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March 10, 2013
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The truth of things...

Gotham. The dead of the night

In one of the small, one floor outer houses of the town, a group of thuggish men were scrimmaging inside with the occupant already gone.

There were at least six of them, all very burly except for one, and all wore dark clothing to blend into the very dark and cloudy night; long dark cloak jackets and dark wide brimmed hats. They did not even bother to stay quiet as they practically tore through every nook and cranny to find what they were seeking, but given how far away from the others houses this one stood they had nothing to worry of.

As the other five went about searching, one man, who was probably the leader and also the shortest of the bunch, merely mingled and watched, taking his time to wait for when one of them would find what they were looking for. He walked over to one small table were and lit a candle to look see things better. It was the exposer of the light that showed this man’s face.

The man had dark hair and deep brown eyes. The most notable feature of him was that he had stitches across his face. It went from the top left side of his face down and across to the bottom of the right. But were others might have a sort of bitter look to them for having such a displeasing feature, this man only smirked with pride or glee to have it.

“Come, come now boys.” He said, seeing none of the others had found anything yet. “Make enough of a mess and still nothing?”

“We’ve turned this whole bleeding house upside down.” One said. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” the stitched man said, a very displeased tone in his voice. “Now we can’t go about saying to our employer about nothing? Can we?”

“But we can’t find any...”

Before he could finish, the stitched man produced a knife hidden from his sleeve and held it up to the man’s throat. Its tip was pointed for his jugular while he still held the candle calmly in the other hand.

“Maybe what we should try is to cut you up into little pieces. Then hid what we can all over the township. Then I’ll have the boys go on a scavenger hunt for you, and whoever brings me back the most parts will be second-in-command. Does that sound adequate to you?” After the thug shook his head nervously, he said “I suspected as much.” Before retracting the blade. “Now look harder. There’s big money riding on this find, boys. And I don’t want to lose even one. Single. Shilling.”

With that the men all went back to looking, with much more haste this time. As they kept looking, one of the men strayed away from the others to search the bedroom of the house. He started looking under the bed and through the drawers before noting something off. The window was open.

He was sure that when he’d entered it was not, and they’d checked the windows before entering to try and break in. He walked over to confirm it was real, as well as to see if anyone else hadn’t opened it themselves. The moment he poked his head out, an arm wrapped around his neck and a hand covered his mouth and nose. After a few minutes the thug was unconscious from lack of air, and the thing that knocked him out pulled him through the window.

A moment later one of the thugs realized they were missing one man.

“Peter?” he called out, catching the attention of the leader. “Peter, you blighter. Where’ve you gone to?”

All the others looked to the silent room where Peter had disappeared to and tried to see if he was still inside. No sound could be heard as all practically held their breath in fear of what might be inside. But the silence was broken when the front door creaked open, startling all of them. They looked as it crept open more and more before it was nearly fully open. All drew weapons from knives to clubs before trying to see who or what opened the door, if not the wind.

Suddenly a bunch of small glass objects, with odd colored liquids inside them, flew from somewhere in the darkness outside and landed in the room, breaking and creating a sudden below of smoke that blinded and choked all of the men.

“What the *cough* *cough* devil?” the leader said, trying to see past the smoke.

As all tried to clear their sight, and see who was responsible, a dark shadow slunk into the room and began thrashing any and all it could lay it’s hands on. There was screaming from the men as they tried to see what was attacking them and crashing as some men were punched by a fist from the smoke, kicked in the back without seeing where it came from, or picked up and tossed into some piece of furniture, breaking it to pieces when they landed.

Outside a lone British patrol officer came close enough to the area to hear the commotion. Upon seeing a man crash through one of the windows and fall to the ground, beaten bruised and out like a light, he quickly ran back to the town to call for assistance.

“What’s *cough* happening?” the leader called out to the others. “Did you get the bastard or....?”

Enough smoke cleared by now and he could see all his men, those that were still in the house, all laid about here-and-there, groaning in pain and looking as if they’d been beaten with a rock. The leader looked in shock at this before feeling a presence still in the room...and standing right behind him. His knife still in hand he turned and stabbed what was there, feeling the knife driving into the blackness of whatever this creature was.

