by Mathy, Scott
“Drop mines on my mark!” he shouted as the building grew to fill his vision.
“How many!?” the A.I. asked in a hurried response.
Warning signs filled every section of his display, screaming of his unavoidable collision, “All of them!” he shouted as he extended both armored palms to intercept the glass pane in front of him.
He burst into the building’s interior, a workroom lined with countless cubicles. Paper sailed into the air as the winter chill blasted into the office space. He looked up to find a building schematic pinpointing his current location had appeared in the upper corner of his visor. A shudder through the suit signaled the death of his remaining boosters. The power dropped below three percent, triggering the automated systems to cut his thrusters. He used the little momentum he had built to coast on.
Watching his progress as he crashed through desk after desk, he craned his neck to see the End continue its relentless chase into the building. Each workstation erupted into flames before the entity reached it. In seconds, the entire floor was consumed by flames.
In his readouts, Dwight watched himself approaching the center of the massive tower, “Do it!” he screamed, feeling the heat of the End closing behind him. He landed on his feet as gracefully as he could, sprinting as bomb after bomb deployed from his armor’s limbs. An ammunition counter appeared and dropped from one hundred to zero in a flash.
“Remote mines in place. Waiting for minimal safe distance before firing,” Alice reported.
He kept running, tearing through the corridor for the window directly opposite the one he’d entered from, “Don’t! Fire now!”
The bombs detonated as soon as the words left his lips, the explosion throwing him forward. The blast consumed the star, stopping it dead in its tracks as the bombs erupted around it. Outside, the building rumbled, the internal structure fatally wounded by the demolition. The floor fell away beneath the otherworldly being as architecture collapsed around its radiant body. Molten steel ran down the frame of the building as the skeleton fell inward. The creature froze, frantically watching the destruction unfolding around it. Dwight crashed through the window and into the open air as the building let out its torturous death cries.
Steel and concrete rained down as the Justice Guild’s tower imploded around the End. The upper half of the building lost stability and dropped straight onto the lower half, buckling the supports. Safeties toppled and warped as ten thousand tons of concrete and steel fell. Any chance of saving the lower levels failed as the heat of a miniature star burned away within the core of the building. The destruction continued downward, dragging the enormous tower to the ground in a shower of glass and rock. In the span of a few seconds, the entire skyscraper was a twisted mass of jagged metal and dust. The roar of the collapse rang out over the empty streets of New Haven for miles around.
Dwight fought to keep the suit from instantly dropping to the ground with the demolished building. His rear boosters had been destroyed by the explosion. His remaining thrusters, the few mounted on his limbs, were struggling to fire in controlled sequences to bring him down. Below him, he could see nothing but dust kicked up by the destruction. He had no way of knowing how far up he was from the uneven rubble below. The suit sputtered as the last remaining seconds of power ticked away.
“One percent remaining,” Alice’s distorted voice cried as it faded away.
His eye caught a girder standing up at a nearly perpendicular angle to the ground. He guided the rockets toward it, reaching out just as the last of his energy was spent. Falling forward, he grasped the metal. His weight dragged him down the side of the beam, the armor kicking up a fountain of sparks as he slid down its warped surface. Unable to stop his descent, he braced himself against its side, gritting his teeth as he prepared for impact. Plummeting into the cloud, he lost vision as even those systems failed; he could only feel the momentum of gravity bringing him back to Earth.
The impact of the landing violently rocked everything he had left within the suit. Senseless, unable to move within his powerless cage, his legs twisted out from under him as they blindly connected with uneven debris. He tumbled down the twisted wreckage of the skyscraper before he was in freefall again. With a final crash, the armor settled on its back. He lay there in perfect stillness, hearing the soft tap of the snow falling against the dead armor’s surface. Inside the suit, there was only darkness and peace.
