Chapter 6: The Village of Two Colors
The air of Mle was the first indication that something was not right.
After weeks of breathing the metallic stench and recycled air of "The Rust Pilgrim", the first breath on the landing dock was a shock to the senses. It was clean, almost sweet air, with the scent of unknown flowers and damp earth. The sky was not the oppressive red of Pyrr or the infinite black of the void; it was a soft lavender color, dotted with two small pale moons that were visible even during the day.
Kara Zor-El descended the ship's ramp, her boots making a dull thud on the polished polymer of the dock. Beside her, Ruthye Marye Knoll followed like a shadow, her wide eyes absorbing the scene with an intensity that belied her young age. The contrast with the interior of the freighter was absolute. Behind them was filth, noise, and despair. Before them stretched a plaza that looked like it was taken from a utopian dream.
The architecture was elegant and organic, buildings of a brilliant white with spiral ornaments that imitated the shapes of seashells. Small streams of crystalline water meandered through the plaza, crossed by bridges made of a material that shone like mother-of-pearl. Everything was flawless. Too flawless.
That's when they noticed the colors. The inhabitants of Mle, tall and slender humanoid beings, had skin of two distinct tones. The majority, those who strolled through the center of the plaza, who ran the open-fronted shops and who greeted with kind smiles, had skin of a cerulean blue, like the sky on Earth on a clear day. Their clothes were in shades of purple and lavender, clean and well-cut.
But on the fringes, in the shadows of the arcades, sweeping the streets with straw brooms or carrying heavy boxes, there were others. Their skin was a deep purple, like a ripe eggplant. Their clothes were a dull, worn blue. And they did not smile. They moved with a resigned stillness, their shoulders hunched, their eyes always fixed on the ground. If their gazes accidentally met those of a "blue," they would immediately look away, as if eye contact were a crime.
"This place is... strange," whispered Ruthye, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her father's sword.
"Strange isn't the word," Kara replied in a low voice, her blue eyes scanning the plaza, analyzing, cataloging. "It's orderly. Too orderly."
They approached a fruit stand run by a "blue" with a radiant smile.
"Welcome to Mle, travelers!" said the merchant, his voice melodic. "May I offer you a shalla fruit? Sweet as the first light of morning."
"Thank you," Kara said, her tone polite but direct. "We are looking for a man. An outsider. He calls himself Krem of the Yellow Hills. He travels with a band of criminals, the Outlaws."
The merchant's smile wavered for a fraction of a second, a micro-gesture that Kara did not miss. "Ah, I'm afraid I can't help you. We don't see many people of that... ilk around here. Mle is a peaceful village. We keep things that way."
As he spoke, a passing "purple" accidentally stumbled against one of the fruit baskets, spilling a few pieces onto the ground. The "purple" froze, his face a mask of absolute panic. He hurriedly knelt, picking up the fruit with trembling hands. The "blue" merchant did not yell at him. He simply stared, and his smile disappeared, replaced by a cold, hard, icy gaze. The fear emanating from the "purple" was so palpable that Kara could almost taste it.
"I understand," Kara said, her voice now a little colder. "What if I ask him?" She nodded toward the "purple," who was still on the ground.
The merchant's smile returned, but this time it was forced. "I don't think he knows anything. They are... simple people. They don't pay attention to the affairs of the world." It was a clear warning.
Kara and Ruthye walked away from the stand.
"They're lying," said Ruthye with the absolute certainty of a child. "Everyone is lying."
"Yes," Kara confirmed, her gaze fixed on a group of "blues" who were now watching them from a distance, their kind smiles replaced by looks of cold evaluation. "They are. And we need to find out why."
She realized they were not just hiding a criminal. They were protecting a secret. A secret so great and so dark that they had divided their own world into two colors to keep it safe. And they had just stumbled right into the middle of it.