He gave a triumphant “Ha!” at this before seeing the shadow, with its two angered yes looking at him, did not flinch or waver from pain. The leader pulled the knife back up to see what was wrong and found that the blade was bent. Suddenly the shadow smacked the knife out of his hand, grabbed him by the collar with two hands and held him up. A fallen candle nearby provided enough light that the man could see what was looking at him.

Its face was made of a dark metal, two angry brown eyes from behind the eye holes looking at him, a small point for the nose, and two sharp points, like very straight horns, sticking from the top. Where the mouth would be was another metal, this one more sliver, covering it, with slits for breathing. The leader could swear he was looking at something out of the time of knights, castles and kings.

“John Denetto.” He said, scowling still. “Also called ‘the Stitch’ to others.”

“I...I haven’t done a thing dishonorable.” The Stitch stammered. “Honest.” In response the knight brought him over to a wall and slammed him hard against it. “Al-alright! Maybe a quick pocket picking, and a good beating here-and-there. But only to get by in line of work.” He pleaded now. “Don’t kill me! I beg!”

“Why were you here?” the knight asked. “What were you looking for?”

“I....nothing. J-just trying to see if the old blighter who lived here had anything still lying around when he left is all.”

The knight brought his face closer to his, making sure they were looking eye-to-eye, and said “You are lying to me. Very unwise.” He reached down into the darkness that was the rest of his body and the Stitch could see as he pulled out a small vial. “Do you know what this is?”

“Uh...a bit of the spirits?”

“A very dangerous form of liquid. One so deadly, if it touches your face, you would need more than stitching to fix the wound.”

Seeing the worried looking on his face, the knight, holding him with one hand, dragged him over and slammed him on the floor. He uncorked the vial and held it to the side, the liquid slowly starting to reach the top. The Stitch panicked as he could see this, trying not to give his secret away but sweating in fear of the pain and scarring this liquid could do.

“No wait! Wait!” He suddenly said. “I-I’ll confess! I swear to God! I’ll confess!”

“Then do so.” The knight said, still keeping the vial as it was.

“I...I was contacted. By some very important bloke in London. Never knew who, only sent a letter wanting me to handle this little job. This man, Tyler, one who used to live in this house, he wanted me to look for something important from him.”

“What was it?”

“S-some special kind of book or something. Said I know when I see it. Then I was supposed to go and deliver it so we’d get a pay. That’s all I know. They never said the name. And the bloke who gave it to me left before I could say anymore!”

Once he’d heard everything, the knight had what he needed. He then tilted the glass more until the liquid spilled out and landed all over the Stitch’s face. He screamed for a moment, expecting a painful sensation, but then felt nothing bad about it. It was just very cold but it dripped on him without causing pain.

“Only a colorful medicine.” The knight said. “Thank you for the cooperation.”

With that, the knight slammed his fist down on the Stitch, knocking him out with a punch to the cheek. He stood in time to hear as a group of men, likely soldiers, were approaching the house on horseback. He looked around, knowing he had to leave now or risk being caught.

Out front the squad of men, about fifteen of them, only seven on horseback, arrived, all armed and ready. Captain Thomas Preston and Captain James Gordon, among those on horseback, looked as t some of the men had already entered the house, while others began to run around to the back to surround the place.

When one of them came back, Preston ordered “Report.”

“Looks like a brawl happened here, sir.” The soldier began. “The thieves likely argued among themselves and beat each other into submission. We found a man they called ‘The Stitch’ inside as well.”

“Keep searching.” Preston said. “Leave no stone unturned. Find whatever may have been stolen.”

“Yes, sir.” He saluted before running off.

After the soldier was gone, Gordon looked to Preston and said “You doubt it’s as simple as that?”

“Of course it isn't.” Preston said. “No criminals are foolish enough to brawl among themselves in this town. Not if they want to keep their necks intact.”

Suddenly both they and the few guards near them heard a commotion from behind the house. The sound of men screaming before being silenced by something, then the crack of a rifle being fired in the air. A moment later a dark figure riding a black horse went riding out from behind the house and away from the others. In a  brief moment, Captain Gordon finally caught a better glimpse of the Bat-Man of Gotham.

