AndyC — Roleplayer Guild

The shockwave of their collision rippled through the air. An impact three times as powerful of the bomb that leveled Hiroshima tore across the badlands, cracking the ground and sending entire chunks of the barren earth into the air. The crash was so loud, people from hundreds of miles away reported hearing it.

Both the Surfer and Superman were blown away by the energy of their violent crash. The Man of Steel rocketed towards the ground while the Surfer drifted higher and higher into the stratosphere until he slipped the bonds of gravity altogether. The blow he had received had been mighty, but yet the pain was not there. He was beyond pain in this state. That was something he had felt when he was... another man.

"STRENGTH," the Surfer said in a voice that was little above the whisper, yet both Superman and Flash could hear his words clearly."YOU HAVE STRENGTH IN ABUNDANCE."@Byrd Man

For a moment, I stare at the shining metallic man in disbelief.  I hit him at full force, at near top speed.....and he didn't even seem to feel it.  This isn't the first time simply throwing a haymaker hasn't worked-- the Parasite was able to drain energy out of my punches every time they made contact, Livewire's body could turn into a sentient electrical charge, and the Atomic Skull was simply too lost in his insanity to register how much damage I'd done to him.  This, though, was the first time I've thrown my best punch, and the opponent was simply too tough for me to hurt.

"That's not--" I start before stopping myself.  The word I was going to say was "possible," but I know better these days.  Ma always jokes that I "do a dozen impossible things before lunch," so maybe I shouldn't be caught off-guard when something challenges my own expectations.

Impossible or not, this guy is tough as hell.  I don't know if I'm capable of even really putting a dent in him, let alone beating him in a straight-up fight.  Regardless, I've got to do something, or he's going to put more innocent people at risk.

Floating in the upper levels of the atmosphere, the Surfer balled both his fists. Energy crackled from his knuckles. The power he wielded resided on Earth, as it resided in the deepest black holes and at the edges of the universe. It was the power of the cosmos itself that he was tapped in to. To fight him was to fight against the power of the universe. The energy in his hands slowly stretched across his arms, chest, and legs. Lastly, it covered his head until his entire body radiated with the Power Cosmic.

"BUT IS IT A SIMPLE BRUTE STRENGTH, OR CAN IT BE WIELDED WITH PRECISION?"

He exploded downwards, his body and board crackling with energy and leaving a trail of electricity in his wake as he rocketed towards the Earth and the heroes in the Badlands. They had yet to learn of sacrifice, but the Surfer had planned to give them a lesson on such matters in due time.Byrd Man

I can feel the waves of energy radiating from the silver man, making my spine tingle as he charges forward.  It's....immense, hard to even fathom.  He's like an exploding star in humanoid form, a living force of Nature itself.

Then again, that's what everyone says about me.

"You want to know what I can do with my strength?" I say, my fists raised in a fighting stance.  "Come and find out!"

I hurl myself skywards at the mysterious attacker, the searing heat and teeth-chattering electrical shock from the energy flowing across his body growing exponentially stronger as we approach on a collision course.  I pull my right hand back, winding up for a hook that, if it connects, would shatter a mountain.

Time slows to a crawl, split-seconds stretching like pulled taffy as we near our point of impact.  I can't even begin to calculate his power, but with the amount of energy I'm capable of putting out and our combined speed, if I meet him strength-for-strength, regardless of who wins, the impact would be like that from the meteor that killed the dinosaurs.  A planet-wide, mass-extinction event.

Fortunately, slamming into things at full force isn't the only thing I can do.

In the remaining inches between myself and the silver man, I dive downwards, the sudden change of movement throwing my cape into his face like a bullfighter.  Instead of letting loose with the hard right, I turn hard to the left and throw out a sweeping backhand, my forearm connecting with the back of his left knee.

There's a loud KTING, like a baseball being hit with an aluminum bat, and I turn to see the surfer take a tumble off of his board, hurtling down into the Badlands and kicking up an enormous dust cloud as he smashes into the earth.