He laid there for what felt like an eternity, listening to the stillness surrounding him. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of falling rocks echoed through the ruins. Dwight’s thoughts turned inward, to his aching body and his unfinished work. With his right arm, he reached across to his left, grasping the seams of the armored plates. Finding the release, he flipped the lock, disengaging the clasps attaching the segment to the rest of the suit.
His organic hand freed, he felt the cold sting of the winter air against his skin. He reached to free his other arm; the effort was exhausting. He lay prone for a moment, taking in the quiet of the ruins surrounding him. Finally finding his center, he searched with his hands for the emergency clamps built into the suit’s side. Pulling them simultaneously, the armor separated, the shell breaking open to a flood of midday light from above. He lifted the faceplate, taking in the devastation surrounding him. Much of the dust had already settled in the snowfall. Dwight stepped out of the broken frame of the Referee Armor, shaking off the remaining pieces as he shivered. The foam bandage clung to his skin through the hole in his bodysuit.
Dwight cautiously stepped through the wreckage of the fallen building, passing the shattered remains of the Guild strewn about the ruins. The forest of twisted steel and broken concrete proved challenging to cross in his battle-weary state; everything hurt, and his body screamed for rest. Still, he pressed on through the rubble.
The remnants of scorched concrete and melted, cooling steel steamed in the winter air. As he stepped onto the edge of the valley, he found the ground almost unbearable to touch. He reached out to a fallen girder for support, only to jerk his hand away from the lingering heat. The snow continued to fall as he made his way down the side of the basin. Kneeling at the center, Dwight found his star.
He was naked, crouching on both legs as the snow drifted down around him. The flakes melted away the instant they touched his skin. A ring had formed around him, the concrete immediately under the man still blisteringly hot. Dwight approached slowly, unsure of what to expect from the man called the End.
The man’s bones were visible through the skin of his back as he rocked in place, not an ounce of fat on his body. He smelled horrific: like burned, stale meat. Dwight covered his mouth, trying not to gasp at the human skeleton before him. As he slid down the smooth incline of the bowl’s edge, the End turned his head slightly to glance at Dwight.
The hitman immediately recognized the outsider’s face. It was gaunt, ravaged by disfiguring burns, and aged beyond his years, but the eyes were his own. The wasted Power averted them in fear, rocking in place. As Dwight crept closer, he began to hear his other self’s chanting.
“Kill them all. All the Powers. They all must die,” he repeated endlessly as Dwight listened to him in perfect silence. It filled the crater with a mix of desperation and rage, the sounds of a being consumed by a single purpose.
Dwight stood in the snowfall, hearing a broken man’s only wish: an eternal plea for the insanity to end. He understood, and felt only pity. He reached for the weapon in his holster.
As Dwight pulled it loose, the chanting ceased, the outsider gazing up at the gray sky above the ruins. “Are they gone?” he asked without turning. His eyes searched the clouds, as if he had finally sensed the disappearance of the Powers from the city. His pleading eyes turned to face Dwight.
The End’s desperate stare cut right through him. “Yeah, they’re gone. Every last one of them,” he answered.
Tears filled those terrified sockets, a wave of exhausted relief overtaking the stranger’s destroyed mind. He turn
ed back, staring up at the snow falling around his bare, famished body. He cried unintelligibly.
Dwight stepped forward, only a foot away from the End, raising his gun to the back of the kneeling man’s skull.
The man stopped crying, looking down at the seared flesh of his ancient hands, “I can be done now?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. It’s over.” Dwight choked up, looking down at the shattered, twisted version of himself. He looked up at that same sky and pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed through the ruins, ringing out into the empty city as the snow quietly fell around them. The End fell forward, a trail of crimson running through the white ring around his body. Dwight stared at the frail corpse on the ground, the flakes of snow and ash finally settling on it as the Power’s heat dissipated.
He felt cold and empty. The death of the strange version of himself had taken something he couldn’t describe. Looking at the pathetic remains of a man consumed by a single goal, he hated himself and what the Referee represented: balance at any cost.
