“I healed it and brought it over to the woods,” Clark said, deciding to ignore the other mice, for now.

“Well, put that back where you found it, wash your hands, and get started on your chores, I’m gonna start breakfast,” Martha said, before heading back into the barn. Jonathan moved to follow her. As they headed into the kitchen, he heard his Ma start to whisper to her husband, “That’s the second night now. And he still doesn’t look tired. What if he doesn't need sleep anymore? What do we do about that?”

“Then we get used to it,” his Pa said, “We got used to the appetite, and the tail, and the strength, and now we have a few more things to get used to. Most parents do, when their kids are around this age.”

“Most kids don’t go around fighting terrorists on a whim,” she muttered, “Most kids, when they vanish out their window, just go out into town. He could be halfway to Antarctica anytime we turn our backs on him for a second, from now on.”

His Pa was quiet for a time, after that, “Martha,” he began, “Way I see it, we can’t stop him. Haven’t been able to stop him from doing anything he wanted for years now. Even the flying ain’t new, not really. Not since he got that cloud last summer. We knew when we let him go then that he was going to do big things.”

“But an entire army…” she said, before sighing, “I’m going to worry myself to death.”

“I’m not,” his Pa said, “Our boy’s already survived just about the worst the world can throw at him, and he came back home in one piece.”

“That’s not going to stop me from worrying.”

“Way I see it, he’s not going to stop helping people in danger. And that means he’s gonna keep throwing himself into danger. It’d be cruel to ask him to stop, especially since we were the ones who raised him this way. So… we can either keep worrying about him, forever… or we can trust him to come back safe. He’s a smart kid, and he’s a tough one. He’ll do alright, Martha.”

Clark finished washing his hands before he wiped away the moisture in his eyes.

Chapter 3: Super Senses 2

Chapter Text

“Clark!” Pete called, waving him over.

Clark grinned, and hurried a bit to move closer to him. He threw his arms open, and Pete smacked into him, giving him a hug, “Pete!”

“You made it back before school started!”

“Yep!”

Pete pulled away, and then threw a few play punches Clark’s way, “So, you’re some kind of martial arts master now?”

Clark glanced around for a moment, peering through the trees and bushes as if they weren’t there to confirm that nobody was watching. Satisfied that nobody was watching, he shifted his pants and let his tail pull free, before reaching into his pocket and taking out the shrunken Power Pole. He held it out in front of him, and willed it to expand to his preferred length. Then, he jumped back, balanced on his tail, and threw himself into a series of flashy motions. Karate chops and kicks, sharp punches, mid-air somersaults, a blistering stream of kung fu swipes and spins with his staff, and finally he came to a rest, balancing himself on just two fingers.

He glanced up at Pete, who was staring at him with a wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“Some kind of one,” Clark agreed, before pulling back on one finger, balancing on just one- and then crossing his arms as he levitated upside-down in front of his friend.

Pete stared for another moment, before laughing out loud, “Aw man, now you’re just showing off!” He moved forward and gave Clark a push, and Clark obliged, making a show of clumsily ‘losing control’ and dropping to the ground- only to turn it into a smooth and controlled roll back onto his feet. “But seriously, how’d you do that? The floating?”

“Oh, um,” Clark began, only to see a hurt expression cross his friend’s face, “What?”

“That’s your ‘coming up with a really bad lie’ face.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Okay, then tell me what you were about to say.” Clark opened his mouth- “There!”

He sighed, “Okay, fine. I’m not a Metahuman after all. I’m actually a solar-powered alien and my body is wrapped up in this weird telekinetic field that moves me through the air.”

Pete frowned at him, narrowing his eyes, “...Well, you managed to not make the lying face that time. But seriously, how did you do that? Is this like a fighting spirit-thing? Chi?”

Clark smiled, and opened his palm, gathering energy into it. Soon, a sparkling star of green-edged white light formed, “This is Ki,” Clark said proudly, “I learned a lot from Master Gohan.”

Pete stared at the star, before slowly moving to touch it. Clark let him, but the green color deepened as he exerted more control over the spark, just in case. He kept it mostly light and life, rather than heat or force.

“It’s warm,” Pete said, “...What do you do with it?” he asked.

“Fighting and healing, mostly,” Clark said, letting the shape of the light slowly shift. He let it go, and the light exploded out for a moment, before fading away into motes that vanished into the surrounding air. Idly, Clark let his eyes relax and watched the fading Ki in his different shades of vision. Every tiny living thing that floated idly through the air seemed to drink it up. Microscopic creatures and tiny spores that seemed to luxuriate in the insignificant scraps of energy, before they were all used up.

Pete smiled, looking at him, “You changed a lot this summer, huh?”

Clark nodded.

“Not too much though,” Pete continued, “You’re still short.”

Clark groaned, letting himself flop down into the grass- only to stop himself, floating just a little bit over the ground, to avoid crushing the bugs below. Pete let himself flop over too, and Clark suppressed a wince at all the tiny things Pete killed with the action. He was… getting pretty good at that, lately.

He had known for many years, as anyone who interacts with them does, that chickens are merciless and relentless apex predators trapped in the bodies of delicious fluffy birds. No bug was safe, and honestly, nothing smaller than a rat was either. Now he could hear them going at it at all times of the day. Even in the woods around them, he could hear the birds hunting, hear squirrels arguing, hear ants outright warring amongst themselves.

And… he let himself ignore it. It was kind of like with his vision, even if it was taking longer. He could hear a trillion things, all of them equally present, but he knew that they made up one big picture. He knew what it was supposed to sound like, and tried to mentally focus on how everything he heard fit into that. Let the details wash over him. Or at least, he tried.

Pete turned towards him, “So, what was it like, training in the mountains? Did you miss American food? Do you only eat raw fish now?”

“Japanese people eat more than raw fish,” Clark said, annoyed, “Master Gohan was a really good cook. I ate rice, more than anything else, because he could always make a lot of it at once. More than even I could handle, sometimes! Turns out using Ki makes you hungry. Leftovers were a handy tool to extend training time. He made a lot of vegetable dishes, and this really good spicy chicken, and when we had spare time we could go to town and eat at restaurants. He would take us hunting, occasionally. Those of us who wanted to, anyway. The whole mountain was open to us. We spent entire days, at the beginning, just trudging through the woods carrying something heavy. Or digging in the dirt. Or knocking each other into the pond.” Clark sighed wistfully, “It was probably the best summer of my life.”

“Well, damn,” Pete said, “That is your paradise, isn’t it? Eat as much as you can, run around outdoors twenty-four seven…”

“Fighting strong people almost all the time,” Clark said wistfully.

Pete frowned, “I know you were really into martial arts, but I thought that was like a… control thing? Like, so you wouldn’t hurt people with your strength? I mean, you said you ended up fighting some people while you were a bodyguard for Bulma but…”

Clark held up his hands, and then let them drop again, “The control was part of it. I don’t like hurting people,” Clark said.

“But that’s what fighting is?”

“I don’t like causing pain, but I like competing. I like struggling against someone. I like trying, as hard as I can, and knowing that the person across from me is also trying as hard as they can. It’s exciting. It’s- your brain is on overdrive. Completely focused. You know?”

“I guess,” Pete said, but Clark could hear the confusion in his voice.

“Oh.”

They were quiet for a while.

“I took pictures,” Clark said, “Did you and Lana?”

“Lana did,” Pete said, his voice becoming more full of life again, “Don’t know why, though, nothing around here changed while you were gone. Smallville is what Smallville has always been.”

“I still want to see,” Clark said.

Chapter 4: Super Senses 3

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until that evening that Clark heard back from some of the others. Everyone had gone their own way from Shadowcrest in the wake of the Dragon’s summoning, and the first ones he heard back from were his friends in Metropolis.

“Hey Clark, how’re you holding up?” Bulma asked over the line. “Did… everything go okay with your mom? Your parents?”

Clark grinned and sank back into the cushion of the couch in his family’s living room, right next to its landline phone. “My parents knew about the Galactic Patrol,” he answered, “You were right. But… hearing how they stood up to aliens for me to stay on Earth was nice. They apologized for lying, but at the same time I get why they did. As for Gine… Ma… We had a good day. And she didn’t seem to be too torn up about going back when the twenty-four hours were up.”

“And what about you?”

“The super-hearing is taking a while to get used to, but it’s not too bad. How about you guys? There’s a lot of changes happening at Capsule Corp right now, huh?”

Bulma sighed, “Yeah. Yamcha moved out, Vic and his dad moved in, not to mention the cyborgs… it’s going to be a lot to get used to.”

“How are you guys doing? Are things…” he searched for a word in his mind, “Calm?”

“Heh. Things never are at Capsule Corp. But they’re going… okay. Yesterday we woke up Java and Arlena, and things almost went really bad. I forgot Arlena had been a second away from blasting us when we put her in her capsule.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Clark asked, jumping to his feet, “I can be there in-”

“No! No, nobody got hurt. Vic was on top of things,” Bulma reported, “Eel had to wrangle her head back off, unfortunately, but I did everything I wanted to. Took out her bomb, removed her mouth-based energy cannon, Flappe helped me ramp down the rate of energy production on her dynamo engine, and once we were sure she was safe we asked if she wanted us to do the quality-of-life changes we offered Vic. She refused at first, but we got Java out of his capsule next, got rid of his bomb and weapons, and when we asked him he was one hundred percent for it. Seeing the older cyborg happy about the changes convinced Arlena that she wanted them too, after all.”

Clark could hear the smile in Bulma’s voice, “She listens to him?”

“More than she listens to anyone else, anyway. Apparently they’ve got a long history together, as the ones who’ve been cyborgs the longest. And he’s a lot more easy-going than she is. He’s pretty grateful for the stomach, too. Ah- you won’t believe this, it makes me so mad! Before you blasted him, he already had artificial skin! Arlena still had hers too! I assumed it was just a cosmetic thing but she can feel through it. Gero and Luthor made it, and it’s better than the one me and Dad made and that sucks!” She said angrily.

Clark found himself smiling at her sheer passionate rage, “Why? Isn’t it a good thing?”

“It’s a good thing that it exists, sure, but the goddamn Red Ribbon could have given all the cyborgs working skin the whole time, but after Arlena and Java the Red Ribbon decided they didn’t need it! Bullets will still tear through it, but not the metal underneath, and they can still feel pain through it, so Gero decided it was a weak point and just decided to make all his future cyborgs without the ability to feel the wind on their faces!” She let out an enraged huff. “The bright side is that we studied a bit from Arlena so we can make more for Java and Vic.”

Clark laughed, “Well, I’m glad they’re in good hands, now.”

“They spend most of the day watching TV,” She said, “Java picked up the habit back at Stag Tower apparently, even though he doesn’t need to be still in order to recharge anymore.”

“How’s Vic?”

“...You could ask him yourself, I’m hogging the telephone right now, but he’s not far. He’s… delicate, right now. He’s happy about his arm and his head being back, about being free, about the Red Ribbon being behind us, but it’s still… he let himself get his hopes up, and then I crushed them.”

“You helped him,” Clark pressed.

“I know. There was no world where I wasn’t going to offer repairs,” Bulma said, “But I was still the one who thought of the wish, and I was the one who stopped that wish from affecting most of his body.”

Clark let out a small huff through his nose.

“I know,” Bulma repeated, “It’s just how it is, but it still sucks.”

“There’s always next year,” Clark offered.

“Hopefully,” she agreed, “Before I hand you off to the others, did you hear anything from anyone else? Bruce? Ariel? Billy?” She hesitated a few moments, before saying, “...Yamcha?”

“You were the first to call me,” Clark said, “For all I know, the Batsons might not even be back in Minnesota yet, if they took things slow and stopped along the way to eat or sleep.”

“Had to ask,” she said, “...Although it’s kind of weird that Bruce didn’t bother to call yet.”

“Not really,” Clark said, amused, “He’s not really the… call ahead kind of guy. When we were training, he never really led up to anything. If he had an idea, or wanted to go to town, or wanted to spar- he’d just suddenly be there and you could either say yes, or no.”

“Still, that discussion he had with the Captain of the King’s Guard seemed pretty serious. I want to know what happened. What… well, what the consequences are going to be.”

“Are you that worried?” Clark asked.

“Are you not?”

“I… guess I haven’t thought much about it. The King’s Guard are good guys, right?” Although memories of them taking Kyodai Ken and casually locking him away in one of those steel coffins, and leading him away with barely any goodbye left him with an eerie feeling, “And they said we really helped them out. Bruce is good at talking to people, and he has Cyclone and Firebrand there to back him up. We did a good thing. They’re not going to throw us all in jail just because we-”

“Invaded a country? Destroyed an entire fortress? Threw the world into chaos by reviving millions of people?”

Clark went wide-eyed, “I’ve been avoiding the news, but- millions? The Red Ribbon killed millions of people just last year?”

“Apparently ‘harm’ applies in very broad strokes. People who were killed by others on the Red Ribbon’s orders, anyone who was killed by weapons bought from the Red Ribbon, Red Ribbon soldiers who were executed by their own superiors, even the people who died in the factories making Red Ribbon Corp goods all around the world. They all came back to life. And all of them are telling the same story. An endless line, filled with other souls. The ones closest to the front of the line when they got resurrected could even see the gates that Gine described. It’s… shaking things up. Religiously. Politically.”

Clark was silent for a few moments, shocked, before smiling even wider, “That’s- that’s great, then! We have even less to worry about, right? Our wish saved even more people than we thought.”

“The King’s Guard used Red Ribbon Corp weapons too.”

Clark closed his mouth, “Oh, yeah?”

“A lot of people they fought against are around again, is all,” Bulma said, “So, maybe they aren’t as happy with us as we would have expected them to be.”

“I see,” Clark said.

“...It was good talking to you Clark, but Eel is starting to look impatient, so I’m going to hand you over.”

“Wait! Um, do you remember what we talked about, before we summoned the Dragon? When I brought Gine back to Shadowcrest?”

“Ah! Right, sunglasses to block the sunlight from reaching your eyes. Normal sunglasses didn’t work?”

“Not really, or at least, not that I could tell,” Clark said, “Maybe I didn’t wear them long enough? But I don’t know if they’re enough. The first time my tail came back, I didn’t open my eyes until it was already night time. The sun was on the other side of the world, but I was still empowered. I think my body can do all these ‘Superman’ things with only a smidge of sunlight.”

“...I’ll get started on them,” she said, “You should fly over here when you have the chance, we could run some tests.”

Clark smiled, “Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter 5: Super Senses 4

Chapter Text

“I don’t really know about this,” Vic said.

“It’s shopping,” Eel said, “Everyone likes shopping.”

“Don’t you just make your clothes out of yourself? When was the last time you went shopping?”

“Irrelevant!” Eel said proudly, before sliding over to one of the racks and grabbing a bright red jersey, “What do you think of this?”

“No red.”

“Not even a little?” Eel asked.

“No.”

“Okay, but what if it wasn’t red?”

“Just because I used to play football doesn’t mean-”

“Fine, fine, just trying to help,” Eel said, putting it back as they wandered through the big-&-tall section.

“Don’t see why I need new clothes,” Vic said. “Dad modeled my new body after my old one. My old ones still fit.”

“How’d things go with your Mom, anyway?” Eel asked casually as he pulled another shirt from the rack.

“Fine,” Vic said, “She was happy to know I was alive. We had a good cry together. It was nice to see my old room again, she hadn’t touched much of it. She’s filing for divorce with Flappe.”

“Ouch,” Eel said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,” Vic said, brushing it off, “It’s not like we didn’t know it would happen. That it’s not deserved. Honestly, things weren’t great between them before the accident anyway. They were both genius scientists with a huge workload, but she at least tried to split time between work and family, and Flappe didn’t. And when he did finally start to care he brought me to the Red Ribbon Army without telling her.”

“Still…”

“It’s fine,” Vic repeated, “Really.”

“Are you going to move back in with her?”

Vic smiled, “Want me out of Capsule Corp that badly?”

“It would be nice having the guest kitchen all to myself,” Eel joked, “But I’m just asking.”

“I’m going to be eighteen soon,” Vic said with a shrug, “Old enough to move out if I want to. And I… I shake the floor when I walk, back home. If I tried to put all my weight on my old bed, it’d break. I was a big guy before, and now most of me is metal. And… well, I love my Mom, and it was awesome seeing her again but-”

“But she looks at you different now?” Eel offered, “…I know the feeling, bud.”

Vic nodded, “She doesn’t mean anything bad by it, and if I stayed, she’d probably get used to it. Eventually. Three of my limbs are metal now. I don’t go to the bathroom. When I get emotional my engine starts whining. That takes time to get used to.”

Eel nodded but didn’t say anything as he pulled out another shirt.

The pair moved on from the store sometime later without any purchases, walking back out onto the streets of Metropolis. “Nothing there grabbed you?” Eel asked.

“I’m picky, alright? And like I said, I have clothes already.”

“They feel weird, don’t they?”

Vic pursed his lips, “…It’s been a while since I’ve been able to wear anything.”

Eel nodded, “The same thing happened with me. It’s why I make clothes out of myself, most of the time, on top of that just being more convenient in a pinch.” He put his fist against his chest, “It’s hard to give up the nudist life once you’ve embraced it.”

Vic smirked, before glancing down the road and raising his eyebrows, “Uh, I think that there’s someone else who might have embraced it over there.”

Eel turned around and stared at the large man in a heavy trench coat nervously making his way down the opposite side of the street. The coat- which was large even for the giant wearing it -covered everything, and the man was holding it shut tight around him. He had a short black beard and a wild mane of greasy black hair.

“Should we do something?” Eel asked, “I mean, those flasher guys are creeps.”

“He might not be a flasher,” Vic said, “I mean, he hasn’t done anything yet, he’s just a guy wearing a trench coat.”

Eel pointed at the ground behind the man, and the moist footprints that followed in his path. “A barefoot guy in a trench coat?”

The man passed by, before coming to a stop in front of the doors to the bank. The man sucked in a deep breath, tense with nervousness, and pulled away one of the hands holding his coat shut and felt around for something in his pocket as he shouldered his way in through the doors. Vic and Eel shared a glance, before quickly crossing the street, and following him in.

The potential flasher pushed his way through the line for the nearest teller, and then promptly pulled a gun out of the pocket. The teller flinched back, and the larger man grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth, “No funny business, just get me everything in the vault and this will be over without anyone getting hurt, okay?”

“This is worse than a flasher,” Eel said quietly to Vic as the giant turned from the teller to swing his gun over the group.

“Everyone else, stay put, and stay quiet, got it!” the robber threatened.

Vic sighed and reached down to pull his hoodie up over his head, letting it shade his face. Slowly, he raised his mechanical arm, which now, thanks to the artificial skin Bulma had reverse-engineered from Arlena and Java’s, didn’t look much different from his organic one, apart from the softly glowing-blue Tron lines hidden under his sleeves.

The fingers of his mechanical hand went stiff as they folded back, his palm split open and revealed the barrel of a cannon. Closing one eye, he aimed carefully, and fired. The only warning the robber received was the brief whirr of Vic’s dynamo a moment before the blazing red light crossed the distance and slagged the gun in his hand, sending the half-molten metal in a spray across the floor.

“GAH!” the robber shouted, dropping the weapon in shock. He turned his surprised gaze towards Vic and saw the steaming barrel of the arm cannon. His expression shifted into a glare, “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Look, the police will be here soon, you can either sit down and go with them peacefully, or you and I can fight, and I doubt you’d like that.”

“I have a feeling you’d enjoy it less,” the man said, suddenly smirking. With that, he suddenly pulled his arms to the side, and pulled open his trench coat. Revealing a wide, hairy, completely bare chest, equally bare and hairy legs-

“Oh thank God,” Eel said.

-and black shorts.

Eel’s relief only lasted a moment, however, as the air in the room changed. The teller, being the closest, was the first, his eyes watering as he hurried back and started to gag. Some of the others who had been in line before the attempted robbery began to gag next, most of them hurrying to cover their noses and mouths.

Vic found himself feeling nauseous as the smell- no, the stench hit him. The man sucked in a breath, before blowing outwards. They could see a shimmer in the air passing out of his mouth, the gas he was breathing almost visibly green. Vic slapped a hand over his face and tried to blink the tears from his eyes, letting himself slide down the wall and onto his butt as he tried to get his senses under control.

Eel flinched back and reached up to his face, slapping against it so hard he pressed his nose back inside his head where it would be safe. Free of the stench, Eel turned his attention back on the robber, and sneered, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Call me… Bacterian!” the robber said proudly, before rushing towards them.

Chapter 6: Super Senses 5

Chapter Text

Bacterian grinned as he charged forwards, and Vic hurried back, throwing himself against the wall in a desperate attempt to stay away from the source of the noxious gas, but Eel remained where he was, now free of a nose, and held out his hands.

He met Bacterian’s charge head on and stopped the giant in his tracks, his feet growing larger and legs twisting into stronger coils of pseudo-muscle in order to remain in place. He suppressed a shudder as his skin met Bacterian’s chest, trying to ignore the sticky film the man seemed to be covered in, and let his hands expand too, wrapping around the robber’s body and lifting him up into the air.

“Hey!” the giant struggled, “Let me down!”

“Nah, you’re waiting here for the police,” Eel said, narrowing his goggle-covered eyes.

“Let me go,” Bacterian growled, “Or you’ll regret it.”

Suddenly, the film beneath Eel’s hands began to shift. Pulse outwards. Expanding over his fingers. “Oh. Oh no. Gross.” Eel began, “Gross gross gross gross!”

He kicked the doors of the bank open and swung the giant through them, sending him tumbling out into the street as Eel hurriedly tried to scrub his hands. But the film was still there. Worse, it was expanding. The slime grew thicker around his hands, and he winced as they began eating away at him.

“Oh,” he said, “Oh that’s real bad,” he hurried out, and watched as Bacterian climbed to his feet and shrugged off his coat entirely. Eel watched, horrified, as the coat crumpled into the greasy spot on the road the man had landed on, and slowly disintegrated as the material was consumed by more of the same slime, “Hey! What the heck is this stuff!?”

“Bacteria, duh?” the man said, “I told you you’d regret not letting me go.”

“I let you go now!”

“You should be faster, next time, weirdo.”

“Weirdo!? You’re the one making man-eating germs!” Eel protested as he increased the length of his wrists, letting his hands drop, before slicing through them both with a kick from a suddenly-sharpened leg. He formed new hands as the old ones hit the street, still being slowly consumed by the slime.

“Man-eating? Are you crazy!?” Bacterian said, shocked, “I’m not a murderer!”

“You were threatening a banker with a gun!”

“I wasn’t gonna use it.”

“Also, if they’re not man-eating, what do you call that?” Eel demanded, jabbing a finger at the slime.

“I don’t know! That’s your fault, probably,” Bacteria deflected, “Whatever your weird body is made of must taste good to these little guys.” He smiled evilly, “So, if you don’t want to end up getting eaten, you should step off. Or better yet, you could help me! One freak to another.”

Eel narrowed his eyes, “Oh?”

Bacterian grinned wide, and stepped closer, leaning in and cupping his mouth with his hands to stage whisper, “If I vouch for you, you might even get into the club. Your friend with the laser hand, too.”

“Club?”

“You’re both Metahumans too, right?” Bacterian asked, stepping back, “You haven’t heard of the Society? Look, just think about it. There’s not a lot of people watching out for freaks like us.”

Sirens could be heard in the distance, and Bacterian sneered, “Ah well, I’ll just have to hit somewhere else later. Got to meet quota, you know,” He ambled off towards the center of the road and bent down to lift a manhole cover up. With zero hesitation, he slipped down it, vanishing into the darkness of the sewers.

Hesitating, Eel let his nose grow back, and promptly felt sick, hurrying away from the open cover and from anywhere Bacterian had been standing. He closed off his nostrils again, sighing in relief, and hurried towards the bank, stepping in to find Vic struggling to his feet. He helped his friend up, and led him outside, “Get some fresh air, buddy,” Eel said, before heading back into the bank and leading the others out as well, lifting the ones who refused or couldn’t stand up on their own.

After hitting the panic alarms and making sure the vault was secure, the bank’s own employees hurried to do the same, desperate to get out of the enclosed space.

By the time he had everyone else out, Vic seemed well enough to get moving on his own, “What the hell was that?” he asked, “God, it reeks.”

“It’s something to talk to Bulma about, I think,” Eel said, sharpening part of his hand as he moved back to the road. He sliced into the tar, shaving off the top layer around one of the greasy footprints, and lifted it up, careful only to hold the side, rather than touch the footprint itself, “Guy said he was a Metahuman- and a member of something called the Society. We both have invitations, by the way.”

“Both of us? But we stopped his robbery.”

“Not his only one,” Eel said, “He basically told me as much that he was going to try something else soon, ‘meet his quota’.”

Vic eyed him tiredly, “Do you think you could shapeshift into a gas mask or something for next time?”

“Probably easier to just get one,” Eel said, “I don’t know how gas masks work.”

Vic and Eel hurried off before the police could start questioning people, and both of them made their way back to Capsule Corp, Eel holding the footprint off carefully to the side and walking behind his friend to prevent Vic from having to smell it.

As they made their way into the building, they headed for Bulma’s private lab, and Vic knocked on the door.

“Come on in!” she shouted.

“Hey Bulma, I took Vic out clothes shopping and came back with a mystery!” Eel said proudly.

Bulma looked up from her work- a set of large glasses with thick metal rims -and frowned at the displayed footprint, “What, did you find sasquatch in the middle of Metropolis?”

“Maybe,” Eel said, “He smelled bad enough to be one. No, this belongs to a bank robber who could control bacteria. He used them to eat my hands,” Eel said.

Bulma went pale, “He used them to what-!?”

“I just made new ones!” Eel said, trying to be comforting, “No big deal. But he said he was going to keep on making trouble. Considering this more or less just dropped into our laps, want to help us find him?”

“I mean,” she began, “That sounds like an absurdly dangerous ability. There are some really bad bacteria out there. That’s definitely something we should get a handle on. Are you sure you’re okay Eel?” She got out of her chair and quickly opened a drawer. She drew out a capsule and used it on the slab Eel had picked up, sealing it away.

“I don’t feel anything trying to eat me,” Eel said, shrugging.

“Right,” Bulma sighed, “Let me put on the Micron suit and get a closer look. One thing after another, huh? It’s been less than a week since we got back. I haven’t even finished Clark’s glasses yet.”

“Sorry,” Eel said.

“Not your fault,” Bulma said, setting the capsule down as she headed for the closet, “What else can you tell me about this guy?”

“Works for something called the Society,” Vic said, “Heard of it?”

Bulma frowned, thoughtful, “…Maybe,” she began, “Society of what? It’s not really an uncommon name for a team or a group.”

“Well, when he pops up again, we can ask more.” Vic decided, “Because apparently, we’ve got invitations.”

Chapter 7: Super Senses 6

Chapter Text

September 1991

“Are you sure about this, Clark?” his mother asked, sitting behind the wheel of the truck. In front of them was the parking lot for Smallville High.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Clark asked, “It’s just high school.”

“You haven’t slept in days, Clark,” she said. He glanced to the side, pursing his lips, but he didn’t deny it. “Besides… there’s a bit of a difference between the farm and a school.” She watched him as he flinched again, “You can already hear them all, can’t you?”

He could.

God, he could.

Smallville High had more than a thousand students, and he could hear most of them, and all the teachers, and all the staff, and all the bugs and all the rats and-

“-screw you-“”-what-“”-summer break didn’t-“”-with my Dad and-“”-lake was nice-“”-time to-“”-how can-“”-make out-“”-gotta draw something-“”-came back to life like those-“”-really, because I didn’t-“”-ouch!””-no, that’s not-“”-friend of-“”-wind like-“”-how could-“”-students please-“”-in the park-“”-why would-“

-he could barely parse through it. His mother’s voice was almost lost in it all. He could only just recognize Pete’s voice.

“I could call in,” she said, “Tell the office you caught something on your trip and you’re still working through it. Give you a bit longer to adjust before you throw yourself into the deep end.”

He slumped in defeat. Part of him wanted to try to go anyway- but it would be no use. Even more than a hundred feet from the building, he could barely hear himself think. What kind of impression would he make? Barely reacting to anything because he was so overwhelmed? Being unable to pay attention to his teacher because he could hear every other teacher in the school speaking at the same time?

“…I need to go to Metropolis,” Clark said, “Bulma told me she was putting together something to help me with- with all this. It’s caused by sunlight being absorbed through my eyes, she promised she could make something that blocks it.”

“Clark, I’m not sure the big city is going to be any better than a high school,” Martha warned.

“It’d be rude to ask her to come here when I can fly and she’d have to take a car.”

“She’s got plenty of those private jets,” Martha muttered, “I don’t think it’s too rude to ask that she be the one to somewhere for once.”

“Ma.”

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Am I not allowed to go see her?” Clark asked, wondering if it was time to pull out the Big Sad Eyes yet.

“You’re allowed to go see her, just… tell us, first. Alright?”

“...Okay.”

She started the truck, and turned away from the school, heading back down the road back towards the farm. It felt like defeat. He didn’t like it.

He was still moping when they got back to the farm, and Martha moved to call the school. He could hear every word- hear the excuses she was making for his weakness. He covered his ears, but it really didn’t help much. He threw himself into farmwork instead. Focusing on moving his body, rather than what he could sense. He had finished his chores in the early morning, so he began taking over his parents, and when he was done with that, finding more things to do besides. Cleaning things that had gone too long without being cleaned. Fixing things that were broken, or at least, trying as best he could to do so.

He was pulled out of the self-distraction when he heard Lana and Pete coming down the road towards his house.

“...sure he had some excuse.” Lana said.

“I swear if he ran off again on the first day,” Pete began.

Biting his lip, he lifted up into the air, left what he was doing, and flew over to meet them halfway.

“Clark- what the hell!” Lana called, “Are you flying?!”

“It’s something I picked up,” Clark said, dropping down to the ground in front of them, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to school today.”

“What gives?” Pete asked.

“Are you sick?” Lana asked.

Clark opened his mouth to reply no, before rethinking it, “Kind of?” he said, “I… my senses got a lot better.”

“Okay? Because of the training?”

“Sort of,” Clark said, “But now they’re so good that… It gets to be overwhelming. I can hear things from a long way away now. I heard you guys talking all the way from the farm,” he said, making them both go wide-eyed, “Ma took me to school this morning, but before we even reached the building it was starting to get too much.”

“I’m sorry Clark,” Lana said, “Is there anything we can do?”

He shook his head, “One of my friends in Metropolis says she might be able to whip up something to help me.”

“What, like super-earplugs?” Pete asked.

“Er, kind of. They’ll probably be glasses? Or at least a machine that looks like glasses on the outside.”

Lana looked at him with even more pity, “...Clark,” she began, “Are you telling me that you’ll be starting high school late, with big fancy glasses, still as the smallest kid in our grade?” Clark sighed as Pete began to crack up, “Pete!” Lana chided.

“Sorry! It’s just… they’re going to tear you apart, Clark.” Pete said, barely holding himself back from laughing.

“Only socially,” Lana protested, which broke the dam and got Pete to start outright giggling.

Clark put his face in his hands. “I’m going to look like a nerd,” Clark acknowledged, “But that’s a small price to pay for being able to go to school.”

“You sound like a nerd too.”

“Hey!”

Chapter 8: Super Senses 7

Chapter Text

Pete’s suggestion was meant to be a joke, but it was a joke Clark at least thought had merit.

After his friends had gone back home yesterday, Clark had quickly called Bulma to get an ETA on the glasses, only to be told that she hadn’t finished them yet, distracted by something that had suddenly come up, but before she hung up, she assured him that she would have it ready by the next day. More than that, she told him that she had something she needed his help with.

Considering how much she would be helping him, he thought it was only fair that he do what he could for her.

Of course, that meant going to Metropolis, with all its lights and sounds.

So he made sure to get some ear plugs first.

He tried all sorts of things- starting with regular earplugs, then taping pillows around his head, to finally just taking some scrap metal that had been lying around the farm and crushing it over his ears hard enough the metal almost melted under his hands due to the pressure. It didn’t hurt- nothing but his own teeth had managed to pierce his skin since his tail grew back -but it did feel strange.

But more importantly, it was enough of a barrier around his ears that it blocked out most sound, or at least warped it enough that what he could hear was just nonsense- easily ignored nonsense.

“I’m off,” He told his parents.

They both said something, but he could barely tell what it was through the compressed metal.

He gave a warm smile, and then lifted off from the ground, waving at them as he took off into the sky, following the familiar route to Metropolis. Behind him his new cape billowed in the wind. On a whim, he had decided to tie it on before he flew out. He wanted to show it off to his friends. It helped that it seemed to complete the superhero look. His bright blue martial arts uniform actually went pretty well with his red cape and red shoes.

He soared through the air under his own power, racing ahead faster than a hovercar, faster than the Nimbus, his arms held in front of him in a swimmer's pose to cut down on the air resistance and go just that much faster.

The greens and browns below him raced by, blurring together as he raced overhead.

It wasn’t too long before he caught sight of the ocean in the distance, and just before it, sitting like a crown, Metropolis. He slowed down as he crossed into the city, zipping between the massive mix of futuristic mushroom-like buildings and old-fashioned skyscrapers. He darted under a suspended glass bridge, and aimed down for the Capsule Corp building.

He came to a stop in front of the gate, before realizing that the intercom would require him to talk to someone to get in. Sighing, he braced himself, and slowly reached up to pull at the metal smushed up against his head.

He knew it would be bad. That, realistically, it had to be worse than Smallville High. And it was- but at the same time, it was so much more that the sounds kind of buried themselves. At Smallville High, he could hear everything every person there was saying, a few hundred conversations going on at the same time, all of them voices that were familiar or at least semi-familiar. He didn’t know the teachers, but he knew most of the students. But here, he barely knew anyone. And there were so many more people. So many more animals. So many more machines. The sewers roared below him, the railway rumbled, the buildings groaned and swayed. Between the skyscrapers the wind was forced into intense channels that howled constantly, nonstop, carrying sounds from and away to the rest of the city. Every building had generators and televisions and toilets and people.

It was all just noise.

So much noise.

But just noise. None of it was grabbing for his attention right this moment.

Instead, he listened to the sounds of Bulma, of Vic, of Eel. None of them were talking at the moment, but that didn’t matter. He knew the sounds of their hearts, of their stomachs, of their joints. All three were in the building in front of him.

With a slightly shaking hand, he reached up and pulled off the other ear covering, and walked towards the intercom.

He tried to focus on which footsteps were his own. Trying to center himself on only the most nearby of noises. He pressed the button, and heard a man inside the Capsule Corp headquarters press a button on his end, “Yes?”

Almost at the same time, there was another “Yes?” radiating from the crackling speaker in front of Clark.

Clark swallowed, and spoke, his own voice barely standing out from the tide all around him to his own ears, “It’s Clark,” he spoke, “Here to see Bulma. She was expecting me?”

“Come on in,” echoed the security guard, through both the speaker and his own voice deep inside the building.

He navigated the building easily, but for the first time was aware of just how much this wasn’t just his friend’s house, but an actual place of business. There were hundreds of people in the building, talking, tapping fingers against computer keys, writing, breathing. He slipped into the Brief family’s private zoo, relieved by the familiar scents, and made his way towards where he knew Bulma was.

However, an odd sound pulled his attention away. It sounded vaguely like Vic, the thrumming of his engine, but off, doubled. It was making its way towards him.

He blinked in surprise as Java and Red Nitro opened a door and stopped walking, looking at him with equal shock.

“You!” the revived caveman called out, jerking a meaty finger.

“Me?”

“You’re the one who blew my skin off!”

“You were trying to kill me at the time,” Clark protested.

“What are you doing here?” the little girl holding onto the larger man demanded, narrowing her eyes in suspicion, “You were one of the people who beat up my Dad, right?”

“I don’t think anyone beat up your Dad,” Clark said, “But I was one of the people who made sure he got arrested.”

“Well,” she began, “I think you’re a jerk. Come on, Java.” She pulled on his arm, forcing the much larger cyborg to stumble back as tugged them back the way they came.

“But we were going to go get popcorn,” the caveman protested.

“I suddenly lost my appetite,” the little girl said with a sniff.

Clark watched them go, his feelings just a little stung, before continuing on his way to Bulma. As he walked, he could hear the security agent informing Bulma that he was coming. Heard her excitedly put away what she was working on and hurry towards him-

He smiled as he opened a door and saw Bulma hurrying down the hall towards him. “Hey Clark!” she shouted, “You’re just in time!” she said, proudly brandishing the nerdiest looking pair of glasses Clark had ever seen, “What do you think?”

“They’re perfect.”

Chapter 9: Super Senses 8

Chapter Text

He slipped them over his face, and blinked as his vision- or rather, his normal vision -abruptly changed. As he widened his eyes, he let himself cycle through the different kinds of vision, seeing what changed, and found them more-or-less unchanged. He did notice that there were multiple layers to the glass, and that there were tiny machines filling the frames, whirring and buzzing. They bugged him a little too, like the glasses themselves were softly glowing.

“How do you feel?” his friend requested, watching his face with a mix of fear, hope, and anticipation.

“About the same as before,” Clark said, but at the same time, he felt… just a little off, “Actually… no, no I do think it’s working. My Ki is shrinking. Very slowly, but it’s happening.”

“Is that bad?” Bulma asked, “You need that to live.”

“I think it’s a good sign, my Ki supply got way bigger when this Superman thing started happening,” Clark said, smiling wider, “Maybe this is me going back to normal. How do they work?”

“The lenses are pretty simple. Your Mom told you that it was yellow sunlight, right? And that on her home planet, it wasn’t usually possible because of the red sunlight, right?”

He nodded.

“The lenses are adjustable, changing to suit different levels of illumination and color modification. We’ll play around with them and see what works. Right now, they’re set to muddle the color of anything white or yellow to a shade more… reddish.”

Clark blinked in surprise, “Hey, you’re right! That’s weird.”

“At the same time, there are tiny red lights projecting from the insides of the rims, nosepads, and the temples, which should help keep you from absorbing too much through your peripheral vision.”

“Those bother me a little,” Clark admitted, “But I guess I’ll have to get used to that. It’ll be a lot easier to get used to the lights than to the sounds, regardless.”

Bulma nodded, “Good. Then-”

Clark turned his head, hearing Vic making his way down towards them, Bulma, confused, followed his gaze towards the larger teen, whose face was alarmed as he pushed his way into the room,, “Bacterian’s appeared again, Bulma,” Vic began, “He- Clark?”

“Hi Vic.”

“What’s with the cape?” Vic asked.

“My parents made it for me, all three of them. Apparently my Saiyan mom made me one when I was a baby, but it got stolen by the Galactic Patrol along with my spaceship.”

“Right, you’re an alien. God, with everything else we were involved in, I almost forgot,” Vic muttered, “Uh, it looks good?”

“Thanks!” Clark said brightly.

“Bacterian?” Bulma reminded, “He popped back up again?”

Vic nodded, “Just saw it on the news. He hit a different bank, vanished into the sewers again, this time with half his weight in cash.”

Clark looked at Bulma, “Who’s this Bacterian?”

“A Metahuman bank robber he and Eel ran into the other day,” Bulma said, gesturing at Vic, “What’s worrying is that he can control bacteria. Particularly dangerous ones. Luckily, they seem to go inactive when left alone away from him for long enough, not even eating or breeding like normal bacteria would, but when he is controlling them, they’re strong enough to rapidly eat through plastic and cloth.”

“Worst of all, he stinks,” Vic muttered, “Absolutely, utterly, rank.”

“Another thing we can blame the bacteria on,” Bulma said, “The guy made himself into a living Petri dish, and doesn’t seem to mind dips in the sewers.”

Clark scrunched up his face in disgust.

“Considering how dangerous he is, I’ve been looking into ways to try and deal with the bacteria. Unfortunately, they don’t have any particular weakness that we can just wave at them. Our best bet is something all bacteria are weak to: sudden changes in temperature. Vic has his arm cannon, and I have my laser. Hopefully that would have been enough.”

“Is this what you were going to ask for my help in?” Clark asked.

Bulma nodded.

“Well,” Clark began, “I think I’ll need a nose plug.”

“I can do us all one better than that.” Bulma said cheerfully. She led them both back towards the lab, and sent out a drone to inform Eel where to meet them. Bulma pulled out a shelf, and proudly revealed a set of familiar helmets, although there were a few new features, “Allow me to present the 2.0!” she proudly declared.

“They cover the mouth,” Clark noted.

“Retractable mouth guard,” Bulma explained, tapping a button to make the mouthparts slide back to reveal the space for the chin and nose, “Comes with a built in gas mask and an emergency oxygen supply, just like my own suit.”

“Where are the cute little bat ears?” Clark asked.

“I don’t have to work with subpar components at home, so I don’t need an outer antenna. They’re fine picking up signals without them.”

Clark heard the distinctive sound of Eel approaching them, and the mechanism in the door as he pushed his way inside, “The real reason she took them off,” Eel began as he walked into the room, “is that Bruce isn’t here for us to make fun of anymore, so there’s just no point.”

Clark smirked, and Eel walked up to him and reached down to grab the cape, “Do you like it?” the younger teen asked.

“It doesn’t get in the way when you’re fighting?” Eel asked.

“I… don’t know yet,” Clark admitted, “It’s new.”

“Well, it’s definitely striking,” he looked up at Bulma, “So what’s the game plan?”

“Clark will be taking point with his X-Ray vision. Hopefully he can track Bacterian through the sewers. Once he does, we ambush him. Clark, Vic, and I will focus on trying to destroy his outer layer of germs with intense heat, and once we do, you’ll move in to contain him, Eel. I’ve already put in a message to the local King’s Guard what we know of his powers, and to have a specialized containment unit ready.”

Clark frowned at that, the steel coffins never sat right with him, but they didn’t have much else that could hold metahumans reliably.

Eel sighed, “Yipee, my two favorite things: being filthy and melting.”

Chapter 10: Super Senses 9

Chapter Text

The glasses really were working, Clark realized as he flew. It grew more apparent with every passing minute. The all-encompassing cacophony of Metropolis was steadily shrinking. It was still a lot- still too much for him to be comfortable with -but with every second, he could hear a little less of it. He could still hear the humming of thousands of appliances and machines, the murmurs and words and heartbeats and stomachs of thousands of living things…

Thousands, but not millions. It was still overwhelming, but it was a magnitude less so.

It filled him with a sense of hope.

Unfortunately, his other sun-granted powers were fading as well. It was getting steadily more difficult to fly, requiring more effort and concentration to continue on the path he was already on. The well of Ki within himself was slowly shrinking, oddly making him feel like he should be tired, despite still having far more energy than normal.

He couldn’t see much of a difference in his enhanced vision yet, though. Thinking back, the changes to his hearing and vision happened the fastest. They might be the last thing to go, too. It was probably a good thing he was going to be relying on his Ki more than on his heat vision when dealing with this Bacterian guy.

And speaking of Bacterian…

“I hear someone running around down in the sewer!” Clark reported, “I’m on Remington Street, and I can see the university from here!”

The radio near his ear crackled to life, “On my way,” Bulma reported.

“I’ll be over in a minute. Do you see him?” Vic asked.

Clark focused his eyes, and watched as the city turned transparent around him, only the densest parts of anything sticking out to him. Things like lead and steel he could barely see through, but rock, concrete, wood, barely stood out. Looking down towards the sewer he found that there were a lot of pipes in the way, but he thought he could see a large skeleton making its way down the tunnel.

“I do.”

“I’m heading into the sewer now,” Eel reported, and sure enough, Clark could see the strange mass that was his friend some distance away, descending into the tunnels and then heading for the bank robber.

Clark took a deep breath, pressed the button on his mouth guards, and let them slide shut over his face. There was a loud hiss as the internal air supply kicked into gear. He descended towards the street, waited until there weren’t any cars heading for him, and quickly lifted up the manhole cover, slipped himself into the tunnel, and moved the cover back to where it should be. Now that he was in the tunnels proper, the sounds of the city above seemed to echo strangely.

He ignored them for the moment, instead focusing on the bank robber ahead of him.

Clark was floating in the center of the tunnel, careful to stay away from the edges of the tunnel to avoid touching the grimy surfaces. Flying forwards, he kept his speed under a tight grip and zipped through the tunnel patiently, not wanting to miss and accidentally crash into anything. Not only would it be really gross, but at higher speeds he could end up damaging the sewer itself.

He caught up with Bacterian quickly, and his friend’s description of the man was spot on. Long greasy hair, huge muscular frame, clad only in some shorts, and, with a quick glance with his microscopic vision, absolutely covered in bacteria.

“Hey!” Clark shouted, before wincing at the echoes of his own voice, “Stop right there.”

Bacterian almost slipped in surprise, but managed to keep standing as he turned his head towards Clark and went wide-eyed, “What the hell?” he asked, “How many people with powers are in this city? I thought me and the shock jockey were the only ones.”

“Shock jockey?” Clark asked, frowning.

“Nevermind,” Bacterian rumbled, “What do you want shorty? Are you from the Society?”

“All I want is for you to come quietly, return what you stole, and peacefully go with the cops.”

Bacterian’s smile dropped in disappointment, “Oh. Another do-gooder like those other two, huh? I wouldn’t be too quick to go runnin’ to the cops kid. The only thing they do for folks like us is build steel coffins.”

Clark frowned, “I still can’t just let you run with that.”

“Why not?” Bacterian sneered, “It’s all insured! Nobody got hurt,” the larger man took a threatening step forward, “Nobody except you, of course, if you refuse to leave me alone, kid.” He reared back with one arm, and the slimy film covering his fist suddenly began to surge in size, growing into something almost like a shiny boxing glove of living microbes.

Clark moved quickly, cupping his hands and gathering his Ki between them. When he pulled them back apart, they shimmered with heat. He flew at Bacterian, hands first, ready to catch the larger man’s incoming punch.

As their arms impacted the reaction was at first what Clark expected. The slimy film hissed and burned away from the heat gathering around Clark’s hands, and the force of the larger man’s mighty punch was unable to budge Clark even an inch, the teen remaining resolute in where he was floating. He glanced at the bacteria with his microscopic vision, seeing many of them perish in the sudden heat- but only at first.

Clark recoiled as the mass of slime suddenly and hurriedly expanded, rippling as it rapidly multiplied. Some of the germs were still dying from the heat but the losses were more than made up for as the survivors of the initial strike kicked their life cycles into overdrive. He watched in horror as the bacteria rushed to feed on the energy he was pouring into the shape, every bacteria that plucked away a tiny spark of his Ki exploding into more as they split and healed and split and healed over and over.

He cut off their supply quickly and yanked his hand back.

The explosive growth continued on for a few more moments, until they consumed the Ki they absorbed entirely, leaving Bacterian with a giant slime hand engulfing his regular one. “Wow,” Bacterian said, looking down at the slime clinging to his new limb in awe, “They like you almost more than they like me.”

Clark watched, uneasy, as the slime reformed itself into a version of Bacteria’s hand writ large, the formless mass growing into a set of distinct fingers.

Bacterian grinned wide, and continued to speak, “Of course, no matter how tasty you are, you just don’t know them like I do.” He held out the giant hand at Clark, and the teen felt Bacterian’s own Ki pulse.

Clark’s eyes widened in shock, “You can use Ki?” he asked, “But-” He was cut off as the slime hand grew even larger as the man fed his own energy to the mass, and the microbes suddenly surged at Clark in an explosion of growth.

Chapter 11: Super Senses 10

Chapter Text

Clark reacted on instinct, darting out of the way, only to wince as the massive fist crashed into the ceiling behind him in a spray of shattered bricks.

Clark watched Bacterian’s expression shift from annoyance at Clark’s dodge to a sly smile as the giant let his Ki spike again. Clark saw the surge of energy travel visibly up the giant slime arm, like a huge amount of water traveling up a hose in a cartoon. The energy reached the slime still clinging to the ceiling, and exploded outwards. The shockwave shook the ceiling apart further, sending more rock and dust crumbling down to the muck below, but more importantly, it caused another surge of growth. The bacteria began multiplying like mad, spreading out from where Bacterian had made impact and growing to cover even more of the ceiling. There was a strange sound that Clark wondered if others could even hear- the sound of a trillion tiny empowered creatures eating their way through concrete.

Clark had a sinking feeling.

“Guys!” he shouted into the radio, “He’s trying to get back up to the surface, and Ki doesn’t work on him.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t work on him?” Bulma asked, concerned.

Clark heard Vic’s steps slow on the road overhead, “I think I see it.”

“I’m going to try and slow them down,” Clark reported, before sucking in a deep breath from his helmet’s air supply and turning to face the spreading growth. He braced himself as he tapped the button to retract the mouth guard, and winced as the stench hit him. Not just the smells of the sewer, but the bizarre stink that radiated from his opponent. It was a regular human scent, mostly, not much different from the familiar scent of sweat after a lot of hard work, but it had all the sheer intensity of a skunk’s spray.

He blew out the supercooled air inside him, and watched with relief as the cloud of sparkling freezing air spilled out of him and shoved away all the other smells in the area with the force of a brief gale.

The arm made of empowered bacteria froze in place, becoming solid and frosted over, the moisture that surrounded them suddenly expanding as it changed to ice. Bacterian let out a hiss of pain and wrenched his arm back, shattering the ice closest to him and hugging his arm close to his body. The germs weren’t the only things that froze, of course. The muck that covered the floor solidified, the walls were covered in the white of frost, and the pipes took on a frozen sheen as well.

From the way the sounds of the sewer changed around him, Clark worried that this might have been a mistake. There was a kind of groaning and-

Oh.

Clark winced as part of the ceiling finally collapsed and came crashing down, letting sunlight pour into the tunnel. The frozen bacteria had eaten their way into the area above them, and freezing them forced all those tiny tunnels to suddenly expand. He had done Bacterian’s work for him. The giant grinned at the path to freedom, and took a flying leap at it, only to groan as Clark suddenly flew forwards and caught him along the way with a sudden punch to the gut. Bacterian folded around the blow, and let out a breath of pain directly over Clark. The teen winced at the stench and flinched back on instinct, letting Bacterian fall back and crash back into the frozen floor. The bags of cash he had been carrying in his free hand flopping down next to him as he went down.

Clark sighed in relief, before he heard Vic’s sudden intake of breath, and the screeching of a car echoing strangely through the tunnel. “Wait-” Vic began to shout, kicking off the ground with a crack and igniting his cannon to propel himself. There was a rumble on the road, and Clark flew up towards the hole in the ceiling, suddenly emerging back into the full noise of the city. He looked left and saw Vic careening at him. He looked right, and saw an incoming car screeching as it desperately hit the brakes to try and stop from falling into the sudden pit that had formed in the road.

Clark held out his hands, turning to the right and catching the bumper of the incoming car. He felt the metal give in under his hands, and realized in horror that the car was going fast enough that meeting him- immovable and unbreakable obstacle that he was -would make the entire vehicle fold around him.

Wanting to avoid that, he lifted the car, letting it pass over him. He grabbed onto the axle and winced as his hand tore through it on one side and sent one of the tires flying free. He more gently grabbed onto the drive shaft instead, floating backwards with the car’s momentum so it wouldn’t just tear free from his grip and keep on crashing.

At the same time, Vic was rocketing towards him, unable to abort his own attempt at stopping the car in time. Vic cut off the pulse of his arm cannon the moment he noticed Clark, but he was still moving far too fast to stop himself before they’d meet.

Clark lashed out with his tail, finding Vic’s outstretched arm, and coiled the furry limb around his friend and used it to pull him to the side to avoid the accidental tackle.

Pulled in two different directions, Clark found himself spinning over the hole in the road, bleeding off the momentum from both the car and his friend at the same time as they all spun like a top in mid air. His helmet, without the mouth guard holding itself in place, spun right off his head, taking, to his annoyance, his new glasses with it.

After a few moments, Clark forced himself to stop spinning, and stood there in midair breathing hard. Not out of any kind of real exertion, but at the shock of how close that had been.

He blinked slowly, and turned to look at Vic, still hanging by his robotic hand from Clark’s tail. Vic’s face was hidden underneath the helmet, but he could see in the young man’s body language that he was feeling just as surprised.

“Uh,” Vic began, “Nice catch.”

“Thanks,” Clark managed back. He uncoiled his tail, letting Vic drop down into the hole into the sewer. Clark lifted a bit higher into the air, the green car still held high in his arms, and looked to the side for a good place to put it. He knew how terrified the family inside were. They had stopped screaming when he stopped spinning, but he could hear the racing of their heartbeats.

They weren’t the only heartbeats he could hear, right that moment.

He blinked rapidly as he felt his senses expand. The sunlight near-instantly undid the work that Bulma’s glasses had done over the last half hour. The sounds of the city crashed down on him in a wave at the same time as his Ki began to rapidly surge, almost radiating off of him. He sighed in irritation, moving to the side of the hole to set the car back down, only to stop when he heard the snap of a camera.

Well, technically, he heard thousands of snaps of cameras, from all over the city. But one of them seemed a lot closer than the others.

He slowly turned his head towards the teenager on the side of the road, who was holding a large camera attached to a strap around his neck. Clark stared at him for a moment, and the other teen stared right back, slowly lowering his camera from his face to make eye contact with him. He was a young man with glasses, and neat slicked back red hair. The teen offered an awkward smile, and then turned to run off. “Hey!” Clark called, quickly setting the car down on the side of the road, and turned to glare at the fleeing teen. “It’s rude to just- oh whatever.”