Given that he was able to take a haymaker head-on without so much as a grunt, I doubt I've done anything more than tick him off.  But it's bought me a few seconds.  Maybe the Flash can tell me what we're up against, and how we can stop it.

Scanning the horizon, I eventually see the red-and-yellow-clad figure and speed towards her, ripping up a trail of dust and gravel in my wake.

"Flash, right?" I say as I come to a halt in front of her.  "We don't have much time, but I've got him on the ground.  Maybe together, we can keep him there."

The air in the upper stratosphere is extremely thin, meaning I can really open up the throttle without having to worry too much about creating shock waves in my wake.  Even so, the friction-heat from what little atmosphere there is creates an orange glow around me like a spacecraft on reentry.  I don't know exactly how it works, but I can control my personal gravitational field, expanding to a tight force-field around my body which, among other things, keeps my clothes from being ripped or burned off when moving over thirty times the speed of sound.  It's not completely impenetrable, however, as some of the air still scrapes against my skin like sandpaper.

Up here, at these speeds, my senses start to go on autopilot, taking in and processing data almost completely on reflex.  My vision continually zooms in and out on the ground below, scanning for roads and landmarks to keep track of my relative location, while my brain does all the necessary calculations in the back of my mind, working like an organic GPS.  That gives me time to think about what's coming.

The Flash has made Central City her base of operations, so to speak.  It's funny; Smallville is only about a three-hour drive from Central City, and I've only ever been there once.  Ma and Pa took me there on a weekend trip when I was five, to see a double-header between the Central City Diamonds and the St. Louis Cardinals.  It was back during the great Home Run Race of '98, and I got to see McGwire hit two into the stands.  I remember seeing how happy another kid was to catch a home-run ball, and telling Dad that if he wanted, I could jump up and catch the next one in mid-air.  He laughed and said he knew I could, but that wouldn't be fair to everyone else.

Later, it turned out McGwire was taking performance-enhancing drugs, giving him an unfair advantage over the other hitters.  'Not fair to everyone else,' indeed.

My eyes focus on a patch on the horizon and zoom in, and the patch clarifies as the skyline of Central City.  I see occasional blurs of color, streaks of lightning on the ground and in the air.  That must be the Flash.  I hope she doesn't mind the assist.

There are so many of us now.  Spider-Woman, Batman, Wonder Woman....I've been public for months now, and I haven't made any attempts to reach out to any of them.  Who knows how many more of us are out there, the metahumans and mutants and impossible people, and how long we've been around.  Who knows how long I traveled around the world, thinking I was alone, when there was someone who lived practically next door and who could move like lightning.

I dip down into the troposphere, slowing down to prevent the orange glow of air friction from erupting into an outright fireball.  My insides lurch, like hitting the brakes too hard on a speeding car, as I decelerate from Mach 30 to a more city-friendly speed of just under Mach 1.  Flash and her assailant are covering so much ground so quickly, it's hard to tell which part of the city to head towards first, since they already might be gone by the time I get there.

To my horror, I see the shining metallic man let loose a blast of energy that shears the wing off of a plane, which answers the question of where to go for me.

T H E    F L A S H

Revalations Part Two:
NOT FAST ENOUGH

Music
"BUT YOU HAVE YET TO UNDERSTAND THE NATURE OF SACRIFICE, AS ALL WARRIORS SHOULD. ALLOW ME TO DEMONSTRATE."

With glowing eyes that matched the fury of his fist, The Surfer turned towards the plane that had once threatened to end Iris West's life as it advanced towards the far distance. With a casual raise of his arm, The Surfer shot out a beam of intense light and directed it towards the right wing of the plane's metal structure. It seperated from the craft in an instant, sending the plane hurtling downward. Even as he could hear the distant screams of the now imperiled passengers, The Surfer coldly glanced back as The Flash as she was still trying to save herself.

"RISK YOUR LIFE BY PREVENTING THEIR DEATHS, OR SAVE YOUR LIFE BY ENSURING THEIRS. IT MATTERS NOT. A SACRIFICE SHALL BE MADE THIS DAY."

