Lord Wraith

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

“The suit uses refined sunstone, a refined silicate that, under the correct conditions, is nigh unbreakable and self-replicating, capable of mass expansion. Note the exotic crimson hue.” The older Kryptonian explained as he showed Jor-El around the prototype affixed to the mannequin in the middle of his workshop.

Like his younger brother, Zor-El was a member of the Science Guild, one specializing in engineering, an Alchemist, who was working on an exclusive contract with the Military Guild. With their aggressive campaign of expansion, the Council had granted Zor-El unlimited resources in an effort to create a suit that could bombard latent Kryptonian cells to jumpstart their photonucleic metabolism that had been essentially eradicated centuries earlier by the Dheronian’s genophage.

In addition to turning Rao into a red star, the genophage had left Kryptonians sterile, unable to reproduce under normal conditions. A cunning people, however, the Kryptonians learned how to sustain their society through the Caste System. A proposal initially opposed by the Oracles of Rao and his heralds’ Seers, this was overturned when the forefathers of the Science Guild, who were backed by the Strategos and Polemarchs of Krypton’s military. This led the way to the birth of the Kryptonian Council and the Guilds.

The council took it upon themselves to oversee and control relationships among its people, pairing high-potential partners with one another before DNA would be harvested and grown in a birthing pod. When a couple was selected to receive a child, it was understood that this child would be joining one of the parents’ guilds. Though more often than not, the Council paired together individuals who belonged to the same Guild, if only out of convenience. A millennium later, it was nigh unheard of for a Labour Guild member to be paired with a ‘higher’ Caste member.

Each Caste was born with inherent abilities bio-engineered into their DNA through artificial radiation bombardment using high-energy particles. Though immensely weaker than the Kryptonian society that flourished under the yellow light of Rao, their abilities still brought them an edge against the neighbouring Dheronians and Daxamites. The Kryptonian Council was made up of a representative from the Science, Religious, Military and Artist Guilds, with each Guild representative allowed to speak on behalf of the Labour Guild. The Council Chair was the final member of the representatives and held the most power on the Council.

But the Council had grown vain and arrogant. Unlike his brother, Jor-El was a Philosopher who specialized in the biology and nature of Krypton. He had been an outspoken opponent of the Council’s space race, and in return, they had threatened him with expulsion from the Science Guild numerous times for speaking out against their treatment of Krypton and its resources.

“When energized to ignition, it creates a ‘hard light' construct. Hence, when the sunstone is ignited, the gauntlets project a blade capable of slicing through even refined Krytanium. The ignited sunstone has a delightful golden hue that really brings out the blue of the suit.” Zor-El continued, his voice breaking Jor-El out of his thoughts.

“The blue is a bit much, isn't it?” Jor-El interjected, giving his head a shake. He should be happy for his brother, but the fact of the matter was no matter how much the Council wanted to ignore the information, there was nothing a simple suit could do to overcome the genophage. The genes required to reach the potential of an ancient Kryptonian had been wiped out of the DNA and spread across the five guilds. A member of the Military Guild wasn’t about to immediately gain the Religious Guild’s ability to fly upon donning the suit.

Even if it supercharged their cells.

“I was worried you’d say that. Press the belt buckle.” Zor-El commanded as Jor-El obliged his older brother. The surface of the suit rippled from red and blue to the black of space, gold replaced by glistening silver. The crimson chest plate vanished as the active silicate rearranged into plates on the shoulders and arms, while the living circuitry revealed itself.

“More pedestrian and practical. But it certainly loses its flair.” Zor-El lamented, “The trade-off is the loss of much of the suit’s countermeasures in exchange for rapid metabolization of radiation to recharge and recover the host. The host isn’t at harm in this way, but the suit could be irreparably damaged, and it’s not entirely suited for prolonged combat.”

“It’s certainly an impressive design, I’m just not sure it’s actually compatible with our current biology.”

“It’s not,” Zor-El replied with a smile, “Consider it a gift.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Zor-El simply smiled at his brother’s terrible attempt at lying.

“You pretend as if Alura and Lara don’t talk. Do I strike you as so terrible a husband that my wife and I no longer converse in ideal gossip?” Zor-El retorted, “I know all about your attempts at saving our race, and I wanted to help. Besides, really, you go around bringing long-dead species back to life, and people are going to talk.” He scolded.

“Really, brother, pets and now pregnancy? How dreadfully primitive of you,”

“Zor, you could have turned me over to the Council the moment you found out what I was doing. Anyone else would. Have me stripped of my rank and sent to Bokos or Mithen to serve out the rest of my days.” Jor-El replied solemnly.

“We may not always see eye-to-eye, brother, but you are my brother and the Uncle of my Kara. If you are doing something that ensures her future, then I am in your debt.”

“I appreciate the rare display of sentiment.”

“I would appreciate you not getting used to it.” Zor-El replied with a small sneer. “Now about my design-”

“The chest is lacking; it needs something,” Jor-El interjected, thoughtfully rubbing his beard. He raised a hand, outlining a shape before speaking. “How about the House sigil? The mark of El?”

“How woefully vain. I love it.”

Special.

That’s what the men had called Claire. They had said she was special. Showed her parents all sorts of pamphlets, pamphlets showing the potential Lisa had in life, the future her gifts could unlock for her. A school in upstate New York that would teach her to control her abilities, master them and live a fulfilling life.

And the Seltons believed them.

All of their questions and concerns went out the window the moment a cheque was placed in front of them. Neither of Claire’s parents had seen so many zeroes before in their lives. It was an easy decision in that moment to ship their only daughter off for a life beyond Suicide Slums. A private education that paid them instead of the other way around? It was the dream of every family on the wrong side of the tracks in Metropolis.

Of course, it was a smokescreen.

No sooner than the cheque was in her parents’ hands than was the match lit that changed Claire’s life forever. All of her possessions were loaded into the back of an unmarked white van. And while it looked nothing like the cars in the pamphlets the Seltons had been shown, in that moment neither they nor Claire thought to question a thing. The moment her parents became a speck in the rearview mirror, then did the men in suits revealed their true colours. Roughly pulled from the vehicle before being dragged across the cracked asphalt while fighting every inch of the way. Despite her protests, Claire couldn’t break free as she was hauled against her will inside the decrepit facility. Every shade of white imaginable decorated the walls on all sides of the seemingly endless corridor, while the sterile smell of bleach and ammonium overwhelmed her nostrils.

When she couldn’t focus her powers, Claire tried to bite at one of the orderlies as they strapped her down to a gurney. Lashing out against the restraints as she released one blood-curdling scream after another. The staff around her continued on their day, completely unbothered and unflinching to her protests.

“Marsha?”

“My name is Claire.”

“No, that was your name. Your name now is Marsha, Marsha Rosenberg. Claire Selton died in a car crash on her way to the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.”

“No, my name is Claire Selton.”

“Your name is Marsha, now move along.” Claire felt the sting of the cattle prod so many times over the first couple of weeks. The jolt of electricity arcing through her body, stopping her muscles and ending all protest in her body. Eventually, she learned to love it, to crave the pain. It motivated her; she would let this place turn her into a weapon, she would let them turn her into Marsha.

Then Marsha would burn it all down.

It didn’t take long for Claire to become Marsha. It became easier with each day between the tests, the needles, and the abuse. Marsha Rosenberg was forced to be everything that Claire Selton was not. Marsha had to be desired, and being desired came with rewards. Rewards that Claire could never have seen, rewards that Claire could never have endured.

Where Claire had been afraid to use her abilities, Marsha was encouraged to unleash the full extent of her powers to become something so much more than a scared little girl. When her abilities seemed to be tapped out, Marsha was visited by a green cocktail that amplified her latent X-Gene. She began to burn hotter, capable of turning more and more of her body into fire until finally she became Volcana.

And through Volcana, Claire had her revenge.

His name was Kurt. The source of her torment, the man who had taken an interest in her. Special Agent Conan Kurt visited Marsha every day. Marsha protected Claire, protected Claire’s innocence so that she didn’t have to feel the things Marsha did, see the things that Marsha did.

Kurt was the first to meet Volcana fully. The smell of his flesh as it burned caused Volcana to empty the contents of her stomach. Tears streamed down her face as the man who had caused her so much pain was finally gone. Various alarms echoed in her ears. She moved through the smoke, torching the building that had inflicted so much pain upon her.

She had come so far. She had survived so much. Life had dealt her a poor hand, and she was sick of being told how to live. Did Superman honestly think she wanted to be robbing a bank in broad daylight?

Of course, she didn’t, but she didn’t have a choice.

“Burn, burn, burn!” Volcana cried through gout after gout of fire towards Metropolis’ resident Boy Scout. Her futile efforts continued until the Man of Steel suddenly inhaled, draining the room of oxygen. Volcana initially grasped for her throat, choking on the vacuum before realizing in horror that her flames had been extinguished.

“You can’t-” She croaked, reaching towards Superman.

“Don’t send me-” Volcana managed to force out before her eyelids closed, a black veil washing over her. Her unconscious body crumpled, caught by Superman, who easily carried the woman outside. With the metahuman downed and the fire extinguished, the red crystalline barriers suddenly collapsed, returning to a fine dust before reforming around Superman's body in a malleable form reminiscent of a cape.