He threw the gun aside, listened to it clatter against the rubble. He turned and began climbing upward, letting the steadily increasing snowfall bury the End at the heart of the Guild’s ruined empire.
Navigating the mountain of warped steel and rock would have been a nightmare under normal circumstances. Limping through the remnants of the tower, clutching his side, his limbs aching from the fights and the fall – he felt the overwhelming desire to collapse. Still, he pushed on, drawn to the distant sound of sirens wailing somewhere in the city beyond the world of destruction and death he trudged through. He wanted nothing more than the sight of another living person, the warmth of touch, knowledge that someone else was still out there.
He climbed over the ridge, feeling the foam holding his side together tearing with each motion. He saw the end of the rubble and lights spinning in the thick snowfall. His pace increased, staggering forward with the end in sight. A stream of sliding rocks beside him barely drew his attention as the pipe collided with the side of his skull.
The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, vision blurry and red. Weakly, he lifted his arms to grasp the lights in the distance. He could barely make out the shape of the emergency vehicles through the haze.
“I really should thank you, Dwight.” Counsel said, placing the pipe against the battered hitman’s shoulder and flipping him onto his back. The tyrant had removed his damaged mask, freeing his scarred, aged face. A gaping hole punctured his side, the red stains covering his once-pristine armor. Counsel held the wound with one hand, the bloodied pipe in his other.
With effort, he crouched over Dwight, holding the weapon down over the stunned man’s chest. “You, my least able opponent, defeated not only me, but my greatest enemy in a single day – how spectacular. Now, I never have to leave.” He looked up at the city in the outskirts of the ruins, “I can stay forever, make this world mine. And I have you to thank for it.
“With the resources of StarPoint, the Guild, this city, I’ll rebuild my empire. You and your friends have taken care of the Powers for me. Even if they come back, I’ll have everything I need to rule them again.”
He pressed his pipe into Dwight’s injury, breaking the foam’s seal. Blood flowed through the opening as Dwight screamed. Counsel stood up, stepping over Dwight.
“Oh, do you want it to end? Shall I put you out of your misery, too?” he asked mockingly, “Well, I won’t be. You’re my new trophy: the greatest Referee. You fought so hard for these people, only to place me on the throne. I want you to see it. And when you finally die, I’ll have them make a grand statue, just like the others, commemorating the man who failed them.”
“They’ll stop you,” Dwight said through the mental fog drowning him, “They’ll fight.”
Counsel spun around, his back to the city, glaring down at his nemesis, “Oh they will, will they? I’ll destroy them. Make them a message to the rest, just like I’ve done a thousand times before. No Power can stand against me, Dwight; I am just as strong as they will ever be.” He stood, raising the pipe high over his head, preparing to strike again.
“Not the Powers – them,” Dwight answered, pointing behind the madman.
A flurry of bodies slammed into Counsel’s back, knocking him forward over Dwight’s broken form. Firefighters, paramedics, first responders – all shoved the tyrant to the ground. The pipe flew to the side, scattering into the ruins. One of them raced back to Dwight, quickly inspecting his dazed eyes, before dragging out an emergency bag. Almost immediately, the woman started wrapping Dwight’s head and midsection with thick, warm bandages. Dwight grabbed the woman’s shoulder, hoisting himself up. The medic tried to urge him to lie back down, but he couldn’t. He heard Counsel screaming bitterly at the crowd.
“Do you understand what I am!?” he yelled at the massed citizens, rising to his feet, “I am your god now!” Dwight pushed through the throng as his other self raged on. “You will kneel before me, or be destroyed for your insolence! I am the ruler of this city and this world!”
The onlookers turned to each other, unsure what to make of the bleeding Power shouting threats at them. Dwight reached the front of the group, wearily facing his counterpart. “You want to rule them? Why don’t you start by telling them all you’ve done for them?”
Counsel gnashed his teeth, trembling with fury, “I have brought the Guild, their greatest heroes, to cower at my whims. I have unmade worlds to bring peace to the universe. You are but dust before me. It is my will that allows you to live.”