Iris' feet made contact with the top of the mountain as the bolt struck the wing of the plane. She skidded to an unceremoniously unbalanced stop. "NO!" Panicked her heart race increased as adrenaline and cortisol flooded her system. The plane was on decent but still going at a fair speed, now it wasn't on a straight flight plan but had began to tumble and twist as the shock from the explosion and the lack of two full wings changed it's aerodynamic profile. Turning to run away, essentially, she ran down the mountain.

Using the descent to aide her acceleration she was barely half way down it when a sonic boom reverbarated throughout the badlands, the sound amplified by the mountains. The sound likely heard by everyone in the Gem Cities. A trail of snow in her wake as she outraced the avalanche she had caused. Turning in a wide arc at the bottom of the mountain she kept pushing herself faster and faster. Had this not been such a stressful situation she would likely have been impressed at just how fast she was going right now, as this was no doubt the fastest she had ever travelled. 

Running up another mountain her speed started to decrease the moment she started climbing, and yet she kept pushing on. Digging deeper than she ever had, lives depended on her going as fast as possible. As she hit the tip of the mountain she shot herself into the air. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do when she reached the plane, but Iris was sure she'd figure it out once she got there. Maybe she could phase out with other people and then rinse repeat with as many as possible or somehow cushion the fall of the plane. 

Truthfully as she was passing through the air, again, she wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do. She wasn't Superman, she wasn't Wonder-Woman. Hell she wasn't even Spider-Woman. She was The Flash, key was in the name it was all about speed. Speaking off, she was loosing speed too fast. Far too fast, she had stopped ascending and started to descent too soon she was never going to reach the plane. "Damn it, no! NO!" Spinning her arms she tried to give herself a boost in the air, but it was futile. It was all she could do to steer herself in a way that would give her a reasonably painless landing. Looking at the plane as it continued to fall all she could feel was a pit in her stomach.

She had failed. They were all going to die, because of her.Sep

I might not be able to keep up with the Flash or her chrome-plated opponent, but catching up to a commercial plane is a breeze, relatively speaking.  The streaks of smoke and fire through the sky grow larger and larger as I approach the crashing airline, bits of shrapnel still being ripped free from the ragged gash where its wing used to be.  The fuselage begins to keel over to one side, causing the people inside to tumble like clothes in the dryer, slamming against seats and walls as the plane goes into an involuntary roll.  First things first, then: getting the plane righted so the passengers don't get bashed to a pulp.

Pulling up alongside the plane, there really isn't any good place to grab on....so I just have to make one.  Guessing at the place where I'll have the best leverage, I tuck under the remaining wing, close to the fuselage, and sink my fingers into the plane's aluminum skin, which crumples like tissue paper in my grip.  I could get a better handle if I dug in deeper to reach the carbon-composite frame, but I'd rather not do more damage to the plane if I can avoid it.  Once I get my grip cinched in, I start to push against the plane's roll, trying to keep the airliner righted before I help it down.

"Nnnngh!  Come on!" I grunt as I hear the metal groan from the strain, the force of its own mass hurtling through the sky resisting the force of, well, me.  Rivets pop, sheets of aluminum come loose and fly away-- hopefully not onto anyone below.  In the air, there's nothing to push against, so my actual muscles do very little of the course correction.  That gravitational force-field that keeps my shirt and jeans from getting ripped away can expand, surrounding and permeating any object in direct contact with me.  Once it starts, I can actually feel whatever it is I'm moving like it's a part of my own body, and move it with enough concentration.

The problem is, the more mass the object has, the more concentration it takes, and the more energy I have to spend to keep the gravitational field up.  It's like trying to keep a muscle flexed, only the muscle in question includes every cell in your body and several hundred tons of metal and terrified passengers hurtling through the air at about 800 miles per hour.

My arms are shaking from the strain.  My back feels like it's on fire.  My teeth are clenched so hard they might break against each other.  Slowly but surely, though, bit by bit, I feel the plane start to level out, giving the rattled and battered passengers some time to find seats and strap themselves in.