He flew to the side, moving to pick up the helmet and the glasses inside. He was about to put it back on when he heard Vic’s cannon whine back to life. Clark flew back down into the sewers, watching as Vic blasted at the rubble and muck on the ground, the superheated shot killing bacteria in droves.

He looked longingly down at his helmet and the glasses for a moment, before simply sticking it under one arm as he focused instead on helping his friend, narrowing his eyes in just the right way to send heat pouring out of them, targeting the largest clumps of germs first.

Eel came around soon after, putting cuffs on the dazed giant, Bulma following in his wake, “I… got lost,” she admitted, “I need to be small to fly and- well. It’s harder to navigate when everything seems like it’s in the distance. Sorry.”

“Everything went fine,” Clark said, “Don’t worry about it.”

She nodded, bringing out her heat ray and joining Clark and Vic in scourging the area of all the strange bacteria they could find, relying on Clark’s constantly-shifting vision to locate them. Clark heard the King’s Guard’s heavy vehicle as it approached, and the group stopped to lift Bacterian out of the hole he ripped in the ceiling and out onto the road.

Just as Clark had been expecting, the armored men deployed a heavy metal box augmented with various machines out of their armored van. The soldiers were all wearing similar uniforms to the ones Clark had seen before, with the addition of gas masks due to Bulma’s warning. One of the King’s Guard soldiers, the seeming leader of the group, hit the button on the side of the box, and it opened like a coffin and revealed a padded interior.

Bacterian began to stir as Clark handed him over to two of the armored soldiers. He tried to push them away, but both moved quickly to shove him inside. Despite his decent level of strength, maybe even approaching Kyodai Ken’s, to Clark’s surprise, the two managed to wrestle him into the confines of the box. The lid swung shut, and it was only thanks to Clark’s super-hearing that he knew what Bacterian began to shout.

“Traitor!” the man snarled, “Putting me in a coffin just because I needed a little cash!? You’re going to regret siding with the weaklings!” He heard the sound of the bacteria trying desperately to eat into the machinery of the coffin, only to harmlessly slide off as they hit some kind of internal force field. Seeing his assault fail utterly, Bacterian slumped back against the cushion of the coffin in defeat, “Prison again,” he muttered.

Clark looked away from the coffin, and felt his mood sour. He tried to keep it out of his face as one of the soldiers stepped closer and addressed him, “Thank you for your assistance,” the leader of the King’s Guard group said to him. “Another Metahuman robber behind bars. Maybe they’ll eventually get the hint, and this sudden crime wave will slow down.”

“Crime wave?”

“The big guy’s not the only one recently. All over the country, nuisance-level Metahumans have been getting bolder, stealing everything they can get their hands on. Even stranger, none of them will talk about the why. We aren’t sure whether this is something organized, or just Metahumans hearing about others doing it and jumping on the wagon.”

“...It might be organized,” Clark admitted, “Bacterian mentioned he had a quota, and belonged to some kind of society.”

“Hmm,” the King’s Guard took out a notepad and scribbled that down, “Anything else you remember?”

“...I don’t think so.”

The guard eyed his face, “You’re the one they’ve been calling the Superboy, right?”

Clark swallowed, feeling a blush rising to his cheeks, “Um, I guess so.”

“Do you have something you’d prefer to be called?” the King’s Guard asked, “We could clear it up with the papers, too, if you’d like. It’s the least we can do, if your group is going to join the King’s Guard.”

“Join?” Clark asked.

“Sure,” the King’s Guard said, “I know the word on the grape vine is that your leader told the King you all haven’t decided for sure yet, but… well, after seeing what you people did against the Red Ribbon Army, and all the other rumors about why people started getting revived, and your fine work today, we’re excited to fight beside the next All-Star Squad. I hope you take the King up on it.”

Clark wasn’t sure what to say to that, he looked behind him, and saw Bulma go tense. Eel and Vic shared a confused look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence?” Clark replied.

Chapter 12: Super Senses 11

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe him!” Bulma growled as she drove them all back to Capsule Corp. “Making deals with the King of Earth behind our backs!”

Clark was once again wearing his glasses and feeling the effects of his powers slowly dampen. He was sitting in the back seat, and smiled a bit at the heat in her tone, “It sounded like he didn’t make any deals yet.”

“A deal was discussed, and the first we hear about it is some grunt telling us, rather than the man himself!” Bulma pressed, swerving around another car and leaving it honking angrily at them as they accelerated back towards Capsule Corp. Vic, sitting in the front next to Bulma, gripped his seatbelt a little tighter.

“Bruce isn’t… the best about sharing information,” Clark agreed, “But I don’t think he’d volunteer us for anything without asking us first.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t volunteer us. But would he deny us something he thought was a bad idea without asking us first?” Eel asked.

Clark nodded, “Maybe.”

“Then maybe he was offered a bad deal, and didn’t think it was worth telling us about it?” Eel offered Bulma.

“Even if it was a bad deal, it was a deal the King of Earth wanted to make with him. I still want to know about it,” Bulma muttered.

Once they arrived back at Capsule Corp HQ, Bulma made a beeline for the nearest phone, angrily pushing down buttons.

“Wayne Manor,” Alfred spoke.

“Alfred,” Bulma said, her voice going sweet, “How have you been doing?” she asked, “We haven’t heard back from you or Bruce since we went our separate ways.”

“Ah,” the butler’s voice was a little strained, “I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose I should have known better than to assume the young master would check back in with you so soon.”

“Could I speak with him?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Brief,” Alfred apologized, “The young master isn’t here.”

“When will he be back?”

“The only true guarantee is ‘before the Dragon Balls recharge,’” Alfred said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Master Bruce has returned to Japan, to continue his training.”

“With Master Gohan?” Clark asked, moving closer to the phone.

“No, with a different master. One he hasn’t deigned to share with me, which means I can only expect that he’s off learning something unsavory again. From what I understand, he intends to return to America by at least next Summer, in order to deal with the deadline the King set.”

Bulma frowned, “But- we had plans. Medical uses for Ki. Plans for the future of Wayne Enterprises and Capsule Corp. Important stuff. ...What happened between Bruce and the King?”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you.”

“Alfred, this involves us too!” Bulma protested.

“No, you see, I cannot tell you. I wish to tell you, I would, but I… I simply can’t. I’m sorry,” Alfred sighed, “There were six of us in that room. Master Bruce, myself, his Majesty, the young Miss Markov, Cyclone, and miss Firebrand.”

“Miss Markov?” Clark asked.

“Tara Markov, the young lady who you freed from being Red Volcano, and the new Baroness of Markovia.”

“Huh,” Clark said.

“As I was saying, there were six of us in that room, but I cannot tell you what happened. If you asked Cyclone, or Miss Markov, or Firebrand, they couldn’t tell you either. If you were to ask the King… he would tell you, but I.. I don’t recommend it. Master Bruce could tell you as well, but I think he won’t. Not until he’s finished his training with his new master, at the very least.”

“Alfred,” Bulma began, “You’re scaring me.”

“I do apologize for that, Miss Brief,” Alfred said earnestly, “For now… my advice would be to keep a low profile, and try to avoid the King’s Guard.”

“Are we in trouble?” Clark asked, “They didn’t seem like they wanted to arrest us.”

“The King assured us that you weren’t in any legal trouble,” Alfred said, “But... Anyone who might be carrying an invitation from the King, it’d be in your best interests to avoid them. I can’t say much more, I’m afraid.”

Clark swallowed, “Are we in danger?” Clark asked, “Are you in danger? Is Bruce? Did- did the King hurt you or the others in any way?”

“No, no, of course not,” Alfred assured, “I’m quite alright. And so is Master Bruce and everyone else who went to meet with him. The King didn’t injure either of us, and I do not believe he sought or seeks to hurt any of you or the rest of our group either. But all the same, avoid meeting him. If at all possible.” Alfred sniffed, “I have to go check on my dinner. It was good to speak with you both again, Miss Brief, Mister Kent. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

He hung up.

Bulma looked down at the phone, and then to Eel, Vic, and finally Clark, all of whom seemed to be just as confused as her.

“That’s… weird, right?” Bulma asked.

Eel looked to Clark, “Any idea who he could be training with in Japan?”

“Plenty of people,” Clark said with a shrug, “Maybe Kairi’s old master? Or Ox King Kull?”

“If we’re supposed to keep a low profile and avoid the King’s Guard, we didn’t do the best job of that today,” Vic said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

Chapter 13: Super Senses Final

Chapter Text

“You’re positive you want to try again so soon?” Martha Kent asked gently.

“I’ve been wearing the glasses for almost a whole day now,” Clark said, assuring her, “I can’t fly anymore, my vision feels normal, I can’t freeze things, and I can’t hear everybody in school. I think I'm back to normal as I’m going to get.” He smiled, and ran a hand over his hair, carefully combed back and cut a bit shorter. He had enjoyed letting it grow out while he was training, but he had to admit that it had gotten a little out of control.

He looked more like he did before the training began, with the exception of his new glasses. They did look nerdy, there was no helping that, but the relief they offered more than made up for any downside. Bulma could have put him in groucho glasses and he would have accepted them gratefully.

As they reached the sidewalk and Clark unbuckled himself from his seat, Ma reached over and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to the side and kissing the side of his head one last time before letting him go, “I’ll keep an ear out for the phone. If you need to come home, there’s no shame in that, okay?”

“I know, Ma. Thank you,” he slipped out of the car, and began walking towards the building, grateful for the glasses all over again as he walked through the door next to some other kids, and was met with the murmur of a crowd that he couldn’t really make out at all. Everything was quiet. Blissfully quiet.

…Too quiet, even for his normal level of hearing.

It wasn’t silent. But… there were far fewer people talking than he would have expected. Way less than there would be walking into school back at Smallville Middle. He immediately noticed that he was drawing looks, which wasn’t odd, but they were lingering looks, now. As he approached, kids went quiet, considering him, and as he got farther from them, they would begin talking again with their friends, deliberately keeping themselves quiet enough to keep from being overheard.

Had Pete and Lana said something about his newfound noise sensitivity? Was this… people trying to be nice? Being quiet around him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

He looked around for his friends, making his way through the unfamiliar building, before finally drifting close enough to hear someone say, “-no way that’s really him. He looks completely different from the paper.”

Clark froze up, and slowly turned his head towards the teen who just spoke. He recognized him as a kid from Smallville Middle, and the boy went still in turn as he noticed Clark staring at him. “What do you mean by paper?” Clark asked, walking towards him and his other friends, two other boys who were a year older, already in their second year of high school.

“Uh, hey Kent. Just- there’s this dumb rumor going around. Uh, there’s a new superhero in Metropolis. A little kid, people were saying it looked like you. Kind of stupid, huh?”

Clark blinked in surprise, “Could I see?”

“Sure.”

He passed over the newspaper, and Clark looked down at the front page picture. It was him, rising up out of the crater in the middle of the street. He was dressed in his deep blue martial arts uniform, his blood-red cape stretched out majestically behind him, the golden El character proudly displayed on the back. His tail was in plain view as well, coiled slightly, as he had just released Vic back down into the sewer. In his tiny arms, suspended over his head, was the green car he had saved. His expression was tight in concentration, his eyes squinting as they tended to be when he was out and about with his powers, the only real way he could keep his super-vision focused into a useful range. His hair was wild and spiked, a black mane spilling in every direction from his head like the rays of the sun.

Above it, in all caps, was SUPERBOY SAVES THE DAY.

“Huh,” Clark said, looking down at the picture. It was definitely, undeniably, him. He looked down below it. Picture by J. F. Olsen, Daily Planet Junior Photographer, “That does look a bit like me, doesn’t it?” Clark asked, quietly freaking out.

“Hah! Yeah, sure Kent,” the boy said, before looking back at his friends and taking the paper back from Clark to hold it next to the teen, “I mean, I guess I can kinda see it, if you were, you know, not… well, you.” He gestured at all of him.

Clark frowned at that, but as he turned away from the kids and passed a window, he looked at his own reflection. His tail was, once again, tucked into his pants hidden from view. His hair had been slicked and combed back neatly, only a few errant strands still sticking up, including a particularly stubborn cowlick that hung over the middle of his forehead. His glasses changed the shape of his face, making his big dark eyes pop out even more than before.

Maybe he was better at keeping a low profile than he thought.

It wasn’t long before he found Pete and Lana again, “So,” Pete began, “did anything interesting happen in Metropolis?” he asked, raising one eyebrow and daring Clark to try lying to him.

Sitting in front of Lana was another copy of the paper. He wished he hadn't been caught off guard like this. The Kent family didn’t really go for newspapers. Or rather, not any out-of-town or non-farming related ones. If the Kansas Farmer was the one showing his face on the front page, rather than the Daily Planet, he would have seen something about this.

“Well,” Clark began, “I may have helped a car avoid a pothole. But mostly, I just got some new glasses. How do they look?”

Pete sighed, “You look like the world’s biggest nerd.”

Lana smiled warmly, “It was nice knowing you, Clark.”

DC Character + DB Character = Dragon Ball: Superman Character

• • World’s Strongest Saga Part 1: Super Senses

• Peter Silverstone + Doctor Kochin = Dr. Silverstone

• Ultra-Humanite + Doctor Wheelo = Dr. Gerard Wheelo | The Ultra-Humanite

• Chemo + Bacterian = Bacterian

• Jimmy Olsen + Jimmy Firecracker = Jimmy F. Olsen

Chapter 14: Terror Forest 1

Chapter Text

World’s Strongest Saga Act 2: Terror Forest

November 1991

Yamcha groaned as he pulled himself out of his bed, and yawned at the early dawn light. The world was only barely illuminated by the first inches of sun poking up over the horizon. He already felt sore, the aches from the previous morning’s training still lingering despite the restful sleep.

He didn’t have a problem with mornings. His training with the League of Assassins had involved earlier mornings, and doing far more focused work with even less time to rest. The biggest difference was in the sheer scale of the training he was involved in. He walked downstairs, adjusting his new orange-red gi with the symbol of the Turtle School on the chest and the very literal turtle shell on his back, weighing him down.

Launch gave him a grin as he passed her, “Long day ahead of you?” she asked him.

He smiled back, “Hopefully not too long,” he admitted, “But I’m used to it now.”

“Well, work hard!” she said with a raised fist, “There’ll be a nice lunch waiting for you two when you get back.”

“You make the days worth it, Launch,” he said with a sigh.

“Aw, you’ll make me blush,” the woman said, putting her hands on her cheeks.

“I- uh,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m just teasing you, Yamcha. Go on, don’t keep the Hermit waiting.”

“Right! Right…”

“Oh! There was a message from Bulma last night.”

“Yeah?”

“She just wanted to let you know that she’s going to miss the call you were going to make tonight, and that she’ll try calling you tomorrow instead?”

Yamcha winced. “Ah, yeah. Thanks for letting me know, Launch.”

“You’re welcome.”

Things had been… a little tense between him and his girlfriend since he began training under the Turtle Hermit. He hadn’t called right away once he made it to the island, wanting to be sure the Hermit was going to accept him as a student before he let her know the news, but the moment the Hermit accepted him as his apprentice, he had thrown Yamcha into the deep end and never let up since then. More than a week and a half had passed before he thought to call her, too exhausted from the training he was put through from daybreak to sunset, and she had exploded a little at him over the phone line.

She had apologized afterwards, and so had he, so things were better now, but he wasn’t any less exhausted. Especially since he was starting to run out of things to talk about. Training was the same, just about every day. And the things that did vary? The studying time under the Hermit each day, the meal times spent talking with him and Launch, weren’t things Bulma would be especially interested in.

The Hermit’s sense of humor and idea of what made for appropriate teaching material wasn’t something that Bulma would like hearing about, and talking about how close he had grown to Launch would send the wrong message.

Bulma was the love of his life, a wonderful, brilliant, passionate, and truly good person… but she also got jealous easily. Everyone had their faults and Bulma’s- besides pride -was that she saw red when Yamcha got too close to other girls. They trusted each other too much to think the other would actually betray them like that, but, well, it was just part of who Bulma was. There was no need to press her buttons like that when there was no need to.

It left their conversations over the phone a little one-sided, and so the conversations started becoming more infrequent. It went from almost every day once they got back into contact, to once every other, to the weekly schedule they had now. Maybe that’d go too, sooner or later. Clark had completed his own training in less than a year, and Yamcha was hoping he could pull off a similar miracle, and get back to her all the sooner.

He walked outside, and saw the Turtle Hermit waiting for him there. He was standing where he always did, ready to begin their morning run.

They ran along the side of the street, before stopping at the milkman’s, and Yamcha picked up the load he was going to deliver this morning, the familiar weight of the boxes in his arms settling in without complaint. He had already delivered half the morning’s bottles when the Turtle Hermit spoke up, “You’ve been looking down lately, Yamcha.”

“I… guess I have been.”

“What’s up?” the old man asked, glancing his way, “The training wearing you thin? I thought you’ve been handling it quite well lately.”

“Oh, thank you Master!” Yamcha said, smiling, “Well, it’s not just that the training is exhausting, it’s… getting kind of monotonous, you know?”

“They didn’t have you doing repetition at the Crane School?” the Hermit asked, raising one bushy brown over his sunglasses.

“They did,” Yamcha said, “But not anywhere on this scale.” Every morning, they would run back and forth across miles and miles of rough terrain. Then, hours spent working in the fields without tools, doing the work of shovels and hoes with nothing but his bare hands. Breakfast, study time, lunch, a short nap, and then it was back to the hard work. Construction work, this time, once again without tools, forced to use his bare hands to lift heavy equipment and materials, then swimming multiple laps across a lake, and finally… the dreaded dodging training.

Yamcha was desperately grateful he wasn’t allergic to bees.

“You thinkin’ of quitting?” the Turtle Hermit asked, his voice sounding troubled.

“No! No, of course not Master. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I already came so far. I know how much stronger I am than I was just a few short months ago. I will continue to train under you until you decide that I’m ready to move on.”

“Good,” the Hermit said, running his hands through his beard as they dashed in a zig-zag through the woods, the milk bottles inside the box Yamcha was carrying carefully handled so that they wouldn’t jostle too much as they moved, “So what’s the problem?”

“There’s… not a lot of variety,” Yamcha said, “I feel like I don’t have anything new to talk to Bulma about. I spend so much of every day just… focused. You know? It takes all the energy I have just to keep up,” the young man said, looking up into the sky, “I just have nothing to say. Bulma does so much, meets so many people, has so many new ideas every single day, but I barely think at all, most of the day.”

“As you get stronger, the training will get easier, and your thoughts will be able to wander freely again,” the Hermit said with a smile, “I mean, you’d never be able to hold a conversation like this while running a few weeks ago.”

“True.” He remembered panting hard, his throat and lungs burning as he struggled under the weight of a stone shell and a box of milk bottles.

“And what exactly are you doing during study time if not thinking?” The Hermit continued.

Yamcha blushed, “I doubt Bulma’s interested in the tales of Bob and Margaret.”

“Bunch a prudes, the whole lot of you. Hmph. Well, if it’s for the sake of keeping your girl, I suppose I have no choice but to shake things up a bit,” the Turtle Hermit said, tapping his chin as he thought, “It’s not how I usually did things, but Scandal and Krillin convinced me of the merit of passing down my techniques. Tell you what, if you finish all your morning work today before eleven, this afternoon we’ll skip swimming and dodging, and I’ll let you pick a technique of mine you want to learn, and we’ll focus on that for a while.”

Yamcha smiled, amazed, “Thank you Master, I appreciate it!”

“Being a martial artist is more than just impressing the ladies,” the Turtle Hermit said sagely, “But impressing the ladies is still important!”

Yamcha nodded, and picked up the pace, pulling ahead of the Turtle Hermit as he surged through the forest and onto the rest of his route, more determined than he had felt in a while.

Chapter 15: Terror Forest 2

Chapter Text

“Great job! Good hustle this morning,” the Turtle Hermit praised as Yamcha collapsed onto the ground in front of the breakfast buffet they usually stopped at, his arms were caked in mud up to the shoulder and the rest of him only slightly cleaner. “Go clean yourself up.”

“Yes Sensei,” he murmured, struggling to make himself stand again. His arms hurt like hell, but it’d be worth it. He was going to learn one of the Turtle Hermit’s techniques!

He washed himself clean in the bathroom, and then made his way towards their usual seat, and began scarfing down their breakfast. These days, he ate almost as much as Clark. This kind of training left you tired and hungry, and Yamcha knew that sooner or later, it would put him on the way to mastering Ki, and that was truly hungry work. As Master and student ate, they remained silent, but soon enough they had picked their plates clean, and were ready for the bill. Yamcha was psyching himself up to push through the construction work this morning as fast as he could, when the Turtle Hermit’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Which technique have you been thinking about?” the Heavenly Old Master asked as he paid the restaurant owner- with a large tip, for the inconvenience of Yamcha washing off the evidence of a few hours of digging in the bathroom, and as thanks for tolerating them each and every morning, “I know you saw a bit of what Scandal and Krillin brought to bear in the tournament. I didn’t teach them everything they know, but I taught them quite a bit. The Kamehameha? The after-image technique? Hypnosis?”

“I was actually hoping you could teach me that green thing you did. With the lightning?”

“The Thunder Shock Surprise? I thought you gave up being an assassin! That technique is lethal. It has no place in any kind of honorable fight. I shouldn’t have taught it to Krillin and Scandal in the first place!”

“No, no, not that. The other green lightning thing. You used it to slow down Krillin and Clark so that the audience could see what was happening on screen?”

The Turtle Hermit leaned back, and lifted his sunglasses from his face. Yamcha’s eyes went wide at seeing his teacher’s full face for the first time as the Hermit looked down at his own reflection in the black glass. The old man hummed for a moment, lost in thought, before glancing at Yamcha, “That’s not a technique,” the old man eventually said, “I’d define it as a form of… Damn it, what's the word in English?”

“Is it a Metahuman power?” Yamcha asked, a little disappointed, “Something that can’t be taught?”

“No, it’s not a Metahuman power. It’s a form of- Alchemy! Remembered the word. It can be taught, it can be learned, but not through simple practice. It requires not only strength of body and mind, but drinking a mystical elixir,” he ran his fingers through his beard, “It is the culmination of everything that my Master taught me. An elixir of immortality, one that, after drinking, allows you to become a conduit for the forces that bind the universe together.”

“O-oh,” Yamcha said, “So… it’s off the table?”

“No,” the Turtle Hermit said, “It’s not off the table. But it’s also not something to be done lightly. I am over three hundred years old. Mastery of Ki will extend your life, and clean living will extend it further, but not that far. Are you prepared for the consequences of this, Yamcha? Once you ingest the elixir, you stop aging. You’ll experience time differently. You’ll gain access to the flow of time, to the forces of entropy, to the Stillness that everything in the universe came from and will end in.”

Yamcha swallowed nervously, “That… that seems like a big deal.”

The Turtle Hermit nodded.

“If it’s something that powerful, something that sacred, then… why are you willing to teach me how to do it at all?”

“Young Clark’s mother,” the Turtle Hermit said.

“What?” Yamcha asked, thrown off, “Mrs. Kent?”

“No, no, his alien mother. The one you mentioned who was brought back by my late sister’s crystal ball. When she appeared, I felt it. I could feel the weight of her Ki all the way from my little island halfway across the Pacific. I got a call from Gohan not much later, and he felt it too all the way from Japan. In all my life, I felt a Ki close to that level only once. The Demon King Piccolo.”

Yamcha frowned, “He was the one you fought alongside the Crane Sensei, right?”

The Turtle Hermit gave a grave nod, “The Crane and I were the only survivors from our school after Piccolo and Demons were through with us. Our Master died sealing away Piccolo’s children and weakening him. It was some wizard who managed to use magic to kill that weakened Demon King,” The Turtle Hermit sighed, “Piccolo took everything the martial artist and magical forces of Earth could bring to bear, and still almost won. Clark’s mother had Ki that dwarfed his. ”

Yamcha’s eyebrows shot up.

“Do you understand? The worst nightmare to ever plague Earth doesn’t measure up against a below-average soldier from space. Now, Ki isn’t everything, Piccolo’s demon magic was more dangerous than his raw strength, but that raw strength was still dangerous enough on its own,” The Turtle Hermit said seriously, “Those aliens already sent Clark here. We’re profoundly lucky that he turned out to be such a good person. But will the one they send next be as good? The universe is a big place, and it’s apparently home to countless warriors more powerful than we could dream of,” the Turtle Hermit turned his gaze on Yamcha, “I’ve decided that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make preparations. It took the Mutaito School at its best to defend the Earth last time, the next time, it may need the Turtle School at its best.”

Yamcha looked away from his Master, and towards the sky, “I think I know how you feel. I can’t feel Ki like you or Clark can, yet. But I could see it for myself. Even without taking… I don’t know, aliens and demons, into the equation, I just know my friends are going to find more and more trouble. Last year, Doctor Sivana attacked us with a living nuclear bomb. This year, we fought the Red Ribbon’s cyborgs, people who, with a little modification, were able to summon tsunamis or turn into massive titans of lava! One of the reasons I sought you out was that I just know it won’t stop there. I want the power to help.”

The Turtle Hermit smiled at Yamcha, “...Very well. Just know that it won’t be easy.”

“I know. Immortality is something I can barely wrap my head around,” Yamcha murmured.

“Well, yeah, that isn’t easy either. But I meant making the elixir. Most of the ingredients you can get just about anywhere, but one of them… well, there’s only one place on Earth where you can get Paradise Herbs.”

“Paradise Herbs?”

“Oh! Uh, I know that it’s unlikely, but in case it ever does come up, you’re not allowed to even mention the existence of Paradise Herbs near the Crane Sensei or any of his agents. He’s been after the source of my agelessness ever since he started taking baths in those awful volcano sludge pits. He always held a grudge about the fact that Master Mutaito was willing to share the secret to his own long life with me, and not with him.”

“Right,” Yamcha said.

As they made their way back to the Turtle Hermit’s house, the Hermit yelled to Launch, “Hey Launch! We’re gonna go on a trip after lunch, so be sure to fill a backpack with anything you’ll need for the next few hours.”

“Oh?” the young woman asked, “Where are we going?”

“Africa,” the Turtle Hermit said, “To a little place called the Forest of Terror.”

Chapter 16: Terror Forest 3

Chapter Text

The hovercar flight was a long one, across almost half the world.

Yamcha spent most of his time thinking. It was his turn to drive, but this high up, you didn’t really have any obstacles to worry about, leaving his mind free to wander, “Are you going to offer this chance to Krillin? Scandal? What about Gohan’s other students?” he asked.

“I’ll talk to them about it,” the Turtle Hermit said from the passenger seat, “But I doubt Scandal will be interested. She’s seen what immortality has done to her father.”

“Ox King Kull?” Yamcha asked, “He’s really immortal? Is it from the same source?”

“It could be,” the Turtle Hermit said, “I don’t know. He’s more immortal than I am, anyway, and he has no clue how it happened.” He tapped himself on the head, “Lost a lot of his older memories about forty years ago after ticking off some kind of psychic metahuman. We’ve got no clue how old he is, but we can guess he’s been around for more than a few millennia. Apparently, he was Blackbeard, and he knew Genghis Khan personally.”

“That’s incredible,” Yamcha murmured, “But if you’d be fine sharing it with them, what about… people like Bulma? My other friends?” he asked, “Or… or everyone?” his face lit up, “We wouldn’t have to worry about aliens then, if everyone is immortal! Why does anyone have to age if there’s a way around it?”

The Turtle Hermit smiled, “I like that sense of altruism, but unfortunately, it’s not that easy. First of all, there’s only so much Paradise Herb to go around. I’ve taken seeds before, but they won’t grow anywhere but the Forest of Terror, in one specific spot, and that spot is… difficult to reach.”

The Hermit had been close-lipped about the way this spot would be difficult to reach as well.

“Of course, the Paradise Herb isn’t the only option if you really want to try something like that, but there’s no true easy answer. There was this phoenix I knew once, who handed out eternal youth to anyone it found worthy, but it died after eating tainted bird seed,” he sighed sadly, “Poor fella. Next best option is magic, but uh, most spells that extend one’s life tend to have pretty nasty requirements. The Cranes have their silly Lazarus Pits, but they resort to that mostly because I’ve been careful not to tell them about any other methods. I’ve heard things about some kind of Fountain of Youth being buried somewhere on Earth, but I’ve got no clue where. I know some gods can give people immortality, either as a curse or as a reward, depending on the way it’s expressed, but gods are hard to find, these days.”

Yamcha frowned in disappointment.

“And then you have to think about what the point of it is,” the Hermit continued, “If death was really the end, I’d be desperate to extend the lives of everyone I can. But growing up with a necromancer for a twin sister hammers in that the afterlife exists, and that, really, almost everyone kind of lives forever anyway. Just not on this plane of existence.” The Turtle Hermit gazed out the window at the world flashing by beneath them.

Yamcha turned the words around in his head, “...Do some people not go to the afterlife? You said almost everyone does.”

The Turtle Hermit’s expression soured, “Anyone killed by a Demon isn’t pulled into the afterlife when they die. They’re left here in the mortal realm, trapped in a kind of limbo, neither properly dead or alive. There were ways to get around it, sacred places that acted as physical gates for tormented souls to pass into the afterlife manually rather than automatically, but… places like that were some of Piccolo’s first targets. I don’t like to think about the fate of so many of my fellow students from those days. The Mutaito School had… too many suicide techniques. If you were cornered, your only real choice was to go out in a blaze of glory- or be forced into limbo as a ghost.”

“That’s…” Yamcha began, horrified, “Wait. Is that where ghosts come from?”

“Yes.”

“I fought one, in Zatanna’s home. It was one of the monsters trapped in the gauntlet before the crystal ball. We used the crystal ball to bring it back to life. She said that when the twenty-four hours were up, it finally passed on. Maybe… maybe we could find other ghosts and do that for them, too?” he asked.

The Turtle Hermit looked at him in shock, before showing off a big wide grin, “You really would be an awful assassin, wouldn’t you? You’re good through and through. You were utterly wasted on the Cranes, weren’t ya?” Yamcha blushed from the only slightly backhanded praise. “My sister never tried anything like that! But then, she was really careful about staying off Piccolo’s radar in those days. I’ll have to get in contact with my great great grandniece and see if there’s anything we can do for all those souls,” the Turtle Hermit said, smiling, “Maybe once your training is complete, I’ll make that my new mission in life.”

“More traveling?” Launch asked nervously, glancing up from her book from the back seat.

“Ah,” the Turtle Hermit said, “I wouldn’t make you leave the island if you didn’t want to, Launch. But you’ve been okay during the training, haven’t you?”

“I suppose,” she said, “Would it be for long? Living on a tiny island all by myself doesn’t sound that appealing, but it’s better than chancing the White Rabbit running off with our body to who knows where.”

“I’ll be sure to keep the trips short,” he said, smiling over at the young woman, “Besides, it’s not like I can tear myself away from your side for long, my dear!” he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows.

She ignored, or perhaps simply didn’t notice the implication as she smiled warmly at him, “I’d miss you too Turtle Hermit.”

Her genuine affection melted away the old man’s leer as he sighed and sank into his seat, “What about you Launch? Would you want to become immortal? The elixir is a little dangerous, considering the White Rabbit, but if you felt you were up to it, I’d trust you.”

She shook her head in distaste, “I don’t like messing around with magic,” she said simply, but resolutely, “No thank you.”

“Tell me if you ever change your mind,” he said, before glancing back down at the forest below, “Slow down the hovercar,” the Turtle Hermit said suddenly, “We’re almost there.”

“Right,” Yamcha said, putting his foot on the brakes.

Chapter 17: Terror Forest 4

Chapter Text

The jungle expanded outwards in every direction for miles, and the air was thick with mist and the sounds of echoing animal cries. Yamcha, Launch, and the Turtle Hermit stood in a clearing, in front of a large carved gateway.

The gateway was made of stone, and carved into the image of a demonic face, a wide open mouth lined with fangs serving as the door itself.

“This is it?” Yamcha asked nervously.

The Turtle Hermit nodded, “Simply pass through the mouth, and you’ll be on your way. Once you’re inside, just keep on moving forward, and you’ll eventually find the Paradise Herbs.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me about what’ll make this so difficult?” Yamcha asked him.

The Turtle Hermit shook his head.

Yamcha looked to Launch instead, giving her puppy-dog eyes, “Don’t ask me,” she said, holding out her hands, “He hasn’t told me anything more about this than he’s told you.”

Yamcha approached the gaping stone maw, and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, “Do… I have to go through the mouth?” He looked to either side of it, and there wasn’t much difference between the jungle on either side of the stone and the jungle behind and around them, “Can I go around?”

“Sure, but the herb will be harder to find,” the Hermit said, “The stone mask is here because if you go through the mouth and keep going in a straight line, you’ll find it.”

“Right,” he took a deep breath, and then walked through the stone mouth, “Wish me luck!” he shouted back to his teacher and his friend.

“Yamcha come back!” Launch suddenly shrieked, her voice shriller and more terrified than he had ever heard it. He whipped back towards them and looked around, trying to see what could have caused Launch’s distress, but there was nothing. Launch herself didn’t seem to be scared at all.

The Turtle Hermit sighed. Launch looked at Yamcha’s worried expression with confusion, “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You just shouted for me?” he said, heart thudding in his chest.

“No? I just said good luck.”

“I heard-”

“Keep moving straight ahead,” the Turtle Hermit said to him, his voice calm and gentle, “Don’t worry about us, no matter what you hear, nothing will get past me, so you just focus on moving straight ahead. And whatever you do, don’t come back through this stone mouth unless you have the Paradise Herb, or you’ve given up on it. You only get one try.”

Yamcha eyed the stone maw with considerably more nervousness than before, “...Okay.” He stepped away from the entrance, moving further back into the jungle on the other side, and waited, but there was no scream this time. He kept moving, until he heard the snarl of some kind of jungle cat, and the shouts of the Turtle Hermit and Launch. But a tiger, or leopard, or… whatever was out here, wouldn’t have anything on the Turtle Hermit Yamcha knew.

He trusted his teacher, despite his reservations, and forged ahead through the jungle, trying to keep as straight a path as possible.

The jungle seemed to thin out the further he went, the thick trunks of the trees replaced by spiny, dark, almost leafless towers of thorns that grew out of dead, dry, ground where not even grass grew. As he glanced upwards at the sky, to his shock he saw that it wasn’t blue any longer, instead an upsetting shade of too-vibrant purple. The sun was gone, a dim light radiating from the whole of the sky instead.

The sounds of the jungle ahead of him grew worse and worse the further he walked. Shifting from a cacophony of animal calls to clear signs of alarm. Among the thorny dead trees, he saw shadows darting past, never close enough or slow enough for him to make out, but all of them clearly fleeing from something up ahead.

Yamcha grit his teeth, and kept moving forwards despite his growing dread, until finally one of those fleeing shadows jumped out from behind the thorny trees to land directly in front of him. Yamcha went ramrod still as recognition crashed into him like a train. “Ubu?” he asked, shocked, “What are you doing here!?”

The man was taller than Yamcha by more than a foot, and was broader than him by almost the same amount. His head was shaved completely bald, and his bare chest was kept equally hairless. His pants were gold and green, the colors of the Crane School.

He said nothing for a few moments, almost swaying as he stared, unblinking down at Yamcha.

Ubu hadn’t been his trainer, but he had been the one delivering punishment. Their overseer, the judge acting on behalf of the leader of the League of Assassins, the manservant and mouthpiece of Ra’s Al Ghul, whom Yamcha had only ever seen from a distance. When Yamcha’s gynophobia became clear to the Crane School, and he fell out of favor, it was Ubu who had threatened him. It had been Ubu who sent him on what was meant to be a suicide mission on behalf of Doctor Sivana.

The same suicide mission that led him to his best friends and to the love of his life.

The same suicide mission that had almost cost him his life when he turned against Doctor Sivana’s minions.

Ubu slowly smiled, something the man had only ever done when inflicting intense pain, and held his arms out to the side, “I am here,” he said slowly, “for the reason you think I am here.”

Yamcha swallowed nervously.

The Turtle Hermit had just made him promise to keep the Paradise Herb a secret from any agents of the Crane School.

Ubu’s smile grew wider, “You will tell me where it is, recruit, or I will beat it out of you. Or perhaps, are you going to try to run?” he took a step forward, “Do you really think you have any hope of escaping me?”

Yamcha blinked. This… didn’t seem right.

Ubu hesitated, and seemed to sway a little again, before the sad*stic smile shrunk slightly. He leaned back, less eager, more serious, and lowered his center of gravity, inching one foot forwards as he held his hands at the ready. “If you’re not running, I hope you’re ready for the pain coming your way.”

Yamcha ducked under the first swing, and lashed out on instinct, slamming his fist into Ubu’s chest. The man barely reacted to being lifted up from the ground by the force of Yamcha’s blow, and responded with a harsh chop across Yamcha’s face. The younger man groaned in pain, but fought through it and threw himself into a flurry of motion.

He was stronger now than he had been with the Cranes. Far stronger.

His Wolf Fang Fist lashed out, faster and faster, more and more ruthless. He held himself back from killing blows, he wasn’t that kind of person, but one didn’t need to kill their opponent to crush them.

Ubu took strike after strike without showing pain, but even if he felt none of it, the physical effects were apparent. Ubu crashed down to the forest floor in a heap, barely able to twitch, but still conscious and glaring at Yamcha. Yamcha let out a breath of relief, and moved to wipe some sweat from his brow when another shadow emerged from the forest, and sent a bolt of terror through his spine.

Ra’s Al Ghul himself regarded him from across Ubu’s prone form.

With a swing of his hand, and a flash of deadly yellow light, Ubu was gone, nothing but ash in the wind, and Yamcha knew he would be next.

“I suggest you run!” Ra’s Al Ghul shouted, his voice booming exactly as it did through the ancient halls of the League of Assassins’ headquarters the last time Yamcha had seen him from a distance, giving a speech to the newest group of recruits.

Yamcha ran.

Chapter 18: Terror Forest 5

Chapter Text

Yamcha had become faster, as well as stronger, under the tutelage of the Turtle Hermit. As he fled, the ground seemed to vanish under each footstep, the air pressing against his face as he outran the wind itself, a flash of red-orange zipping through the dead thorny trees.

But despite this hard-earned speed, Ra’s Al Ghul kept up with him. Every time he glanced backwards, the assassin would be there, hovering in the distance. His booming voice following Yamcha was just as strong as it had been when he had been right in front of him, just as strong as it had been when Ra’s Al Ghul addressed them all from the stage. “Run! Run you coward! Flee before the Master of the League of Assassins! Unworthy! Weak! Traitor!”

Yamcha’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, desperate to get back to the entrance. Back to the Turtle Hermit, back to-

Back to Launch. Who wasn’t a martial artist. Whose only special power wouldn’t make her any harder to hurt.

Even if the Turtle Hermit might be able to handle Ra’s Al Ghul, Launch wouldn’t be able to.

That thought was even more terrifying than the assassin chasing him.

He stopped in his tracks, stared his oncoming death in its face, and swung his arms forward, grabbing at the energy pulsing under his veins. The energy that had been mastered by those younger and less experienced than him, taught by the Turtle Hermit, either directly or indirectly. He had seen it used time and time again by Clark, Krillin, Scandal, Kairi, and even by Bruce.

Yamcha only called up sparks of flickering white light on his first attempt, but they were something.

Ra’s Al Ghul, despite seeming so close before, was still in the distance, still running towards him with an expression of cold fury and utter disdain. “You dare stand against me? I’ll kill you when I reach you, recruit. You’ll die!” he threatened in the same booming voice.

He tried again, and found a small flickering ball of yellow-tinged light gathered between his palms. As the Ki left his skin Yamcha felt worn out all of a sudden, like he had fought Ubu as hard as he did for ten minutes instead of just a few seconds.

But his exhaustion didn’t matter.

With a growl of effort, he flung the small sphere towards Ra’s Al Ghul, and watched it detonate across the man’s chest. His clothes were torn apart, but the flesh underneath was unharmed. Light, pure and deep yellow, gathered between Ra’s Al Ghul’s hands as he prepared to fire back.

Yamcha braced himself, and finally something connected. He knew what he was missing, or at least, part of what was missing. “Kamehameha!” he shouted, thrusting outwards and feeling like he had run a dozen marathons back to back as the life energy left his body. In a yellow flash of light, the small column of light he summoned sailed out like a cannonball and crashed into Ra’s Al Ghul dead-on. Yamcha watched, in equal parts amazement, relief, and horror, as it outright tore through the older man.

The blast ripped through Ra’s Al Ghul’s chest, burning a hole that divided everything above the shoulders from everything below it. As Ra’s toppled to the earth in two parts, Yamcha realized that he couldn’t see any blood. Instead, the only thing filling Ra’s body was more ash, glowing faintly yellow like his Ki had.

He didn’t have time to think about it, though, as more shadows threw themselves at him from between the thorny trees.

The monstrous forms of Doctor Sivana’s minions emerged. There was the huge bulky robot Mister Atom, towering overhead and radiating heat and nausea and a hideous crackling noise, barely containing the radiation he was holding inside himself, his arms already converted into cannons. There was the bat-monster Jeepers; a hulk of muscle, fur, and sharp claws and teeth with demonic wings. And finally there was Herkimer. His crocodile face was split in a manic toothy smile, his arms held guns of the exact same makes and models he had been wielding in Russia almost two years ago, when he had shot Yamcha and put him in the hospital.

The three advanced on him without warning and without explanation, and Yamcha flung himself out of the way as Mister Atom unleashed a wave of deadly light from his cannon arm. Herkimer opened fire with his gun, filling the air with the sound of bullets. Yamcha could remember the sound those bullets would make if he let any of them hit him. Jeepers took to the air, and then descended claws first towards Yamcha.

The martial artist reacted quickly. He threw himself forwards in a roll, letting Jeepers claws skitter over the heavy turtle shell strapped to Yamcha’s back, and then came back up in close range with Herkimer, lashing out in a series of quick palm strikes and chops that battered the weapons out of the reptile’s hands, and the consciousness out of the reptile’s head.

Mister Atom, however, he didn’t have an answer for.

Yamcha was forced to jump aside again as Mister Atom fired at him and twin lasers lanced out from the robot every few seconds. To Yamcha’s shock, the fallen Herkimer was caught in one of the blasts and was incinerated, turning into nothing more than ash.

A… familiar ash.

Jeepers descended on him again, claws extended, and Yamcha grabbed him as he came, pivoting on one leg and swinging Jeepers into the path of Mister Atom’s next shot. The bat-monster didn’t give any shout of betrayal or anger, simply keeping up his silent glare at Yamcha even as he was incinerated by his former comrade. More of that ash fell away in front of Yamcha, and he watched Mister Atom’s expression.

It was wrong. The robot, despite being artificial, was more expressive than this. He had emotions. He cared about the others, and about his creator. He wouldn’t kill them without thinking. He would have stopped to mourn them if he did so accidentally.

Just as Yamcha thought that, Mister Atom swayed, like Ubu had, and the metal face began to creak as his expression shifted to rage, “You made me kill them!” he bellowed in his metallic voice, “I’ll destroy you for that!”

This wasn’t right either. He talked in a specific way. Yamcha remembered that, but couldn’t remember in just what way he did talk.

Mister Atom swayed again, “Statement: Prepare for obliteration, meat creature!”

No, no, still not right. What was going on? Where had they come from!? Why were they in the jungle with Ra’s Al Ghul? Yamcha glanced away from the killer robot, and saw that Ra’s body was gone. Like Jeepers, like Herkimer’s like Ubu’s he had become nothing more than ash.

No, not even ash. That was sand, wasn’t it?

“You’re not real,” Yamcha murmured, “None of this is, is it?”

“Preparing comeback: Does this feel ‘not real’ to you?” the robot snarled, before slamming its super-heated metal fist full-on into Yamcha’s gut.

Chapter 19: Terror Forest 6

Chapter Text

Yamcha let out a screech of pain as he was sent flying, rolling along the ground until he came to a rest under a shadow that blocked out the eerie violet of the sky. He blinked for a few moments, trying to fight through the sudden shock, and realized he was looking up at the back of the stone face that marked the entrance of the forest.

Mister Atom’s footsteps shook the ground as it approached, heat radiating off of its body in waves that baked Yamcha’s skin…

But it didn’t feel right.

He put a hand to his chest, and saw that the impact from Mister Atom’s fist hadn’t left a mark on his gi. The cloth should have at least been a little burnt. Yamcha pulled open his shirt, looking down at his own muscular chest, and saw that while he had the beginnings of some nasty bruises, he didn’t have any blisters, or any other signs of a burn. He wiped the sweat from his skin, and found that it didn’t feel right either. The heat radiating off of Mister Atom should have made the liquid feel a certain way, but instead… it didn’t change.

The heat wasn’t real.

It felt real. By god it felt real, and that sucked. But it wasn’t real.

But the fists were.

Yamcha pushed himself up to his feet, and he glared at the approaching robot. He looked back behind him, at the stone mouth of the gate, and saw that Mister Atom had come to a halt, glaring down at him, “Engaging mercy: I’ll let you live if you leave, and never come back.”

“What are you?”

“Leave!”

“Are you… the Forest of Terror? Its spirit, or something? Are you a ghost? A demon?”

“LEAVE!” it bellowed at him.

Yamcha threw himself forward and kicked Mister Atom in the chest. The robot toppled backwards, before catching himself and firing a blast of light at Yamcha. Yamcha, for his part, didn’t move, letting the laser hit him-

And was promptly flung backwards as a burning feeling covered his shoulder. “sh*t!” he cursed as he came to a stop against the trunk of a tree. He felt his shoulder, and once again, though there was a bruise there, there were no signs of a burn. Certainly not the instantaneous disintegration that had befallen Herkimer and Jeepers. The laser was real too, but… it wasn’t a laser. Something else.

He dodged as Mister Atom raised its arm towards him, and he decided to try a new strategy. Ubu had given him an uncharacteristic chance to run. Ra’s had basically ordered him to flee. Mister Atom was going to let him leave. Even that scream from Launch that she claimed not to have made, it was for the sake of getting him to leave the Forest of Terror.

It was trying to stop him from getting to the herb.

Yamcha, for the second time in the last ten minutes, broke into an all-out run. He ignored the exhaustion creeping into his limbs from his desperate attempts at using Ki, and focused on moving his body. He sprinted back along the path, ignoring the cries of Mister Atom to come back.

Abruptly, those cries changed.

“Get back here ye’ rotten landlubber!” shouted Red Torpedo. The massive skeletal cyborg leaped into the air behind Yamcha, and carrying him there was a tsunami, summoned from nothing. The wave pushed through the jungle, racing after Yamcha and splashing across everything in its path.

Yamcha didn’t stop running.

Straight ahead, the Turtle Hermit had told him. Just keep on going straight ahead.

He shifted to the side as a column of water crashed into the ground beside him, refusing to stop his desperate pace. The spray splashed against him, cool and wet, but a moment later, he noticed that the cloth of his gi wasn’t damp. The water wasn’t real, but something had tried to strike him.

He dodged geyser after geyser of water, until the cyborg behind him let out an unholy shriek. The ground vibrated as the lighting all around him changed. Yamcha dared to look back, and stared in horror at the titan of magma that had been reborn behind him. Red Volcano’s last stand towered over the entire forest, raining fire down on everything around him. It flung its arm forwards, launching its entire building-sized flaming fist down at Yamcha.

The martial artist let out a very manly shriek and threw away the turtle shell on his back, desperate for every last bit of speed he could reach for.

The heavy shell hit the ground with a deep thud, and Yamcha’s next step felt like nothing else had in his life. It was as if he was weightless as his next step threw him forwards. He blurred forwards, leaving the titan behind as he plunged further and further into the thorny Forest of Terror- until one last shadow leaped from the darkness.

“Bulma!?” he cried out, skidding to a halt.

“Yamcha!” she shouted. She didn’t look good. Her hair was messed up, her clothes were scratched up by thorns, she was limping, clutching one side, holding close a wound that was slowly leaking blood, “Thank goodness, I need your help!”

“Bulma, what are you doing here!?” he asked, “We need to-” he looked behind him, and saw that the titan of magma was still approaching, “Damn it,” he moved to pick her up, and she let out a hiss of pain.

“It hurts! Please, let me down, I can walk, I just need-”

“No time,” he said, “I’ll get you help as soon as I can, but we need to get away from that.”

“Away from what?” she asked, pained.

Yamcha turned around, and the lava monster was simply gone. He sighed, his nerves were frazzled, and he was just about done with this forest. Best to get the herb and get out. In his arms, Bulma let out a squeak of fear as he started running again, holding her close to his body so that the air wouldn’t press down too hard on her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. That didn’t stop her from hissing and wincing in pain, quietly asking him to set her down, urging him that they had to turn around and leave-

She smelled different. There wasn’t even a hint of any of her favorite shampoos. In fact, he didn’t smell any blood either. He saw her bleeding on his arms, but his clothes weren’t damp. She didn’t weigh as much as she did before, either.

Yamcha came to a stop, and gently let the woman down. She let out a sigh of relief, and smiled gratefully at him, “Thank you, I’m sorry for being a burden but we need to-”

She’d never say that about herself. Bulma Brief was not a burden. She was a genius, and proud of it. Even if it didn’t help in a given situation, she wasn’t a burden, and her pride would never let her refer to herself as one.

“Why don’t you shrink down?” Yamcha asked, “Then I could carry you back out of the forest easier. It’d be less painful too.”

She blinked in surprise, and then let out another wince of pain, almost collapsing to the ground, “I... I can’t right now. I’m too injured to try something like that,” she said softly, pitifully, her voice shaking with pain, “Can’t you just let me lean on you, and we could go back? Head out to meet with the others?”

“Meet with who?” Yamcha asked, “Who do you think brought me here?”

She began to tear up, “Yamcha, I need help. Please, just bring me home, and we can talk about everything else afterwards.”

“You’re not Bulma.”

“I am!” she protested, as Yamcha grit his teeth and began to run again, leaving her behind, “Yamcha don’t leave me here in this nightmare!” she sounded so scared, but he pressed on anyway. This entire place was just one trick after another, he knew. This was a trick too.

“I’ll be right back!” he promised, all the same.

“Yamcha!” she called out after him as he sped away, sprinting onwards deeper into the forest.

Chapter 20: Terror Forest 7

Chapter Text

Finally, Yamcha slowed down, huffing and puffing, as the thorny trees began to fade away, replaced by thick-trunked plants covered in vines and twigs. The sounds of the jungle returned, bit by bit. The animals were no longer crying out in fear. There were no more shadows fleeing back the way he came, urging him to follow. The air was filled with a light mostly see-through mist, and the sun hung in an ordinary blue sky, only slightly visible through the leaves of the canopy.

He was walking along a path now, worn down through frequent use. He came to a stop as the path opened out into a large clearing. Above, there was a hole in the canopy that let the sunlight in unhindered. The clearing was a kind of crater, cut in half by a gentle stream. On either side of the stream, filling the crater, grew a plant unlike any he had seen before. They were small, only coming up to his ankle, but each leaf was edged with a rainbow color, glowing softly in the shade of the canopy above. As he got closer, the air was filled with an earthy, herby, smell he had never smelled before.

It was unique.

As he reached down to touch one of them, his eyes widened as he sensed the energy that was packed so densely into the single plant. So much of it was there that even he, without the training or talent to sense Ki, could feel it.

“Careful,” said a deep, gentle, voice.

He turned his head in alarm, and stared at the ape who was watching him from the edge of the clearing. The creature wasn’t that large, as far as apes went, with thick graying brown fur covering his body. His eyes were dark brown, and looked remarkably human. Eyes that the ape averted, as soon as Yamcha made contact with them. The ape cleared his throat, and spoke again in the same voice, “Ah. This is awkward, could you not look at my face? It’s considered rude here. It’s an instinct thing.”

“Uh,” Yamcha began, before looking down at the ape’s chest, rather than his face, “Okay. You’re… a talking ape.”

“Yes,” the ape said, “So are you.”

Yamcha sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “This isn’t even the real Paradise Herb, is it? This is just another stupid illusion.”

The ape laughed gently, and began to make his way closer to Yamcha, moving with surprising grace on all fours, resting his weight on his knuckles, “If you were a little slower, we might have tried to set something up like that, but… no, this is the real deal.” As he made his way gently through the field of Paradise Herbs, he was careful not to crush a single plant. He reached out slowly, and touched Yamcha lightly on the arm. Yamcha pulled away, but felt guilty as he accidentally crushed one of the plants with his step back, and saw the gorilla wince.

“I’m sorry,” Yamcha said, “But… I have a hard time knowing what’s real or not right now.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” the gorilla said, “We’re not so good with smells yet. Not so much with touch or taste either,” the ape didn’t touch Yamcha, but knuckle-walked past him and back towards the edge of the clearing, and gestured for Yamcha to follow. Yamcha hesitated, but did his best to avoid hurting any more of the plants as he followed the ape. “Our noses are remarkably sensitive instruments, you know. It’s genuinely very hard to trick them, to really trick them. Sounds and sights are easy in comparison; your brain always has to do a whole lot of interpreting and guessing with sound and sight, and in that uncertainty there’s space for us illusionists to do our work. But smell? Temperature? Taste? That’s direct, constant, data collection. Way less room for misinterpretation. You can trick it, but the window for it is a lot smaller, and the things that come up wrong really stand out.”