Attached somewhere on the bottom of the helmet was a long black cape that flapped up in the air, and looked like a pair of demonic wings. He could see he was wearing very light pieces of armor, mainly gauntlets, boots and a chest plate, all attached somewhere in the back, probably with straps. There was a glimpse of chainmail underneath them as well, making him look more and more like a knight leftover from the ear of the Round Table. And finally, painted in black over the chest plate, was a symbol, or insignia of sorts, shaped like a bat.

“Halt!” Preston shouted, seeing him riding off. “Halt I say!”

Seeing the Bat-Man not obeying his command, Preston gave chase along with the five other horseback riders following behind. Gordon, suddenly realizing what was happening, chased after as well. The chase lead them more into town, the Bat-Man glancing back to see as the soldiers tried to come closer and closer. He made sure not to run into or hit any and all pedestrians in his path as he rode forward through the streets. Those who were still out watched as the chase would pass them and they would also catch a glance at the Bat-Man.

There came a point when Bat-Man had to give his horse a sharp turn in order to avoid running into a drunken man crossing the road. The man looked on as the hose went by but turned to be met with another horse, ridden by Captain Preston, running into this right side, making his collapse to the ground in pain. While the others still gave chase, Captain Gordon stopped and looked in shame as the other soldiers did not bother to look at the man. He hopped off his horse and tried to help him as others  came around to see what had happened.

The Bat-Man glanced back in time to see what Gordon as doing. As much as he wanted to go back and help as well, he was glad that at least someone was willing to look out for the citizens as much as he would.

“Easy.” Gordon said, helping him to his feet. “Easy now. You’ll be alright.” He walked him over to his horse and said. “Came way, people. Make way. I need to call on the doctor for this man.”

As Gordon helped the man onto his horse, he looked back in time to see as the men still gave chase to the Bat-Man, losing distance between him and slowly dropping away.

The following day, Captain Preston would report to his superiors how he and his men lost sight and trail of the Bat-Man when he rode into a forest and somehow managed to elude them without a trace.


Plymouth. Two days later

A young red-haired woman knocked on the door of Bart Allington’s house, not receiving an answer after a few seconds of waiting.

The lady herself was very finely dressed and proper in a nice dress with a mixed coloring of blue and white. Her green eyes beamed out as she looked both annoyed and worried about Bart not having answered yet. She looked back to the carriage that brought her and indicated to the driver, who had been watching, to stay where he was an not ready the horses to leave. She was going to see her fiancé today, one way or another.

She rapped on the door again, this time a little harder, until it slowly creaked open. She found it a bit surprising that it was unlocked before poking her head in, seeing the place was still intact. As she went inside, looking around, there was no sign of anything like a struggle or vandalism.

“Bart?” she called out softly. She kept looking around the house, calling “Bart?” again.

Finally she came to the door that, unknown to her, lead to Bart’s private workspace. The door was also open by a crack and she’d never been inside herself. She stepped closer to it, keeping a little quite as she did, before pushing it open further and looking in.

Now she could see all of the things inside Bart’s little laboratory; the papers the nick-knacks  and the few desks and tables inside as well. Only one small window to provide light in the whole room and helping her to finally find her fiancé where’d he’d been. Bart was lying asleep in a chair with the rest of him strung on top of a desk with a few papers covering his arms and one over his head. He was wearing only a vest and shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to be shorter. As she looked closer she could see small smudges of ink on his fingers and on his arms. In front of him the small box containing what he’d received from Jason Garrickson.

She tapped his shoulder, saying “Bart?” No answer from him. “Bart.” She shook his shoulder. Still No answer, making her shake even harder saying “Bartholomew Allington! You had better wake this second or the almighty strike you!”

He suddenly shot up in surprises, startling her as he did, and papers flew about that were originally all over him. He looked around in a mix of confusion and daze before seeing her, backed away a bit and catching her breath, before shooting his glance over to the box, sighing in relief that it was still there.

“Oh...Iris.” Bart said, rubbing his eyes and stretching out his arms. “I..wh-what are you *yawn* doing here?”