“She’s unconscious for now, officers, but she’s still dangerous.” He instructed, gently handing the woman over before another voice suddenly challenged the custody of the Metropolis Police Department.

“The D.E.O. will take custody of the metahuman from this point.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Luthor,” The commanding officer replied, “But the MPD has-”

“Agent,” Lexa interjected, speaking over the officer.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s Agent, Senior Special Agent Luthor.” Lexa stated, flashing a badge that read ‘A.R.G.U.S.’, “I believe that trumps your jurisdiction.”

“What’ll happen to her?” Superman asked, landing beside the officer.

“She’ll get the help she needs,” Lexa replied dismissively. “I have contacts at Belle Reve that will take care of her.” She stated, before raising her chin as if to challenge the larger man.

“Unless you have any objections? Or should I remind you that you’re a guest not only in the country but on this planet, and any direct intervention with law enforcement will be met with escalated hostility.”

“I just want to make sure she’s well taken care of. I get the feeling she was acting more out of desperation than ill intent.”

“Superman, there’s a reason you’re not an authority here. Those of us who actually work in law enforcement use something called evidence. It’s more objective than your circumstantial ‘feelings’.”

“Apologies, Special Agent,” Superman replied, “Could I follow up with her once she’s situated at Belle Reve?”

“It’d be better if you didn’t.” Lexa snapped, turning around as she made a motion with her hand to wrap it up.

“She’s a piece of work,” The officer beside Superman suddenly said, “You saved how many lives together? Where does she get off?”

“Agent Luthor is just doing her job,” Superman replied. Without another word, he took flight, soaring back above the skyline of Metropolis. Superman’s work may have been done, but it was time for Clark Kent to make contact with an old friend.

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

A gentle sound of contentment came from the slumbering white wolfdog. He lay on the wraparound porch of the Kent farm, not a care in the world, while his legs dangled in the air upwards and his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth, lazily rising and falling with his soft snores.

Creaking hinges announced the opening of the storm door that led into the Kent homestead. No sooner had it opened than it was followed by the clatter of the same door closing, as it was released from the teenage girl’s hand. She paused, brushing loose strands of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear before looking over at the lazy canine, an amused smile crossing her face at Krypto’s relaxed state.

Reaching down, she pushed her fingers through his thick, shaggy coat, brushing aside the mane-like fur that hung from his neck and chest before scratching along his ribcage, eliciting happy tail wags from the alien canine.

She allowed herself to fall into a seated position beside the animal, her eyes starting into the distance, looking beyond the fence line and towards the horizon. Jessica Kent was completely lost in thought as her hand absently continued to scratch Krypto’s stomach, completely ignorant of her father working on the tractor no more than several paces away from the house.

“Something bothering you, sweetheart?” Jonathan Kent called, looking up from his work as he noticed Jessica sitting on the porch steps doing her best impression of her eldest brother’s thousand-yard stare. Jonathan softly chuckled to himself. He had seen Clark with that look more times than he could count, probably more times than there were kernels of corn stored up in the silo.

“Just something that happened today at school,” came a soft reply.

“One of the boys in the senior grade got upset, and it turned out he was Kryptonite-infected.” Jessie began to explain, “And now, the Torch wants me to interview him and the people he hurt.”

A heavy sigh escaped the young girl’s lips as she sat against the tractor’s wheel.

“Do you think Clark gets scared?”

Jonathan paused for a moment, setting his tools down and taking off his work gloves before holding them in one hand. He followed Jessie’s gaze, looking out over the field before allowing his eyes to trace the path of the sun shining down above the farm. His solemn expression gradually softened into a small grin.

“Looking at your brother and his abilities, it’s easy to think he doesn’t ever feel fear, isn’t it?” Jonathan replied, before putting the gloves down on the porch as he crouched down to Jessica’s level.

“But, while his gifts and his biology might be from another world, your brother is just as human as you or I.” He continued, placing a calloused hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“He loves and suffers heartbreak; he does, in fact, get scared. Clark has to wake up every morning, and despite not always knowing what to do, he chooses to put one foot in front of the other and try to make the best decisions he can.” Jonathan smiled, taking a quick breath.

“Your brother’s not perfect, he’s made mistakes and missteps, but that’s part of being human, and I like to think that’s Clark’s greatest strength, especially in a world so rapidly changing.” Turning to his daughter, Jonathan spoke again.

“So to answer your question, Jessie, yes, I think Clark gets scared. Probably more often than you or I.”

“So how does Clark get over his fear?”

Jonathan smiled, ruffling Jessie’s hair before taking a seat beside his daughter, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a soft squeeze.

“I can’t speak for Clark, but for myself, I don’t get over the fear. But I don’t let it control me either. Like anything, if we let it control us, it can be a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be that way, though. You can let your fear inform you and use it to help make a decision.” Jonathan explained, before turning to look down at Jessie.

“Now what is your fear telling you?”

“That this boy could really hurt someone, and if I wrote the wrong thing in the torch or if someone else was quoted as saying the wrong thing, he might come back for revenge,” Jessie replied.

“Ryan used to tell me about all the Kryptonite-infected people that Clark used to fight. Aren’t they dangerous?”

Jonathan gave Jessica a small shrug as he rubbed his head.

“Couldn’t people say the same thing about either of your brothers? Clark has his abilities, but Ryan also has his. Both of them have the potential to abuse their abilities, but they choose to use them to help people. Did this senior student intentionally set out to hurt anyone?”

The question hung between the pair for a couple of minutes before Jessie broke the silence.

“I don’t know, I guess no one asked.”

“If I learned anything about being a reporter from your brother and his friends, that seems like one of the first questions I’d ask. From there, just follow your gut and stick to the truth, kiddo.”

“I’m still scared.”

“And you still have every right to be, but you get to choose the next steps you take. Not your fear.”

Jonathan smiled as Jessica turned to him, throwing her arms around her dad’s tanned canvas coat before squeezing him in a gratitude-laden hug.

“I’m proud of you, I’m sure Clark is too.” Her Dad smiled at her, as Jessie nodded appreciatively.

“Thanks, I hope he comes home again for more banana bread.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Jonathan laughed, “If there’s anything Clark enjoys, it’s making people happy, and it sounds like banana bread is certainly a highlight for this ‘Jimmy’.”

“Must be awful living in the big city, ‘specially if the bar for a good day is banana bread.”

“Why do you think I rescued your mother from it?” Jonathan asked.

“Rescued me from what?”

“Life in the big city of course,” Jonathan repeated, turning to greet Martha with a quick peck on the cheek. “How was work today?”

“Oh, you know the usual.” Martha replied, “Your son is on TV again, apparently a ‘fire woman’ is trying to rob a bank in Metropolis.”

“Clark’s on TV?” Jessie exclaimed, “C’mon, Krypto! Your daddy’s on the TV.”

“My sister was never that big of a fan of me,” Martha muttered to Jonathan. Her husband only laughed in response.

“Maybe you should try wearing on tights on TV.”

“You’re the only one who’d want to see that, old boy,” Martha replied with a playful tap on Jonathan’s cheek.

“Now let’s go see what kind of trouble found our son today.”

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

“I am so clumsy!” Lex Luthor looked down at the freshly spilled coffee that drenched the long wool coat that framed his body like a menacing cloak. Ice shattered against the cafe floor before the clatter of the empty plastic cup elicited gasps from the gathered patrons. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” the woman apologized profusely, grabbing a handful of napkins to wipe at the beading coffee, only making more of a mess as the wet paper tore and clung to the rough fabric and the leather of her gloves. “I’m just glad it was iced.” Lex smiled, taking hold of the woman’s hand to stop her from spreading the mess further. “I’d hate to think of the alternative,” the woman replied, withdrawing her hand with a smile. “Lexa,” she offered, “Lexa Danvers.” “Lex,” Lex replied with a smile of his own, “Lex Lu-” “Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Luthor.” Lexa replied, “Everyone in Metropolis knows the son of Lionel Luthor.” “You wound me. I assumed it was because I was the only follically challenged billionaire under forty.” “That I doubt, the rest just do something about it.” Lexa smiled, “I suppose living in your father’s shadow would be rather demoralizing. Never known for your own worth, always judged by your father. When people look at you, they simply see privilege.” “Judging by your tone, I’d say that’s not at all what you see,” deadpanned Lex. “No,” Lexa smiled, shaking her head. “I see potential. I believe you’re going to change the world, Lex Luthor.” “And I’m starting to believe that your ‘accident’ was a charade.” “Sometimes fate comes for us, sometimes we have to take it into our own hands.” Lexa smiled. “Would you like to change the world with me, Lex?” “How about we start with a cup of coffee?” Lex replied, “Yours appears to be empty.” “How astute,” Lexa replied, her green eyes sparkling like mischievous emeralds set against a face chiselled from the finest marble. Fire-like hair flowed from her head, framing her face and complementing her features. “Come to think of it, coffee would be lovely.” “I think I love you,” Lexa rolled off of Lex as the pair collapsed against the silk sheets of Lex’s bed. What had been a few dates quickly rolled into months and then years. Now she lay beside the man of her dreams, no longer Alexandra Danvers, but instead of Alexandra Luthor. “I would certainly hope so, considering we just got married.” She smiled as Lex picked a pile of papers off the nearby nightstand. The pair had been in the midst of their latest scientific venture before the discussion of the metahuman gene and replication of extranormal abilities gave way to the throes of passion for the newlyweds.