Yamcha frowned, “That-” that was what he noticed, just about. Mister Atom and Bulma had been too light. The lasers and the water didn’t actually change the temperature of anything. And Bulma’s scent- it didn’t smell like her. It was more than just what being in the jungle for a while could change. “I felt it burn, at least at the start,” Yamcha countered, still suspicious of the ape.

“Oh, pain’s easy too, as long as it’s in a short burst. Easier than sight or sound, even. Once you kick off the body’s alarm bells, it’s hard to turn them back off again. With stuff like pain, your brain decides that it’s better to be safe than sorry and rolls with it rather than doubting the feeling.”

“Why the tricks?” Yamcha demanded, “What are you!? Who are you!? What was I fighting, who was that woman pretending to be Bulma, why-”

The gorilla raised a hand to stop him, “Don’t yell at me,” he said calmly, “It’s rude.”

“I think I deserve some explanation,” Yamcha snapped.

The gorilla sighed, and turned to look out over the field, “You’re part of the Turtle School, then?”

“I am,” Yamcha bit out, still angry.

“Hm. The Turtle Hermit told you nothing of what you might face in the forest, correct?”

“Not a thing,” Yamcha said, annoyed, “I mean, I should have guessed from the name alone, but still. He didn’t even give me a hint, besides telling me to keep moving forward.”

“He didn’t tell you because he made a promise, when he first came here for the Paradise Herb,” the gorilla turned to face Yamcha, keeping his eyes to the side to avoid meeting Yamcha’s, and then performed a formal bow, “My name is Bubbles, and I am the Lord of the Terror Forest. As per my troop’s agreement with the Mutaito School, and later the Turtle School, you have passed our test and will be allowed to pick a Paradise Herb- on the condition that you do not speak of this test, or of my troop, to any other living soul. Do you swear to secrecy?”

“What? No.”

Chapter 21: Terror Forest 8

Chapter Text

Bubbles the gorilla let out a displeased grunt, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t have any reason to trust you! You attacked me, you’ve been messing with my mind-! You didn’t even answer any of my questions.”

Bubbles nodded slowly, “Fine. If I answer your questions, will you consider vowing secrecy?”

“Maybe,” Yamcha said, unimpressed.

Bubbles reached out and plucked a softly glowing Paradise Herb from the ground, “These plants first started to grow here centuries ago, when a meteorite struck the earth in this spot. My ancestor ate one of them, and was transformed by the effects.”

“He became immortal?”

Bubbles snorted, “No. The elixir the Turtle Hermit is after requires the Paradise Herb be treated and prepared in a certain way, with certain other ingredients. My ancestor didn’t become a conduit for time, or immortal, or anything like what you martial artists seek it out for. He only got smarter,” Bubbles tapped his forehead, “He had the rest of his troop eat the herb, spread the gift of intelligence around, and then they kept on going, looking for other places to forage as gorillas did. But when the next children were born, they didn’t have the same gift. The altered intelligence wasn’t passed on. And so, the troop returned here, and did something most gorillas did not do. We made a permanent home. My ancestor’s children ate the herb, and became intelligent. They kept eating it as they grew older, and they gained even more powers than that. Their minds grew, became unrestrained by their bodies, and they became truly psychic. Telekinesis, telepathy, psychometry, illusions and hypnosis… but they realized that they had almost eaten the Paradise Herb into extinction.

“It was then that my ancestors came to a decision. The troop would forage and travel, like gorillas should, once more, but would make a pilgrimage back to the forest each year to feed newborns the Herb and allow them to become intelligent. To protect the Paradise Herb, a Lord of Terror Forest would be appointed to protect the field for the sake of our troop’s future. We lived like this for a long time, until a human named Mutaito overcame his fear, pushed past our illusions and traps, and made it here to the field. He recognized our ownership of the Herb, and we recognized his power, and need for the elixir the herb could make. We came to an agreement. His students would be tested, as he was tested.”

“Let me guess,” Yamcha said, “He had to fight his fears?”

“Something like that,” Bubbles acknowledged, “We didn’t always do the same thing. But basically, if the one taking the test passes through the stone maw, and makes his way all the way to the field, and promises to tell no other living soul about the location of the Herb or the nature of its protectors, they would be given the Herb. If you want to receive the Paradise Herb, you’ll have to agree to that same promise, and promises made in Terror Forest cannot be broken.”

“What if I refuse?” Yamcha asked.

“Then you leave without an Herb.”

“I could just take it,” Yamcha said, still sounding sour, “I’m wise to your tricks, now.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bubbles said confidently, “You’re a Turtle Student. By extension, a Mutaito Student. You wouldn’t betray the promises your Master or your Master’s Master made. You’ve been taught to be more honorable than that,” Bubbles gently nudged a furry fist against Yamcha’s side.

Yamcha had come all this way, “Did the Turtle Hermit really agree to this?”

“He did.”

He had trusted the Turtle Hermit so far. He could trust him a little longer. Yamcha braced himself, and then nodded, “Fine. I promise to keep you and your people, this location, and this test, a secret. Okay?”

“Perfect,” Bubbles said pleasantly. Yamcha almost toppled over as a mental weight seemed to slam down on him- and then it vanished.

“What was that?”

“The promise,” Bubbles replied, before handing him the plant he had plucked. Then, the gorilla turned and began knuckle-walking his way back towards the path.

Yamcha looked down at the plant in his hand, before looking back at the field, “Wait,” he said, “Can I grab just- just one more? And some soil?”

Bubbles considered him for a moment, “It won’t do you much good. We’ve tried to get them to grow elsewhere, recreating the conditions as best we can, but we’ve never had any luck with it in the past.”

“You’ve never had Bulma Brief,” Yamcha replied, “If she can figure out how to grow more of them, that’d help you, right? You wouldn’t have to be so-” he gestured to the forest all around them, “-careful with them. You’d be able to keep your way of life going, even if something did happen to the field.”

“...Very well, but the promise still holds,” Bubbles said, reaching down and into the soil, before pulling up a big clump of it, holding another of the plants in place in the dirt.

Yamcha reached into his pocket, and found a spare empty capsule. Taking the plant with the soil, he capsulized it in a flash of vapor. Bubbles flinched back in alarm, but after a moment, relaxed again and managed to keep his cool.

The other gorilla who came running down the path didn’t.

“What was that!? Did this idiotic human really bring an explosive near our sacred field!” roared a far larger gorilla as it came to a sudden stop close to Yamcha. It was a big, wide, black-haired brute of a gorilla with a metal circlet on his head, “I'll kill him!” he bellowed.

“It wasn’t a bomb, Grodd,” Bubbles said, sounding weary already.

“Well it sure sounded like one!” Grodd growled, before glaring right into Yamcha’s face, making eye contact and puffing out his chest, “You’d better not try anything, human, or else I’m going to finish what we started,” he threatened.

Bubbles sighed slightly, and then gestured to Grodd, “This charming ape is the one I’m training to be my successor. He’s called Grodd. He’s not as good of an illusionist or telepath as I am, but he’s far more skilled of a telekine, a showman, and a fighter, which more than makes up for it.”

“You were Ubu, and Ra’s, and all the other monsters,” Yamcha accused.

“Guilty,” Grodd growled.

“How did you do the lasers, and the water?” Yamcha asked, curious despite himself.

“Trade secret, human,” he growled.

“Telekinetic blasts, with an illusion wrapped around them,” said a newcomer. He was a young black-haired gorilla, smaller even than Bubbles, who spoke in a soft voice as he knuckle-walked closer.

“Hey!” Grodd protested.

“This,” Bubbles said, gesturing to the youngest ape, “is Simeon. Sam for short.”

“And he is short,” Grodd teased.

“Sam is Grodd’s grandson, and likely will be the one to take over for him in turn,” Bubbles explained, “He’s already as good an illusionist as I am, and almost as good a telepath and telekine.”

“A prodigy,” Grodd agreed proudly.

Yamcha looked at Sam for a moment, only remembering not to make eye contact when the young gorilla hastily turned away. But looking at him, judging how much he’d weigh from his size… “You were that fake Bulma, weren’t you? That one almost got me,” he said, almost accusing, “I don’t like seeing the people I love being so hurt.”

“Most people don’t,” the small gorilla said softly, “Grandpa Grodd thinks the best way to scare intruders away is with fear. Fear for their own lives, fear of predators, fear of danger. And that works fine for animals,” Sam acknowledged, “But people? For people, I think the best way to scare someone is with compassion. You might be willing to face danger yourself, but you’ll hesitate a little longer before you put someone you care about in danger.” He knocked a pebble over with one finger, still keeping his gaze focused downward on the dirt rather than looking at Yamcha, “...I’m sorry for showing you something like that.”

“It’s…” Yamcha forced a smile, “It’s fine.” He wasn’t going to get angry at a kid. Even if that kid scared the hell out of him.

“It’s not,” Sam said, shame creeping into his voice, “I normally wouldn’t go that far but…”

Grodd let out a huff, and pulled his grandson closer, picking up the boy and setting him on his back, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of Sam, you were just doing your job. No harm, no foul. What do you say we sit by the field for a bit, while Lord Bubbles leads the human back to his own kind, where we won’t have to smell him any more.” With that, Grodd shot Yamcha one last daring bit of eye contact- Yamcha was beginning to think it was the gorilla equivalent of giving him the finger -and then knuckle-walked back towards the peace and serenity of the Paradise Herb field.

Sam let his grandpa carry him down the path and out of sight, still refusing to look at Yamcha.

Bubbles watched them for a moment, before gesturing for Yamcha to follow him. The way back through the forest looked completely different this time around. The thorny trees were nowhere in sight, and neither was the strange violet sky. With a small amount of shame, Yamcha found the shell he had thrown aside when the illusion of Red Volcano had appeared, and hefted it back up to begin carrying it again. He’d avoid mentioning dropping the burden to the Turtle Hermit. He had been very adamant to never take it off until the training was complete.

A little further on, Yamcha could see the evidence of the fight as it really happened in impact marks and scuffs on the forest ground, as well as the partially-destroyed fake bodies made from cloth and wood, and filled with packed sand. The ash he had seen before.

In the distance, Yamcha spotted the back of the stone face. He gripped his Paradise Herb tighter in his hand, growing more wary the closer he was to the exit. If the gorilla was going to pull a betrayal, it would be now.

Bubbles, noticing his paranoia, began to speak, “Perhaps I should apologize. Sam and Grodd are on edge, and… more vindictive towards humans than usual. It was only a few months ago that a group of powerful humans attacked the main troop. They injured several of us, and actually captured Grodd’s daughter… Sam’s mother. She was named Winter, because she had white fur,” Bubbles said, “Humans like oddities, and they kidnapped her for it. We assumed that poaching was something that could only happen to our unaltered cousins, and didn’t take the humans seriously when they approached. The troop forgot that powerful humans existed, despite Mutaito proving otherwise,” he sighed, shaking his head, “I’ve sent gorillas good at illusions out into the human world to look for her, but they all came back without answers. She never popped up in a public zoo or circus anywhere. By now, the trail’s gone cold.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bubbles muttered, “Sam’s only family is Grodd now, so now he’s living here with us as well. It’s hit them both hard. You’re the first human in decades to take the test, and they saw this as a chance to take out their frustration.”

Bubbles came to a stop some distance from the gateway, and Yamcha looked at the gorilla, “This was… weird,” Yamcha said, “But I’m glad that I got to meet you, Bubbles. Thank you for trusting me with the second plant.” Yamcha’s expression softened as he looked back, deeper into the woods, “I’ll try and keep an eye out for any news about Winter, too. Maybe we could find something you missed.”

“That’s kind of you,” Bubbles said, “It was good to meet you, Turtle Student,” with that, the ape threw himself back into the jungle, and vanished from sight almost immediately in a shuffle of leaves.

Yamcha stepped back through the gate, and fixed a glare on the Turtle Hermit, “You didn’t warn me about-” Yamcha stopped, and found that he couldn’t say anything else about it. He tried again, “About the… you didn’t… oh wow,” Yamcha said, alarmed, “I really can’t talk about it!”

“Promises made in the Forest of Terror,” the Turtle Hermit began, “are hard things to break. But I knew you wouldn’t need a warning anyway. Look, you’re back in record time, herb in hand,” The Hermit praised him, pointing at the Paradise Herb, “Come on, let’s get back to Kame House! The sooner we get home, the sooner we can get that elixir ready!”

As the Turtle Hermit busily got the hovercar ready to go again, Launch looked Yamcha up and down in concern, “Are you okay Yamcha? You look like you took a bit of a beating.”

“It was a nightmare,” Yamcha agreed wearily, before he dropped himself into the back seat. Launch took up her own seat next to him, and didn’t say anything as he leaned against her and let himself finally relax, the fear making its way out of his system.

With a hum, the hovercar was turned on and the Turtle Hermit piloted it back up into the sky, ready to make another long journey back to the Pacific.

Chapter 22: Terror Forest 9

Chapter Text

The liquid in the pot on the stove bubbled and hissed as the Turtle Hermit added one ingredient after another into the water. It was the same pot that they had used to make spaghetti a few days earlier, and Yamcha wasn’t sure he’d ever trust anything to come out of it, after this.

With every new item added the color eerily shifted. The smell was indescribable, and changed to a new, unique and equally indescribable smell as each mysterious substance was added. It practically rose up off the liquid like a fume. Yamcha would have opened a window and tried to air out, if not for the tropical storm that raged outside.

Ignoring the chaos and the unearthly scent of the potion, the Hermit cheerfully whistled as he cooked. The old man was wearing a yellow apron and hummed to himself as he spun strange powders together with a wooden spoon. Yamcha suppressed a wince as the Turtle Hermit lifted that spoon from the mixture, and touched it to his lips to taste.

There was the ominous rumble of thunder outside as the Turtle Hermit pulled the spoon away and held it up triumphantly, “Almost ready! Hah-ha! Tastes just like how I remember. An unforgettable taste.” That said, the elixir wasn’t ready yet. The Turtle Hermit had only made his way through about half the gathered ingredients, carefully adjusting the heat on the stove and keeping a careful eye on the clock.

The storm grew worse outside. Wind battered at the windows of Kame House while the waves crashed against the front doors. The whole building shook with every peal of thunder. The sky had only just started to turn gray when the group returned and promptly collapsed from exhaustion after such a long flight. After their naps, it had developed into a full blown thunderstorm.

It made Yamcha nervous, and he wasn’t alone. Launch was sitting on the stairs, watching the Turtle Hermit working with an almost haunted expression. Yamcha looked between them, and then moved to sit next to her in the stairwell, putting an arm over her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Just… bad memories,” she murmured, “And… strong smells.”

“Oh. Oh sh*t,” Yamcha looked around, “Maybe if we went upstairs?”

She shook her head, “Still smells just as strong up there.”

“But the memories might be a little easier if you’re not watching it.”

She smiled a little, and let him lift her up and made their way back to the top floor, to the room Launch had claimed for her own. A room that Krillin and Scandal, and now Yamcha, protected against the Turtle Hermit’s occasional descent into childish perversion. Launch still thought it was silly that her drawers needed a combination lock, but there it remained regardless. As far as anyone knew, the Hermit hadn’t ever tried forcing his way past the lock, and he hadn’t tried to guess at the combination in weeks.

The Turtle Hermit was still a creep, from time to time, but he was getting better. Son Gohan had had a talk with the Turtle Hermit before he was willing to let his mentor stay at the house alone with Launch, and had made a minor project of filling in anything that could be possibly used as a peephole.

Launch settled down on the bed, and Yamcha took a seat next to her. Her nose twitched dangerously.

Yamcha looked down the hall at the stairway, and listened to the sounds of bubbling liquids and the old man’s cheerful humming, occasionally deafened by the thunder outside. “Do you want to talk about it?” Yamcha asked.

“Not really,” Launch said, “But maybe I should. I told you how my condition was a mystery to all the doctors, right? They eventually decided it was a Metahuman thing. But… I think it was a magic thing.” She pulled up her legs onto the bed, and held them against her chest, almost rolled into a little ball that was leaning against Yamcha’s side. “I can’t remember much from when I was little, but I know my dad was a bad guy. A gangster, or a thief, maybe. Someone who was loud and mean and a bully. Who thought good was bad and bad was good.” She looked thoughtful, eyes shifting back and forth as she prodded at distant memories, “He… really believed that too. In being bad. He embraced it like a cartoon villain.”

Yamcha frowned, “Like a cartoon?”

She let out a small sigh, “I can barely remember, but I think we had a framed picture of Dick Dastardly up where most families I knew had a crucifix.”

The thunder struck outside, and Launch looked up at Yamcha, meeting his eyes, “I was ashamed of him, even as a little girl. I remember that. And he was ashamed of me because I wanted to be good. And… one day he came home from whatever work he did, and he began making something. A magic potion.”

She turned her eyes down the hall, the source of the pungent smell that filled Kame House up to the rafters.

“I can’t remember whether he made me drink it, or if I drank it on my own. I just know it happened, and then those old memories cut off. The next thing I remembered- and it was here that my memories are actually clear -I was far away from where I grew up, in New York City, on a subway with a gun in my pocket and a lot of money in a bag. I couldn’t remember how I got there, where home was, or even my own name, or… anything like that. I called myself Hudson because it was nearby when I got out of the subway. Barely an hour went by before a man with a cigarette walked by and I sneezed. And then I was somewhere completely different, wearing new clothes.” She rested her face against her legs, “That’s just how it’s been, until Krillin and Scandal brought me here, and the Turtle Hermit let me stay.”

“I’m so sorry, Launch,” Yamcha said, “That’s… I can’t imagine living like that.”

“Be careful with the magic, okay?” Launch asked, her voice afraid.

“I will. I’ll have the Heavenly Old Master teaching me just what to do,” Yamcha assured her.

Launch gave a small grin, and let herself fall out of the ball she had rolled into, spreading out across her bed as she stared up at the ceiling. They both listened to the heavy rain thudding down on the roof just over them, when the Turtle Hermit let out a cackling laugh, “Yamcha get your butt down here!” the old man shouted, “I spent all day slaving away at the stove, and you haven’t even set the table,” he chided, sarcastic.

Yamcha looked at her before he moved to get up, and she reached up to squeeze his hand, “Aw,” she said, “I made you sad.”

“I’m fine,” Yamcha assured, “You- you can feel sad, if you want to. You have the right to do that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m happy now. I wake up in the same place I go to sleep! I have a house, friends, and a grandpa. Besides, you’re going to learn the Hermit’s secret technique! You should be excited.”

“Right,” Yamcha said with a soft grin, “Do you want to stay up here, or-”

“No way,” she decided, “I’m going to be there for the big moment,” she decided.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I feel better,” she decided, nodding to herself.

“If you’re sure,” Yamcha said, a little amused at how quickly her mood could shift.

The two made their way back down the stairs, and Yamcha watched as the Turtle Hermit excitedly almost paced in place, “Come on! We’ll have to be quick about this, the shelf time on this stuff is crap. You’ll have to drink it quickly after I mix in the last ingredient.”

“Right, uh, what do I have to do?”

The Turtle Hermit handed him an ordinary spoon, and said very seriously, “Be ready to slurp. Drink as much of it as you can as fast as you can.” The Hermit pushed Yamcha in front of the bubbling pot sitting on the metal stove, and then procured the Paradise Herb, and carefully plucked each leaf and dropped the softly-glowing pieces one by one into the elixir. The color of the liquid changed one last time, sharing the same ever-shifting rainbow glow that the leaves themselves held. The scent followed, shifting to something reminiscent of the smell of the Paradise Herb field in the jungle.

Launch sniffled.

Yamcha swallowed nervously, “Do I start now?”

The Turtle Hermit watched the soup carefully, “Wait…” the smell was getting more intense, the rainbow colors brighter.

Launch sniffled again, her eyes watering from the powerful herby vapor.

“Wait…” the Hermit repeated, eyeing the mixture as it glowed even brighter, becoming almost neon. The smell was overpowering.

“Ah…” Launch began, taking a deep breath, “Ah…”

The Turtle Hermit announced “Now!” at the precise moment Launch let out an “Ahhhchooo!”

Chapter 23: Terror Forest 10

Chapter Text

Launch transformed in a split second, blue curls changing to a pure white. The pink ribbon she kept in her hair suddenly jerked up, forming two distinct spikes like rabbit ears. When she opened her eyes, they were a bright green.

She blinked in surprise, but she was well used to appearing in places without a clue to how she got there. She frowned, sniffed the air, and then made an interested sound, “Oh! That smells good. Is it mealtime? I haven’t been in charge of eating in ages.” She hip checked Yamcha, knocking him a bit to the side and reached over to casually take the spoon from his hand, “You weren’t usin’ this, were you?” she asked with a mean grin, before looking down at the pot and going slack-faced, “That’s not soup.”

“It’s a magic potion,” the Turtle Hermit said, “Get away from that!”

“Magic?” White Rabbit asked, ribbons twitching in interest, “Real magic? And pretty boy over here was going to be the one drinking it?” she asked, looking at Yamcha.

“Yes, now-” the Hermit began, making a come-here gesture.

She stuck the spoon into the liquid and moved to raise it to her mouth.

Yamcha’s hand zipped forwards to snatch it back from her, sending the small amount of potion splashing across her face while he held onto the spoon tight, unwilling to let her take it from him again.

White Rabbit licked her lips, and then let out a giggle as dark-green lightning crackled around her body, “Oh, oh that feels weird,” she said.

“Aw hell,” the Turtle Hermit muttered. “Yamcha, grab the potion!”

White Rabbit let out a squeak as Yamcha pushed past her and grabbed the pot with his free hand, lifting it up over their heads to keep it out of her reach. The Turtle Hermit moved in in a blur, grabbing White Rabbit's arms and yanking her back, “Now drink!” he ordered Yamcha.

“Lemme go pervert!” White Rabbit snarled.

“I’m not even doing anything this time,” the Hermit snapped back, before wincing as she stomped down on one of his feet, “Hurry, Yamcha!”

Yamcha nodded, lowering the pot back down and moving to get at it with the spoon- and then everything went still as a flash of green light erupted out of the White Rabbit, her already-green eyes blazing with the same shade. And then, she moved in a blur, slipping out of the Turtle Hermit’s grip and dashing past Yamcha in a flash of white, snatching the pot from his hands at the same time.

A moment later, the green light snapped back, and the White Rabbit wasn’t a blur anymore, instead moving in normal time towards the door of the Kame House.

“No!” the Hermit called, flinging out his hands and sending his own crackling green wave of lightning towards the woman. She slowed down, freezing in place entirely… but before either of them could take a step forward, she began to accelerate again, returning to normal speed and pushing her way out into the elements. Yamcha and the Turtle Hermit shared a worried glance, and both made a mad rush for the door, the Hermit getting there first and flinging himself out into the storm.

White Rabbit was waiting for him, pot held in her hands, “Rabbit, please give that back,” he pleaded, “We don’t have time for this nonsense!”

“You really want it?” she asked sweetly, “Then give me your hovercar capsule!”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Then I guess I’m going to drink the rest of this,” she said, raising the pot to tip it into her mouth.

The Turtle Hermit sighed, and then shot forwards in a blur. In a half-second he was at her side, swinging one leg out to meet the back of hers. He pushed the back of both of her knees, and as she toppled forward, he snatched the pot out of her grip. She let out a squawk of surprise as she hit the sand. The door of Kame House clattered again as Yamcha stumbled out into the storm. The Turtle Hermit jumped away from the fallen White Rabbit and landed in front of his student.

“Drink!” the Turtle Hermit commanded, thrusting the pot his way, “You don't have much time left!”

“Right,” Yamcha said, taking the pot from him by the handle and lifting up his spoon. But before he could try anything, there was another quick flash of green light as White Rabbit stood up in a blur. The light returned to her, and left her back at normal speed, and the Turtle Hermit quickly jumped back to her, standing between her and Yamcha. Knowing that he was on a time limit, Yamcha decided to trust his Master to handle Launch’s alter ego, and raised the spoon up to take his own first drink of the potion. Hopefully he still had enough time to drink enough of it.

But before he could even try to taste it a branching pillar of light split the sky, crashing downwards onto the outstretched piece of metal. The energy coursed through the spoon, through the man, and through the pot and its contents, before reaching back into the ground.

The sound of thunder mixed with the sound of Yamcha screaming and the sound of the elixir exploding.

It went up like a firework, erupting into flares of every color of the rainbow, a glaring corona of multicolored light sparking outwards across Yamcha’s body. The man’s muscles bunched and released at random, his nerves and control overridden by the sheer amount of electricity running through him, and he sent himself flying out of the blast of color.

The pot, scorched and steaming, was flung out of his grip and rolled across the sand, empty.

Yamcha crashed into the sand some distance away, while the storm raged around them unabated.

Chapter 24: Terror Forest 11

Chapter Text

The Turtle Hermit gaped in horror for only a moment, before throwing himself into motion, appearing at the side of his student in a second, lifting up his jittering body. Electricity still crackled around him, and, even more worryingly, the electricity was the wrong color. The Hermit was used to the dark green lightning that followed the use of the Stillness and his normal manipulation of time. But this wasn’t dark green. It was yellow-white, shivering around him.

The Hermit pressed his hand against Yamcha’s neck, feeling his pulse fade. “No!” the Heavenly Old Master’s hands glowed with white light, tinged blue at the edges, and he pressed them down against Yamcha’s chest, pouring healing Ki into the man.

White Rabbit watched, her mouth going dry as she saw the Turtle Hermit’s desperation. Slowly, she walked forwards, silent, careful not to disturb either of them. She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. Guilt didn’t suit her, but she hadn’t meant for this to happen. No matter how much she longed to get back on the road and return to her life of endless chases and excitement, she had her own fondness for the stability the Kame House brought her, and for the people who lived there.

The ones who wouldn’t try to hurt her when they chased her. Who always brought her home and tried to rescue her from anyone she managed to anger. The pervy old man, the kids, and now the pretty boy.

She didn’t hate them.

She had only meant to mess with them a bit, maybe finally get her hands on a way out. Not get Yamcha killed.

White Rabbit sank down into the wet sand next to them both, and watched, wide-eyed, as the Hermit tried desperately to keep Yamcha steady. Eventually, the old man pulled his hands away from Yamcha, and let out shaky, tired, breaths, exhausted from how much Ki he poured into the young man. The burns and the scarring from the lightning strike itself had been repaired, healed by the Turtle Hermit, but the crackling gold light continued to coil around Yamcha without stopping, chasing itself back and forth across his form.

“Is he okay?” White Rabbit asked in a small voice.

The Hermit looked back at her, but rather than the glare she had been expecting, his expression seemed nothing but troubled, “I’m not sure.”

The rain battered down on them, soaking all their clothes through, while the lightning continued its dance across his body. Yamcha’s eyes shifted under his lids, dreaming. They shifted faster, and then faster. His shallow breathing got faster as well, too fast, until his chest seemed to be rising and falling so fast it became nothing but vibration. He began to radiate heat.

The sand Yamcha was lying on steamed and hissed as the rain and sea that had soaked into it boiled away, and then the sand began to melt into molten glass. The Turtle Hermit grabbed White Rabbit around the shoulders and pulled the young woman back and away from Yamcha, whose remaining clothes had caught fire.

And then it all stopped, and Yamcha sat up, blinking wildly. The rain came down on the small pit his own breathing had dug around himself, and cooled the steaming glass. He scrambled up out of the hole, heart thudding in his chest, and he looked at the shocked expressions on the Hermit and White Rabbit’s faces, “What just happened?” he asked, sounding spooked.

White Rabbit swallowed nervously, and then glanced downwards from Yamcha’s face. She began to turn pink and averted her gaze. Yamcha noticed, glanced down at his own form, and quickly pulled off the turtle shell on his back and put it back on backwards in front of him, covering his valuables. “Master,” he said again, a little more desperately and starting to blush himself, “What happened?”

The Hermit looked back at the discarded, empty, pot, “Well,” he began, “We messed up the recipe, a little bit. I have no clue what happened, so… you’ll have to tell me. How do you feel?”

“Like I was struck by lightning, and that some of it is still there,” Yamcha said. As if to prove his point, lightning, the same golden color as before, crackled around his body, “I- did it work? Am I a conduit for time, like you said?”

The Hermit approached slowly, and held out one hand, his fingertips crackling with his own dark green lightning. He reached out to touch Yamcha’s, and the two sparked against each other, repelling each other. The Turtle Hermit flinched back as if burned, and looked down at his hands, “I don’t think either of us are, anymore,” he said, amazed.

“I wrecked your powers too!?” Yamcha asked, dismayed.

“No, no, don’t be a drama queen, Yamcha,” the Turtle Hermit dismissed.

“Drama queen?!” he asked, offended, “I was struck by lightning, thank you!”

“I just mean that maybe I wasn’t in touch with the flow of time to begin with,” the Hermit said simply, “Time doesn’t have an opposite, and whatever power you got is definitely the opposite of mine. If the force I’m a conduit for is Stillness, then the force you’re a conduit for must be… movement?” he offered.

Yamcha looked down at his hands, and then with a thought, willed golden electricity to crackle around his arms. He moved his hands, and his eyes widened as they blurred. “It’s Speed,” he said, amazed.

The Turtle Hermit watched his student’s actions with interest, “How does it feel?”

“Weird,” Yamcha said, before taking a step back and moving into the familiar motions of the Wolf Fang Fist. Barely thinking about it, his entire body became a blur, golden lightning crackling all around him. There was a whooshing sound as the rain nearby was buffeted back from the force of the air coming off of him. He came to a stop, not even winded, still crackling with electricity, “Really weird.”

Both he and his Master were surprised when the White Rabbit suddenly crashed into Yamcha’s side, interrupting them both by throwing her arms over his shoulders, pressing into the shell he had covering his front, “I was just messing around, I didn’t mean for you to… to almost…” she trailed off, and met his eyes. He couldn’t be sure, due to the rain, but he thought she might have been crying, “You are okay, right?”

“I- I’m okay, Rabbit,” he said, “But if you’re really worried?”

She began to look like she had regretted the vulnerability, but she nodded slowly regardless, “Yeah?”

“Take us seriously, when we ask you to do something,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders, “Do you have any clue what was in that elixir?”

“I… no.”

“I fought hard for the ingredients of that potion, and we wouldn’t have been able to get another one if you spilled it, or drank it yourself,” Yamcha said, staring down at her, narrow-eyed. He ignored the roll of her eyes, “Not to mention, you had no idea what it would do! What if it wasn’t safe?”

“I knew you were going to drink it, so it had to be safe,” she protested, “I’m not stupid, I just like to have fun.”

“What if it wasn’t safe for you,” he pressed, “You already drank one magic potion, didn’t you?”

She flinched, and stared at him wide-eyed, “Launch told you?” she asked, sounding a little betrayed.

“...Don’t be reckless, okay? I know you don’t like being forced to stay here, but we care about you too. And… if you care about us back, maybe you should think about how your fun affects us.”

“I don’t care about you,” she said in a hurry, defensive. “You’re my wardens. You and the old man and Launch.”

“Why were you apologizing to me if you didn’t care about me?” Yamcha asked, raising one eyebrow.

She looked away, “I’ll… think about it,” she managed.

He let her go, slowly, and smiled when she didn’t immediately run. But she wasn’t in a hurry to look at him either. But then, he was still naked. He looked back to his mentor, and then back down at his own state of dress, “Let’s all get back inside?” He suggested, “Turtle shells aren’t very warm.”

Chapter 25: Terror Forest Final

Chapter Text

Yamcha looked out over the ocean, and took a deep breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth.

At his side, the Turtle Hermit watched the ocean carefully. A warm tropical breeze swept past them, ruffling the little island’s palm trees.

The storm had, despite its fury, subsided over the course of the night. The sky had wrung itself out completely, and was now utterly clear.

He was wearing a new copy of his orange-red Turtle School Gi, and the helmet that Bulma had made for him before the assault on the Red Ribbon base, its blue armor painted in a new coat of scarlet to match his uniform. He stretched, feeling not only the way the new uniform moved with him, but making sure his body was ready for anything he threw at it. Behind them, the White Rabbit leaned against one of the little island’s palm trees and waited, watching with badly-concealed nervousness.

Yamcha shook out his hands, and watched as they turned into blurs, sparking with gold lightning. Then, he let it spread, across his arms, his shoulders, his entire body. He vibrated in place, steaming the sand beneath his feet.

He turned towards his mentor, and gave a sharp, quick, bow that the Turtle Hermit could barely perceive, before flinging himself forwards, out over the ocean.

From the perspective of White Rabbit and the Turtle Hermit, he became a scarlet and gold flash that shot out over the surface of the water, cutting through the crests of waves as it went, the young man vanishing over the horizon.

For Yamcha, he found himself reminded of his mentor’s power, despite the old man assuring him that what Yamcha was utilizing was its opposite. The waves had slowed almost to a standstill as he ran over them, but at the same time, they were moving the same as ever. Yamcha took thousands of steps in a single second, pressing against the water like he was walking across sand rather than sea, but at the same time, his limbs were a blur of motion, cutting across water faster than any speedboat.

It felt like he was split apart. Experiencing everything twice at the same time. Aware, simultaneously, of the reality of moving at blistering speeds, and the reality of taking every step. A Yamcha running at normal speed in a nearly-frozen world, and a Yamcha running at super speed in a world in motion, but both of them were still the same Yamcha, aware of the same things at the same time.

It was utterly bizarre, and utterly freeing.

He was running on water.

Yamcha let out a laugh of sheer joy as he ran up a wave and jumped, sending himself flying into the air. He spun a few times, and as he landed, he climbed out of the splash as it happened, a feeling similar to climbing up a crumbling slope. At these speeds, water felt like bizarre room-temperature ice under his hand.

He stopped running, just to see how far he would slide, and actually giggled as he skated across the water on his feet for a few hundred yards.

It felt like it had been a whole day already, nothing but running, all without feeling tired. It felt like ten seconds had passed in a flash.

He tapped the radio button on his helmet, and waited for the Turtle Hermit to pick up. Immediately he felt the split in his perception intensify further.

The Yamcha who was making every step ran and ran, climbed and jumped and fell across the hilly terrain of the Pacific Ocean for what might have been hours before the Turtle Hermit’s managed to open his breath, but the Yamcha who was moving faster than the wind, running across the ocean with the wind whistling in his ears, heard the Turtle Hermit pick up immediately.

Both were true.

“You okay out there?” the Turtle Hermit asked, “You still above water?”

“I am!” Yamcha said, speaking with the part of himself whose arms and legs were a blur as the waves swelled up and down, saying the words as fast as he always would have, speed powers or not. The part of himself running up those waves felt like he had spent hours saying just those two words. But, somehow, he hadn’t grown bored. Both parts were him, and the part existing in actual time had said those two words in only a second.

He wondered if this was what Clark or Bulma felt like, being able to see the world in a way that literally nobody else could. Powerful in a way they themselves could barely comprehend. What it must feel like, to see physics working around you.

“Do you mind if I try something?” Yamcha asked through the radio.

“Try what?” the Turtle Hermit asked.

“I know the idea was I would run out a while, and then come back… but I’m going to try and reach land.” He let more of the lightning flow out of him. Then even more. He plowed on ahead, kicking up a massive spray of water behind him. The helmet on his head shook as the wind pushed against it, and heard a boom radiating outwards behind him.

He was moving faster than sound.

But trying to get much faster than that… took effort. The hundreds of thousands of steps he had taken over the last few minutes of running on the water didn’t collectively amount to anything more than the strain of taking a few steps without the lightning. But as he surpassed the speed of sound, he began to feel the strain.

The Yamcha that took every step began fighting the air, like every step was pushing through gelatin. The water stiffened as well, becoming less like walking on sand more like walking on ice. Ice carved into curving hills, and the part of him moving at normal speeds found the surface slippery and hard to gain purchase on.

He relented, ducking back below the sound barrier, and breathed out a sigh of relief as the superspeed became almost effortless again.

He laughed, raised a hand to tap the radio again, before he could get a word in edgewise, White Rabbit began shouting in his ear, “Was that explosion you!?” she demanded, “And you called me reckless!”

“Sorry, I pushed it a little hard there,” Yamcha admitted, “I… don’t think I’m going to try that again until I’m back on dry land.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” the Turtle Hermit said wryly, “In fact, I think I know just the person to ask about things like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Yamcha asked.

He could practically hear the Turtle Hermit’s smirk through the line, “Remember that lovely little lady at the Metabrawl who fought Bane in the first round? The one with the nice big b-”

Yamcha just about heard the sound of White Rabbit co*cking her gun to interrupt the old man. No matter how many times they took away the capsules, or how many times Launch hid them, White Rabbit managed to get ahold of them again.

“B-londe hair! She had big poofy blonde hair,” the Turtle Hermit hurried to say.

“Suuuure,” White Rabbit drawled.

“Anyway, she saw fit to invite me to a little get-together with the All-Star Squad. Seeing as I’m not a speedster myself, you could probably benefit from someone with experience using powers like yours. I’ll call ahead, and see if I can invite guests,” the Turtle Hermit said proudly, “How’d you like to learn some pointers from the Flash?”

“That’d be amazing!”

Yamcha was back on the beach only a few seconds later, coming to a stop with surprising ease, although he misjudged the first few steps and accidentally sprayed both the White Rabbit and the Turtle Hermit with sand. As he slowed down, the lightning faded, and the division in his perception of time faded with it. The two perceptions of time blended into each other- but the version of him that had experienced time normally, moving at superspeed, took precedence. His short run back and forth across the ocean felt exactly that; short.

The Turtle Hermit sputtered as he wiped sand from the front of his Hawaiian shirt, and White Rabbit took a few deep breaths, before suddenly sneezing and suddenly shifting back into Launch, her white hair turning blue and her green eyes turning a dark brown. She blinked in surprise at the sky, and then her position outside, and let out a sigh of disappointment, “She messed things up, didn’t she?”

“Maybe not,” Yamcha said, smiling hopefully at her, before twirling his arm around and causing a brief gale, “It’s not what we were expecting, but it turned out fine.”

Launch matched his smile, and the three made their way back into the house. As Launch walked in, she accidentally brushed against a glass on the counter, and reached to catch it, only to find a brief spark of green lightning zip along her arm and struck the glass in the air, and there it hung, suspended in place. She blinked in surprise, and grabbed the glass, watching the lightning fade a moment later.

“What happened when I was out?” she asked nervously.

“The White Rabbit uh, swiped a bit of the potion,” Yamcha admitted, “You caught us off-guard.”

The Turtle Hermit eyed her hands, considering, “...Maybe we should think about training you after all.”

Launch sighed. Magic was nothing but trouble.

DC Character + DB Character = Dragon Ball: Superman Character

• • World’s Strongest Saga Part 2: Terror Forest

• Ubu & Orin Temple Bullies = Ubu

• Solovar + Bubbles = Bubbles
• Gorilla Grodd + Gorilla (Dragon Ball) = Grodd

• Sam Simeon + Gorilla (Dr. Slump) = Simeon

• Flash Formula + Paradise Herb = Paradise Herb
• Gorilla City + Forest of Terror = Forest of Terror

Chapter 26: Secret Identities 1

Chapter Text

December 1991

Snow fell gently from the sky, adding to the massive pile that already was lying on everything in sight.

The air was crisp, and all was quiet, silenced in the specific way snow wraps everything in a cushion. Almost invisibly in the dark sky, something moved overhead, zipping across snow-covered farmsteads and long slush-covered mud roads. A shadow briefly crossed over fence posts and snowed-in fields, and then came to a sudden stop, leaving the silhouette of a bat shaded on the ground, a vehicle overhead hanging between the moon and the ground-

And then it vanished with the ‘POOF’ of an activated capsule. A burst of vapor that was muffled by the snow.

Something gently drifted into the spot the shadow had covered, similarly batlike. His helmet had two spikes rising up from his head like ears, and his wide cape, upon which he had glided down, had been held out to his sides like wings. His clothing was dark. A gray martial arts uniform covered most of his body, with the exception of a black chestplate, and black, spiked, guards on his forearms and ankles. He wore blue boots and gloves, and his helmet, cape and the bandanna covering the bottom half of his face were of the same shade. Wrapped around his waist was a band of gold-colored capsules, a small fortune’s worth, dozens of them.

Imprinted on the chestplate in the same golden color was the image of a bat. The same silhouette that his vehicle’s shadow had made on the snow.

He tapped a capsule at his side, and in another small burst of vapor, two snowshoes emerged. He jumped up, and kicked both of them on, landing silently on top of the snow in front of him, the wide feet of the snowshoes keeping him from sinking too deeply into the powder. Quietly, he made his way across the snow. He passed by a barn, only considering it for a second before moving on to the farmhouse in the distance.

He approached the side of the house, and then leaped straight up, dozens of feet, and landed silently on the roof with barely any dislodged snow. He inched forwards, towards one of the windows, and moved to touch it-

Only to flinch and almost slip off the roof when it opened on its own and what looked like a young boy leaned his head out to stare at him, blinking owlishly behind a set of big, thick, glasses.

“Well. You’re definitely not Santa,” Clark Kent said, before stepping back to leave the window clear and gesturing inside the house.

The ninja slipped in without another word, and Clark closed the window after him, “Maybe not,” he said, tapping his belt to make the snowshoes vanish, “But I come bearing gifts.”

He turned to regard the teen, only to freeze up as Clark pulled him into a tight hug that made his chestplate creak and made the much larger man only barely suppress a wheeze. “You really scared us Bruce! You just vanished, and we called Alfred and he wouldn’t tell us anything, and he warned us that something happened with the King’s Guard and-” Clark let him go, and gave a wide shaky smile, “I’m just glad to see you’re okay.”

Bruce gave himself a moment to gather himself, before looking back at Clark. His face was hidden behind his helmet- which covered most of his head, shielding his eyes behind a visor -and the bandanna hiding his nose and chin, which made it difficult to read his expression. Not that Bruce Wayne was the most expressive guy around regardless.

After a second, he spoke, “Don’t call me that when I’m in costume.”

Clark blinked, “What do you mean?”

Bruce moved to sit on the bed, and reached up to slide off his helmet, and pull down the bandanna. Clark winced, seeing the shadowed bags under the older man’s eyes, “From now on,” Bruce began, “There has to be a clear divide between Bruce Wayne, and Batman,” he focused on Clark, staring him down, and Clark flinched from the intensity of the glare there, “And a clear divide between Clark Kent, and Superboy.”

He reached down to his belt, and tapped one capsule. Suddenly, papers were summoned to his hands. He handed them over to Clark, who frowned at the list of entrants to the Metabrawl, “What’s this?”

“All the official evidence connecting you, as the ordinary farm boy Clark Kent from Smallville Kansas, to the monkey-tailed Clark Kent who was a student of Son Gohan, came in second in the twenty-first Metabrawl, and went on to help defeat the Red Ribbon Army and Bacterian as the quote unquote Superboy.” He watched as Clark processed that information, “Merry Christmas.”

“Why are you giving me this?”

“So you can protect it, if you’re sentimental. Destroy it if you want to be especially careful, although if they’re already searching the farm, it’s probably already too late for these documents to be any more or less damning.”

“Bruce, what’s going on?” Clark said, serious and worried, “What happened with the King of the World? Where have you been? Who did you go train with? Why can’t Alfred talk about any of it?” He shook the papers in his hands, “Why did you need to take this from the Kobra Temple in Santa Prisca, and why do I need to hide them?”

Bruce Wayne let out a harsh breath from his nose, and leaned back slightly, making the bed creak.

“...Cyclone, Firebrand, Alfred, Markov, and I were led into a room, and the King of the World entered. He revealed Markov’s identity, and informed her that she was the new baroness of Markovia. And then he asked us what wish we made with the Dragon Balls, and what wishes we were planning to make in the future.” A haunted look crossed over Bruce’s face, “And I felt something. Something trying to crush me. I pushed against it- and managed to shift away the weight. But it didn’t matter, because Alfred had already answered the question, and because I didn’t, the King knew.”

Clark frowned, “Knew what?”

“That I didn’t have to do what he said.”

“He’s- he’s the King of the World. Of course you have to do what he says,” Clark said, baffled.

“No, Kent,” Bruce said, “I’m not talking about legal power. I’m talking about magical power. The same power that every person who held the title of King of Earth has had, all the way back to the first.”

Chapter 27: Secret Identities 2

Chapter Text

August 1991

“Speaking of acts of God… Well, let’s cut to the chase and get right to the most important question: Just what was the wish your group of mystery men made on the Dragon Balls? And what wishes are you planning on making in the future?” asked Maxwell Furry the Fourth, the King of Earth, “Tell me, truthfully, now.”

Immediately, Bruce felt… off. He opened his mouth to answer, and knew that what he was about to say wasn’t what he was planning to say. He felt something pressing down on him as he hesitated, urging him to just say what his mouth wanted to say. His thoughts turned at angles they normally didn’t. Bruce rarely argued with himself. Hesitation was an enemy. Caution was one thing, but hesitation? Second-guessing after making a decision? That wasn’t something he let himself do often.

But now, unbidden, he was reaching around, trying to make justifications to himself.

He was already going to tell the King most of the truth anyway, so why not tell him the whole thing? Cyclone and Firebrand wouldn’t lead them into a trap after he and Alfred helped save their lives, would they? If these respected heroes trusted the King, he should also trust the King. Alfred trusted the King, after all, he was already telling the King the truth, so Bruce might as well too-

He bit down on his tongue, and stiffened his muscles. He kept silent, even as Alfred calmly spilled the beans.

“It was the youngest of our number who made the wish,” Alfred said, “His exact words were, and I quote; I wish for you to please, please undo all of the harm caused by the Red Ribbon Army that you can. I know you can’t bring back everyone they killed, fix everything they broke, but the cyborgs, my parents, everyone else they’ve hurt or killed that you can reach. Undo the harm the Red Ribbon did.” Alfred explained, “As for wishes to be made in the future, I’m unsure. But I could think of several things different members of our group desired. Dead loved ones we’d like to bring back to life. Injuries they’d like to cure. People they’d like to help, problems they’d like to solve. But our group hasn’t made any concrete plans for future use of the Dragon Balls.”

“What,” Bruce managed, still gritting his teeth. The weight was pressing him down, urging to speak, to corroborate the story, to clarify. To make it even more of the truth.

But Bruce didn’t listen to urges. Didn’t listen to the weight, or his own self-justifications. One thing remained true, one thing remained resolute. Bruce was in control of himself. Nothing else was. Bruce had to remain in control. Bruce could not allow himself to fall apart. If something else was trying to make Bruce say something, he wasn’t going to say it.

And just like that, he was okay.

The weight… slipped off to the side, falling away. The pressure no longer existed. Instead, Bruce felt dread creeping up his spine. He had managed to fight it off, but what was it that he had fought off?

Mind control? Compulsion? From- from the King of Earth?

He looked up, and saw that the King was staring at him, the older man’s bushy eyebrows having risen high above his glasses, before settling back down in an expression of annoyance. But only for a moment. The King schooled his features quickly and turned his attention completely to Alfred, “Well, that comes as a relief,” the King said, “Your wish was utterly without malice. And it’s without a doubt done an enormous amount of good for the world. I’m impressed, grateful, and intrigued. Now, may I have your name? Mister…?” he asked.

Alfred frowned, “Ah, that would betray the point of wearing a mask, would it not? I would like to remain anonymous for now. What was my codename, Master Batman?” Alfred asked him.

Bruce managed to offer; “The Chauffeur.”

“Very well, Mister Chauffeur,” the King said in good humor, “The All-Star Squad kept secret identities as well. It helps with the mystery man appeal, and of course helps protect their families.”

Bruce didn’t flinch. The King noticed Bruce very specifically not flinching. As the King’s gaze fell on him directly, despite his own iron self-control, Bruce was bristling.

The King looked away first, and sighed, “I suppose I should just nip this in the bud. You noticed, correct?” Bruce considered his words, “Answer my question.” The King ordered, and the mental weight pressed down on Bruce. On instinct, he pushed back at it, refused- and his refusal once again let the weight slide off of him.

“Master Batman?” Alfred asked, concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“You might as well say it,” the King said, sounding almost bored.

Now Bruce did answer, but only because there wasn’t anything trying to make him answer this time, “You’re a Metahuman. Some kind of telepath,” Bruce accused, “You used mind control on all of us, earlier. And you just tried to again. The Chauffeur wasn’t able to resist it, but I did.”

“Resist, he says,” the King said, sounding amused, “So dramatic. No, I’m not a telepath. God, would my job be easier if I was a telepath.” His smile vanished, “No I’m something much, much worse. I am, in fact, the King of Earth. The power I have is the power that every King of Earth has had,” The King of Earth reached out, and spun the globe on his desk again, “The power the Dragon Balls gave me.” His voice dripped with disgust at those words. He stopped the globe with one finger pressing against Russia, “Doctor Sivana refused to tell us what wish he made. He was enormously tight-lipped. Even after being put in solitary at the bottom of the ocean, and told his only way back into the sunlight was to tell us. But he never said anything. We took his machine, and pulled it to pieces, and locked those pieces away. The balls had scattered again, and I assumed everything was fine. I had to. I assumed that the wish had to have been something relatively small. Something personal. Not something… world changing, like the one affecting me was.”

Chapter 28: Secret Identities 3

Chapter Text

“Your Majesty?” Cyclone asked, confused, “How do you know about the Dragon Balls? When was this wish even made? The way the others explained things… I assumed that the last time the balls were used must have been a long, long time ago.”

“Quite right,” the King said, “Our records say that, in ancient times, there was someone who gathered the Dragon Balls, and made a wish. We don’t know what wish exactly, but that wish made him the King of the World. It’s said that he conquered ‘all the known world’ until he and his entire capital city were eventually struck down by the gods for his arrogance.” He shrugged, “Who knows what really happened. It was just legend, half-mythical, half-historical, until the League of Nations formed, and appointed a leader, called him King, and gave him the same ancient crown. He realized that, suddenly, he was a lot more convincing. More convincing, even, than what could be explained as merely his position as the technical ruler of the world. The wish didn’t apply to just the first King of Earth, it applied to any King of Earth. He experimented with it, and learned its limits.”

Cyclone frowned, “Limits that you’re not going to share?”

“I’m already telling you this much, why would I stop now?” the King asked, amused, “I can make people do something they might do, but I can’t make people do things they won’t do. Magical persuasion, not compulsion. It means that I have enormous power among those who already agree with me, and can’t do much against people who don’t.” He smiled, “It’s simple. It’s infuriating. It’s insidious. It makes me terrified of what else the Dragon Balls are capable of, if they can do this much.”

“I’ve… told you no, before. But not often,” Cyclone said, growing pale.

The King nodded, “I try not to abuse it. But I’m in a position of leadership, and it activates more-or-less any time I make a request or give an order. This power scares me, but… I try to use it to do good. I think I’ve been mostly successful.”

Cyclone nodded at that, slowly, “And I’m glad of that,” the old woman turned and looked at Bruce, who was still holding himself tense, “Why didn’t it affect you?”

The King chose to answer in Bruce’s place, “Like I said, I can’t make someone do something they won’t do. If someone’s paranoid enough, or self-observant enough, they’ll notice themselves doing something they wouldn’t normally. From there, they just have to muster enough determination to decide they won’t do anything I ask, just because I asked it. Even if it’d normally be something they’d agree to.”

“Have other people noticed before?” Bruce asked, “Refused your power’s influence?”

“Of course.”

“And what happened to them?” Bruce asked.

“Are you asking if you’ll be allowed to leave this building alive?” the King asked. At Bruce’s side, the others tensed up.

“Will I?” Bruce pressed.

The King rolled his eyes, “ I don’t have the authority to execute anyone, not that I would even if I could. I’ve been trying my hardest to get execution outright banned worldwide for as long as I’ve been in office. The worst I could do is say that you threatened me and have you detained, but that’s a temporary solution at best considering your powerful friends and your own talents. You’re not the first to find out, and you won’t be the last. I can’t go around killing anyone who disagrees with me.”

“You still haven’t said what happened to those who found out before me,” Bruce pressed.

“I put them in charge of me,” he replied.

“You’re the King of the World. How can someone be in charge of you?” Bruce asked.

“Plenty of ways. Captain Spica knows the truth, and can ‘resist’ like you can. She knows that if I ever start being the kind of person she doesn’t want to follow, she can use the authority of her position to walk right up to me unmolested and, well, deal with me before anyone else has time to react. Every King of the World since the beginning of the UN has had people like that. Oversight.”

“And she just… lets you keep going? Keep using your powers on people? On other politicians?” Bruce demanded.

“Whoever took my place would have the same powers, and unless you’re planning on destroying the entire system keeping the world running smoothly, there’ll be someone taking my place.” The King dismissed, “So, for Spica and the others, they’ve decided to keep the devil they know rather than the devil they don’t. As long as I keep trying to make the world a better place, I’m allowed to stay,” the King smiled at him, “I’ve thought about it in similar terms to the All-Star Squad. With their-'' he looked at Cyclone and Firebrand, “-your powers, you could have terrorized, maybe even conquered the world, but instead, you’ve used them to help people. To make things better.

“Speaking of the All-Star Squad, that brings me to my next topic.” He held out a hand towards Bruce, “The same could be said of you and your friends. You’re all very, very, dangerous. So, I have a proposition.”

