Grimacing and pressing his hands across his wound until it healed, Hyperman staggered a few paces, feeling laser-blasts unloading into him from behind. He saw Sea Devil loading his trident-rifle with black Diatomite-x and aiming. The black was the worst kind of Diatomite-x. It darkened and rotted away his flesh. Hyperman didn’t know how much of that he could take. Luckily, a carefully aimed eye-blast caused the trident-rifle to explode in Sea Devil’s hands and into his face. Another eye-beam burned his body to a crisp.
Anger festered and boiled within Hyperman. He hated killing his allies and his friends! But he had no choice! They had come after him!
Dynamo-Man hammered at Hyperman with hundreds of little guns sprouting out of his armor, all shooting different kinds of Diatomite-x. The bullets needled and burst into him, hurting, sickening, and weakening him. Screaming incoherently, Hyperman blazed up and ripped Dynamo-Man to shreds and eye-blasted several jump-jets diving toward him to burning pieces.
He sighted Liandra, hovering up through the atmosphere, sitting in a perfectly calm lotus position. She floated down, using her long, bleeding nails to scratch open otherworldly portals. Reddish-black bats with many, many snapping venom-spewing mouths flew out. They swamped and swarmed around Hyperman, biting and tearing into his formerly invulnerable flesh. He slashed through them with eye-blasts and turned the same onto Liandra, burning through whatever magical shields and charms she tried conjuring up to protect herself.
Her spirit leaped out of the exploding mess that was her body. The dull, flickering ghost glided down and slipped inside a burned-to-death female S.I.L.E.N.T. troop whose flesh was still mostly intact. Once she’d gained possession, she jumped up in her new body and fired its yellow Diatomite-x-powered rifle at Hyperman.
“
ASSHOLE!” she yelled.
The bullets pelted off his chest, and he clapped his hands together. The force of the impact knocked her back into a pile of smoking bodies, and they all collapsed down on top of her. Seeing the Titan Brigade and Silver Swords all mounted up into one attack force, he flew at them and blacked out.
When he came to, his jaw hurt. Black burns covered his skin and gave off wispy smoke. He glanced around at the sloping mounds of dead and fiery wreckage that could fill whole canyons. Mountains had been smashed. The landscape had been torched and still crackled with fire. The air itself blurred and thickened with heat. In the distance, the Quarry lay in ruins.
Had he actually done all this?
Yet, more and more waves of S.I.L.E.N.T. soldiers blasted Diatomite-x cannons. Jump-jets bombed from above. Hover-tanks pushed forward, launching missiles. Hyperman tore and burned through them all, but even more kept coming. He scanned the whole planet, unable to pinpoint whatever portals (whether magical or super science-based) they were using to get here. However, he found Paul Wrath on top of a hover-tank, shouting orders. Flying over, Hyperman snatched him up and carried him off into the smoke-dirty sky.
“
Call them all off!” he said. “Then I don’t have to keep killing them!”
Wrath spat in his face. The cold spittle rolled down Hyperman’s cheek. Hyperman stared, shocked at that show of disrespect. Still in Hyperman’s grip, Wrath tapped an earpiece.
“
Ready?” he asked. “Go!”
A watery, bluish-green wormhole swished and spiraled open across the sky above. The entire Intergalactic Host of Silver Seraphs poured out, all primed for battle. Hyperman tossed Wrath screaming halfway across the planet and jetted off to meet them.
***
The Seraphs hacked down with flaming swords that threw exploding balls of nova-gas. Their wings also spread wide and fired ultra-sharp spikes. Brushing off their onslaught, Hyperman slashed up through them. His eyes flashed and the Seraphs all burned.
He caught Areva falling down to Mars and throttled her two-handedly. “WHY?” he hissed into her face. “I gave you your power back! I gave you back your lives!”
“
We didn’t want you to!” she struggled to say. “We didn’t want you to be our god!”
“
I would never have wanted that!”
