The soft, almost imperceptible hum of the Watchtower's myriad advanced systems was a constant, underlying thrum beneath the surface of conscious thought. It was a sound that usually bespoke order, control, and the vigilant guardianship of a world perpetually teetering on the brink of chaos. Even with the recent, bewildering arrival of Oliver Omni, the vast orbital station maintained an air of serene, almost sterile, efficiency. Wonder Woman, with her innate grace and maternal warmth, had managed to coax Oliver Omni into a quiet corner of the main control room, offering him a plate of what appeared to be homemade shortbread cookies and engaging him in a gentle, probing conversation about his origins. He was currently explaining, with great enthusiasm and sweeping arm gestures, the intricate (and utterly nonsensical) mechanics of how he could make clouds turn into fluffy bunnies.
I, Hart, still a disembodied consciousness tethered to Oliver Omni's innocent, yet terrifyingly powerful, mind, was a whirlwind of internal anxieties. My mental monologues, a relentless torrent of warnings, exasperated pleas, and increasingly frantic questions, were largely ignored by my younger, cosmic counterpart. He was far too engrossed in the texture of the shortbread and the concept of a "tea party" to worry about the existential tightrope we were precariously balancing on.
Batman, a dark, brooding silhouette against the shimmering holographic displays, remained fixed at the central console. His focus was absolute, his white, unblinking eyes scanning endless data streams, perpetually searching for the next threat, the next anomaly. Green Lantern, Hal Jordan, leaned against a nearby console, idly polishing the emerald ring on his finger, a nervous habit that betrayed the underlying tension he felt. The Flash, Barry Allen, a blur of crimson and gold, zipped around the immense control room, his super-speed allowing him to perform countless micro-tasks, occasionally pausing to crack a joke or offer a quick, witty observation. The calm before the storm, a deceptive lull that was about to be shattered.
Suddenly, without warning, a series of shrill, piercing alarms blared through the Watchtower. The sound was deafening, cutting through the quiet hum and the Flash's latest pun like a sonic blade. The holographic displays, moments ago showing serene star charts and weather patterns, flickered violently, then solidified into an urgent, flashing red alert: METROPOLIS – CATASTROPHIC ENERGY SPIKE DETECTED. ORIGIN: FINANCIAL DISTRICT.
Batman's head snapped up, his cowl-shrouded face turning towards the main screen, his white eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Report!" he barked, his voice a low, guttural growl that instantly silenced the alarms and commanded immediate attention.
A calm, synthesized female voice, the Watchtower's primary AI, responded with chilling precision. "Anomaly detected. Energy signature consistent with Kryptonite radiation. Magnitude… unprecedented. Source appears to be localized but radiating outwards with extreme intensity." A new, ominous alert flashed across the screen: MULTIPLE HOSTILE CONTACTS DETECTED. HIGH-TECH WEAPONRY. LIKELY KRYPTONITE-LACED AMMUNITION.
Superman, who had been speaking softly with Wonder Woman, his usual calm demeanor radiating quiet strength, instantly tensed. His jaw tightened, his blue eyes hardening with a familiar, dangerous glint. "Kryptonite? In Metropolis?" he growled, the name of his greatest weakness a bitter taste on his tongue.
"A sustained energy output, Kal," Batman clarified, his fingers flying across the console with impossible speed, pulling up more detailed schematics and thermal readings. "It's not just a single blast. It's a localized, powerful source, and it's expanding rapidly. Thermal scans indicate multiple operatives. Heavily armed. Specialized weaponry. And… an unusual concentration of civilian vehicles in the immediate vicinity. Deliberate misdirection. A trap."
"Lex Luthor," Superman's voice was low, filled with a simmering, barely contained rage. There was no doubt in his mind. Only one man possessed the intellect, the resources, and the sheer, unadulterated malice to orchestrate such a calculated assault. "He wouldn't just detonate a single device. He's planning something far more… elaborate. Something designed to hurt me, specifically."