“A new group of mystery men to replace the practically-retired All-Star Squad,” Bruce said.

“Hey,” Cyclone said, offended.

“You don’t trust me now that you know what I can do?” the King asked, “Then you can choose to stay close to me. Watch me yourself, just like Spica is. And in exchange, you and your friends, with all of your dangerous powers, will stay where I can watch you. With the knowledge that we both have oversight, people who’ll handle us if we take things too far, we can both continue to use our dangerous abilities to do good. Hm?”

Bruce considered the offer. He noticed that the King hadn’t given a single direct order in the proposition. But…

That feeling of control. The power this man inflicted so casually on them all. On Alfred. On a child. On respected heroes.

Inflicting that on Clark? On Bulma? On any of the others? If the King was lying, if his powers worked differently than he said and the reason for Bruce’s resistance was something else, accepting this deal might well be dooming them. And even if the King was being honest, Bruce still couldn’t stomach that risk to his friends.

“I’m not the leader of our group,” Bruce said, deflecting, “I can’t make that decision for all of us. Some of us aren’t old enough to join the King’s Guard regardless.”

“I see. Well, you don’t have to give me your answer right away,” the King said, “I’ll give you a year to decide.”

“Why a year?” Bruce asked.

“Because that’s when the Dragon Balls will become active again,” the King said, “For the last time- unless you take me up on my offer.”

“The last time- what are you planning on doing?” Bruce asked.

The King steepled his fingers together, “Don’t misunderstand me,” the King said, glancing at each of them in turn, and finally, at Bruce. “I’m enormously grateful to you for putting an end to the Red Ribbon Army. And I meant what I said about your wish. I am honestly delighted that such tools of chaos and destruction managed to be turned to such good use. I’m so glad to see the three of you again,” he said, addressing the former cyborgs.

However, there, the King’s good mood seemed to vanish.

“But despite that… I’ve spent the whole summer in a state of terror. In June, Doctor Sivana escaped through miraculous means. I can only assume he asked the Dragon Balls for powers of some sort, powers that he only revealed when it was time for him to finally act. In July, all the pieces of Doctor Sivana’s Dragon Ball detector were stolen from my vaults. Then, the Red Ribbon Army began to flout international law where before they had toed the line. But honestly, I was ignoring them. My primary focus was finding Doctor Sivana, or discovering whatever it was he had wished for. In August, it wasn’t until it was almost too late that our forces realized that it was Red Ribbon who had taken the machine, and were after the balls, not Sivana, and the King’s Guard had to quickly change their priorities, and finally treat the Red Ribbon like an actual threat.”

Tara stiffened in her chair, her fingers digging into the arms of her chair as she almost shook with sudden rage. The King didn’t seem to notice, and simply kept on speaking.

“The Dragon Ball detector was recovered from the Red Ribbon Army’s headquarters in the aftermath… and I considered having it outright destroyed this time, rather than merely taking it apart again. But I decided not to. Destroying it wouldn’t eliminate the risk. If one person could build a detector, so could another. No, I realized that the only way to deal with the massive threat of the Dragon Balls was to go after them directly.”

“What do you intend to do with them?” Bruce asked.

“That depends on you and your friends, Batman,” King Furry said, “If you agree to oversight, to become part of my organization, then I would consider allowing your group to be in charge of them. To take responsibility for them. You’ve already used them once, to great affect, to the benefit of millions. You had unlimited power in your hands, and you used it for good. I consider that one hell of a test of character, and you passed.”

“And if we don’t join?”

“Then the King’s Guard will gather the Dragon Balls, and I will make the only wish I can trust myself to make;” he smiled wide, “I’ll use the Dragon Balls to unmake the Dragon Balls. Remove them as a threat forever, at the cost of losing them as a resource. You and your friends will have until the Dragon Balls next become active to make a choice. If you accept my offer, then you’ll have input into the fate of the Dragon Balls. If you refuse… well, interfering with the duties of the King’s Guard is illegal. So you can give up on any other wishes you might have wanted to make.”

Bruce went still.

His parents.

It was only a hope, not even a full plan. Seeing Clark with his mother, dead since he was a toddler, hit hard. Seeing Billy reunite with his own parents, parents who had been killed in front of him a few days prior, had hit him even harder.

Zatanna could bring them back for a day.

But the Dragon Balls could just bring them back, no strings attached.

He… still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. When he would try to bring them back. If he would try to do it temporarily or permanently. But he wanted to have the option.

Bruce gave a small nod to King Furry, “I’ll… consider it.”

“Good!” the King said with a grin, “I’ll let you go then. This meeting has been more… stressful than I had expected, and we all have important matters to address. Captain Spica will be in touch to get, and provide, more details, as well as to grill you a bit more on the whole Red Ribbon situation.”

“I understand,” Bruce managed.

“Oh, and… well, it pains me to do this,” the King said apologetically as he addressed everyone in the room, “Don’t tell anyone else what you’ve learned of my powers, about the King’s Guard’s plan for the Dragon Balls, or anything else of a sensitive nature you learned in this meeting. Thank you.”

Alfred, Cyclone, Tara, and Firebrand shifted slightly under the force of the direct order. Bruce felt the weight press on him, only to slide off the shield of his defiance a moment later.

“Batman, you, I’ll just have to trust. The King’s Guard serves a vital role to the security of the world. You understand that, don’t you? Even if my powers disgust you, that’s no reason to throw the world into chaos. Correct?”

Bruce clenched his fists and grit his teeth, but nodded all the same.

“Wonderful,” King Furry said with a grin, “I’m sure we’ll be good friends.”

Chapter 29: Secret Identities 4

Chapter Text

As soon as they had left the room and had gotten far enough away from the walls that there was a possibility they wouldn’t be overheard, Bruce turned to the rest of the group, “Our group is in danger,” he said harshly, “Chauffeur, on your way home, make sure you’re not followed. We can’t let the King’s Guard know where we live. Who we really are. It’s too late for Bulma and those at Capsule Corp, but the rest of us still have that defense.”

“Master B- Batman,” Alfred said, “I understand you’re worried, but…”

“Please.”

“...Of course I will. I take it you’re not coming home with me, then?”

Bruce kept tight-lipped, and instead turned to the former cyborgs, “I’m sorry to get you wrapped up in all this.”

“Wrapped up?” Cyclone asked, “We’ve been deep in this sh*t since the beginning. Ah- pardon my language, Tara.”

“It’s fine,” the younger girl asked, hiding behind her long hair.

Cyclone smiled at Bruce, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which just looked plain tired, “I… can’t say that I’m happy to find out Furry was… I don’t know. Manipulating us all this time. But at the same time, I don’t think I’m angry with him. I’ve worked with him a long time, and I’ve never known him to take advantage of his position for his own sake. I asked him once why he never settled down, and he said he wouldn’t consider it until he retired, too much of a power imbalance, otherwise. The man’s almost selfless, powers or not.”

“I can’t bet my life on that, my teammates lives,” Bruce said.

“I know. What do you want us to do?”

“What you can. Keep everyone’s identities secret, or at the least the ones who still have a secret identity. Don’t let on that we had our own Dragon Radar,” Bruce whispered, “Right now, the King seems to be assuming we were just following the Red Ribbon Army. Going to where they already were, rather than following the balls’ signal.”

“...Fine,” Cyclone said, “I promise I’ll do my best.”

“I will too,” Firebrand said.

Eyes turned to Tara, “...I owe you guys my life,” she said, after a moment of consideration, “Anything I can do to help you, I will. He- King Furry he-” her hands were shaking, “He said he was my parents’ friend. But the Red Ribbon Army killed them. Killed me. And he didn’t care. Because it was a civil war, and the Red Ribbon Army pretended to be following the rules. So they got away with it. He was ignoring them! They weren’t top priority,” She curled her hands into fists. Her whole body was shivering with fury.

“I know how you feel,” Bruce said quietly.

“If you tell me to keep your identities secret. I will. If you tell me to keep the radar secret, I will. If you need anything-”

“Thank you,” He looked at Alfred, and then gestured with his head, “We should leave, as quickly as we can.” He glanced back down at Tara, and then the other two women, “Are you all going to be alright? Getting home? Wherever home is?”

“We’ll be fine, and we’ll keep an eye on each other,” Cyclone assured. Bruce nodded, and turned to leave, only to stop when Cyclone continued to speak, “But just so you know. Regardless of anything else? You kids would be perfect for the job. I can’t think of anyone else who’d be able to fill our big dumb boots, if they ever needed filling.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Bruce managed.

He and Alfred made their way out of the building, Alfred spoke up again, keeping his voice quiet, “Where are you planning on going, if I’m heading home after losing any potential tails?”

“Japan,” Bruce said.

“Back to Master Gohan?”

“No,” Bruce said, “I don’t want to get him pulled into the mess any more than he already is. But I am going there to find a teacher.”

“And what are you planning to learn now, Master Batman?”

“Hopefully, something that will help.”

“...What shall I tell the others?”

“What can you tell the others?” Bruce countered.

Alfred opened his mouth, but shifted as a weight settled down on him and he found he couldn’t say, “...Not much,” he admitted, “Very well, what will you tell them?”

Bruce said nothing, and Alfred suppressed a sigh.

As they reached the road, they each threw down a different hovercar capsule. “...Start construction of a new Batmobile,” Bruce said, before opening the door of his own and getting inside, “I’ll be by to pick it up, sooner or later.”

“I shall. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

Bruce gave a nod, and took off.

It would be more than a day before he reached Japan, and it took more than a week after that to find the ones he was looking for. Rather predictably, they hadn’t returned to their old base of operations. But they relied on their connections, and he knew where at least one of them used to do business.

He asked around, and then followed the ones most suspicious of him until, finally, he found an address.

It was a nondescript apartment in a quiet part of the countryside. Bruce took up position outside the building, and waited for one of them to walk outside before he made his move, leaping from a tree and crashing into the ninja from above.

“Gah!” cried one of the Purple Brothers.

Bruce stepped off of him, and then put him in a chokehold, dragging him back from the view of the building and towards the shade of the nearby trees. “Which one are you?” Bruce demanded, “Cha or Aka?” He was, after all, too young to be Murasaki himself.

The ninja was silent, but his jaw was moving. He was shifting something in his mouth, and Bruce watched as something twinkled in the light at the corner of his mouth.

He reacted quickly, jerking his head aside, avoiding the senbon the man spat out at high speed. It flew towards the apartment building behind them and bounced off a window.

“Aka, then,” Bruce said. The one with the blowgun speciality, rather than the pistol specialty.

“What do you want?” Aka asked, struggling against Bruce’s hold and scratching at his arms.

“You and your siblings escaped the Crab Shell with Doctor Thaddeus Bodog Sivana,” Bruce said simply, “Then, taking him with you, you avoided the King’s Guard detection, despite them making Doctor Sivana one of their highest priorities. Finally, you’re all exceptional with ranged weapons, in the art of stealth, and a number of other skills.”

There was a flash of silver at the edge of Bruce’s vision, and he whipped around, holding up the man in his grip like a shield. The elder Murasaki stopped mid-swing, his shivering katana halting bare inches from making contact with his student. “All true things, Mister Wayne,” Ninja Murasaki said, “But that is not an explanation for why you are here. Are you merely listing our crimes before taking us back to prison?”

From the opposite direction, Cha, the last unaccounted Purple Brother, dropped from the trees, a pistol in one hand and leveled at Bruce’s head, “We saw your message, brother,” he informed Aka, who grinned despite the hold Bruce had on him.

“I’m even stronger than I was when we last met,” Bruce said simply, “You’re not going to beat me. Worse, I’ve proven that no matter where you go, where you try to run, I can still find you, even if the King’s Guard can’t.”

“Get to the point,” Ninja Murasaki stated.

“Kon didn’t escape. Nao has already been recaptured. You three can’t escape me. It’s simply a fact. You’re going to go to jail. The only thing that’s in question is when. The Purple Brothers will go behind bars and vanish from the world, putting the last nail in the coffin of the Bat Clan of Hida,” Bruce ignored the gun pointed at his head, and as he relaxed his arms and Aka slipped from his grip and drew a tube to his mouth, ready to fire. Bruce ignored that too. He simply kept staring dead-on towards the elder ninja’s face, and ignored the blade being leveled at him. “Unless.”

“Unless?” asked Ninja Murasaki.

Bruce bowed at the waist, his hands clasped in front of him, and closed his eyes. He was, more or less, presenting his neck to the armed assassins. “Unless the Bat Clan continues with me. Teach me your ways. Teach me to be silent, to be stealthy. Teach me to fight, to treat every conflict as a lesson, to see my environment as a weapon to be used. Please, make me your student.”

Ninja Murasaki blinked in open shock.

“Master?” Aka asked, just as amazed, “Should we…” he mimed blowing a dart at the vulnerable Bruce Wayne. Cha’s pistol was still aimed at Bruce’s head. Murasaki still had his hands on his sword.

Bruce stared down at the ground, and awaited what would come next. Murasaki could throw down a smoke pellet and try to flee. Force Bruce to waste even more days searching for them. That would be fine. It would let him practice his tracking skills, and observe how they kept themselves hidden while on the run. They could attack him, that would be… less ideal. He would be forced to defeat them without gaining much but the satisfaction of putting away three more criminals.

Or they could do the unlikely thing. The thing he had been hoping for.

“You attacked my home, humiliated my ninja, sent me to prison, tracked me down, insulted me, promised to send me back to prison in the future, and you have the audacity to ask me to train you?”

“Yes.”

“Get up, Wayne.” Bruce stopped bowing, and met Ninja Murasaki’s eyes once more. The man seemed amused, and… intrigued. “Very well,” Murasaki said, “I’ll train you hard enough to kill you. If you die, that’s on you. When you decide that you’ve learned enough, you can try to arrest us again.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Chapter 30: Secret Identities 5

Chapter Text

December 1991

“So that’s why you have the bat symbol on your chest now?” Clark asked.

“That’s not the most important part of that story,” Bruce said, deadpan.

“Oh! Did they give you more of those bat-shaped boomerangs they were using?”

“They’re specialized shuriken.”

“They come back when you throw them,” Clark pointed out.

“That-” Bruce sighed, closed his eyes, and then opened them again with an even more intense expression, practically glaring at the younger teen, “Kent, the King of the World can manipulate people’s minds just by talking to them. He wants us to work in close quarters with him so that he can watch us. He knows about the Dragon Balls, and he’s using them as a bargaining chip against us. He used his powers on Alfred, on Cyclone, on a kid, on anyone he’s ever spoken with since taking on the position. That’s the important part of my story.”

Clark frowned, and looked out the window at the falling snow, “I’m sorry we sent you and Alfred to New York without us,” he said, “I’m sorry you had to deal with this on your own. If you just told us-”

“I wasn’t sure how closely the King’s Guard would be tracking me. I’m the threat he knows about, after all.”

“Bruce.”

“Batman,” he said adamantly, “When I’m dressed like this, you call me Batman. When you’re wearing the cape, you’re Superboy. In uniform, we’re Mystery Men. Out of uniform, we’re not. All of us. If we can get that ingrained, it should be a defense against the King trying to get information from us we don’t want him to know. Keep the two sides of our lives separate.”

“That’s not much different from what I’ve already been doing,” Clark admitted, “But… what about Bulma? They already know who she is. It’s not that big of a leap to guess that Eel, Yamcha, and Vic are who they are either, considering they all live at Capsule Corp too.”

Bruce glanced away, “It’s too late for them to establish secret identities,” he admitted, “Too late for Ariel too, considering. But it’s not too late for you, me, and Billy. He’s lucky enough to be a shapeshifter, though. Apparently the people in his hometown are already calling his adult self Captain Marvel.”

Clark nodded, lost in thought, “Do you think we’re really in danger?”

“If we put ourselves in the King’s power, we’re risking our free will. And now that he’s aware of us, he’s not going to trust us unless he can control us. It’s only a matter of time before we either come to blows… or surrender to him.”

“So what do you want to do about it?” Clark asked, “What’s the plan?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Bruce admitted.

“Have you talked to Captain Spica?”

“No,” Bruce said, “Of course not. I’ve been avoiding anyone working for the King’s Guard like the plague. I’m still not positive how far his magic extends. Is it only direct verbal orders? Can written orders count? Do his abilities work over the phone? Through a messenger? I don’t want to take the risk of any contact at all.”

“If she’s someone immune to King Furry, but who still agreed to work with him, I think it’d be important to find out why,” Clark said.

“You think we should accept his deal?” Bruce asked, narrowing his eyes.

“What? No! Half of us aren’t even adults,” Clark said, “But I don’t think I’m ready to try overthrowing the King of the World either! I- the whole reason Ma and Pa tried to keep my strength a secret was so I wouldn’t be taken by the government and used as a weapon. And after learning about my birth parents… I don’t want to be the kind of person who conquers a planet either. There has to be a third option,” He chewed his lip, and turned back to the sky, “Spica was in the same position as you are, knowing her perspective could… help. Huh.”

Suddenly, Clark’s face brightened. He quickly moved to one of his drawers and pulled it open, jostling everything inside as he searched through it.

Bruce frowned, “Kent?”

“Sorry! I just remembered someone else whose perspective could help,” he pulled out an envelope, and Bruce immediately went stiff as he saw the King’s Guard symbol on it.

“Kent,” he said, warning, “Don’t open that.”

“Bruce-”

“Batman”

“-Batman, I’ve already read it, and you’re immune,” Clark replied, “It’s not from the King, it’s from Cyclone.” He smiled over at his friend, “She invited us to the All-Star Squad’s annual get-together in a few days. It’s in between Christmas and New Years, to make sure everyone has the time off.”

“Us?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, um, well she didn’t know most of our addresses, so she just gave them all to Bulma, and left it to her to deliver the rest. Billy’s family and Ariel already declined- they had other plans, but the others will probably be there. Cyclone knows about all this, so she probably knows better than anyone else just what we’ll be in for.”

“She didn’t know she was under the King’s control the entire time she was active as Cyclone.”

“But she does now,” Clark pressed, “I don’t know how many of the others are going to come, but I am. You’re invited too. And together, we’ll be able to make a better decision on what to do,” Clark said, “Okay?”

Bruce found himself relaxing, to his own surprise. Clark sounded so sure. Bruce had spent most of the last few months feeling a near-constant ebb of dread in the background. Worry. Paranoia. Part of it was being in the presence of murderous ninjas day-in and day-out for several weeks, but most of it was the fear of the King of Earth. The threat seemed too big. Bigger, in some ways, than the problem of Gotham. This was a problem for the whole world.

But Clark wasn’t worried. And that was… infectious, a little bit. Bruce found himself feeling genuinely hopeful for the first time in a while.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bruce said, “...I won’t be going openly. But I’ll be there.”

“Batman,” Clark began, “Not to insult your new skills, but do you think that none of the All-Star Squad will notice a ninja sneaking around?”

Bruce smiled, “I said I wouldn’t be going there openly. Batman won’t be attending. Bruce Wayne will.”

Clark smiled back, and moved to jump onto the bed next to Bruce, “And why would Bruce Wayne, who isn’t a superhero at all, be at the All-Star Squad’s annual meet-up?”

“Ninja Murasaki and Son Gohan weren’t the first teachers I’ve had. Let me make a few calls, I’ll be there.”

Clark suddenly tensed up, jumped from the bed and began to push Bruce towards the window, before stopping, “Wait, do you have someplace to stay in town?”

“I have a new Batmobile and-”

“I’m not going to make you sleep in your car on Christmas Eve, Bruce.”

“Batman.”

Martha Kent pushed the door open, a fluffy white robe wrapped around her body, “It is Christmas Eve. Clark, will you please keep it down, we…” she trailed off at the sight of her son trying to push a ninja out the open window. “Who is this?”

“...this is Batman,” Clark said, “Can he stay the night? I’ll get out the sleeping bags. He’d have to sleep in his car out in the cold, otherwise. On Christmas.”

Martha’s expression grew very unamused, very quickly, “Is this one the other billionaire? The one you trained with in Japan?”

Clark looked at him expectantly.

Bruce closed his eyes, didn’t sigh, and lifted the helmet from his head, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent. Merry Christmas.”

Martha shook her head, “Fine. Breakfast is at eight. We have sleeping bags, but we’ve got extra blankets and the couch is free if you’d prefer that. Please don’t stay up too late, you’ll scare off Santa.”

“We won’t, Ma.”

“We won’t, Mrs. Kent.”

“See that you don’t,” she said with a stiff nod, before walking off.

Bruce glanced at Clark, “So… do you believe in-” he began awkwardly.

“They’re getting me socks, a thick scarf, a bundle of new comics, and a telescope,” Clark said, only a little bit annoyed, “They tried the whole Santa thing when I was really little, but I could always smell that they were the ones who put the presents there.”

“Ah.” Bruce began, “My parents told me when I was seven… I set up booby traps near the tree to try and capture him. I rushed down the stairs and found Alfred trying to get my father untangled from the net. My mother was furious afterwards. More with them for telling me the truth than with me for nearly killing Dad.”

Clark smiled, “Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

Chapter 31: Secret Identities 6

Chapter Text

Clark dropped down from the Nimbus, landing softly on the sidewalk in front of the old brownstone in the heart of Civic City, Pennsylvania. A number of cars were already parked outside, and Clark could hear music and people laughing and chatting inside even without his powers. He had considered flying here under his own power, but considering it was the middle of a city, and he didn’t want to stuff metal into his ears, he decided to come with his glasses under his helmet.

“Okay Nimbus,” he said to the cloud, reaching over to rest a hand on it, “Do you want to come inside, or should I call you when I’m ready to leave?” The Nimbus didn’t answer one way or the other, but when he let it go, he watched it fly up into the air and vanish into the distance. “Suit yourself,” Clark said, before walking up the stairs to the door and knocking.

A reed-thin old woman with short gray hair cracked it open, frowning down at him, “Museum’s closed. Can’t you read?” she tapped the CLOSED sign next to the door, “This is a private engagement, so beat it, squirt-” he rushed to pull out the letter Cyclone had sent him. The woman took it from him, glanced over it, and then blinked and leaned in closer, “-wait. Right! Almost forgot. You’re one of those kids who brought Firebrand and Cyclone back to life, right? They said some of you brats were probably coming. Come on in. Come on in. You’ll attract attention, dressed like that and hanging outside our door,” She smelled strongly of alcohol, cigarettes, and roses.

“I’m the first one to arrive then?” Clark asked.

“First one from your group, anyway. Some of us have been here for a few days, some of us probably won’t arrive until this evening.” As Clark walked in, she closed the door behind him and immediately began making her way through the old building towards the source of the music. It was dusty, the kind of dust that never really left. It sunk deep into the carpet and the walls. It seemed like it had been an ordinary apartment complex at one point, but now the lower levels had been converted into some kind of homemade museum. There were black-and-white photographs in frames covering most of the walls, with small plaques nailed underneath describing the scenes. There were newspaper clippings in frames as well, and full-sized posters. Propaganda and patriotic art.

All of it depicted the All-Star Squad in their prime.

The Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, Doctor Fate, the Flash, Hawkman, Hawkgirl, Cyclone, Atom, Firebrand, Black Canary, Sandman, Wildcat, Liberty Belle, Thorn, Doctor Mid-Nite, Tarantula, Hourman, Guardian, Phantom Lady, Shining Knight…

They were what everyone thought of when you said superhero. They had comic books made about them when they were active, to keep up morale, to advertise war bonds, to encourage recruitment. They appeared in movies and cartoons. Larger than life figures, who were still, somehow, real. They were the home guard, the Allies’ final and greatest defense. They saved the President from a giant monster. They single-handedly stopped three potential invasions led by foreign supervillains. Nearly everyone agreed that if it wasn’t for the power nullifier Parsifal that kept the All-Star Squad from entering Axis-controlled land, they could have ended the second World War in a week.

Cyclone and Firebrand had been members, although it was hard to recognize them in the pictures he walked past, considering they were almost fifty years older than they were in most of the pictures.

“Hey! Are you coming or not?” the old woman asked, and Clark realized he had been staring at the photos for too long.

“Sorry.”

“The party’s just once a year, you can come to the museum whenever,” she shot back, “Come on, a lot of people want to thank you,” she frowned and stopped, looking back at Clark seriously, “Including me. A lot of us were worried about them. We had no idea what happened, or why, or who. Their families didn’t know. We thought it was just… going to be a mystery. Forever. And then they’re back, along with maybe a million other people. So thanks.”

“Um. You’re welcome. It wasn’t just me, but… you’re welcome.” Clark found himself blushing, “If you don’t mind, how do you know Cyclone and Firebrand?”

“Hm? Oh, I fought alongside them. I’m Thorn,” she said, reaching into a pocket and plucking out a tiny vial of brown seeds. She tapped the bottle lightly against her other hand, and Clark watched as it blossomed into a small rosebush around her hand. She dropped the whole thing into a garbage can they passed, and put the vial back into her palm.

“Oh! It’s good to meet you, Thorn.”

“I’m not wearing a mask right now, so you can just call me Kate.”

“Right,” Clark said, “Secret identities. I’m trying to be better about that.”

She nodded, before moving into a large central room, and Clark looked around and saw a lot of people milling about. He supposed most of the guests were friends or family of the All-Star Squad, invited along like he was. Among the crowd, he spotted the distinctive black costume of Wildcat- the only person who arrived in costume it seemed -and hanging nearby him, his eyes immediately zeroed in on Bruce Wayne, who gave him a small nod as soon as he entered, before turning to focus on what his mentor was saying.

“Everybody!” Kate suddenly said, picking up a wine glass and spoon from a nearby table and tapping them together, creating a ringing sound that quieted the susurrus. After a moment, even the music stopped. Clark found all eyes on him, and he fidgeted a little, his tail brushing up against his cape and pulling it a bit closer to his body. “This is Superboy. He’s one of the kids that fought the Red Ribbon Army, and rescued our very own Abby and Danny! Everybody give ‘im a round of applause.”

Clark was glad for the mask hiding his blush and the glasses suppressing his super-hearing as the crowd practically exploded into clapping.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kate said after a moment, “Continue what you were doing.”

There was a bit of laughter, but the music started again, and the party seemed to go back into motion. “Are you going to do that for each of my friends that shows up?” Clark asked.

Kate smiled, “Maybe. Anyhow, I guess I should do introductions,” she jerked her head to where a few other old people are talking animatedly, and started making her way toward them, “Yukio!” she demanded.

One of the old men stood up straighter at that, a wrinkly Japanese man with gray hair and thick square glasses like Clark’s own. “Yes, Kate?” the old man said, smiling a little nervously, before glancing down at Clark and smiling a bit wider, “Ah, you’d like me to meet Superboy. Excellent work, handling the Red Ribbon Army young man. I heard you helped bring in Grundy afterwards too, and I know that monster doesn’t go down easily.”

“Thank you,” Clark said again, “Er, you are?”

“Oh! I’m Kate’s husband, Yukio Kyuumonji,” he said. Kate elbowed him a little, “Ah, I’m also the Green Lantern.”

Clark took a step back, his eyes going wider. “It’s an honor to meet you!” he said, standing a little straighter.

“Please, it’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re the greatest superhero on Earth!”

Yukio’s smile grew a little more fragile, “Er, well, that’s very kind of you to say,” he adjusted his tie slightly.

A familiar scent breezed past Clark’s nose, and he looked away from one of his idols to the woman approaching. Cyclone smiled wide at all of them, “He’s not wrong, Yukio,” she said, “I would have never put that pot on my head and tried punching out mobsters if my kids hadn’t told me all about the amazing Green Lantern cleaning up the streets of Gotham.”

“Abbigail, you made it,” the old man greeted. He held out his hand for a shake, only to let out an ‘oof’ as she grabbed it and used it to pull him into a hug instead. Cyclone mercifully released him, and then reached over to pull Kate into a hug instead. More hugs followed as it became clear around the room that Cyclone had arrived, and Clark realized with growing awe that he could recognize more and more of the people Cyclone pulled into her arms.

That old woman with the big poofy hair was the original Black Canary, the same woman whose portrait he had seen in the hall of champions at Metabrawl. The lanky long-haired man with the big white mustache and the dark sunglasses was almost certainly the Flash. He almost didn’t recognize Hawkman and Hawkgirl when they moved in to greet her, but their dense, muscular builds, and the way they stood next to each other, not to mention the way they smelled like feathers, informed him of just who they were. Cyclone gleefully greeted them as Zarid and Sachie, and asked about their son, and whether he would be joining them this year, to which they replied in the negative. As soon as he heard the name, Clark realized he had seen the Hawkman’s bare face before as well. Just like Black Canary, Hawkman had been a former champion of Metabrawl, although the picture was from when he was a young man.

The black-suited Wildcat was next, ‘introducing’ Cyclone to Bruce Wayne at the same time. “I taught this rich kid how to throw a punch like he meant it,” the bizarrely muscular old man dressed as a panther said proudly, clapping Bruce on the back, “Now he’s almost as good as I am, if you can believe it.”

“Almost?” Bruce asked sarcastically, smiling in a way that was unlike him, but seemed genuine, when facing his old mentor.

Cyclone smirked, “Well, it’s good to meet any friend of Ted’s.”

Clark realized with a start that, with the exception of Firebrand and her husband, Shining Knight, every surviving member of the All-Star Squad was in front of him.

And… they didn’t seem so invincible, complaining about creaking joints and reminiscing about better days.

Chapter 32: Secret Identities 7

Chapter Text

Clark was never sure what to do at parties. The Kent family was small, and so the parties he had grown up with were almost always small. No cousins, no nieces and nephews. His Pa had a brother, Harry, but he had fallen into a thresher before Pa and Ma even met. The lesson there, his Pa said, was that you had to be careful around farm equipment. Even if it was stuff you were familiar with, you always had to pay attention. They saw Harry’s wife, Aunt Sarah, occasionally, but she never really approved of Clark’s adoption. She thought Ma and Pa were too old to raise a kid, and that had kind of soured the whole idea of family get-togethers.

But occasionally his parents were invited to a party with other farmers, or there’d be a big thing in town, and he’d be brought along and left to his own devices. If there was Pete and Lana, well, he was set. But if they weren’t there, and there were other kids, he’d hang around them, but even then, Clark had trouble making friends easily. He was too mature for kids who looked his age, and looked too young for kids his own age. If they were playing games, Clark would have to hold back and be cautious the whole time, because even before his tail grew back, he was far stronger than anyone else he encountered.

He found himself hovering near the edge of the room, near the tables with all the snacks while he waited for the chance to get himself some privacy with Bruce and Cyclone.

Clark found himself watching the adults mingle and catch up. The families and acquaintances of long-dead Squaddies had been invited, and knew each other well. The children of Squad members and their own families stuck close to each other, and there weren’t many grandchildren, or at least, none of whom were close to his age or his apparent age- until he realized that one of the white-haired men next to the Flash was a lot younger than he seemed, moving with an ease and relaxation that few of the seniors nearby could. He had the same silky white hair the Flash had, and was wearing the same kind of sunglasses, but he had none of the wrinkles or brittleness that his counterpart did.

As Clark was looking at him, the younger man- or rather, the teenager, found himself staring back at Clark, and in the breadth of one blink and the next, he was standing next to Clark, a blur in the air and a sudden light breeze the only mark of his passage.

“Hello,” he greeted, smiling.

“Hi,” Clark managed, caught off guard.

“Not many kids go to these things,” the teen said, echoing Clark’s own thoughts, “It’s because of the whole secret identity thing. Like, how are you going to expect some twelve-year-old to not tell everyone at school they met Green Lantern, you know?”

Clark nodded, “I think I get what you mean. Um, my name’s Superboy. You?”

“Kid Flash,” the boy said with a smile, “Hero of Keystone City.”

“Oh wow,” Clark said, “I think I’ve heard of you before. So the Flash, over there he’s-”

“My grandpa.”

“The same metahuman power ran in the family?” Clark asked.

“Does yours?”

Clark nodded.

“Then yeah,” Kid Flash answered, lifting up his sunglasses and looking at Clark with eerie golden eyes, “You don’t have to worry about the helmet, you know. Nobody here will tell. The community around the Squaddies is tight.”

“I can see that,” Clark acknowledged, “But it’s kind of for my own benefit. My senses are really good, and the helmet can help with that.”

Kid Flash smiled softly, nodding as he let his sunglasses drop again, “I know what you mean. My Grandpa and I have really sensitive eyes. Let us actually perceive things normally when we’re running around fast as bullets. But when we’re standing still like this, I’m still noticing things at superspeed. The shades help cut down on the amount of information we’re absorbing. It makes dealing with the headaches easier.”

Clark nodded, feeling his shoulders relax, “I know exactly what you’re talking about. When my powers started really coming in, it felt like I was getting bombarded from every direction with so many lights and sounds. My eyes were bad, but my ears were so much worse.”

Kid Flash nodded in sympathy, “Want me to show you around?”

“Sure,” Clark said. He followed Kid Flash towards the hall, but made sure to flash a smile Bruce’s way so that the man wouldn’t worry. Bruce looked relaxed, and it was obvious the man trusted Wildcat at least with his life, but he was still radiating caution with his Ki. The All-Star Squad all had extensive interactions with the King, and Bruce couldn’t help but worry. Bruce gave a small nod, acknowledging Clark’s signal of being okay, and Clark followed the young man into the rest of the old dusty mansion.

Kid Flash led him through more hallways full of photographs, towards a larger room filled with glass boxes. Inside each one was a mannequin dressed in one of the classic uniforms of the All-Star Squad. Kid Flash paused in front of the Flash’s, staring up at the dummy wearing the bright red outfit and the winged cap.

Clark found his attention pulled towards Cyclone’s old uniform instead. A bulky metal helmet that had clearly once been a cooking pot with eye holes cut into it. A long black cape, a heavy yellow shirt, green shorts, and a fully body-covering red stocking were stretched over a set of handmade armor. This was what she used at the very start, going out in nothing but her pots and pans and her metahuman mildly enhanced strength, and fighting gangsters head-on. By the time she was invited to the All-Star Squad, however, she had long since switched over to actual power armor developed for her by Doctor Mid-Nite, the precursor of the armor used by the King’s Guard today.

Kid Flash noticed, and smiled at him, walking over, “Thanks, for helping them. A lot of us kind of thought Abby went and… I don’t know, committed suicide by supervillain. We thought we knew what had happened to Danny, she had her fire-control gloves, she went into a blazing factory- a Red Ribbon factory, trying to help the firefighters, then there was an explosion. Nobody was really surprised when a body never turned up. Instead both of them were kidnapped by those monsters.” Kid Flash’s expression hardened, “They both said they- they were experimented on. But they didn’t want to give details.”

“...Red Ribbon made them into cyborgs, and tried to use them as weapons. Erased their memories,” Clark said, looking up at the costume, “But even without her memories, even with the Red Ribbon all she knew, she risked her life to help me against the Red Ribbon Army when she saw the chance.”

“You were a kid,” Kid Flash said, “Cyclone did everything for the kids. She put on the costume for her own kids, she began fighting gangsters to protect New York’s kids, and when the war rolled around she joined the Squad to protect all the kids in the world.”

The doorbell rang, and Clark smelled someone familiar through the doorway.

A smile split across his face as he hurried back towards the hall, finding Thorn leading in a few more of his friends. “Bulma!” he shouted, bouncing over to her and pulling her into a hug.

“You got here ahead of us, huh? How’re the glasses treating you?”

“Still working fine,” he assured, before looking at the others, “Eel, Vic, how’re you doing?”

“Just peachy, Bud,” Eel replied, squeezing between the two of them by practically liquefying and reforming next to Kate, who watched the whole process with growing disgust, “Meet any superheroes yet?”

“I think I met all the superheroes,” Clark said, “This is Thorn,” he said, gesturing to the older woman.

“The plant lady?” Vic asked.

Kate sighed, “Yep. The plant lady. And you’re that kid who got the same raw deal as Abby and Danny, huh?”

Vic glanced down at his mechanical arm. The artificial skin helped him deal with a lot of the dysphoria that had been haunting him for the past few years now, but it wasn’t perfect. For one thing, he still glowed when his engine ramped up, and it was just as tied to his emotions as ever. Even now, soft cyan-blue tron lines were glowing under the skin, and the seams where his hand could come apart to reveal his cannon were noticeable. “Yeah.”

“Accordin’ to them, that makes you family now,” she said, grinning wryly, “They haven’t stopped bragging about all of you brats since they came back to life.”

Vic smiled a bit, and they were about to keep moving to the main party when the doorbell rang again, and Thorn sighed, “Who could it be now? Danny and Justin aren’t coming this year. And this is all of your group, right?” she asked.

Bulma nodded, “This is just about everyone. Ariel’s family and Billy’s said they can’t come, so that’d just leave-”

Kate opened the door and found herself staring down at a bearded sunglasses-wearing old man in a tuxedo, with a heavy stone turtle shell on his back. Next to him was Yamcha and Launch, both of whom were dressed in similar styles, highly formal… with a heavy turtle shell hanging on their back on two straps like a backpack.

“The life of the party has arrived~!” the Turtle Hermit proudly declared, “Now you can-”

“YAMCHA!” Bulma squealed, throwing herself down the hall and crashing into the young man, toppling them both backwards and down the stairs of the old brownstone.

The Turtle Hermit watched as his apprentice blushed furiously as his girlfriend practically burrowed into him, complaining about it being too long, and let out a deep sigh, “Ah, youth,” he muttered, before smiling at Kate, “As I was saying, now you can bring out the All-Star Squad!” he spun his wooden staff around over his head, before bringing it down with a resounding CLACK, “Because the evil forces of Turtle School are here to rumble!” He reached into his coat and pulled out his letter, “As invited.”

Kate groaned, “Who invited you weirdos?” she asked, snatching it from him and glaring at it, “...Lanfan, of course she would. Ugh. Fine, but don’t make trouble. Everyone get inside, we don’t want any actual villains showing up.”

Chapter 33: Secret Identities 8

Chapter Text

There was another round of introductions, and another set of applause as Kate introduced the rest of their group. But as things relaxed, Yamcha and Bulma excitedly caught each other up on everything that had happened since Yamcha left to go train, the two practically joined at the hip as they made their way across the floor. Clark only caught a bit of it- Bulma made some kind of big breakthrough about Ki by shrinking small enough to see some process or another first-hand, while Yamcha apparently drank soup made from a magic plant, was struck by lightning, and got super-speed, something that intrigued Bulma and had her asking questions rapid-fire.

Clark was more than a little concerned by that, but… Yamcha seemed more excited about it than worried, so Clark accepted it as a good thing, for now. Clark could also feel, even across the room, just how much Yamcha had grown over the last few months, radiating Ki almost as much as Bruce was.

Yamcha’s situation distracted Bulma enough that when she caught a glimpse of Bruce across the room, she didn’t immediately rush off to shout at the man. Clark saw his chance, and hurried over as subtly as he could.

“You… might want to go to the bathroom or something,” Clark warned Bruce, “At least until you know what you want to tell her. Actually, what do you want me to tell her?”

“...I trust your judgment,” Bruce said after a moment, before stepping back and vanishing into the throng of the crowd. Clark saw him again a moment later, back at his mentor’s side, and the two made their way out of the room.

Clark sighed, and moved towards the couple, as both had clearly seen him talking with Bruce. As he got closer, he readied himself, and still flinched when Bulma hissed, “Was that Bruce!? He’s got some nerve, showing up to a party without telling anyone anything or even saying hi!”

“He saw me before the party,” Clark whispered, “On Christmas. The talk with the King of Earth went really badly. Turns out he has mind control powers. Bruce is immune, but it still really freaked him out. He’s been worried ever since about the King coming after him, so he’s been avoiding us and training to be stealthy in order to keep the target off our backs. Oh! And he’s trying to pretend that Bruce Wayne isn’t part of our group of superheroes. Bruce and Batman are separate. That’s very important.”

Bulma frowned, “I knew it!” she hissed.

Yamcha looked between the two of them, his eyes getting wider, “Nevermind, apparently I’m not the one who's had the craziest fall. What? You knew it?” he asked Bulma, bewildered.

“Well,” she said, “Kind of. I assumed some kind of magical effect was making people more inclined to listen to the King of the World. It was one of the few consistent legends about the Dragon Balls, and I’ve researched every Dragon Ball legend I could get a hold of.”

“Right! You told me about that theory,” Yamcha said, nodding, “Back when we were waiting for Clark to heal in Doctor Sivana’s fortress. But with everything else that was going on I haven’t thought about it in more than a year. But still. That’s…” Yamcha said, shaking himself, “After the party, we should all get together and decide what to do about that, I guess.”

Bulma frowned, “Why should we do anything? King Furry’s a good guy.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul thought that about him too,” Yamcha said, only half-sarcastically.

Bulma pouted at him, and Yamcha held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. She huffed and looked back at Clark, “All I’m saying is, he’s made good decisions, and helped the world. We shouldn’t go after someone just because they have dangerous powers.”

“We went after Bacterian because he had dangerous powers,” Clark said.

“Bacterian was using his powers to rob banks, King Furry’s not hurting anybody.”

“He hurt Bruce,” Clark said back, “He’s terrified. He was the reason why Alfred was so cagey around us too. He literally couldn’t answer any of our questions.” Yamcha went still at that, and both Bulma and Clark eyed him, “Yamcha?”

“You heard about how I drank a potion made with a magical plant?” Yamcha began.

“And then you were struck by lightning?” Clark asked, “Which- by the way, are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine. But that’s not important. Clark, Bulma, ask me where I found the plant. Ask me what I did to get it.”

The two shared a look, suddenly nervous. Bulma asked first, “Where did you find it?”

Yamcha took a breath, tried to speak- and didn’t. He shrugged.

“Can you remember?”

“Yep.”

“But you can’t tell us,” Bulma probed.

Yamcha shook his head.

“Was the King involved?” Clark asked.

“Not at all,” Yamcha replied.

“What did you do to get the plant?” Clark continued. Yamcha couldn’t say anything. “Was it something… bad? Did you have to do something you didn’t want to?” Yamcha couldn’t say anything. “What’s the most you can say about it?”

“...Promises are hard to break in Terror Forest.”

“Where the hell is that?” Bulma demanded.

“Somewhere in Africa,” Yamcha replied, “And it’s not worth investigating, either. At least not in my case. I know who did this to me, and why, and I agreed to it. And having experienced it… it’s not that bad. But I know just how bad it could get. I understand why Bruce is scared, especially if he can only see it from the outside, happening to someone he loves.”

“...Now I’m worried about you.” Bulma promised, “Are you sure you’re okay? And if you have to say yes, give me some sign.”

“I’m fine, but just imagine how bad this would be if it was someone doing it to your Dad,” Yamcha said.

“That’s a low blow,” Bulma said, “But… I get what you’re saying. So what now? Does Bruce want us to overthrow the United Nations over this? Because I’m not going that far.”

“We’re not letting it stand, and we’re not conquering Earth,” Clark said, “We need a third option. Bruce and I were going to talk to Cyclone about it here at the party. She’s worked with the King a long time, and she knows just as much about the situation as Bruce does now, and we figured she might have an idea.”

Bulma nodded along, “My first thought is that if the Dragon Balls caused it, the Dragon Balls could undo it.” She brightened up, “Maybe we could do something more general, like ‘make all sentient beings immune to mind control’ or something? That’d free Yamcha at the same time!”

“I dunno about that. Where does mind control start and telepathy end?” Yamcha asked.

“Who cares?” Bulma asked, “Do you know any telepaths besides the ones who messed with you?” Yamcha was unable to answer, which was answer enough.

“What about God?” Clark said.

“You mean the Dragon Ball’s creator? Right, that could actually be a problem. If it inconveniences the Dragon’s boss, or Dad, or whatever, he might not be willing to grant a wish like that,” Bulma shrugged, “Anyway, Shenron does his best, right? He should know the difference between mind control and just… telepathy.” She said, eyeing Yamcha.

“Oh, yeah,” Clark said, “The King is going to be after the Dragon Balls. That’s the other thing Bruce was worried about. The King said that if we worked for him as the next All-Star Squad, we’ll be allowed to use them, but if we don’t, he’s going to try and destroy the Dragon Balls.”

Bulma sighed, “Then we're on a time limit.”

“There’s nothing for it until the Dragon Balls become active again,” Yamcha said, “For now, why don’t we try to just enjoy the party, and talk to Cyclone about options afterwards?”

“Sounds good, for now,” Bulma agreed, leaning against him.

“Sounds good,” Clark repeated.

“YAMCHA!” shouted the Turtle Hermit from across the room, making all three suddenly startle, “GET OVER HERE, IT’S TIME FOR SHOWING OFF!”

Chapter 34: Secret Identities 9

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this Ted?” Bruce asked as he watched his mentor, a man who was almost seventy years old, beat on a sandbag, warming himself up for the big match.

“Course I’m sure, Bruce!” the man said, grinning in his costume. The fake cat snout of his mask making his smile seem even wider and even more predatory, “It’s not every day you have the chance to go up against a legend. I’m not turning down a spar with the Heavenly Old Master himself.” He punched forwards, a practically perfect punch, one that Bruce had drilled over and over, trying to mimic. The sandbag quaked from the force. The old man didn’t shake in the slightest. Wildcat turned towards Bruce and sauntered over, slapping a hand against his back, “So, why don’t you tell me what’s really worrying you.”

“Ted-”

“I’m good at reading people, Bruce. You should know that better than anyone. You’re smiling way too much.”

“I smile.”

“You do , is the thing, you do smile Bruce, even if you try to make it seem like you don’t. But you only smile when something’s cheering you up.” He poked him in the chest, “When you smile, it doesn’t look like what you’ve been doing at the party. That face is your gala face, or your charity ball face. There’s nobody you have to impress here, Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t sigh, but let himself relax. Paradoxically, it meant that he let himself get as tense as he wanted to be, no longer needing to suppress his own unease.

“There you go,” Ted said approvingly, “So what’s up? Is it that blue-haired girl? I saw her glaring a storm at you.”

“That was Bulma Brief.”

“Ah! One of the only kids in the world richer than you. What’d you do to tick her off?”

“We were going to discuss things. A medical use for her research. And then I dropped off the face of the Earth for a few months.”

“Hah! That’d do it. So, research? Like, capsule size-change stuff? I heard she turned into a giant when they fought the Red Ribbon. Guess I can see the medical use in stuff like that, like… what, tiny doctors going inside people in submarines? Like that movie !”

“It’s a possibility that was brought up,” Bruce acknowledged, “But it’s more to do with her research into magic, and into Ki.”

“Oh,” Ted frowned at that, “Yeah, weird stuff there, magic. I worked alongside Doctor Fate for years, but I never got the hang of him. May he rest in peace.” Doctor Fate, as one of the older All-Star Squad, retired from superheroing completely a few years back, and died a few months ago.

“Was he hard to get along with?” Bruce asked.

“What, no, no, not like that. I mean that magical stuff. He acted completely different with the helmet on than without it, claimed it was possessed. Most of the time, you look at him and you can assume he’s just your ordinary Metahuman, some weird powers, a weird costume, takes himself too seriously. It’s what we told everyone, anyway. What all the comics and movies said. And then he does some weird crap.”

“For example?”

“Like once, I got shot. Now Doctor Fate, he could do a little healing, chants some crap, invokes… uh, whatsername, Sekhmet, one of the ancient Kahndaq catgirls, and the bullet pops right out. But then he tells me that he won’t always be around to deal with it fast enough, if I keep being a reckless little brat. Asks if I’d like insurance. I tell him, sure, why not. He asks me if I’m super-attached to the christianity thing, I tell him, like the rebellious little sh*t I was, nah. Then we get all glowy, I conk out, have a trippy dream about lions, and when I wake up he tells me I’ve got nine lives now, smug as anything.”

“And do you?” Bruce asked.

Wildcat grinned, “I’m down to six, now.”

Bruce was about to say something more, but the door slid open and few more of the All-Star Squad members walked into the gym, now out of their party clothes, and back in their preferred uniforms. Bruce watched as Cyclone in particular kept adjusting her outfit, the heavy green and yellow armor she was wearing something she hadn’t worn in a while.

While the All-Star Squad technically still existed as an organization, and still came together to handle big enough threats and emergencies… It was rare these days to see them all together. Most of them stuck to their hometowns and handled street crime, keeping the peace like one-man police forces. It was something Bruce admired. Something he aspired to.

The elderly Flash looked a little silly in his bright red lightning-patterned spandex, but managed to make the Hermes helmet work, in Bruce’s opinion. Thorn and Black Canary were teasing each other about the other’s own costume, both designed to ‘increase morale’ by showing off legs that had, admittedly, looked nicer forty years ago. Black Canary was dressed all in black and blues, a pilot’s jacket over her shoulders, while Thorn was dressed mainly in deep greens, with a rose-red chestplate protecting her torso and an emerald green cape hanging from her shoulders.

Then, the three powerhouses of the All-Star Squad walked in.

The tall bronze-skinned Hawkman, and his short pale-skinned wife came in wearing golden hawk helmets over their faces and huge, heavy wings on their backs, held in place by the shining silver harnesses wrapped over their chests. But neither of them seemed to notice the weight as they casually walked out, not hampered in the least. At Hawkman’s hip was a heavy silver mace hooked by a loop at the end to a hook on his belt. At Hawkgirl’s was a sword with a bejeweled sheath on one side and a large, single jewel-studded shuriken on the other. The husband’s wings were a dark stormy gray, while his wife’s were a rich honey brown. Both of them had heavy armored boots of the same shining silver steel as their harnesses and weapons. Hawkman moved with careful, focused movements, his arms clasped behind his back, just under where the wing harness was pulled over his purple shirt. Hawkgirl on the other hand was full of bouncy, cheerful, motion, almost dancing and swaying as she stepped alongside her husband, her wings moving in eerily natural movements, reflecting her emotions as she moved.

Then came Yukio Kyuumonji, the Green Lantern. He wore a simple red shirt, simple green work pants, and a standard black domino mask in place of his big square glasses. One that covered much of his face, and back in the forties, hid enough of his ethnicity that the United States was willing to use him as a symbol of propaganda despite the war with Japan. Him revealing his status as the son of Japanese immigrants had done a lot of good for Japanese Americans, and stopped an attempt at confining Japanese Americans to internment camps back in 1942. Trailing behind him was a very impressive black cape, the inspiration for Bruce’s own, and in one finger, there glowed a shining piece of jade-

Which Bruce recognized instantly, now that he was looking at it in person, rather than through a photo.

He had used a similar piece of jade once, to throw his first successful Ki blast, and had almost died as a result. Curious. It was glowing a deep and eerie green, and Bruce watched as solid light poured from it, wrapping around Yukio’s body and lifting him into the air, until he settled down into the ring next to Wildcat and Bruce.

“You ready Ted?” Yukio asked, his voice no longer sounding nervous or strained at all, and instead holding a deep, almost echoing tone. Bruce could barely recognize him as the same man as before, “This is mainly a favor for you , you know.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not gonna love letting loose a little against someone who can really take it!” Ted accused back.

Yukio smiled a bit, before glancing Bruce’s way, “Why don’t you take a seat in the stands, son? The rest of the guests are going to start filing in soon.”

“Right,” Bruce said, giving a nod to Wildcat, and then to Cyclone, before jumping out of the reinforced boxing ring and moving to the stands. As he took a seat, he glanced upwards as the lights flickered overhead. But after a moment, they seemed to return to normal, and he instead turned his attention back on the superheroes preparing for a friendly spar, unaware that now, something else was watching them too.

Chapter 35: Secret Identities 10

Chapter Text

The other party guests filed in one by one, filling the stands around the ring in the center of the gym. Bruce said nothing as Bulma dropped herself into a seat one over from his own. “Well?” she asked.

“How much did Clark tell you?”

“Everything.”

“Then you know why I acted as I did.”

“That’s not an apology, Bruce,” she growled. Eel dropped into the seat next to her’s, and smiled wide at both of them.

“You know what happened to Bruce?” Eel asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Clark said as he moved to sit on the other side of him, followed by Vic, whose seat creaked a little under his weight.

“Right now,” Vic said, “We have a once-in-a-lifetime show that we’re going to be paying attention to,” he warned, putting a finger against his lips.

Clark mimed zipping his own mouth shut, while Eel didn’t bother miming and formed a zipper, closing his own mouth. A few of the guests nearby shifted a little further away at the display.

Bulma shot one last glare at Bruce as the lights above suddenly shut off, and only the lights over the ring came back on, making the white arena almost glow. There was a blur, and then Kid Flash was standing there, dressed as a referee, a whistle in one hand, “Friends, family, honored guests,” he began, “Thank you all for coming here today to celebrate the All-Star Squad. Night has fallen, and it’ll be time to all go home soon, but before we do, there’s going to be one last event: Thanks to the lovely Dinah Lanfan-” he gestured and one of the lights illuminating the arena peeled away to turn its gaze on the fluffy-haired blonde sitting in the audience, who gave a little wave, “-we have a special guest with us today she met at the Metabrawl. A legend in the world of martial arts, a multi-time champion of the Metabrawl, the sensei of the Turtle School and a powerful Metahuman, I present to you… the Heavenly Old Master, the Turtle Hermit!”

