Collision of Concepts
The first blow did not cause sound.
It caused reverberation—a ripple that fractured the laws of cause and effect. Planets that had not yet been born exploded. Stars in long-dead galaxies reignited in rebellion. The very concept of "before" and "after" began to bleed together.
Sentry's fist met Superman's open palm.
Dark met light.
But neither broke.
For a moment, everything paused.
---
On Earth-0, in the Watchtower orbiting above a sleeping world, Batman gasped for breath.
He wasn't in the battle. He couldn't see it. But his body remembered something that hadn't happened yet. His bones ached as if crushed by gravity older than time.
Beside him, Wonder Woman dropped her sword.
Flash trembled. "W-What the hell was that?"
Batman stared out the viewport, his voice barely audible.
"A god just touched another god. And the universe flinched."
---
In the Erasure Zone, Superman slid back through the fabric of thought itself, his armor cracking across one shoulder.
Sentry stood still, face emotionless, eyes half-lidded like he was bored.
"You're different," the Void said quietly. "The others fought like men. You fight like… memory."
Superman straightened. His armor mended in a flash of quantum script. "I am every hope that ever was."
The Void raised a hand. "Then you know how this ends."
Superman nodded once. "I do."
And he charged.
---
This time, they didn't strike with fists.
They struck with beliefs.
The Void summoned entropy—shadows made from the dying breath of forgotten gods. His form twisted, becoming many—a storm of monstrous Sentries that devoured every rule they touched.
Superman answered with symbol. Behind him, phantom versions appeared—Kingdom Come, Red Son, Earth-2, even the ghost of Kal-L. Each one a fragment of what he stood for.
They clashed in a battlefield shaped like a comic panel, shattering the gutters of reality, tearing through narrative frames.
Each punch was a question.
Each block, an answer.
And the story kept rewriting itself around them.
---
But deep inside the Void… something pulsed.
A heartbeat.
A memory.
Robert Reynolds… the man… still flickered within the beast.
"I didn't want this."
"I didn't ask to be a god."
He remembered being small.
Terrified.
Addicted.
Begging someone to make it stop.
And yet… no one had.
So now he would end everything, so no one would have to feel what he did.
---
Superman saw it.
For one second—he saw the man beneath the monster.
And in that instant, he hesitated.
Void-Sentry did not.
The golden god screamed.
And drove his fist through Superman's chest.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
---
Superman gasped. The armor fractured. His symbol flickered.
Somewhere, children forgot what "hope" meant.
Somewhere else, a Superman fell to his knees, tears in his eyes, whispering the name "Lois."
---
But Superman, the Thought Robot, smiled.
Not because he had won.
But because he hadn't lost.
Yet.