Lex Luthor, I thought, a shiver running through my non-existent form, a cold dread seeping into my consciousness. The ultimate super-genius, the brilliant, ruthless counterpoint to Superman's innate goodness. He wasn't just smart; he was a genius above geniuses, a strategic mastermind whose intellect was matched only by his absolute contempt for anything he couldn't control, especially aliens. And Superman, above all others, was the alien he despised most. Lex Luthor saw Superman not as a hero, but as an existential threat to humanity's potential, a god-like figure who infantilized mankind. And for that, he would stop at nothing to see the Man of Steel fall.
"Batman, can you confirm the source?" Green Lantern asked, his ring already glowing with a vibrant emerald light, preparing to launch. His posture, usually relaxed, was now coiled and ready.
"Scanning… Confirmed. Signature matches Metallo," Batman stated, his voice devoid of emotion, yet the implications were chilling. Metallo. A cyborg powered by a Kryptonite heart, one of Superman's deadliest foes. A walking, talking death sentence for the Man of Steel. "He's positioned in the heart of the financial district. Surrounded by… anomalous heat signatures. Thermal scans indicate multiple operatives. Heavily armed. Specialized weaponry. And… a deliberate funneling of civilian traffic into the immediate vicinity. A trap, Kal. Designed to force your hand."
"He's using civilians as bait," Superman's voice was a low growl, filled with simmering fury. "To draw me in. To make me vulnerable."
"Precisely," Batman affirmed, his eyes never leaving the data. "A diversion. The primary objective is… you, Kal. And from the energy readings, he's not holding back. This is an all-out assault."
"I'm going in," Superman declared, already moving towards the launch tubes, his cape billowing behind him. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.
"Hold on, big guy!" The Flash zipped in front of him, a red and gold blur, his usual comedic demeanor replaced by a rare, almost startling seriousness. "Let's get a plan! Luthor's always got a trick up his sleeve. If it's Metallo and Kryptonite, it's a suicide mission for you alone!"
"There's no time for a plan, Barry!" Superman's voice was strained, urgency overriding caution. "Civilians are in danger. He wants me. He's got me. I have to go."
Wonder Woman, who had returned to the main console, her expression grave, placed a reassuring, yet firm, hand on Superman's arm. Her eyes, usually so full of warmth, were now filled with a warrior's resolve. "We will go with you, Kal. We are a team. We face this together."
"No," Batman interjected, his voice sharp and decisive. "This is a precision strike. Lex wants to isolate Kal. We split up. Flash, you handle crowd control and evacuation. Get every civilian out of that zone, and do it fast. GL, you provide air support, keep any other airborne threats off Kal's back, and neutralize any long-range weaponry. Diana, you search for additional threats, any secondary devices, and provide ground support. I'll coordinate from here, monitoring Luthor's movements and analyzing his tactical approach."
"What about… Oliver Omni?" Green Lantern asked, glancing nervously at the child, who was now attempting to communicate with the Watchtower's AI, asking it, in a surprisingly demanding tone, to play "Wheels on the Bus" at maximum volume.
Batman's eyes flickered to Oliver Omni, a momentary flicker of intense calculation in their white depths. "He stays here. Under observation. We cannot risk his… unpredictable abilities on a live battlefield. He's a wild card we can't afford to play right now. He's too much of an unknown variable."
Finally, some sense! I mentally cheered, a wave of relief washing over me. Stay here, Oliver! Be a good cosmic entity and watch the news! Don't accidentally turn Metropolis into a giant cotton candy machine!*
"Aww, but I wanna see Superman fight!" Oliver Omni whined, looking up at Superman with wide, disappointed silver eyes. His lower lip protruded in a stubborn pout. "And blow stuff up! It's on my bucket list!"
Superman managed a strained, almost apologetic smile. "Not this time, little one. This is very dangerous. Stay here with Batman and Wonder Woman. They'll keep you safe."
"I wanna fight the bad guys!" Oliver Omni insisted, his voice rising in a childish protest. "I can help! I'm super strong! And I can make things fly!" He demonstrated by briefly making a nearby console float a few inches off the ground before it gently settled back down with a soft thud. The Watchtower AI, momentarily confused, emitted a small, surprised beep.
