THE SLEEPLESS KNIGHT (Part Two) [MH, BTAS]
When Batman finally regained enough of his senses to take stock of his surroundings, as well as those
in his surroundings, he knew none of it had been the imaginings of a sleep-deprived crimefighter who’d taken a tumble several stories down onto a hard, dank alley. It was all, disturbingly, quite real.
"Well, Batman, I see you’ve decided
not to nap after all," said the short, fat man with an eccentrically evil grin exposing sickeningly yellow teeth in which was held a black holder with still smoldering cigarette. "Pity. You’re gonna need your ‘beauty sleep’ before we get through with you. Heh,
heh, heh, heheheheheh!"
Like the dull-witted followers they were, the larger men, in relation to their rotund leader, laughed just as heartily, while slowly moving to form a line just behind…
"Penguin!" spat Batman, still struggling to shake the incessant throbbing in his head and the aching pang of knotted muscles.
"That’s my name, Batty, don’t wear it out," said Penguin even as he led his clutch of goons in cackling laughter that was a little too uproarious for such a worn-out quip.
Batman thought with a suppressed smirk,
Let them laugh. Every second they waste gives me a chance to get my bearings. And, when I do…
"By the time you’ve regained enough strength to rush us, Batman, or use whatever little gadgets that belt of yours has…which we couldn’t get off, is there some secret to it? At any rate, it’ll still be too late," Penguin said aloofly, as he lifted an all too familiar prop that, unlike the cigarette holder and the manner of overdress, was anything but amusing.
Especially to the Dark Knight.
As the eyes behind the cowl widened, the business end of a seemingly innocuous black umbrella erupted with the din normally associated with firearms. And for very good reason.
Though not yet 100-percent recovered from his earlier fall, Batman’s years of training and experience dealing with such super-criminals, especially the Penguin, allowed him to react rather than analyze.
No sooner had the Caped Crusader leapt and rolled away than a .45 caliber bullet, fired by Penguin’s umbrella-gun a split-second earlier, impacted with the wall behind him. Impacted, then, explosively, exited. Leaving a gaping hole in the tenement building’s interior
and exterior wall large enough to accommodate a grown man.
Or…a Batman.
"I hate to leave so soon, Penguin, but…"
No sooner had Batman delivered such parting sarcasm, than his Bat-booted feet obeyed still-aching leg muscles to propel him straight through the hole Penguin’s handheld "cannon" had just created.
Needless to say, Penguin wasn’t amused.
"Stop him! He’s getting away!
Stop him!"
"But, Penguin,
you still have that umbrella-gun in your hands!" said his most vocal henchman, the same who’d angered him earlier, as the others rushed to snatch up normal firearms relatively close at hand. "Can’t you just…?"
"No, you idiot!" shouted Penguin in a rage befitting a madman, even as he was emptying the umbrella-gun’s chamber of its single spent round in order to slip in another. "My weapon’s only designed to hold
one bullet at a time!"
No sooner had such been said, than Batman leapt straight through the hole, his athletically muscular frame barely clearing its jagged edges…
Bam! Bam! Bam! Brrrtt-rraaatta-brraaat!
…than the short hail of bullets sent after him narrowly missed his escaping bat-like silhouette. Not that it would’ve mattered if bullet-to-body contact
had been made, since the nature of his blue-gray costume’s design kept most projectiles from penetrating. So far.
For the span of, perhaps, two seconds, Penguin and his larcenous group stood staring in abject disbelief. Penguin, his umbrella-gun reloaded, and the others stood holding just-fired handguns and one sub-machinegun as wisps of gun smoke slowly rose into the dank stink of the room.
"Damn…he got away."
That single uttered non-statement, from the one thug who had so irritated Penguin this night, was enough to fill the diminutive man with murderous rage. More than enough to spark an inferno of hatred born of a life spent in ridicule regarding his freakishly small stature and hideous beak-nosed features. A volatile mix in any man.
"P-Penguin? W-why’re you p-pointin’ that thing at…?"
Bang!
"Guess we just lost our security deposit for the place, boys," said Penguin coldly, his umbrella-gun’s muzzle smoking, his cigarette
not, as he removed the holder from his odious teeth. "Let’s get the hell outta here before Batty comes back. Move!"
Superman barely managed to shakily push himself up from the spot where he’d fallen immediately after being exposed to Green Kryptonite dust.
The Last Son of Krypton gradually, and with great difficulty, stood. His vision undeniably blurred. His head mercilessly pounding. His square-jawed visage drenched in cold sweat. His legs uncontrollably floundering. His arms impossibly heavy. His lungs agonizingly burning, as if he’d inhaled the entirety of a massive solar flare.
"What…happened?" Superman asked in a voice so weak it seemed more an internalized thought than a spoken query. "Where…am I?"
Looking around at where he stood, Superman noted that his great fall had created an actual crater in the middle of a dark, dirty alleyway. He then lifted his blue eyes in order to focus both their X-ray and telescopic capabilities.
Surprisingly, the concentrated act actually helped clear away the previous fuzziness, as he quickly identified his general location.
"Gotham City."
Having hissed the municipality’s name amidst spasms of caustic pain, Superman next shook his head in order to clear it, then fought to drag forth his most recent memory. Even though the agonized pounding threatened to split his Kryptonian skull in twain, the Man of Steel finally managed to remember.
"Batman…Arkham Asylum…stranger…hovering…danger…"
Each word spoken by Superman was punctuated by the searing torment attacking his normally invulnerable respiratory system as well as his overall superhuman physicality. His struggling remembrance provided the life-threatening cause.
"Green…Kryptonite…dust…"
A hacking cough erupted, bringing forth convulsions of pain punctuated by dark red blood sprayed onto the closest edge of the crater he, himself, had made. It was a bad sign. One that couldn’t be ignored. Not even by the Man of Steel.
Superman was dying.