___________________________________

“I know. I could only go so far on the theoretical side. You’re Mister Particle Physics,” Lexa stated, watching Lex read before he interrupted her, his tone dry but teasing. “-Which would probably look very odd on a driver’s license, but go ahead,” “-So,” Lexa began again, “I figured you might have an idea or two.” “Cadmus,” Lex replied, “Project Cadmus, it’s-” “I’m up to speed. The D.E.O. is aware of Project Cadmus.” “Of course, if anyone has made the kind of breakthrough into bio-engineering extranormal abilities, it would be Project Cadmus. Luthorcorp has some backdoor ties that could get us a foot in the door.” “But what about Lexcorp? I thought you were going to step out of your father’s shadow. Our dream has always been to break away from Lionel and the D.E.O. and run Lexcorp.” Lexa argued. “If we can figure out the key, when Galatea is a success, then Infinity Inc. will be at the top of every bid, and Lexcorp will be a household name.” “I want our dream to succeed too,” Lex replied, putting the papers down as he rolled onto his side and grasped his wife’s hands. “But I’m not above using the resources I currently have access to. It’d be foolish to squander them.” “I’d just hate for Lionel to find out what we’re planning. You know he’d do anything to keep you under his thumb.”

“And what of Waller and Todd?” Lex asked. “You let me worry about the Wall and Mister Bones.” “Hell to pay!” Lois’ words fell on deaf ears as Clark focused on the television behind her. The reporter on the screen, Cat Grant, sat situated in the middle of a desk, her plunging collar line leaving little room for interpretation as to why she was most popular with the thirty-four to fifty male demographic.

While the volume was muted in an effort to avoid disrupting the reporter’s bullpen, Clark was able to focus his hearing through the entirety of the building before finding the room being broadcast, listening to words directly from Cat’s mouth. Even before the headline crossed the screen, Clark heard Cat warn the audience of the fire currently erupting in Midtown. This looks like a job for Superman. Moving from his chair faster than the naked eye, Clark tore down the hallway and out of the Daily Planet onto a nearby fire escape. Pulling his shirt open, the suit beneath began to activate for combat mode, its cobalt body suit accented with scarlet sunstone. His body’s radiation stores powered the alien technology covering his body—a gift from his home planet and a souvenir from his two years in space. High above Metropolis, a streak of primary colours flew through its towering skyscrapers, a blur barely noticeable by the human eye. Behind it trailed a cloud of crimson particles as Superman soared over the Big Apricot, sharply turning through the tightly packed buildings as he expertly navigated himself from the city center to Midtown.

Smoke billowed above the skyline as Superman’s eyes moved towards the source of the acrid cloud of fumes. Macroscopic vision worked alongside his X-ray vision, peering both through and past the densely populated skyline as Superman located the bank. Firefighters were already on the scene as Superman surveyed the ongoing struggle. The flames were non-responsive to the bombardment of water, roaring back up at every attempt to extinguish them. Which could only mean a metahuman was nearby. Windows shattered as heat rose within the building. If this were a robbery, it had to have gone south; anything valuable inside would be incinerated by the fire. Rushing around the building, Superman took a deep breath before unleashing a freezing blast towards the flames. It did little more than momentarily quell them as he was left to locate the source. Peering through the building and flames, Superman located a woman in the middle of the inferno. He watched as she fled the scene out the back of the building. Stumbling out into the daylight of Metropolis, only to be suddenly greeted by Superman as he rushed to intercept. “I’ll burn this whole block down, boy scout.” The woman warned, flames covering her whole body. “Kelex, let's him ‘em with the Thunderdome.” Superman ordered as the cape-shaped construct made of malleable sunstone particles detached from his shoulders, and rapidly expanded. Hardening into a crystalline substance, it coated the nearby buildings in a red translucent substance, protecting both the structures and those inside while subsequently blocking any pathways of escape. “I suggest you surrender now,” Superman bellowed, “I see no reason this has to escalate.” The woman answered by throwing a gout of fire towards the Man of Steel. His suit answered, projecting a shield in front of him, the golden energy absorbing the flames. “The hard way it is then,” Superman replied, clapping his hands together as a rippling shockwave erupted from his clasped hands, nearly driving the woman backwards.

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

“They’re so desperate to regain Rao’s favour, they’ll strip the planet bare just to seek out a yellow star.”

The man grumbled angrily, watching from the train’s windows while the enas-traeno hovered above the magnetic rail, guiding it to the city of Kandor. Behind the suspended beam lay barren fields that had once been the abundant plains of Wanan. In years past, the plains were home to bountiful crops produced by the Labour Guild; Mayzea, Tritikem and Oryza for all of Krypton were grown in the vastness of Wanan.

Or at least, they had been before the Council’s new directive.

Crops had been forgotten in search of precious minerals. Minerals for building ships, the harvesting of which left the fields usable for anything else. Waban was ruined, its fields upturned and stripped, leaving it void of nutrition. Pollinators in the area had moved on in search of food elsewhere, leaving the entirety of Kandor surrounded by only the carcass of a once-thriving agricultural sector.

Krypton was a small planet located in the furthest reaches of the Andromeda Galaxy, orbiting the star known as Rao in the system of the same name. Under the guidance and practices of the Religious Guild, the people of Krypton worshipped the star as the incarnation of their chief deity, from whom the star had been named. An isolationist people, the Kryptonians had primarily kept to themselves, their advancement halted and tossed back into the Dark Ages when Rao went from a Yellow Star to a Red Giant nearly a millennium ago.

Once a proud race of explorers and warriors, without the gifts of Rao, they had fumbled about in the dark for centuries, rebuilding their societies and devolving from a planet of free men and free women to a caste system where artificially grown children are placed into one of the five major Guilds alongside their parents.

In the last decade, Krypton had re-established contact with its neighbouring planets, Daxam and Dheronian. Both of whom, at one point in history, lived under the oppressive regime of Ancient Krypton. Both of whom had since lashed out against the planet and launched interplanetary armaments against the planet, adding fuel to the Council’s fire and accelerating their fleet of warships.

Argo City had an entire quarter decimated by the attack. Radiation leaked through the surviving city, forcing those remaining to evacuate to safety elsewhere. The train into Kandor was overflowing with survivors, while others were on their way to appeal to the council, much like the man and his wife.

“Jor,” The woman beside the man suddenly interrupted, “You’re grinding your teeth again.”

Jor-El smiled. If there was anyone who could pull him back from being a hundred stadia away, it was his Lara. He turned his face away from the window, closing his eyes to the burning fields before focusing on the gleaming red tower in the distance.

Not just any red tower, but the Red Tower, constructed of the purest sunstone and the heart of Xan City, the planet’s capital or Kryptonopolis, as it was commonly referred. It was where his and Lara’s home lay, but today they had business in Kandor. While it wasn’t a long journey, the distance between Kandor and Xan was nearly a stage and a half, or about two hundred stadia.

The traeno slowed as it approached the platform. The hiss of the air brakes deployed echoed around the cabin as the dull thud of the flaps expanding could be heard through the roof. The smell of Kandor’s numerous food vendors washed over Jor-El and Lara the minute they set foot onto the platform. Music echoed down the streets as people tried to spread joy instead of fear while the looming threat of war hung over the heads of every Kryptonian.

What was alluring aromas of delicious dromos kreas roasting on spits over open flame crystals for Jor-El was having the opposite effect on Lara as wave after wave of nausea washed over her, threatening to up heave the contents of her stomach.

“We’ll move quickly to the higher level, my love,” Jor-El smiled, taking his wife’s hand and guiding her to a nearby lift, but not without taking one last look at the sizzling kreas, the nearest made of his favourite rondorian cut. The smell of the caramelized fat rendering on the grill sent the smoky smell of the tallow-roasted treat towards his nose.

He resolved to ensure he picked up a snack for the way home.

Compared to the sprawling city of Xan, Kandor felt very vertical, with layer upon layer emphasizing the city’s caste system. While Xan might have been the planet’s official capital, Kandor was the fastest-growing city on the globe and rapidly outpaced Kryptonopolis in population.

Once they had arrived at the Military Guild Levels, it didn’t take long for Jor-El and Lara to locate the barracks they were looking for. Pausing outside the gilded metal door, Jor-El pressed the ringer, waiting a few seconds before footsteps laden with heavy boots could be heard on the other side.

“Jor! Lara!” General Dru-Zod exclaimed happily at seeing the pair outside the door before pausing in confusion, as he glanced down at Lara and the bump protruding from her stomach. “My, you have been eating well.*

“Dru, I do hope your tact in battle more than compensates for your lack in decorum.” Lara retorted with a chiding smile, “I am with child.”

“Ah, your names came up next on the Council’s list, then? Odd, I’ve never known the stress of being a parent to make any other woman fat-”

“No, Dru,” Jor-El interjected, “Lara is pregnant, with our son.”

“How can this be? I thought that was impossible. Childbirth is barbaric, is it not? What about the caste system?”

*Jor,” Lara replied, tears of joy welling in the corners of her eyes, “Jor found a way to cure the genophage. A fossilized Kryptonian down deep within the mines, its essence perfectly preserved, our son will not be like us; he’ll be like our ancestors.”

