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SOLITUDE

PART TWO




"Great Scott," I whisper to myself, wandering onto a catwalk suspended in the middle of a wide, cavernous chamber. "What is this place?"

The massive crystalline....palace? castle? fortress?....that I had found at the heart of the Arctic storm is impressive enough from the outside, giving the impression that it's perhaps the size of a particularly nice mansion. Inside, however, it's absolutely sprawling, stretching out on all sides in impossible distances. And I don't mean 'impossible' as in 'hard to believe;' there's simply no way the interior of this place can fit inside the exterior. It's the size of a small city, at least. Starting below and stretching far above me, there are towering structures that could hypothetically fit thousands of people in each of them.

It's not merely the size of this place that catches me off-guard, but the atmosphere as well. From the outside, I expected the cold, gleaming spires to be more of the same once I entered. Instead, it is a riot of colors, arches and lattices of gold and silver, the shimmering white crystals providing huge support columns or reaching out in clusters of what I assume are control panels of some kind. Bright stripes of red and fields of blue saturate the larger buildings, giving them the appearance of being sculpted from enormous rubies and sapphires. There's even an artificial skyline, pastel rays of orange and purple shining down through what look like colossal and intricate panels of stained glass.

There's a warmth to it, a faint sweetness in the air. More than that, as I survey the strange serenity of this place, I get a feeling that I've never known. It looks so much like the places I've seen in my dreams, but more than just familiarity, I get a sense of.....belonging. A sense that whatever this place is, it's something from.....

"....home," I finish my thought out loud.

I barely notice the glint of light in the distance, speeding towards me, before it's less than two feet from my face. Coming to a dead stop near instantly, it hovers in the air with no visible means of propulsion, humming and buzzing. The silver orb from under my bed, the thing in my pod Ma and Pa took with them.



I hear the voice again, the itch in the back of my head that called me here.



"That voice, was....was that you?" I ask. "What are you? What is all this?"

At the sound of my voice, the silver orb begins to twist around itself, stretching and morphing like a ball of clay. Lines appear on its surface, and along those lines it begins to split into segments that open up like flower petals. Inside, I see shimmering jewels, crystals of all colors, before I suddenly feel a tingling in my head. It permeates it, the sensation like a leg that had fallen asleep after sitting cross-legged too long, and I begin to feel dizzy.

I stumble backwards, feeling my heart beginning to pound. Am I being attacked? Did it do something to me, affect my mind? I find my balance as best as I can and raise my fists, ready to defend myself.

"What the hell are y--"

My apologies, Kal-El, I hear the voice again, speaking in words I can actually understand. Acquiring enough of this language to effectively communicate required a neural interface, using the Fortress's ambient fields generated by the Sunstone Matrix as a medium. I did not have the capability to ask for permission, therefore I must instead ask for forgiveness.

"I...I need to sit down," I say, trying to regain my composure. Behind me, a large standing bowl of silvery liquid begins to stir. Springing from the bowl, a silver tendril reaches out to a few feet to my right, pouring itself into the shape of a lounging seat.

A brief rest is well-advised, Kal, the orb says, floating towards the seat to guide me to it. Your travel here has taxed you physically, and I imagine the revelations to come will be emotionally taxing as well.

Still uneasy, but seeing no immediate danger, I tentatively put a hand on the liquid seat, which was now surprisingly solid. Sitting down in it, I make it a point to keep my legs on the ground and my arms free in case it suddenly springs to life to grab me, then I look up at the floating orb.

"Let's start from the beginning," I say, the investigative journalist in me coming up. "Who and what are you?"

Again, my apologies. I had not thought to introduce myself, the orb responds. I am Kelex, your Servitor. I have served the House of El for over two hundred generations. It is my duty to serve you, protect you, and prime you on the history, culture, and values of the people of Krypton.

"And Krypton, that's.....that's home?" I ask, a thrill running up my spine like a lightning bolt.

When I was a kid, I would lie awake at night, wondering why I was so different from everyone else-- if I was some kind of monster, or part of some act of God or who knows what else. When my parents told me the truth, that I was from another world, it only raised more questions. I wandered the world for seven years after that, trying to make sense of myself, to find out what I'm doing here. I lost count of how many nights I spent staring at the night sky, looking up at the stars and wondering which one I might have called home.

Now that home has a name....Krypton.

I feel the tingling and buzzing in my head again, now knowing that Kelex is feeding my mind not just with words, but with images.