*****
Mle's town hall was the embodiment of the town's philosophy: a flawless, orderly structure of a beauty so perfect it was unsettling. There was not a speck of dust on the blue marble floors, not a single withered leaf on the ornamental plants that decorated the hallways. The air was fresh and smelled clean, an artificial aroma that had nothing to do with the earth and flowers outside.
They were led to the mayor's office without much delay. The room was spacious and minimalist, dominated by a huge window that offered a panoramic view of the perfectly manicured plaza. The mayor, a middle-aged "blue" with a charismatic face and a smile that seemed rehearsed in a mirror, rose from behind his glass desk to greet them.
"Supergirl! And your young... associate!" he exclaimed, his voice a smooth, practiced baritone. "This is an unexpected honor. I am Mayor Valerius. Please, have a seat. Can I offer you anything? A shalla nectar?"
"Thank you, Mayor. We're fine," Kara replied, her tone polite but devoid of warmth. She and Ruthye sat in the uncomfortably elegant chairs facing the desk. "We'll get straight to the point. We are looking for a criminal named Krem of the Yellow Hills and his band, the Outlaws. We have reason to believe they have passed through Mle."
Valerius's smile did not waver, but his eyes hardened for a fraction of a second. "I'm afraid your information is incorrect. As you can see, Mle is a haven of peace. We have no dealings with criminals. Our community values harmony above all else."
"Harmony is sometimes used to hide secrets," said Ruthye, her voice small but firm. Kara placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"A very... insightful observation for someone so young," the mayor said, his tone now tinged with condescending paternalism. "But we have no secrets here. Only a community that works in unity."
"Including the purple-skinned ones?" Kara asked directly.
Valerius's smile finally tightened. He leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together. "Ah, the Purples. Yes. Well, they... chose a different path. They are a separatist faction, very attached to their old and tragic ways. They isolate themselves by their own choice. Any problems they have, they have brought upon themselves. We, the Blues, have tried to integrate them for generations, but they resist progress."
It was a perfect speech. Calculated. Full of a twisted logic that blamed the victim. Kara had heard variations of that same speech on dozens of worlds, including Earth. It was the rhetoric of an oppressor. Her super-hearing, though not yet at full power, caught a slight increase in the mayor's heart rate. He was lying, and he knew it.
"I understand," Kara said, standing up. "Thank you for your time, Mayor."
"Of course," Valerius said, also rising, his charismatic smile returning in full force. "I kindly suggest that you continue your journey. I'm afraid you will find nothing of interest here. And your presence, being so... noticeable, might disrupt the delicate balance we have worked so hard to maintain."
It was a threat. Polite, wrapped in a smile, but a threat nonetheless.
As they left the town hall and returned to the plaza's lavender light, Kara looked toward the poorer, more neglected district that was visible in the distance. The purple district.
"He's lying," Ruthye said beside her.
"I know," Kara responded, her gaze hardening. "And if the Blues won't talk, we'll have to ask the Purples. And something tells me they only talk after nightfall."
*****
When Mle's two pale moons rose over the horizon, casting a silvery, ghostly light over the village, the blue district fell into an orderly silence. The shop lights went out, doors closed, and the plaza was left empty, a monument to a forced peace. But in the purple district, the silence was different. It was not peaceful. It was the tense, heavy silence of fear.
They ventured into its narrow, unpaved streets. Here, the buildings were not a brilliant white, but a worn, gray stone. The windows did not glow with warm light; they were closed with wooden shutters, like eyes that refused to see. The only sound was the whistling of the wind that slipped through the alleyways, a murmur that seemed to carry the whispers of a million untold stories.
(Kara POV)
'This place stinks of fear,' Kara thought, her senses sharpened by the night air. 'It's not the sharp fear of a battle. It's an old fear. Resigned. It has seeped into the very stones.'
She walked with a deliberate calm, her body alert to every shadow. Ruthye followed her closely, her small hand gripping the back of Kara's jacket. The girl said nothing, but Kara could feel her tension, a small vibration of anxiety and determination. She was scared, but she would not back down. Kara felt a pang of admiration for her.