Not wishing to aggravate his rapidly deteriorating condition any further by speaking unnecessarily, Superman thought,
I must find Batman. It’s not just his life anymore. It’s not just the lives of the citizens of Gotham City anymore. It’s my life, too. Though I’m not afraid to die…I can’t simply lie down and wait for it to happen. I don’t know how much time I have left, before the Kryptonite in my lungs causes complete respiratory failure…or worse…so I must go on. I must…to save millions…as well as myself.
Exerting far more willpower than he’d ever remembered to do something he had come to consider as routine as walking, Superman shakily rose into the chilled night air and, barely skirting the rooftops of multistory buildings, the Man of Steel renewed his vital super-search of the urban vastness that
was Gotham City.
First, he would locate Batman, not only to make certain the Dark Knight was still alive, but to locate any criminals recently escaped from Arkham Asylum.
Especially super-criminals such as, according to Alfred, the Penguin, the Riddler, and Two-Face. And, of course, Superman was on the lookout for the large shadowy figure that hover-flew next to him earlier, and blew Green Kryptonite dust into his face.
As his super-senses actively searched Gotham City, over which Superman flew, albeit a lot slower and much more unsteadily than usual, he thought,
Without Batman, I may have no hope of discovering a way of countering the Kryptonite in my lungs. The Batcave is stocked with computers and devices and chemical combinations the likes of which no one, other than the Dark Knight, has access to. Not even at S.T.A.R. labs in Metropolis. And I fear that time is growing shorter by the second. For all of us. For Lois, too.
At that same moment, half a city away, the Batmobile was situated near yet another probable hideout, as Batman, having already forced back the aches and pains caused by the same mysterious, hovering shadow-figure who had attacked Superman, proceeded to make a discrete ground floor entrance using tools carried in his yellow Bat-belt.
Batman thought,
No need in taking another chance using a backup Batarang with this unknown menace flying around out there just waiting to take me down again. Maybe permanently. I may have missed my chance with Penguin and his hoods, but I still have a chance to stop…
"Hey, uh, Riddler, uh, how’s come we ain’t hittin’ no more banks tonight?" asked a very large, very dimwitted, hood with a shaved scalp sporting a tattoo of the vicious Sydney funnel web spider brandishing its huge dripping-with-venom fangs. "I mean, uh…it’s still dark out. And, uh, I thought ya said you heard that the, uh, Penguin took care of the, uh, Batman."
"What is more powerful than God,
eviler than the Devil, the poor
have, the rich
need, and if you
eat it you die?" asked the Riddler, an overly gregarious grin of imperfect teeth firmly planted on his too-lean features.
"Uhhh," said the hulking thug, scratching the spider tattoo atop his hairless head, "I, uh, give up, Riddler. What?"
"
Nothing!" spat Riddler, his grin melting into a scorching scowl and laser-like glare. "Which is exactly your worth to me.
Nothing! Now…unless you want to learn the riddle of your eventual departure from this life…
shut the hell up!"
"Y-yes, b-boss," said a clearly shaken henchman, backing away from the green-clad man who was a giant when it came to ingenious criminal minds. "S-sorry."
"Now, and this goes for
all of you, until we know for sure whether or not my old ‘friend’, Penguin, has managed to kill that bothersome, repulsively do-gooder, stinking piece of guano," said Riddler with a snarl, just as his words were choked off by his hatred for the Dark Knight and his jealous displeasure of any other super-criminal defeating Batman colliding within a mind too brilliant for its own good.
"Careful, Nygma, you might hurt my feelings," said a husky voice from somewhere in the shadows of the warehouse hideout.
"Batman!" said Riddler with nauseating disdain while looking about the vast, dimly illuminated interior. His thugs quickly snatching up firearms in preparation for doing what, apparently, Penguin and
his group could not.
"Nice to see you’re still a worthy adversary, Bats. Up for a new riddle from yours truly?"
"First things first, Riddler," said the loudly whispered voice of the Caped Crusader, taking full advantage of the darkness dominating the corners of the supposedly deserted warehouse.
Hmph. Aren’t they all?
Before Batman could be seen and almost before his movements could be heard, a Batarang whistled through the semi-darkness to slam hard into the jaw of the larger, dumber thug, even as
he fired his Springfield PDP Defender handgun repeatedly, sending .45 slugs tearing through wall and roof before falling.
Before anyone in Riddler’s group, ducking in regards to their larger member’s haphazardly fired pistol, could recover from that first attack, Batman struck in a much more personal manner. Using Bat-gloved fists and Bat-booted feet as only he could.
In the time it took Riddler to realize what was happening and how it related to his own continued freedom, Batman had swiftly, as well as stealthily via the shadowy fringes, taken out some of the best criminal goons in Gotham City. It was now time for…
"Riddler, let’s make this easy on both of us," said Batman wearily, as he stuck to the shadows night had cast about the broader regions inside the massive warehouse. "Give up."
"Riddle me this, Batman," said Riddler with a semi-insane cackle while quickly moving to stand near a black aluminum carrying case. "A woman shoots her husband, holds him under water for five minutes, then hangs him. Later they go out for a nice dinner. How can this be?"
"You disappoint me, Edward," said Batman with a heavy sigh, as he prepared to rush his green-suited adversary, who, at that very moment, was opening the black case. "I would’ve expected something more ingenious from
you. The woman’s a photographer. She
shot her husband with a camera, then proceeded to follow standard darkroom activities to develop the film and produce a glossy picture to frame and
hang."
"As a matter of fact, Batman, I
am still quite ‘ingenious’," said Riddler with a snigger as he quickly pulled a sinister firearm from within the cushioned confines of the case, making certain to lock-and-load before drawing down on his point-eared archenemy. "While you were busy listening to and solving the kind of riddle most might puzzle over for more minutes than you or me, I was getting this full auto ‘pistol’ from its protective carrying case. Some four-star general was kind enough to give it to me.
Heh, heheheheheh,
heh!"