"All right," I pant through gritted teeth, "That's...the hard part....now we just-- no, NO!"

With a metallic scream and a series of gunshot-like pops, the remaining wing tears loose, sending the plane careening downward, and myself tumbling backwards behind them.  Everything's a smear of blue-and-white as I roll head-over-heels through the air, until I'm able to stop myself, get my bearings, and pour on the speed to get back to the plane.

It's coming down on what looks like a residential area, towards a row of apartment buildings.  There are hundreds of people on the plane, and probably thousands down below in harm's way.  I have to catch up, slow it down, put it down safely.

Putting on the speed, I manage to get in front of the plane, turn around to intercept....

....and the nose-cone smashes into my chest.  The fuselage ripples from the impact, but at the very least I'm practically stuck solid to the plane now.  I grab hard into the plane's frame, and start pushing hard, trying to slow it down without letting it break apart from the strain.

It feels like an eternity of pushing against the mass of the plane, but I can feel its descent slowing as we dip beneath the Central City skyline.  Pulling hard to one side, I'm able to steer the plane down into a long street, which will have to make do as a makeshift runway.  Not far below us, people are abandoning their cars, running out of the street and diving for cover.

A few seconds later, I feel scraping against the bottoms of my boots, see sparks and smoke flying all around, and hear the awful screeching of metal against asphalt.  We're on the ground, still going entirely too fast and threatening to flatten anything and anyone in our path.

Now that we're grounded, though, I have something to push against when slowing the plane.  Which means now I can really put some muscle into it.

"NnnnnnggggggYYYEEEAAAAAAAGH!"

With a shout of strain and another shuddering ripple going up the deteriorating fuselage, I put on the brakes.  Chunks of asphalt go flying as I dig my heels into the pavement.  A cloud of dust kicks up all around, the noise near-deafening.  Every bone in my body rattles, every muscle and ligament screaming.

A hundred yards later, we come to a stop.  For a moment, I collapse from exhaustion, falling to my knees to catch my breath.  I've moved heavier objects, put myself through more strain and more pain than that.  Still, it never gets easier.  You just get better at it.

After a few moments to recuperate, I climb up the side of the plane, rip the door off its hinges, and step inside.

"Is everyone okay?" I call out.  The cabin is full of dust and debris, the passengers inside bloodied and bruised.  Focusing my vision to quickly scan everyone's vitals, I see some broken bones, a lot of soft-tissue damage all around, a few cases of internal bleeding, and moderate to severe whiplash on nearly everyone.  They're going to be feeling the effects for a long time.  But at least it looks like everyone's going to make it.

At the sight of me, there are some gasps, a few flinches, lots of wide-eyed stares.  Eventually, a little girl in a nearby seat nods.

"I'm okay," she says.  "Thank you, Mister Superman."

With a sigh of relief, I give the girl a smile.

"You're welcome, I say, before addressing everyone else in the cabin.  "Everyone stay where you are for now; rescue workers should be here any second to help."

As I turn, I see the looks on everyone's faces.  They've just been through what may be the worst trauma they'll ever experience.  The least I can do is try to brighten their spirits a bit.

"And, erm, I hope this experience hasn't put any of you off of flying," I say, trying my hand at a joke.  "Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel."

There's a smattering of nervous laughter.  An older gentleman near the back actually starts to applaud.  I'd stay longer to help, but there's still the matter of the mysterious attacker who started this.

As I exit the plane, I look through the air before I catch the gleam of the sunlight reflecting off of his chrome-metallic body.  I ball up my fists, and feel my blood begin to boil.

Whoever this person is, he just nearly killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people, for seemingly no reason.  That's enough to get anyone on my bad side.

Kicking up another cloud of dust as I push off from the ground, I take to the skies and rush towards the man on the surfboard.

"I don't know who you are, or what this is about," I say as I close in on him, "and honestly, I don't really give a damn.  I'm ending this.  Now."

AndyC Member

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