Surprises in store for this chapter. And get some snacks, more than you got for the last chapters.
"Eliminating the timeline itself?" Diana echoed, her voice vibrating with disbelief, even as she maintained her composure. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword—a weapon forged in godhood and war, its edge glinting with the distilled light of Themyscira's forges and now humming with her divine might. She swung it once, the blade slicing the air with a sharp, deliberate whistle. A nearby Doomsday, one of many stalking the shattered terrain, lunged at the movement, only to meet Diana's wrath in her attack earlier in a blur of motion. It was as if the creature walked into it, as if Diana knew which direction it was going to go and attacked beforehand. One effortless swing, and the monstrous creature was cleaved apart—atomized instantly, its remains dissipating into cosmic dust that drifted down and was swallowed by the void of what this Earth had become.
She didn't even look back. Her eyes remained locked on Metron. Some might say that was very samurai of her.
Metron sat upon the Mobius Chair with the insufferable confidence of a scholar who believes himself above consequence. But of course, he was allowed that belief, he was above and beyond the common intelligent sentient life. He watched Diana, lips curled in an ironic half-smile, his gaze full of predatory curiosity. "Don't make me laugh, Diana. You're powerful—yes, more so than most—but not omnipotent. I don't need to erase this timeline myself. Knowledge itself is a weapon, and I wield it better than anyone who's ever existed."
"Knowledge is nothing without the will to act," Diana fired back, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand wars and heartbreaks.
Metron's eyes flickered. "Of course, and yet, will without understanding is just wasted effort." He clapped his hands twice—a sharp, echoing report that sent up a ripple of force across the cracked ground. The Mobius Chair vibrated, ancient circuitry glowing with hidden runes and equations, before a portal appeared beside him. A swirling, multicolored wound in the fabric of reality itself, the kind of cosmic door only the gods dared open.
From the darkness of that portal stepped a figure that made the world itself pause.
He was tall—nearly as tall as Superman, but even broader at the shoulder, his musculature cut from myth and nightmare. His suit was blue and skin-tight, the stylized red-and-yellow "S" gleaming over his chest, flanked by angular lines like armor. His crimson cape—shorter than Superman's, but heavier, torn and battle-worn—hung behind him, stained with the memory of battles across worlds. Silver gauntlets ringed his wrists, and his red boots, laced with yellow, crunched on the fractured ground as he landed, sending up shards of obsidian and smoldering ash.
Black hair fell in a single, rebellious curl across his brow. His face was young, even handsome, but his eyes—glowing faintly white, brimming with unspeakable power—betrayed nothing but scorn. The air grew heavier, like the atmosphere itself knew a cosmic variable had just entered the equation.
Diana's heart skipped a beat. To her, this person bore a striking resemblance to Superman, and she thought so, but this Superman felt different. This was Superboy-Prime—the unstable, tragic, reality-shattering force of nature who had broken worlds and heroes alike.
Superboy-Prime looked around, his mouth curled in a sneer. "Hey, wheelchair man. What's with the summoning? You interrupted me." His words carried the same careless violence as a falling star.
Metron, usually unfazed, raised a hand placatingly. "Patience, Prime. There's a task here—something that calls for your… unique talents."
Prime's glare darkened, discarding Metron's dialogue as mere chatter, but he said nothing, glancing upward with a flicker of boredom. His X-ray vision swept the ruined planet, his gaze slicing through rock and steel and flesh. He paused. Somewhere on the planet, another Doomsday—this one wearing a battered cowl and cape—cradled the corpse of a dead Superman. The sight didn't even register as strange; it was just one more absurdity in a world gone wrong.
Suddenly, the air warped, and another visitor arrived.
He was tall and thin, draped in black leather with spikes running down his arms, and a metal visor obscured his eyes. His mouth—visible even through the shadows—was frozen in a jagged, maniacal grin. This was The Batman Who Laughs: the Jokerized nightmare from a twisted timeline, the embodiment of Batman's greatest fears realized in flesh and madness.
Prime's eyes slid over the newcomer, unimpressed. The Batman Who Laughs paused, his own smile flickering—not out of joy, but out of real, primal fear.
"I don't like this place," Prime declared. His boots barely grazed the broken ground as he tapped the earth with the tip of his toe.
The world exploded.
Not a metaphor, not an exaggeration—the crust and mantle and core of the planet trembled, buckled, and finally shattered in a titanic BOOM. The Batman Who Laughs didn't even try to fight; he disappeared into a ripple of shadows, fleeing annihilation. Diana, reacting on pure instinct, encased herself in shimmering layers of golden energy, the force of the blast tearing at her shield like a hurricane. The vacuum of space roared all around.
