Superior_Idiot
DCU Superman #36
Huge credit to BluJay for again helping me cowrite this issue. www.flickr.com/photos/148814185@N06/
============================================================================================================
“Fall back! Fall back!” Maggie yells out as multiple officers run away from the squad cars which explode in green fire. She rushes through the flaming rubble, her breathing raspy as she clutches onto her pistol before firing several rounds off into roughly a dozen members of militia, hitting two fatally while injuring three. She hides back into the shadow of the rubble, noticing flames near her side, but these ones instead being orange. She looks back up to see a guy in a metal suit of armor, clutching a hammer to his right. He lands in front of her.
“Excuse me.” He says as she moves to the side before swinging his hammer in an underhand move at a burning cruiser, causing it to fly right at several soldiers, most of which are able to move away in time, while some that weren’t able to in time are pinned, likely having a lot of broken bones.
“It’s hammer time.” He says, trying to sound as intimidating as possible.
“What?” Maggie watches quizzically as John brings his hammer down with a yell of exertion and the street pauses for less than a breath. It feels like years. Then it ripples and the earth shatters and the cop car spirals back up into the air, along with the outmatched goons. One comes rushing towards him and, like a tennis player, John delivers a crushing backhand. The man’s flight trajectory changes instantly and like a laser, he shoots backwards in a straight line before being stopped by a streetlight. He falls down the ruined asphalt, unconscious, the streetlight bent from the impact.
The few soldiers that remain on their feet rise, unsteady but determined nonetheless. John hurls his hammer and it croons a deep, metallic song punctuated by clangs as it hits home, swiping and dashing the militia members to the ground. He opens his hand to catch it but misses, and it buries itself in the ground a few feet away from him - directly between himself and a groggy soldier. Clearly he needs some more practice. Still, this provided a neat opportunity. John leaps into the air, reaching down, plucking the hammer from the cement mid-flight, and swings it back around over his head in a flip. The hammer drives home, slamming the soldier in the back, and he sails forwards eight feet, right into Maggie’s waiting elbow. There’s a crunch as his nose breaks and he falls limply.
There are two men left standing. The rest are in varying stages of unconsciousness or groaning. John picks one and slides along the street, skidding to a halt, winding up like a baseball player, before taking a swing. The hammer bounces off the soldier’s head and, in the few seconds that it takes John to pull it back again, the militia member sways uncertainly, as if unsure whether he should embrace the asphalt or continue trying to stand. John’s hammer makes the decision for him and offers him a meal of broken cement. A hail of bullets ping between his shoulder blades and he turns, heart thumping. The soldier drops his now-empty Beretta and pulls out a lethal-looking knife, spinning its wicked blade so he’s holding it backhanded.
“Really, man?”
John sighs and casually swats the knife away. He punches the hammer forward and it finds home in the center of the soldier’s chest. The guy skids backwards, arms pinwheeling for balance, and he hits his head on the bent streetlight. He falls over abruptly, like a puppet’s strings being slit. John stands maybe a little awkwardly in the wreckage of his battle, turning to look at Maggie.
“That wasn’t so hard.”
Maggie’s mouth opens and her eyes widen and then something hits John in the back hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Then he’s head over heels, grabbing handfuls of the ground as he tries to stop his burning tumble across the street. The blast of searing energy ripples across his armor and into his forearms, which he brings up over his head, teeth gritted. John, after a few tries, manages to get his feet planted, even as the hot hell of his attacker heats up his armor. The ground crumbles from the force of his body being driven into the street and slowly, unstoppably, he’s pushed backwards. His body weakening, John fumbles the hammer with his free hand and gets it spinning, before shoving it in front of that monstrous stream. It takes the brunt of the attack but his arms are failing.
He takes a quick glance at the guy, he looked to be something from a horror film, with no face, no eyes, just a skull. And yet, this man’s gaze gave chills down John’s spine.
“So that’s why they call you Atomic Skulls.” John jokes, attempting to shake off the slight fear.
He charges up the hammer and frantically hurls it forward, driving the man backwards in the confusion. John presses the advantage and doubles his opponent over with a low punch, then, jumping off one foot, delivers an arcing, crushing scythe-like blow that drives his face into a fire hydrant. The Skull turns again but John cracks a punch across his face with a metallic ring. He does it again. And once more. He kicks his hammer into his hand and, with a mighty roar, brings it down against Skull’s head for the final time. Something shatters. But it’s not bone or muscle or grit. He stands silently, cautiously, Maggie and her men silent, guns raised, the militia barely stirring.