“
But you did it! You enslaved us! You had no right!”
“
I was only helping you, so you could help everyone else!”
“
We’d have to help whomever you wanted in whatever way you deemed fit for us!”
“
No, I wasn’t going to interfere with you!”
“
You say that now.”
“
NO!”
He ripped her in two and her blood splattered all over him.
Floating in the air, he watched the other Seraphs crashing down to Mars, burning and screaming. After everything he’d done for them, they’d tried to turn his own power against him? Why? Why had he even bothered to try saving them? They had gotten the wrong idea about him completely.
Sure, he would have checked in on them to make sure they were using his power wisely, but it was his power, so it was his right. Other than that, he only would have wanted their help when appropriate and for them not to interfere with what he was doing on Earth. Was that too much to ask? He had only wanted them to do as they were told. Why couldn’t anyone do that?
He swept down through the remnants of S.I.L.E.N.T.’s forces, eye-blasting anyone still standing or any vehicles even somewhat operational. A web snagged him in the face. His eyes easily burned through it in time to see the Spider-Specter leap up and hit him with a mighty electric uppercut. It actually had enough power to knock Hyperman staggering back, though afterwards, the Spider-Specter grabbed his hand and cried out in pain.
Hyperman rubbed his sore jaw and admitted to being somewhat impressed. All throughout the battle, the Spider-Specter had darted here and there, getting in hits and scrambling away with his danger sense always helping him avoid Hyperman. He’d done well, better than almost anybody else, and now here he was, the last man standing. Night had always seen something special in the Spider-Specter, and he had been right, though that didn’t amount to much now, not against Hyperman.
A quick ice breath froze the Spider-Specter in place as he was firing another web. Shiny ice completely coated and immobilized him. Inside of that ice, he’d eventually suffocate.
With his final foe vanquished, Hyperman collapsed down to one knee and held his aching head. The battle had actually taken a lot out of him, more than he’d have expected. But it was done now. He could rest.
Abruptly, the ice freezing the Spider-Specter in place cracked, and he shook it all off. Hyperman’s mouth gaped open at what he was seeing.
“
How?” he mouthed.
Zeroes flamed across the Spider-Specter, and he transformed into the Answer. “How?” he asked. “How did we pull off this huge, world-sized illusion with all our magic, telepaths, and insanely-advanced hologram technology?”
“
No!” Hyperman snapped. “You’re dead! You’re all dead! This is just some sort of trick! A leftover illusion! A final trap! Something to spit at me with from beyond the grave!”
“
Think what you want. Either way, as we speak, the real Spider-Specter’s sneaking into a MorsWorld lab to free the Whorl. Bet you thought we didn’t know about that, did ya? Once he stopped moving, the Whorl was easy to find too, thanks to Liandra and our telepaths.”
Hyperman coughed and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d been played like this.
The Answer pulled out a pair of glittering brass knuckles. Each knuckle shone with a different shade of Diatomite-x. He reared back to swing at Hyperman. Casually, Hyperman caught his fist with one hand and flung the Answer across the planet.
Hyperman took a breath and steadied himself on his shaky legs. His eyes and head hurt. His skin burned and his teeth chattered. He hoped he’d eventually heal from all this. He’d taken so much damage and had been exposed to so much Diatomite-x that he couldn’t be sure. Nonetheless, he launched up into the sky. He still had work to do, and he couldn’t let his injuries stop him.
Chapter 20: BREATHING IN THE SUN
The hard light holographic projections and telepathic illusions faded. The magic spells misted away. Actual reality reasserted itself, and it was grim to see. Medi-carts wheeled all around the Martian devastation, stopping, expanding, and transforming into full medical stations. Jump-jets landed and relief workers climbed out. Mystics formed circles and chanted healing spells. Their regenerative vapors wafted about, and their anti-septic stench filled the air.