"The Calico M950," said Batman under his breath as sudden recognition combined with remembrance of an earlier meeting as Bruce Wayne in regards to a new high-velocity automatic handgun for military use.
Suddenly, time seemed to freeze for the billionaire beneath the cowl and cape. Seconds suddenly stretched to near-infinity. A board of director’s meeting that had taken place earlier in the day, between Bruce Wayne, still weary from lack of sleep, and a general, that involved Wayne Enterprises’ military contracts.
"Hello, Mr. Wayne, this is indeed a pleasure," said the military officer with the nearly white hair, cut close, and a face touched by both time and the experience of several wars. His hand was swiftly extended to back up the good-natured smile. His dress uniform’s shoulders bore four silver stars with a veritable rainbow of chest ribbons above the left breast pocket whereupon other military medals had been pinned. Bruce hadn’t enough remaining mental energy, having been up for days as Bruce Wayne and nights as Batman, to fully recognize what they were for.
"The pleasure is all mine, General McGary. You’re a real hero, sir," said Bruce, though he was dying to yawn and force more oxygen into a sorely overtaxed brain. After the brief-but-heartfelt handshake, Bruce gestured toward a seat at the long table just for the general while Bruce returned to his own at the table’s head. "I understand you want us to look into mass producing one of the newer auto handgun designs for the Army, General McGary?"
"Marines, too," added General McGary with a nod. "And, please, Mr. Wayne, call me Wyatt. Can I call you Bruce?"
"Of course, Wyatt. Please…proceed."
Taking out of a black aluminum case, the same as was now in Riddler’s possession, the general took out the weapon while rattling off specifics, "Here we have the Calico M950, 356 millimeters in length with a 152 millimeter long rifled barrel, 6 grooves right-hand twist. This rather unique top-mounted spiral-feed magazine holds up to 100 rounds of 9mm Parabellum bullets for improved rapid-feed action. A one-handed full auto weapon
not to be taken for granted, Bruce. Not by any enemy soldier."
And neither, it seemed, by Batman.
"Say ‘nighty-night’, Bats," laughed Riddler even as he squeezed the trigger of the science-fiction looking weapon which hurled science
fact 9 mils at the Dark Knight too rapidly for even
his training to completely avoid. The best the Caped Crusader could do was tuck his chin and cover up…
"
Uhnnngggg!"
…as the hail of bullets impacted with dozens of points along the bulletproof-padded blue-gray costume. None penetrated, but all expended enough force, especially at such a ridiculously close range, to bruise not just skin, but underlying muscle and soft tissue.
Batman’s former pain from his last unfortunate encounter, with an
unknown hovering in the air, came back with a vengeance as it was joined by these new
bullet-created indignities. Needless to say, Batman was sent crashing back into a nearby desk which the force of his fall easily rendered into kindling.
"Uhn," grunted Batman through tightly clenched teeth, as the maniacally chortling Riddler, who’d quickly reloaded and re-cocked his stolen firearm, was moving in for the kill.
If only Riddler could manage to contain his manic desire for riddles long enough to aim at Batman’s exposed face and
squeeze…
"Dammit!" said Riddler, angry at himself, as his gun hand shook and sweat beaded on his sulky brow. The temptation was simply too great. "One last riddle, Batman, before you die: I'm as small as an ant, as big as a whale. I'll approach like a breeze, but can come like a gale. Of names, I have many, of names, I have one. I'm as slow as a snail, but from me you can't run. What
am I?"
Batman knew Riddler wouldn’t kill him until the Dark Knight had at least attempted a reply, so he used that all-too-brief pause to force painful sensations out of his forethought and, instead, regain command over his trained, though tortured, body. He knew he couldn’t reach for anything in his Bat-belt or Riddler would panic and open fire. It would take only one 9mm bullet impacting with the unprotected portion of his face to do what the dozens of other bullets that had hit him moments before could
not.
Kill the Batman.
"That…
is a very good riddle, Nygma. Definitely one of your best," Batman said, making sure that his blatant patronization of the psychotic super-criminal was not completely obvious. All the while gradually shifting his prone body’s weight onto his side and inconspicuously coiling his legs’ strength-trained muscles.
"Time’s almost up, Batty," said Riddler with the impending delight of someone about to accomplish a life’s dream: the murderous removal of the caped scourge of the underworld. "Give up? I am a…"
Before Riddler could finish, Batman shot out with his Bat-booted feet with more than enough force to knock those of his archenemy from beneath his slender frame which, in turn, sent Riddler pitching forward, simultaneously releasing his grip on the cocked, locked, and ready-to-rock Calico M950.
By the time Riddler landed face-first onto the dirty warehouse floor, Batman had rolled to his feet in a fashion that, outwardly, seemed to say he had successfully dominated his pain while, inwardly, every muscle screamed in unappeased agony.
I’ll let out a scream once I’ve finished and gotten back to the Batmobile.
"The answer, Riddler, is: I am a
shadow."
Batman pulled Bat-PlastiCuffs from one of the many compartment pouches on his famous Bat-belt, with which he would secure Riddler before using his Bat-cell to contact the police in regards to arresting the lot of them. At that moment, the thug with the Sydney funnel-web spider tattoo atop shaved head had regained consciousness. He was about to surreptitiously fire whatever ammo remained in his Springfield PDP Defender square into the back of the Caped Crusader’s head from less than a foot away.
The .45 shells wouldn’t penetrate the indigo cowl, but the power of their impacts would cause more than enough pain to overwhelm the man beneath long enough to see Batman exposed…then slaughtered.
Even as a huge gold-toothed grin formed on the larger, dumber hood, and as he daydreamed of himself being hailed a hero by the entire underworld for killing the Batman, someone
else in that warehouse’s night-cast shadows had other plans. And implemented them with extreme prejudice.
"
Gyiiiiiiiiii!"
No sooner had Batman spun in the direction of that soul-wrenching screech of pain-beyond-pain, than he saw the large thug being electrocuted on the spot by a lightning bolt coruscating out from the very same shadows that had concealed his own intrusion into the warehouse hideout of the Riddler.