Kid Flash stepped aside, and Clark, Eel, Vic, and Bulma all suppressed a groan as the Turtle Hermit flung himself into the arena dressed like a heel wrestler, all in black with scary makeup on. “Oh no you don’t!” the Turtle Hermit declared, “Who you’re facing is the nefarious Genbu the Shadow Warrior! A villain who not even the All-Star Squad can defeat!”

The audience wasn’t sure what to make of this.

Kid Flash gave an awkward grin, “That, uh, wasn’t what we had planned, Heavenly Old Master,” he said quietly.

“Ugh, fine.” He hopped out of the ring, left, and then came back a few seconds later dressed in his tuxedo again, his beard and mustache wet from where he wiped off his makeup.

“That… seems a little hard to move around in, Heavenly Old Master.”

“So does a turtle shell. But these were my only other clothes. Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

Kid Flash shrugged, “Okay, if you say so. And… along with him, are his two students.”

Yamcha and Launch climbed into the ring as well, and waved nervously at the audience. Both of them seemed a bit disheveled, but seemed relieved to be wearing the scarlet of the Turtle School rather than whatever heel costumes the Turtle Hermit had been trying to get them to wear.

“Facing them, is the full force of the All-Star Squad!” Kid Flash said, and then the audience began to get a bit more active as a light flew to one door and illuminated it as each of the elderly superheroes walked in.

“This will be a friendly spar, following tag-team rules. Only two people will be allowed into the ring at a time, and each must tag the other to be let in. Powers are allowed, of course, but nothing that will harm the audience, and nothing that will cause permanent damage to your opponents. Being pinned, surrendering, or being forcibly removed from the arena will result in the elimination of a fighter. Also, as the ref, if I whistle, everyone stops, got it?” Kid Flash shouted to both groups. He received a chorus of nods.

In his seat, Clark itched to join in, “Do you think the Turtle Hermit wants any help?” he asked, “They’re a little outnumbered.”

“Let’s not start a fight with the All-Star Squad, please,” Bulma said from her seat next to him.

Kid Flash gestured towards the All-Star Squad, “Then without further ado- let the fighting begin!”

Ted Grant, the Wildcat, laughed wildly as he threw himself into the ring and landed in a roll, “I’ve been itching to fight you directly for years, Turtle Hermit, so give me a good fight!” He reared back with one fist, and then swung, in a perfect punch, right for the Turtle Hermit’s skull.

The old man did a short hop, and landed on top of the other man’s outstretched fist on a single foot, his other leg arching up in preparation for a kick.

“Uh oh.” Wildcat managed, before being sent sailing backwards from the cartwheel kick to the jaw. The Turtle Hermit landed gracefully back on the mat, and watched as Wildcat just barely managed to stay in the ring by grabbing the ropes before he could be thrown clear. He pulled himself back into the ring, and then threw himself at the Old Master once again. The Hermit effortlessly dodged or stepped around each carefully-thrown blow, until Wildcat suddenly caught him off guard with an off-pattern kick-

That, the Turtle Hermit caught with his bare hand, rather than dodge.

The Turtle Hermit suddenly surged forwards, his grip on Wildcat’s foot iron, and began to push the younger man towards the edge of the arena, only to get another snap-kick sent from Wildcat’s other leg at his jaw, which the Hermit also had to catch.

Unfortunately, with a grip on both legs, Wildcat was only able to scrabble at the mat with his hands to keep from being pushed free of the ring. He was seemingly about to be pushed out completely when the man’s worried expression suddenly dropped like a discarded mask, a triumphant smile gracing his face instead. With a twitch, the claws built into his costume bared, digging into the mat beneath his fingers, and scratching at the Turtle Hermit’s hands holding his feet.

With his new leverage, he twisted his body, trying to fling the full weight of the Turtle Hermit, shell and all, up and over the ropes and out of the arena. The Hermit seemed to fall- but only for a moment before he hooked one foot between the ropes, and kicked back, stretching the elastic ropes of the ring at the same time as he arrested his fall backwards.

For a second, everything seemed to go still, until the Turtle Hermit bounced back into the ring, and let the ropes snap back and strike across Wildcat’s shocked face. The old man was flung back into the center of the arena, and the Turtle Hermit wasn’t far behind, finally going on the offensive. He lashed out with quick jabs and kicks, almost dancing, and it was Wildcat’s turn to desperately dodge, keeping his arms held up in front of his face to try and protect himself from anything that still hit.

After a few seconds, the Turtle Hermit stopped, and watched Wildcat, “You know, I’d be interested in teaching you,” the Hermit said, “You’ve got about as good a foundation as anyone could, but you haven’t quite pushed past human limits yet.”

“I’d be honored,” Wildcat said, “But you can’t teach an old cat new tricks.”

“Eh, you’re all still just youngsters to me, kid. How old are you?”

“Sixty-eight,” the man said, “And I’m one of the younger ones on my side of the ring, but you still can’t call me a kid.”

“Hah! I didn’t learn this move until I was in my seventies,” the Turtle Hermit replied, reaching to his side and cupping his hands. Soon, light began to gather there, and in the audience behind them, Clark tensed, feeling the depths of the well of life energy the Hermit was tapping, “Kame…”

Above, the lights flickered, unnoticed due to the lightshow going on in the ring, and something else sensed those same depths, and was intrigued.

Chapter 36: Secret Identities 11

Chapter Text

“...hame…” the Turtle Hermit continued, and Wildcat braced himself, only to spot one of his friends desperately reaching for him.

“Wildcat!” Green Lantern shouted, “Tag me in! Now!”

He reacted on instinct, and as soon as he so much as made contact with the other man’s hand, he was yanked out of the ring by a wave of sparkling green light, just as Yukio was sent flying in, a shield forming out of more green light pouring off of him.

“HA!” the Turtle Hermit shouted, unleashing a wave of blue light. It smashed into the kite shield Green Lantern put up, and strained against it. Cracks appeared in the shield, as if it were made of green bottle-glass, and slowly it began to cave in on itself. Green Lantern grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and a second shield formed behind the first, and when the first shield finally gave out and shattered, the second took the remaining dregs of the blast without so much as fracturing.

The Turtle Hermit’s grin spread wide, and he flung himself forwards in a blur. Standing at the side of the ring, the Flash and Kid Flash both gasped as the Turtle Hermit reappeared behind Green Lantern, already turning into a kick that was turned away by a third hastily-formed kite shield. The superhero pushed away the Hermit with the construct, and then spread out his hands. Both shields melted, becoming almost liquid, and came back together in the form of a giant glowing echo of Green Lantern's upper body. Green Lantern moved to punch, and his construct followed the movement, crashing down into the ring and hitting nothing as the Hermit jumped away.

The construct turned its head to follow him before Green Lantern could turn his own, and then morphed into glowing green liquid once again, taking on a new shape of a rampaging miniature steam engine, chasing after the Hermit on tracks that flowed out in front of it like water. The old man reacted quickly, hopping up into the air and landing on top of its snout, running down its back, and jumping to the edge of the ring.

There, he smiled, “You know, you didn’t have to be so worried, Lantern,” the Hermit chided, “That little Kamehameha earlier wouldn’t have hit the audience. I know how to pull my punches. But now that it’s you in the middle of the ring, well, I don’t have to hold back!” he ducked low again, and swelled as his muscles overflowed with Ki. His formerly wrinkled and thin form exploded out of his clothes as it became muscular, and even those who weren’t sensitive to Ki, who didn’t know what to look for, could feel the sudden weight in the air settling over everyone present.

Between the Hermit’s cupped hands, a sparkling, brilliantly shining supernova began to form.

“Wait!” Green Lantern called out, sending the train construct rumbling towards the man, only to wince as the Hermit casually shattered it with a full-power kick. In the audience, Clark had jumped to his feet, a wide smile spreading across his face. Back in the ring, Green Lantern whipped his head towards Kid Flash.

The young man was suddenly directly in front of the Turtle Hermit, illuminated in the shining blue glow, “This is a friendly match,” he said.

“I know,” the Hermit said confidently, “Nobody’s going to get hurt, Green Lantern can take it!” he turned to face the superhero, “Can’t you?”

Suddenly, the elderly Flash was at the edge of the arena, holding his arm out to his comrade, “Yukio,” he said, his voice level. It was an offer, but not a pressing one. Turtle Hermit watched as Green Lantern faltered, and the green glow around him dimmed… and then burst back even brighter as he grit his teeth and began to float.

“...No. I can do it,” he said confidently.

Flashes young and old zipped away, trusting them.

The Turtle Hermit barked out a laugh, and then threw his arms forward, letting out a solid column of flaring blue light. Green Lantern threw his arms out in the same way, and a column of burning green fire rushed out to meet the opposite beam.

They met in the center of the ring, and struggled, energy and green flame splashing up and down, burning into the material of the mat and rushing up at the lights above, which began to flicker even faster. Green Lantern glanced up, and in what seemed like a monumental effort, repositioned himself so that one hand would keep pointing at the Hermit, keep feeding the blaze, while the other reached to the side and sent out a wave of liquid green light. It splashed against the edges of the ring, and then spread, encasing the entire arena, the air above it, and even the space below it in a huge green bubble.

Cracks appeared immediately, but it held against the onslaught.

Finally, the Hermit seemed to deflate, his muscles and height disappearing as he returned to a near-skeletal old man with a shell hanging from his back, clad in the scraps of his tuxedo. He side-stepped the raging green inferno that had met his blast, and then watched as Green Lantern, panting with effort, let all his constructs fade.

Then, he slumped to the side of the arena, and held out his hand, “Anyone want to go next?” he asked, smiling.

The elder Flash was about to reach for the hand, prompting the Turtle Hermit to turn to Yamcha expectantly, raising a single eyebrow as he held out his own hand.

But before either fighter could tag in their own speedster, the lights above flickered faster and harder than before, until they finally gave out and exploded in a shower of sparks that rained down on the arena. Suddenly, the entire gym was doused in complete darkness, until a near-blinding flash crashed down from the destroyed lighting overhead and landed in the scorched center of the mat.

The light coalesced into a humanoid form; a tall woman with nearly chalk-white skin that faintly glowed in the dark of the gym. She had spiked neon-green hair, dressed in a black leotard with dark green boots and gloves. Over her chest was a bulky black chestplate with dozens and dozens of electrical cables dangling from it like tassels. In the middle of the chestplate was the high voltage warning symbol painted in reflective white. After a moment, she began to crackle with brilliant white electricity, arcs of it bouncing around her body and from one dangling cable to another.

“I think,” she said before the almost-silent room, “that I’ve seen enough.” She bared a brilliant white smile, and turned her gaze towards the Turtle Hermit, “You there, old man. You’re coming home with me.”

The Turtle Hermit leered right back, her image sparking and reflecting in his sunglasses, he glanced down, following a line from mostly-bare legs back up to her grinning face, “You won’t hear me complaining Miss! I’ll go with you anywhere… But I’ve got business here to take care of first, and I have a feeling these people don’t much care for party crashers.”

In the audience, the friends and family of the All-Star Squad began to murmur, “Is this part of the show?” “Is this another Turtle Student pretending to be a heel?” “Is this a real attack?”

Kid Flash leaned over to Yamcha and Launch, “Is she with you guys?”

Yamcha shook his head, “I’ve never seen her before.”

Launch frowned, “I think I recognize her, but I can’t place where…”

Green Lantern held out one hand, and green light began to pour off of him, once again illuminating the room as shining arrows pointed towards the doors, “Everyone, make your way calmly out of the gym. The All-Star get-together has…” he sighed, “Once again, been attacked by a supervillain.”

Chapter 37: Secret Identities 12

Chapter Text

“Hey!” the woman in the center of the ring protested, wheeling towards Green Lantern, “I resent that. I’m not a supervillain, in fact, this whole villain-hero dichotomy is meaningless. There’s no heroes or villains, there’s just the new society versus the old society,” she said, and across her body, all the dangling cables attached to her armor began to rise up, coming to life like a nest of snakes. Suddenly, they all pointed in one direction- at Green Lantern, and the air filled with the sudden smell of ozone as lightning lanced out in a deafening CRACK.

Green Lantern screamed out as he was flung from the arena, only to be caught by the surging growth of a huge rosebush erupting out of Thorn’s costume, “Yukio!” she cried out in alarm, “Are you alright? Oh god, your heart!”

The Flash was suddenly in front of the woman, fist already extended outwards, and she was flung backwards, her head violently snapping to the side from the force of the super-speed punch. For a moment, it looked like it had killed her- until her head turned to electricity, and reformed unharmed. She grasped her own jaw in concern and alarm, before glaring at the Flash and throwing out one arm- but he was already behind her before any of the cables could turn and aim the next bolt.

He blurred around her in a circle, punching her from every direction and bashing the woman around inside the vortex, until she let out a shriek and exploded into light just as she had when she made her appearance. Flash was knocked backwards, body shaking as electricity crackled through his frame.

“Grandpa!” Kid Flash called in concern, before he zipped into the ring. At the same time, the rest of the All-Star Squad surged into action, Launch and Yamcha pulled themselves up to the ring, and from the stands Clark,Vic and Lanfan leaped into action while Eel spread himself out in front of Bruce and Bulma on instinct, shielding them from any potential sparks.

Kid Flash was the first to reach her, but she seemed to have learned from his grandpa’s first strike, because she reversed what she did when she first entered the ring, and had her entire body transformed into nothing but crackling white lightning. Kid Flash passed through her as if she wasn’t there, but was electrified for his own efforts, going down in a twitching heap.

The ring was practically crowded with superheroes now, surrounding the being of crackling light, but none of them were sure of whether or not to make the first move, seeing the way both speedsters had gone down from just touching her. The younger newcomers looked to their elders to take the lead, but their own leader had gone down already, Green Lantern held protectively by his wife off to the side as he fought to remain conscious.

They had all only hesitated for a second.

But it was enough. Just like the woman’s body retained its humanoid shape in lightning form, so it seemed, had all the cables on her costume. Suddenly, dozens and dozens of tendrils of crackling light shot out in every direction from her, tagging everyone in reach and rapidly delivering shocks.

Some took it better than others. Clark jolted back on instinct, Vic went down as three of his limbs sparked. Yamcha was just barely stung by a cable before he quickly wrapped his legs in his own golden lightning to move back and drag Launch out of the way. Cyclone’s armor freaked out and sent her stumbling back and over the ropes. Black Canary, her daughter, and Wildcat were all left stunned as they took direct hits to the head by the cables, crumpling to the floor. The two Hawks, however, barely flinched as the cables struck at them. The couple powered through the pain and countered by drawing their shining silvery weapons and swinging at her. Unfortunately, as the flawless silver- Nth Metal, only Bruce realized from his position in the stands -hit electricity, the weapons shivered, and everything nearby was hit by a shockwave that, for a moment, made everyone weightless, before being sent crashing down again. Her attackers had been scattered from the shockwave, and it gave the lightning-woman a chance to try for her objective as she sent cables after the Hermit.

In response, the Turtle Hermit thrust out with one palm.

The cables slowed down until they froze in place as the Turtle Hermit’s green lightning wrapped around her body of white lightning, slowing her down until she was still. The perfectly still, completely electrified form of her body appeared almost like a glass sculpture of medusa filled with neon light.

With a moment to take a breath, the still-conscious heroes regrouped, forming a loose circle around their frozen enemy as the rest of the guests hurried out of the gym, leaving things to the heroes.

Bruce felt torn whether to leave with the crowd- to better preserve his identity, -or to stick around. In the end, Bulma wasn’t moving from her seat, and Eel wasn’t moving from her side, watching the ring cautiously. He chose to stand by them, and analyze the situation at hand.

Cyclone sighed, and looked at the Turtle Hermit, “How long can you hold her like this Heavenly Old Master?”

“Not forever,” he replied, “She’s actually moving really fast, being made of lightning and all,” he said, sweat starting to bead down his bald head from the effort, “But we’ve got a couple minutes. Maybe. How do you want to handle her when she comes out?”

“I’m not sure,” Cyclone said, “We could put together an insulated container, maybe? Did she get in here by following electrical lines?”

“Maybe we can just give her what she wants? I don’t think I’d mind going home with her.” The Turtle Hermit offered, only half-sarcastic.

“Master,” Yamcha said, shaking out the arm he had been stung by, “I really doubt she’s here for anything you’ll enjoy.”

“You don’t know what I enjoy or not,” the Hermit replied, “I invented the Thunder Shock Surprise, I can handle a little electric play.” He smiled, and then sighed when no one acknowledged the joke.

“You could contain her,” Bruce said suddenly, looking at Eel, “Plastic is an insulator, after all.”

Eel frowned, “I’m not literally plastic made of plastic, Brucie. Besides, isn’t lightning really hot? She’ll melt her way out of me in no time. Don’t you have something in your belt to magically solve this?” Bruce frowned, and then gestured at the black leather belt around his waist. “Darn. Left it in your other suit, huh?”

Bruce didn’t bother to acknowledge that with a response, instead turning towards Bulma, who was watching the lightning-woman with interest, “Maybe we could make a big battery? Something to store the electricity she’s making. Any charge she tried to produce could be sucked in rather than spat out.”

“I mean, she can turn into lightning. If we stick her in a battery, will that trap her or will that just make her stronger? Do we get a giant magnet down here to hold her down, or will that just supercharge her? Will spraying her with water make her short out or will she be able to escape through the hose? With tricky metahumans like this, it’s a toss-up whether anything obvious will work or backfire.” Cyclone replied.

“Don’t… bother,” came a groaned mutter from the edge of the ring, where the others watched Thorn lift her husband back up from the pillow of flowers she had made to catch him. He was still a little shaky looking, and his free hand was pressed worryingly against his chest, but in his right hand, the glowing jade ring was steadily pulsing with light, “We have a better option. Something electricity cannot pass through, right?” Emerald light flowed from the ring, and took form around the electric woman’s body in the shape of a simple sphere, which with the addition of a few lines on the outer surface, became an enormous basketball construct.

As she was cut off from the Turtle Hermit, however, she began to rapidly speed up again, only to find herself contained.

The figure of lightning punched and scratched at the inside of the ball, before further deforming, becoming less human and more ball lightning as it crashed and bounced and sparked inside the sphere, turning the whole thing into a brightly glowing green lamp. Despite how hard she was fighting, she couldn’t break out. Finally, she slowed, returned to a humanoid shape, and then fully solidified again, becoming a human woman once more.

She glared at them all, and then loudly said, “Well, it looks like I’ve been captured.”

Chapter 38: Secret Identities 13

Chapter Text

“Yes, you have been, so-” Green Lantern began, only to be interrupted as the woman continued speaking.

“I’m being held in a ball of energy by Green Lantern, who seems like a good candidate, but not as good a candidate as the guy in the turtle shell with a lot of vital energy,” she said, just as loudly, “he seems ideal.”

The Turtle Hermit puffed out his chest in pride, moving closer to the basketball construct containing the electric woman, “You seem pretty ideal yourself, miss!” he flirted, “Could I have your name?”

She glanced at him, “You haven’t given me yours, old timer.”

“I’m the Heavenly Old Master, the Turtle Hermit,” he smiled wide, “Some have called me the greatest fighter in the world.”

“Hm. It’s Livewire,” she said before clearing her throat and continuing to speak in the same loud, clear, matter-of-fact voice, “Anyway, I’m currently being kept alongside both of them in the underground gym below the All-Star Squad’s headquarter- ow!” Part of the construct had pulled away from the rest of the ball, forming a spike that speared into her bulky chestplate, and tore part of it that stuck out off. The crackling components were ejected from the ball, and caught by Green Lantern’s free hand.

“I knew that bit had to be an antenna,” he said, “And this is a receiver. Who were you talking to?”

Livewire grinned, “The guy who’s gonna crush all of you Justice Society relics.”

“Justice society?” Hawkman asked, “What do you mean by this?”

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” she replied, crossing her arms and staring him down, “You, this whole All-Star Squad deal, you’re Metahumans acting as servants to humans. Making sure humans are in charge. Oppressing your fellow Metahumans. You’re enforcers of a society where weak people make the rules and powerful people have to obey them,” she accused, “What you call ‘Justice’ is ignorant of unchangeable biological fact ; the fact that we’re better than humans. Beyond humans. The objective fact is that we’re supposed to be on top, and they’re supposed to be worshiping us like gods.” She said with a sneer.

“That’s… that’s not how facts work,” Hawkman said.

“Are you sure you’re not a supervillain? Because you sound like a supervillain,” Hawkgirl said, leaning against her husband while she idly spun her bejeweled shuriken around one finger, “Is the full name of your group the Secret Society of Supervillains?”

“I’m not a supervillain. There’s no such thing as supervillains. You’re just brainwashed into thinking human lives matter more than your own!”

“Then, if we’re the Justice Society, are you guys the Injustice Society?” Hawkgirl pressed.

“We’re just… the Society.”

“You sound like you’re just racist,” Hawkgirl said casually.

Electricity began to spark across Livewire’s body again as she grit her teeth and glared at the older woman, “I don’t care what people look like, I care whether or not they can destroy buildings with their mind! But, speaking of that… My boss is coming for me. If you want to run, this could be your only chance. Even if you’re all brainwashed idiots, you’re still Metahumans. The only ones they’ll be after is me, the Turtle, and you, Greenie.”

Green Lantern glanced upwards, his face going pale, “Get everyone out!” he ordered.

Launch and Yamcha shared a glance, before Yamcha wrapped himself in golden lightning, and shot out of the room in a scarlet flash. Clark- after quickly checking to see that Vic was still stable -and Launch followed not long after as they hurried out to evacuate the guests. Hawkman, Hawkgirl and Thorn each picked up one of their unconscious comrades, and ran the same way.

Bulma and Eel scrambled down from their place at the stands, “Grab Cyclone, we’ll see whether I can fix it or if we’ll need to pry her out of that thing,” Bulma ordered Eel even as she squatted down next to the downed Vic.

“Aye-aye, captain,” Eel said, dragging the older woman trapped in her own power suit over as Bulma got out her tools.

Vic opened one eye, still pinched with pain, “She fried a lot of the artificial skin,” he hissed, his teeth clenched, “Can still feel it. Maybe Gero was onto something with the whole ‘stop them from feeling pain’ thing.”

“Can I help?” she asked him.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” he managed. She flipped him onto his side, and then pulled up his shirt to access the component on his back that she had inserted when they first met. When she first repaired and upgraded him. She disengaged it, and he immediately let out a sigh of relief as the blue tron lines running under his artificial skin faded, “God, it’s weird only being able to feel with my real skin again.”

“It’s only for a bit,” she assured, “Maybe we should work out some kind of emergency shutoff for the skin sensors. If the pain reaches a certain threshold, it goes numb instead, or something…” she flipped him back over to get a better look at his limbs, “You got overloaded, but it’s not serious. Your body’s meant to hold a lot of charge, but it’s not equipped to power up that quickly. Your dynamo usually takes a little while to ramp up, but a lightning bolt gives you 100% of the power in the first split-second.”

“Good to know,” Vic said, still feeling a little giddy from the stop to the pain.

In the arena, Green Lantern kept his glare on Livewire, “What does this… Society want with me and the Heavenly Old Master?” he asked her.

“We’re not interested in you, ” she said, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward, “We’re interested in your bodies .”

“We’ve got something in common then!” the Turtle Hermit said cheerfully, only to deflate a bit as Green Lantern shot him a warning look, “Right, right, surrounded by prudes. I’ll stop.”

“Not like that ,” Livewire said dismissively, “Your powers. Our leader, he’s got the most powerful brain on Earth. His abilities were too powerful for his old body, so he needs a new one. One able to withstand the forces his brain can bring to bear. Bodies like yours ,” she said sad*stically.

The building shook.

She laughed triumphantly, “Only a matter of time now!” she said, before sticking her arms out to either side and pressing against the walls of her prison. The cables attached to her suit came to life as well, swaying like serpents before snapping outwards and pressing into the sides of the ball in every direction. The metal prongs at the end of each cable began to spark, as did her hands as she strained against the sphere.

The building shook again, and Bulma looked up in alarm. Biting her lip, she reached down and finished her work. Vic let out a hiss of relief, and stood up, stretching his artificial arm and legs before glaring up at the ceiling ahead of him. Immediately, Bulma shifted over and started work on Cyclone’s armor. “Do you want me to stay down here and protect you, or go up and join the others?” Vic asked her.

“Whatever you want, I’ll be fine,” Bulma said, distracted as she opened a panel on the back of Cyclone’s power armor.

“ I’m staying down here,” Eel said.

“Thank you,” Green Lantern said to them from the arena, “It’s likely that our foes will be attempting to make their way here to rescue their comrade. Since I’m going to be… distracted,” he said, “I could use the backup.”

Vic glanced back at the stands, and noticed that in the confusion and the darkness, Bruce had seemingly vanished. Hopefully he was with the other guests, trying to help evacuate, “Well, if this is where the fight’s going to happen, this is where I’ll be,” he said, switching his arm to cannon mode.

“You get me mobile again, and you kids won’t have to worry about fighting, I’ll handle whatever they have coming, guaranteed. Just wasn’t ready for little miss thunderbolt over there,” Cyclone said to them, trying to be comforting. Then, she looked towards the arena, “You know GL, in all these years, I don’t think we’ve actually fought someone with electric powers before? There’s been a few weather guys, but they had to ramp up a bit before they could actually fling lightning around.”

“Believe me,” Livewire said, “We’re not like anything you’ve faced before.”

“We’ll see,” Green Lantern said simply, gazing upwards.

Chapter 39: Secret Identities 14

Chapter Text

Clark watched with amazement the way Yamcha moved, zipping from one place to another in a blur of gold lightning, grabbing people and ferrying them outside in a constant scarlet stream of motion. Clark and Krillin had perhaps moved faster than Yamcha currently was during their final bout of the tournament, but never for so long, and never so effortlessly. Yamcha didn’t look tired at all. Even just walking to and from the building so many times would leave someone winded, but instead, Yamcha just kept going and going, faster and faster.

With Yamcha carrying people out so efficiently, Clark didn’t have much to do to help out with the evacuation. Not when he’d just be clogging up the door Yamcha would make better use of. Instead, he found himself focusing on the downed members of the All-Star Squad. He wrapped glowing white Ki, tinged with blue-purple, around his hands and pressed them into the unconscious superhero in front of him.

Wildcat groaned as he sat up, and then watched with concern as Clark healed the elder and then the younger Black Canary. Behind him, the Hawks watched with interest. When the Canaries were healed, Hawkgirl squatted down next to him and took his hand, “You’re using Ki, right?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “I learned how from Son Gohan.”

“Interesting,” she said, “The Momochi Clan has Ki-boosting medicines, but we never cracked externalizing it like that. I guess that’s what makes him the National Treasure!”

“Hawkgirl,” Hawkman cautioned, “We’re in masks. We shouldn’t mention private details.”

“Oh! Right,” she said, standing up, “But he’s already seen us without them?”

“That was behind closed doors, we’re in public now,” her husband said, gesturing at the street around them. The evacuated guests had thinned out, many of them hurrying to where they parked their cars, and the ones that had capsules quickly put them down and left, used to hurried orders to clear out. All of them, in one way or another, had grown up with superheroes around, and most were used to the need to get clear quickly or else end up a distraction, or worse, a hostage. He looked down at Clark, and smiled gently, “Although I will say, I’ve had the fortune of facing Gohan Students before. It was quite rare to see them use Ki as easily as you can, especially for someone so young.”

“I’ll say,” Wildcat muttered, “And… anyone can learn that? It’s not a power you have?”

Clark smiled proudly, “Anyone can learn it,” he agreed, “But Gohan did say that my year’s group of disciples were the most gifted he’s ever taught.”

“Oh-hoh,” Wildcat said, reaching over and nudging him with a fist, “A tough guy, eh? Maybe we should invite Gohan over next year and fight him instead.”

Clark brightened, “I bet he’d love that! Especially if you could fight his students, you see, halfway through the year he always has a test for them and-” he was about to say more, when something appeared in the air above and caught his attention.

He looked upwards, and found himself staring at five figures floating in the sky, all of them wearing similar costumes. A dark purple helmet with round red lenses for eyes, a bluish-green body suit that seemed to hug their forms despite shining like metal, and a shiny black gemstone attached to the center of their chests.

However, that was where the similarities ended. One of them was a short slightly pudgy man with a long purple cape. One was a mammoth of a man with the muscles of a bodybuilder; sculpted carefully-maintained muscles that were meant to look good rather than work hard. One was clearly a woman, and her costume was almost splattered with a clinging liquid that glowed oddly. It shimmered a fuzzy black and white that seemed almost like physical television static. Finally, the last two didn’t look human at all. One had a man’s torso but his limbs seemed to become mist-like and insubstantial at the edges, and finally the last looked like a robot, the outer layer of his costume clearly stretched over bulky mechanical limbs and whirring parts, his purple helmet large and meant to encase a nearly-cuboid head.

The pudgy one in the cape gestured down at the brownstone, and the misty one, the robot, and the static-covered woman descended through the sky towards the main entrance.

“Hey!” the elder Black Canary shouted, “Who are you people?” They didn’t answer her.

Launch was helping an older woman out of the doorway just as the three reached her level, and she let out a small “Eep!” of surprise as they descended from the air right in front of her.

The misty one surged forward, and Launch braced herself for what seemed like a tackle, only to blink in surprise as he passed through her like a ghost.

“Stop him!” Black Canary ordered, and Launch reacted on instinct, flicking out her hand and sending out a tiny spark of dark green lightning that froze the insubstantial intruder in place. Then, she bodily lifted the old woman she was helping hurry out, and slipped past the other two to rush off with the other evacuees.

“Hey!” the static-woman snarled, “What’d you do to him! Let him go!” Launch didn’t call back, helping hurry the crowd of unpowered people away. “Grr,” the woman glared after Launch, but pushed on inside anyway- only to get shoved back by the sudden appearance of Yamcha, helping even more people out of the room, “Gah!” The robot caught her before she could stumble down the steps, and both rose up into the air as Yamcha looked up at them in bewilderment as he let the people he was getting out go.

“What’s going on?” he asked, before letting out a yelp as he ducked underneath a flash of brightly-glowing liquid static thrown at him by the woman. He turned behind him, and saw that where it hit the wall behind him the static was eating into the surface like acid, melting its way several inches through wood and plaster before finally fizzling out.“Nevermind, under attack. Got it.” He swung forwards, his fist blurring with golden lightning, and struck her across the front of the helmet, and then zipped back to avoid the swing of the robot’s oversized leg.

Clark gathered as much Ki as he was willing to spare, and spread it out over both hands, reaching back to the last two out-of-commission Squaddies; the Flash and his grandson, and healed them both as much as he could in a short burst. That done, he took a flying leap toward the fight. With the sound of flapping behind him, he realized that the Hawks were following his lead. He managed to suppress his sudden excitement of fighting beside his idols, and focused on taking on the robot-looking intruder, tackling him from behind and wrestling him to the side and out into the road, further from the people trying to get away.

Yamcha and the static-woman traded blows, until she tried to throw another splash of the liquid static, and Yamcha blurred back- and immediately found himself being put into a headlock by the previously-frozen opponent. He was lifted up into the air, leaving his legs to kick fiercely at nothing.

The woman advanced, more and more of the static gathering in her hands until she had two heavy globs of it, acting like water balloons. “Hold him tight, Mist,” she growled, rearing back with both hands and preparing to throw.

Yamcha, swallowing nervously, felt his heart thudding in fear as he struggled to pull free- and then realized that there was still something he could move. Lightning began to spark across his chest as his entire body blurred, heat radiating off of him and causing the air to shimmer. Mist, holding him back against his chest, began to sweat inside his suit, before hissing in pain as his gaseous legs suddenly ignited.

He dropped Yamcha and phased back into full tangibility, desperately patting down his limbs to put out the flames, and inadvertently unleashed the sped-up Yamcha directly onto his comrade. Yamcha, still kicking his legs and accelerating like he was, took off the moment he touched the floor. He collided with the woman in front of them and sent them both flying across the street and tumbling across the ground. It left both of them groaning and stunned in the middle of the road.

In the air, the two Hawks went after the two members of the invaders who had hung back. The over muscled one laughed triumphantly as Hawkgirl approached, and threw out both hands, sending bolts of black light flying her way. She pulled in her wings and slipped between the projectiles, and then lashed out with her blade, catching him across the chest.

“Hah! This is the Blackstone Suit, invented by one of the most brilliant men in the world! You can’t just cut through them, idiots! I barely felt that,” the muscular one taunted.

“Laser-” the pudgy one said, worried, as he darted away from Hawkman’s mace, “-your chest!”

Laser glanced down, and saw the crystal on his chest had been cut clean through and was sparking, revealing the machinery inside, “Oh. sh*t.” The crystal hummed and whined for a moment, and then sparked one last time and shattered. Abruptly, the muscular villain was sent plummeting.

Hawkgirl watched for a moment, idly flapping, before throwing her sword and sending it through the man’s shoulder. The force of the projectile hitting him sent him flying back, and the tip of the sword, coming out of his back, caught onto the building on the opposite side of the street, saving him from splattering across the street, but also pinning him in place. The man let out a short scream, before going limp, fainting from the shock.

“I guess your armor’s not as good as you thought,” Hawkgirl said casually, before turning her gaze on the remaining flier.

The pudgy man in the cape let out a sigh, “I suppose I should thank you for not killing him,” said the man.

“We do try to avoid it,” Hawkman said reasonably, before flailing at him with his mace, forcing the man to dodge again.

“I’ll try to avoid killing you, then,” he said, holding out both hands, and clapping. The sound echoed, and then continued to echo, growing louder and louder as shockwaves rippled away from the man’s hands. They crashed down into Hawkman and the man recoiled instantly. The force of the sound blew back his wings like sails and sent him tumbling away, blood pouring from his ears. All the windows on the street shattered, which is the only thing that saved Hawkman from crashing through one. Instead he went straight through the gap in the wall and slammed into someone’s office desk, unconscious.

Hawkgirl grit her teeth against the pain and quickly flapped straight up, avoiding the worst of the soundwave. Reaching down, she grabbed her bejeweled shuriken and spun it around one finger, faster and faster, before flinging it at the Metahuman.

The pudgy man reacted quickly, pulling his hands apart and ending the shockwave bearing down on the street, and instead gripped his own cape and flapped it in her direction. The thwap sound it made echoed on itself and produced another shockwave that slammed into the shuriken, blowing it off course. Hawkgirl swooped under the sound blast, and leveled out further away, considering the man in front of her. “You’re annoying,” she decided, “So I’ll let the others handle you.”

The man looked at her for a moment, confused, and then screamed as two shockwaves suddenly slammed into him from below. Lanfan and her mother’s sonic screams buffeted him from two directions, catching him in the middle. Only when he had gone obviously limp did they stop their assaults.

He slowly drifted towards the ground, moving in a slow-motion limp somersault that was bizarre to behold, before gently landing on the street next to the unconscious static woman.

The only one left was the robot, desperately tussling with Clark. “I don’t want to hurt you, kid!” the mechanical attacker growled through a speaker.

“Then surrender!” Clark protested, half-shouting due to the agony in his ears from the sound-based attacks being flung around only a few seconds ago. He ducked under a heavy punch, and then sidestepped the laser blast that emerged from the gun that pushed its way out of the arm of the suit.

“I can’t. It’s for the greater good of our species,” he said, moving to stomp on Clark, only to get stuck as Clark grabbed his foot, braced himself, and heaved the huge armored form up into the air, throwing the figure upwards. The robotic figure panicked for a moment, waving his limbs wildly, but quickly stabilized in the air, floating in place, “Did you forget I can fly?” the robot taunted, only to come crashing down as Hawkgirl’s feet slammed down onto his back, flinging him right back at Clark.

The teen jumped up at the same time, one fist extended outwards and the other held close to his chest, and he slammed fist-first into the gemstone on the attacker’s chest. It shattered immediately, sending a ripple of sparks through the body. They were flung up, and then crashed back down to the ground with Clark on top, brushing pieces of crystal and electronics off his fist.

Seeing that the fight was over and he didn’t have to guard the still-knocked out Flashes, Wildcat crouched down by the robot and pulled the mask off. He frowned at the second helmet underneath, and tried to pull it off. But he was only able to tug off a single piece of it. The component pulled against him back towards the rest of the helmet even as Wildcat held it away. But after a second it slipped back out of his fingers and snapped back to its proper position, “Huh, a magnetic guy.” He looked up at the others, “Was that the last of them?”

Hawkgirl looked back at the brownstone, “Not quite. The ghost-like one managed to get inside.”

Chapter 40: Secret Identities Final

Chapter Text

The last remaining of the uniformed attackers floated silently through the halls, before descending down a wide stairway. He stopped just before the entrance to a darkened room, illuminated from within by flickering green light. He could hear the sounds of people talking- one of them was his captured comrade, Livewire.

This was the place.

He would have preferred having the others as backup, but he was still confident in his chances.

He leaned out of the doorway slightly, getting a better view of inside. The center of the gym was dominated by an oversized boxing arena, and sure enough inside was the captured Livewire, inside a ball construct made by a singed-looking Green Lantern, and standing just off to the side was the one Livewire reported was the ideal target, the man with the turtle shell. A few others were crowded near the edge of the arena, but he couldn’t see them from here.

Livewire was talking, their attention seemed to be focused on her.

Now was the perfect moment to strike! He moved, floating at his top speed- and then stopped as an arm came around his throat from behind, pulling him back into the shadows away from the gym. He felt pressure against his neck, trying to cut off his airway, and turned himself completely intangible, pulling away from his attacker- a young man in a fancy suit, who was watching him intently.

“What the hell did you think you were trying to do, kid?” Mist demanded.

“Make a citizen’s arrest, hopefully,” he said, “But since that didn’t turn out… HE’S OVER HERE! HE CAN TURN INTO GAS! ”

Mist flinched, glaring back at the gym before swinging his fist forwards and solidifying it at the last moment to crash into the young man’s jaw. But to his surprise, his opponent dodged the strike, and wrapped an arm around his own, trying once more to put him into a hold. He felt his opponent’s hand reaching toward the back of his helmet, and turned back into mist a moment later, running out of mercy. He reached out, and pushed his gaseous hand over the man’s face, pushing into his esophagus to suffocate him.

The man tried to run away, but Mist poured more and more of himself into the man’s throat, floating back as he moved back, choking him.

The guy must have had a pretty weak lung capacity, because he went limp and fainted almost immediately. Pulling himself free, Mist moved on towards the room, only to find himself faced with the turtle-shelled man, a tall muscular teen with one hand morphed into a cannon, and Cyclone. The old woman took the first move, her bulky armored form taking one long stride after another as she rushed at him, turning into a twist that sent one arm scything through his entire body in a second. Luckily, he was made of gas, but she didn’t stop, spinning like a top, punching harder and faster, spreading out his body further and further.

This… could be trouble.

He pulled himself in one direction, higher up into the air, only to jolt back as a blast of superheated plasma blasted out of the teen’s arm cannon and burned through him. “Gaaah!” he screamed out, solidifying as quickly as he could and crashing back down to the floor. “Twice in one day!” he snarled out, before quickly turning back into gas as Cyclone tried to kick him. As her foot shot through his gaseous body he reformed a moment later and latched onto it, using the force of her kick to fling himself faster towards the gym. He activated the Blackrock in his suit at the same time, turning on his suit’s artificial flight to push him even faster.

The old man in the turtle shell aimed a hand at him, crackling green lightning pouring off his body, and Mist reacted on a hair trigger, turning to gas. The back half of his body was caught, and began to slow down, but the front half of his form carried the momentum. He resolidified only his torso, abandoning, just for the moment, his legs to the green lightning as the power of the Blackrock suit accelerated him into the gym proper.

He made a beeline for Green Lantern, who was focused on containing Livewire, and plowed into him at full speed, crashing bodily into the old man’s head and knocking him back. The green light flowing from his hand to the spherical prison flickered and died as he was stunned-

And Livewire exploded into freedom.

She turned into living lightning and dove for the old man, passing through him and leaving him to crumple into a twitching pile on the floor. Then, she stopped and threw her hands out towards the man in the turtle shell. She returned to humanoid form for a moment and a massive bolt of lightning lanced out towards him and crashed into and through the old man. He was back on his feet after a few seconds, but was obviously worse for wear. The one with the cannon-arm fired at her, but she simply turned back to lightning and let the beams pass through without effect.

Even better, with the old man distracted, Mist’s slowed-down legs were free to rejoin with him. It didn’t feel right, being spread so thin. He finally retook human form, and observed the fight. The turtle-shelled old man was the biggest threat, with Green Lantern down, and Livewire was forced to zip from place to place to avoid being trapped by his powers.

Somewhere in the back of the room, Mist heard a capsule activating. Mist turned to glare at the source of the sound, but dismissed it at the sight of merely two of the guests who hadn’t escaped yet- a young man wearing goggles and a blue-haired woman -rather than anyone else in a costume.

Mist refocused on the fight in front of him, and decided he’d do the most good as a distraction. He reactivated the Blackrock, and flew towards the old man at high speed, not trying to dodge in the slightest as the old man turned his green lightning on Mist. He watched the fight unfold on fast-forward for a few moments, saw his superior flitting around before unleashing another thunderbolt at the old man- and all at once Mist was free again. He continued the path he had already set, and collided with the old man with all the speed the Blackrock suit could muster, tackling him over and then going for his mouth and nose in gaseous form.

The old man sputtered, choking and hacking as he swiped furiously at him, but it was no use. Already, he was growing weaker, and weaker. He tried to jump away, but he slammed into a wall only a few yards behind him and Mist simply followed, keeping on the pressure.

Livewire zipped past him, sparking the ends of her cables to fend off the arm-cannon guy and Cyclone when finally the old man hit the floor, unconscious. Mist pulled back, and retook physical form.

“You know, Lester,” she said as she stood between him and the others in the room, “I’m gonna recommend you for a promotion when we get back.”

“Er, thank you!”

Livewire ducked down and grabbed onto the old man in the turtle shell, hefting him up and throwing his knocked-out body over her shoulder. Mist smiled under his helmet as Livewire reached over and grabbed onto him as well, “Stay solid,” she ordered.

“Yes Ma’am!”

She began turning to lightning. He braced himself, not fighting the strange tingle as he turned into lightning as well. The first time she had used this part of her power on him, he remembered being amazed just how different turning into gas felt compared to turning into electricity.

The process reversed itself as soon as it completed, at least to his perception, and now they were on the other side of the room. “Grab the Green Geezer.”

He rushed to obey her and reached down to grab Green Lantern. Almost as soon as he made contact, Livewire began turning back into lightning again. But with even more mass to convert, the process was sluggish, and she was clearly struggling now. The tingling sensation crept back across his body, and Mist didn’t notice as something small hit his back.

A moment later, all four figures were made of lightning, appearing to everyone else in the room as a solid mass of crackling light only barely recognizable as four separate people. The huge mass of lightning suddenly surged up towards the ceiling and crashed into the lighting equipment. The system sparked back into life as the living lightning poured inside, vanishing from the room completely.

The gym, once again illuminated by the lights above, was silent for a few moments, until Cyclone slammed one armored fist into the nearest wall, “Damn it!” she growled, “I’m not going to let this stand.” She glared back up the stairs, to the museum, “I don’t hear anything from up there. Hopefully the others captured whoever they were fighting, and they can tell us where she was heading.”

Bruce, from where he was lying on the floor of the hallway, groaned and let out a hacking cough as he sat up. “Doesn’t matter,” he managed. At almost the exact same time Eel casually said, “Oh, we don’t have to worry about that.”

Cyclone jolted in surprise, and looked from one young man to the other, “...Why?” she asked them both.

Vic went still, and turned a glare on Eel, “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Did you really just throw-” Vic began.

“She told me to!”

Cyclone went pale, “You mean they took Bulma too ?”

“She’ll be able to tell us where the base is, once she reaches it,” Eel protested, “She saw which way the fight was going. What else was she going to do, throw a house into the mix? That’d hurt everyone but the bad guys. Neither of us could punch smoke, and I definitely can’t punch lightning.”

“We’ll get them all back,” Bruce said, his voice still sounding strained, “Even if Bulma can’t tell us where she is.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a small machine. A radar. “I managed to put a tracker on the gas criminal when he attacked me.”

Eel frowned, “You didn’t bring your utility belt, but you did bring a tracker?”

Bruce glanced at Cyclone, making eye contact with the older woman, “...I wanted a method of keeping tabs on all of us, just in case anyone was suddenly compelled to go somewhere they didn’t want to go.”

“The King’s wouldn’t pull something like that, secrets or not,” Cyclone said, sighing, causing Eel and Vic to get near-identical looks of confusion, “But this could very well save my friend’s life, Bruce. Thank you. Where are they?”

“...The signal is going in and out… I think she’s hopping between different powerlines. But… Northwest. They’re moving remarkably quickly,” Bruce said, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, they’re made of electricity right now,” Vic said, “Nearly the speed of light. The only reason they shouldn’t already be where they need to is if they can’t just follow a straight line there.”

“...They’ve stopped,” Bruce said, “We need to get to the Denali Mountain Range, as fast as possible.”

DC Character + DB Character = Dragon Ball: Superman Character

World’s Strongest Saga Part 3: Secret Identities

• Rose Canton + Kaede Beniya = Kate Kyuumonji | Thorn
• Alan Scott + Yukio Kyuumonji = Yukio Kyuumonji | The Green Lantern
• Jay Garrick + Kuina = Jay Goldeneye | The Flash
• Wally West + Toki = Wallace Goldeneye | Kid Flash
• Carter Hall & Adam Strange + Zarid = Zarid Hall | Hawkman
• Shiera Sanders & Alanna Strange + Sachie Momochi = Sachie Hall | Hawkgirl
• Dinah Drake + Fanfan = Dinah Drake | Black Canary (the Elder)
  
• Secret Society of Supervillains & Injustice Society + Brutal Warriors = The Society
• Livewire + Kishime = Livewire | Kish Willis
• Blackrock + Bio-Men = Blackrock Squad
• • Samuel Tanner+ Bio-Men = Soundwave Blackrock

• • Samuel Benjamin + Bio-Men = Laser Blackrock

• • Lucia + Bio-Men = Static Blackrock

• • Bradley Glenn + Bio-Men = Armor Blackrock

• • Lester Vegas + Bio-Men = Mist Blackrock

Chapter 41: Episode of Green Lantern 1

Chapter Text

Yukio Kyuumonji was kneeling in front of the car, frowning at the state of the front tires, when suddenly there came a shout from inside the car.

“Hey! What’s taking so long? The party probably started ages ago. You used to be some kind of mechanic, weren’t you?”

“Engineer,” he corrected gently, “I’m a… I was a railway engineer,” until his work was sabotaged by that bastard Al Dekker, his reputation dragged through the mud so thoroughly that no railway on the East Coast would take him, and he was forced to take on a job as a manservant and chauffeur to a spoiled rich man’s daughter, “Not that that means I couldn’t fix a popped tire, but-”

“Then do it already!”

“We’ve got two flats, Miss Canton,” he said, “And only one spare.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“...I’m sorry, but it seems we’ll have to walk, Miss Canton.”

“Ohhh no we’re not,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “We’re right next to Slaughter Swamp. We try walking, we’re dead meat! You know the rumors about this area, right?”

He sighed, “The rumors about the vampires, or the gangsters?”

“Don’t make fun of me. Pretty young girls like me are the ones who’ve been going missing!”

Yukio frowned and leaned a bit closer to the car, reaching under it and pulling out something that had glinted in the darkness. It was a piece of metal, covered in spikes like a sea urchin. He rolled it between his fingers, “This is a caltrop,” he said, before his heart sank into his stomach.

He heard the sounds of people moving in the greenery, and stood up in alarm. He saw as three people emerged from the greenery, carrying tommy guns and knives. “Classy car,” said one of the gangsters, smirking as he eyed the vehicle behind him, “Classy dame, too.”

Miss Canton shrunk back in her seat, clutching her purse in front of her like a shield.

Yukio stepped between them, “We… we don’t want any trouble.”

“Step away from the car,” the lead thug said casually, “And empty your pockets.”

“Of course,” Yukio said, turning his pockets inside out without hesitation. It stung his sense of pride, but his pride had taken a lot of blows recently. It was only good sense to stand down when you had a gun pointed at you. Even if it made him feel like a coward.

The car door opened behind him, and the three thugs tensed up, “Hey! We didn’t tell you to get out, honey.” The leader of the group snapped.

“But-” Miss Canton began.

“We’re telling him to step away. You can stay right where you was.”

He had made fun of her for being scared, he realized with horror.

Yukio took a step back, putting himself between Miss Canton and the men with guns. “Get back in the car,” he said, slowly reaching for the driver’s seat door. Even with two flats, it’d be easier to get away from them in the car rather than on foot.

“Hey! Dumb-dumb, I told you to step aside,” the gangster threatened, jerking forwards with his tommy gun.

Yukio waited until Miss Canton had gotten back inside, and yanked open his own door- only to flinch as the gun went off horrifyingly loud. The dark of the night was lit up by the flare of the tommy gun, and Yukio dropped to his ass, clutching his chest. He was dead. He was sure of it. It had been pointed right at him. How stupid could he be, and now they would-

He…

He was still alive?

There was a glowing green shield floating in front of him and Miss Canton. The bullets were steaming on the muddy ground in front of it, flattened by the impact with the apparently impenetrable wall.

<Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Show me how you use your powers! What does it feel like?>

Yukio moved to dismiss his shield-

His shield? He didn’t have a shield, he… Or did he have a shield? This wasn’t his, though it- how did he-

<What? No. Nevermind, just keep going, Kyuumonji.>

Yukio looked at the shield, and noticed a tether of solid green light extending away from the shield, reaching up, up, into the sky… and stared in amazement as an armored figure descended from the sky, his body glowing in the same emerald hue. He was a beacon in the darkness of the road. Maybe seven feet tall, and encased in shiny black steel and emerald-green plating. His head was encased in a helmet, his eyes protected by small triangular black lenses, his mouth a simple solid line.

<What.>

He looked up at the figure in awe as he regarded the three equally-shocked thugs, and then accelerated towards them, smashing them as he passed without making a single movement. They went flying, as if struck by a truck, and their limp bodies rolled down the road. The armored figure, Yukio’s savior, scoffed and gestured at the three of them, pulling them closer and arranging them carefully just off the side of the road. His eyes flashed green for a moment. “...Nothing life-threatening. Good.” He turned his armored head towards Yukio and Miss Canton, his eyes black again, and asked in a smooth echoing voice, “Are there animals that prey on your species in the area?”

“Er- I don’t think so?” Yukio offered.

“Then I can leave them here. Feel free to restrain them and contact relevant authorities regarding their attempted assault. Goodbye.” He lifted up into the air, and Yukio just knew that if they left him alone, he might never see him again.

“Wait!” he called, only to flinch as his savior turned his glare on him, “You- you saved our lives. How can we thank you?”

“Thanks are…” he trailed off, “Hm. Perhaps thanks aren’t necessary. There is something you can do to help me. I am Patrolman Jiya, of the Galactic Patrol’s Sector Two Eight One Four division. As your planet has no formal agreements with the Galactic Patrol, I do not have jurisdiction to interrogate earthlings without probable cause. However, if you’d like to volunteer information, that could… potentially be very useful.”

<What.>

“Of course, anything we can do to help,” Yukio said, hurriedly. This wasn’t an angel, like he had thought for a moment, but something equally extraordinary.

“Kyuumonji!” Miss Canton hissed, “Don’t make promises to the… the spaceman!”

“Miss Canton!” Yukio protested. The nerve of her. Did she not understand that this man just saved her life? But then, she tended to react to most surprises with anger.

“If it’s not too much trouble. I’m investigating some… discrepancies in a report my partner made. According to him, Earth is a wasteland deathworld, filled with dangerous predators and barbaric people.” He glanced back at the unconscious thugs, “...Although that might not be too far off.”

“Hey! Don’t go judging the rest of us just ‘cause of trash like them!” Miss Canton protested.

Jiya looked at her for a moment, before ignoring her words and turning back towards Yukio, to her anger. “I would like to ask you if you’ve noticed… anything strange lately in this area. Have you seen any signs of other Galactic Patrol members?”

“No, this is the first time I’ve seen anything like you.”

“Hm. Maybe I’m just paranoid,” Jiya muttered.

Miss Canton frowned, and then stomped in front of him, “Would they look like you? Exactly? Or could a Galactic Patrolman look like some other kind of freaky alien thing? What exactly are you looking for?”

Jiya hesitated, and then turned his head to the side. A green beam shot out of his thin slat mouth, and formed into the image of a monstrous figure. He had sharp pointed ears, no nose, and eerie black-red eyes. Fangs protruded from his mouth. He was bald, with stripes covering his strangely-shaped head. His limbs were strangely proportioned, his arms and fingers longer than a human’s should be, and legs slightly shorter.

He was wearing a similar uniform to Jiya.

“This is Patrolman Yalan Gur. He’s my senior partner. A veteran Patrolman who's been on the force for centuries,” Jiya began, “...But recently his reports have gotten… sloppy. And occasionally held errors. I started to suspect he was secretly shirking some of his duties, so I checked out his patrol path, and found that he has been visiting this planet frequently. Too frequently for a planet technically not part of our jurisdiction. I decided this warranted investigation.” The alien looked between them, “Do either of you recognize him?”

The two shared a glance, before Yukio looked up at his savior, “Neither of us have seen him, but… there’s been rumors of a monster hanging around Gotham city. I didn’t believe them, because vampires are just a myth.” He frowned at the image, “But I can see how someone could look at someone like that and think they’re real.”