“He will be the first Kryptonian since the Crusades to be born of a woman and not a vessel. All of our hopes and dreams ride on him.”

“And what name have you come up with for this blessed miracle?” Zod asked.

“His name will be Kal, it means-” Lara began to answer before Zod finished her sentence.

“Rao with Us.”

“Banana bread at work? Hell yeah, dude.”

Jimmy Olsen’s voice echoed over the Daily Planet bullpen as he paraded over to his cubicle, plate laden with a thick slice of the aforementioned banana bread. A dollop of butter had been carefully spread edge to edge before being just warmed enough to soak into the pastry prior to consuming.

The young stringer excitedly settled back into his chair, taking a selfie with the delicious-looking snack while narrating his caption aloud to himself.

“Hell yeah, dude.”

From across the bullpen, Lois watched Jimmy’s antics with a roll of her eyes. He took a large bite of the banana bread before washing it down with a swig of an energy drink that had been on his desk since yesterday.

The only reason it made it to today was that he had demolished the rest of the four-pack yesterday. It was a miracle the young man’s heart didn’t burst out of his chest.

“Considering your coffee is at least eighty percent sugar, I’m not sure you’ve got a leg to stand on, Miss Lane.” A warm voice filled the air, sending a shiver down Lois’ spine as she ran her tongue against her teeth, sticking it into her cheek before turning around and looking up into the man’s piercing blue eyes.

They twinkled back at her, smiling with naivety and hope that wasn’t often found in Metropolis. Even with a slight hunch to his posture, Clark Kent, the Daily Planet’s newest stringer, still stood a head taller than Lois.

“Smallville, I know you made that banana bread.” Lois retorted, “How? No one around her uses real butter. And I know the smell of real butter.”

“That’s very observant of you, Miss Lane.”

“We’ve been over this; it’s Lois.”

“And I don’t bake.” Clark smiled innocently as Lois let out an exasperated noise.

“At the very least, you brought it from home.” She accused Clark again.

“Lois, it’s Wednesday.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re suggesting that after I left work last night at six, that I took a train, or a car, all the way home to Kansas, to pick up banana bread, just for Jimmy?”

“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.” Lois muttered, “But I didn’t hear you say ‘no’!” She snapped, pointing a pencil covered in teeth marks towards Clark.

“No, Lois, no, I did not drive to Smallville last night to get banana bread for Jimmy.”

Clark felt his phone vibrate suddenly, flipping it over to see a message from his younger sister.

| Mom wants to know if Jimmy liked the banana bread.

Clark smiled at Jessi’s message, carefully typing a response as Jimmy passed between himself and Lois with a second plate.

| He didn’t like it. He loved it.

Clark replied, hitting send.

“I’m going to bust you, Smallville, and when I do, there will be hell to pay,” Lois warned, leaning over the desk. She paused, his cologne wafting towards her as she suddenly found herself contemplating how good Clark Kent smelled.

“Hell,” Lois stuttered, “Hell to pay!” She called again before turning her sights to the nearest television. Breaking news flashed across the screen as a fire had engulfed a bank in midtown. She turned around, opening her mouth to call for Jimmy and Clark, only to realize she had been too slow.

Clark was already gone.

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

The door to the hall flew open as Tony Stark barged in, arms laden with a box of t-shirts, blueberries spilling everywhere as the dishevelled man entered the room. A hush fell over the room as Tony entered. He placed the box on the floor before scooping up the blueberries and making his way into the main chamber.

Rhodes was doing his best not to show embarrassment as Tony walked into the room while several other ranking officers watched the eccentric billionaire as he opted for a seat in the middle of the arc-shaped table.

“Sam, Tad, you’re both looking well.” Stark broke the silence, addressing General Lane and General Ross first.

“If this man is no longer supplying the United States military with weapons to root out these insurgents, might I ask why he’s privy to this conversation?” General Lane began, “Don’t get me wrong, AmerTek makes a hell of a weapon, but I miss the weight of a Stark in my hand.”

“With all due respect, General,” Rhodes interjected, “I asked Mr. Stark to sit in as a civilian consultant. After all, he’s the only known person who has met the Mandarin and lived.”

“Allegedly.” General Ross retorted.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Stark exclaimed, “How’s your daughter?”

“Stark, I’m warning you,” Thaddues Ross rumbled, turning his full attention to Tony. “You so much as say her name, I’ll put you back in a cave myself. But next time, no one will find you.”

“General Ross, perhaps we should refrain from antagonizing Mr. Stark further.”

“Sam, how are your daughters?”

“Far away from you,” Lane replied, “Colonel, he’s your man if he continues to act out of line.”

“Yessir,” James replied with a small salute before looking at Tony. “What the hell?” He mouthed at Tony, who shrugged a response before tossing a blueberry into the air and catching it with a loud and exaggerated bite. It had already been a long day, and his patience for this briefing had worn thin.

Plus, he had t-shirts to burn.

“Approximately one week after the attack on New York, the Ten Rings became active again, particularly interested in residual energy signatures that had appeared over the Eastern hemisphere. We believe that the terrorist cell led by the man known only as ‘The Mandarin’ has identified a new weapon source. Given what we know about him, which admittedly is limited, we know the Mandarin and by extension, Ten Rings seek objects of power, such objects which have been showing up at an alarming rate given the influx of extranormal individuals.” General Ross began.

“Let the record show in attendance today is Antonio H. Stark.” Stated General Lane before turning his view on Stark.

“Mr. Stark, we’d like to know more about your time captured by the Mandarin. It’s our understanding he was having you build him something.” Lane asked as Tony exhaled heavily.

He could already feel the darkness around the edge of his vision again threatening to drive him right back into a tunnel. His feet suddenly ached, the feeling of the rod against them reverberating through his tibia and into his femurs. The smell of his own flesh burning under hydrochloric acid as it was poured on his back.

The torturers knew exactly the amount of dilution to use to get the results they wanted. But they also knew how to use it effectively. Tony had watched a man forced into a tub of it alive, drowning as his lungs were burned from the inside out.

“He wanted me to build a weapon to end all weapons.” Tony finally answered.

“A weapon you only had to fire once.”

His hand came up to his chin, rubbing against the stubble before he brushed against his large mustache. Running the same hand through his loose, slicked back curls, Tony took a deep breath before continuing to speak.

“The Mandarin doesn’t care about destruction; he cares about control.” Tony stated, “He’s not looking to blow the world up; he’s looking for a way to rule it. He’s a megalomaniac, not a nihilist. He wanted an instrument of fear, something that would make entire governments take a knee before him.”

“And you built him this weapon?”

“No,” Tony replied, “I built a means of escape.”

“You mean the mobile weapon suit?”

“The suit was not a weapon; it was a means of defense and escape,” Tony argued.

“Obedeiah Stane managed to weaponize it, did he not?”

“What does that have to do with the Mandarin?” Tony countered, “Am I not here to talk about the Mandarin?”

“It’s pertinent to our interests.”

“The suit is gone. I suggest you move on as well.” Tony replied to Ross. “If Ten Rings is mobilizing, then you need to-”

Tony was cut off as Lane slammed a fist down on a desk. The screen behind him changed to a live broadcast showing tanks moving through the streets of a foreign city. Gunmen walking on each side of the vehicle, the familiar logo of the Ten Rings had been hastily sprayed onto the tank’s armour.

His face crinkled in disgust as he watched the live footage. Children separated from their mothers, fathers executed on the spot.

The Mandarin already had a weapon that he had to fire once.

Fear.

“This is coming to us live from Bialya, Ten Rings has made actions of war but we have no way to intervene.”

“Sorry, Tony, I thought if you saw this, if you could see a way that weapons could help…” Rhodes said as Tony stood up from the table, kicking his chair away.

“That you could guilt me into backsliding on everything?” He shook his head, “No, I’m done here, we’re-” He motioned at Rhodey, “done here.”

“Stark, you can’t hide in the forest forever!” Ross roared as Tony slammed the door open.

“I need a damn drink.”

Storming out of the chamber, he nearly knocked Hank Pym over. His anger flared more at the sight of Pym, grabbing the other man by the collar before socking him across the jaw.

Pym hit the floor with a thud as Tony stood over him.

“I thought you gave up on violence, Stark,” Hank smirked, wiping blood away from his split lip.

“Go to hell,” Tony replied, storming out of the hall while Rhodes helped Pym back to his feet.

“On behalf of-”

“Save your breath, I don’t need an apology from Stark or his lackey. I’m here to do my presentation.”

“Ah, Mr. Pym, come inside,” Ross stated, shaking Hank’s hand before Sam followed suit.

“We’re very excited to hear about ‘Yellowjacket’.”

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

“Oh, Tony, what happened to you?”

♫ (I do) I need an easy friend
I do, with an ear to lend
I do, think you fit this shoe
I do, but you have a clue ♫

Janet’s words were the first thing Tony heard as he opened his eyes.

The room around him looked very different from the hallway he remembered being in. Faded music drifted in and out of the room, Cobain’s vocals reaching Tony’s ears as he slowly blinked. This room was much more spartan, even sterile, in comparison to the previous hall. No matter where he looked, all Tony saw were white walls in every direction through the pale gray curtain wrapped around his bed.