Then, as it promptly ceased, a burnt-to-a-crisp hoodlum, very much dead, dropped to the floor to shatter like a dried-out mummy.
"Ashes to ashes,
Batman," said the voice, the same one the Dark Knight remembered from the alleyway outside Penguin’s hideout. "Isn’t that what
your people say?"
Batman thought,
‘Your people’? Why did he put it like that? Got to keep him talking. Get him out into the open so I can act.
"I’m afraid I’m a little confused. When I was trying to capture Penguin and
his men, you caused me to fail…and fall. Not just down to the alley below, but into their possession. And now, here, you stop a criminal about to ambush me. Who’s side are you on? More importantly…who
are you?"
In answer, an imposing figure moved out of the shadows. The same hulking figure that had hovered next to a dangling via Batarang-secured line Dark Knight earlier. The same hulking figure that, unknown to Batman, had sent Green Kryptonite dust into the lungs of the Man of Steel not long after. The same hulking figure that, Batman assumed, had liberated the super-criminals as well as others from Arkham Asylum a week earlier. Which had been the reason the Caped Crimefighter had not had any sleep for the past several days.
As bone-tired and pain-racked as Batman was, nothing compared to the shock of what he now beheld standing in the same dim lighting as himself.
"Oh…my…God," said Batman with a slow gasp and eyes widening within the depths of his indigo cowl. "This is…impossible."
"Yes," said the sneering super-villain, "both the Joker and Lex Luthor
said you and Superman would react in such a way. Allow me to introduce myself. My real name is Xan. I am not from
your world.
Your reality. I have been transformed into…what was it Luthor called me?…ah, yes:
Composite Superman!"
With that, the green-skinned being, literally half-Superman and half-Batman, not only in merged caped costumes, but in bodily build, stood in arm-folded defiance. Worse, his super-powers apparently exceeded Superman’s.
Something which Composite Superman was quick to demonstrate again as Batman reached for something,
anything, offensive from within his Bat-belt.
"
No!"
No sooner had Composite Superman’s half-cowled face said that amidst a vicious scowl than his arms, one Superman arm and the other Batman, literally stretched out like living rubber bands so that impossibly expanded hands wrapped themselves tightly about the helplessly struggling Dark Knight.
Fight against the super-grip as Batman could, it quickly became clear that superhuman strength, at least on par with Superman’s, was being employed within those super-stretched, wraparound hands. Which meant that
one possibility from Batman’s past had
not become resurrected.
"You’re
not Clayface," said Batman with a pained grunt.
"No,
Batman, I’m not. As I said, I’m not from
this world or reality. But, thanks to Lex Luthor’s scientific devices, developed by LexCorp, as well as the Joker’s deliciously diabolical plans…more diabolical than even Lex Luthor!…I was able to become far more than what I
was. Far more than what you or Superman, separately or combined, could hope to
be. And when I’m through…I will not only become an all-powerful overlord of crime and humanity…I will finally have…
my revenge!"
END OF PART TWO
PART THREE/CONCLUSION
"This is getting really
borrrrrrinnnnnng," sang the lunatic with the green hair, white face, and impossibly wide, and permanent, grin. "Lex, ‘friend’, how much longer are we just gonna sit around in your penthouse…really nice, by the way…and let that Composite Superman…kind of corny, don’t you think Lexie?…have all the fun?"
The man with
no hair,
damn you, Superman!, didn’t even turn from the immense plasma screen dominating one entire wall, from carpeted floor to vaulted ceiling, currently tapped into security cameras supplied by LexCorp so they could watch the super-action. To Lex Luthor, this so-called Clown Prince of Crime was just shy of
moron status.
"We’ve already been over this, Joker," said Lex Luthor while heaving an exasperated sigh before the immense Hi-Def images. "Xan came to us from a variation of a device my own R-and-D people have been secretly working on for nearly a decade…a gateway between dimensional realities which..."
"Yes, yes, I’ve already heard this about a
thousand times now, Lex baby," scoffed Joker while popping the knuckles of his purple-gloved hands and stifling a grinning yawn. "A gateway that this Xan guy must’ve found in
his reality at about the same time as
this one… yada, yada, yada.
Bottom line, Lexie, is that this guy was able to use powers he said he stole from, what was it again? Legend of…no, that’s not it."
"Legion of Super-Heroes," groaned Lex as he made his way to the hidden-from-view wet bar on the far side of his ultra-modern penthouse living room, whereas a simple touch causing it to rotate and reveal a treasure trove of liquors and liqueurs. "An organizational entity that exists in
that dimensional reality but not in
this one. Yet."
Seeing the wet bar so revealed, with Lex promptly selecting from some of the most expensive bottles of alcoholic beverages available this side of a restrictive gentlemen’s club, Joker comically trotted over, cooing, "Oooooo, don’t mind if I
do, Lex baby. Hahahahahaha! Got anything
purple? Heheheheheheh!"
"No," was Lex’s less than hospitable answer as he poured both of them shots of well-aged scotch.
"Legion of Super-heroes," said Joker with a shiver. "How depressing? Bad enough we’ve got super-goodies in
our here and now…like Batman and Superman…but to have a whole
legion of them to contend with. No, thank you."
"Nevertheless, Joker, it would still be interesting to know exactly
how Composite Superman obtained all the super-powers of the Legion," Lex said while handing his begrudgingly welcome guest one of the two crystal-cut glasses of scotch. "What I couldn’t do with that much power…"
"
You? What about
me?" cackled Joker after drinking some of the alcohol in his glass. "Just think what kind of jokes
I could pull on the whole
world! Delicious! Hahahahaha!"
"Yes," said Lex under his breath as a sly smirk dominated his scowling, hairless features. "Just think."