“The better question should be why are YOU still here.” She said, her tone more annoyed now. “You haven’t been to the shop in two days. Father cannot keep up with the tailoring like he used to. Why do you think he hired you to begin with?”

“Tailor?” He said, confused, before he realized what she meant and groaned. “Oh God.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I forgot. I’ve been...busy of late. As you can see.” He indicated the shamble of things in the room as well as the state of his clothing.

“Busy?” she said. “Busy with what? Something so important it takes you away from work? Makes you late for yet another engagement we had? Away from me of all things, Bart.”

He looked to her, seeing a growing her expression on her face, before standing and taking her hand in both of his.

“You know I’d never stoop that low.” He began. “You just...need to understand. You remember my old friend, Jason Garrickson? He sent me...something of importance. Something that can unlock a power none would ever think possible.” He leaned over to the table and picked up the small box, opened it and said “And this is the key to finding it.”

She looked at the small green rock inside and said “It’s....beautiful.”

He closed it and said “More than you may know.” He put it back down and aid “But I can’t seem to find the way to unlock it. Jason only left me with a few notes but nothing that could fully help. Just riddles and nonsense.”

“Bart, I think you need time away from this work.” She said, holding his shoulder. “Look what it’s doing to you. You’ve become a shut it and I’m beginning to worry.”

“But I can’t stop now, Iris.” He turned to her. “I’m so close. I just need something. The right mixtures. The precise calculations. Anything. I need to find out what Jason did. Then maybe I’ll know what happened to him. Why he disappeared.”

Iris, mixed with annoyance and sadness, finally said “Well....then fine. If that’s how you’ll be, then so be it.”

She started walking out of the room and towards the front door, making Bart follow in confusion and say “Wait! Iris! Where are you...?”

“By this time she’d reached outside and was being helped up into the carriage, where she said “It’s clear that you’ve begun to value your work and friends more than me. Very well and dandy with me.” She was fully in the carriage now and the driver was about to take off. “Perhaps you should try something like that Franklin fellow in the colonies. Tie a kite string around you and that damn rock of yours and be struck by lightning. Maybe the shock will wake you up!”

With that the driver clicked the horses and they were off. Iris never looked back but only held back tears in her eyes as she went further and further away from the man she loved but  saw he was too caught up in his own world.

Bart only watched as the carriage drove off and eventually disappeared to the next street. He began to walk back into his house, depressed from this experience, before something clicked in his mind. Something Iris had said about stings and lighting.

He suddenly declared “That’s it!” before running back to his workshop.



Trevor Stephens slowly awoke to find himself in an odd surrounding.

He held his head, a bit groggy from his endeavor, before looking and finding he was in a small stone room and lying in a bed. He then saw there was a single window with bars on it and the only door out with another small window with bars on it. He was a prisoner, but of who?

As he stood from his bed he found his jacket was off, it was lying at the end of the bed. He walked over to try and see out the window, peeking out and seeing an amazing sight. Wherever he was, it was inside a large city with Greek stone buildings, all looking as if they were pulled from the ancient times. The only other thing beyond that was a sight of the sea.

“What in the name of...?” he said to himself.

After this he walked over to the door and tried to open it, only to confirm his suspicions about it being locked. No idea what to do now, he peeked out the door window and tried to see if anyone was nearby. Only a long hallway.

He then hear someone walking down the hall and knew he needed to act. He hid himself where the door would swing open and waited until it did. He saw a tall shadow from the light coming from the hall and knew someone was coming in. He waited until he could see the figure right in front of him and pounced. He tried to wrap his arm around the person’s neck and choke-hold them, only for them, with very superior strength that he soon discovered, to grab him and toss him over their shoulder and into the bed.

Dizzy from that, Trevor picked himself up and shook his head before seeing who it was that managed to outdo him. It was Diana, and she had a very fierce look on her face after what he’d done.

“!” he said. “I...I remember you. The angel.”

“I do not know what an angel is.” She began to say. “But I trust that you will not mistake me for one again, if attacking them is the way you treat them.”