Batman's eyes narrowed further, a silent, chilling warning. "He stays. That's an order. And cease that immediately, child."
Reluctantly, Oliver Omni quieted, though his lower lip still protruded in a stubborn pout. He crossed his arms, clearly displeased. The other heroes were already taking off, a blur of motion and power. Superman, a red and blue streak, launched himself into the vacuum of space, heading directly for Earth. Green Lantern, a green blur, followed close behind, his ring flaring. The Flash, a virtually invisible shimmer in the air, raced towards the Metropolis launch tube, leaving only a faint sonic boom in his wake. Wonder Woman gave Oliver Omni a final, reassuring, yet hurried, smile before taking off as well, her lasso already at her hip.
"Now," Batman said, his voice regaining its usual steely calm, as he turned his attention fully to the massive holographic map of Metropolis that now dominated the central screen, "Let's see what insidious trap Luthor has laid. And how we dismantle it."
---
The scene unfolding in Metropolis was pure, unadulterated chaos, broadcast live onto the Watchtower's main screen with terrifying clarity. Luthor had truly outdone himself. This wasn't just a confrontation; it was a meticulously orchestrated assassination attempt, designed with a chilling brilliance.
Metallo, a hulking, chrome-plated monstrosity with glowing green eyes and a Kryptonite core pulsing menacingly in his chest, stood in the center of a ravaged city block. Buildings around him were already smoking ruins, their skeletal frames reaching towards the sky like broken fingers. He was casually tossing a car into the side of a skyscraper, the impact echoing even through the Watchtower's speakers, a sickening crunch of metal and glass. He was massive, formidable, and a living, breathing death sentence for Superman. Every step he took radiated a sickly green aura, a poison to the Man of Steel.
Around him, a small army of heavily armed thugs, wearing sleek, tactical gear that bore the unmistakable emblem of LexCorp, had barricaded the streets. They weren't just any thugs; these were well-trained, disciplined, and shockingly effective. They moved with a chilling precision, their laser rifles firing streams of emerald energy, each shot a concentrated burst of Kryptonite radiation. They had clearly been briefed, rehearsed, and equipped for one purpose: to bring down Superman.
And the worst part? The civilians. Trapped in a hastily erected "evacuation zone" that was clearly designed to funnel them directly into the line of fire. They were a human shield, a cruel distraction. Some were screaming, their cries echoing amidst the explosions, others huddled in terrified silence, their faces pale with fear, caught between the rampaging cyborg and the armed goons. It was a cruel, brilliant trap, leveraging Superman's inherent need to protect the innocent against him.
Superman hit the ground like a meteor, the force of his landing cracking the pavement in a spiderweb pattern. He was a blur of red and blue, a beacon of hope against the green-tinged destruction, immediately engaging Metallo. The cyborg roared, a mechanical growl that vibrated through the air, and lunged, his Kryptonite heart glowing brighter, radiating sickly green energy that immediately began to weaken Superman. The air around the Man of Steel shimmered, his aura of invulnerability visibly flickering under the onslaught.
The moment Superman engaged Metallo, the thugs opened fire. Not at the civilians, not at the buildings, but directly at Superman. Their weapons, as Batman had predicted, were firing concentrated bursts of Kryptonite energy. Every shot, every blast, was designed to strip away his powers, to bring him to his knees, to drain him of his very life force. The air crackled with malevolent green light.
He's taking too much damage!* I screamed internally, my non-existent hands clenching into fists. Oliver, he's going to get hurt! He's going to die!
"Superman's super strong, Hart! He'll be fine!" Oliver Omni said, his brow furrowed in confusion, a half-eaten cosmic cookie still clutched in his hand. He was still watching it like it was a show, completely detached from the very real peril Superman was facing. His innocence was a shield, but also a terrifying blind spot. "He always beats the bad guys!"