"Better say your prayers, Dark Knight, because
you are about to…"
Before the half-Superman/half-Batman super-villain, Composite Superman, could finish his snarling statement of finality, Batman managed to reach one of the compartments of his yellow Bat-belt, even as the super-strong, super-stretched hands continued to squeeze the Caped Crusader’s athletically muscular form, in order to produce a small device that, once activated…
RRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
"
Gyiiiiiii!" exclaimed Composite Superman as the high-pitched ultrasonic device created hell with his super-hearing, causing him to instantly release his super-grip of the Batman in order to clap both hands over his ears, one exposed and the other beneath half-a-cowl.
Knowing that his ultra-sound device’s effect wouldn’t last long, Batman quickly produced the same Green Kryptonite Bat-knuckles from a cape-concealed lead-lined compartment, which he’d previously used against a Joker-controlled, via
Red Kryptonite, Superman, in order to hopefully beat down this curious super-visitor from another universal reality.
Unfortunately for the Cowled One, the first of two blows he’d landed upon Composite Superman’s exposed green-skinned face brought forth not blood, but cackling laughter.
"Hate to disappoint you,
Batman, but
my Superman-like powers are derived from a
Daxamite ‘super-hero’ named Lar Gand," said Composite Superman with a malicious sneer. "He was better known, in the Legion of Super-Heroes organization of
my reality, as Mon-El. So, Green Kryptonite has absolutely
no effect…as you can see."
Even as such registered within the weary mind of the Caped Crimefighter, Composite Superman further demonstrated his brand of super-strength by barely tapping the exposed chin of the Dark Knight with a single knuckle and, in turn, sent the Batman sailing across the width of the dimly illuminated warehouse to slam hard into a shadowed wall and leave a massive dent where the protectively-padded Batman had smashed into its unyielding metal.
"Uhnnnn," groaned the man inside the cowl-and-cape through tightly clenched teeth as, once again, pain shoved aside the sleep-deprived weariness so dominating him for the past several days. And, once again, the Batman teetered on total unconsciousness. His vision blurred. His breathing laborious. His back muscles a mass of barbed agony.
As Composite Superman, laughing maniacally, slowly began to stride straight for the Dark Knight, one Superman-booted foot ahead of the Bat-booted one.
"I think it’s time,
Batman," said Composite Superman with an audible growl to match his sadistic glower. "Time for you to
die. Ha,
ha, hahahaha!"
But, before the half-and-half super-villain could carry out his threat, and before the Caped Crusader could force his battered to stand…
Krash!
…the unexpected arrival a dying-from-Kryptonite poisoning Superman crashing through the warehouse’s metal roof to end up in a smaller mini-crater within its otherwise smooth concrete floor. Dark blood still spraying forth from Kryptonite-infected lungs to stain the partially shattered surface beneath the struggling-to-stand Man of Steel.
"Ah," said Composite Superman with a self-satisfied smirk while turning toward the dying superhero. "Looks like we have to put
your demise on hold, Batman. It’s time to finish off your friend and colleague…
Superman. Ha-ha,
ha, hahahaha!"
Thinking fast, even as he barely managed to push himself into a shakily standing pose, Superman wheezed, "So…you’re so uncertain…about
your powers…that you have to… fight me…while I’m…incapacitated…by Kryptonite dust…?"
Stopping short, Composite Superman considered what the Last Son of Krypton was implying in regards to the half-Superman/half-Batman super-villain’s grandiloquence, then, a mad grin growing on his green-skinned features, Composite Superman held out a single purposefully poised hand, while saying, "Easily fixed,
Kryptonian. All I need do is utilize Element Lad’s powers to return the composition of the dust in your lungs to its
original state…that of common brick dust."
As Batman watched, forcing his own traumatically aching legs to push himself into a standing posture, Superman finally seemed to return to his former super-human state, even as the Dark Knight quickly placed the Green Kryptonite Bat-knuckles back into their lead-lined Bat-belt compartment.
"What does he mean, Superman?" asked Batman in a blatant attempt to stall for time as he regained his own
non-super composure and think of some
non-super means of temporarily besting Composite Superman. "Who’s ‘Element Lad’?"
The ploy worked. Composite Superman first looked at Batman, then back to Superman, before asking, "So,
Superman, you
know about the Legion of Super-Heroes of my reality?"
Almost fully recovered, Superman picked up on Batman’s simple subterfuge and said, "Don’t sound so surprised. Time is as much its own
dimensional reality as your ‘world’. I’ve actually visited the Legion in what, to
me, would be considered
the distant future…while, to you, merely your
present. Element Lad, Batman, is Jan Arrah, the sole survivor of the planet Trom, which…"
"
Enough!" super-shouted Composite Superman, whose voice literally shook the huge metallic structure about them as if being buffeted by hurricane winds. Then punctuated that vocal command with a super-punch straight into Superman’s square-jawed face to not only send the Man of Steel soaring backward through a far wall of metal, bursting through and continuing on into the surrounding night, while actually bringing forth blood from the Kryptonian. Again.
Having forced his own recovery by sheer human willpower, Batman applied simplistic non-super techniques, such as a double drop-kick utilizing his 6’2", 210 pounds of trained muscle, and catching Composite Superman unawares. Thus sending the half-and-half super-villain flopping hard onto his bi-caped back.
Realizing that, in this instance at least, discretion truly was the better part of valor, the Dark Knight hurriedly dashed through the gaping hole left in Superman’s punched-away wake in order to get the Man of Steel to agree to a hasty retreat.
Meantime, scrambling back to his dual-booted feet, Composite Superman super-ran in the same direction as the Caped Crimefighter to find both heroes long gone.
"Wherever you go, I’ll find you!" said Composite Superman loudly to no one in particular. "And when I
do…you both will
die!"
It would’ve been a relatively easy task for Composite Superman to rely upon not only his super-senses, ala the Daxamite legionnaire called Mon-El, but the telepathic powers, ala Imra Ardeen a.k.a. Saturn Girl, he’d used when first hovering near the two costumed heroes in a manner that, to Batman and Superman, sounded
and looked like an electronically altered voice from a nondescript shadow-figure with glowing eyes.