Still somewhat dazed, Nightshadow staggered aimlessly about on the hard-packed, orange-brown Martian dirt. The sun sprayed down hot white light onto his sweat-soaked, torn, and burnt up wing-suit. He had no idea where his mask was, and his face felt beaten in. Simply blinking hurt. For once however, he let himself completely feel the pain. It ached, flared, moaned, burned, and pinched all across his body. Thanks to it, he felt alive and awake, more so than he had in some time. With the aid of his wing-suit’s servos, he was even able to stand.
He surveyed the miles and miles of destroyed vehicles, wounded, and dead. Blasted mountaintops had crumbled. A scorched landscape stretched on halfway across the planet. In the far distance, smoke grayed up from some burning ruins he thought was the Quarry. Fortunately, before the battle, they’d moved all prisoners and staff to the prisons still under construction on Titan, Neptune, and Pluto.
Nightshadow grew dizzy and hunched over. A couple of nurses helped him into a medical station where they rubbed healing salves onto him and began stitching and bandaging him up. Though they shot him up with antibiotics and nutrients, he refused any painkillers. Nonetheless, a mystic waved his hands over him and summoned up cool, comfortable vapors that enhanced the healing process and helped him deal with the pain and discomfort.
While lying back and breathing in the vapors, Nightshadow flagged down a couple S.I.L.E.N.T. agents and asked for a rundown of the damage and death counts. The death count staggered him. Despite the medics’ concerns, Nightshadow forced himself up out of bed and stumbled outside to see how his friends were. He recognized the surviving superheroes pitching in where they could to clean up the devastation, if they weren’t too injured or shell-shocked to do anything other than shamble aimlessly about.
Despite a broken arm in a sling, Ghosteyes cried over the Briar Bowman’s mangled body. The Silver Swords were praying over their fallen two teammates. The remaining members of the Pact and Titan Brigade were helping S.I.L.E.N.T. personnel cart the bodies off onto jump-jets to be taken home despite the many wounds and burns they themselves bore. Tiger Strike asked anyone she saw if they’d discovered Redemption’s body yet and clawed frantically through the wreckage to find him. Her brother, the Golden One, watched but shook his head and wept. At least Watcher Wiseman was re-growing a new body out of the burnt-out stump Hyperman had left him.
The Silver Seraphs took care of their own dead, covering them in golden sheets and flying them back up through a small, sparkling, watery-white wormhole in the sky. Without needing to be asked, they also helped with the other wounded or dead, whether it was transporting bodies, giving medicine, or stitching and bandaging someone up. They did whatever was asked.
Nightshadow had trouble processing the Invincibles’ casualties. The S.I.L.E.N.T. agents had been hesitant in telling him what they were, but he had insisted. Hearing about what Cal had done to his teammates had broken Nightshadow’s heart, but he refused to shed a tear. He needed to be strong for himself and everyone, since they were all having trouble picking themselves back up.
Still, inside, he wept. Cal couldn’t be forgiven. That poor girl Areva had been so bright and full of potential, and Cal had ripped her apart. Nightshadow couldn’t believe that Sea Devil was gone either. Sure, he and Nightshadow had often butted heads over battle strategies, but they’d always respected and backed each other up. Nightshadow couldn’t imagine the Invincibles without Areva or Sea Devil. They had saved the world and so many lives so many times.
On the other side of S.I.L.E.N.T.’s relief camp, Nightshadow saw both the Answer and Gilgamesh being loaded up onto gurneys for jump-jet transport. As with so many others, their injuries needed more medical support than could be provided here at the scene of the battle.
Gilgamesh looked pale and gray, but still gripped his big, mighty hands around his spear’s shaft, keeping the blade stuck there right through his heart. It prevented him from bleeding out. Nonetheless, the demigod boasted to the nearby medics about this not being the first time his sacred weapon had been turned against him. He proceeded to launch into a story about a life-or-death duel on the moon centuries ago with his arch-nemesis, the Bull of Heaven.