This, Kal, is your birth world, Kelex says. An ancient, savage world approximately the size of the local gas giant designated 'Jupiter' by this world's inhabitants. Its gravity would have crushed any life more complex than bacteria, were it not for the high concentrations of Sunstone in its crust.

"Sunstone?" I interject.

An element found only on Krypton, it explains, that, when exposed to an electrical current, generates graviton particles, creating a localized gravitational field. All complex Kryptonian life contains traces of Sunstone in its DNA, and it is essential in the construction of Kryptonian technology and architecture. It is what allowed life to emerge on such a hostile planet, to spread and flourish, and to create a world of wonders and horrors unlike anything else in the universe.

More images flash through my mind.

Explorers rappelling down into a chasm that would make the Marianas trench look like a pothole, titanic sparkling gemstones beneath them belying pressures that would turn them into jelly with the slightest breach of their blue and red-trimmed suits.

Skycraft skimming the clouds, chasing after a flying creature with wings that could eclipse Metropolis.

A dark-skinned man in flowing robes standing on top of a precipice overlooking a vast violet sea, dropping a tiny white gem down into the waves, before gigantic gleaming crystal towers erupt all around him seconds later.

A green-haired woman in golden armor and a red cape, locking a translucent blue blade with a cruel-looking spear wielded by a hulking figure in a chitinous black exoskeleton.

Krypton would, in time, give way to a great civilization, one that would last millions of years, Kelex continued. Explorers. Adventurers. Scientists. Artists. Warriors. And a countless myriad of other destinies, all propelled by the Jirod, the Eleven Virtues that define Krypton's culture, and crafted by the gene-shapers and birthing matrices of the Great Houses. Beneath them were the Free-Born, spawned by obsolete biological reproduction, not beholden to any House or caste but lacking any special destiny of their own. Often soldiers, merchants, farmers, or performers of otherwise necessary but unremarkable duties. And beneath them the Servitors, artificial life-forms designed to ensure society continues to function. Together, the civilization of Krypton would spread into the stars, creating an interstellar civilization that was the envy of the cosmos.

"'Was?'" I ask, the thrill of discovery giving way to a cold dread.

The bright, vibrant colors, the shining golds and glittering jewels, gave way to duller shades. The pastel skies were now laden with heavy clouds of smog. The vistas of the alien world would, in a way, remind me of an aging athlete: still proud and powerful, but very clearly in decline.



All things have their time, Kelex says. The homeworld lost touch with the colonies, some lost to the hardships of their new planets, others destroyed from enemies within and without. Eventually, the Fortresses would fall, World Engines would go quiet, and our sister worlds would grow distant, in time forgetting their ancestors entirely. Krypton's people ceased to look to the stars, and turned instead to more and more drastic measures to keep their society alive.

Many believed they could fuel a new golden age by harnessing facets of reality beyond this physical time-space. The forbidden secrets of the Phantom Zone, the bizarre abominations of the Underverse, and the absurdist perversions of the Fifth Dimension became common knowledge among the elite of the Great Houses. Conflicts arose between great and powerful minds, and what began as passionate debates would spill into planet-wide bloodshed. And the cost of that war.....


".....no.....no, no, please no....."

...was everything.

The last image Kelex shows me is from far away, speeding away from the burning embers of a world......

.....from my pod as it escaped my home world's dying moments.



"It's....gone....." I say, suddenly feeling cold and empty inside. "Krypton, its people.....my family.....they're all gone."

I believe so, Kelex says. Plans to evacuate were made, but only two prototype pods were made. Of the two, only yours escaped the blast radius in time.

"Then I'm.....alone," I say, sinking back into the seat, my head in my hands. "I'm all that's left."

That is correct, the Servitor answers. And it is why it was imperative to bring you here. This world has proven to be both extremely beneficial, yet potentially dangerous. The ecology has allowed you to become several orders of magnitude stronger than you would have been on Krypton, thanks to a far more powerful star and a negligible gravitational pull. And yet, its people, while physically weak and primitive, display a level of savage creativity that could in time lead to threats that might destroy you. The sole function of this place, the sole purpose of my own existence, is to serve and protect you, Kal-El. I will do everything in my power to safeguard the Last Son of Krypton.

Suddenly, the chair reverts back to its silvery liquid form, creating tendrils that ensnare my arms and legs. I strain against them, but they're unbelievably strong, maybe even strong enough to hold me down at full strength.