For a moment, Trevor admired her beauty to himself, even if she did have a more annoyed look on her face now. He then noticed how much taller she was compared to him. This was odd for him to see such a tall woman, and one who could defend herself so strongly at that.

“Who...where am I?” he asked. “Is this place somewhere near Britain?”

“No. I am not familiar with this ‘Britain’. You are on Themyscira.”

“Wh-what?” he said, standing on the side of the bed now, seeing her relax a bit. “How did I...wait!” He looked around frantically, even under the bed, before asking “Where is it? That parcel I had. I know I still had it with me.”

“ not sure.” She answered.

“Why did you come here then? Am I to be a prisoner of this place for life? Let me speak to your king.”

“We have no king.” Diana began. “Only...” she stopped when Trevor saw something behind her.

She looked to see Queen Hippolyta and two guards standing by. All looking to see Trevor was awake. All were around the same high as Diana, making him feel even more insignificant in comparison.

“Mother.” Diana said, bowing and stepping aside.

“Mother?” Trevor said in confusion.

Hippolyta walked towards him, saying “I see you made sure our ‘guest’ was fully recovered, Diana.” Once she reached him she asked “Who are you?”

“I...would prefer not to say.” He answered. “I’ve no idea where am I, or who you are. So I’ll not say a thing until I have answers of my own.”

“I assumed as much.” The Queen said before pulling out a long golden rope that she had hidden behind her. She wrapped it around his wrist, Trevor not sure what was going to happen, and then said “I will ask again. Who are you?”

Trevor suddenly felt a compulsion that he could not fight, despite what his mind was trying to command him to do. Some odd sensation went through his mind and plucked what it needed from him before taking it out of his mouth.

“Trevor Stephens.” He said bluntly but with a confused look on his face. “Resident of London, England.”

Having one question answered, Hippolyta asked “Is that what this stands for?”

She pointed to one of the guards who held up the tattered flag that was wrapped around Stephen when he’d washed ashore.

“Yes. The flag of my home country”

“And what does this land you call England want with our island?”

“We have no knowledge of this place. I was shipwrecked when the ship I was on came under attack by a giant creature that destroyed it. I am beginning to think I was the only survivor.”

As Hippolyta took this information in, Trevor , very confused, asked “Wh-what’s happening? How did you do that? Make me say the truth when I tried to stay quiet.”

“This rope around your wrist.” She explained. “It compels the truth out of all things. Such is the power of Gaea.”

“Who is this Gaea?” he asked.

All the women in the room looked to him surprised by this before Diana asked “You do not know? Gaea. Mother goddess of the earth. Surely such things are taught in this England you come from.”

“My good woman,” he began “we’re taught of only one God. And I assure you, he does not go about forging odd ropes with some obvious black magic witchcraft to them.”

“Then is ‘he’ responsible for this?” She asked, indicating to the other guard to reveal the wrapped parcel.

She unwrapped it and revealed it was a book with a red cross symbol on it. Trevor looked with a mix of relief and worry seeing it and now knowing that these women, whoever they were, might have discovered the secrets within it.

“What is the significance of this book?” Hippolyta asked. “Why did you have it with you?”

The magic of the lasso compelled Trevor to say “I was to bring it back to my superiors in London. Those of the Church of England and their superiors in Rome wanted it found. I took it from the house of a man named Tyler in the colonies and was on my way back before the monster attacked. I was also instructed not to look inside. Only to retrieve it. I was supposed to have returned by now.”

“What monster do you speak of?” the Queen asked.

“I do not know. Some of the men called it the Kraken when it attacked.” He then said “Did you have something to do with it? Is that thing your guard dog or something?”

Hippolyta, having the information she needed, pondered for a moment before taking the rope off of him.

“You will remain in here.” She said to Trevor. “Until it is decided what best to do with you, you, Trevor Stephens, are now a prisoner of the Amazons.”

He looked in shock at the name prisoner an Amazons. Even Diana was a bit put off by her mother’s decision, especially when seeing Trevor look to her for some kind of help. Hippolyta began to exit the room, the guards and Diana following. Once it was shut and secure, the queen nodded to the guards indicating for them to stand by his door.