They tried knocking on a couple of doors. There was no response. Only a deeper silence from within. It was like trying to talk to a town of ghosts.
"They won't talk," whispered Ruthye. "They're too afraid."
"I know," Kara replied quietly. "But they are watching us. I can feel it. We just need to give them a reason to trust us."
They rounded a corner into a darker alleyway, a tunnel of stone and shadows. And that's when the trap sprung.
(Third Person)
From the shadows of the rooftops and doorways, figures emerged. There were six "blues," their faces hidden behind unadorned cloth masks. They carried no energy weapons, but heavy metal clubs instead. The mayor's thugs. Their goal was not to kill them, but to teach them a lesson. To scare them into leaving the planet.
They moved silently, surrounding them, cutting off their only escape route.
Ruthye choked back a cry and drew her sword, her small figure planted in front of Kara in an act of suicidal loyalty.
Kara placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, kid. I've got this."
Her expression was not one of fear. It was one of deep and absolute weariness. She was fed up with bullies. Fed up with secrets. Fed up with this cruel universe.
The first attacker lunged, his club whistling through the air. Kara did not move to dodge it. She simply raised a hand. The metal club impacted against her palm with a dull thud and bent in half as if it were made of clay. The attacker stared at his ruined weapon, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Kara's response was a single, fluid motion. She grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic, lifted him from the ground with insulting ease, and threw him against his companions. The impact was like a bowling ball knocking down pins. Three of them fell in a heap of limbs and confusion.
The remaining two hesitated, fear beginning to replace their confidence. They attacked together. Kara moved between them like a shadow. A precise blow to one's elbow, dislocating the joint with an audible snap. A leg sweep that sent the other one backward against the stone wall.
The fight lasted no more than ten seconds. It had not been a battle. It had been a clean-up. Kara stood in the middle of the alley, surrounded by the moaning figures of the thugs. She had not revealed her super speed or heat vision. She hadn't needed to. Her strength, even held back, was more than enough.
From a second-story window of a nearby building, a pair of ancient, purple eyes had witnessed everything. An old man, who had watched his people be oppressed for decades, had just seen a stranger dismantle the mayor's thugs with the same ease with which one brushes away flies. He saw the strength. He saw the containment. And for the first time in a long time, he felt an emotion he thought was dead: hope.
As the attackers crawled and fled into the darkness, the old man made a decision. He turned off the light of his lamp, went down the stairs, and stepped out onto the street for the first time that night.
He approached the two outsiders, his hunched figure trembling slightly, not with fear, but with a long-dormant resolve.
"You...," he began, his voice was a hoarse whisper from disuse. "...are not like the others. You seek the truth. Come with me. There is something you must see."
*****
The "purple" elder did not lead them back to the illuminated streets of the blue district. Instead, he led them along a hidden path, away from the village toward the desolate fields that stretched out under the silvery, ghostly light of Mle's two moons. The cold wind whistled through the rocks, a lonely sound that seemed to carry the laments of the earth itself. They walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the only sound being that of their footsteps on the dry ground and the soft clinking of Ruthye's sword against her back.
Kara did not ask questions. She simply followed the elder, her body still tense from the fight, her mind processing the conspiracy that was being unveiled. Ruthye, by her side, walked with a somber determination, her young face hardened by the night of revelations.
Finally, the elder stopped. They were in the middle of an open field, a plain covered with sparse grass and pale flowers that glowed faintly under the light of the moons. At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
"They arrived ten years ago," the elder began, his voice a hoarse whisper, heavy with the weight of a decade of forced silence. "Krem and his Outlaws. They were a plague, a storm of violence that swept the outer systems. When they arrived in Mle, they demanded a tribute: ships, supplies, half of our harvest."