But such would not have been nearly as much fun as first using his beyond-Superman super-powers, from the magnetic abilities of Cosmic Boy to the ability to make himself intangible ala Phantom Girl to the shape-shifting abilities of Chameleon Boy, which Xan had used to turn himself
into a half-Superman/half-Batman physical entity, to the 12th Level genius of the green-skinned Braniac 5.
It would, however, be much more entertaining for Composite Superman to torment both Batman and Superman further by using his myriad super-powers to place ordinary citizens in harms way.
Not to mention fulfilling his honor-bound promise to both Lex Luthor
and Joker to eradicate all potential corporate opposition
and, in the process, perpetrate the greatest practical joke the Clown Prince of Crime could’ve imagined by making not only the police authorities of Gotham City scratch their collective heads, but by likewise confounding the Dark Knight.
Thus, becoming little more than a blue-red/blue-gray blur in the night sky, Composite Superman streaked away amidst his own cackling laughter that rolled like thunder from an approaching storm.
"Bruce, I still don’t understand how coming to the Batcave will help us stop this Composite Superman," the Man of Steel said while pacing pensively about the cavernous depths of Batman’s underground lair, even as the Dark Knight continued using a super-computer only a billionaire could afford to process tens of trillions of data-bits per second in relation to this newest, strongest super-villain.
"Beginning with what we know, Kal-El, we
can attempt to find out exactly how Composite Superman came to
be in our reality," said Batman matter-of-factly while Bat-gloved fingers danced adeptly across ergonomically-designed keyboards, one for each hand. "Perhaps, if we found the earthbound source, we could figure a way to force him
back into his world. Otherwise…"
"I know," agreed Superman with a heavy, audible sigh. "It certainly looks like you and I can only hope to hold our own for a short time against such a foe. With all the powers he has at his disposal, he could, literally, come into the Batcave without tripping any of your sophisticated security systems. All he’d need do is use Phantom Girl’s power to pass through nearly a half-mile of lead-lined rock then, once here, use Invisible Lad’s power to render himself undetectable…even to my X-ray vision."
"Yes," hissed Batman in begrudging agreement, while still keeping his eyes, now uncovered by the temporarily removed cowl, on the various large and small computer screens. "He could even use Elemental Lad’s powers again to turn your entire super-suit into Green Kryptonite. Then he could use Mon-El’s super-speed and super-strength to rip
me limb-from-limb as well as bring the entire Batcave down around our necks. Still…"
Before the Caped Crusader could finish, the Bat-wave alarm system, tied into every square foot of Gotham City proper, began blaring as Batman quickly called up, on the largest of the computer screens, precisely where a super-crime was currently taking place. Meantime, Superman stopped pacing and was now peering over his cowl-less colleague’s shoulder.
"What is it, Bruce?"
"Looks like Composite Superman is raising all kinds of hell in downtown Gotham," said Batman while gesturing toward the grid-lined/labeled satellite map wherein a flashing bat-shaped symbol indicated the current location of such super-trouble. "Clearly the police are fighting a losing battle. Time to go, Kal-El."
Miles away from the subterranean lair of Batman, situated far below the equally impressive Wayne manor, Composite Superman was toying with Gotham’s S.W.A.T. team who’d been summoned by GCPD upon arriving to fall prey to this being’s super-powered mischief. The evidence of which rested everywhere in the form of twisted-by-hand cars and heat vision-melted streetlights along with several injured police officers.
"Nothing works!" said the helmeted, Kevlar-vested S.W.A.T. leader after seeing his similarly protected teammates expend thousands of rounds of high-caliber bullets along with several well-placed explosive RPG shells. The only result being Composite Superman laughing madly as he stood utterly unharmed or even dirtied by such coordinated attacks. "If only Batman and Superman were here to…"
As if in answer to that half-prayer, Superman’s faster-than-sound approach created a window-rattling sonic boom even as the roar of the incoming Batmobile’s turbo-engine merged to create the heroic commotion.
"Thank God," heaved one of the first GCPD officers on the scene, emptied Glock pistol still in one shaky hand.
"You said it," added the S.W.A.T. leader even as he was slapping the last ammunition magazine of 40-plus 5.56 NATO rounds into his FN SCAR-H close quarter combat assault rifle. Fully believing that Superman and Batman could, together or alone, take down this curiously garbed green-skinned super-villain.
Not realizing the very real danger now facing the celebrated costumed heroes.
"Superman…Batman, come to play?" said the smirking Composite Superman standing in the midst of what Batman’s billionaire business mind quickly calculated to be tens of millions of dollars in damage, not to mention personal injury. "Too bad there’s only one of me when I’ve got enemies on three fronts. Oh…wait."
Drawing upon the legionnaire Triplicate Girl’s unique super-power, Composite Superman swiftly split himself into three equally powerful half-Superman/half-Batman super-villains, each capable of acting independently of the other.
"Sweet Jesus," said the S.W.A.T. leader under his breath as everyone watched and wondered just how Batman and Superman were going to battle such a mighty menace, let alone what was going to happen to Gotham City. "Fall back! Lay down cover fire!"
Having issued that unnecessarily loud order via helmet headsets, numerous FN SCAR-H assault rifles opened up, primarily at one of the three Composite Supermen currently closing on their cover positions. But the 5.56 NATO rounds merely bounced harmlessly from the half-and-half chest of the green-skinned being from another reality.
Even as the Composite Superman currently smashing and tossing S.W.A.T. vans about, along with a few police and S.W.A.T. officers unlucky enough to be within reach…
…the Composite Superman fighting Superman seemed, strictly on Mon-El's power and strength level versus that of the Man of Steel, to be at an impasse, even as the destructive combat between two super-strong/super-fast individuals began to take an even heavier toll on surrounding buildings than the Composite Superman engaging the GCPD and S.W.A.T.