As she and her mother walked off, Diana said “Mother. Surely there must be something we can...”

“I will consult with the oracles on this, Diana.” She said, not looking to her. “Whatever fate is in store for this man, it is all by the will of the gods now. You may want to pray, for his sake, that they take kindly to his blasphemous ways.”

With that Diana had a growing chill of dread come about her, wondering what might happen to Trevor now.


Luthor Manor. Outside of London. Later that day

Inside his large study sat Night Chancellor, Prime Minister Alexander Luthor.

He sat at a large desk with a few notes an papers here-and-there. The room itself was very large, with a fireplace to his right with a large chair and small table situated in front, two large book shelves on both sides, and a giant portrait of a man with the name Lionel Luthor carved at the bottom of the frame. Two large windows were behind where Luthor sat, both looking out to a large garden area in the back of his manor. Also near his desk was a large globe, and on his desk, among the other things, was a bald wooden head for placing wigs on. His was still on his head.

As he looked through his work a knock came at the door, making look up and say “Enter.”

The large door to the room opened and in stepped a sharply looking man. He had a very suave, debonair look to him, with his small mustache and slicks hair. He was dressed in a dark green suit with matching clothing.

“Ah, Mr. Corban.” Luthor said, seeing him. “You’re finally here. I was beginning to think you would not show.”

“A bit of a previous engagement, sir.” Corban said with a slight French accent.

“So long as you’re here.” Luthor said. “Please, take a seat.” He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Corban walked over to one, sat down and said “You are very hospitable as always, Chancellor. Or Prime Minister. Whichever title you hold more dear.”

“Why not just settle on Mr. Luthor for now.” He said. “Titles tend to change. Some more sooner than others.”

“Very well.”


“If you offer, I will not refuse.”

Luthor picked up a small bell on his desk and rang it. In a moment a young woman, dressed as a servant, with green eyes and hidden blonde hair, came into the room and stood waiting for Luthor’s command.

“Mercy, bring tea for Mr. Corban and myself.” He said.

She bowed before walking out, Corban taking his time to examine her with his eyes, very thoroughly.

“Very nice.” He said, looking back to Luthor. “Where ever did you find her?”

“Poor thing was practically dying in the slums. I found potential in her, especially after her family died, and took her in. She’s proven useful enough.”

“I see. Not often I see you in such a charitable nature, Luthor.”

“You’d be surprised. Now then, what news do you have from my little 'International Gang', as I like to say?”

“There’s still been no word of the man sent by the Church.” He began. “His boat never returned to port and there’s been no sign of him in the colonies.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps a storm claimed him.” Luthor said, rubbing his chin. “What of the book?”

“Nothing as of yet. However, my contact in Massachusetts said that Mr. Dentto was apprehended by the guards in Gotham. Apparently he was attacked by something they call the ‘Bat-Man of Gotham’. They say it’s a creature that prays on the souls of the wicked.”

“Ha! Some old wives tale superstition is all that is. Just some fool thinking himself above the King’s law. He’ll be dealt with soon enough. Continue on.”

“Dentto only checked the main house of the man called Tyler.” Corban continued. “But he had word of another area he may have resided in. Perhaps, whatever it is you and the Church are looking for, will be there.”

As they continued, the girl, Mercy returned with a tray of tea cups and a pot. She poured two cups and gave one to Luthor first before Corban. After this she stood waiting while the two carried on.

“Then I’ll send word for someone else to retrieve it, should this ‘Bat-Man’ try to interrupt again. Perhaps the chap from that southern area. Prisca I believe it’s called. Now what about Garrickson’s little treasure?”

“We’d finally managed to track the remains of Garrickson’s work. The notary who sent it away was less than forth coming. But a little... ‘persuasion’...and the man revealed his most darkest of secrets. Everything is now in the hands of one Bartholomew Allington. In Plymouth.”

“Excellent.” Luthor said, after sipping tea and placing the cup down. “It’s even closer than I thought. Corban, I want you to handle retrieving it personally. No mistakes, understood?”

“As the good book, itself.” Corban said, sipping the last of his tea and standing. “And what do we do with Mr. Allington, should he be less than willing to part with whatever Garrickson sent him?”