And it is why I cannot allow you to leave.....
I just want Tim to have a name that isn't the same as a fucking burger joint.

Unless they do my idea where he has his own version of the Sinister Six, just minus one, so it become Red Robin vs Five Guys.
The inherent problem with comics is that because they're made to just go on forever, anything that can be done can just be undone. We've seen classic characters age, die, or otherwise be put on the shelf before, with the attempt to get new characters the spotlight, but eventually someone will want to dust off that old concept and bring the original back. If someone writes the single greatest possible way to end the Batman/Joker rivalry, in a way that leaves absolutely no loose ends and no possibility for a rematch, well, it doesn't actually matter because somewhere down the line, someone will bring it back. Peter Parker has been a young man for over half a century; Bruce and Clark have been about 40-ish for 75+ years; the idea that someone can just now put some gray hairs on them and expect audiences to buy their replacements just isn't going to stick.

Because superheroes-- the big 'iconic' ones in particular-- are more or less eternal, they've become the collective property of the popular consciousness rather than any one particular writer and artist, and with that comes a status quo and a set of expectations that have to be met. Most of the time, radical departures, reinterpretations, or shake-ups to the lore are met with controversy at best, if not outright rejection. You can't get away with doing to Superman what Morrison did with Animal Man, f'rinstance. I will say that adding new characters is usually well-received, but taking them away or making them clash with the common perception of them is a gamble that rarely ever pays off.

In that respect, I kinda wish comics would get away from having a strict ongoing continuity and just let creators have free reign in self-contained standalone stories. That way, they can take more risks and experiment more without as harsh consequences from the general public because hey, if you don't like that story, it doesn't overwrite the ones you do like. And it's not like we don't already have proof of concept in that regard-- most of the best-regarded superhero books of the past twenty or thirty years have been stories that happen outside of the monthly canon anyway.
Who is everyone's respective favourite character? And what run of theirs is your favourite to date?

When I first started taking comic books seriously as having the potential to be legitimate art and not just cheap popcorn entertainment, it was specifically because of Mark Waid's work with Superman-- in particular, Kingdom Come and Birthright. I patterned a lot of my character work, my dialogue, many of my story concepts for Superman, off of ideas I had re-reading those stories over and over. I'd go as far as to say that if it weren't for Waid, I would have probably never become a Superman or DC fan. Which is something I find incredibly sad now, given how much I fucking loathe the man himself.

My favorite superhero, though-- in fact, my favorite fictional character period-- is and will always be Peter Parker. However, my favorite "runs" with Pete weren't in the comics, but rather in the cartoons (particularly Spectacular) and actually the new PS4 game. If it specifically has to be a comic, probably Spider-Man: Blue.
New post coming....eventually. I've been in kind of a funk when it comes to superhero stuff in general. I'm starting to realize that this RP group is pretty much the only thing left of the superhero genre I still enjoy. Everything else I've either lost interest in or actively hate in its current form, so I dunno, just gotta find the spark to be the change I wanna see and all that.
Secondly, good DC console game when?


Whenever somebody finally makes a Superman mod for Megaton Rainfall.
<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

I know y'all ain't gonna talk about Jon Bois and pretend like this video isn't his magnum opus.

Just kidding, I love them all equally. Except the 24 one. That was just eh.


The "killing the President montage" had me rolling, but other than that, yeah, it was eh.
<Snipped quote by AndyC>

Yeah I've seen that before. He also has another series, Pretty Good, that's about off-beat (usually) sports stories. Like the cocaine-snorting, Phillie-Phanatic-fighting, GM-murder-plotting, pigeon-toed MLB player.


That's a damn good one. My personal favorite is when he re-did Barry Bonds' 2004 season (the one where he scored the highest on-base percentage of all time), but without a bat.
All this complaining about games makes me glad I only play one game.

NCAA College Football '11 on PS3.

200 years into dynasty mode and time no longer has any effect on me. The immortal coaches have grown distant and cold, seeing their players as simple chattel, a disposable workforce to win football games and continue their employment. The game has stagnated and there is no longer any playcalling invitation, uniform redesigns, or rule changes. Year after year, I wonder what has become of the world of 2214 outside of the college football world and pray for a death that will never come.

...

Maybe I should try another game.


You should see if it's possible to make the games so miserable that the league just fold altogether, like the guy who ran The Death of Basketball.