Dwight watched the men and women of the mob clench their fists, coming to terms with Counsel’s declaration. He saw their stares of bewilderment transform into outrage.
“I brought the Powers of this city to their knees, and rebuilt this world from ruins,” he gestured at the smoking neighborhoods surrounding the fallen tower, then thrust a gloved finger at Dwight, “All I ask is the death of this single, pathetic worm. Kill him, and you shall be my chosen disciples.”
A rock collided with the enraged Power’s forehead, drawing bright blood with an audible crack. The man’s white glove wiped at the wound, staining it further. He gawked at the crimson, then back at Dwight, horror shifting into blinding hatred in an instant, “YOU CANNOT KILL ME!” he roared.
Dwight met his hateful stare, “I won’t. They can deal with you however they see fit. This isn’t just my home; it’s theirs, too. The Referee is done.”
Another stone hit the tyrant, then another. A second later, the mob surged forward. All around Dwight, a dozen men and women charged the screaming Power, dragging him down. With whatever their hands could find, they thrashed at the source of their suffering – their city’s destruction – beating him until the screams of anger became ones of terror and finally went silent. Dwight walked away, limping through the mass. The final blow fell with a wet pop as Counsel died, the people of New Haven ending the death of a hundred worlds by their own hands.
The hitman – former, he guessed now – stumbled between the lines of ambulances and fire trucks surrounding the ruins of the skyscraper, back through the adjacent grounds. The bandages around his head and torso had stained red. The ringing in his ears continued, along with the splitting pain in his skull. The bare skin under his tattered bodysuit grew cold, but it was difficult to notice over the numbness from his abused body. He ignored it all as best he could, purely intent on the crystals falling from the sky and covering the devastation surrounding him with a blanket of reflective white powder. He trudged through the empty streets, taking in the silence of a city’s respite from the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.
He was alone for blocks until a warm burst of air appeared suddenly, a glowing violet light that sprang forth and faded in the span of an instant. Lia’s familiar earthy skin tones and black leather jacket formed beside him, matching pace without missing a step. “Going my way?” she asked quietly, the stars in her eyes glowing brightly as she looked over her sunglasses.
The pounding faded from his mind, “You know where I’m going,” Dwight pointed out, struggling to remain upright despite the mental relief.
She propped herself up against him, putting her arm under his, supporting him physically as she had done psychically so many times. “Sure,” she answered, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it from you. Like, with your words. I’ve been in your head ever since we met. You’re a mess, but I think I understand now.”
The psychic helped carry the beaten ex-hitman through the empty streets, both enjoying the serenity of the quiet afternoon. They passed familiar places: the park where they first met under the watchful eye of the long-forgotten human protectors of their city; past the empty, cold remains of his condemned home, the plastic sheeting where his window had once been drifting in the winter snow. Finally, they reached his destination.
Lia let him stand on his own, stepping in front, “They were just like you, deep down: the universe’s unyielding balance.”
He knew she was referring to Counsel and the End, the two Powers lying dead at the broken heart of the Guild. A viciously efficient dictator and destruction incarnate, laid low by a powerless, now-unemployed man from a world filled with titans more qualified in every way. He was and would always be the multiverse’s biggest joke.
He also knew that she was right, “They were who I thought I was: that I’d do anything to make the world how I wanted it to be. They both had the power to do that, each in their own way. Both used brute force to enforce their wills. They built kingdoms to serve their every desire and burned them to ashes. I might have been like them, if I had that kind of power, but not anymore. I learned that doesn’t fix things. It only creates misery. People make the world what they want it to be, not one person; to actually change something, you have to convince someone that it’s the right thing to do. Two become three, three become four, and the idea spreads. One person didn’t beat Counsel and whatever the End was. It took all of us: you, the Doc, Glitch, Linda, the rest of the city. We beat them; we’ll decide what becomes of this world. It’s not my place to choose for them.”