by Barry Lyga
“Oh, come on!” Cisco complained. “For real?”
“No one could have anticipated this!” Oliver protested. A ferocious blast of heat vision hit the building just below where he was standing, and his ledge exploded into fiery chunks of concrete and brick. He did a backflip, just barely avoiding being hit, the heels of his boots slightly singed as he careened into the window behind him. Fortunately, it was open. He lay sprawled out on the floor for a moment. It was someone’s office. Empty, of course. Everyone had evacuated.
Another blast of heat vision. He clung to the floor. Fire suppression systems came online, sprinklers detecting the massive heat of Ultraman’s attack. It was raining inside.
He scrambled to his feet and raced out into the hallway, then crashed through the emergency stairwell door and hopped over the banister, using a rope arrow to slide down three stories to the ground floor. Soon, he was out on the street, where Barry was running in a weaving zigzag pattern to avoid falling debris. Ultraman was eighty feet straight up, fists clenched, body engorged with power. He spun in a circle, devastating the buildings around him with a combination of ultra-breath and heat vision. Oliver had gone from raining water inside to raining buildings outside.
“You thought you could hurt me?” Ultraman screamed from above. “I’m a god, you little pukes! I’m indestructible! I am king of this world!” Ultraman roared. “I’m king of all worlds! You’ll all bow down before me!”
He seemed to remember then that there were people he wanted to kill. He stopped spinning and scanned the ground, picking out Oliver and Barry among the piles of debris and the smoke purling up from the charred remains of buildings.
“You’ll be first to die!” he howled, and launched himself at them, fists extended.
Before either of them could react, he vanished into a breach.
Cisco jogged around the corner, out of breath. “That . . .” he heaved, “was not . . . easy . . .”
“Where’d you send him?” Barry asked.
“Ten thousand miles thataway.” Cisco pointed straight up. “Not that it matters. He’ll be back any second.”
“He’s almost as fast as I am,” Barry said. “And a lot stronger.”
“And he shoots lasers out of his eyes,” Oliver added.
“That part sort of sucks,” Barry admitted.
“Guys,” Mr. Terrific said into their earpieces, “I think I have a solution.”
“We’re all ears!” Cisco yelled.
“Flash, you need to do your vibrating trick again, only this time solidify for half a second when you’re inside him. You’ll cause a complete molecular disruption of his physical being.”
Barry hesitated and looked over at Oliver, who had arched an approving eyebrow.
“I’d rather not kill him,” Barry said.
“I’d rather not die,” Oliver put in.
“You make a good point,” Black Canary chimed in. “I’m voting with Green Arrow on this one.”
“So, kryptonite doesn’t work,” Barry mused, thinking.
“Understatement!” Cisco yelled.
“On Earth 27, he had to cut a deal to share power with the rest of the Crime Syndicate,” Barry went on. “So he’s not all-powerful. He’s got to have a weakness.”
“Or maybe no one on Earth 27 ever exposed him to the stuff that makes him stronger!” Cisco remonstrated.
“We couldn’t know that!” Oliver shouted.
“Guys.” Barry stood between them and held out both hands to calm them down. “We need to think this through.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” Oliver said. “This is do-or-die, Barry. He can kill everyone on the planet.”
A wind began to howl, funneling down from above. Ultraman was coming. There was no time.
No time for anyone else, at least. For the Flash, there was always time, and Barry used that time to think.
“What arrows do you have left?” he asked Oliver.
Oliver reached back and quickly ran his fingers over the Braille dots on the end of each arrow, reading the code that told him what each arrow did. “Nothing that’ll stop him. Recording arrow. Fireworks. Zip tie. A bunch of normal arrows. Why?”
It would work, Barry figured. They just needed more time, that most precious of all commodities. “I’ll distract him,” he told Cisco and Oliver. “Meanwhile . . .” And he filled them in on his idea.
Cisco swallowed hard. “But what if his powers don’t work the way other people’s do? We’ll be in the same position.”
Barry hesitated. “Then we’ll discuss Mr. Terrific’s idea. But first we try this.”