Jan’s hand lay on his chest, tracing the very arc reactor that was keeping him alive while looking caringly over the various scars the shrapnel had left across his torso. Tony, to his surprise, found himself welcoming Jan’s touch, almost longing for it.

He could practically feel the breeze coming in off the Pacific. The smell of salt and sand in the air while Jan lay beside him, enjoying the view of the Maui beach house. She had been a model then; there wasn’t a fashion magazine cover she hadn’t graced.

So, of course, Tony had to have her.

♫ I'll take advantage while
You hang me out to dry
But I can't see you every night
Free (I do) ♫

A whirlwind romance, front page of every tabloid. A highly publicized wedding with an even more public divorce. Stane pulled the best lawyers he knew to ensure Tony didn’t lose a dime. In hindsight, Stane was protecting his own interests more than Tony’s. Jan couldn’t bear to come home each day to find her husband drowning in the bottom of another bottle, and Tony wasn’t prepared to give Jan a chance to spread her wings.

So she left.

And Tony sank deeper into the drink, becoming more and more like his father. At least, until the intervention of Ten Rings. Surviving the Mandarin’s ordeal was the system restart that Tony had needed; it reframed the world. For the first time, he had finally been able to see Stane for who he was. For the fool that Tony himself had been.

Just how much he lost when he lost Jan.

“The last few years have not been kind to you, have they?”

“I take it you don’t read the news much?” Tony replied dryly. His mouth felt like he had swallowed a bucket of sand.

“Drink,” Jan instructed, reading Tony’s expression as easily as she did fifteen years ago. “Your sarcasm seems to be intact.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised, opening his mouth to respond before a soft finger shushed his lips.

“I know, ‘it’s not the only thing intact’,” She teased, anticipating his response while mimicking his voice. “Tony, I’m trying to be real with you right now. I know the headlines, I know the gossip columns, but you know as well as I do that I’ve been in enough of them to know just how little truth there is.”

“No,” Tony replied, “The last few years have not been kind, but they were what I needed.” He said, finally sitting up. “I’m trying to be better, someone whose legacy isn’t wrought with death. Someone you could finally be proud of. Y’know a good man, like-” Tony suddenly realized how grateful he was to be in a hospital. Finishing this sentence might actually kill him.

“H-” He started, the name catching in his throat, he coughed slightly before managing to choke out, “Pym.”

“Hank’s not without his demons, Tony,” Jan replied softly before a crestfallen expression passed over her face momentarily. “He’s far from perfect, but he cares, in his own way.”

♫ (I do) I'm standin' in your line
I do, hope you have the time
I do, pick a number too
I do, keep a date with you ♫

“Jan,” Tony started, “If he’s done something-”

“Tony, no,” Jan replied, “This is my relationship, I’m a big girl who can fend for herself. I’m the CEO of Van Dyne Designs, not a nineteen-year-old model wooed by a billionaire.”

Janet always did know how to make her words sting.

“Forgot I said anything, Jan, you’re right, it’s not my place.”

“Tony, I-” Jan placed her hand on Tony’s chest again, “I’m sorry, I just don’t want you feeling like I expect you to be some sort of knight in shining armour.”

“No, no, Pym is great, I got it. Won’t happen again.”

“Tony, c’mon,” Jan pleaded, “It’s not like that.” She rubbed at her collarbone, her hand subconsciously wrapping around her neck before she moved it back to Tony.

“It’s more business than-” Her words were suddenly interrupted as a man appeared at the door.

“Ah, there you are. Janet, I assume you’ve taken enough of Mr. Stark’s time?” It took control of muscle in Tony’s face not to glare at Hank Pym as the man summoned Janet to respond to his beck and call.

Tony might have messed up once before, but he knew Jan deserved to be treated like a queen. Not some drone that was ordered around. Wincing, Tony swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling his body starting to respond again. The room spun slightly as a mild case of vertigo set in.

“Still talking to ants, Pym?” Tony smirked.

“Last I checked, that’s never killed anyone,” Pym replied, “Can you say the same for your line of work?”

“Boys,” Jan warned, earning herself a look from Pym. Tony had seen that look before; it was the same look his father had given Tony’s mother whenever she stepped out of whatever imaginary line he had for her.

“Next time you faint, Stark,” Pym replied, “Try to do it around someone else’s girlfriend.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tony smiled. Turning his head towards Jan, he watched her walk out of his life yet again, smiling sadly as he softly spoke again.

“Jan.”

♫ I do
I do ♫

_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

The ‘City that Never Sleeps’ certainly lived up to its name.

Between the cold wind and the hustle and bustle of busy sidewalks, Stark was constantly reminded he was far from the palm tree-lined streets and warm sun of home. He had no desire to rent a car from a local club and attempt to drive it in the gridlocked streets of New York. Horns echoed from every direction as the man continued to walk down the sidewalk, dodging out of the way of every person he came across lest one of them accidentally graze against him.

The nurse had been reluctant to discharge Tony from the hospital; more than a few doctors wanted a closer look at the arc reactor in his chest. Drop the word proprietary a couple of times and mention lawyers, though, and it was amazing how quickly Stark managed to talk his way into a discharge.

It was hard to believe a mere month ago, ‘fire trolls’ had overrun these streets while a ragtag team of self-elected avengers pushed back against them. Public opinion was certainly split on them, though, and while you had very vocal detractors like Gordon G. Godfrey and Lionel Luthor, you had more and more who silently accepted these superpowered individuals as heroes.

A vibration on his wrist alerted Tony to an incoming call. He blinked twice, the contact over his eye activating his cellphone as the subdermal implant in his ear relayed Rhodey’s voice to him.

“Where are you?”

“Hi, Honey, I was worried about you too, so glad you called,” Tony answered with mock sincerity, his tone practically dripping with sarcasm behind the glib cheeriness.

“Seriously, Tony, I brought you here to consult on the Mandarin resurfacing, not to go sightseeing.”

Tony stopped a street vendor, poking around the various t-shirts and other items he had for sale.

“What size are you?”

“What?” Rhoades asked, his tone exasperated.

“What’s your shirt size?” Tony asked, picking up a shirt that depicted one of the superpowered heroes from the fire troll attack. “You strike me as a Marvel Boy kind of guy.”

“Who?”

“Y’know red tights, blue cape. Big ol’thunder bolt on his chest, it’s almost patriotic.”

“Isn’t that Thor?”

“Pretty sure it’s Marvel Boy,” Tony replied, holding the shirt up and mouthing the question at the vendor. The vendor shook his head with a smile before replying.

“Nah, my man, that’s like totally Thor, brah.”

“Never mind, Honey,” Tony put the shirt down with a disgusted expression, “They don’t have anything in your size.”

“You’re in an awfully good mood,” Rhodes accused, his tone suspicious. “What’d you do to Jan?”

“I’m appalled. Antonio Howard Stark always respects the boundaries of a relationship.”

“Uh-huh, what was it that happened between you and Miss March in ‘19?”

“Her name was Miss March,” Tony argued, “How was I supposed to know she was married?”

“Maya Hansen.”

“She was only engaged,”

“Isn’t Jan just dating Pym?” Rhodes retorted.

“They’re common law, that trumps engaged,” Tony replied playfully as he continued down the street. “Do you like blueberries?”

“What?”

“Blueberries,” Tony repeated, stopping at a vendor as he picked up a fresh quart of the fruit. Popping one into his mouth, his mouth, he bit down on it, savory the flavour. “Y’know, nature’s gusher.”

“Wasn’t that your nickname for-”

“Right, Roxie Gilbert!” Tony answered, finishing Rhodes’ sentence. “Her brother had a mean right hook.” His jaw ached just thinking of it as he rubbed his chin.

“Look, finish your snack and get back here, we’re going to start the debrief in thirty.”

“See you soon, Honey,” Tony replied before touching his ear to end the call.

“Yo, my man,” The t-shirt vendor from moments ago called, waving to catch Tony’s attention. “I’ve got something like totally vintage that might interest you.”

Curiosity piqued, Tony reversed his path and went back as the man pulled out a red ‘Stark Industries’ logo shirt. There in the middle of the shirt was a gold behemoth of a man clad in armour, wielding Stark weapons, notably a pair of large handguns.

“Like, dude, it’s Iron Man. ‘And he's here to do some business, with the big iron on his hip.’”

“How many of those do you have?” Stark asked as the man pulled out a cardboard box. Pulling out his wallet, Stark grabbed several crisp bills before passing them to the vendor.

“Keep the change,” Tony instructed, placing his blueberries atop of the box before picking up the collection of t-shirts and walking off.

Tonight, he was having a bonfire.

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

“Antonio Stark in the flesh,”

A hand grasped Tony’s, causing him to recoil as he withdrew his right hand from the other man’s before hastily brushing it against the exterior of his jacket, his other hand frantically searching his pockets for any form of sanitizer.

His search was in futility; the sudden realization that sanitizer was an alcohol product reminded Tony that Rhodey had confiscated it from him. Although Tony had been sober for over a year, Rhodes had gone out of his way to remove every temptation from Oregon to New York while the pair travelled together.

“Damn his thoroughness,” Tony muttered under his breath. James had abandoned Tony to go and meet with his own superiors, leaving the former head of Stark Industries alone in a sea of sharks hungry to feed. Beyond the man in front of him, Tony quickly noticed Simon Stagg and Hank Pym both were in attendance.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his eyes shooting daggers at Pym, particularly towards the gold ring adorning his left hand. The search for the hand sanitizer was forgotten quickly, Tony’s hands balled into fists, clenching and unclenching over and over.