“What you must. Silence him and make it look like a simple burglary.”

“Very good, sir.” He bowed. Before leaving he asked “If I may, Luthor, I would like to ask. What is the significance of these ‘treasures’ you seek. From Garrickson and Tyler I mean.”

Luthor leaned back in his chair and asked, “In all your travels, Corban, have you ever seen anything strange? To say the least?”

“I once saw man conjure a rabbit out of his sleeve. If that is what you mean.”

Luthor stood and faced the window before saying “This world is very large, Mr. Corban. And though we, as humans, believe we know every inch of it, there are things out there that have yet to be discovered. Secret things. Ancient things. Things that men fear. Mainly because they have something others men do not...power. An unknown and unnatural power. And it is this power that I seek. To strengthen the might of this already great kingdom. So for that, I’d kill a thousand men over if it meant even a single speck of that power.” He looked back to Corban, a more devious grin on his face, and said “Now, I believe you are due for Plymouth, correct?”


The Kentsington Farm. Earlier that morning

“Mother! Father! Come quick!” Clark shouted from his room.

Both his parents were downstairs at the time before rushing up to their son’s call. They reached his room and opened the door before beholding an incredible sight.

Clark was floating above his bed. So high above that he was pushing himself away from hitting the ceiling. He was still in his night clothes and the sheets had already dropped away from his body after having hung on him while he floated.

Clark looked to his parents, all of them with confused and fearful looks, before he said “What...what’s happening to me?”

Martha and Jonathan looked at each other, both giving the same somber looks to each other. Clark noticed this and had mixed reactions about it, while still trying to make himself touch the floor again.

“Clark...son,” Jonathan began. “There’s....something we need to discuss.”

For the rest of the morning, after Clark had finally come down and learned how to keep himself on the ground, and he’d changed for the day, both Martha and Jonathan told Clark how he was not born from his mother, but from the sky. They spoke of the night when he fell to Earth in some sort of vessel and was only a baby when he did. They then told of how they kept this from him for fear of what he may think of himself, being something inhuman living in a human world.

Clark, sitting in the living room in one chair with his adopted parents on the couch, looked down to the floor and said “So...I...I’m not even your real son?”

“No.” Martha said. “That is not true. You may be a blessing from the sky and not my own womb, but we raised you ourselves. No matter what, that makes you our son.”

“But what am I?” he asked again, almost sounding desperate for an answer. “Am I some sort of fallen angel? Am I from God’s almighty domain sent down to Earth? What is it?”

“We do not rightly know, Clark.” Jonathan said. “All we know is that you came to us, on your own. No parents and no means of protection. How could we leave you where you were?”

“Where’s this vessel you spoke of?” He asked. “I want to see it. Please!”

Later both of them lead Clark to the barn where they made sure no one else was around to see. They moved some of the horses away before clearing some hay to reveal a hidden door underneath.

“This used to be an old storage area for my father’s brewing.” Jonathan said, before opening the door. “We didn’t want to risk anyone finding it, or else they’d probably find out about you. So the next day, after brining you home, I used the strongest horses to bring it here.”

Once it was open Clark finally saw it, the strange metal slender craft that was large enough that it almost seemed too big for the storage area it was in. The latch part where Clark assumed was where he sat as a baby during his travel was still open, making him reach down to pull out what he saw there. The first was the sheet with the yellow S symbol on it. The other was a small green crystal. Clark seemed more and more hurt as he looked over these things.

“We didn’t want you to be hurt.” Martha said. “We were afraid of what they would do to you.”

“But it’s all been a lie!” he said, turning to them. “Everything I thought I knew about my life just one tremendous farce. I’m not a colonial born child. I’m not your son. I’m not even sure I’m a human!”

He suddenly pushed past them and started to run away from them.

“Clark, please!” Jonathan said, suddenly seeing him float in the air again. “Let’s just...”

Before he could finish, he saw Clark rush into the air with tremendous speed before going too fast and far away that he vanished in the blink of an eye. Martha began to cry and nestled herself in Jonathan’s arms while he only looked with a hurt expression to the spot in the sky where his son disappeared.