But he wasn't fine. Superman, despite his incredible strength and speed, was visibly struggling. The sheer volume of Kryptonite radiation, both from Metallo's core and the armed thugs' relentless fire, was overwhelming him. His movements were slowing, becoming sluggish, his iconic red cape dragging listlessly behind him. His punches, usually capable of leveling mountains, lacked their usual concussive force, barely staggering the hulking Metallo. He was taking hits, reeling from blasts that would have vaporized an ordinary human. His invulnerability, his greatest asset, his very essence, was failing him. His blue eyes, usually vibrant with hope, were now clouded with pain and exhaustion.
Green Lantern, a whirlwind of emerald light, was doing his best, creating massive shields and intricate constructs to block the Kryptonite blasts and protect civilians. He conjured giant fists to smash through barricades, and energy nets to contain rogue debris. But the sheer number of targets, the relentless, coordinated assault, was too much even for his boundless willpower. He was spread thin, trying to be everywhere at once.
The Flash zipped through the streets, a red whirlwind, moving faster than the eye could follow. He scooped up terrified civilians, a dozen at a time, depositing them in safer zones miles away before returning to the fray. He was a blur of selfless heroism, but even his incredible speed couldn't outpace the rate of destruction, couldn't evacuate everyone fast enough. The city was crumbling around them.
Wonder Woman, her Amazonian strength and skill on full display, battled a group of super-soldiers armed with energy whips and sonic cannons. She moved with a dancer's grace and a warrior's ferocity, deflecting blasts with her gauntlets, disarming foes with her lasso, but she was engaged, unable to directly assist Superman.
"Luthor's got this planned out perfectly," Batman muttered, his voice a low, grim rumble, his fingers still dancing across the console, analyzing every variable, every tactical move. "He's using a phased attack. Metallo as the primary anchor, drawing Superman in. The enhanced ground forces to apply constant Kryptonite suppression. And… wait."
A new, chilling alert flashed on the screen: ADDITIONAL ENERGY SPIKE DETECTED. SUBTERRANEAN. UNSTABLE. PROBABLE KRYPTONITE RESONANCE DEVICE. TIMER: 3 MINUTES.
"A bomb!" Batman snarled, his voice laced with a cold fury. "A secondary device. Designed to detonate once Superman is weakened enough. It'll saturate the entire financial district with enough Kryptonite radiation to kill him outright. And anyone else caught in the blast radius."
My blood ran cold, or rather, the cosmic equivalent of it. *Oliver! He's going to die! Superman is going to die! We have to do something! Now!*
"But Hart, Superman always wins!" Oliver Omni said, his brow furrowed in confusion, his innocent understanding of the world clashing violently with the grim reality on screen. "He can't die! He's Superman! He's the good guy!"
On screen, Superman let out a pained roar as Metallo delivered a brutal, crushing punch, sending him flying into a collapsing building. The Kryptonite-laced bullets continued to hammer him, weakening him further, his blue eyes now clouded with agony and exhaustion. He struggled to rise from the rubble, his body trembling, the vibrant colors of his suit dulling under the overwhelming radiation. He was a shadow of his former self, his strength draining with every passing second.
"The device is accelerating!" the Watchtower AI announced, its synthesized voice chillingly calm, a stark contrast to the escalating panic in my mind. "Two minutes! Flash, abort civilian evacuation! Target the subterranean device! GL, provide cover! Diana, can you reach it?"
Wonder Woman, who was battling a group of super-soldiers armed with energy whips, gritted her teeth, her brow furrowed with strain. "I am engaged, Bruce! I cannot disengage without risking civilian lives! They are cornered!"
Superman stumbled out of the rubble, his face pale, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. His uniform was torn, his cape singed. He looked up at Metallo, his once-invincible body now fragile, vulnerable, his fists clenching uselessly. Metallo laughed, a harsh, grating sound, his mechanical voice filled with triumph, and raised his massive, Kryptonite-powered fist for the killing blow. The final, fatal strike.
"One minute, thirty seconds!" the Watchtower AI announced, the countdown ticking away like a death knell.