The Skull then turns, pulling his fists back and launching them forward again, his singular, unparalleled blasts coming from both his hands and his face, causing blinding lights. Maggie covers her eyes. John can’t help but be launched backwards, like a child lost in a breaker on the coast. John yells as he tries to get back up, he starts feeling a burning, almost acidic pain near the areas that the man affected. Gunshots ring through the air and the flow of pure, white-hot energy is broken off suddenly. Skull stumbles backwards. He looks dazed. There’s a small, black hole in his right shoulder and a matching one in his thigh, right where it meets his knee. He turns to look at Maggie, gun still smoking, raises his hand, and John moves. He rolls to the side, clambers back up, and swings the hammer. Skull skids backwards as it cleaves the air in two and comes to rest in the ground. He drives a blast home into John’s side resulting in pure agony, and headbutts him. Normally this’d be an ineffective tactic against John, but the extra boost from energy coursing around his head staggers the hero momentarily.
The Skull presses the advantage and knees John in the face, causing him to shoot upwards, dazed. His head’s caught by the Skull who swings him forcefully into the same fire hydrant from earlier, breaking what remains of it. Water shoots out, soaking them both, and Skull drops him disgustedly, standing in an ankle-deep pool of the water. It was already greying with tinges of scarlet from the blood of the battle. John smiles. He charges up the hammer.
“My turn.” He wheezes out before slamming the hammer down, letting out a current of electricity that shocks the Skull, who howls in pain before causing a small explosion which throws John a few feet. He struggles getting up and spotting the unconscious body, water evaporating around his head and smoke coming from his mouth.
“Hey!” He hears a yell from behind him, he turns to see Maggie from earlier. They stare at each other for a brief moment of silence before she finally says through breaths.
“Didn’t need the help. But thank you.” He smiles through the helmet.
“Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to be the hero type, John.” His smile almost immediately fades.
“Shit.”
DCU Superman #36
Huge credit to BluJay for again helping me cowrite this issue. www.flickr.com/photos/148814185@N06/
============================================================================================================
“Fall back! Fall back!” Maggie yells out as multiple officers run away from the squad cars which explode in green fire. She rushes through the flaming rubble, her breathing raspy as she clutches onto her pistol before firing several rounds off into roughly a dozen members of militia, hitting two fatally while injuring three. She hides back into the shadow of the rubble, noticing flames near her side, but these ones instead being orange. She looks back up to see a guy in a metal suit of armor, clutching a hammer to his right. He lands in front of her.
“Excuse me.” He says as she moves to the side before swinging his hammer in an underhand move at a burning cruiser, causing it to fly right at several soldiers, most of which are able to move away in time, while some that weren’t able to in time are pinned, likely having a lot of broken bones.
“It’s hammer time.” He says, trying to sound as intimidating as possible.
“What?” Maggie watches quizzically as John brings his hammer down with a yell of exertion and the street pauses for less than a breath. It feels like years. Then it ripples and the earth shatters and the cop car spirals back up into the air, along with the outmatched goons. One comes rushing towards him and, like a tennis player, John delivers a crushing backhand. The man’s flight trajectory changes instantly and like a laser, he shoots backwards in a straight line before being stopped by a streetlight. He falls down the ruined asphalt, unconscious, the streetlight bent from the impact.
The few soldiers that remain on their feet rise, unsteady but determined nonetheless. John hurls his hammer and it croons a deep, metallic song punctuated by clangs as it hits home, swiping and dashing the militia members to the ground. He opens his hand to catch it but misses, and it buries itself in the ground a few feet away from him - directly between himself and a groggy soldier. Clearly he needs some more practice. Still, this provided a neat opportunity. John leaps into the air, reaching down, plucking the hammer from the cement mid-flight, and swings it back around over his head in a flip. The hammer drives home, slamming the soldier in the back, and he sails forwards eight feet, right into Maggie’s waiting elbow. There’s a crunch as his nose breaks and he falls limply.