He cupped his hands and shouted up into the sky: “Hey, you lard-brained imbecile! If you want to be king of this world, you’ll have to go through me first!”
Given how tired and bruised he was, the last thing Barry wanted was to run, but run he did, pushing himself to his limit. A blue-and-red streak broke free from the clouds, and with an enraged roar, Ultraman surged through the air, his eyes spitting pure lava in every direction.
Barry led him on a merry chase through Central City, trying to keep his turns tight and his race route confined to the areas of the city that had already been damaged in the melee. No sense destroying more property, right?
They raced past the breach, now devoid of evacuees. Except for a few stragglers making their slow way uptown, the area was empty and eerily quiet save for a low hum coming from the breach. The air had gone even more foul, reeking of abandoned houses and old, stale grass clippings. He now had a clearer line of sight to the figure within. It was truly massive, a mile distant, walking at a slow, implacable pace that said it was in no particular hurry, that in the end it would win, that—
Barry was almost caught out by Ultraman, swooping low to the ground, reaching out with grasping, too-strong hands. He goosed his speed and dodged, slipped left, then ran up Schwartz Street, doubling back toward Novick.
It was hard to hit that sweet spot of letting Ultraman chase him but not catch him, but he managed, slowing down just enough to let the villain stay close, then putting on a burst of speed when those hands neared him, or when the heat of those laser eyes made sweat bubble at the base of his neck.
They needed Ultraman focused entirely on him, not on anything else. He assumed Ultraman had Supergirl’s senses, too—it was tough to fool someone who could hear your every whisper, look through your body at a glance to see what was behind your back, examine you down to the genes. But Barry had been right—everyone had a weakness, and Ultraman’s rage was his. He was so determined to kill the Flash that he wasn’t paying attention to anyone else.
“We’re ready,” Oliver’s voice whispered in Barry’s ear.
Finally! It had felt like forever, but he and Ultraman had been dancing their unique waltz for only thirty seconds, albeit at superspeed.
He slowed down just a bit. Not enough to make it look deliberate, but just enough that Ultraman would think he’d actually caught up. The next thing Barry knew, those incredibly strong hands were on his body, grinding the bones in his shoulders together. He yelped in pain, not faking it at all. If the others didn’t come through, he’d be the Fastest Paste Alive in mere seconds.
Ba-boom! Whiiiiiiiish! Ka-pop!
A series of mini-explosions off to their left, concomitant with eruptions of color. Blues, reds, purples, and yellows flowered into the evening air. Ultraman grunted in surprise and glanced left to see . . .
Cisco, standing on the sidewalk near a bus stop, holding Oliver’s fireworks arrow up and away from his body, wincing as each firework went off.
Peeee-yow! A blazing trail of red-and-green sparks ended in an explosive spiderweb of color.
Barry lurched forward and vibrated out of Ultraman’s clutches. The villain was fast and strong and invulnerable. Given half a second, he could easily avoid the next arrow Oliver fired at him.
But Oliver had fired the arrow two seconds ago while Ultraman was distracted by the fireworks. It was already passing
through Barry’s intangible form. Not even Ultraman could evade it.
The zip-tie arrow spun on its axis and expanded into something that was very definitely not a zip tie. Two metallic rings clamped around Ultraman’s wrists, connected by a short cylinder that glowed blue.
Ultraman growled with annoyance and flexed his considerable muscles. Nothing happened.
He grunted and leaned toward Cisco, thrusting out his nose as though he expected something to happen. It was the same expression he had when using his heat vision—but nothing happened.
“What did you do?” he screamed, his voice laden with anger. “What did you do to me?” He struggled against the handcuffs, tugging, pulling, straining. Veins stood out at his temples and along the sides of his neck, but nothing could budge those manacles.
“We modified the zip-tie arrow to use S.T.A.R. Labs’ anti-metahuman shackles,” Cisco told him with a satisfied grin. “I invented them. That lovely feeling of powerlessness and vulnerability you’re experiencing? You’re welcome.”
“I’ll kill every last one of you!” Ultraman raged, swinging his arms around, straining against the cuffs. “I’ll murder every living thing on this planet, then burn it to a crisp from outer space!”