He's not going to make it!* The dread was overwhelming, a crushing weight on my consciousness. The greatest hero in history, the symbol of hope, brought to his knees by a ruthless, brilliant villain. And we were just sitting here, watching, powerless.
"No!" Oliver Omni suddenly screamed, his voice no longer childish, but imbued with a raw, untamed power that resonated through the very fabric of the Watchtower. His silver eyes, usually so innocent, blazed with a blinding, ethereal light, a cosmic fire. The cosmic cookie fell from his hand, forgotten, clattering to the floor.
"He can't die!" Oliver Omni declared, his voice echoing in the Watchtower, resonating with a power that shook the very foundations of the immense space station. The lights flickered, the consoles hummed erratically. "Superman can't die! He's a hero! He's supposed to save everyone! He's the good guy! Good guys don't lose!"
Batman, startled by the sudden, unprecedented surge of power emanating from the child, turned to Oliver Omni, his eyes wide with alarm, a rare expression of genuine shock on his face. "Child, what are you doing?!" he barked, his voice laced with a desperate urgency.
But Oliver Omni wasn't listening. His rage, born from the simple, pure conviction that 'heroes don't die', that 'good must triumph', had overridden everything else. His face, usually so cherubic, was contorted in a furious, almost terrifying, pout. He was a force of nature, an innocent deity throwing a cosmic tantrum.
"No dying!" Oliver Omni shrieked, his voice vibrating with an unfathomable energy. And then, without any discernible gesture or word, without even a thought that I could perceive, the world outside the Watchtower's viewscreen changed.
It began with the Kryptonite. The sickly green glow emanating from Metallo's chest, from the thugs' weapons, from the very air around the financial district… it vanished. Not just faded, not just diminished, but utterly, completely ceased to exist. The green light simply winked out, as if it had never been, replaced by the mundane, everyday hues of Metropolis. The very concept of Kryptonite, in that localized area, had been 'unmade'.
Metallo, mid-swing, his massive fist poised to deliver the killing blow, froze. His chrome body shimmered, then began to shift with a soft, almost imperceptible hum. The glowing green eyes dulled, then turned a dull, lifeless grey, like polished stone. His once-pulsing Kryptonite heart was no longer a glowing green rock, but a perfectly smooth, inert piece of marble, pristine and utterly harmless. His metallic skin, once menacing and impenetrable, now seemed… fragile, almost brittle. As if his very essence, his purpose, had been subtly altered, rendered harmless, reduced to a mere statue.
The thugs, their Kryptonite-laced bullets already in flight towards a weakened Superman, watched in stunned silence as their weapons, mid-blast, turned into harmless streams of brightly colored glitter. The high-tech rifles in their hands transformed into oversized, brightly colored water guns, their tactical gear morphing into ridiculously oversized, puffy clown suits adorned with polka dots and ruffles. Their menacing expressions dissolved into comical bewilderment, their faces painted with confused, wide-eyed stares. One thug, mid-scream of rage, found his voice replaced by a loud, insistent kazoo noise, honking absurdly with every attempt to speak. Another's grimace turned into a forced, painted smile.
The crumbling buildings around Superman, which had been moments from collapsing entirely, suddenly reformed. Not rebuilt, not repaired through conventional means, but rewound. Cracks sealed themselves, shattered windows became whole, steel girders straightened with a soft whoosh, and concrete solidified as if time itself had flowed backward only for them. The entire cityscape, seconds ago a war zone of rubble and smoke, now looked as if nothing had ever happened. It was pristine, untouched, gleaming under the sun. Even the faint scent of smoke and ozone in the air was replaced by the clean, crisp smell of a spring morning, complete with the faint aroma of blooming flowers.
The subterranean Kryptonite bomb, its timer flashing 0:57, blinked out of existence entirely. In its place, a colossal, brightly colored rubber ducky materialized, bobbing gently in a freshly formed, pristine kiddie pool filled with sparkling, chlorinated water. The ground around it was now soft, green grass, perfect for a picnic.