“I beg your pardon?” The voice interrupted Tony’s glaring, tearing his eyes away from the other man across the room as Tony gritted his teeth before forcing a smile, turning back to the man who had initially approached him.

“Lionel Luthor, you look… well.” Tony's wry tone left no room for his greeting to be mistaken as cordial.

“Have you managed to capitalize on any Middle Eastern farmers lately?”

“Come now, Antonio,” Lionel replied, patting Tony on the back, causing him to wince again as Lionel smiled, feigning obliviousness to Tony’s discomfort. “We both know that the Middle East is hardly profitable for agriculture. There’s hardly any fields left due to the effectiveness of Stark Industries’ weapons.”

Lionel knew how to twist a knife. Tony tried to keep his face neutral, his tone calm. It was conversations like this that made him reluctant to venture outside of his cabin. He was forever cast in a darkness from his father’s shadow. Despite the advances across the entire Western coast towards a net-zero carbon footprint, thanks to the new arc reactors, Stark Industries would always be remembered instead for the likes of the ‘Jericho’ missile and the ‘Goliath’.

He had spent the last five years trying to make amends for his family’s history. The mistakes of the past had led to his divorce, his torture at the hands of the Ten Rings, it had almost cost him his company and not to mention his downward spiral into alcoholism and other forms of self-abuse.

Stark had separated himself from the world to rebuild, to become a better man. He had become sober, rebuilt the company with new products, and put people like Pepper into positions where they were far more effective than he could ever be.

But he still didn’t feel whole. Lionel, within five seconds, had managed to strip him for parts. Reduced him back to the very thing he was fighting so hard to distance himself from, just another heartless Tin Man like his father.

Tony Stark; some assembly required.

“I don’t make weapons; Stark Industries is the face of clean energy.” Stark retorted, his tone taking a steely edge.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night, Antonio,” The other billionaire replied dismissively, “But the fact of the matter is that Stark is synonymous with destruction,” Lionel smirked, reiterating the very thing Tony had come to hate about himself.

“Your father was the Da Vinci of Destruction after all, and there was that ‘Iron Man’ incident some years ago. Didn’t the late Obediah have the patent on a new mobile weapon suit?”

Tony knew Lionel was baiting him. The Luthor patriarch was fishing for something.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Lionel, dear old Dad and Obi cooked up some awfully wicked ideas, but I’m pushing ahead with my own legacy. The DaVinci is dead, and I buried him with his weapons. Stark Industries is building a new legacy.”

“Tsk, tsk, Tony, be careful not to bite the hand that feeds,” Lionel chided, leaning forward to whisper in Stark’s ear. “I know it was you who designed the first suit; Infinity Incorporated has made some surprising headway at refining your designs. Dare I say, even improving upon them.”

“I appreciate you trying to goad my ego,” Tony deflected, pulling away from Lionel’s grasp. He was going to need a hot shower when this conversation was over. “But I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about. ‘Sentinel-One’ is cute, though. I like your little toy soldiers playing dress up in Metropolis.”

“Ah, so you did manage to stay current even in your little shack.”

“Intimately, Lionel,” Tony managed to smile genuinely for the first time, “I saw your ‘Paladins’ get wiped across the floor by the first real threat they faced. Don’t tell me you only trained them to go after the teenage superheroes?”

Stark made no effort to stifle his laughter.

“I think the only thing better is that your fraudulent superhero was equally outmatched.” He taunted, finding his own knife to drive as Lionel’s eyebrows furrowed. “How is your registration going in light of the ‘Heroes of New York’. Business with Frost Industries must be a little-” Tony paused.

“What’s the word I’m looking for? It’s right there on the tip of my tongue, oh right, frosty, Your relationship with Frost Industries must be a little frosty if you’re on opposing sides of registration.”

“Antonio, it’s always a pleasure to engage in a battle of wits with you,” Lionel patted Tony on the back again. At this point, Tony’s fingernails had drawn blood from the palms of his hands. “I especially appreciate you fighting unarmed.” He smiled again, following Tony’s eyes as they darted every few seconds back towards Pym.

“I do hope you’ll perhaps consider stopping by Infinity Inc. some time,” Lionel added, “I’d hate to see your true talents wasted by getting in bed with the wrong party.” A dark chuckle followed Lionel’s words as he adjusted Tony’s collar, taking pleasure in the other man tensing up.

“When you speak to Pym, give Janet my love.”

Bastard.

Lionel’s words were like a slap to the face followed by a knee to the groin. Tony loosened his tie, patting his brow with a kerchief quickly before finding a secluded corner to regain his breath. Five minutes back into the real world, and he had already had to square off against Lionel Luthor. Facing Pym, let alone Janet, was not next on his list.

How did he let Rhodey talk him into this?

The only thing that could have made this worse is if the consult had been in Gotham. But at least then Tony would have been murdered and not left with an anxiety attack.

He felt sick to his stomach and, for the first time in a year, desperately wanted a drink.

Several drinks.

He hadn’t recognized his own designs in the Paladin armour initially. Was he losing his grip? It was so clear now. Of course, it wasn’t truly his design; it was Stane’s from reverse engineering the Mark I into the Iron Monger. The Paladin armour was a bit more streamlined, more riot gear than war machine. It didn’t change the fact that Stark was still responsible for new weapons making their way into the world.

If they had been used successfully by Lionel, who knows how many vigilantes’ blood would be on Stark’s hands. His chest tightened, breath shortened. Falling to one knee, Tony placed his hand on the wall. The hallway was spinning. He needed air, he needed water.

Where was Rhodey? Where was the closest bar?

“Tony?” A woman’s voice cut through the narrowing tunnel that was closing in around Stark’s vision.

“You don’t look like you’re doing so well there, Boss Man,” She added, her hand reaching for his shoulder. Tony felt her touch as she moved to brace him. Then her scent hit his nose, notes of honey and honeysuckle took him back in time.

Satin sheets, silky legs wrapped around his torso, laughter echoing in his ears. The hissing of a bottle of champagne that was freshly popped. A room covered in rose petals, a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. A veil hung from the canopy of the four-post bed frame while a wedding dress lay discarded on the floor. The room was dotted with pieces of a tuxedo scattered about from being aggressively removed.

“Jan?” Tony asked, looking up at the woman who smiled back at him, nodding enthusiastically.

Damnit, Janet.

Tony cursed inwardly, feeling his heart palpitate before suddenly his eyes rolled upwards into his skull. He gasped for air, collapsing on the floor in front of the horrified woman.

“Tony!”

Tony Stark; a lot of assembly required.

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

“Sources place a young hero at the scene today when a giant metal man attacked a construction site. Bystanders claim it was a man wielding what appeared to be a hammer that saved the d-”

“In breaking news, New York was lucky today after coming under siege by a band of, what locals have dubbed, fire trolls from the ocean. These creatures appeared to be searching for something or someone before a band of alleged heroes stopped them-”

“-if I’m allowed to speculate. If you have ‘superheroes’, you will soon have ‘supervillains’. It’s called escalation, and it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better if we do not get ahead of this and regulate-”

“Metropolis was saved today when an unknown hero easily intervened against the previously unstoppable alien, saving the city. Lionel Luthor started with a statement of gratitude before warning the citizens of Metropolis again of the rising threat these heroes pose-”

“The world is changing, Tony. You can either get on board and get ahead of it, or you can get out of my way. What’s the blood of one more Stark on my hands?”

The crisp autumn air mixed with the fire burning in the heath. A fresh log was set upon the stove before the screen was pulled back across, directing the smoke towards the chimney and away from the interior of the quaint cabin. In front of the fireplace, the man rubbed his hands together, warming them on the new flames as they licked away at the fresh wood. He straightened the cuffs on his flannel shirt, rolling them back to his elbows before running a hand along the once finely trimmed goatee, now drowning in thick, unkempt stubble.

Atop the stove sat a kettle, its contents beginning to boil as a whistle filled the small cabin. Humming as he walked across the creaking timber floors, Antonio Stark smiled at the birds singing outside the cabin window, removing the whistling kettle from the stove and allowing it to cool slightly before pouring the near-boiling water over the freshly hand-ground grinds.

Something was soothing about watching the coffee slowly seep through the filter and into the basin of the glass hourglass. A sudden pang of pain radiated from his chest, prompting Tony to grab hold of the solid oak table with one hand, while the other hovered over his chest. The subtle vibrations and tingle of the electromagnetic field of his arc reactor tickled his hand while Tony braced his chest.

“I’ve done everything I can, but given my current resources, there are still pieces of shrapnel embedded in your heart. If not removed, they will continue to travel further and eventually-”

“Kill me, yeah, I got it, Doc.”

The memory of Yinsen brought a bittersweet smile to Tony’s face. Were it not for the intervention of the good doctor, Tony would have died in the same cave that the Ten Rings buried him in. Instead, he was alive, mostly alive, today, while Yinsen’s good deed came at the sacrifice of his own life.

The arc reactor in Tony’s chest was his own answer to keeping himself alive. Its primary purpose was to generate an electromagnetic field that kept the shrapnel from advancing any further. However, the original model had the unintended side effect of both merging the shrapnel with his body and making his heart nearly dependent on the device.