Cisco put a hand over his heart. “Heavens me! You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you?”
Ultraman screamed an inarticulate, wordless scream, stomping his feet, gnashing his teeth. “You’ll all die! Every one of you! I swear it!”
Nearby, Barry was bent over, hands on knees, panting, trying to reoxygenate his cells. “Could someone . . . shut this guy . . . up?” he managed.
Oliver stepped over, wound up his right arm, and punched Ultraman in the jaw. The villain uttered a sound like Flurk! and collapsed in an unconscious heap.
Mr. Terrific and Black Canary came running around the corner and beheld Ultraman crumpled on the ground.
“What took you guys so long?” Cisco asked.
Mr. Terrific held up a T-sphere. “I was modifying one of these babies to mimic solar radiation in the red portion of the color spectrum. To turn off his powers.”
“Too late,” Cisco said. “But nice try.”
At S.T.A.R. Labs, they were at capacity. Iris was coordinating . . . well, everything, from the main board in the Cortex.
In the medical bay, Caitlin was patching up Wild Dog, who’d been hit with shrapnel during the battle. Everyone else had injuries, too, but they would have to wait.
“Take a number and form an orderly line,” Caitlin told them. “I’ll get to you when I get to you.”
Barry had managed to catch his breath again, and his entire body ached like he’d skied down Everest, but he was confident that his accelerated metabolism would fix most of what ailed him. He left the others in the infirmary and ambled out into the Cortex. Iris was rotating back and forth from monitor to monitor.
“What can I help with?” Barry asked, sidling up to her.
She hip-checked him out of her way and turned to another keyboard. “Sorry, babe, but I’ve got a system here. Hey, FDCC, this is S.T.A.R. Labs. Are those pyronullifiers we sent along holding up?”
Over the communications link, a voice crackled back to her: “Hey, S.T.A.R. Labs, this is FDCC Ladder Company Number 52. These things are awesome! We’ve got a five-alarmer under control and will be moving on to the fire at Bates and Schwartz in a few minutes.”
“Great!” Iris told him. “Let me know if we can help out in any other way.” She broke the connection and offered Barry a quick, genuine smile. “I’ve got it under control. I just need to do it my way, you know?”
Barry took in the screens. Iris was coordinating all sorts of interagency responses to the breach—police, fire, ambulance . . . The FBI and A.R.G.U.S. were both on the scene as well. One camera showed a group of people filing into what looked like the baseball stadium. Fortunately, the Diamonds were playing an away series, so the place was empty.
“I’m putting the speedsters from Earth 27 there,” she told him. “Just temporarily, until we can figure out where to put them permanently.” She shrugged. “I can’t think of a safe place for that many people who can move at superspeed. I thought Johnny Quick’s formula didn’t work on Earth 1?”
Earth 27’s corrupt Eddie Thawne had become the evil speedster Johnny Quick by reciting a special formula—3X2(9YZ)4A—that focused his mind and allowed him to tap into the Speed Force (or, as Eddie called it, HyperHeaven). Upon returning from Earth 27, Barry had tried the formula . . . and realized it did nothing for him on Earth 1. But now there were Earth 27 refugees zipping around Central City like nobody’s business. To say nothing of Johnny Quick himself.
“I guess it does work here after all,” Barry told her. “But there must be an upper limit and I’m already above it.”
“So,” she mused, “they’ll never be as fast as you, as long as they’re here on Earth 1. That’s something, at least.”
Barry sighed and peered up at the main monitor. Feeding into it was a camera view from a rig CCPD had set up near the breach. The area was completely evacuated now—the locals dispersed to shelters, the speedster refugees gathering at the stadium. The breach sizzled and crackled with a burnt-orange light at its ragged edges, and the walking figure seemed closer to Earth 1.
“We have to figure this out,” Barry said. From his own pocket, he withdrew the ring that Power Ring had worn. “Maybe this thing can help.” He bounced it up and down in his palm. “If we can figure out how it works.”
Cisco breezed by and snatched it out of the air mid-bounce. “You’ve come to the right place, my friend. S.T.A.R. Labs: We hack reality so you don’t have to.”