“Vampire, as in, subsists off blood? Yalan is one. His species are hematophages,” Jiya said, “That’s… worrying. What do these rumors consist of?”

“Kidnapping pretty young women and whisking them away to Slaughter Swamp, where they’re never seen again,” Miss Canton said, gravely.

“...What more can you tell me?” Jiya asked urgently.

“Not much,” she said, “Like I said, it’s just rumors.”

“If we went to the city, we could ask around,” Yukio said, “We-”

<As bizarre as this all is, it’s not what I’m here for. Show me how you use your powers! How did you learn to control them?>

Yukio blinked, feeling disoriented. He wasn’t on the road near Slaughter Swamp anymore. Where- right. It was coming back to him. They were in Gotham. Jiya had given them a lift to town in a glowing green bubble, which had been fantastic, but he was afraid of standing out while they gathered information, so he had revealed his extremely small true form, and the fact that the seven-foot-tall one was a prosthesis his people used to interact with larger species. Jiya then asked one of them to volunteer their bodies. Yukio, trusting his savior, allowed the miniature alien to take him over. But the moment the alien entered his mouth, everything had gone black-

-but all at once he was thrust back into awareness. His body ached all over, and Yukio wasn’t sure why. He recognized the alleyway as the spot where they had hidden Jiya’s robotic body.

Jiya’s tiny body was floating in front of him, “Kyuumonji, wake up!” Jiya hissed, “I need you to give me my-” whatever the alien was about to say next was cut off by the sound of shattering rock as something smashed its way through the alleyway.

“-OOON TUESDAY!” the hulking gray-skinned beast of a man roared as he brought the wall holding him back down.

One of the bricks was heading straight for Jiya. Yukio reacted on instinct, every bit of his body focusing on protecting his savior… and something reacted to that focus. Emerald light erupted from his fist, where Jiya’s jade belt was sitting on his pinky finger like a ring. It echoed Yukio’s own shape writ large, a giant version of himself crouching protectively between the monster and them.

The monster’s fists pounded on the construct of himself as it devolved into a fury, “MARRIED OOOON WEDNESDAY!” It howled.

Yukio stared, uncomprehending, at his finger, “What… what’s happening, Jiya?”

Jiya opened his mouth to explain, “Kyuumonji, you’re amazing! I’ve never seen someone manage a construct so fast. The Power Ring-”

<It’s just the ring?>

“-is a tool that safely amplifies and shapes your Ki, as long as you can provide the emotional catalyst and the aim. Willpower. Focus. Determination. Most people don’t have enough focus to use a Power Ring like this, but you're a natural.” Jiya said, “Just hold him in place until I’m back in my suit!”

<Green Lantern, the one everyone claims is the world’s strongest superhero… is just a guy who lucked into an alien weapon?>

Chapter 42: Episode of Green Lantern 2

Chapter Text

“I mean, why is a monster attacking me!?” Yukio said desperately. All around him, the giant construct version of himself began to fade.

“No! Focus, focus Kyuumonji!” Jiya ordered, “Do not give in to fear. Fear is the opposite of willpower. Cowardice is the opposite of determination. Panic is the opposite of focus. As long as you remain in control, your construct will not fail.”

Yukio sucked in a breath, focused, and pushed back on the monster, slamming him back through the wall he just came from.

“Good,” Jiya said, “Good.”

Yukio relaxed, and the construct version of himself shrunk back, before dissipating entirely, “Thank you, Jiya… but please tell me what happened since you took over my body!”

“In a moment,” Jiya said, buzzing down towards his hand, “First, I need you to give me my ring, because that creature isn’t done with us.”

“But… I threw him through a wall.”

“So did I. Now give me the Power Ring.”

“Right, right-” he handed it over quickly, the ring shrinking in size as it was passed from Yukio to the tiny alien, who slid it over his little body to serve as a belt once more. He blazed with green light, and gestured with one tiny arm, sending a massive beam crashing into the monster just as it got up again.

“Canton and I asked around where she first heard the rumor, and it led us to the area where most of the disappearances happened. It was there where we found this creature attempting to kidnap a woman. We attacked it, but the battle was getting out of control, and my ability to use the ring was limited while piloting you.” Jiya explained as he floated down towards his robot body and vanished between its lips.

“Where’s Miss Canton?” Yukio asked.

The robotic body stirred, getting up to its feet and regarding him, “She was heading back for the hotel, last I saw. I recommend you return to her, and get to a place of safety.”

“And… leave you?”

“Hers and your part in this is done, Kyuumonji. This creature is all the proof I need,” he said, pointing towards the gray-skinned giant trying to struggle to his feet, “It’s an earthling corpse, injected with Mogan.”

“Mogan?” Yukio asked, confused.

“A kind of… magical semi-sentient algae,” Jiya said, “But what’s concerning is that it’s from Yalan Gur’s homeworld, Kanoi. For his own people, it’s symbiotic. It acts to extend their lifespans, regenerates their injuries, and the like. But if you introduce it to a dead body, the Mogan tries to regenerate it as much as possible anyway, even without any life energy to connect to. It doesn’t bring them back to life… but it doesn’t leave them quite dead either. He’s something in between, now.” Jiya’s fist clenched, “This couldn’t have happened accidentally. Yalan did this on purpose. He had to have. He took this man, drank him dry… and then brought him halfway back to life as a slave, to gather even more victims for him.”

Yukio looked down at the zombie in horror, “That…” he shuddered, “That’s horrible.”

“I’m sorry,” Jiya said, “This crime was perpetrated by a member of the Galactic Patrol. We exist to protect all the people of the galaxy yet one of our own has been terrorizing you.”

“Jiya,” Yukio began, unsure of what to say.

“This crime by the Galactic Patrol, will be punished by the Galactic Patrol. I’m going to bring him down.” Jiya floated into the air, “Now that I know what I’m looking for, he shouldn’t be hard to find. He’s master enough of his own Power Ring that he can hide himself from scans, but if he’s been using Mogan to infest corpses, that I can track. I just need to follow it right to him.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Yukio asked, desperate.

“This isn’t your fight anymore,” Jiya replied, lifting up into the air. A tendril split off from his glowing green aura, and wrapped around the body of the zombie, carrying it up with him, “...If you see lights in the distance, stay away from them. A duel between ring-slingers can get destructive.”

With that, Jiya flew off, leaving Yukio on the street, feeling helpless.

<But how did you get the ring?>

Yukio flinched as he found himself somewhere completely different, how had he- right. No, it was coming back to him. He had gone back to the hotel, to meet up with Miss Canton, and was trying to come to terms with everything he had learned, when lights began flashing in the sky, just as Jiya said.

They watched, and felt helpless. They could hear the impacts from here, the blasts of energy and the glare of constructs forming and shattering.

“There has to be some way we can help him,” Yukio said.

“What would we do? They’re aliens, fighting each other with magic rings,” Miss Canton said, watching the fight with her arms hugged over her chest.

“But there has to be something we can do. I don’t feel right, just leaving him to fight that monster on his own,” Yukio muttered, gripping the edge of the hotel window.

“He’ll probably be fine,” Miss Canton said, oddly gentle compared to her usual self as she stepped closer and leaned against him, “I mean, he's an experienced space soldier, he has all those powers, a cool robot body… he’ll be fine! He doesn’t need anyone else.”

Yukio wasn’t so sure, “The vampire is supposed to be his mentor,” Yukio said quietly, “Jiya said that the man was a veteran. Hundreds of years old. Jiya’s his student, he-” Yukio made a decision, “I’m going. Miss Canton, you should stay inside, at least until things calm down, and then maybe… I’d recommend staying out of Gotham.” She watched him for a moment, before sighing and stomping off, grabbing something out of her purse- “Is that a gun!?” Yukio demanded.

“I picked it up while me and Jiya were asking around about the vampires,” she said, “Considering the monster that came after us, I don’t think it was a bad call. Even if it can’t do much.”

“I- I don’t know how to use a gun,” Yukio admitted.

“I do,” Miss Canton said, “And I’m coming with you. He saved my life too, you know. I don’t want him to die. I just don’t think we’ll change anything by going with him, but… I’m not going to let you go out alone, Kyuumonji.”

Yukio was touched. “Then we’ll need to hurry. See if we can get a taxi out to the swamp despite all the chaos this evening and-” he trailed off as Miss Canton’s head whipped towards the open window, looking alarmed.

Yukio frowned, and then saw the look of fear on her face as she- and everything in front of him, was illuminated by green light from outside. He whipped around, moving to stand between her and whatever was outside- perhaps even Yalan Gur -but as he saw the source of it, he was left confused.

The Power Ring was floating in front of the window, glowing in a corona of emerald light.

“Kyuumonji Yukio, you are the designated successor of Patrolman Jiya. Do you accept this ring?” The ring intoned in an artificial-sounding voice.

Yukio’s mouth went dry. He held out his hand, and the ring approached, growing to slide over his middle finger.

“Welcome to the Galactic Patrol, Patrolman Kyuumonji.”

He felt a familiar feeling of determination wash over him, the Power Ring amplifying his feelings even as his feelings gave structure to the ring.

“Conditions met for message to be played. Playing message: Kyuumonji!” Jiya’s desperate tiny voice suddenly replaced the artificial tone of the Power Ring, “He… he has me pinned! My body’s wrecked, and I can’t… I can’t fight like this… barely stay awake… Communications around Earth are locked. Didn’t… didn’t know. Fly up. Get out of range of the communication blocks, and call Headquarters. Tell the Galactic Kings what happened, what he’s done to the earthlings… tell them he’s… he’s done the unthinkable… he’s jailbroken a Power Battery. Forged his own ring. He doesn’t follow the rules. They can’t shut him down. Tell them… to send… everyone… they… can spare...”

Yukio stared down at the ring as it went silent, Jiya’s tiny voice trailing off.

“Message complete,” the ring stated.

“Are… are you going to do it?” Miss Canton asked.

“Ring, call Headquarters,” Yukio said.

“Error,” the ring reported, “Superluminal Communications cannot be made at this time. This ring’s recommendation is to move to an area with a stronger signal, and try again.”

“Are you going to go call them?” Miss Canton asked.

“Jiya is dying right now,” Yukio said, and that seemed to be all the explanation Miss Canton needed. She jumped closer to him, threw her arms over his shoulders, and hugged herself close against him, “M-Miss Canton?”

“Let’s go! Fly!” she ordered, “We don’t have any time!”

“Right,” he managed, pushing all thoughts of impropriety out of his head and focusing on only one thing- getting to Jiya, as fast as possible. An aura of emerald light wrapped around his body, and with his free hand he held Miss Canton against him to keep her from being pulled away. He lifted into the air, and surged through the air over the skyline of Gotham City.

Buildings vanished below him, before being replaced with the green of Slaughter Swamp.

Miss Canton peaked to the side, still hugging him close, “This is definitely where the fighting happened… but where are they?”

“Ring, tell me where Jiya is!” Yukio ordered.

“Scanning for subject known as Jiya. Located.” Yukio’s eyes flashed green, and afterwards he saw a green circle floating in the center of his vision, surrounded by triangles urging him on his way. “Right,” he said, powering through the sky, blazing over the trees of the swamp, until he found just what he had been afraid of.

In a swath of broken-down trees, lying half-submerged in the mud, was the battered and crumpled form of Jiya’s prosthetic body. The first thing Yukio thought of was a crumpled aluminum can. Like Jiya had been squeezed by a giant hand. Maybe he had been.

He descended towards him, and set Miss Canton down on a log before moving to help his savior. The ring responded to his will, acting on his every instinct. Brushes formed from emerald light, wiping Jiya’s body free of mud even as spectral green hands lifted him out of the muck. He noticed a stab wound in the center of Jiya’s chest, and realized that the indicator pointing him towards his savior was still shining in his eyes, showing that the hole was the exact position of Jiya’s real body.

He reached into the hole, but a finger could barely fit through. With barely a thought, glowing green chopsticks formed and inserted into the hole, and gently spread, forcing it wider. He made it taller with a similar motion, and then reached in… and very gently plucked the tiny bug-sized form of his savior out from the shell. The tiny Jiya was bleeding, his lower body outright squished. His skin was already white, but he still looked far too pale.

The green chopsticks faded instantly as despair struck Yukio like a truck. He rushed to catch Jiya in his hands as his ring stopped working, but just as the chopsticks faded, his own aura had gone out as well, leaving him to fall and stumble back into the mud. Luckily, Miss Canton was on the ball and leaped from her log to end up knee-deep in the mud- but with the tiny alien safely in her hands. She let out a sigh of relief, and then glared down at the state of her dress with dismay, “Kyuumonji, what happened? Where’s the glow?”

“I… I got scared,” he admitted, “The ring runs off willpower. Being afraid weakens it. Jiya told me when we were attacked, earlier.” He looked down, and grit his teeth, tensing his shoulders, “But I can’t afford being scared right now. Ring, tell me, can I save Jiya?”

“Subject Jiya has sustained mortal wounds. Expected remaining lifespan… ten minutes.”

“Can’t you heal him!?”

“Synthesizing required medical equipment at current levels of willpower would exceed current ring charge.”

“Then, if I flew towards the nearest alien hospital that could treat him… how long would that take?”

“At current levels of willpower fifteen hours-” Yukio glared at it, the ring flaring brighter as he mentally pushed harder. Focused on nothing but helping Jiya. “-forty-five minutes, at the cost of all remaining ring charge.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“What about the vampire blood?”

Yukio blinked, having almost forgotten Miss Canton was there as he interrogated the ring on his finger. He looked over to her in surprise, “What are you talking about?”

“The… morgans, or whatever they were called. You said that Jiya told you they healed injuries when you put it into a living person. It’s only when you put them in someone dead that they turn into a zombie, right?” Miss Canton urged.

“They were what Jiya used to track Yalan Gur,” Yukio said, gritting his teeth, “Right! Ring, will Mogan save Jiya’s life?”

“Possible. The effects of Mogan on Ungarans are undocumented, but probability of survival increases. Tracking sources of Mogan.”

“Then we need to go get it.” His aura blazed brighter, and he pulled himself up from the mud, into the air. A construct platform appeared next to him and dove into the mud, before lifting up Miss Canton as well, carrying her with him as they accelerated towards the greatest concentration of the alien material.

Sure enough, in the depths of the swamp there was an old, rotting long-abandoned cabin. One where the lights were on inside, and the door was still swinging back and forth.

Yukio set Miss Canton down on the front step, and then floated in through the door. What he saw had him freezing in horror.

The zombie who attacked them in Gotham was standing in one corner of the room, looking barely any worse for wear from its capture by Jiya. In the center of the room, lying on the floor, was a young woman. She was deathly still, and far too pale, with a bloodstained green dress hanging off of her. Running his fingers through the corpse’s curly red hair, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her, was the monstrous form of Yalan Gur.

The hologram earlier had prepared him, but seeing the inhuman creature in person was worse. His mouth was bloodstained, his prominent fangs sticking out from between his lips. His skin was an awful gray-pink, and his eyes were gold rings suspended in pitch black.

He stared up at Yukio in surprise, before grinning, “So, the ring sought out a local, eh?” he croaked out in a deep, raspy, voice. He licked his lips with a too-long tongue, cleaning his face of blood. “But a rookie is a rookie. Big Guy, kill him.”

The zombie charged forwards, “BURIED ON SUNDAY!” it roared, bringing up its fists to crash down on him- only to flinch as Yukio punched towards the giant with his ring-bearing fist. From the explosion of green light, a full-sized emerald locomotive emerged, chugging at full speed and smashing into the chest of the zombie. It plowed the zombie through the wall and out into the swamp, carrying the figure far into the distance.

Yukio turned his glare on Yalan Gur, facing the body on the floor, and then facing the man himself. “How many people have you killed since coming to this planet?” Yukio asked.

Yalan Gur smiled evilly, “Who knows. I’ve been here for hundreds of years, on and off. Whenever I needed to… let go of some stress.”

“The Galactic Patrol never noticed?” Yukio growled.

“Heh, blame your own ancestors for that, earthling. The first time I visited this backwater, one of you apes got lucky. Had some talent for Ki, and managed to shatter my Power Ring, and break a chunk off my Power Battery. Bastard wanted it as a necklace! I barely got away with my own life, had to use the superluminal communicator built into my suit to call for help.” He grinned evilly, “But because of that, he gave me the opportunity for revenge. By breaking my Power Battery, it was cut off from the rest of the network. It meant the Galactic Kings can’t monitor me any more. I cut off a little more of it, made myself a new ring-” he held out his hand, showing off the simple jade band wrapped around one finger, “-one without an AI assistant… but also one without the limits of your own ring. No more automatic shutdown in response to killing, no more being listened in on by my superiors, no more pesky distress messages I’m required to answer… and no more weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses?” Yukio asked, lost, before shaking his head, “No,” Yukio decided, “It doesn’t matter. How strong you are, or how experienced, or how many people you killed… I’m taking you down.”

“Hah! I’d like to see you-” Yalan Gur didn’t react in time as a construct piston quickly emerged from Yukio’s hand, and extended out at high speed towards his face, smashing into his nose and shattering his fangs. The vampire’s head jerked backwards, and it looked for a moment like he had snapped his neck…

But only for a moment.

Chapter 43: Episode of Green Lantern 3

Chapter Text

“Gah!” Yalan Gur cried out, clutching his bleeding nose as his head snapped back forwards, his neck creaking eerily as the Mogan repaired the damage. Yukio noted that his alien blood was green. “You got one hit in, but that’s the only lucky break you’re going to get, earthling!” On his opposite hand, his ring blazed green, covering him in an aura. He pulled his hand away from his injured face, and looked down at the blood there. He regarded it for a moment before grinning sad*stically, and creating a construct needle. Stabbing himself with it, he drew out some blood- and then jammed it into the corpse of the woman on the floor.

“Hey!” Yukio cried out. He shot forwards, a construct hand reaching for Yalan’s needle, only to be knocked aside as Yalan lashed out with a whip of emerald light, smacking Yukio across the floor.

The needle pushed its liquid green payload into the too-pale body of the woman, and Yuko watched in disgust as she suddenly lurched back to her feet, the jade Mogan-filled blood poured into her veins coloring her skin a pale green that clashed with the bright red of her hair. “Keep him busy for a second,” Yalan Gur demanded, before he glided back and began creating constructs. Alien shapes and pieces that the vampire constructed one by one, before fitting together, building some kind of machine.

Yukio formed a shield to push away the unfortunate woman- but rather than get pushed away, the woman clung to his shield. She let out a hissed “Greeeen…” before shattering it under her grip, the Mogan that brought her back to life enhancing her strength just like the other zombie. He was about to put another shield between them when she suddenly swung one hand to the side- towards the open door -and to Yukio’s surprise a tree branch came rumbling in, growing impossibly fast and moving like a tentacle to try and trap him.

He cut through the incoming branch with a hastily-made buzzsaw construct, but that too was destroyed as the woman kicked through the glowing green tether connecting it to his ring. Deciding he had enough, he punched at her in the same way as he had for the zombie, and another train construct appeared, smashing into her and launching her through a wall and out into the swamp, just like the first zombie. As her form vanished into the night, the tree stopped reaching for him, its supernatural growth slowing down.

Turning his attention back on his true opponent, Yukio’s eyes widened as he saw just what it was that Yalan Gur had been building. All the parts seemed to be coming together into the form of a huge gun, almost a cannon.

Yukio dove towards his opponent, but from inside the barrel of the gun, a deep yellow glow formed.

“Those weaknesses I mentioned? You’ll find they do matter.” Yalan Gur said, before gesturing at his opponent.

The cannon fired, unleashing a blaze of pure yellow light. Yukio put up another shield, but the light hit it and passed through as if it didn’t exist, the constructs glitching as the beam made contact, and kept going.

Yukio shoved himself aside, only to regret it as he heard a scream come from outside. “Miss Canton!” he found himself dropping to the floor, confused, until he realized that he was scared- and his ring had turned off again, “Damn it!” he glared at Yalan Gur, trying to focus on the situation at hand. He wouldn’t be any good to her unless he could help her!

Yalan Gur smiled, “You brought me even more earthlings?” the monster asked, delighted.

Yukio ignored him. The aura reestablished, weakly, and he flew out of the hole the cannon made, turning towards his boss, who was lying in the swamp, blasted backwards by the beam. She… she didn’t look good. The beam had only nicked her, but even just being nicked by a column of burning light was devastating. Her dress was burning, starting at her left side, and the flesh on that side of her torso was terribly, terribly, burnt.

“You…” she began.

“Miss Canton,” he said, shocked.

“Yu…kio.”

He descended towards her, and picked her up into his arms, “Miss Canton… I’ll get you to a hospital immediately!” She was in pain, she could die. Yukio could die. Jiya was dying. Yalan Gur was right there, and he had a weapon that could defeat Yukio. He had already defeated Jiya, who was far more experienced with the weapon Yukio was trying to use. Fear pulsed inside him, and the aura flashed in and out of existence. What was he doing here? Why didn’t he just run when Jiya told him to? Get more help?

In the end, they weren’t going to be able to save Jiya at all!

He tried to lift her with a construct stretcher, but it faded a moment after he made it.

“No,” Miss Canton managed, shaking her head, “No time. I… got him out of the way…” He glanced down to her hands, seeing that the small, dying, form of Jiya was there as well.

She had come out here because he came out here.

“G- good work, Miss Canton.” He said. He couldn’t say anything else.

He couldn’t afford to fail. He couldn’t afford to fail.

He needed that blood.

And he was going to get it. There was no doubt of that. None.

There was no room for fear as certainty locked itself into his head. As he forcefully ignored any possibility besides getting that blood.

He turned around, green flames wrapped across his body, and turned around to face his enemy, who was watching him, smug, amused.

The cannon turned towards him, “Not going to take your friend and run?” Gur asked.

Yukio surged forwards as fast as thought, his flaming aura solidifying into the spines of an urchin as he crashed into Yalan Gur. The vampire managed to put up a bubble shield just in time, the spikes of Yukio’s construct putting on pressure, but unable to penetrate. “Hah! Jiya couldn’t even scratch this shield of mine. What do you think you’re going to do, rookie?” Yalan maneuvered the cannon a little further away, twisting it around on a tether, aiming to blast them both-

But Yukio didn’t pay attention to that. The spikes weren’t penetrating, so he had to fix that. They widened, growing, and a spiral crevice appeared along their lengths, and then all of them began to rapidly spin. He pressed forwards, and Gur winced as his own shields began to spark and crack under the onslaught of a hundred drills. The cannon fired, and Yukio caught the flash of yellow in the corner of his eye, and jinked to the side. The blast disrupted a few of his drills that didn’t get out of the way in time, but most of it hit Yalan Gur’s own shield- and did nothing.

Whatever effect the cannon had that let it disrupt his own ring, Gur’s ring didn’t have that same weakness.

One drill in particular had broken farther into Yalan Gur’s shield than the others, so Yukio poured his energies into that one drill. It grew, swelling in size and spinning ever faster. He extended all his other spines on tethers, and then slammed them all down right next to the main drill like scorpion tails, wearing away at it.

Yalan Gur sneered, fired again- and this time Yukio was forced to abandon his efforts, as the vampire had aimed directly for the weakness he had made in the shield.

That was fine.

He slammed down all his drills again once he stopped dodging, and then shifted and did it again as Yalan Gur tried to fire again.

Almost idly, one drill-tether swung wide, trying to snag the tether of Yaln Gur’s cannon, but it reacted instantly, firing a burst of yellow light that disrupted the small drill… and forced the cannon to turn away from where Yukio was working.

He split his efforts in two, keeping the majority of his drills focused on the shield, while one lesser tendril after another sacrificed itself to keep the gun busy. His drilling penetrated deeper, and deeper, into Yalan Gur’s bubble, until finally he broke through. Yukio reacted instantly, converting the drills into prying bars and wrenching open the hole he had made, throwing himself bodily into the shield. With his free hand he reached out towards Yalan Gur, and grabbed for the alien’s neck- only to find his arm enclosed in an iron grip.

The vampire smiled evilly, and yanked Yukio to the side, slamming him against his bubble shield, before dismissing it entirely and holding Yukio out for the cannon to aim at directly. Yukio swung at Yalan Gur with his other hand, trying to bring forth another locomotive construct like he had for the zombies, but as it started forming, the blast of yellow light disrupted it, and burned at his ring-arm at the same time.

Pain seared through his senses-

<Gaaaagggh!>

And… and… where was he?

The swamp was blurring, mud and trees and warm humidity mixing with rock and steel and a kind of cold clamminess.

Miss Canton, no, Kate, where was she? Was she alright? Jiya was…

<Agh… damn it, wasn’t prepared...>

Yukio looked around, only to startle as the swamp reformed all around him. His arm ached but… he had been expecting it to hurt much worse than this. Had he misremembered-

Remembered?

He was remembering?

<He… damn it, ugh. Can’t let go quite yet. You’re not remembering. This is the present, not the past. He seared your arm. What happened next?>

Pain seared through his senses, but he held on. Pushed through it. Miss Canton had gone through worse, and was still trying. He couldn't afford to do anything less. Yalan Gur was still holding onto him, cackling evilly-

He was so close.

He let his burnt arm go limp, and focused on the one Yalan Gur was gripping so tightly. He sent a tether of green light racing up his arm, through his half-burnt shirt, and out his other sleeve, wrapping around his own arm, and then wrapping around Yalan Gur’s. Construct nails formed and jabbed inwards, one by one, as the tether snaked up the vampire’s body. Yalan snarled and let go of Yukio, a construct saber slicing through the tether- but Yukio reached out and grabbed those strands, forcing them to remain.

“What?! How-” the vampire started, before sneering, “-No! It doesn't matter!” the cannon fired, and Yukio let out a cry of pain as-

<AAAAARRRGGH! N-no, no, I can keep going… need… to know… how it all works…>

-he felt fire spread across his back. It was agonizing, he was dying…

But he wouldn’t let that happen. Because he got the blood.

The tethers grew, the nails swelled, and with a twist of Yukio’s will, they spun, tearing apart the vampire’s arm and sending out a spray of jade-green blood across Yukio’s body. Yukio let out a roar of exhilaration as he felt relief flood through him, the magical properties of the blood healing him… just like it was healing Yalan Gur.

Already the wounds he had tried so hard to make were rapidly closing, healing far faster than Yukio’s own burns were.

But it didn’t matter. He had the blood. Construct vacuums surrounded him as they gathered up whatever his own body hadn’t already absorbed, and he slammed Yalan Gur with a locomotive that the vampire had to hastily shoot apart. While the monster was distracted Yukio flew back towards the barely-conscious Miss Canton and the near-death Jiya.

He restructured his vacuums, and sprayed the pair of them in the jade green liquid.

The difference was immediate, and he smiled as color came back to Miss Canton’s face. His allies safe, Yukio wheeled around, and flew back at Yalan Gur. The alien’s cannon aimed and fired, but he simply dodged the blast, and then created a small swarm of sacrificial tendrils to distract it, each of them tipped with scissors trying to go for the gun’s tether that took up the cannon’s attention with its apparently automatic self-defense. At the same time, he formed one last locomotive.

It was kind of like when Yalan Gur built his gun, rather than just picturing a train and bringing that picture to life, like a solid object cast from a mold, he was instead building it himself in his head first piece-by-piece. Making each part, fitting them together. This construct wasn’t merely the physical idea of a train, but instead an actual, working, machine built up from imagination, knowledge, and pure willpower. When it was finished, he created a construct rail to follow, and followed, a boom echoing through the swamp as his construct-steam engine broke the sound barrier.

Gur pulled up his bubble shield once again, but as it met the cowcatcher on the front of the engine, it was crushed immediately. Yukio stood in the cab within, and watched with satisfaction as Yalan Gur was ground down on the front of the tracks, before slipping under and being caught in the wheels. There was a crunch, and Yukio pressed onwards, the rails in front of them forming a circle as he forced his engine into a sharp turn, slamming back into the vampire as soon as he stood back up.

A blast of yellow light tore its way through the cab, deleting everything it touched, but the train was still holding together. The individual parts that were hit vanished, but the rest of the construct continued to press onwards.

Still, this wasn’t enough. Yalan Gur had the life-saving Mogan in his blood. No amount of blunt damage was going to do the job.

But maybe he could still burn.

Yukio stepped forwards, and began adjusting knobs, turning dials. As the gauges shifted into the danger range, he opened the door, and stepped out of the train.

It slammed into Yalan Gur a third time- and then stopped, screeching to a halt on top of the mangled vampire.

Yukio watched as the engine shifted, and was lifted from the tracks. The struggling alien underneath pushed himself up, and moved the entire locomotive with him. Yalan Gur stood there triumphantly for a moment, holding the train over his head before snarling and bringing his cannon in close. He aimed right for Yukio-

And then the engine exploded, overloading from pressure. Pieces of the locomotive went flying, before dissipating themselves. The soundwave alone shook the trees of Slaughter Swamp. Yukio blinked against the sudden debris and the cloud of steam, before blowing it away with a construct fan.

The crater that remained slowly filled in with mud and water, and debris fell down all around them.

For a moment, everything was finally silent, and then the Power Ring spoke up, “User has used this Power Ring to inflict lethal harm on a sentient being. Privileges revoked.”

<Huh?>

“Huh?” Yukio managed to ask, before the glowing green aura that surrounded him vanished. Yukio plummeted from the air he had been floating in, splashing into the swamp. He swam desperately, pulling himself back up out of the muck, and coughed the water out of his lungs.

<Ew. I need to figure out how to absorb information without needing to experience things like this…>

“Wha-what the hell?” he muttered, glaring down at the suddenly-dull piece of jade around his finger.

Without the glowing green light, he could barely see. In fact- he reached up for his face and sighed in disappointment -he had lost his glasses somewhere in the middle of all that. It didn’t seem to matter when he had been wearing the ring, but now things were blurry on top of being dark.

He squinted, decided that the blurry shape over there might be land, and started swimming.

He had been swimming for about a minute when suddenly something wrapped around his leg!

Chapter 44: Episode of Green Lantern Final

Chapter Text

Yukio let out a small shriek as he kicked at it. Was Yalan Gur still alive!? Did he stay under the water, waiting to ambush him?

He glared at the Power Ring. If Yalan Gur wasn’t dead, then he wasn’t a murderer, and it should turn back on! But no, the ring remained as dead as ever even as he was pulled deeper into the water, under the surface… and then back out of the water, lifted into the air by a coiling branch. One that was unnaturally moving and shifting on its own, “Oh. Oh no.” It wasn’t Yalan Gur, but that didn’t mean he was safe.

Had he launched the female zombie this way earlier?

Sure enough, a feminine figure walked out of the darkness of the swamp, roots reaching up and forming platforms for each step, letting her walk without even needing to touch the mud. Finally, she came to a stop a certain distance from him, “Yukio?” she asked.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting himself go limp as he dangled upside-down by one leg, “Miss Canton.”

“I think you can call me Kate, after everything we went through,” she said, “You saved my life, tonight.”

“It’s my fault you were here and in danger in the first place,” he said sourly.

She shrugged, “I volunteered to come out here, but fine, whatever. Maybe that’s not what I was talking about.”

He frowned at her.

“Before any aliens showed up, before we knew that vampires were real, before I could… control plants, or anything else like that… you stepped in front of a gun for me, Yukio. I treated you like dirt, and ya stepped between me and some mobsters. I didn’t thank you properly for that, with everything else that happened.”

The branch holding his leg slowly let him descend, and Miss Canton… Kate, stepped forward to hold onto him. She pulled back, and as the branch slipped back into the water and released him, he stepped onto the roots as well, holding onto her. This close, he could almost see her clearly, despite the dark, despite his crappy eyes.

They leaned closer, their embrace less her holding him up, and more a genuine hug. Their faces slowly moved closer, both of them hesitant, but… intrigued. They were running high on danger and shock and near-death and miraculous healing.

And then Jiya darted between them, startling them both into stumbling back.

“Kyuumonji,” the tiny alien said, “The Galactic Patrol owes you a great debt. I owe you a great debt. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for defeating that monster. You did… amazingly well. Never before have I seen someone take to a Power Ring so naturally, a rookie stand up to a veteran so successfully… you put me to shame,” the little alien glanced aside, hesitating, and then turned to face Yukio directly, “That ring on your finger, please, keep it. Go to Oa, receive training, and give Sector 2814 a Patrolman who’s finally worthy of it.” He bowed his head, “I’m in no position to be seeking favors, but I only ask that you bring me with you to Oa so that I can explain my failures and Yalan Gur’s shame in person to the Galactic Kings.”

“Jiya!” Yukio protested, “I- no, of course not. Jiya, none of this would even be possible without you. I’m not going to just take your job!”

“Especially since he’s working for me,” Kate added, holding onto Yukio a little tighter and making him blush.

“Besides,” Yukio said, lifting the ring, “It shut down on me for killing Yalan Gur.”

“You killed him?” Jiya asked, surprised and a little horrified.

“You gonna act like he didn’t deserve it?” Kate challenged.

“I-” Jiya began, before looking away, “...No. Of course not. No I cannot judge you for that, not when he murdered your fellow earthlings with impunity.” He sighed, “Still, murderers cannot- or rather, are not supposed to be Patrolmen. May I have my ring back?”

Yukio nodded, “Of course.” He slid it off his hand, and moved to hand it to Jiya, when suddenly a glowing green hand emerged from the water and grabbed it, before plunging back into the murk.

“Oh sh*t,” Kate said. She whipped her head to the side, and Yukio and Jiya followed her gaze. Yukio could barely make it out, but sure enough, a glowing green figure rose up from the depths of the swamp, trailing water plants hanging from his body.

“And just like that… none of you have a way off this planet. Nobody to turn me in,” the vampire said, smiling evilly as he held the Power Ring with the same hand that wore his own cruder hand-made one.“Idiots. I’ll enjoy hunting you three down one by one, and draining you dry. Maybe I’ll turn you into zombies like that other pair.”

A clawed hand construct flowed out of his ring, and loomed over them, ready to strike-

And then Yalan Gur was engulfed in plants. The tree he was holding onto swelled and warped as it pulled him in like an amoeba, the water-plants covering his body grew and grew, entangling him further, branches and roots from nearby trees wrapped around him, pushing him into the tree proper. He tried to fight back, snapped a few of them, swiped with the construct claw he had made that cut a few plants, but then he became sluggish, his own skin glowing a dark jade green as the Mogan in his bloodstream fought against him.

“What is this!?” he hissed, even as he was pulled into the depths of the tree. Thin twigs and tendrils wrapped around his hand, even as his construct claw hacked away, and then shifted to a saw, and then began to simply fire beams haphazardly. But it didn’t last long. Whatever damage the vampire did, the plants undid shortly after, healing as quickly as he did. Yalan Gur’s expression shifted, from angry to terrified, and the more scared he was, the weaker the construct saws, claws, and lasers became.

Yukio looked towards Kate, who was holding one hand out towards the monster, a look of intense concentration on her face. Yukio mentally slapped himself. Right. She could control plants now, just like the female zombie could. A reaction to the Mogan?

<Ah. She was a Metahuman. The female zombie was too. The Metagene reacted in the same way to almost dying and being revived by Mogan.>

Yalan Gur’s hand was the only thing left remaining outside of the tree, thrashing wildly, the sputtering remnants of his will and concentration forcing away any plants that grew too close to either Power Ring in his hand. Kate watched with growing frustration, until she reached into her purse with her other hand and pulled out her pistol.

BANG!

Yukio and Jiya both winced as the tip of Yalan Gur’s finger came off, his homemade Power Ring falling down onto the roots below, and without it protecting his hand, Jiya’s own ring was forced out of his grip as well. The wound healed rapidly, his finger already completely intact a second later, but it was no use. A few seconds later, the vampire was pulled completely into the tree. The wound in the back closed, sealing him within.

Jiya looked at Kate in horror. “You killed him?” He asked.

“We just got done talking about how he deserved it,” she protested.

“...Right.” Jiya said.

“But whether he deserves it or not, he’s still not dead. This is just the only way I can keep him in one place.”

“Oh. Then… Thank you for your restraint,” Jiya said awkwardly, and descended towards the pair of rings. He picked up his own and slid it over his waist. “...About my offer,” He looked towards Yukio again.

“Jiya, I couldn’t,” Yukio said.

“You could, but… I understand. At the very least, take this,” He gestured towards the remaining ring. The crude band of jade that Yalan Gur had carved for himself, “...Considering what he’s been using it for, I think it is only right an earthling has custody of it. Consider it thanks, on behalf of the Galactic Patrol. This was our mess, but you earthlings were the ones to clean it up.” He bowed his head.

Yukio bowed his own as well, “...Very well,” he reached down to pick it up, and slid it over his middle finger.

<Finally.>

Once again, an aura of green flames covered his body, and he felt his eyesight improve. Kate grinned at him, “You look good in green,” she decided.

Jiya nodded, and turned his head back the way they came, “That cabin was Yalan Gur’s base, while he was on this world. The battery that is paired to that ring should be inside. When your ring runs out of power, simply hold it up to the battery, and, traditionally, speak an oath.”

“An oath?”

“Only if you want to. Some Patrolmen never set one. It’s kind of like a password to use a Battery. I know for a fact Yalan Gur never used one, since he didn’t see the purpose of adding more security to a power source only other Patrolmen could use. If you make one, it’ll accept it.”

<...I need a password?>

“The ring can run out of power?” Yukio asked, surprised.

Jiya nodded, “The ring has its own supply of life force, called a ring charge. Without that supply, it’d have to rely on your own. With the way Power Rings amplify Ki, that could lead you to accidentally burn through all your life force at once, which is fatal. However, there’s only so much energy a Power Ring can contain, so we use batteries to recharge.” He smiled, looking down at his own ring, “Speaking of… remaining charge?”

“11%”

Jiya smiled, “It saw a lot of use today, hm? Open subspace pocket.”

Yukio and Kate stumbled backwards as there was a flash of emerald light, and sitting in front of them was a strange object. A foot-tall cylinder made of the same green crystal as the rings, with two orifices in its side, both of them shining with intense green light that illuminated the area around them. A handle made of the same crystal was attached to the flat top of the cylinder.

“A green lantern,” Yukio said.

Jiya smiled, “A Power Battery. Now, this is a little personal, but since you two did save my life, I won’t ask you to give me some privacy.” He cleared his throat, stared into the light, and began to recite words almost like a prayer.

“In brightest day, in blackest night,

No evil shall escape my sight.

Let those who worship evil's might,

Beware my power; the Emerald Light."

Energy flowed like water from the side of the lantern and into Jiya’s belt, until it glowed around him like a neon light. “100% Charge available,” the Power Ring reported.

“Close subspace pocket,” Jiya ordered.

With another flash of light, the lantern vanished.

Jiya nodded, and reached out towards the tree in front of him, which was still occasionally vibrating and shaking. Huge green hands formed, gripping either side of the plant, before suddenly lifting straight up.

Jiya flew up into the sky, and the tree came with, ripped messily from the ground wholesale, “I’ll be bringing this with me to Oa. You have my assurances that Yalan Gur will be held accountable for his crimes against Earth. This is goodbye, Kyuumonji, Canton. Thank you for everything.”

He flew straight up, shooting into the night sky alongside the tree. A glowing green sphere wrapped around them both, trapping the tree in a bubble. The sphere rose, higher and higher, until it was nothing but a twinkling green star amongst countless others… and then it was gone. Kate sighed, flopping against Yukio’s side and leaning on him, “What a night…”

Yukio laughed. “What a night,” he agreed, “...I’m a little surprised you didn’t just kill the monster. Even I tried to.”

“I tried!” Kate growled, “Believe me I tried crushing him, stabbing him, whatever I could inside that tree. But he kept growing back. Might as well let Jiya have em’. At least I got him gift-wrapped.”

Yukio grinned. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“Let’s.”

He picked her up in a construct chair, and then flew back the way they came, heading for the thoroughly-destroyed cabin. As they set down in front of it, Yukio looked down at his ring, “Ring, scan for Power Battery.”

It did nothing.

“...Right, this one’s not as fancy,” he sighed, “Time to look for it the hard way, then.”

The two made their way through the shack, carefully avoiding the bloodstains on the floors as they checked closets and cupboards, until finally Kate shouted over, “Found it!”

Yukio hurried over, and pulled out the lantern. It looked quite different from the one Jiya had, although it was clearly built around the same base. It was clearly damaged at some point in time, with one of the openings shattered even wider and patched over with metal. With only one opening, and the handle on the top, it looked a little bit like a green railroad lantern.

He held his ring up to it, “...What should I say?”

“I dunno, come up with something. Or just use Jiya’s.”

<Show me the oath.>

He… didn’t have an oath yet. He was trying to think of one that-

<Skip forward, just show me the oath. And… show me where the lantern is, as well.>

Yukio frowned. Skip forward?

What did that mean? What… what was going on?

<Show me the oath!>

The cabin flickered. The air was cold and clammy. Kate, his wife, no, his boss. His friend? Why had he…

<Just show me the oath, and show me where you’re hiding the lantern! I waited long enough!>

“Who waited long enough..?” Yukio asked Kate, but she was gone. He was alone.

Or at least, it seemed like it. Yukio tensed up, and let out an irritated sigh. “Get out.” He glared at the cave that was shimmering into and out of existence around him. The shackles on his arms that were and weren’t there. He turned, and looked right at the person who wasn’t there. “I mean it. Get out of my head. This is your only warning.”

<Hmph. Big talk, but I’m the one in control here. Took you long enough to remember. I almost had everything I needed. >

“Very well, I gave you my warning.”

The intruder would get out of his mind, Yukio decided, because he wouldn’t accept any other option but that.

All at once, the swaying world crystallized, held in place. The memories stopped flowing, jerking as they froze. Yukio was completely focused, right now. Everything that was him, was concentration. Control.

There was something in his mind that wasn’t… so he rejected it. Pushed and pushed and pushed until it was out.

<N-NO! IT HURTS! IT’S TOO MUCH PRESSURE------

Yukio opened his eyes, and hissed as he felt pain wash over him. He wasn’t a young man any longer, fighting his first monsters, in the first few days of friendship with the woman who would become his wife. He was an old man. All but retired, having spent many, many wonderful years in the company of his wife, his Thorn, his Rose. Jiya was an old friend, not a savior figure. Those two weren’t just mindless zombies he could knock away and forget about, they were the annoyingly immortal nuisances Poison Ivy and Solomon Grundy.

But most pressingly, he was not Yukio Kyuumonji, an unprepared rookie ring-slinger. He was Yukio Kyuumonji, the goddamn Green Lantern.

He glared at his surroundings. He was bound to a table, shackles attached to each limb. The ceiling was covered in stalactites, and he could hear the whirring of machines. His ring sprung to life, coating him in an aura of green flame. The shackles snapped, and he rose into the air, wheeling around towards his enemy.

The sight of an albino gorilla was unexpected, of course, but he had honestly fought weirder.

The ape seemed stunned, holding its face in one meaty hand, its eerily large brain pulsing with his heartbeats. That too, was a weak point if he ever saw one.

He reared back for a punch, only to wince as he was suddenly flung backwards, like an overpowering gravity was pushing down on him, forcing him against the opposite wall. A swarm of construct tethers emerged from his ring, racing toward his opponent, but each of them were snapped, one by one, by the invisible force. The gorilla had raised its other hand out towards him, but the limb was shaking.

Yukio grit his teeth, and solidified his aura around him, creating a giant version of himself wrapped around his real body, like a suit of armor. With monumental effort, he pushed off the wall and began to slowly walk across the floor towards the gorilla. More invisible blows rained down on him, but these weren’t enough to get through his armor. He reached out with one hand, and elongated his giant self’s arms, and grabbed his enemy.

The gorilla let out a wheeze as he lifted it from the floor and squeezed down on it with his giant construct hand. “Where am I?” Yukio demanded.

“Let me go!” the gorilla demanded, struggling. The force was growing, the strange gravity and powerful blows pounded down on his construct, harder and harder, but he ignored it. The gorilla struggled, his nose starting to bleed and brain pulsing dangerous fast, but it wasn’t enough. Yukio felt something tickling in his mind, but he shut that out as well, crushing the alien influence in his head. His will was iron and his concentration perfect. This monkey had spent enough time traipsing around his precious memories as it was!

It was then that the door swung open, and Kate stood there, “Yukio!” she shouted, “Wait, it’s all a misunderstanding! We’re not enemies! Don’t hurt him!”

He hesitated, looking at his wife in confusion. But he had been sure-

Yukio’s iron will slipped, just slightly. The gorilla’s eyes flashed, and the veins of its eerily large head pulsed harder than before. He had a small crack in Yukio’s mental defenses, now, a small part of Yukio that wasn’t absolutely sure that he was an enemy. So, mustering all his telepathic strength, he assaulted that crack.

<!FeAr! !tErRoR!>

It flooded Yukio’s mind, bombarded him. Every nightmare he had ever had, from the horribly plausible to the utterly silly, filled his mind. He couldn’t remember where he was, lost in the parade of demons.

His construct faded, and then shattered as the force slammed him back into the opposite wall.

The gorilla ambled forwards, and reached up to Yukio’s hand. He instinctively created spikes around his finger, to protect his ring, but they were crushed by the force of the gorilla’s telekinesis, and weakened by the nightmares still roiling through his mind.

The gorilla yanked the ring from his finger, and then punched him in the head. As Yukio saw stars and lost his grip on consciousness, the nightmares faded and the overwhelming gravity did as well. He slid down the wall and landed in a heap. He watched in disgust as the gorilla tried and failed to slide the jade ring around one of its meaty fingers and resorted to sticking it on one of its pinky toes instead. He watched, in confusion and a little bit of shame, as his wife’s body shifted and warped into a tall rotund form of brown-orange clay.

“Good work,” the gorilla said to the creature, “Looks like the famous Miso Karlo’s still an actor after all, hm?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Doc. I couldn’t have done it so convincingly without those memories you sent my way,” the clay creature said, “So, this wasn’t the body you were looking for?”

“Unfortunately not,” the gorilla replied, “He’s not even a Metahuman. I’ll try the turtle next.” The gorilla glanced back at Yukio, and bared its teeth in a parody of a smile, “Tie this powerless old man up, he’s still hanging on to a few useful secrets.”

That was all he could remember before the Green Lantern finally blacked out.

DC Character + DB Character = Dragon Ball: Superman Character

• Episode of Green Lantern

• Yalan Gur + Steth & Vamp = Patrolman Yalan Gur
• Solomon Grundy + Bandages the Mummy & Mogan = Solomon Grundy
• Poison Ivy + Trampire & Mogan = Poison Ivy
• Clayface + Misokatsun = Miso Karlo | Clayface

Chapter 45: Mind Control 1

Chapter Text

Livewire walked through the tunnel, hugging herself as she stepped through the door and into the outdoors. Snow clung to the rocks around them, and the mountains stretched on as far as you could see, giving way to pine forests below. Her breath came out in a thick cloud, and she shivered.

“E-Ebi!” she shouted despite her chattering teeth, “You o-out here!?”

“We’re not friends,” said a voice that was just too calm for weather like this.

“U-ugh. Doctor Fries?” she announced, voice dripping with distaste.

From the mountainside above, a huge figure dropped down behind her. “Here.”

She whipped around, and glared at the tall muscular man leaning against a nearby boulder, staring out into the distance. He was wearing a similar outfit to her, a leotard with boots and gloves, but where she had a chestplate covered in cables to enhance her power, he went without. Instead, he had the full-body armored suit and bubble helmet that was lying discarded in the snow some feet away.

When he spoke, his breath didn’t turn to vapor. “You shouldn’t stay out too long, Livewire,” he said, utterly relaxed, “This is the coldest place in North America.”

He thought she didn’t know that!? She was shivering so hard it hurt. She could barely speak, “W-well, I-I had t-t-to… aw h-hell with it!” She shook, converting most of her body into electricity, while leaving her face intact to speak, “I hate doing this, it feels weird as hell, and it’s your fault,” she accused.

Ebi ignored her complaint, “What’s so important that you had to come looking for me?”

“You’re the only one of us any good at that ‘Ki’ thing. The Ultra-Humanite wants you there while he checks out the old guy.”

“Which old guy?”

“The turtle, not the superhero,” she said dismissively, before grinning meanly, “Heh, superhero. What a liar. He’s not even a real Metahuman, that magic ring of his was the source of his powers the whole time! Of course the weaklings running the world put him in charge of the All-Star Squad. He’s one of them, yet able to fight one of us.”

Ebi rolled his eyes, “Not all of us buy into your prejudice, you know.”

“It’s not racism!” she growled.

“I didn’t say it was racism. Race is a cultural construct, regardless,” He sighed, “No, if anything, I’d say you’re an ableist.”

“Ableist- I don’t care if their legs work, I care that they’re a different species!”

“You care about something you can physically do, but they can’t, and you look down on them for it. Regardless, Livewire, it’s a difference in one gene. One that roughly one in twelve humans has. A gene that does absolutely nothing, unless the person who has it finds themselves undergoing intense, sudden, severe physical trauma, triggering a focused and specialized Ki-based survival mechanism. Metahumans are humans. Same species.”

“Different species,” she said stubbornly.

“And yet both of us are still human.”

“Whatever!” she snapped, “Look, the boss is calling for you, so come on.” She turned completely to lightning, and zapped away. However, only a breath afterwards, she zapped back, “And we’re different species,” She was away again before he could say anything else about the subject, claiming the last word.

Ebi sighed, and moved to put on his suit. He avoided wearing it as much as possible, but it was sadly a necessity, anywhere that wasn’t below freezing. His own ‘Ki-based survival mechanism’, a change in his body that had been brought about in an accident with the cryogenics equipment he had been using to preserve his wife’s body and stall her illness. If he hadn’t been one those lucky one-in-twelve, he would have never survived the sudden flash-freezing of his body and the far-below-zero temperatures in that room that had come after being accidentally doused in chemical freezing agents. Unfortunately, it left him unable to survive any temperature above zero degrees Celsius for long.

He reached down and picked up the helmet, slotting it in place. And with that, the suit automatically began super-cooling the air it took in from outside.

He walked through the door and descended a spiral staircase into the cave system the Society called home, and crossed his arms behind his back. With a thought, he reached out to the energy around him, and felt for powerful sources of Ki… and to his surprise, found one far beyond anything he had felt before.

It seemed like Livewire came back with the real deal.

He followed it to its source, and walked into a room containing Doctor Gerard Wheelo, their enigmatic boss, the Ultra-Humanite, whose Metahuman brain had been inserted into the body of a gorilla in order to withstand the forces of his own powers, Miso Karlo, the former actor now known as Clayface, whose body’s reaction to an experimental face-sculpting makeup was even more extreme than Ebi’s own, having converted completely into a shapeshifting clay, and finally Kish Willis, now known as Livewire, a former shock jock who, ironically, electrocuted herself on her own radio equipment and came out of it with the ability to transform into and generate electricity.

On the table was a short, stick-thin old man clad in nothing but his boxers. Lying on the floor on the others side of the room was the heavy stone turtle shell, sunglasses, and the torn remains of the suit he had been wearing.

As it was, he just looked sad, but Ebi could feel the depths of power sleeping underneath the surface.

“Mister Freeze!” the Ultra-Humanite greeted, turning around to grin at him, “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, sir,” he said, “You wanted me to confirm his status as a Ki user? Because I could feel his energy all the way from outside. It’s more strength than I believed a human possible of.”

“Not enough to beat me,” Livewire said, off-hand.

The Ultra-Humanite nodded, “That is a point. Looking at this sorry specimen… even if his power is undeniable, this body…” he sneered.

“Wait! Please!” the last member of the Society’s upper brass, Doctor Silverstone, hurried into the room, breathing hard and resting his weight on his cane, “Doctor Wheelo, this is the best body you could hope for. What you needed more than anything else is Ki to burn, correct? This body has that in spades! It is ideal. I promise you, please don’t throw away your ambitions on meaningless aesthetics.”

The Ultra-Humanite glared at the doctor, “Meaningless?”

Silverstone cringed, “I’m sorry, not meaningless but… won’t you at least try? What does it matter what you look like, if you’re the most powerful being in creation?”

The gorilla sniffed, and turned his glare back on the body in front of him, “...Very well. I’ll reach into his mind, see how powerful he really is. If he breaks free like Green Lantern did, however, be ready to take him down again.”

Every head in the room gave a nod, and the Ultra-Humanite raised one hand over the old man on the slab-

And then jolted back, his eyes wide in alarm, “He’s awake-”

The old man leaped up, his cuffs falling away as if they weren’t even locked, and surged forwards in a spin-kick that knocked the Ultra-Humanite into the machine on the opposite wall, crushing it beneath his mass.

Chapter 46: Mind Control 2

Chapter Text

Clayface and Livewire jumped into action, the first turning his fists into huge spiked clubs, the other turning into electricity and jumping for him.

The old man didn’t falter, however. He simply ducked beneath Livewire’s leap, and then threw a bit of lightning of his own at her, freezing her in place in mid-air with a coil of dark-green sparks. Then he stepped between Clayface’s blows, and threw a punch that shoved the much larger creature back. “You’ll have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat this old turtle!” he proudly proclaimed, turning his gaze towards Ebi, selecting him as the next target.