Without it, he would die.

♫ Finished with my woman 'cause
She couldn't help me with my mind
People think I'm insane because
I am frowning all the time ♫

Grabbing the fresh cup of coffee, Tony took a seat out on the porch, watching the wind blow the colour-changing leaves while the record player continued to play Paranoid. Taking a sip, he savoured the hot, bitter liquid as it filled his mouth. His left hand was absently playing with a gold ring that he had slipped off.

Tony didn’t consider himself the sentimental type, but for some reason, he hadn’t brought himself to stop wearing the ring yet. It had been two years since the divorce was finalized, but his hand felt empty without it, even if he hadn’t heard from her since the papers were signed.

And he likely never would.

♫ I need someone to show me
The things in life that I can't find
I can't see the things that make
True happiness, I must be blind ♫

The world was peaceful off the grid, Tony revelled in the self-imposed exile, enjoying the solitude afforded to him deep into the woods of Oregon. Just over the nearby ridge, the ocean could be seen, and most nights the distant waves crashing against the shores lulled Tony into a deep state of slumber.

But slumber brought nightmares.

“What’s the matter, Tony? Oh, I’m sorry, you saw me as a father, didn’t you? Sorry, son, I was only ever in it for the money, and that suit of yours, that’s the cash cow I’ve been waiting on you to bring home.”

Stane’s betrayal still stung, even after all this time. Tony saw him die almost every time he closed his eyes. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips as he leaned back on the porch chair. The glow of the Autumn sun was warming his skin in the crisp air before suddenly it was cut off.

“Honey, you’re blocking my sun.”

“Any more of that inside?” The man asked, as Stark motioned with his head.

“You can check, I’m not used to guests out here,” He responded, opening his eyes as Colonel James Rhodes entered the cabin.

“Tony, you don’t even have a second mug.”

“Told you, I don’t get guests out here.”

“Not even Pepper?”

“Pepper doesn’t need me,” Tony scoffed, “She’s busy running the company, she’s got Happy, she’s good.”

“You do know that Luthorcorp is muscling in on Stark Industries, especially after AmerTek bought up what was left of your arms division,” Rhodes replied, exiting the cabin empty-handed.

“No booze in there either, proud of you, Tony,” James smiled, slapping Tony on the shoulder, who recoiled at his physical contact. “Though now I owe Happy fifty bucks, you couldn’t at least have built a still to make moonshine?”

“I came out here to get away from my demons, not drown them.”

“Figured they knew how to swim by now,” Rhodes smirked.

“One would imagine,” Tony replied dryly, sipping his coffee again. Rhodes leaned over, taking a whiff of it as Tony raised an eyebrow again. “It’s not Irish.”

“You can’t blame a man for not wanting to lose a bet, Tony.”

“I can when it’s at my detriment!” Stark replied, “Now, what brings you out here, Honey?”

“The Mandarin has resurfaced.”
“The Mandarin has resurfaced.”
_{“The Mandarin has resurfaced.”}

Rhodes’ next words were swallowed by the repeating echoes of the cold and damp cave that haunted Tony’s nightmares. Shooting pains raced through Tony’s chest as he anxiously tore away at the bandages covering the crude electromagnet embedded in his chest, attached to a car battery. His legs barely worked, crumpling beneath him due to atrophy as he scrambled upright.

The explosion played over and over in his mind. His name, his father’s name, was the last thing he saw before the blast sent him flying. Blood ran from a cut in his forehead, blinding his right eye as he tried to crawl away. Two sets of firm hands took him by the arms, dragging him from a pool of his own blood into the back of some sort of vehicle.

A bag over his head, leaving him in the dark.

A helmet over his head brought him out of it.

Flames erupted from his wrist while his other arm used the pneumatic enhancements to ragdoll members of the terrorist cell out of his way. The blinding sun reflected off the sand as Tony made his escape. Tears streaking the grease and blood that clung to his unwashed face, Yinsen’s screams still echoed in his ears.

_“Tony,”
________________________"Tony,"
________________________________________________“Tony!”

Rhodes’s hands were on Tony’s shoulders, causing him to jump as he snapped back to the present.

“Tony, where’d you go? You alright, man?”

“I’m fine, Honey,”

“You have got to stop calling me that,” Rhodes replied, leaning back with a sigh of relief. “Anyways, as I was saying, you’re our best lead on the Mandarin. You’re the only man who has ever met him and survived.”

“You will build me a weapon, Mr. Stark. One that will change the tide in the coming war.”

“Nope, can’t help you, Rhodey. Thanks for visiting, but I barely remember what he looks like.” Tony protested; the Mandarin’s face seared into his mind’s eye. Those glowing golden eyes smiled while Tony was tortured into compliance. The taste of vinegar, sweat and blood filled Tony’s mouth, prompting him to spit out his coffee.

“Tony, come on, you can’t hide out here forever.”

“It’s not hiding, Honey, it’s sabbath,” Tony replied, leaning back as he produced a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.

“Shame, I was also hoping to get your consult on a project, but I can probably get someone else,” Rhodes said, standing while straightening his uniform. “I’m sure Lex would be available, or maybe Stagg. Though I think General Lane is hoping to bring in Pym.”

Tony slapped his ring down under his palm, turning his head to look at Rhodes before lowering his sunglasses.

“You’re a bastard, you know that.” Standing, Tony rubbed his stubble again before replying.
“I need to shave first.”

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

EARTH

_{Sol System - Milky Way Galaxy}
^Earlier

“And here you are, hun, anything else I can get for you?”

The man looked up at the waitress and smiled while shaking his head.

“No, I am afraid that this cup of organically sourced, ethically traded black coffee is all the sustenance I will be requiring at this time of you.” He paused, his eyes darting to her name tag.

“Sarah O’Connor of 344 Clinton Street, Apartment 3D, City of Metropolis, State of Delaware, a part of the United States of America.” The man rhymed off innocently.

“Ooookay then,” She politely smiled before making a hasty retreat from the cafe table. The man continued to smile, looking around New Troy’s Planet Square, surveying the looming towers that were Luthorcorp, the Daily Planet and the nearby luxury apartments and hotels that made up the bulk of the city’s iconic skyline.

The spinning golden globe of the newspaper’s building was the standout of the Big Apricot’s skyline, visible from anywhere in the city and outshining even Luthorcorp’s twin towers. His eyes were directed to a pair arguing just beyond the doors to the Daily Planet. Glancing at a watch, the man smiled before speaking to himself.

“Right on time,” His thumb fidgeted with a gold signet ring on his hand, his eyes wandering away from the woman and older man as he scanned the sky for what was about to happen next. Counting under his breath, as the man reached one, a sonic boom rocked the sky above Metropolis.

Standing from his chair, the man reached out a hand without looking, taking a hold of the waitress, and pulling her out of the way as a shower of glass and debris fell where she had stood a moment ago.

“Come with me if you want to live,” The man announced, motioning for those sitting outside to follow.

“How, what?” The waitress protested. But the man was already in motion, easily picking the woman up and carrying her inside the cafe and out of the scene unfolding outside as Luthor’s Paladins continued to engage the alien bounty hunter.

“Stay inside, and keep everyone away from the leftmost front window. It will be shattered in exactly five minutes, thirty-eight seconds and counting.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend of Superman’s.” The man replied, leaving the waitress even more confused than before as he walked back out the cafe’s door.

Turning exactly eighty-three degrees to the right, he made a beeline for where the woman he had been watching from earlier was hiding. Chaos and havoc continued to unfold all around the lone figure while he remained the very picture of calm. Side-stepping falling debris and weapons fire like a minor inconvenience as one would while avoiding puddles along a walking path.
From where she sheltered herself, out of the corner of her eye, Lois Lane saw the man coming towards. Taking her eyes off the spectacle unfolding in front of her, she began to move backward at the rapidly approaching man. The assertion at which he was moving gave her every indication he was looking for a fight.

And she was going to give it to him.

“Now where’s Jimmy to get a photo of this,” Lois muttered to herself, rotating her body before lifting a leg and striking with all her might. Her torso muscles delivered the high kick just like her father had taught her to.

Except, the man caught it.

Taking a hold of her leg, the man caught the blow like it was nothing before suddenly pulling Lois towards himself. As he did, a loud crash echoed from behind where she had just been. Turning her head, Lois saw the remnant of a car now occupying the spot she had been previously.

“You are safe now, Lois Lane.”

“Get your hands off of me.” Lois snapped, the man releasing her leg, as she spun back around on two feet. “Are you nuts! What the hell are you doing?”

“Rescuing you, Lois Lane. Had I not, you would have been critically injured.”

“I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

“I have viewed this exact moment five thousand three hundred and twenty seven times.” The man replied, before he placed his hands on Lois's shoulders, “If you could just step to the left.”

The stranger prompted, the pair stepping aside mere seconds before another piece of debris landed beside them.

“But it is imperative I contact you today before events proceed further than they already have.”

“You mean with Dog the Bounty Hunter up there?” Lois asked as the stranger shook his head.

“No, I mean with you and the man you love.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Lois Lane is as single as a pringle and ready to mingle.” Lois scoffed before the man suddenly moved her again.

“How the hell are you doing that?”