Clark kept flying and flying with his great speed. He did not care where he was going, as long as it was away from his so-called parents, his so-called country, anything. He just needed to be alone for now. He saw as the scenery changed with each place he past. Going further and further away, more northwards than any other direction.

Eventually he found himself somewhere very cold and stopped in the air. He looked about and saw it was nothing more than a large area of ice and snow. He also saw there was no one around to other him. He assumed this was that place some called the ‘Artic’ as old explores said.

He landed on the ground and found a spot where he could sit, a frozen rock of sorts. The cold did not bother him. It felt like only a gentle breeze against his skin. This only upset him more.

In his mind, Clark contemplated all the experiences he had that were inhuman. When he lifted a wagon with one had as if it were nothing, when he saved some of the horses when the stable had once caught fire and never being singed or burned by the flame, being able to bend the strongest iron as if it were a stick, and now this gift of flying in the sky like a bird. But to Clark he could not tell if these things were gifts, or only part of some curse in his life.

All these questions in his mind about who he really was and where he came from circled in his mind, making him more and more upset that he didn’t have an answer. He then looked down at the crystal and the sheet still in his hands. These were all he had of where he really came from. But instead of seeming like keepsakes, they were only horrible reminders.

In his annoyance, Clark threw the crystal away, his strength making it go a few yards away from where he sat. Not caring where it landed, he only looked down to the sheet and idled over what the S symbol meant. More and more he thought about it and didn’t get an answer, the more and more it angered and depressed him.

He finally looked up to the sky, still bright as day out and said “Please...tell me....who am I?”

As if to answer his plea, the ground suddenly began to shake. Clark felt this and stood from his spot, soon seeing as the ice began to shake more and begin to crack in areas. He flew up into the air and hovered close enough to see something in the distance, around where he’d thrown that odd crystal.

Suddenly a large glass spire shot out from the ice. And then another nearby and taller than it. Another. Another and another. It was as if a whole forest of spires of glass and crystal were being grown. After a few moments it was done and Clark landed on the ground to see a giant glass spiral construct. It was some type of fortress produced by whatever magic lay in the crystal he threw away.

He flew towards it and found an entrance inside. Going in he found an immense space where the walls were in made from similar smaller spires. There were larger platforms of with deep drops in between them as well, but nothing a small jump for any normal human wouldn’t help them reach. He went through one room after another, taking in all the odd architecture of this otherworldly place.

Finally he came to one room where it was nothing but a long path with a sort of stand or podium, that looked as if it grew out of the crystals themselves, stood at the end in the middle of an empty crystal lined room. He reached the end where the podium construct was, he found it had only two large area that looked like where hands would fit.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Clark put both hands on it before they suddenly glowed bright. A moment later the crystal walls began to glow an odd light before something began to form in front of him. Some type of image of a person that looked as if it was made of light.

The face that suddenly formed was that of a man, a middle aged one at that. He had very calming eyes and greying dark hair that was slicked back. Clark was awestruck by the image, and even more when it spoke these words.

“My do not remember me. I am Jor-El.....I’m your Father.”
I own nothing. All characters belong to the respective owners at DC comics.

Note: Johnny "Stitches" Denetto is a lesser known criminal from the Batman comics who I thought worked well enough for the segment.
When thinking on the designing Batman in this time period, I wanted to emphasis on the idea of him being a "Dark Knight". So I thought the more medieval look fit well enough.
Luthor's reference to his International Gang is my little hint to how he runs this world's version of Intergang, a famous Superman criminal group.
Finally, I took the inspiration for the Fortress of Solitude , as well as the first words of Jor-El from the famous Superman Movie.

Chapter 3: [link]
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Kouhei-Son Mar 11, 2013
when is part 3?
technomizer Mar 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I'm currently working on it now. It just takes time.
I should be reading more of this
technomizer Mar 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
BelRhaza4017 Mar 10, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
this colonial era retelling of the Justice League is coming along very well, my good man, keep it coming!
technomizer Mar 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Glad to hear it ^^
BelRhaza4017 Mar 10, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
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