He paused, his gaze lost in the field. "Mayor Valerius and the council of the Blues met with them. They negotiated. We, the Purples, thought they were negotiating for all of us. How naive we were."
He turned to look at Kara and Ruthye, and in his ancient eyes there was a pain so profound it was almost an abyss. "It wasn't the Outlaws who killed us... it was our neighbors. The Blues made a pact. In exchange for their own safety, their own village, their own peace... they handed us over. They gave the Outlaws permission to pillage our district, to take whatever they wanted, to do whatever they wanted... on the condition that they would leave the blue district in peace."
"The Outlaws took our young people, our possessions. And those who resisted... they brought them here."
He pointed to the ground at his feet. "This land is fertile. Too fertile for this climate. The flowers here grow taller, paler. They grow over the bones of my people."
Kara felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the night wind. She looked at the field, and for the first time, she saw the subtle undulation of the terrain, the shallow depressions that were not natural. She knelt, her hand brushing the earth.
Ruthye looked at Kara, confused. "What... what does he mean?"
Kara did not answer with words. She closed her eyes. She concentrated. And she looked.
Her x-ray vision penetrated the surface of the earth, passing through the layers of rock and soil. And she saw the horror.
It was not a grave. It was a labyrinth of bones. Thousands of skeletons, unceremoniously piled up, intertwined in the final postures of agony and despair. She saw the small skeletons of children next to those of their parents. She saw fractured skulls, broken ribs. The scale of the massacre was overwhelming, a silent city of the dead that lay just beneath the surface of a field of pale flowers.
The memory of Krypton hit her with the force of a physical blow. The trembling of the ground, the silent scream of a million souls vanishing. But this was different. This was worse. Krypton had been destroyed by arrogance and blindness. This... this had been a choice. An act of betrayal. The deliberate sacrifice of half a people to save the other.
She opened her eyes, a single silent tear rolling down her cheek. The cruelty of the universe, which she had tried to forget at the bottom of a glass, presented itself to her again in all its terrible clarity. Evil was not always a monster with claws and teeth. Sometimes, it had the smiling face of a mayor and the pragmatic logic of survival.
Ruthye saw the tear on Kara's face and understood. Her own mission, which had seemed so pure and so just, suddenly felt... small. Her father had been a good man, killed by a bad man. It was simple. But this... this was a web of evil, where the victims and the executioners had shared the same sun, the same land. Her black-and-white view of the world, of heroes and villains, began to crack, exposing a universe much more complicated and terrifying than she had ever imagined.
*****
(Urahara POV)
Light-years away, in a garden where the air always smelled of freshly brewed tea and the calm of a summer rain that never fell, Urahara Kisuke watched the events on Mle on a holographic monitor. The screen did not show the visceral horror of the bone field, but a flow of cold, analytical data: brainwave graphs, stress pattern analysis in the voice, a conceptual map of the village's loyalties and fears. It showed no horror or sadness. His expression was that of a scientist who has just confirmed a particularly fascinating hypothesis.
He poured himself a cup of tea, the steam rising in lazy wisps in front of the screen's light.
'Fascinating,' he thought, taking a sip. 'Utilitarian calculation in its crudest and most cowardly form. The deliberate sacrifice of a minority to ensure the perceived survival of the majority. An immoral system, yes, but with a coherent internal logic from a self-preservation perspective. Fear is a very effective catalyst for brutal logic.'
His gaze shifted to two points of light on the hologram, one bright blue (Kara) and one smaller but intense green (Ruthye).
'The external variable, the Kryptonian Anomaly, has introduced a catalyst of compassion, exposing the fragility of the system's balance. Her reaction to injustice is an instinct as fundamental as breathing. Predictable, but no less interesting to observe.'
Then, he focused on the green point of light.
'And the girl... the small variable of vengeance. She is receiving an invaluable lesson about the non-binary nature of good and evil. Her mission, which was once a straight line, has now fractured into a prism of moral grays. The trajectory of her development is... promising. Much more than I had anticipated.'