That situation, however, would soon change the instant
that Composite Superman decided to draw upon any number of the Legion of Super-Heroes powers that the Last Son of Krypton simply did not have.
And what of Batman?
At that self-same instant, dozens of yards away, the Dark Knight was relying both on the various offensive/defensive devices packed into his yellow Bat-belt as well as his years of training and experience in hand-to-hand fighting to barely maintain a
status quo. But that situation, too, would soon change.
Shrugging off not only gimmicked attacks via the Caped Crusader, but the judo-karate forms of weaponless strikes that merely kept
that Composite Superman off-balance though amused. Until it was time to be amused no longer.
"
Enough of this!" roared the half-and-half super-villain fighting the Dark Knight as he called forth the abilities of Karate Kid, yet another legionnaire from a different reality, in order to utilize, first, a combination of martial arts moves based upon every single system of unarmed combat known not only to Man, but to various other sentient worlds in a time and place Batman could never fully comprehend.
Composite Superman’s intent, utilizing the abilities of the only member of the Legion of Super-Heroes who had
no super-powers, was to simply frustrate and embarrass Batman because
he had no super-powers, it wouldn’t take long for Composite Superman to grow bored.
"
Bah!" shouted this unique super-villain, the half of his green face
not hidden by a single pointy-eared cowl screwing itself into a veritable mask of impatient rage, as he simply blew a single puff of Mon-El’s super-breath to send the Dark Knight sailing more than a thousand yards away to crash so hard that the protective padding of his Bat-suit would be pushed to its absolute upper limits.
As far as Superman was concerned, the Composite Superman "triplet" currently battling
him also decided it was time to bring the super-fun to an end while drawing upon a combination of legionnaire powers from the likes of Shadow Lass, to create a sphere of absolute pitch black darkness about a staggered-by-super-blows Man of Steel and, then, to just as quickly draw upon Star Boy’s ability to manipulate any object or person’s mass.
Before Superman could so much as use his X-ray vision to penetrate the obsidian sphere devouring him, the Kryptonian suddenly found, first, his arms and, then, his legs seemingly weighing than all the earthly mountain ranges combined which, in turn, overcame his super-strength in order to force him face-down onto the already shattered-by-battle roadway.
"What’s wrong,
Superman, something got you down?" laughed Composite Superman, certain that such was fulfilling two honor-bound obligations: first, Lex Luthor would no doubt appreciate, via the LexCorp-supported security cameras capturing this mega-fight, how it had turned against the Man of Steel, and, second, the Joker would probably be laughing his green-haired head off by the way another of the three Composite Supermen so easily humiliated and defeated Batman with what amounted to a simple "birthday wish" puff.
"Enough play," said Composite Superman as his own echoing laughter faded away and three once again merged into a single super-villain in the midst of a destroyed city block. "Now it’s time. Time to finish you both. Starting with you,
Superman."
Even as Composite Superman, no longer divided into three, was slowly walking toward a fallen Man of Steel, Batman was jogging back toward the site of super-battle. A thought having struck him the moment his weary mind allowed all the data the Batcave’s super-computers had amassed and correlated regarding this half-and-half super-villain to coalesce.
Now, at long last, there was, indeed, a weakness to exploit.
"Stop!" shouted the Caped Crimefighter just as Composite Superman used both Mon-El’s super-strength and Star Boy’s mass manipulation powers to lift an unmoving Superman high above his half-cowled head. "Put him down…or else!"
Composite Superman’s unhidden half of a green-skinned face formed a bemused expression of curiosity in Batman’s bravado while lowering the Man of Steel, still under the mass-increasing power borrowed from Star Boy and could not manage to so much as get to his hands and knees, to the battered pavement, before saying, "And just what do you think
you’re going to do,
Batman? You’ve used up your little belt’s devices and you already know I can outmatch your hand-to-hand fighting techniques. What could you possibly have to use against me now?"
"Just
this," was the Dark Knight’s ready response while reaching behind his caped back once again, as if to pull out the specially-designed Bat-knuckles he’d unsuccessfully used against Composite Superman in the warehouse.
Chuckling, the half-Superman/half-Batman super-villain said, "Surely you don’t think the Kryptonite you carry will have any more affect on me
now. If you do, then you have surely been pushed past the point of rational…"
Before Composite Superman could finish the smirking remark, Batman had removed the lead-lined compartment carrying the Green Kryptonite Bat-knuckles and, instead of opening it to repeat something he knew would
not work, the Caped Crusader’s brilliantly analytical, for a mere human, mind had correctly reasoned that the half-and-half super-villain was, like Mon-El, according to data gathered from Superman himself in the Batcave, deathly allergic to
lead.
A fact made painfully clear when, once within range of Composite Superman, the multi-powered being named Xan found himself no longer under the influence of Star Boy’s powers and clambered to his red-booted feet.
"Surrender," demanded Batman, "or die."
"
Never!"
Suddenly, with a burst of Mon-El’s powers of super-strength, super-speed, and flight, Composite Superman streaked away, leaving Gotham City behind in favor of Metropolis hundreds of miles away. Which, flying at super-speed, could be reached in mere seconds.
"How…?" began Superman as he shook off the aftereffects of his one-on-one battle with a being stronger, in terms of myriad super-powers and abilities, than himself.
Batman was quick to explain, as he reattached the lead-lined compartment, still shielding the Man of Steel from the two Green Kryptonite Bat-knuckles therein, to his yellow Bat-belt, "There was so much information regarding a person endowed with so many super-abilities that it took me a little time to mentally assimilate it all in order to deduce just what Composite Superman might have as a weakness, just as Kryptonite is
your weakness."
"Then," began Superman as he prepared to take flight, "we’d better find him before he has a chance to fully recuperate and…"
"No need, my friend," said Batman with a bone-weary sigh betraying the fact that he’d been operating for days without sleep. "You see, according to some of the data my Bat-computers gathered and cross-referenced…which, I’m sorry to say, took longer than it should have for me to comprehend…Lex Luthor and LexCorp were responsible for bringing Xan to
this reality. At least partially. Now that Composite Superman’s failed
and now that Luthor knows his weakness is
lead…"
"Wait," said Superman with a puzzled scowl, "just how the hell would Luthor know about Composite Superman’s weakness?"