“Time travel is predictable,” The stranger said, “It is when you create splintering timelines and multiverse occurrences that it becomes erratic and impossible.”

“Seriously, time travel? I’m talking to a lunatic. Is that spelled with one ‘o’ or two?”

“Yes, I am from the future. The year 3001 to be precise.” The strange man replied, “And it is spelled with a ‘u’.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Lois smirked, before the man moved her once again. “Can we not talk somewhere else?”

“You are perfectly safe with me, and it really is spelled with a ‘u’,” the stranger replied.

“Ugh” Lois shrieked in frustration, “So the year 3001, really? Why does someone from the year 3001 know who I am?”

“I can’t give away too much about your present, let alone your future, Lois Lane. But you should know, you are a legend of tomorrow.” The stranger explained, “You have an important role to play, he needs you. He doesn't know it yet, but he will. And then he will need others like him. He already saw what happened at Almerac and he can't let his burden of responsibility blind him. Together, he, and the Iron Man, will change the world.”

“The Iron Man?” Lois asked in disbelief, “The old Stark Industries silly little mascot?”

“I fear if I say anymore I may alter the flow of time. The Legion has worked very hard to maintain this stable time loop.”

“What if I don’t want this future?” Lois argued, suddenly being picked up and moved again. “Stop that!”

“The alternative is far worse. It would end with the destruction of life as you understand it. You will not have an easy journey, but his heart will remember you even if it currently doesn’t belong to you.”

“Y’know, I’m actually kind of married to my-”

“Work, yes I know.” The stranger interrupted, catching a falling Paladin and placing them aside while he continued to talk. “Take this to Martha Kent in Smallville, you’re aware of Martha Kent are you not?”

Lois awkwardly held out her hands as the man handed her a black crystal-like object.

“Yes, my cousin has been close with the Kents for years, but Smallville is over a twenty hour drive away-” Lois blinked as a flash of light surrounded her before suddenly finding herself alone. Gone were the familiar buildings of New Troy, in their place instead were towering stalks of cream corn. The smell of the city was replaced by the lingering smell of manure for nearby farms. The hustle of Metropolis completely vanished, no alien overhead fighting with a superhero instead a flock of birds heading south for the winter.

Lois looked down at the mud on her heels and the obsidian coloured crystal before looking up at the sky again.

“What the actual f-”

Wraith's Little Workshop of Horrors

EARTH

_{Sol System - Milky Way Galaxy}
^Now

“Lex!”

The doors to the command center flew open, as Lionel Luthor barged in, his own security detail flanking behind him, before moving to secure the room as the elder Luthor charged towards his firstborn.

“What the hell just happened out there?” Lionel roared, “You’ve made us look like fools and nearly exposed Hope for what she really is.” He continued, pointing towards the nearby screen showing full diagnostics alongside Hope’s schematics.

“If the media, no-” He paused, waggling a pointed finger in front of Lex’s face, “-If the people of this great city become wise to the fact their appointed hero was built in a lab, we will lose their trust and then their faith.” He spun around on the several thousand dollar leather shoes on his feet, motioning for his assistant.

“As we own the Planet now, order Grant to block any story that spins Hope in a negative light, anything that says it should have been another hero facing off against the alien. Lets own the return of the Blur instead, we’ll say he’s a Luthorcorp asset, registered with the city.”

“No one knows-”

“Exactly,” Lionel practically purred, “Find me someone who can be this ‘Blur’, he’s already claimed Metropolis under his protection once, look at how quickly he re-appeared to confront that alien. That way if any other super comes calling, perhaps we can gamble the Blur will return again.”

“Dad, I think you’re mistaking correlation for causation,”

“Nonsense, Lex, I’m simply fixing a bad situation once again created by your carelessness.” Lionel retorted, “I don’t tolerate carelessness, I’ve already disposed of the reporter who ran the piece about the boy in New York.”

“Might I remind you that Project Hope was under your orders, had you listened to me, we would have pushed ahead instead with Galatea.” Lex retorted, removing the neural link from his head. He winced as the flesh beneath the band was still tender, a large lock of his crimson mane falling to the ground as he pulled the device from his head.

“You find a suitable donor for Galatea, and we can discuss it again, as of now, we don’t have access to any samples that could yield the desired outcome.”

“What about the Blur?” Lex retorted as Lionel looked back at him with an amused expression.

“Son, did you see the Blur? You do understand how he was given his moniker, we can’t even be sure he’s human, let alone that we have a genetic sample. If we knew the full extent of what we’re trying to replicate, then perhaps, but until such a time we’re left with the eclectic collection that assembled in New York. None of which are Galatea material.” Lionel argued before glancing at Lex’s fallen hair and the sparking neural transmitter.

“Clean yourself up, son,” Lionel ordered, his tone leaving no further room for argument, “You have a story to sell.” He added, turning to leave.

“Get Hope inside for repairs and load up a new body for a press conference, we need the city to believe in Hope after all.”

“Yes,” Lex deadpanned, “We wouldn’t want them to lose Hope.”

“That’s the spirit, Lex” Lionel waved from the door, “Knock them dead, son, I’d say, but I’m needed in New York.”

Ryan laid spread across the bed, his chest glistening in sweat, rapidly rising and falling as he scrambled to check his breath. From the nearby en suite, the sound of the shower running echoed into the room as he laid there, completely satisfied.

Or so he thought.

A hurricane of emotions suddenly started bubbling up beneath the surface. This wasn’t his bed, it wasn’t Lana’s bed. He was a disgusting pig of a man, he sat up, wiping at himself. Suddenly burdened with a filth he couldn’t wash off. What was he doing?

He was supposed to be getting married.

“Oh, Ryan!” a singsong voice called from the bathroom. “I’ve got a spot I just can’t seem to reach…” The invitation fell on deaf ears as Ryan continued to gather up his things. Outside sirens echoed in the streets, black SUVs surrounding.

The muted television across the room was playing the news from the day’s events. ‘The Blur returns to Metropolis’ scrolling across the bottom of the screen brought Ryan’s attention back to his phone. He suddenly remembered the call from Chloe, her words before he hung up on her. Was she right?

Was Clark actually back?

“Ryan, there’s a blister pack in my side table drawer if you need a little blue friend. The water feels great, but I’ve got something else that will feel even better.” Tess called again.

Was Clark actually back?

The question raced through his mind a second time. His attention completely fixed on the television screen as he watched the footage repeat showing the alien attacker in the middle of Planet Square one second and then gone the next. Even going frame by frame there wasn’t a clear picture of the blur that had saved Hope at the last second.

Was Clark actually back?

His hand hovered over the phone. He could call Chloe back, no doubt Clark had gone home first. But he would have found the farm empty, seized by the bank. Abandoned and dying, just like Clark had left his father to do. Anger suddenly chewed at the back of Ryan’s mind, his hand squeezing the device within it.

Clark could have saved Dad. Clark could have gotten Dad to the hospital on time. Clark had no right to abandon Dad, no right to abandon all of them. He was only supposed to be gone a year, if he had been back, then Dad would still be with them.

No, Clark wasn’t actually back.

Just someone who looked like the man Ryan was told to treat as a brother.

Reaching into Tess’ side table, Ryan felt around until his fingers felt paper and plastic. Popping the blue pill into his mouth, he swallowed it dry before walking to the bathroom.

A hot shower was just what he needed.

“Why is our sponsor so obsessed with this thing anyways?”

The strange axe sat in its crate. It gave off a strange energy, almost as though it had been corrupted and possessed by forces from beyond. Kyle Abbot could have sworn he heard whispers coming from the weapon. Voices from an ancient time, chanting followed by the horns of war. Were he to linger too long, he was drawn to it and almost found himself touching the foreign object despite numerous warnings not to.

“Abbot!” Boss Moxie yelled, “Enough about the axe, Edge was very clear no one was to touch it.”

“I don’t really see what the big deal would be,” Abbot turned his head towards the speaker, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at none other than Jack Lucas. A relatively new member of Intergang, Jack hadn’t exactly gotten on board with the program yet and was still trying to cut his teeth.

“Lucas, knock it off before I knock you off,” Whisper called out, from the other side of the room.

“Yeesh, scary,” Lucas responded mockingly, standing up as he walked over to the weapon. “You going to shoot me?”

“Not another step, Jackie,” Whisper’s weapon suddenly hummed to life, out of the corner of her eye, she looked towards Moxie for approval. The subtle exchange between the two women confirmed she had permission to take the shot.

“C’mon, you’d really kill a guy over-” The hum and scream of the alien weapon echoed throughout the cavernous hideout. Jack fell to the ground, the weapon burning away at his flesh as he cried out in agony.

“So that’s what that one does.” Whisper remarked, smiling as laughter erupted from the other Intergang members. Gritting his teeth, Jack managed to raise his head, locking eyes with the woman who shot him, reaching out and taking a hold of the weapon while his body continued to disintegrate beneath him.

A flash erupted from the crate, as a horrific wail echoed through the room, the smell of burning flesh filling the nostrils of those nearby before the light cleared, revealing something new in Jack’s place.

A towering figure draped clad in spiked armour, a skull-like mask atop his face while inside was the corrupt shell of what was left of Jackie Lucas.

"Uxas demands the head of the Kryptonian.” The armoured figure bellowed.

“And Járnbjörn demands blood.”