Urahara took another sip of tea, completely detached from the horror of the events. For him, it was not a tragedy. It was simply... data collection. A planetary-scale sociological experiment that was unfolding perfectly. He turned off the monitor with a wave of his hand, leaving the back room in a silent calm, only broken by the gentle glow of the stasis basket where Krypto slept.
'A system based on such a fundamental secret,' he reflected as he headed back to his porch. 'It is destined to collapse. And when it does, I will be there to watch the pieces fall.'
Omake:
Scene: The Conceptual Workshop - Urahara's Pocket Dimension
The back room of the "shop" looked nothing like the serene façade of his garden. It was a space of infinite white, a conceptual blank canvas where Urahara performed his most dangerous experiments. In the center of nowhere, a single object floated: an ice flower of exquisite beauty, its petals perfect fractals of frost. The temperature around him was absolute zero.
Urahara watched her, not in a coat, but in her usual kimono, perfectly comfortable. He was holding a steaming cup of tea.
'The recreation of Daiguren Hyōrinmaru,' he thought, his analytical mind breaking down his own creation. 'The basis is simple. My Bankai, Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame, restructures matter. To recreate Hitsugaya-taichō's Bankai, I only needed to "instruct" the water molecules in the air to restructure themselves into a state of zero entropy, mimicking the conceptual structure of spirit ice. Easy.'
The ice flower dissolved into a cloud of steam.
'But the real trick,' continued his inner monologue, 'is not to imitate the material. It is imitating the concept. The soul.'
With a wave of his hand, the air in front of him was filled with thousands of bright pink cherry blossom petals. They were not real petals. They were blades, each a fragment of its own spiritual energy, restructured to mimic Byakuya Kuchiki's Bankai, Senbonzakura Kageyoshi. Petals danced around him, a silent, deadly storm.
'To recreate Senbonzakura, I don't just restructure my Reiatsu in the form of blades,' he reflected. 'I restructure the very idea of my energy. I temporarily impose on him the "concept" of Kuchiki-taichō's dispersed pride. It's less a transmutation and more a... Soul-level impersonation. Much more complex. It requires a fundamental understanding of the original soul.'
The petals faded. He had spent centuries perfecting this. During his two millennia of exile, he had spent countless hours in this empty workshop deconstructing and reconstructing the memories of every power he had ever known. Not out of nostalgia, but out of sheer scientific curiosity and a pragmatic need to expand their arsenal.
'The Fullbringers were the next logical step,' he thought, as a nearby chunk of concrete twisted and turned into an energy jacket, mimicking Chad's "Bringer Light." 'Its power is based on manipulating the soul of matter. Tsukishima-san's "The Book of the End" was particularly fascinating. He did not insert false memories; it restructured the conceptual past of an object or person. My Bankai can do the same, but without the need to cut the subject. Simply... I edit the source code of its story.'
And then there were the Quincys. The antithesis of everything a Shinigami was.
A bluish light pooled on his fingertip. 'The Blut Vene of the Quincy. Restructure my own Reishi so that it flows through my blood vessels, hardening them to a conceptual level. An almost perfect defense. Simple. Elegant.'
But there were powers that still eluded him.
'The 'Almighty' of Yhwach,' he admitted to himself, and for the first time, a shadow of frustration crossed his face. 'It not only restructures the future; makes it happen. My Bankai can rewrite what it is. But his rewrote what it would be. I have not yet managed to replicate the ability to impose one possibility on all others. It's the difference between editing a book already written and forcing the author to write the chapter you want.'
He turned off the lights of his conceptual workshop with a thought. He stood in the dark for a moment.
He had recreated the powers of his former friends and enemies. It had become a walking arsenal, a Shinigami, a Quincy, and a Fullbringer all rolled into one. But he was not a thief. He hadn't stolen his powers. He had done something much more intimate and terrifying.