SOLITUDE
Part One


Two months ago







“*nh*......Kal-El…...nim khuhp Kal-El…*gnh*.....throniv khuhp tulem rurrelahs…..”

”Clark? Are you okay?”

”Whuh?”



I open a bleary eye, the pale moonlight coming in through the window the only light illuminating Lois’s bedroom. She’s cuddled against me, barely half awake herself, her head resting on my chest.

”You’re talking in your sleep again,” she mutters, her words coming out half as a tired groan. ”Is something up?”

”No, I’m…..I’m all right,” I say, my head still swimming. ”Just a weird dream, is all.”

”..’kay,” she half-yawns before rolling over. ”Just let me know if things go from normal-weird to dangerous-weird.”

”Will do,” I say as I lie back down, but even as I say it, I know I’m not going back to sleep tonight. I haven’t been sleeping well at all lately, which is strange, considering that it’s the first time in a long time that things have been relatively calm.

Since the day I put on the cape and made my presence known to the world, I’ve had people coming after me, trying to fight me, arrest me, dissect me, or kill me. At first it was the various crime syndicates and terrorist cells I’d been rooting out. Then it was the military, stirred into a paranoid frenzy by the likes of G. Gordon Godfrey that I was too dangerous to be left outside of their control. Then the Parasite, then Livewire, the Atomic Skull and so on. There’s always been someone calling me out, someone trying to take me down a peg, someone wanting to make a name for themselves by becoming the Man Who Beat Superman.

Since Toyman was defeated, though, there hasn’t been much of anything. No coordinated black-ops teams trying to set up traps for me, no tragic results of science gone wrong spilling out into the streets, no psychopaths mutated by freak accidents and experimental technology. Even Godfrey has put his “Beware the Superman” narrative on the back-burner, shifting gears to instead praise Lex Luthor to high Heaven every chance he gets.

On that front, Lois convinced me not to confront Luthor about what the Toyman AI revealed to myself and Batman: that ‘Brainiac’ is a fragment of a vast extraterrestrial intelligence, possibly from my own home world. At least, not until I found actual proof of any wrongdoing. For starters, because tipping my hand too early would give Luthor plenty of time to move his assets around and make any sort of incriminating evidence disappear. Secondly, because, as she put it, “Your Honor, I heard it from a malevolent AI that was based on the consciousness of a severely insane black-hat hacker who died months ago” won’t hold up in any court. And thirdly, because assuming guilt based on a personal distrust is just bad journalism. Tabloid hacks target people looking to connect crimes to them; a reporter worth a damn starts with a crime and looks for the people behind it. Even though my gut tells me Luthor is up to no good, I can’t break in and start tearing up his property without real justification.

Without any major conflicts or crises looming over the city, it feels somehow….hollow. I hate to say it, but even with all the daily bustle, the streets of Metropolis sound eerily quiet without the reverberating sounds of explosions and sirens. That might just be myself becoming too much of an adrenaline addict, something Lois has confessed to being herself-- as much as I want to strive for a better, more peaceful world, I don’t quite feel like myself if I don’t get to swoop in on some imminent catastrophe or another at some point during the day.

But there’s something else…..something…..calling to me.

It started out back in Smallville, just before my excursion to Gotham. When I went home and found the artifact that Ma and Pa had taken from my pod: a silver ball that hummed with my touch. I could never figure out what it was supposed to be, but when I said the name ‘Kal-El’....when I said my real name…..it sprang to life, filling my senses with images of an alien world and a strange civilization-- my home planet and people, I assume-- then shot out of the window like a bullet.

Since then, I’ve heard something like an echo of it, an itch in the back of my mind. It was too quiet for me to really notice during all the excitement with Toyman and Batman and the like, but now that things have calmed down, I’ve been hearing it more and more, louder and clearer every day. There’s always been something keeping me from following it to its source, someone in danger, some disaster in need of stopping, but now, in the peace and quiet of the night, it’s too strong to ignore.

I sit back up, then climb out of bed, fumbling in the dark for a moment before adjusting my vision to focus on the lower end of the electromagnetic spectrum, giving myself instant night-vision. I pull on a pair of pants and slip on a T-shirt, before Lois stirs again.

”Clark,” she mutters, ”Where are you going?”

”Just….out for a second,” I say, unsure of how to explain it. ”I just need to check on something really quick. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

”...all right….” she says with a sigh. ”Keep your phone on you. If you’re not back in time to make breakfast, it’s your ass, Smallville.”