Ebi jumped to the side to avoid the first blow, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid the second, and winced as he heard the armor on his side crunch under the force of the old man’s kick. Luckily, Ebi had tricks of his own up his sleeve. He reached out towards the man, and took hold of the ambient energy in front of him, and pulled it all into himself.

Using his own energy to call to the energy all around him, and steal it away in all its forms. Heat, light, life force… all of it converted into Ki for his own use. In reality, it was a directed long-range draining attack, but to an outside observer, it looked like he launched a beam of shimmering shadow out from his hand that crashed into the old man and left him covered in ice and feeling desperately weak.

Diamond dust glittered in the air between them, and the temperature of the whole room had gone down several degrees.

Feeling a surge from his stolen strength, Ebi threw himself forwards and lashed out with a punch at his opponent, who in his own weakened state, was forced to catch it rather than dodge.

“Interesting technique you just used there,” the old man complimented, even as he shivered from the ice coating his bare chest. “What’s it called?”

“Thank you, I developed it myself. It’s my Frozen Fist technique,” Ebi replied, before pulling back and punching out again, forcing the old man to turn away the other fist. Ebi caught the return punch, and then kicked the old man in the ribs while he had him held in place.

The old man flinched, but with a snarl, he wrenched himself backwards, and picked Ebi up, and threw him back down into the hard floor, helmet-first.

Ebi hissed as his helmet cracked, and then let out a shout of alarm as the old man kicked against him and sent him rolling along the floor. Ebi was on his feet a second later, and snarled as he threw out both hands, calling upon the Frozen Fist once more. The shimmering beam of shadow flew across the distance between them, but the old man side-stepped it, letting the frost cover the table instead.

“Too bad for you I have an invention of my own,” the old man said with a confident grin. He held his arms out to the side, and Ebi winced as he felt an enormous amount of Ki gathere there. “Kamehame…”

“Frozen Fist!” he shouted at the same time, thrusting out towards the glowing ball of pure energy.

“HA!”

The two beams met, shimmering shadow colliding with blazing bright blue… and then passed through each other, because fundamentally, they were different kinds of attacks. Ebi felt a surge of life force coursing through his body, which was the only thing that saved him as the energy of the Kamehameha- while lessened, -still hit him with more than enough force to throw him back against the wall.

The energy blast dwindled a few moments later, leaving the old man exhausted and tired, but seemingly victorious.

But Ebi stood back up, rejuvenated from his stolen Ki, and reacted instantly, throwing out his hand to do another Frozen Fist. The old man, caught off guard, reacted as quickly as he could as well, thrusting his palm out to meet the beam. But rather than another blast of blue-white light, instead a dark green bolt of lightning shot out towards him.

Ebi slowed to a stop, as did his Frozen Fist, but behind the old man Livewire was now free from her own stopped time and back on the attack. She zapped across the table, whipped back around, and tackled him from behind. The old man let out a shriek as volts and volts of electricity passed through him.

Livewire reformed a short distance away, crossing her arms, and grinned evilly, “Good night, old-timer.”

He shuddered and twitched, but didn’t fall. However, he was stunned long enough he didn’t see the huge puddle making its way behind him. The clay shot straight up from below him, engulfing him completely and covering his face. The old man struggled, but he was already too weak.

The gorilla climbed out of his crater, and snarled, “Damnable old man! Grraaagh! Fine! Clayface, don’t let up until he’s gone!”

“But Doctor Wheelo-” Silverstone pleaded, “Your body…”

“Cutting off his oxygen will only damage his brain. That’s the one part of him we definitely don’t need,” he growled, “We can salvage the rest.”

The old man struggled and tried to push through. Green lightning arced around him, but while Clayface slowed down and Ebi became free, the old man was still as trapped as before, and still unable to breathe. Slowly, his eyes began to twitch, and started to flutter shut as he began to go unconscious…

But then a woman inexplicably appeared from a corner of the room, starting smaller than a mouse, but seconds later already three times taller than even Clayface. “Let him go!” she shouted, swinging one giant hand towards Clayface and his captive. The giant slap splattered the clay creature upon impact, sending pieces of him flying in every direction.

Chapter 47: Mind Control 3

Chapter Text

The Turtle Hermit was sent rolling across the floor, but at the very least, his airways were free considering his pained gasps. “Bulma?” the old man wheezed out, “Yer’ a lifesaver.”

“Who the hell is this!?” the Ultra Humanite roared, swinging his hand towards the woman. She let out a shriek as a telekinetic strike knocked her back and against the wall, shaking the entire cave with the impact.

“Gah!” She slumped back from the impact, dazed. The old man seemed like he was about to help her, so Livewire jumped towards him again, swinging a number of her cables at him like a whip. He didn’t have time to dodge, and slumped over as yet another overwhelming shock ran through him.

The Ultra-Humanite ambled across the floor, and reached out to the giantess, dragging her down to a kneeling position in front of him, “You were the one who unlocked his cuffs, weren’t you? How did you get in here!? How did you find this place!”

She subtly lifted a hand towards her opposite wrist, and then quickly pressed down on the button. The Ultra-Humanite jerked back as she was surrounded by three blazing white halos, caught off-guard, and watched as she shrunk, smaller and smaller… until she was gone.

He looked around, whipping his head back and forth, before trying his more esoteric senses. There were six other minds inside the room, but only five people in sight. She hadn’t gone anywhere else, she was just too small to see. He ignored the sleeping subconscious of the knocked out old man, the desperate consciousness of Silverstone, the cold analytical superego of Mister Freeze, the swirling ego of Clayface, and the prickly, overexcited id of Livewire.

All that was left was the terrified, quick-thinking mind of the woman, somewhere he couldn’t see.

But he didn’t have to see her. He closed his real eyes and opened his mind’s eye, and all of a sudden, he was within her consciousness. A huge, glittering, place. Ideas and memories shot past like whitewater rapids, rather than a steady river he experienced in most minds. They came at him from all directions, crashing down on him like a waterfall. He was almost washed away, but he was stronger than that.

He sifted through memories as they shot past, briefly experiencing one event after another… she was Bulma Brief. She had gotten to his lair by shrinking very small and grabbing onto the only of the Blackrock Squad to return.

She was a billionaire heiress. A mad genius. An adventurer. An inventor…

And a budding expert on magic, Ki, and Metahuman powers… something she believed all sprung from a single source. She was intrigued by this mysterious fifth universal force that seemed to be capable of so many different things. That could let her friends heal injuries and conjure fire from their very life force. That could summon dragons and bring back the dead.

Hm.

She could be very useful to him. Probably even more useful than Silverstone. She was certainly smarter, and that was no easy feat. Silverstone was brilliant.

Possibly even his successor? Silverstone was getting old, after all. The Ultra-Humanite had been planning on saving his assistant’s brain in the same way he had Silverstone save his own. But if he could just have Silverstone teach this woman everything he knew, that might be even better.

…

It’d be best to take a more gentle approach with her than he had with Silverstone, he decided. Something more like what he had done with each of Silverstone’s subordinates. Reached into their minds, found something they wanted, and forced them to believe that the only way to get it was to be completely loyal to him. Clayface wanted to be a celebrity again, Livewire wanted a superpower-based world order, and Mister Freeze wanted his wife back. All of them would do anything the Ultra-Humanite said because of it.

He reached his mental hand into the raging current of Bulma’s mind, and pressed down. Forcing it into a slightly different shape. He took desires she already had, and twisted them in a new direction, <You want to understand reality, learn the truth about Ki, about magic, about Metahuman powers. You want to know how they fit into the greater puzzle, and control it. You want to change the world, make everything better for everyone everywhere… but you can’t do it alone. Already you’re encountering obstacles. My mind is greater than your own. You need me to clear the way. The first step in getting everything you desire is making me the ruler of the world. You want that. You REALLY want that. And so… You will be loyal to me. For the greater good.>

He pulled his hand free, and watched as the current began to rage in their new direction. For a moment, he was worried it would be washed away… but the shape held. He grinned sad*stically, and closed his mind’s eye, coming back into reality.

“Sir?” Mister Freeze asked, “Did you find her?”

“Oh yes. And I convinced her to be much more reasonable,” He smiled sad*stically at his soon-to-be-replaced assistant, “Doctor Silverstone… what do you think about taking on an apprentice?”

Bulma Brief returned to full size, dropping out of the air next to the Ultra-Humanite, and reached up to pull her helmet off, “An apprentice, hm?” she asked, “I have been meaning to look more into biology and medicine. You’re a neuroscientist, right?”

“Er, yes. Yes I am! An apprentice, huh? I’ve never thought about it, but why not!”

“First thing first, you can demonstrate your most important discovery,” he said.

“Sir?”

“The brain transfer surgery. She’ll watch and learn while you insert my brain into the body of the old man.”

“Oh,” Bulma said quickly, “You don’t want his body.”

Silverstone bristled, and the Ultra-Humanite turned to regard her, “Oh?” he challenged. Had the brainwashing not taken full effect? Did she still care more about other people than being loyal to him? That could be problematic. “Why not?” he growled.

“Er… Because he’s not the strongest person on Earth?” she offered.

“Green Lantern isn’t all he’s cracked up to be,” the Ultra-Humanite said dismissively.

“Oh, I don’t mean him, I mean Superboy,” Bulma said.

The Ultra-Humanite frowned, going through the few memories he had glimpsed while in her mind. She was talking about her friend. One Clark Kent. A young Metahuman… no, apparently an alien. One with super strength, and a great deal of Ki… who had become far stronger than that near the end of Summer, after unlocking the true potential of his alien heritage. Flight, invulnerability, quick healing, more Ki than he knows what to do with, senses beyond compare-

The Ultra-Humanite’s smile grew wide. “Superboy. Yes, yes that’ll do nicely. Of course, he’ll be difficult to capture…”

“Well,” she said, “You should think of a way fast. Because he’s probably going to be here soon alongside the rest of the All-Star Squad.”

The Ultra-Humanite’s smile vanished, “What!? Why?”

“Because the very first thing I did when we got here was to radio back to my friends and tell them where we ended up. If I know him, he’ll probably be ditching his sunglasses and flying out as fast as he can,” She said confidently, “That was like, an hour ago, and he can fly faster than a jet if he pushes it. We’re on the other side of the country, but he could still be here any minute.”

“You know him best,” the Ultra-Humanite said, “What would you suggest? How would you take him down?”

Bulma’s face twitched.

Her arms shook.

And then she opened her mouth, and told them.

Chapter 48: Mind Control 4

Chapter Text

An hour before, Civic City, Pennsylvania

Clark felt exhausted. The fight hadn’t been very long, considering, and his own opponent didn’t get much of a hit in, but he still felt worn out.

His ears were ringing from the aftermath of the soundwave-using minion and Black Canary’s sonic scream. They had been bleeding earlier, but that thankfully stopped a little while ago. Still, what really took it out of him was playing medic. He used up a lot of Ki really quickly. Healing Black Canary, Lanfan, and Wildcat from their near-electrocutions. That little burst he had given to Kid Flash and his grandfather hadn’t been enough to wake them up, either, and he had to go back to help them. On top of that, Yamcha was down and needed healing after his crash, and so did Hawkman, and the villain Hawkgirl pinned to a building with a sword.

It probably said a lot about Clark’s reserves that he could even still stand after giving away so much of his Ki, but for the moment, he just felt weak.

The still-recovering members of their group had stayed up top to stand guard over their tied-up prisoners, while Hawkgirl and Launch, who were both unharmed, went back into the building to help those standing guard over Livewire down in the arena.

Clark was taking the chance to just sit and rest for a minute, when he heard something strange. At first he just dismissed it as his ears ringing in a new way, but then the sound changed its rhythm. Or rather, it gained a rhythm. Was that Jingle Bells?

He frowned, and glanced towards where Yamcha was standing with his arms crossed, experimenting with healing himself by vibrating faster. “Hey Yamcha?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

“Do you hear something?”

Yamcha angled his head differently, “I’m not sure. Honestly, I think I’m still feeling off from all those shockwaves.” They had shook the entire street, more-or-less. “Why?”

Jingle Bells shifted to I Wish You a Merry Christmas. “...I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Okay?”

Clark leaped up onto the nearest building’s wall, landing a few dozen feet up, and then kicked off it again, landing on the roof.

He turned his head this way and that- there! He jumped across the gap between buildings, hopping from one roof to another, before dropping down into an alleyway. For a moment, it seemed empty, until out of the shadows stepped the familiar figure of Bruce, dressed head-to-toe in his ninja equipment as Batman.

“Batman?” Clark asked, “What are you doing over here?”

“I hid my costume nearby before the party started, I had to go and retrieve it,” he said simply, “Has Bulma gotten in contact with you yet?”

“No, why?”

“Hm. Cyclone will be coming up with the others soon,” he said, “They’ll explain the situation, but essentially, a member of the Society helped Livewire escape, and she kidnapped the Hermit and Green Lantern. I managed to slip a tracker on them, but Eel managed to slip Bulma on them as well, as she had the same idea.”

Clark’s eyebrows shot up, “Kidnapped- we need to go tell the others!”

“Cyclone is likely already explaining things to Hawkgirl. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. Time is of the essence. You need to get some sunlight, and head out as quickly as you can to the Denali Mountain Range in Alaska. I’ll be following you in the Batmobile, but you’ll definitely get there first.”

“Shouldn’t we go after them all together? I mean, Green Lantern was one of the people they kidnapped, and the All-Star Squad are definitely going to mount a rescue,” Clark said, “Besides, I don’t know where the Denali mountains are.”

“Alaska. We don’t have time to wait, I’ll guide you by radio,” Bruce said, “They’re not planning on holding Green Lantern or the Hermit hostage for long. They’re planning on taking their leader’s brain and putting it in one of their bodies.”

Clark went still, “What?” he asked, horrified.

“You’ll get there before anyone else,” Bruce said, “So go.”

“Right I-” Clark moved to lift his helmet, to remove his glasses, when suddenly the earpiece of the helmet crackled to life.

“Hello?” Bulma’s voice came in through the receiver. She was clearly whispering.

“Bulma!” Clark shouted, making Bruce almost flinch, “Bulma, what’s going on?”

“Livewire was going to escape through the powerlines with her minion, and she was taking Green Lantern and the old pervert with her,” she whispered, “I decided to hitch a ride. We’ve been going in and out of power lines all over the place, this lady can move faster than I can imagine. But we finally stopped.”

“Where are you?”

“A cave, somewhere. I’m still on the Green Lantern’s shoulder. They’re carrying him and- sh*t.”

“Bulma?” Clark asked, his worry spiking.

“They’re separating. They’re taking the Hermit to a different room than Green Lantern.”

“Go with the Turtle Hermit,” Bruce ordered, spooking Clark. He had almost forgotten he was there, listening in through his own helmet.

Bulma’s breath was audible as she started moving, “Okay,” she said after a moment, “I jumped over to him, why stick with the Hermit and not Lantern? I mean, we know him better, but…”

“Green Lantern isn’t a Metahuman,” Bruce said.

“What?” Bulma asked, shocked.

“Remove his ring, and he’s a normal man. Once the Society figures this out, they might kill him, or they might not. He’d be more useful as a hostage than anything else in that situation, so I’d give him better odds of surviving. But the Society is definitely going to kill the Hermit. In this situation, he’s the one in the most guaranteed danger, and the one who’ll need your help the most.”

“Got it.”

Bruce nodded, before turning his gaze on Clark, “Get moving,” he ordered again.

Clark nodded, and pulled off his helmet, and with only a moment’s hesitation to brace himself, lifted his glasses as well.

He stared up at the night sky, searching for the moon- and immediately began feeling the changes hitting him. The sounds of Civic City compounded on themselves, every photon pierced his eyes like a high-intensity beam… and he fought through the familiar pain, he forced himself to ignore the vast majority of the sensations pressing down on him. To focus on what was important.

He felt his lagging reserves of Ki fill, and with a thought, he began rising up into the air. “Which way am I heading?” he asked. Bruce simply pointed. Clark folded his glasses and put them into a pocket, before putting his helmet back on. “Alright Bulma,” he said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Hurry.”

He shot up above the buildings, and then surged forwards, faster than a bullet, in the direction Bruce pointed him in. A moment later, everyone in the area below heard the crack of a sonic boom shake the sky.

Chapter 49: Mind Control 5

Chapter Text

Yamcha found himself suddenly turning his head towards a random building. For a moment, he wasn’t sure why, until he felt it. A sudden, growing weight in the air. A source of Ki, rapidly growing larger and larger. His own sensitivity to Ki wasn’t the best, but almost anyone who knew what to look for probably could have noticed that.

“What is-” he began, before something BOOMED in the air above.

Yamcha flinched alongside everyone else at the sudden crack, only barely catching a blue-and-red streak blast through the night sky into the distance. “Was that Clark?” he mostly asked himself.

However, before he could investigate, there was a sudden commotion near the front of the All-Star Squad’s building. People were shouting, and he could see Launch cringing away from the attention and trying to sneak away from the small crowd of superheroes. Without really thinking about it, he accelerated, carefully slipping between the people present, and gently picking up Launch and moving her a short distance away. It was only when he had stopped did he realize he interrupted everything with a sudden gust of wind that almost blew over several of the elder superheroes.

He blushed as several of the most respected people on the planet glared at him. Launch shrunk back, trying to be as small as possible, “...We don’t like being crowded,” he said defensively, before noticing the grave expressions on their faces, “What happened?”

Cyclone’s irritation faded into something… like pity, looking at him and Launch, dressed in their scarlet Turtle School uniforms.

She began to explain what they were all upset about. One of the minions got past them into the brownstone. The one who got away- the one who had grabbed Yamcha at the start -had made it down to the basem*nt, and despite everyone down there… he had proven slippery enough to reach Livewire, and she managed to take out both Green Lantern and the Turtle Hermit, and escaped with them both in tow. Leaving the way she came, as an untouchable bolt of lightning. Bulma had been quick enough to think to stowaway on the ride, which was the reason they knew where they were heading.

She also told him just what the kidnappers intended to do with one of them.

Launch looked horrified as she covered her mouth with her hands.

Yamcha’s hands curled into fists. “That’s why Clark left,” he said, “He went right after them, as fast as he could...”

“By himself?” Cyclone asked, before sighing, “Of course he did, reckless kids.” She turned towards Black Canary, “Dinah, you still have the All-Star Special in a capsule?”

“Should be in my purse inside,” she said, “Though it hasn’t been fueled up since we used it for that thing in Washington. We’ll have to make a pit stop before we reach Alaska.”

“It’s the best we can do on a short notice,” Thorn said, “Even with the pitstop, it’ll be faster than going by hovercar. Come on, Squad! We’ve got my husband to rescue!” she snarled.

“...I could get there faster,” Yamcha said suddenly.

Kid Flash and his grandfather shared a look, before Kid stepped forwards, “I understand you want to rescue your Master, Yamcha, but as speedsters ourselves, you have to know your limits. Charging off on your own isn’t going to help anybody.”

The Flash nodded gravely, “The Denali mountains are on the other side of the continent. Even assuming you’re almost as fast as we are, that’s still hours away. You’ll run out of stamina and leave yourself stranded before you’re past the Mississippi. Just take the plane.”

“I’m sorry,” Yamcha said, “If I’m wrong, then you’ll just have to do this without me!” He said, “But I refuse to let my Master die!”

“Yamcha!” Eel shouted, just before Yamcha turned away from the group, and began running. Lightning wrapped around him, and as he sped up, the world shifted in two. The part of him that saw the city blocks blur by, and the part of him that was running full-tilt down the street. It took him a second- or several relative minutes, -before he realized that something was slowing him down.

He looked behind him, and jolted as he noticed Eel clinging to his back, “What the- Eel!? Get off of me!”

“N-no way!” he grit out, buffeted by the wind as he flopped in the air behind Yamcha like a cape, “If you’re going to get there before anyone else, I’m coming with you! I’m the one who threw Bulma at that monster, and I’m going to make sure we get her back, alright?”

Yamcha slowed down, coming to a stop near the edge of Civic city, standing at the edge of a highway. It was night, so there was less traffic, but still cars shot by, headlights blazing. Every time one did, they were both hit by a gust of wind in its wake. “Are you sure?”

“At this point, my answers are either ‘yes’ or ‘walk home’.” Eel replied, “Let me take on a shape that won’t get in your way. Any requests?”

“...Honestly,” Yamcha said, “At this point, it feels kind of weird to not run with a turtle shell on my back.”

Eel grinned, slapping his hands together and sliding them up and down in eagerness, “One shell, coming up.”

He condensed and dropped, his limbs and head vanishing into the scaly blue surface of the familiar object. Yamcha picked it up, and found that it weighed less than he expected, but decided that didn’t matter. He slid the straps over his arms, and adjusted the transformed Eel on his back, “Okay,” he said again, “Let’s go.”

And they were off.

Behind them, left behind by the brownstone, Kid Flash and his grandfather watched, worried, “Should we go after him?” Kid Flash asked, “He’s uh… faster than I thought he’d be.”

At his side, his grandfather smiled, “He’s faster than us.”

“If the idiot wants to run the whole way there, he’s welcome to,” Thorn snapped, “Right now, we have bigger concerns.”

Vic ran his hand down his face, “And now Eel’s gone too.” He glanced at Wildcat, “You didn’t see Bruce by any chance?”

“No,” the old boxer said, “Why? Didn’t he get out with the rest of the guests when we evacuated?”

“No, I’m sure he did,” Vic said dismissively. Bruce had vanished shortly after they got a confirmation on the location. If he knew him, that meant that Bruce was likely charging off on his own too, in whatever replaced the Batmobile. “Just wondering.” It looked like he and Launch were the only ones of their little group who didn’t charge in.

Black Canary came back out of the brownstone with a capsule in hand, one with a security lock wrapped around the top of the capsule. She carefully removed the top before pocketing it, and threw the capsule. It spun through the air for a few seconds, before exploding in a huge cloud of vapor. And there, taking up most of the road, was the All-Star Special. A sleek silver pusher aircraft, with the All-Star Squad logo and the lion of the United Nations plastered on its side. The main body of the plane was the size of a bus, and could hold about as many people as one too.

Thorn was the first inside, forcing herself into the co-pilot seat while Black Canary took the center chair. “Everyone in!” she shouted, worry clear in every inch of her features.

Vic climbed in, taking a seat next to a terrified-looking Launch, but noticed that Lanfan and Wildcat were staying back, keeping guard over their Metahuman prisoners.

Hawkman was the last onboard, closing the door behind him, “Ted and Lanfan are staying back, just in case the others try anything, and to wait up for the King’s Guard.”

“Fine!” Thorn said, “Let’s just get going already.”

The massive propeller of the Special kicked into motion, and the plane shot down the street, building up speed rapidly before suddenly launching itself up into the air, only barely avoiding slamming into some of the nearby buildings in the process.

Everyone was heading for the Society’s lair.

Chapter 50: Mind Control 6

Chapter Text

“Bulma,” Clark said. The mouthguard of his helmet was closed, letting him speak despite the intense winds generated by the sheer speed at which he was cutting through the air, “Are you there?”

For a few seconds she was silent.

He shot into a cloud, carving a tunnel through it in an instant. For a moment, the front of his helmet was covered in moisture, but the air pressure blew it away within moments. He glanced downwards, at the ground far below him. He… wasn’t sure where he was. But he knew that if he reached the North Pole, it meant he overshot.

“Hey,” Bulma whispered.

“I’m on my way. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to reach you. What’s going on?”

“...They chained the Turtle Hermit to a table. He still hasn’t woken up. I’ve undone the locks on the cuffs, but I’ve left them where they are for now so that the Society doesn’t notice. There’s no way I’m strong enough to get out of here carrying two people at any size small enough to fit through the doors in this place.”

Clark considered that, “What are we facing there?”

“Well,” she said, “There’s the electric lady who crashed the party. The mist guy who tackled Green Lantern and choked Bruce. And I saw a big guy made of mud. Haven’t spotted the big boss they’re all answering to yet, though.”

Clark considered that, “I’m… not sure what I can do to those guys.” Or at least, what he could do to them without killing them, “I’m going to focus on just getting the three of you out.”

“...I could probably run a few tests to see how their powers work, while I’m too small for them to find me. But Bruce is right, if they try to come for the Turtle Hermit, I’m the only defense he has left. I don’t want to get too far away from him, especially when I’m not sure I’ll be able to find my way back. It’s hard enough figuring out where I am when I’m this small normally, but the tunnels in this place are like a maze. And they have… weird aesthetics. If I leave the Hermit, I’m not sure I’ll be able to find my way back to him.”

“Weird aesthetics?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird how?”

“The walls all look Gigeresque.”

“Gigeresque?” Clark asked, bewildered.

“Have you ever seen Alien? There’s lots of smooth rounded surfaces, lots of organic-looking machines. Lots of ribbed… things on everything. It alternates between straight-up caves and being covered in wires and metal plating.”

“...Huh.”

“Now I- oh crap. I gotta go, there’s people here.”

“Bulma?”

“Shh- I need to listen in!”

Clark shushed. The radio crackled and then went silent. The next few minutes were tense. He was worried, but he didn’t want to distract Bulma in case she was doing something important. He had been flying for at least forty minutes or so by now, and had crossed a lot of country. The last time he had flown this far under his own power was when he was fighting Gine.

He hoped he was getting close.

His radio crackled to life, and his heart jumped, “Bulma?” he asked.

“Superboy.” Bruce said, “I was listening in. It’s a good plan. Just focus on the rescue first. I… should have something that can handle the two intangible villains from the party, but you’re faster than the Batmobile, and honestly, Livewire seems someone nearly impossible to catch without outsmarting first.”

“Impossible?” Clark asked.

“She can turn into electricity, and travel along power lines. She can cross the continent in seconds. Unless we catch her off-guard, we’re going to have a hard time catching her. You should also know that the All-Star Squad are following us in their own jet, but they’ll arrive long after either of us.”

“Rescue first, fight later,” Clark repeated, “Sounds good.” Clark glanced down at the earth below him, “Hey Br- Batman?”

“Mm?”

“Which of the Denali mountains is Bulma locked up in? A mountain range seems like a lot of area to search through. And while I do have X-Ray vision, it can only penetrate so deep. When I look straight down, I don’t see the other side of the planet, you know. A literal mountain might be more than I can ignore.”

“Livewire traveled through power lines,” Bruce repeated, “So it stands to reason it’ll at the very least their base must be near them… follow the roads as close to the mountains as you can. Otherwise, based on what Bulma said, there should be a lot of metal in a mountain that wouldn’t have so much.”

Clark nodded, dipping lower in the sky as he cut through the clouds, scanning the ground below him. Roads and towns have gotten more and more scarce as he cut across Canada. Forest, forest, and even more forest spread out endlessly before him. And then, finally, they gave way to mountains. But these weren’t the Denali, most of them not even snowcapped. As he passed overhead, they returned to being hills, and then more forests.

On and on he flew-

“Superboy?” Bulma’s voice cut in.

“Bulma?” Clark asked, hopeful, “Are you alright? What happened?”

“So… this is going to sound really bizarre, but I need you to trust me, okay?”

“Okay?”

“These guys aren’t as bad as we thought they were- well, no, they are but… Ugh.” She groaned, “This is hard to explain. Most of these Society jerks are bad people, but the guy in charge isn’t, and he’s just using them to achieve his true goals.”

“He kidnapped the Turtle Hermit and Green Lantern,” Clark said, incredulous, “To steal their brains.”

“Steal everything but the brain, really,” Bulma corrected, “But that’s not relevant. You don’t have to worry about them. The Hermit and Green Lantern are going to be perfectly fine. The Boss listened to me, and I made sure of it. Neither of them lost their brains, they’re both alive, and they’re both going to stay alive. There’s no reason to fight, is all I’m saying.”

Clark frowned, “Bulma, why aren’t you whispering?”

“I don’t have any reason to hide,” she said, “Like I said, we talked, and he listened to me. I just need you to not come charging in, and everything will be fine. When you get here, you’ll see me on the top of the mountain. I’ll be really big, no way to miss me.”

“Okay,” Clark said, “Bulma are you alright?”

“Probably not,” she admitted, “But I’m working through it. Just… you ever feel like you’re being pulled in two directions at once?”

“Yeah,” Clark admitted, his mind drifting back towards home.

“That’s how I feel. But like I said, I’m working through it. But I can deal with that later, right now, my priority is that nobody important gets hurt.”

“...Nobody important?” Clark asked.

“I should probably hang up now,” Bulma said, “Look, just… wait and talk to me when you see me, okay? Don’t come in fists flying.”

“Okay.”

She hung up.

Clark and Bruce were silent for a bit, “...I wonder what happened down there,” Clark said, “Do you think she’s being held hostage?”

“She wasn’t lying. But she was confused,” Bruce said, “When you go to meet her, stay on your toes, alright?”

“Of course,” Clark said.

Chapter 51: Mind Control 7

Chapter Text

After almost two hours of flying, and being audibly guided in the right direction by Bruce, Clark finally saw his destination.

The snow capped mountains dominated the horizon, standing tall, and the air was freezing cold, not that it bothered him much when he was full of sunlight. As he flew over the peaks, he let his vision go into overdrive, scanning all around him, as far as he could go. He looked into mountains and over them, his range of vision warping and expanding as he tried to mix and match his telescopic vision with other modes of seeing.

In the end, he spotted Bulma quickly. She was sitting on a mountainside, having grown to skyscraper proportions, but compared to the mountains around her, she was still just a footnote. A blue-and-red dot sticking out of the forest.

Just like Bruce had guessed, there was a road on the mountain foothills below, with a powerline following it. Looking closely, he spotted a steel wire strung among the branches of the trees of the forest at the bottom of the mountain, held close to, but not quite touching the powerlines. It ran all the way up the mountainside, towards where Bulma was sitting.

Flying up to her, he stopped a few hundred feet away, and waved.

Bulma spotted him, and waved, before urging him closer.

Shifting to X-Ray vision, he looked around her. She was holding a machine in one hand, a boxy-looking thing about the size of a volkswagen beetle, considering her giant size, but it fit in her hand like a tennis ball. She was holding it behind her back.

Further behind her, he could see a steel doorway built into the mountainside, and… he couldn’t see into them. Whatever they were made of, it was something his X-ray vision didn’t penetrate. He could see the edges of it. A network of tunnels, like an ant farm, descending deep into the mountain itself.

He tapped his radio, “Bulma? Are you alright? Where’s the Turtle Hermit and Green Lantern?”

“Oh, they’re safe,” Bulma said, without turning on her radio. His super-hearing picking up her words across the distance, “Now- I’m really sorry about this, but you’re going to need to listen to me, okay Clark? If everyone listens to me, this is going to work.”

“Bulma?”

She pressed her thumb into a button on the machine, and immediately, the world was NOISE.

He slammed his hands against his ears so hard his helmet shattered into a million pieces, the fragments going flying. But they barely did anything. The mountain shook from the volume, snow rumbling as the noise kicked off an avalanche below them.

Clark jolted backwards, flying backwards at high speed, only to stop as he felt a strong pull towards Bulma. He fought against it, trying to stay away from the sound, but he could barely think. He was pulled closer, towards the hellish sound, but fortunately, the sheer volume lowered as the halos orbiting Bulma shrunk down, making her smaller along with them. As she reached her normal height, the noise-maker shrunk down to the size of a hockey puck, and while it was still god-awful, it wasn’t all-encompassing.

Clark fought against the force holding him, but found that he couldn’t. Something… something made him just want to sleep.

If he was unconscious, he wouldn’t be in pain. The ringing in his ears would go away.

Bulma took him into her arms, and he instinctively relaxed, despite getting closer to that awful machine. Why had she- it doesn’t matter. Too sleepy. There was a crunch as an armored figure walked out of the metal door behind them. Was he a threat?

No. Bulma wasn’t worried. He could relax. And just…

Sleep

…

Bulma let out a sigh of relief as Clark’s body went limp in her arms. She pressed a button to turn off the noisemaker, and then slipped it in her pocket. “I can’t believe that worked,” she said, turning and carrying the teen past Freeze and into the cave.

Just inside, Wheelo was waiting, eager. “It worked,” he said, grinning. Wheelo reached over, grabbing Clark by the front of his gi and pulling him from Bulma’s hands, holding him up in the light to properly get a look at him. “...Not bad, I suppose. Not as handsome as my original form, of course, but he’ll do. Certainly a step up from this bestial body.” He sighed, looking down at Clark’s legs, “It’s too bad about the tail. Makes him look… savage. Unevolved. I’d prefer him without, but it’s the source of all those lovely powers, correct?”

“That’s right,” Bulma said. Her face twitched.

Her leader looked at her with suspicion, “Having second thoughts, Miss Brief? Are you more loyal to me, or to your friend here?”

“You,” she said, as if it was obvious.

“Hm.” He turned toward Freeze, and handed over the unconscious teen, “Follow me, both of you. I believe we should try to do the surgery as quickly as possible, before any more reinforcements come. He watched Bulma’s expression out of the corner of his eye, just barely brushing past her brain with his telepathy to get a sense of her emotional state. She was conflicted, which wasn’t a good sign, but… ultimately still loyal. The imprint he had engraved into her mind held strong.

“Yes sir,” Freeze said, taking him without complaint and following.

They made their way down a spiral staircase leading deep into the mountain, and then walked through a maze of tunnels, until they came into Silverstone’s brightly-lit operating theater. The same room where Wheelo had been revived from his fifty-year nap. The same room where he would finally receive his ideal body. Silverstone was already waiting, a gleeful expression on his face.

“Finally, doctor!” he cheered, “Finally, finally, finally you’re going to get the body you deserve!” he said, happier about this than Wheelo himself was.

“Should I hop on the slab?” Wheelo asked, gesturing to the table.

“Not quite yet, sir,” Silverstone said, “But bring the boy over. We need to prep his cranial cavity first, just as I did for the gorilla.”

Wheelo’s expression grew troubled, as he reached up and lightly cupped the swelled head of his gorilla body. It made it look like he had his brain outside of his skull. “I understand the necessity here- gorillas have smaller cranial cavities than humans, it needed to be expanded. But why for the boy? It’s a human brain going in a human body.” He glanced down at the tail, “Or close enough.”

“He’s still a child. Your brain is still too big, Doctor. But don’t worry, I’ll design it so that he can grow into it,” the old scientist said gleefully, reaching for a scalpel. “Mister Freeze, secure him to the slab!”

“Very well.”

Bulma watched as Clark was shackled in place. Her face twitched again. Her hand tightened into fists, and then relaxed, over and over.

The scientist got closer to him, raised the blade to the teen’s skin-

And then frowned as it didn’t cut. He tried again, but there was still no change. “Huh.” He tried harder, and flinched as the tip of the blade snapped off.

Bulma’s shoulders drooped as she stopped holding herself so tense, and a small smile spread across her face. She stopped twitching. “Looks like,” she began, trying to keep the relief out of her voice, “We’ll need to wait for his body to run out of sunlight first. Guess his skin is still too hard to cut.”

The Ultra-Humanite growled in frustration.

Chapter 52: Mind Control 8

Chapter Text

Yamcha had never run like this before, and he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength he had gained. Not only from the potion- though it clearly had an effect. But of his own body. The mind-numbing, ceaseless hard work, day in and day out under the Turtle Hermit’s guidance, it was all worth it.

He leaped over fences and found himself going flying. He ran up hills and down them. He cut across rivers and lakes, dashing across water as if it were solid. He climbed mountains and ran down them, and the countryside shot past in a blur.

And he still wasn’t tired!

His muscles burned from pushing against the almost-liquid air that came from moving faster than sound, his throat was ragged from breathing hard, but he could still keep going, no problem, and he would keep going.

Through it all, he experienced it with his bifurcated perception of time. He had taken every step, from the streets of Civic City, all the way through the forests of Canada. He had, literally, run all this way. But at the same time, it felt like he had spent more than an hour in the eye of a hurricane, charging forward at top speed while the wind whipped at his hair and his clothes, his own body a crackling lightning-clad blur of scarlet as he cut across surroundings that shot by too fast for him to properly process.

“The road’s coming up!” Eel shouted in his ear, clutching the map that he held inside the turtle shell.

“Got it!” he shouted back.

Of course, it helped that he had his own navigator. It had been Eel’s idea to stop briefly to grab an atlas. Honestly, there was almost no way Yamcha was going to find it on his own. At least this way, they’d at least be able to tell which mountains were the ones they were looking for.

He zipped along the highway, keeping to the edges to avoid getting in anybody’s way.

At the moment, they were blazing their way through the Yukon, and it would only be a matter of time before they reached their destination.

“Follow the river!” Eel shouted, “When it splits, just keep on going straight!”

He peeled off from the road, and instead leaped down onto the water itself, running along the surface as pine-covered hills rose up and around on either side of them. Soon enough, the river forked in two, and Yamcha kept on going, zipping up the beach without stopping and cresting over the hills in front of him.

He ran deeper and deeper into the wilderness, the snow beneath his feet practically obliterated by the force and heat of his speed, until finally his vision was dominated by huge white snow-covered mountains. He slowed down, hesitating as he stared at the massive mountain range.

“That’s… a lot of ground to search,” he muttered. As he came to a stop, he shivered as the lightning faded, and his two perspectives blurred into each other. The relative days he had experienced, running across more-or-less a straight line across North America, compressing itself to match the hours that the trip had actually taken.

He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, while Eel’s head grew out of the turtle shell on his back. “Well, we’re in the right place,” he said, “Maybe we’ll spot something from higher up?” he asked, gesturing with a suddenly-grown hand at the nearest of the mountains.

“Maybe,” Yamcha agreed, still recovering. He wished he had brought some water, and some thicker clothes. With the lightning gone, he was starting to feel the chill of the Yukon winter settling around him.

After almost a minute, he began running again, cutting through the forest and dashing up the rocky snow-covered cliffs. The climb was brutal, but it reminded him of his training with the League of Assassins. The Crane School itself was based high in the Himalayas, and the climb almost made him feel nostalgic.

When he finally reached the peak, he stopped moving again to catch his breath, only to immediately regret it as the cold set in more brutally than he had ever experienced before. He hugged his arms to his chest, and quickly began stamping in place, building up a certain amount of lightning again to keep warm. “S-see anything?” he asked.

Eel’s neck extended upwards like a periscope, his goggles morphing into a single telescope eye as he scanned the mountainside. “...Huh.”

“What?”

“I might have a lead for us!” he said cheerfully, “There was a huge avalanche on that mountain over there.”

“Okay?”

“You know where Clark is, there’ll be action. You have people throwing super strength around on a mountain, you’ll get avalanches.” Eel said.

“Might as well check it out,” Yamcha agreed. It was their best lead.

“Okay,” Eel’s neck retracted, and his head morphed back into the shell on his back. He was about to run down, when Eel suddenly began to morph again.

“Hey!” Yamcha protested, “What’s going on back there? You haven’t gotten rid of the straps yet, Eel!”

“You’ll still need them,” Eel answered, before finishing his transformation. Yamcha glanced behind him, and blinked in surprise at the huge set of wings Eel had made, “Just trust me, okay?” he asked, “Take a running leap… now!”

Yamcha had his concerns, but he did as his friend asked regardless, kicking off the mountain below with super-speed, and launched themselves into the air-

Catching the freezing, roaring, mountain winds on Eel’s glider.

They raced forward, carried by the wind, towards the mountain with the avalanche. As they got close, he felt something. His sensitivity to Ki was rather poor, but he could still sense truly great powers. And… somewhere on that mountain, or rather, in that mountain, he could tell there were at least two of them.

“They’re in there!” Yamcha shouted.

“Then we’re going down!” Eel proclaimed, folding the wings back into himself as they plummeted towards the mountain surface. Yamcha landed in a roll, kicking up a spray of snow, before getting up and starting to run, circling the mountain from peak to bottom- or he would have, if he needed to. Instead, he found what he was looking for fairly quickly. A door built into the side of the mountain, a steel cable running from it down the mountain, where it was quickly covered in snow.

“I think we found our place,” Yamcha said.

Chapter 53: Mind Control 9

Chapter Text

“Sir!” Mist Blackrock shouted, flying through the halls, “Sir! I just caught something on the external cameras!”

Dr. Silverstone turned to his subordinate, frowning, “What was it?”

“An intruder, sir, I saw him at the All-Star gathering. A Metahuman with some kind of super-speed,” he looked down at his arms, “I had the misfortune of trying to hold him in place when he lit me on fire.”

“Why hasn’t security already…” Silverstone began, before trailing off. Mist Blackrock looked to the side awkwardly. “Right,” Silverstone muttered. The organization he had put together to support his efforts to revive his master was… in shambles, now. But that didn’t matter! They could always find more Metahumans to join the doctor’s army. Especially since Dr. Wheelo could be so convincing when he wanted to be. But it was still a shame to be left so under-staffed right now.

The Society he had created was once made up of dozens of Metahumans. One of the largest super-powered organizations in history! Even without being conscious, the Doctor’s philosophy of Metahuman world conquest, the domination of the powerless by the powerful, attracted super-powered people to the cause. Silverstone was the brains of the operation, with Freeze, Clayface, and Livewire as the commanders. Under them was the elite Blackrock squadron, their own natural powers supported with super-durable suits and flight capabilities, and finally there were the recruits. Metahumans with useful powers, but not strong enough to stand up to their superiors.

But… Soon after Wheelo’s revival, he had ordered their forces to gather resources as quickly as possible. Setting a quota in place. The recruits rushed off to try and meet that goal, and while some were relatively successful, it had the unfortunate consequence of getting all of them captured by the King’s Guard. Bacterian lasted the longest, but even he was shipped off to Belle Reve in the end. Now, despite technically accomplishing their goal at the All-Star Squad’s party by kidnapping the Turtle Hermit and the Green Lantern, it had been at the cost of almost the whole Blackrock squad.

The Society, once legitimately the largest network of Metahumans on Earth, had now been whittled down to a handful of people.

They didn’t have any grunts left to stand guard.

He walked over to the intercom, and pressed a button, “Attention Society members! We have an intruder outside! Who’s closest to the main entrance?”

“I am, Doc,” came the voice of Clayface through the intercom, “Know anything about him?”

“The target has enhanced speed,” Silverstone warned, “And he’s wearing a turtle shell. He might be related to our prisoner.”

“Got it,” Clayface rumbled, “I’ll be taking him to the training room. Nowhere to run to or hide behind, in there.”

Outside, Yamcha walked up to the steel door, shivering, and wrenched it open. He had only made it in a few steps when he found the person he had been most worrying about. “Master!” he shouted, “You’re alright!”

“Student,” the Turtle Hermit greeted, giving a formal bow, “You came all this way to rescue me.”

“Of course! Well- not just you. What happened? Did Superboy already deal with everything?” he asked, hopeful.

“More or less,” the Turtle Hermit agreed, “Let me take you to the Green Lantern. Come in, get out of that awful cold.”

“R-right,” Yamcha said, shuddering. He walked in, hurried past his Master, and watched the old man quickly shut the door behind them, “So, is anyone injured? How many more of these people were there?”

“Oh not many,” the Hermit said, walking purposefully down the tunnels.

“Not many enemies, or not many injuries?” Yamcha asked.

“Both.”

“What happened to that electric woman, earlier?” Yamcha pressed, “The one who attacked the party.”

“Oh, she was defeated.”

“How?” Yamcha asked, “I can’t think of anything Clark could have done to stop her.”

“Clark?” the Hermit asked, confused before catching himself, “Oh, no, Clark didn’t stop her. I did.”

Yamcha blinked. Then, he smiled slightly, “Of course. Just like you defeated the near-invincible Fèihuà, right?”

“Right,” the Hermit said confidently.

Yamcha didn’t ask anything more as they descended deeper into the mountain. After a while the Hermit stopped at one door and pushed it open, the space on the other side almost pitch black. He gestured for Yamcha to walk inside, and the young man did exactly that. He didn’t flinch as his Master slammed the door shut behind them either. Instead, he simply shook out his arms, and swept around in a ready stance. His leg was extended out, his arms up in front of him, ready to strike. “You bastards already did it, huh?” he snarled.

The Hermit flinched back, “What-”

“You’re not the Heavenly Old Master,” Yamcha growled, “You’re just using his body!”

“Huh,” The Hermit sighed, “Well, I suppose that’s not a terrible conclusion to come to, considering the circ*mstances. What gave me away? It was the names, wasn’t it? I’ve always found sudden new names distracting. Just when I was getting into a role, sure of where my character stands, and then pow! You throw in a new name. Who’s this asshole? What’s my character’s relationship with him? What’s the context?” He shrugged, “Clark? Fèihuà? Do I like them? Do I hate them? I just don’t know, and you do. I’d like to think I’m pretty good at improv, but for some reason that’s one variable that I always have trouble with.”

“Fèihuà means bullsh*t,” Yamcha growled, “Because you’re full of it. Now where’s the Turtle Hermit’s real brain!?”

“In his body, last I checked,” the Hermit sighed, before surging upwards to twice Yamcha’s height, bulking up as clay molded and flowed all around him, “Pretty good guess, but not quite there.” He flicked one hand outwards, and it swelled into a spiked mace head. With a swing of his other hand, part of his body was flung back and splattered across the doorway. The clay covering the door grew a series of spikes, forming a barrier out of the nearly pitch-black room.

Yamcha stared at the man of clay for a few seconds, before letting out a deep sigh of relief, “Oh thank God.” He smiled, genuinely, this time, “That means I’m not too late to save him. But this does leave me with more questions. Superboy definitely got here before me, so… where is he?”

Clayface shrugged, “Who knows.”

“Nevermind,” Yamcha said, “I’ll beat the answers out of you.”

Chapter 54: Mind Control 10

Chapter Text

Yamcha kicked off the floor, and accelerated in a moment, lightning coiling around his body. He collided, fist-first, with Clayface… and winced as his arm pierced through the mud instantly, burying himself to the shoulder in the wet, sticky, clay.

“Uh.”

“Oh noooo. My heart. My only weakness. Ow. Oh dear, I am slain.” Clayface said in a dull tone, before grinning eerily wide and letting himself topple over.

Yamcha tried to scramble back, but the clay around his arm suddenly stiffened, refusing to let him go. He was helpless as the huge weight of the clay man fell on top of him, flattening him to the floor. “Gah! Get off of me!”

Clayface laughed, and then seemed to liquefy, spreading out and around Yamcha, covering every bit of his limbs. “I don’t think so. Now stop struggling, it’ll be easier for everyone if you just give in.” Yamcha cursed as the clay reached for his face, only to blink as the end of a shovel shot out from the shell on his back and shoved it away. “Huh?” Clayface said.

“Eel, can you break me free?”

“Maybe,” Eel said, rapidly expanding himself in a bubble and pushing away the clay covering him.

Clayface roared and pushed back against the sphere, trying to crush it. Plastic and clay flesh battled for dominance, and both grew steadily more liquid and more wild as they wrestled, all remnants of a humanoid shape vanishing as they became a roiling, twisting, pulsing mixture rolling away from Yamcha on the ground.

Yamcha, momentarily forgotten, got to his feet, “Are… are you okay Eel?”

A head popped out of the mix, and then another identical head popped out of the mix.

The two Eels looked over at each other, blinking in surprise, “Okay,” said the one on the left with a concerned expression, “I think I see what he’s trying to do here.”

“Buddy, you just have to shoot both of us,” the Eel on the right said to Yamcha, “It’s the only way to be sure!”

“I don’t have a gun,” Yamcha said, looking between them, “And… I’m pretty sure both of you are bulletproof anyway.”

Left Eel nods, “Then you’ll just have to continue on without me. We’ll battle it out and in the end, the better shapeshifter will win.”

“How?” Right Eel asked, “Like he said, we’re both bulletproof. How do one of us win?”

“I mean, I guess… the winner could… consume the loser-? No. No that’s gross.”

“He’s the villain,” Right Eel said, jerking his head at Left Eel.

“No I’m not!” Left Eel protested.

Yamcha looked between them, before shaking his head, “...No, no I’m not leaving you behind. We’re going to… solve this. Somehow.”

The roiling sphere slowly peeled itself apart, the liquid mess flowing together into two identical copies of Eel, wearing the same outfit. “Huh, you got my clothes right,” Left said, impressed.

“What- no you got my clothes right. Which… how? We changed at the same time!” Right protested.

Yamcha blinked, before smiling, “...Eel, you’re a genius.”

“Thanks?” both said at the same time, in the same confused tone.

“You’re right. The easiest way to figure this out is to shoot both of you. I don’t have a gun, but I do have this.” He said, holding up both hands. He vibrated them slightly, but as he willed them faster and faster, lightning began to coil around the outstretched limbs, crackling and sparking, “Apologies in advance.”

“Wait! What are you-” both Eels began to protest at the same time.

Yamcha surged forwards, pressing his palm to both versions of his friend. The intense speed was generating a lot of heat, and as he made contact, the two versions of Eel reacted in different ways. The one on the left shuddered upon making contact with his hand, becoming more solid as steam rose up from it, leaving a hard, cracked, off-color palm print in the center of the chest. The one on the right bubbled and hissed and melted, liquid plastic forming a warped indent.

“ARRRGH!” Eel on the right screamed as he stomped back, “Always with the goddamn melting!”

“Uh oh,” the Eel on the left said, watching as a few chips of baked clay fell from the print on his chest.

Yamcha grinned, pulled away from the real Eel, and sped up his entire body, coating himself in lightning as he fell into the Wolf Fang Fist. Rather than going for sheer power like his first ill-timed blow, this time, he focused on lighter blows, on consistency, on peppering and surrounding Clayface with as many strikes as possible.

From Eel’s perspective, Yamcha turned into a scarlet whirlwind, dancing and streaming around Clayface so quickly he turned into a steady blur, lightning crackling and coiling all around them like the evidence of a storm.

He watched as Clayface in the center of the storm, still shaped like a copy of Eel, took the beating. He was battered back and forth, hit by hundreds and hundreds of blows. None of them did much, he was clay after all, but at these speeds, Yamcha was radiating heat.

Bit by bit, Clayface hardened, went stiff, and cracked.

Finally, Yamcha came to a stop, panting and wiping sweat from his brow. Standing next to them, baked solid with steam rising off of him, was the rocky form of Clayface.

Yamcha smiled at his handiwork, and then looked at where Eel was glaring at him, “Uh, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Eel said shortly, crossing his arms, “Come on, let’s get out of here and try and figure out what’s going on.”

Chapter 55: Mind Control 11

Chapter Text

“You want to know what’s going on?” a sudden growling voice boomed through the dark room, “Allow me to illuminate you.”

Yamcha and Eel flinched as the room was suddenly filled with light, a blinding emerald sun burned for a few seconds at the top of the room before reforming into the face of a long-haired old man with a beard and a mustache. The giant glowing green head stared downwards, regarding Clayface’s petrified body for a moment before glaring at them.

“Who are you?” Yamcha demanded.

“I was once the great Doctor Gerard Wheelo,” the glowing green face said, “But now… I am the Ultra-Humanite! The pinnacle of Metahuman power, the leader of the Society, and the future ruler of the world,” he declared arrogantly, “The two of you are fortunate enough to be my subjects, Metahumans of some power and skill… and so, I will be merciful, and give you one chance.” The face smiled, “Join the Society, and take your rightful place above humanity.”

While they were focused on his words and his display of power, the Ultrahumanite, hidden near the top of the room in a viewing chamber, diverted his attention to their minds. He opened his mind’s eye, and focused on Yamcha. He entered into the man’s brain, and felt the river of memories and emotions wash over him. He reached down, and pulled at his desires, intending to do just what he did to Bulma. But as his mental fingers went deeper than just the surface-level, he felt something he never had before.

His mental intrusion brushed up against a barrier.

Minds of those with strong enough will had resisted him before. There have been those, like Green Lantern, who sensed his presence in their brains as foreign, and rejected him. But this isn’t what was happening here. This was not something active, this was not something Yamcha was doing, it was simply something that was here. He pressed against it, trying to break through the barrier, but that seemed to trigger something deep inside Yamcha.

In the waking world, Yamcha staggered, feeling a sudden mental weight crash down onto his soul. “What-” he stammered, almost falling over.

“Buddy!? What’s wrong?!” Eel asked, looking around for the source of an attack, but not seeing any.

“You’re- you’re in my head!” Yamcha growled, “Get out of my head!” he snapped.

Inside his mind, the Ultra-Humanite flinched as a more familiar response happened. The river of the mind churning and crushing down on him. The sensation of someone trying to force him out.

He snarled, and escaped from Yamcha’s brain, before sneering and turning his attention to the other metahuman. Yamcha was too disciplined, but he supposed that was to be expected. He was a martial artist under the tutelage of one of the greatest martial artists in history, self-control and discipline was par for the course. The Ultra-Humanite had no clue what that barrier was, but he’d figure it out later. But this other one? He might be less disciplined.

He turned his attention on Eel, and reached for his mind… and… found nothing?

The only other mind in the room besides himself, and Yamcha was clayface. But he could see the shapeshifter standing there.

“Yamcha?” Eel asked, reaching out to him.

“He- he’s a psychic. He tried to get in my head, it felt like-” Yamcha cut himself off, and the Ultra-Humanite felt a pulse from the barrier within Yamcha’s mind, stopping the words in their tracks.

The psychic nodded. That made more sense. Yamcha was already the pawn of some other telepath. The Ultra-Humanite hadn’t come across one before. That was… a bit alarming, honestly. Part of him wanted to investigate… but that could come after he was finally situated in the most powerful body in the world, and until he was in it, the most important thing was securing his fortress.