He had understood them so deeply that he could become them. It was the ultimate form of scientific analysis. And the most dangerous secret he possessed.
Breakdown of Your Recreated Capabilities
Bankai (Shinigami) Recreation:
Method: Use your own Bankai, Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame, to restructure matter (air, water, earth) or your own Reiatsu to mimic the abilities of other Bankai.
Requirements: You need a perfect conceptual understanding of the original Bankai. You can't recreate one that you don't fundamentally understand. His knowledge of the Captains of the Gotei 13 gives him an extensive library.
Recreated Examples:
Senbonzakura Kageyoshi (Byakuya Kuchiki): Restructures his Reiatsu into millions of microscopic blades.
Daiguren Hyōrinmaru (Tōshirō Hitsugaya): Restructures water molecules in the air to create and manipulate spirit ice.
Ryūmon Hōzukimaru (Ikkaku Madarame): Restructures a large amount of physical matter (rock, metal) into an offensive construct of raw power.
Limitations: More abstract or conceptual Bankai (such as Shunsui Kyōraku or Yamamoto's) would be much more difficult, if not impossible, to recreate, as they are based on unique rules and concepts, not just the manipulation of energy or matter.
Fullbringer Skill Recreation:
Method: Your Bankai is already, in essence, the ultimate form of a Fullbring. It manipulates the "soul" of things. You can apply this principle to any object.
Requirements: A connection to or understanding of an object's "pride" or history.
Recreated Examples:
Bringer Light: Restructures the core of the ground beneath your feet to create high-speed platforms.
The Book of the End (Shūkurō Tsukishima): The scariest app. Urahara doesn't need a sword to "cut" someone's past. You can use your Bankai to directly "restructure" a person's memories and conceptual history, making them believe that they have always been their friend, their enemy, or their teacher.
Giant's Left Arm (Yasutora "Chad" Sado): Restructures the soul of his own arm to create a conceptual shield, not just a physical one.
Quincy Skill Recreation:
Method: It is based on their absolute mastery of the manipulation of Reishi (spiritual particles), the same principle used by the Quincy.
Requirements: An analysis of biology and Quincy techniques. Over the centuries, he has had plenty of time to study.
Recreated Examples:
Blut Vene and Blut Arterie: Restructures the flow of your own Reiatsu within your body to dramatically increase your defense or attack, respectively.
Hirenkyaku: Manipulates the Reishi under his feet to move at high speed, a counterpart to the Shinigami Shunpo.
Quincy Bow (Heilig Pfeil): The most basic ability. He can collect Reishi from the environment and shape it into a bow and arrows of energy. It is less efficient for him than the Kidō, but it is one more tool in his arsenal.
Limitations: He cannot recreate the "Schrift" (the unique abilities of the Sternritter) because they were not "granted" to him by Yhwach. These are imposed conceptual skills, not developed. However, you could analyze a Schrift and create a specific countermeasure with your Bankai.
A/N
Hey everyone,
I'm sorry for not posting lately. I've been really busy and a bit short on inspiration. But I've recently felt the urge to write again, so I'll be trying to post more often. I think I said I'd post one chapter per week, and I owe you three, haha.
The good news is, I've already written drafts up to chapter 11, which will conclude the Woman of Tomorrow arc. After that, the story will focus much more on Urahara. I'm not sure what to adapt next, as I have a lot of ideas from movies, series, and comics. I'd appreciate any recommendations or suggestions for plotlines you'd like to see that aren't overused. For example, I recently discovered the Mister Miracle comics and loved them, so I might do a couple of episodes with characters from that series.
Since I'm three chapters behind, I'll be posting one today (Thursday), another on Saturday, and one more on Monday. The next one after that will go back to Thursdays.
By the way, is anyone watching the Peacemaker series? I'm loving everything about it so far.
Thank you for reading my works, both my originals and my translations.
Until next time, Mike.