Metron's Mobius Chair, shielded by countless fields and cosmic logic, survived the cataclysm, though the New God inside flinched as the shockwave rattled his bones. "You nearly killed me!" he snapped, the first crack of real fear in his voice.
Prime snorted, folding his arms. "That? Not even close, old man." His words vibrated in Diana's skull, echoing telepathically—a casual violation of privacy, as if even thoughts weren't safe from him.
Prime turned on Metron, all patience gone. "Now, why did you drag me to this garbage planet, or used to be planet?"
Metron fought to recover his composure. "You owe me, Prime. Handle her"—he nodded at Diana, still floating above the planetary debris—"and we're even."
Prime studied Diana, stepping forward faster than human eyes could track, appearing just behind her with no warning. He looked her up and down, more curious than threatened. "She's a lot stronger than before… interesting. Another timeline? Interesting." His voice was low, predatory.
Diana stood absolutely still, her divine senses screaming at her to do nothing that could be perceived as a challenge. Prime was a force of nature—capable of breaking worlds, breaking gods. For the first time since her ascension, Diana felt not just threatened, but truly small.
Prime scoffed. "I can't believe you summoned me for a weakling." His contempt was a physical force. "You ruined my mood, Metron. Send me back, now."
Metron hesitated, but Prime's glare left no room for negotiation. Resigned, Metron gestured, and the Mobius Chair carved a new portal into the fabric of reality.
Without another word, Prime stepped through, leaving a silence heavy as stone in his wake.
Diana's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat beading on her brow despite her power. She had faced gods, monsters, the worst of her own fears, heck, she had even handled Darkseid with Kyla-el rather easily just recently. But Superboy-Prime was something else—a walking apocalypse, an existential warning about the dangers of power without restraint.
Metron, seeing his leverage vanish, clenched his jaw and triggered the Mobius Chair's time function. Reality shimmered as he shot forward, slipping through the timestream—but something was wrong. The world around him blurred and twisted, chaos energy crackling. He landed with a jarring lurch, finding himself on an Earth that was both familiar and impossibly strange. The Teen Titans had yet to be formed here; the world was young, vibrant, unaware of the darkness lurking just out of sight.
Frustration etched deep lines into Metron's face. This wasn't the era he'd aimed for. The Mobius Chair, battered and stubborn, flickered with wild arcs of energy. He had missed the timeline he was gunning for. He was just too early. He normally doesn't miss his destination like so now; maybe recent events had him shook, but he was tired of it until he felt the space around him crack.
Before Metron could recalibrate, Diana appeared—her golden armor battered, but her spirit undimmed. She moved with the grace of a predator, appearing between Metron and his escape route, sword sheathed but her presence radiating danger.
"Who—who was that?" Diana demanded, her voice trembling but steady, locking eyes with the New God. "Who is that person you just summoned?"
Metron's lips stretched into a slow, cruel smile. "Why, that's Superboy-Prime," he said, savoring the words.
"That's the Superman you all had nightmares about. The walking, talking doomsday you prayed would never cross your path." He watched Diana's reaction with open glee—a scholar relishing the shock of his subject.
Diana stared, not just with fear but with awe. "And you can just… summon him? On a whim?"
Metron shrugged. "A favor is a favor, Wonder Woman. Even among gods, some debts are worth keeping. I did him a service once. That's all it takes."
Metron was enjoying this feeling of superiority as he felt the world going sideways until he saw the underside of the Mobius chair, his legs stretching forth at the edges, and the underside of Diana's skirt hovering in front with her sword sheathed.
'When did she sheathe her sword?' Metron thought as his head hit the ground, and he died. The Mobius Chair tumbled, cosmic circuits sparking as Metron's body soared, sheared from his shoulders by a single, precise stroke. His headless corpse hit the ground with a sickening thud.
The Mobius Chair hesitated, sensing its master's demise. Then, as if guided by its own cosmic imperative, it flickered, shimmered, and vanished—shooting off through the timestream, returning to Mogo, ownerless and silent.
Diana hovered above, the gravity of her own actions settling on her shoulders. The memory of Superboy-Prime's presence still lingered—a shadow across her heart, a reminder that some powers should never be invoked, debts never repaid. The universe felt infinitely bigger, infinitely more dangerous. She turned her gaze to the headless corpse and shrouded it in her divine barrier and flew off into a cracked space of her making and beyond, returning just after the Mobius chair had arrived on Mogo in the current timeline.
C'mon... how was it?
You weren't expecting those two powerful beings to show up right???
Hahahahaha... such is expected of me.
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