“Well?” he had the giant face construct ask, “Are you with me, or against me?”

“Are you stupid? You just tried to mind control me!” Yamcha seemed to regain his composure, and held out a hand to Eel, “Sword, please.”

Eel looked at him for a moment, still worried, but in the end, he nodded and said “Gotcha, buddy,” and leaped up into the air, transforming into a sword and landing in Yamcha’s open hand. Yamcha tested the weight, giving Eel a few test swings, before nodding in satisfaction. He looked up at the glowing face, and leveled the blade at it, “How about we give you one chance. Surrender peacefully, hand over the people you kidnapped, or we’ll make you the hard way.”

“Hm. Very well, death it is.”

The glowing face then vanished, drawing itself up along its tether towards the observation chamber at the top of the room, down to the ring sitting on one of the Ultra-Humanite’s toes. The construct dismissed, Ultra extended out a new tether with his will. He made it coil up in front of him like a snake, and then had its head split into countless smaller threads. A hundred tethers, and at the end of each one, a tiny sparkling emerald light.

He willed the mass of threads out of the window of the observation chamber, and down towards his foes.

At the end of each thread, the twinkling lights transformed into whirling green buzzsaws.

They descended en masse, turning the air above Yamcha into a mass of death.

But in the face of the countless spinning weapons Yamcha didn’t hesitate. He began to tap his foot, and lightning wrapped around his limb and climbed up his body as his perception of time pulled in two. He leaped off the floor, and landed on the nearest of the blades. In his slowed perception, it spun so slowly it was almost still. He jumped from that to the next one, the force of his leap shattering the construct in his wake. From there he jumped again, hopping from saw to saw, climbing higher and higher.

As he went, his arm flicked this way and that, Eel, his sword, lashing out and cutting the thin threads connected to the other buzzsaws.

He was near the top of the room with the hundred constructs either shattering or fizzling out behind him in only a second. He used the very last buzzsaw as a springboard, kicking himself towards the source of the constructs. He landed just inside the window, and let out a breath as the lightning faded, time folding back together. He raised his head, and glared at the shocked-looking face of the Ultra-Humanite, only to freeze as he found himself staring into the face of an albino gorilla.

“Winter?” he asked, shocked, “No wonder you’re telepathic but… why would you…?” His eyes slowly shifted towards the top of the Ultra-Humanite’s stolen head, to where the surgical evidence of his enlarged brain cavity was obvious.

The blood drained out of Yamcha’s face, and Ultra could feel his rage filling the air.

Yamcha’s grip on Eel’s hilt tightened as he roared in rage, and swung forward in a blur.

Chapter 56: Mind Control 12

Chapter Text

The Ultra-Humanite reacted instinctively to the flash of steel, unleashing a telekinetic wave of force out in every direction. He blasted himself upwards and back at the same time he launched Yamcha out and downwards, sending the young man crashing back through the window the way he came.

Eel twisted out of his sword shape, his hilt transforming into a hand to grab Yamcha’s wrist, while the tip of the blade became another hand to reach out and grab the edge of the observation chamber, keeping them from falling back into the massive training room. His head shot up from the edge of the blade on a long neck, and he watched with irritation as Ultra covered himself in a glowing green bubble and flew back the way he came, disappearing into the tunnels.

He hauled Yamcha up, and then let out an “Eep!” as Yamcha lifted Eel over his shoulder and immediately started running.

“Hold on! I’m not letting him get away!”

Yamcha shot down the tunnel at a blistering pace, whipping around corners at super-speed, charging ahead until he reached a dead-end and shooting right back the way he came. Eel was lost in the blur of motion and lightning as they made their way through the maze, until finally they shot out into a huge open area. A natural cavern mostly free of the gigeresque technology that lined the walls, lit from above by spotlights.

As Yamcha slowed down, searching for his next route, he almost didn’t notice the flickering of one of the lights above.

Eel, however, as lost as he was, noticed the familiar pattern. “Yam-!” he began, but it was too late. The lightning crashed down from above and shot through Yamcha. He screamed in agony before the spasming of his limbs sent him flying back and across the floor, Eel himself going flying in the process.

Standing there in the aftermath was Livewire. She grinned smugly, with her hands on her hips, as she watched Yamcha unsteadily rise to his feet. “Hey there, looking for your teacher?” She asked sad*stically. With a twitch, the dozens of cables hanging from her chestplate rose up around her like serpents, squirming and crackling with power. “You might have gotten past the mudman, but that doesn’t mean you’re on my level,” she taunted, taking one slow step after another towards him.

Yamcha glared at her, before glancing at Eel. “I don’t know if I can hurt her,” he admitted, “But if she could be slowed down?”

The shapeshifter pulled a face, “Fine, but if this works, don’t tell Bruce. He’ll be smug at me.”

Yamcha shot his arm out, grabbing onto Eel’s shoulder, and then swung with all his might, heaving his friend up into the air and tossing him at the supervillain. Livewire laughed as she saw the teenager tumbling through the air towards her, and angled her cables to attack him-

Only to blink in surprise as Eel warped in mid-air, growing and spreading out as he took on the shape of a billowing sheet coming down on top of her. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing!?” Eel fell over her, and then morphed again, closing around her in a solid sphere. Soon, the only thing illuminating Livewire were the sparks of her own cables, “Big mistake, asshole!”

The cables shot out, quickly jabbing in every direction, but while the walls stretched with the impacts, the electricity didn’t seem to do much. Eel hissed as the impacts melted small holes in him, but he hurried to repair them, and began making himself thicker, further and further encasing Livewire. “Let me out!” she screamed, angling all her cables towards one spot and firing.

Outside, Yamcha watched Eel’s struggle and patted him on the side, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

Eel’s head gave a nod from the top of the spherical prison he had turned his body into, “Fine, fine, just hurryOOOOWW!” he snarled as a bolt of lightning pierced through him and struck the cave wall. He grit his teeth and slammed shut the opening she had burned through as soon as she shot it, forcing the melted plastic together and closing the hole. A few seconds later, another lightning bolt shot out, and Eel slammed shut the wound that made as well.

“I’ll hurry!” Yamcha agreed, racing towards the next-nearest door in the cave and vanishing in a blur of scarlet and golden light.

He raced down one hall, and then the next, before coming to a dead-end and doubling back- only to slip on the too-smooth floor and crash head-first into the wall. His sheer velocity meant that the impact was enough to send him a few inches into the metal and rock.

Yamcha let out a hiss of pain as he wrenched himself from the crater, stumbling back and almost slipping again on the icy floor. “Damn it, what now?”

He looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps, and saw the armored man walking calmly towards him, his hands held up palm-forward that, normally, would signify an effort to keep things calm. But with the way the man had them pointed at Yamcha with so much killing intent, Yamcha had a feeling that things weren’t going to stay calm for long.

“Is this your ice?” Yamcha asked.

The man didn’t respond, his expression, visible through his bubble helmet, didn’t shift. Instead, he simply jerked both hands forward. The shimmering shadows that launched themselves from the man’s hand cut through the air, freezing everything in its path. The hallway was filled with sparkling diamond dust as every bit of moisture crystallized, and Yamcha could see it sparkle in the light of the lightning coiling around his limbs as he dodged.

More ready for it this time, he tried to keep his balance on the slippery floor, darting his way towards his attacker while staying away from the beams. As soon as he got close enough he shot out his leg in a powerful super-speed kick and slammed the armored man back and against the wall. Yamcha grinned as the man seemed to go limp, only to wince as he realized the man’s arm had fallen against Yamcha’s leg, and was shimmering with the same shadow.

He felt the cold spread along his limb, and hissed in pain as he yanked himself back, forced to use an arm on the wall to keep his balance.

“You’ve got some real power behind those blows,” the man said in a smooth, neutral, tone, “I can feel it.”

Sure enough, Yamcha could feel it too. The man’s Ki had spiked enough to the point that Yamcha could sense it. He was getting more powerful, the more heat he absorbed.

Chapter 57: Mind Control 13

Chapter Text

“It’s a shame you’ve refused to work alongside us,” Ebi Fries said dangerously, raising his hands towards Yamcha’s head-

Only to stop as something was thrown against the floor, shattering.

Both Yamcha and his attacker stopped, looking at the ground between them, where a dark red puddle was slowly expanding out from the pieces of broken green glass. Then, they looked back up at each other. Yamcha grinned, and slammed his good leg against the floor at super-speed, making the familiar golden lightning wrap around the limb on impact.

“No!” Ebi snarled, hurrying back, only to blink in surprise as nothing happened. The sparks didn’t ignite it. Even as Yamcha stomped again and again, all he accomplished was splashing it around. “What the-”

“It’s not actually electricity, whatever this is that appears when I move,” Yamcha said as he stomped, faster and faster, “It’s pure Speed. Motion. Movement,” His leg became a blur.

Ebi took a step forwards, and then shrieked as the alcohol finally did ignite, flames shooting out in every direction, following the splash of the wine.

“Friction,” Yamcha stated, before flinging his arms to the side, and shaking them at superspeed, until they were wrapped in lightning too. He then brought both hands down on his frozen leg, and smiled despite the pain as the ice rapidly melted away, “Heat.”

His super-cooled armor began to create condensation as the temperature in the room rose higher, and he quickly wiped at the front of his helmet, only to sigh as he left a smear of frost across the front. “You’re just giving me more energy to work with!” he declared, flinging his hands out and using his Frozen Fist technique once more. The shimmering shadow beam played out at everything in front of him in a wide beam. Where it hit, flames died instantly. He felt the siphoned energy deep inside his body, making him stronger and stronger.

When the wall of flames was gone, he moved to direct them both at Yamcha- but the man was gone.

Ebi whipped around, staring at the doorway that the flung bottle of wine had come from. It was open wider now. He moved to follow them, racing down the tunnel and into the mess hall. He quickly noticed that the door to the kitchen was open, and ran towards it, every one of his armored footfalls echoing heavily across the floor. The wine must have been stolen from here. But by who? The shapeshifter should have been busy with Livewire. Did he have more allies-

He let out a gasp as something slammed into his chest, hard.

He was sent flying back, and crashed into one of the tables. As he wrenched open his eyes, he saw Yamcha standing there, swinging his arms back and forth, keeping them in constant motion to keep their speed, crackling lightning wrapped around both limbs.

And then he saw who was standing next to him, with her arms full of bottles.

“But- you’re supposed to be working for us!” Ebi said, less angry and more shocked by the sight of Bulma lightly tossing a wine bottle towards Yamcha, who caught it and threw it in a motion too fast for Ebi to properly perceive. One moment, it was hanging in the air over the blurring arms, the next it had crashed against Ebi’s bubble helmet with the force of a cannon, leaving cracks and dribbling alcohol all over it. “GAH!”

“I’m not working for you,” Bulma said, “I’m working for the Ultra-Humanite!”

“Huh?” Yamcha asked, looking over at her in surprise, “Wait, what?”

“But-” Ebi began, only to wince as Bulma tossed another bottle, and he was knocked back by another super-sped-up projectile. He could hear hissing. That one had managed to knock something loose in his chestplate.

“The Ultra-Humanite is going to rule the world, and that’s great… but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let his stupid henchmen hurt my boyfriend!” she snarled, “It doesn’t mean I’m going to let him crack open my boyfriend’s stupid master’s skull. And it doesn’t mean letting anyone else I care about get hurt!” She threw all the rest of her bottles into the air, and they slammed into Ebi in rapid succession as Yamcha threw them at utterly incredible speeds.

His armor was compromised, he could tell. The constant dull whine of the cooling machinery had shut off, and he was beginning to sweat as he felt the air from outside his armor leaking into the inside.

“But… you lured your friend to us. What about the Doctor’s new body?”

Yamcha turned to stare at his girlfriend.

“Superboy’s skull is too hard to cut,” Bulma said with a shrug, ignoring Yamcha’s alarm for the moment, “He’ll be fine. I had to knock him out to save the Hermit, he’ll understand. I just need to come up with something better for the Ultra-Humanite’s body before Superboy stops being invulnerable,” She smiled evilly, “Maybe your body. You’ve got quite a lot of Ki now, don’t you, Mister Freeze? And the Doctor can just pluck the information on how to do your technique from your mind, can’t he? Aim that at a source of constant heat, and you have potentially infinite Ki. An adult’s body. No tail. You’d be perfect for the boss,” She began walking towards him, and Ebi flinched at the killing intent in the air. “Everything will be fine, as long as people listen to me.”

“Bulma?” Yamcha asked, scared.

Ebi swallowed nervously as he tried to get up. His armored suit groaned and struggled, unable to get up, but the muscles underneath were stronger than the metal surrounding them. He forced himself to stand, destroying even more of the suit in the process, and quickly moved to point his hand her way-

Only to see the match dropping from her hand, and the satisfied expression on her face.

The world seemed to go in slow-motion as the tiny flickering flame dropped towards the alcohol covering absolutely everything around them.

And then he let out a breath of relief as Yamcha was suddenly standing between them, catching the match in his hand, and crushing it. “Bulma,” he said, sounding haunted, “He’s- that man in the gorilla’s body, he’s controlling you?”

“Yes,” she said, her face twitched a moment later, “Mostly.”

“But- you saved me.”

“Yeah? Obviously, I love you,” she said, almost insulted.

“I… but… you wouldn’t ever try to kill someone in cold blood like this. Not the Bulma I know.”

“I try to avoid it,” she agreed, “I haven’t, yet. But I think I could. I tried to kill Doctor Sivana’s minions. I hoped you died, after we made you crash your hoverbike in the Pacific. I was willing to crush everyone in General Blue’s submarine, the first time I turned giant, but it was more durable than I thought, and… I’m pretty sure they all survived. I don’t like the idea of killing, but I will if I have to. And if all I have to do to save everyone important, and fulfill the Ultra-Humanite’s plans is kill one jerk who just tried to murder my boyfriend? So be it.”

“Bulma…”

Ebi raised his arm towards Yamcha’s back, ready to try the Frozen Fist again while the pair were having their lovers spat, only to stop as he saw Bulma pull out a second match from the box in her hand, and light it. The wrong move could ignite everything…

“You… can’t give the Boss my body if it’s all burnt up, can you?” Ebi offered, walking backwards, away from the pair. Away from the match. Every movement damaged more of his suit, letting in more awful room-temperature air. Already, he was sweating.

“The fire won’t kill you by itself, you’ve absorbed too much Ki,” Bulma said casually, “But the shock from the heat should knock you out, considering what your Metagene did to your body. Besides, I can replace skin easily enough.”

Yamcha’s hand blurred forwards, and he snagged the matches from Bulma’s hands. “Hey!” She protested, “Don’t just take things from me. It’s rude.”

Yamcha crushed it in his hands, and looked back at Ebi, “Get out of here. Run away.”

He was supposed to stay and put down the intruder… but he wasn’t going to last long either way. Ebi turned, and fled.

Yamcha directed his attention back on Bulma, who looked enraged, “Don’t let him get away! We need him, or the boss is going to kill Clark!”

“Your boss isn’t going to kill anyone else,” Yamcha said adamantly, picking up Bulma by the shoulders.

“What the- put me down. I don’t like to be manhandled, Yamcha!”

“Where are the prisoners being held?”

She huffed, “Why should I tell you? You’re going to try and stop the boss.”

“Rescuing our friends is more important than stopping him, right?”

She nodded, “Yeah? Obviously.”

“I promise to try and free the others before I try to take out your boss.”

Bulma regarded him suspiciously, “I’m being mind controlled,” she said, “So you might think that promises made with me, right now, don’t matter. But they do, understand?” Bulma pressed, “What’s been done to me, it can’t be undone. And I’m going to be really mad if you break a promise to me.”

“Rescuing comes first,” Yamcha said, “I… can’t promise I won’t try to fight him, won’t try with everything I have to free you from what he did to you. But I promise that my priority is making sure everyone is safe first.”

“...Okay. I’ll lead you there.”

“...Any idea on how to handle Livewire, while we’re at it?”

Bulma grinned sad*stically, “Did you know she never washes her hands?”

“What? Gross. How is that-”

“She burns off the germs with electricity, instead,” Bulma said, “Because she refuses to touch water.”

Chapter 58: Mind Control 14

Chapter Text

Eel was struggling.

At this point, he had more-or-less given up on trying to remain solid, instead, he was a swirling vortex of liquid plastic, only solid enough to keep Livewire contained. The concentrated bolts could tear through him, but the shocks did basically nothing. When she became lightning entirely, she bounced off the inside of him, unable to penetrate through the shell.

But there was only so much he could do. It was taking basically all his concentration just to do this much. Was he expected to keep her like this for much longer? It was only a matter of time before she managed to switch forms fast enough to escape, or until he gave in to mental exhaustion and let himself finally melt.

Luckily, it was about then that he saw some friendly faces.

“Is that Eel!?” Bulma demanded, hanging from Yamcha’s back.

He summoned up a head, “Yamcha, thank goodness you’re back, and you found-” a bolt of lightning lanced up from below, blasting apart his head. With a mental sigh, he slammed the gap shut before she could turn to lightning and leap out of the opening. He summoned another head, making it rise from the side, “-found Bulma!”

“And we might have a solution to your problem,” Bulma said.

Yamcha nodded, and pulled the cover off of the large plastic jug designed to fit on the top of a water cooler, “When we give the signal, let her out towards me.”

Bulma quickly moved clear, and Eel mentally prepared himself.

“One,” Yamcha began, carefully aiming the jug, “Two… Three!”

Eel pulled back, Livewire, cackling, leaped forwards, eyes wild- “I’m finally out-” Yamcha jerked the jug forwards, and out came a spray of water. “-siiiiIIIIIIAAAAAYYAAAAA!”

The woman let out a painful screech as the water made her short out, the cables hanging from her costume shuddering and jabbing in every direction even as her body went ramrod straight. She blazed with bright flashing light for several seconds before collapsing to the floor, groaning in pain.

Eel let out a huge sigh of relief as he came back together, and reached out to nudge the woman’s shoulder. “She fainted,” Eel reported gratefully, “Whew.”

“Sorry I took so long,” Yamcha said, “Good work.”

“Thanks,” Eel said, “You too. Bulma, what’s going on?”

Her face twitched, “...Yamcha can tell you later, right now, we need to focus on getting everyone important out of here.”

“Okay?” Eel said, watching her expression.

“First, I’ll lead you to the medical room where Clark is locked up. Afterwards, I’ll show you the brig where they’re keeping Green Lantern and the Turtle Hermit,” she climbed onto Yamcha’s back, “Come on.”

Eel grinned, and leaped from the floor to Bulma’s shoulder, shrinking down until he was the size of a mouse.

From there, Bulma quickly guided Yamcha through the maze of a facility, down creepy metallic hallways and rocky tunnels. “Here!” Bulma called, and Yamcha came to a skidding stop in front of one huge metal door. Yamcha shoved his way inside, and quickly found the sleeping body of Clark lying on a steel slab, shackled in place.

“Clark, Clark wake up,” Yamcha said, tapping his face, “We need to get you out of here, and it’ll be a lot easier if you can help us.”

Eel hopped down from Bulma’s shoulders and grew back to his preferred height, loping around to the opposite side of the slab from Yamcha and grabbed at the nearest shackle’s chain. He tried to break it, but upon finding it too tough, shifted his fingers into spikes and began working at the shackle’s lock instead.

“I think I saw where he put the keys to the cuffs,” Bulma said, venturing deeper into the laboratory, “It was one of these drawers here.”

Yamcha moved to help her look, but as he reached the edge of the room, something… stirred, inside him. He found himself looking away from the drawers, and towards another metal door. Without thinking about it, he pulled it open, and watched as cool mist billowed out of the room. Freezing air wafted over him, and he shivered.

“I… doubt the keys are in the freezer, Yamcha,” Bulma said, glancing up from the drawer she was rifling through.

“Why is there a freezer here?” Yamcha asked.

“It’s probably where Silverstone kept the boss’s brain before he put it in the gorilla body,” she said casually.

Yamcha stepped forward into the freezer, and ventured into the darkness, following the strange sensation. He walked further and further into the surprisingly large chamber, unable to see a thing. He soon came to a stop in front of a certain machine, containing a glass jar filled with a strange gray fluid. Something made him reach out to touch the surface, and wipe away the frost covering it.

He didn’t recoil as he saw the brain suspended in the liquid. It was smaller than a human’s, and oddly shaped. Yamcha hadn’t personally seen human brains before, of course, but he at least knew what one was supposed to look like.

“Winter?” he asked.

The stirring got stronger, and just barely, just faintly, he heard <Bubbles?>

“I met him before. I’m an apprentice of the Turtle Hermit,” Yamcha said, “Are you… okay? Are you still there?”

<I could feel the promise he left in your mind. We trust Mutaito’s school… where am I?>

Yamcha was silent, unsure what to tell her, or how.

<Oh… oh no… that… that’s worse than I imagined,> he winced as the feelings of horror echoed through the mental connection. <Thought it was a nightmare. Thought I was asleep. Might still be asleep. Couldn’t see or hear or… I know why now.>

“I’ll get you out of here. There has to be something we can do,” he said, “Whether magic, or surgery, or… whatever we have to do. We’ll figure it out.”

<Thank you… your mate.>

“My what?”

<Your mate? No, wrong concept. Forgot humans don’t… Your girlfriend, bring her closer. I can feel the fingerprints on her mind. The one who stole my body doesn’t know how to be gentle, does he? I can help. Maybe.>

Hope surged through him, “Hey Bulma!” he shouted, “Come over here, there’s something I need your help with!”

“Little busy!” she shouted back, “The key should be here somewhere!”

“Please?” Yamcha tried.

He waited a moment, and then heard a huff as Bulma walked into the freezer. Her breath was visible in small puffs as she came towards him, “What is it?”

Yamcha gently took her by the shoulders, and moved her closer to the jar, “Can you tell me if we can safely get this out of here?”

“That-” Bulma leaned in closer, before her eyes widened at the sight of a brain in a jar, “That must be…”

<Let me in… let me help you heal… let me help you understand the truth again.>

“Huh? What? I-” her face twitched. Her expression hardened. Her hands twitched towards the device on her wrist, but Yamcha stopped her, holding her close, “Lemme go, I need- he’s gonna save the world- I need to help him-”

<Remind her of the truth,> the mental voice told Yamcha.

“How is he going to save the world? What is there he can do that Bulma Flipping Brief can’t, huh?” Yamcha pressed.

“But… I… I’m sure that…” Her face twitched. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, “I…”

“The Ultra-Humanite isn’t going to save the world. You’ll save the world, if it needs saving. We will, helping you. Someone who wants to take out Clark’s brain, who wants Metahumans to rule over everyone else like gods, someone like that isn’t what the world needs, and it’s not what you need, right?”

Bulma’s face twitched, once, twice, three times… and then she let out a shuddering sigh, and collapsed. Yamcha darted forward to catch her, keeping her from hitting the floor, but her expression seemed relieved. “Bruce was right,” she said, after a few seconds of worrying silence, “Mind control is terrifying.”

<That it is.> The mental voice of the Ultra-Humanite rang through their heads, and Bulma flinched in Yamcha’s grip, before hurrying to stand. <I can’t touch any of your minds now. How inconvenient. The loss of you in particular, Brief, is annoying.>

Bulma held her hand close to her wrist, ready to press the button in a second as she looked around, trying to find him in the shadows, “We beat all your minions, and you’re next!” she snapped.

<Not all my minions. I shouldn’t have left you with so much control. Now, tell me Miss Brief… how much sunlight do you think is still left in your friend?>

Eel suddenly poked his head into the fridge, “Hey guys!” he said cheerfully, “I finally got the cuffs off Clark, we won’t need that key after all.” He looked between Bulma’s and Yamcha’s scared faces, “What’s going on?”

Outside, there was a loud crunch as the steel table folded in on itself.

Chapter 59: Mind Control 15

Chapter Text

Eel turned around, and saw Clark slowly rising off the front of the crushed table, his eyes no longer closed, but instead half-lidded, his pupils twitching to the right and left rapidly as if still dreaming. He floated there in the air for a few seconds, before suddenly spinning to face Eel. His slack expression shifted to one of feral rage, and a deep growl built up in the center of his chest.

“Clark?” Eel asked, “Buddy?”

“Raaaaggh!” Clark roared, before crossing the distance between them in a blink. Inside the fridge, Yamcha and Bulma flinched as Eel was sent flying, the space he had occupied a second before now empty.

“You should get tiny,” Yamcha advised.

“Mmhmm,” she said, rapidly getting smaller as the three halos of light emerged from the Micro Band.

Clark floated back in front of the freezer, and spun in the air to face them, his eyes still hadn’t focused, twitching rapidly, but his head was tilted, listening carefully. Yamcha took a step back-

And then in a blink Clark was on him, the teen’s small hand pressing into Yamcha’s chest with all the force of a cannonball. Yamcha groaned as he was forced against the wall, and he felt something in his chest snap under the force Clark just exerted. The whirring of the giant freezer stopped for a moment, before resuming.

“W-Winter, is there anything you can do?” Yamcha coughed. Clark twitched, and suddenly Yamcha was flying out of the freezer in the opposite direction, shooting across the medical room until he slammed into the wall opposite, leaving another crater. He wheezed, and could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

He crumpled to the floor, and winced. Every time he breathed in, the pain in his chest spiked.

<Can’t reach…>

“Winter?” he groaned.

<...weak… too far away for…>

He could only barely hear her voice. It had already been much smaller and quieter compared to the force of the Ultra-Humanite’s booming mental voice, but now, so far from her brain, it was barely a whisper.

<...similar to an illusion…>

Yamcha had barely made that out, but his mind caught on the essence of the word ‘illusion’. He knew illusions. Whatever Clark thought he was attacking in his dream, it probably wasn’t Yamcha, or Clark would never use so much of his real strength.

The gorillas had explained it to him, hadn’t they? Things like touch, smell, and taste, were harder to fool than sight and hearing.

Yamcha pushed himself up to his feet despite the pain, and spat into his own hand. The glob of blood splashed across his palm, and he began to tap his feet in preparation. When he wanted real speed, he needed to build up to it. Lightning coiled around his legs as he became a blur. Heat wafted up from the floor, the friction of his feet making the air around him hotter and hotter.

Clark was insanely fast. So, he’d probably only get one shot at this.

Clark was facing him, floating there with his hands held out to his sides, arms ready.

Yamcha pushed off the ground, and rocketed at the teen, his arm held out towards Clark, bloody palm first. Clark reacted in a blur, catching Yamcha by the shoulder and wrenching him to the side- but Yamcha managed to achieve his objective anyway, due to how much longer his arm was than Clark’s.

He smeared the bloody spit across Clark’s cheek before he was thrown back across the room and sent smashing through the steel wall and into the hall beyond.

Yamcha let out a groan as he slid to the floor. More than just his ribs snapped that time. He focused on his breathing, despite the pain it was causing him, and tried to do it faster. Launch and the Turtle Hermit had told him after he woke up that he healed himself after the lightning strike by speeding up, even while just lying in place. He had done that unconsciously, but he was sure that if he just tried…

The ground around him rumbled as he sped up his chest, practically vibrating in place. The air warmed as lightning wrapped around his torso, and his perception slowly split in half. He watched Clark float through the hole he had carved in the wall with Yamcha’s body. The teen floated there for a few seconds, but at the same time, he was floating there for ages.

Finally, Clark’s expression shifted. He sniffed the air, and the shifting of his eyes seemed to focus, momentarily. “Rrrgh… rrrg?” he frowned, turning his head to the left and to the right-

And then suddenly Bulma was in front of him. She had appeared quickly, growing up to her normal size before dismissing the three halos of the Micro Band. She was standing between him and the still-controlled Clark.

A spike of fear shot through Yamcha’s veins. “Bulma!” he shouted, the lightning pulsing around him as he forced himself up to his feet and immediately regretted it. But he made himself ignore the pain of standing on a broken leg and jerked towards her. He caught himself on her shoulder, and tried to put himself between them, but was stopped by Bulma thrusting her arm out to the side, keeping him from moving forward. He looked at her expression, but she was focused on Clark, not scared, not angry, just… focused, searching Clark’s face for something. “Clark?” she asked gently.

The half-Saiyan jerked his head towards her, his eyes shifting rapidly again.

Yamcha jerked her to the side at super-speed, just barely pulling her out of the way of Clark’s charge. The teen flew past them and crashed into the wall, burying himself in the rock and making the entire tunnel shake in the process. “Raaaaarrrggh!” Clark howled angrily.

“He just-” Bulma began, half-panicked, “But… I was sure you-”

“Sounds and sights are too easy,” Yamcha said, “Scents are harder. He smells my blood and knows that it belongs to a friend. That kind of thing is buried too deep in the brain to be easily faked. But whatever the Ultra-Humanite is doing to his mind, it’s making him think our voices are coming out of something he’s supposed to smash.”

Bulma blinked in surprise, “And how did you learn that?”

“Remember the thing I can’t talk about?” Yamcha said.

Bulma’s expression grew harder, “Yeah?”

“I have at least some experience with this kind of nonsense now.”

“...Okay,” she said, “New plan.”

She tapped the side of the Micron Suit’s helmet, and it folded away, leaving her head exposed. She reached up, and gathered some of her hair between her fingers, before hissing a bit through her teeth as she plucked them from her head. Then she handed them to Yamcha and reached over- “Ow!” -and plucked some of his, and dropped them in the same hand. She closed the helmet, and began to shrink down. “What is this new plan, by the way?” He asked.

“You keep him from moving too much,” Bulma said, “And I’ll give him some more sense memories.” She ignited the Micron suit’s boot rockets as soon as she was small enough for them to lift her, and flew back up to grab the hairs, now as large as ropes from her perspective, from Yamcha’s hands. “This should be enough.”

“Right,” Yamcha said, “Keep him from moving too much,” Yamcha muttered, “Perfectly doable.”

The pair watched the rocks for a few moments, before they finally seemed to shift. The tunnel shook. Then it shook again. The earth around them seemed to groan- and finally Clark burst free from where he had buried himself, snarling and growling like an animal. He whipped his face towards Yamcha, and let out an air-shaking roar.

Yamcha knew there was no way he could stop him head-on. He could dodge, but that would just leave Clark buried again. What could he do that could slow Clark down?

As Clark reared back to charge, it finally clicked. Yamcha sucked in a breath, swung his arms behind him, and focused. He pulled at the energy inside him, every bit of it he could reach- “Kaaamee…”

“Rrrrgggh!” Clark snarled, his eyes going wider as he felt a change in the air.

“Haaameeee…”

Clark shot forwards, crossing the space in an instant-

“HA!”

The blast that erupted from Yamcha’s cupped hands launched out and crashed against Clark’s chest. The bright-blue energy sprayed out to either side like a spray of pressurized water. Clark blinked in surprise, pushed back by the force of the energy wave, before snarling and pushing back against it, cutting his way through the onslaught of Yamcha’s ki until he was practically on top of him. With every inch that Clark approached, the color of the energy seemed to shift. The bright blue slowly darkening to green, before lightening once more to straight yellow as Clark loomed over Yamcha, the same animalistic grimace on the teen’s face as the energy washed, harmlessly, over the alien.

Finally, Yamcha’s energy dwindled, and the Kamehameha cut out, leaving Yamcha on the edge of exhaustion. As he dropped his arms and breathed heavily, he looked at Clark, and started to laugh hopelessly, “I didn’t even singe your gi. God damn you’re something else.”

A low growl built up in Clark’s chest as he shot one hand forwards and knocked Yamcha towards the wall, where he landed in a slump, barely conscious.

But then, he began to sniff.

Yamcha caught something tiny zipping around Clark’s face, dangling black and blue strands in front of the teen’s nose.

Clark’s face twitched, and he frowned in confusion, looking around. Slowly, one hand reached towards his face, and Clark’s fingers came away from his cheek with a little bit of Yamcha’s blood on them. He sniffed that too, and finally, Clark’s eyes widened, and they stopped shifting back and forth as if dreaming, “Uh,” the teen said, “Yamcha? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he wheezed.

“This is really weird. Are… are you alright?”

Yamcha let out a sigh of relief, “I think I am now.”

Chapter 60: MInd Control 16

Chapter Text

“I’m so sorry Eel!” Clark said as he dug his friend out of the wall, bit by bit.

Yamcha was leaning on a once-again full-sized Bulma, looking worse for wear, but still standing, “Clark…” he said, “It’s not your fault.”

Clark looked back at him, a miserable expression on his face, “Of course it is!”

“Do you blame me for getting you with that noisemaker?” Bulma asked him.

“No, of course not, but-”

“Then I doubt Eel will blame you either.”

“For the record,” Eel’s head suddenly said, poking out of the wall after Clark pulled away a bit of rubble, “I don’t blame you. Honestly, not even the top ten worst things to happen to me today.”

“I still punched you!”

“It was more of a tackle,” Eel said casually as he pulled his body free from the crater, “Besides, no harm done,” he winced upon seeing Yamcha’s state, “At least to me. You alright there buddy?”

“Clark already healed me enough to keep me standing,” Yamcha said, “Don’t worry about it.” He and Bulma made their way towards the freezer, and the other two moved to follow, “So, what’s the verdict?” he asked the brain in a jar.

<...Sorry…> came a mental voice that made Clark flinch back, <...can barely… keep awake…>

“We’ll help you as soon as we can,” Yamcha assured, “But things are going to get a lot harder if Ultra-Humanite tries controlling Clark again.”

“He still is,” Clark said, making the other three turn towards him in alarm, “Kind of.”

“What do you mean?” Yamcha asked, worried.

“I keep seeing those green-and-purple guys who attacked the All-Star Squad jumping out of nowhere in front of you, or trying to kill you. But only with my normal vision,” he said, squinting, “As soon as I shift to something else, they disappear and I see what’s actually in front of me. But they’re really hard to ignore. They keep saying things, but I’m not hearing the same echoes I would if someone actually said something. And some of them are attacking me, and it has the same sting that it normally would, but none of the impact.”

“That’s-” Bulma began, horrified.

“If I hit any of them, I’d really hit one of you,” Clark said.

<Good… focus on what’s real…> the voice of Winter advised, pressing into Clark’s mind.

Suddenly, the figures assaulting his vision vanished, and Clark breathed out in relief, “Thank you.” He turned and glared at the walls around him, “I can’t see very far in all this, but I’m pretty sure I can find the Ultra-Humanite. If I don’t have to worry about being controlled… you guys can leave him to me.”

“Then we’ll go with the original plan,” Yamcha said, “Bulma, mind-controlled you wasn’t lying when you said you knew where Green Lantern and Master were, right?”

“No, I know where they are,” she grinned at Clark, “We’ll get them out okay. You focus on taking down that brainwashing bastard,” she turned towards Winter in the tank, “...Though maybe I should figure out a way to get Winter out of here first.”

<...Thank you…>

Clark nodded, and floated into the air. He flew towards the door, and then sniffed the air. There was enough dense metal and rock surrounding them that his X-Ray vision wasn’t especially helpful. Sounds echoed oddly in the tunnels, and so he couldn't rely on his super-hearing either.

But his nose was as reliable as ever, and a gorilla’s scent stood out, to say the least.

<...humans don’t smell great to us either…> Winter mentally mumbled.

“Ah- sorry,” Clark said. Luckily, the mental reprimand seemed more amused than insulted. Following his nose, he sped down one tunnel after another. Whenever a door stood in his way he simply dug his way through, steel coming apart between his fingers easily. Soon, the scent was getting stronger, fresher, and finally he could hear the echoes of panting breaths, of knuckles and feet pounding against the floor as the gorilla ran, mixed with the sounds of a few other sets of footprints.

He heard the sound of a door slamming ahead of him, and he put on the speed, not stopping even as he rammed through the steel doors and came out into a massive spiral stairwell. “Gah- damn it!” a deep voice growled from above him.

Clark ascended through the middle of the spiral staircase, before coming level with the Ultra-Humanite and his two minions; the Blackrock soldier who got away, and a pathetic-looking old man in a lab coat Clark recognized the scent of as well from the medical room. “Don’t bother trying anything,” Clark warned, “We’re all protected against your telepathy now.”

“Yes,” the Ultra-Humanite growled, flaring his stolen nostrils, he turned with a glare towards Silverstone, “And guess whose fault that is Silverstone?”

“Doctor, I… it’s my fault?” the old man looked heartbroken, utterly devastated. Clark winced. The man was basically radiating despair through his Ki.

“You’re the one who brought the goddamn psychic gorilla into the compound! Why were you even preserving its brain the same way you did mine!?”

“I- I couldn't have known, I wanted to monitor its abilities, compared to yours. I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut it!” he snarled, before turning his full glare on Clark, “...It’s a shame. Your body could have been used for something grander than yourself. The body of the man who would bring all of humanity to new heights of existence, remembered and enshrined forever. Instead, you’re going to die a footnote in history, a gnat I swatted on my way to the top.”

Clark decided he had about enough of him.

He flew towards the mastermind, fist-forward, mentally weighing how much force to put into the blow. He didn’t want to damage Winter’s body too badly, but he had to account for the potential of psychic shields, or-

He slammed into a wall of green light that had suddenly shot up between them. Caught off guard, Clark bounced back, and then let out a wheeze as the wall thrust out towards him, bending into a hard edge that caught him across the stomach. It didn’t actually hurt, but it knocked the breath out of him all the same. With a snarl Clark brought his fists down on the glowing barrier and shattered it like so much glass, only to be forced to swerve aside as a buzzsaw sliced through the air between him and the Ultra-Humanite.

He squinted and focused his vision until a beam of focused heat lanced across the room and slashed through the buzzsaws. The air abruptly empty, Clark darted forwards and crashed towards the Ultra-Humanite, shattering his force field. The gorilla let out a grunt of pain as Clark’s fist made contact with his gut, shoving the much larger form back and against the wall.

The Ultra-Humanite attacked right back, and Clark blinked as a massive amount of pure force slammed into him, but he braced himself in the air and felt the sheer amount of telekinetic power wash across him like a gale-force wind.

He sucked in a quick breath, and then blew it out. The Ultra-Humanite howled as a patch of ice spread across his chest, and the force let up. Clark grabbed the gorilla by the arm, and then spun around, swinging the ape into the wall, and then reached out and pressed his forearm against his throat and pushed down.

Glowing green hammers pounded against him. Intense mental punches collided against Clark on every side, attempting to batter him, but he held fast. Green saws broke their blades on his skin, glowing green needles bubbled up from the gorilla’s neck and snapped, scything invisible blades of mental force slashed into Clark and dispersed into nothing but billows in his cape.

Clark ignored it all.

The Ultra-Humanite let out a breathless snarl, his struggles growing weaker, and unleashed a ceaseless, endlessly pushing pressure away from his neck and against Clark’s arm. Clark held himself in place with his flight, but the pressure only grew and grew. The air inside of the stairwell roared as the force spilling off of Clark became a powerful wind. His cape flapped wildly behind him and his hair shook. He could barely keep his eyes open.

But he remained.

The Ultra-Humanite grew weaker-

But then the gorilla smiled an evil smile.

The force of the wind suddenly shifted directions, and slammed the body of the Blackrock soldier into Clark’s side. The man was worse off than Clark, who barely felt the impact, but he grabbed onto Clark and turned to a noxious green mist, forcing himself, assisted by the Ultra-Humanite’s power, down Clark’s throat.

Clark reacted on instinct, putting out another short puff of ice breath, and felt the creeping intelligent gas inside his mouth suddenly ice over. He refused to pull his arm away, but he coughed and hacked as he spat the frozen flakes. He worried for a moment that he might have accidentally killed the Blackrock- but the man quickly retook physical form as he was sent rolling down the stairs.

Despite it all, he didn’t let up on his hold on the gorilla’s neck. The Ultra-Humanite could only have so much air left. When the gale force winds finally stopped, Clark thought maybe he had finally knocked the mastermind out, but his hopes were interrupted by a sudden shout from Silverstone.

“Let him go!” the scientist loudly demanded from where he was clinging to a railing some distance away.

Clark turned his head slightly, and met the old man’s crazed eyes.

“Let him go or…” the scientist swallowed, and pressed a button on the end of his walking stick. The top of it opened up, revealing the barrel of a gun. The scientist lifted it, pointing towards Clark as energy built up inside the barrel, but the teen simply glared, sending out another beam of heat from his eyes.

The old scientist yelped and dropped the now super-heated weapon, before looking up at them hopelessly, “I’m sorry, Doctor!”

<Don’t worry, Silverstone,> The mental voice of the Ultra-Humanite rang out, <Things will turn out just fine. Now… go limp for me, will you?>

Clark blinked as a green tendril of light shot out towards Silverstone from the Ultra-Humanite’s toe. He stomped down on the glowing tether, shattering it, but another one simply shot out from behind the gorilla, rose up over his own head, out of Clark’s immediate reach, and then arced towards Silverstone. Clark focused on it and destroyed it with a burst of heat vision- only to wince as a telekinetic strike shot down directly into his eyes and forced him to blink.

By the time he opened his eyes again, a third tether had crossed the distance, and the construct hand on the end of it had pushed the scientist over the railing.

The Ultra-Humanite opened his mouth to taunt Clark, but the teen had already let go of him, diving for the plummeting old man.

Chapter 61: Mind Control 17

Chapter Text

The Ultra-Humanite doubled over, sucking in a deep breath, before ambling towards the railing, and throwing himself off as well. But before he could fall more than a foot, he summoned a glowing green bubble around himself, and rapidly rose into the air.

Down below, Clark grabbed Silverstone, gently pulled the old man to his chest, slowed down, and then lowered the rest of the way to the floor. As soon as the old man was safely on the ground, Clark whipped his head up towards his enemy and glared. Twin beams of heat vision hit the bottom of the bubble and melted through it, only for the Ultra-Humanite to jump to a different platform of emerald light, and use it as a catapult to throw himself towards the top of the stairs.

As soon as he reached the top of the coiled staircase, he glared down at Clark, “Fool!” he shouted, his voice echoing, “I’ll-”

Clark pushed on the speed, and before the Ultra-Humanite could say another word, Clark was parallel with him, floating in the air across from him. The ape blinked in surprise, and then let out a curse as he was forced back against the wall with a super-strong tackle. He let out a snarl as Clark yanked him up by the foot, and pulled the jade green ring free from his toe. Clark slipped it into his pocket, before forcing the gorilla right-side up again and pressing down on his throat for the second time in as many minutes.

“Sleep,” Clark ordered.

“Gghhh,” he tried to speak, but barely any sound came from the Ultra-Humanite’s mouth. <Let me go! Let me go now, or I’ll stop holding back!>

“What are you talking about?”

<I’ve been holding back, to protect this body. But if you force my hand, I’ll stop. I’ll use the attack I never dared to use!>

“Are you holding Winter’s body hostage now too?”

<Hah! No, I’m not threatening the goddamn ape’s body. If it dies, I die too. No. I’m threatening you. You’ve withstood my telekinesis so far, but that’s nothing but a gentle breeze! If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll rip you to atoms, even if it kills me!>

Clark narrowed his eyes, and pressed harder, “Go. To. Sleep.”

<...So be it.>

Clark felt Ki begin to pool inside the gorilla’s body, flowing upwards towards his head. It was a toxic, caustic, roiling kind of Ki. The body of the Ultra-Humanite gained a blazing red aura as it wrung itself out of every spare scrap of Ki it could spare, and then took even more.

Clark kept up the pressure, praying that it would be enough, that the Ultra-Humanite would finally faint… But part of him was getting excited. Even more excited. He got goosebumps as the gorilla’s Ki flowed up to his brain, and began to compress. The closest thing Clark could compare it to was the Kikoho Ra’s Al Ghul had tried to kill him with back in Kahndaq.

All of Ultra’s Ki gathered into one singular point and pressurized. A sparkling red light in the center of the Ultra-Humanite’s wrinkled forehead, just below the expanded braincase. A third eye, blazing red with rage.

<PLANET….>

All around them, the mountain shook. The earth cracked, the air shivered, and the invisible weight of Ki settled on everything around them.

Clark realized that if this much Ki was released it would very well bring down the whole mountain with it. Crush everyone still in the tunnels below. It wouldn’t be enough to stand in the way and take it on himself. There was too much power. Even if his invulnerability was enough to stand against it, the rest of the beam would wash off of him and destroy everything anyway.

He’d have to counter it.

He let go of the Ultra-Humanite’s neck, but the madman didn’t seem to even notice, too focused on gathering his power.

Clark reached into the depths of his Ki, further than he had ever dared with the energy the Superman form gave him, and pulled at it. All of it he had left. Light blazed through his veins, shining white and blue, and poured between his cupped hands.

“Kamehame…”

Clark braced himself- and then he felt the change. All the power the Ultra-Humanite gathered was suddenly gone. Swallowed in a single bite to fuel something else. The blazing red eye in the center of the Ultra-Humanite’s forehead shut, but at the same time, something else opened.

The floodgates.

<...GEYSER!!!!>

It wasn’t Ki that poured out of the Ultra-Humanite. It was pure psychic power. If what the Ultra-Humanite threw at him earlier was a gale-force wind, then this was a volcanic eruption.

Clark was blown back by the sheer force of it, the force of his flight unable to hold him in place even as he fought against it. It was the opposite of gravity, an endless pushing force greater than the planet could pull. An endless geyser of kinetic energy that shoved him backwards hard enough to pierce the rock behind him and keep going.

The whole mountain rumbled as Clark was forced back, and he realized that, Ki blast or not, his friends were still in just as much danger.

And despite the impact, he hadn’t let go of the power building between his hands.

He thrust his arms out in the direction of the endless push, and let go.

“HAAAA!!!!”

At first, the energy that spilled out of him was forced back by the tide of psychic force, but moment by moment, the Kamehameha pushed back. Pressing against the incredible tide, until the energy wave broke through, freeing Clark from its grip. The power flowed back, met in the center…

And then Clark stopped, or rather, kept his mental hand on the pressure valve of his own life force. Carefully matching the Ultra-Humanite, moment by moment. The Planet Geyser and the Kamehameha fluctuated in the mid-point between the two of them for what felt like an eternity- but was in reality only a few seconds.

He felt the force dampen, and lowered his own power by the same amount, until finally Clark cut off the flow entirely, and laid back, buried completely in the rock, in complete exhaustion.

For a few seconds, he considered simply going to sleep.

It was more tempting than it should have been, but he pushed through the feeling, and began to claw his way back out of the mountain. He pulled himself free, and winced at the sight of the devastated stairwell, and the cracks covering every bit of exposed cave wall. Looking around, he found the Ultra-Humanite, and flew towards him.

The gorilla was in a crater of his own, pushed back against the wall so hard by the onslaught of his own power he had buried himself in the rock just as much as he had buried Clark.

Clark dug him free carefully, before reaching out to touch his chest, feeling the dull, weak, heartbeat there. Blood poured freely from his nose and ears, and his eyes were half-lidded, barely able to focus on Clark. He was almost empty of Ki. As close to death as one could get and still count as alive.

<You… still aren’t… dead?> Dr. Wheelo’s mental voice rang out through Clark’s mind, the thought dyed red with hate. <...that body… it should have… been… mine………>

The eyes fluttered closed, and the Ultra-Humanite went limp in Clark’s arms.

Clark, sighing, poured Ki back into the body, just enough that it didn’t seem to be on the edge of death. As soon as his work was done, he sat down and promptly collapsed, unconscious, next to the gorilla.

Chapter 62: Mind Control 18

Chapter Text

The Batmobile came to a stop over the mountain, and Bruce opened the canopy, unafraid of the biting mountain air. He stepped out of the specialized hovercar, and tapped the capsulize button as he moved to leap off of it. The Batombile exploded into vapor, and he caught the resulting capsule as it dropped down with him to the snowy mountainside below.

He landed easily, and turned to face the metal door. Marching towards it, he pushed it open and peered into the tunnel on the other side. He closed his eyes, focusing for a moment, and felt the air around him for Ki-

And promptly rushed into the tunnel, dashing down the hall and almost slamming into the railing at the top of a huge spiral staircase leading deeper into the earth. Or at least, what used to be a spiral staircase. A great battle had happened here, like a hurricane fought a volcano, and both lost. The walls were spotted with craters, the stairs were twisted and damaged, and the artificial lighting had been blown apart.

But what concerned him most was the fact that lying in a half-dug out crater in the wall was Clark Kent, as low on Ki as Bruce had ever felt him. And considering the way Clark glowed like a star to his senses normally… that was terrifying all on its own.

He dropped down into the crater, and considered the creature Clark was lying against. A huge albino female gorilla, one with terrible bruising across its body, but particularly its neck, and one with an awful-looking head deformity, the shape of its head widened out like a cap, and was wrinkled and veiny like a brain, completely shaved of all hair. It had a few sparks of Ki, but that was slowly fading.

Bruce reached for his belt, and with a tap and a burst of vapor, summoned a small flashlight. He bent down over Clark, and gently touched one eyelid, opening it to shine in the light. It reacted as expected, and Bruce silently relaxed a few notches.

While dealing with some light Ki exhaustion, it seemed like Clark had come out unscathed. There wasn’t even evidence of a concussion.

“Wh-” Clark murmured, suddenly coming into awareness, “Bruce?”

“Batman,” he corrected lightly, “Are you okay? What’s the situation?”

“Is- is the Ultra-Humanite okay?” Clark asked with concern, forcing himself to sit up. Bruce frowned, and did the same to the gorilla, shining the light into its eye- and suppressed a wince.

“Was she an ally you made?” he asked softly, “Someone helping you escape?”

“We were fighting,” Clark said, shaking his head, “But it’s kind of complicated. Is he alright?”

Bruce considered his words for a moment, before deciding to not bother sugarcoating, “He’s braindead.”

Clark went still for a moment, before sighing sadly, “He… wasn’t bluffing, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, still not really sure of the situation, but wanting to comfort Clark regardless.

“It’s… what it is. Brain dead means the body is still working, right? It’s still breathing?”

“Not for much longer,” Bruce said. He felt it as Clark tried to pull more Ki to the surface, and hurried to pull the teen away from the gorilla, “Are you trying to kill yourself?” he demanded, “You’ve lost enough Ki already.”

“The Ultra-Humanite’s brain is in that gorilla’s body,” Clark said, “But the gorilla’s brain is still in a jar downstairs, still alive. She saved us, broke the mind control he put me and Bulma under. We have to save her body.”

Bruce frowned, and then heaved Clark up onto his shoulder, and began to scale his way back up the tunnel, “Bruce! Put me down! We have to help her-”

“I am helping,” he said, heading back the way he came, and thrusting open the door to the outside. He ignored the stinging cold against his bare chin, the only part of him left unprotected by his ninja outfit, and turned Clark to face the sky.

The moon was high in the heavens, glowing a soft white.

It wasn’t even dawn, yet.

As Clark stared at it, he drank in the reflected sunlight, and felt himself getting stronger, his Ki regenerating from a trickle to a swell. He sighed in relief, and lifted away from Bruce’s arms, floating into the air. He stared at the moon for a few more seconds, and then shot back the way he came, putting a healing hand on Winter’s body.

“So, what happened?” Bruce asked, “What’s Bulma’s status? Green Lantern’s? The Hermit’s?”

Clark looked back up at him, and began to explain what he knew.

He had made it most of the way through his story when something caught his attention at the bottom of the stairwell. He and Bruce shared a look, and then as one jumped off the ledge and plummeted toward the bottom. Bruce flared his cape part of the way down, gliding a short way to the bottom, while Clark’s flight caught him before he hit the floor, arresting his momentum into nothing but a rush of air.

The two stared down the battle-damaged Mister Freeze, who was staring up at the ruined spiral staircase out hopelessly. At his side, sitting on the opposite side of the door was Doctor Silverstone. The old man was completely silent, sitting on the floor and staring straight ahead at nothing, his expression a mix of confusion and despair. Between them, unconscious and lightly moaning, was Blackrock Mist.

“The boss is dead, isn’t he?” Mister Freeze spoke as the air hissed out of his suit, “That’s the only thing that could make Silverstone look like that.” He sighed, “And now my only way out of this mountain is kaput.”

“...We’ll help you get out of here,” Clark said.

“And then what happens to me?” Freeze asked, “Prison?”

“You did kidnap people with intent to kill,” Bruce said.

“They were being mind controlled,” Clark shot back, “All those Metahumans in the recent ‘crime wave’ were mind controlled, weren’t they? Bacterian and all the ones before him are in jail for crimes they were forced to commit.”

Freeze considered him, “...The last few months, he’s been cementing his control, sure,” the man said, “But it wasn’t the Ultra-Humanite who gathered us, it was him,” he gestured at Silverstone, “He was always preaching the Ultra-Humanite’s ambitions, but we were the ones who signed up for it. I didn’t much care for the Metahuman supremacy angle, myself, but I was willing to go along if it meant Dr. Silverstone would help with my own goals. Everyone in this building intended on conquering the world someday, the only problem is that our prophesied champion didn’t live up to his hype.”

“I’m sorry,” Silverstone said suddenly, his voice dripping with misery, “I failed you, Freeze. Just like I failed the doctor.”

“It’s our own fault for listening to you,” Freeze replied back neutrally, “Especially since it’s not as if you’re in control of yourself.”

Silverstone didn’t deny it.

“Why tell us?” Bruce asked, “You’re only digging yourself deeper.”