”I’ll keep that in mind,” I say with a weak laugh, before climbing out the window and pushing off into the night sky.





There it is again, stronger this time. I drift through the air, all but oblivious to the rooftops I’m skimming. Gradually, I climb up above the city skyline, higher and faster, until before long I’m above the clouds, the air splitting in a white Mach cone in front of me.



North.

Whatever this itch is in my head, it gets that much stronger the further north I go. Within a minute, I’m well out of the city, crossing the state line and across the bay, over Gotham and Blüdhaven, up through New York State, then into Canada.

Five minutes later, the air around me is so thin it’s almost impossible to breathe. Below me is a maze of blue and white, glaciers and icebergs adrift in the deep-freezing waters of the Arctic Circle. Above that, ribbons of green and purple lights dance along the curvature of the Earth, the aurora borealis a surreal view from low orbit.

Even so, I can’t bring myself to stop and take in this beauty. I have to keep going. I have to find this voice.





I push on, the signal now getting stronger the closer I get to the ground. As I pass back down into the troposphere I see something: dark clouds, whirling with hurricane force. Were there any buildings in that storm, it would knock them down as if they were made of cards. Any vehicle that went into that maelstrom would be swept away, then smashed to bits on the ice likely miles from where it went in.

Whatever this place is, it’s certain death for any normal man.

And yet, I know this is exactly where I’m being called. I ball up my fists, clench my teeth, and I plunge headlong into the heart of the storm.



KRA-KOOOOM!


I’m greeted with a deafening clap of thunder, a bolt of lightning arcing through the clouds so close to me it makes my hair stand on end. Flying this far into the storm is like slamming into a concrete wall, the wind so strong it nearly pulls me out of the sky immediately.

”Hnnngh!” I grunt, straining to keep airborne. ”Have to…...keep…...going!”

I force myself deeper into the storm, the air moving so quickly now the sheer friction starts to shred my shirt away and rub my skin raw. The gravitational field that provides my flight, strength, and invulnerability is starting to waver under the strain, slowly stripping away like dirt from a building being hit with a sandblaster.

I can take a hit like probably nobody else in the world. Missiles, lasers, bombs, even a nuclear blast. But those hits are all sudden, all momentary. You can’t destroy a landmass just by dropping a big enough bomb on it. Run a river through it, though, and over time you can effectively cut a continent in half. Just flying in and out of this storm would be one thing. But staying in it, enduring the eroding winds hitting me from all sides without letting up, is beginning to wear me down.

Eventually, I’m forced to the ground, trudging forward on foot, putting every bit of strength I have into keeping my invulnerability up. I’m in too far to turn back now. I have to find the eye of the storm, or I’ll be broken down and lost in the storm.

”Who are you?!” I call out, my voice lost immediately in the deafening winds. ”What do you want from me?!”

I don’t expect an answer, and I receive none. Nevertheless, I push forward.

Every step I take is a battle now. Every inch I gain, I have to fight for as if my life depends on it. Every stumble is a catastrophe.

I don’t know how long I’m in the storm. Minutes, hours, days. Time starts to lose any sort of meaning.

Still, I keep going.





…...and then…..it stops.

I stagger forward, the wall of impenetrable wind suddenly giving way as if it weren’t there at all. Dazed and confused, I turn to see the storm raging just inches behind me, but it’s as if I’m watching it from the other side of a window. Above me, stars twinkle in the deep blue.

I’ve reached the heart of the storm. Or, more accurately, I’ve reached an area that seems to be unaffected by the storm completely.

Ahead of me is a tall cliff, walls of rock and ice reaching up to a treacherous peak. I curl my fingers into claws and dig into the rock face, then I begin to climb. My muscles ache, my bones creak, my body begging for rest after braving the storm.

But I can’t stop now. Not when I’m this close to…...I don’t even know. I have no idea what’s waiting for me at the summit. Answers about my home world, perhaps. Or maybe a trap, luring me to my death. All I know is I have to reach it.

The rational part of me knows this is insane. It’s possibly suicidal, in fact, and at the very least it’s irresponsible. But the rational part of me isn’t in control right now. There’s something else, something primal in my mind, pushing me forward, even when common sense has been screaming this entire time to turn around and go back to bed, back to Lois.

My entire life, I’ve felt there’s been something missing, a piece of myself scattered somewhere in the world. And now, here, at the top of the world……



…...I may have found it…...
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