“How’s our patient?” Barry asked as Caitlin hustled past him carrying a roll of gauze and pair of medical scissors.
“Sleeping, last I checked,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll look in on her in a minute.”
Barry shrugged and called up the camera from the medical bay on the next level down, where Madame Xanadu was resting, just to see for himself. He gasped. Iris, nearby, glanced at the same monitor and did a double take.
The camera showed someone in her room!
Iris’s jaw dropped. “No alarms went off! How did he get in here?”
Barry was already gone, grabbing Cisco by the arm to drag him to the stairs, then down to the floor below and into the medical bay.
Sure enough, a man stood at Madame Xanadu’s bed, bent over as though to kiss her. But she was no Sleeping Beauty and he was no Prince Charming. He wore a deep blue suit and jacket, with a matching fedora and a white turtleneck. His clothing was immaculate, save for his shoes, which were dirty, scuffed, and worn as though he’d walked every inch of the universe to arrive at this place and time.
“Step away from her!” Barry ordered, and when the man straightened up, Barry gaped in recognition.
The shadow cast by the brim of the man’s hat hid his eyes, but the pendant around his neck and the set of his jaw were unmistakable. “I saw you on Earth 27,” Barry said, shocked.
“You know this guy?” Cisco said in surprise. “What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t really know him. He was in Madame Xanadu’s shop on the other Earth. He’s her friend.”
“Not a friend,” the man said, shaking his head. “A mere stranger, though known to many, Barry Allen. Perhaps even known by you, in the future.”
The future . . . Barry suddenly thought of Citizen Hefa, the Quantum Police officer from the sixty-fourth century who’d helped him track down Abra Kadabra. She had said at one point that that visit was his first trip to the future. Was there going to be a second?
After being lost for a moment in the very idea, he snapped himself out of the possible future and back to the very definite present. “How did you get to Earth 1?” he asked the stranger.
“Duh,” Cisco said. “He came through the breach, like everyone else. The big question is: Why are you here?”
The stranger sniffed as though offended but too enlighte
ned to say so. “Gashes in the very fabric of the soul of reality are of no use to me. I travel by my own lights.” He gestured to Madame Xanadu. “Her spirit weakens. Her pain is great, cut off so suddenly from her doppelgänger.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Cisco snarked.
The stranger’s lips quirked into something that was almost a smile. “There are many such things I could tell you. For now, I will satisfy myself to tell you what you face.”
“The creature in the breach.” Barry’s spine stiffened.
“Yes. It is called Anti-Matter Man. It comes from outside the Multiverse as you know it.”
“I’m getting a little tired of that,” Cisco muttered.
“You know of the fifty-three universes of the Multiverse,” the stranger said. And that was true enough—so far as they knew, there were fifty-two parallel universes, plus the universe inhabited by Earth-X, for a total of fifty-three. “But there is another aspect to the Multiverse. All the universes you have encountered are composed of positive matter. There is another universe, an antiverse, made of anti-matter. It is from this universe that Anti-Matter Man hails.”
Anti-matter. It was just like regular matter, except the particles were diametrically opposite. In positive matter, atoms were made up of a neutral or positively charged nucleus surrounded by negatively charged electrons. In anti-matter, the nucleus was neutral or negatively charged, surrounded by positively charged positrons.
Matter and anti-matter were completely harmless . . . until they met. When they touched . . .
“Boom,” Barry whispered. As a being composed of anti-matter, Anti-Matter Man’s mere presence was wreaking havoc on the positive matter world of Earth 27, breaking down the laws of physics and causing mass devastation.
“There is no planet Earth in the antiverse,” the stranger went on, “but there is a world called Qward. Qward is a place of pure malevolence, and Anti-Matter Man is a walking, living expression of that evil. He is more than a hundred meters tall, and beyond the considerable powers he possesses, in a positive matter universe his mere touch brings explosive decay and death. The Weaponers of Qward created Anti-Matter Man as a weapon, to be used in an invasion of the positive matter universes. But so great and terrible was his power that even the Weaponers feared him. And so they locked away their creation, sealing him within the core of a moon.”