There are two men left standing. The rest are in varying stages of unconsciousness or groaning. John picks one and slides along the street, skidding to a halt, winding up like a baseball player, before taking a swing. The hammer bounces off the soldier’s head and, in the few seconds that it takes John to pull it back again, the militia member sways uncertainly, as if unsure whether he should embrace the asphalt or continue trying to stand. John’s hammer makes the decision for him and offers him a meal of broken cement. A hail of bullets ping between his shoulder blades and he turns, heart thumping. The soldier drops his now-empty Beretta and pulls out a lethal-looking knife, spinning its wicked blade so he’s holding it backhanded.
“Really, man?”
John sighs and casually swats the knife away. He punches the hammer forward and it finds home in the center of the soldier’s chest. The guy skids backwards, arms pinwheeling for balance, and he hits his head on the bent streetlight. He falls over abruptly, like a puppet’s strings being slit. John stands maybe a little awkwardly in the wreckage of his battle, turning to look at Maggie.
“That wasn’t so hard.”
Maggie’s mouth opens and her eyes widen and then something hits John in the back hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Then he’s head over heels, grabbing handfuls of the ground as he tries to stop his burning tumble across the street. The blast of searing energy ripples across his armor and into his forearms, which he brings up over his head, teeth gritted. John, after a few tries, manages to get his feet planted, even as the hot hell of his attacker heats up his armor. The ground crumbles from the force of his body being driven into the street and slowly, unstoppably, he’s pushed backwards. His body weakening, John fumbles the hammer with his free hand and gets it spinning, before shoving it in front of that monstrous stream. It takes the brunt of the attack but his arms are failing.
He takes a quick glance at the guy, he looked to be something from a horror film, with no face, no eyes, just a skull. And yet, this man’s gaze gave chills down John’s spine.
“So that’s why they call you Atomic Skulls.” John jokes, attempting to shake off the slight fear.
He charges up the hammer and frantically hurls it forward, driving the man backwards in the confusion. John presses the advantage and doubles his opponent over with a low punch, then, jumping off one foot, delivers an arcing, crushing scythe-like blow that drives his face into a fire hydrant. The Skull turns again but John cracks a punch across his face with a metallic ring. He does it again. And once more. He kicks his hammer into his hand and, with a mighty roar, brings it down against Skull’s head for the final time. Something shatters. But it’s not bone or muscle or grit. He stands silently, cautiously, Maggie and her men silent, guns raised, the militia barely stirring.
The Skull then turns, pulling his fists back and launching them forward again, his singular, unparalleled blasts coming from both his hands and his face, causing blinding lights. Maggie covers her eyes. John can’t help but be launched backwards, like a child lost in a breaker on the coast. John yells as he tries to get back up, he starts feeling a burning, almost acidic pain near the areas that the man affected. Gunshots ring through the air and the flow of pure, white-hot energy is broken off suddenly. Skull stumbles backwards. He looks dazed. There’s a small, black hole in his right shoulder and a matching one in his thigh, right where it meets his knee. He turns to look at Maggie, gun still smoking, raises his hand, and John moves. He rolls to the side, clambers back up, and swings the hammer. Skull skids backwards as it cleaves the air in two and comes to rest in the ground. He drives a blast home into John’s side resulting in pure agony, and headbutts him. Normally this’d be an ineffective tactic against John, but the extra boost from energy coursing around his head staggers the hero momentarily.
The Skull presses the advantage and knees John in the face, causing him to shoot upwards, dazed. His head’s caught by the Skull who swings him forcefully into the same fire hydrant from earlier, breaking what remains of it. Water shoots out, soaking them both, and Skull drops him disgustedly, standing in an ankle-deep pool of the water. It was already greying with tinges of scarlet from the blood of the battle. John smiles. He charges up the hammer.
“My turn.” He wheezes out before slamming the hammer down, letting out a current of electricity that shocks the Skull, who howls in pain before causing a small explosion which throws John a few feet. He struggles getting up and spotting the unconscious body, water evaporating around his head and smoke coming from his mouth.
“Hey!” He hears a yell from behind him, he turns to see Maggie from earlier. They stare at each other for a brief moment of silence before she finally says through breaths.
“Didn’t need the help. But thank you.” He smiles through the helmet.
“Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to be the hero type, John.” His smile almost immediately fades.
“Shit.”