And the civilians, moments ago cowering in terror, were now standing in neat, orderly rows, their faces filled with expressions of mild confusion, as if they had simply paused for a moment and were now waiting for directions. They were no longer trapped, but rather, seemed to be waiting patiently for… something. A brightly colored bounce house materialized in the middle of the street, inflating with a cheerful thwump, and a vibrant circus tent sprang up beside it, complete with cheerful, calliope music that replaced the sounds of distant sirens. Popcorn machines and cotton candy stands appeared, emitting enticing aromas.
Superman, who had been bracing for Metallo's final, killing blow, found himself standing in a perfectly restored street, the scent of fresh pastries and blooming flowers replacing the stench of smoke and fear. Metallo, now a harmless automaton with a marble heart, stood frozen before him, his fist still raised, but now draped in a ridiculous clown glove. The thugs, in their garish clown suits, looked utterly bewildered, their water guns sputtering weakly, their kazoo-voices honking in confusion.
The chaos of battle had been replaced by the surreal tranquility of a children's birthday party.
"See, Hart?" Oliver Omni said, his blinding silver eyes fixed on the Watchtower screen, a triumphant, almost smug, smile spreading across his face. He seemed utterly pleased with his handiwork. "I told you Superman wouldn't die! Now he can fight the silly clowns! And look! No more yucky green stuff! And now they can have a party!"
Batman stood frozen, his eyes wide behind his cowl, staring at the screen with an expression of utter, profound disbelief. The Flash, who had zipped back to the Watchtower, had tripped over his own feet and was now sprawled on the floor, gaping at the screen, his mouth agape. Green Lantern's ring, which had been glowing intensely, had simply… stopped. Its emerald light had faded, as if even the power of the Green Lantern Corps was momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of what had just transpired.
"What… what in the name of the… everything… was that?!" The Flash stammered, scrambling to his feet, his jaw hanging open, unable to form a coherent thought.
Batman, ever the logical one, finally found his voice, though it was a strained, almost disbelieving whisper. "He… he didn't just neutralize the threat. He rewrote reality. On a macro scale. Instantaneously. He… he unmade the Kryptonite. He transmuted Metallo. He repaired the city. He replaced the bomb. And… he turned them into… clowns." His voice trailed off, unable to fully grasp the magnitude of the event.
Yes! I wanted to shout, my internal voice a mixture of terror and vindication. That's what I've been trying to tell you! He's not just powerful, he's… he's quite lterally The embodiment of existence! He's a walking, talking, seven-year-old god!
Oliver Omni giggled, completely unaware of the existential horror he had just inflicted upon the laws of physics and the minds of the Justice League. "Now we can get our selfie with Batman! And then maybe we can race The Flash! Hehe!"
The Watchtower's main screen zoomed in on Superman, who was standing amidst the festive chaos. He was staring at the now inert Metallo-turned-marble-automaton, then at the bewildered clowns sputtering water guns, then at the magically restored buildings, then at the giant rubber ducky in the kiddie pool. His jaw was hanging open. He looked utterly, completely dumbfounded. His usual stoic expression was replaced by one of pure, unadulterated bewilderment.
Batman, meanwhile, had sunk into a chair, his face buried in his hands. He was muttering something, but it was muffled. "This… this is a nightmare," he finally said, his voice raw. "This is a truly magnificent, reality-shattering nightmare. And we are utterly unprepared."
Green Lantern, finally recovering from his shock, simply pointed at Oliver Omni with a trembling hand. "He just… he just did that. He literally just… made reality his bitch."
Oliver Omni giggled again. "Nope! I just made it not broken! Silly! And now it's a party!"
I could only sigh, a cosmic sigh that resonated through the fabric of the Omniverse, a sigh of resignation and profound, inescapable dread. This was going to be a long, strange, and utterly terrifying adventure. And somehow, it felt like the fun, in Oliver Omni's peculiar, reality-bending definition, had only just begun. My only solace was that at least Superman was safe. For now.