"The same way he knows Composite Superman failed tonight," said the Caped Crusader as he gestured toward one of hundreds of security cameras attached to streetlights, traffic lights, and some buildings, which Superman confirmed with his super-vision.
Superman smiled and nodded, "Very good, Batman. Now, more than before, it’s clear to me how someone
without super-powers can still be a
super-hero."
"Well, well, well, if it isn’t the
loser," sniggered Joker as Composite Superman, more or less recovered since leaving Batman’s lead attack, streaked into the opulent penthouse at super-speed.
"Do not
test me, Joker," snarled Composite Superman. "My obligation to you does
not include being taunted by a white-faced…"
With a push of a button on a special remote in the hands of the seated, in a plush sectional sofa, Lex Luthor, Composite Superman suddenly found himself encased in what amounted to a solid lead cage. One originally installed as an anti-personnel device should the billionaire bad guy ever be confronted by one or more disgruntled and armed LexCorp employees. Something that had, in point of fact, occurred in years past.
Coincidentally, Lex had chosen lead for the cage’s construction simply because
only the likes of Superman would have the strength necessary to bend such extremely dense bars. And, now…
"You were right, Lexie," laughed Joker, "and, unfortunately, so was Batman. Our super-powered pawn
is subject to…dare I say it?…lead poisoning. Hahahahahahahaha!"
"Let…me…out…"
That weakening plea from Composite Superman was further emphasized when
all the powers within Xan, including Chameleon Boy’s, virtually melted away and he shape-shifted back into his own colorless, orange-haired alien humanoid form dressed in a color combination that elicited a hand-clapping, hooting cheer from the Clown Prince of Crime.
"Well, now, looks like you and I have the same tailor, Xannie. Except you like your coat and pants to be green while I like mine to be purple. Heheheheheheheheh!"
"What…do…you…plan…to…do…Luthor?" asked Xan haltingly as his transformation back into his true non-Legion powered self became complete down to the last molecule. His tone still pleading, even though his expression remained defiant.
"For now," Lex replied with a smug smile, "I’ll send you back to
your reality. Making sure that LexCorp’s gateway device has a few special security measures added to insure that you can’t return unless
I decide…until
I determine it is time, once again, for Composite Superman to take on the likes of Superman and Batman. And to make certain you would comply with my wishes…I’ll have a special gun created that would fire armor-piercing slugs of pure
lead filled with an injection of
liquid lead."
"But, Lex baby," said Joker in seriousness, even though such was not something his permanently grinning white features could ever hope to express, "what about
me?"
In answer, Lex Luthor pressed another button on the special remote and, answering some unheard signal, several heavily armed, with black MP5 sub-machineguns locked-and-loaded just prior to stepping through the automatically opening double doors, henchmen stepped in. All aiming said weapons at the Clown Prince of Crime.
"You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you, Lexie?" said Joker as, after heading out of the penthouse proper, the green-haired hood half-turned to deliver what, to him, was an uplifting silver-lining type viewpoint. "Well…at least I’m not in that awful Arkham Asylum. I can still have some fun with the Bat…before I
do get sent back. Hahahahahaha! Heheheheheheheh!"
Two nights later, after Superman swiftly rounded up all the escapees, including Penguin and Riddler, of course, and placed them back into protective custody at Arkham, whose walls the Man of Steel also repaired at super-speed, Bruce Wayne
finally caught up on his sleep before donning the cowl and cape again…
"Hey, Two-Face," said a sophisticated thug in the temporary employ of the half-scarred ex-district attorney of Gotham City, Harvey Dent. "Now that Superman and Batman have sent everyone back to Arkham, just how long do you think it’ll take before the Dark Knight figures out that you’re still at large? I mean, we haven’t even gotten to pull off any big jobs yet."
The Bifurcated One slowly turned his half-handsome/half-horrifying face toward the thug who dared to bring up such a question, then tossed his special double-headed coin up to tumble into the stifling air of the ex-gangbanger hideout he and those who'd followed him had taken by deadly force.
When it came tumbling back down, Two-Face caught it in one hand and slapped it down on the back of the other. Then slowly moved the catching hand to reveal…
"Sorry, my friend," said Two-Face as he held up the scarred half of the two-headed coin. "Guess this isn’t your lucky day."
"Two-Face, no!" pleaded the henchman even as the Bifurcated One pulled his stainless steel .45 caliber Ruger Blackhawk revolver and fired once at the cowering man’s forehead.
"Nobody likes someone to say ‘I told ya so’," said Two-Face to the now headless corpse whose ocean of blood now stained already nasty floors of his temporary ex-gangbanger hideout. The "hand cannon" allowing thick, white smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder to permeate the stale air.
"Put it away, Harvey," said the all-too-familiar voice of Batman from the shadows beyond an open doorway, causing the split-faced villain to aim his still-loaded Ruger Blackhawk in that general direction. "Don’t waste your bullets, Harvey. You already know they won’t keep me from taking you in."
With a shallow shrug, Two-Face tossed aside the weapon while saying, "Ah, well…you can’t blame a guy from trying."
END
Wanna
see Composite Superman? Go to this DC Comics site:
www.dccomics.com/dcdirect/?dcd=3115
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More, Please visit:
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I am, personally, proud of the self-sufficient fact that I have invariably "defeated", for lack of a more accurate term, my life-long Dyslexic Demon known as
Dysorthographia for which, unfortunately, I have developed a seemingly insurmountable tendancy to write in run-on sentences (to be honest, such was how,
decades ago, I had to "train" myself to work as a writer in order to produce readable stories/characterizations). Thanks, guys!
I'd posted this back in 2016, over ten years ago!