Creation is such a fragile thing. Existence allows itself choice, variety, chaos. It is but an experiment, began by The Source as some form of archaic joke to those outside of its multiverse's parameters. Many a proverbial rebound of its structure have occurred throughout time, a cataclysmic event brought on through distortions of the fabric of reality, via unhindered escape of forces of the cosmos, via misplaced, terribly unbalanced distribution of the make-up from one universe to another, via the foolish manipulations of those ignorant of the powers they played with, unprepared for the consequences, as always. The lords of creation, the overseers of existence itself too often interfered, pretending to revitalize an inherently failing structure. Therein lies the greater issue; denial. A delusional demand for what is considered the only proper attempts at order, at civility.
What sin was this then? To end the charade? To accept a single universe, nay, the entire multiverse for what it truly was? 'Nature' was as good a word as any to describe the truth, the relatively unseen, unspoken but nonetheless inevitable rule of it all: even the most intelligent and powerful among us are eventually corrupted by the nature of the universes, ever persisting, despite attempts by all to stop it; caressing, kissing the boots of and paying tribute to a shattered relic of morality, using mere frail, broken hands to flail within the depths of the endless, crushing ocean, proclaiming a naive promise of emptying the seas of their water with no end in sight.
It had been made clear millenia ago, yet so few saw it; so few were willing to see it. Even those among his New God kin rarely accepted, if not downright fought against the tide. They were Gods, in a greater sense than mere physical might, in cosmic awareness, in capabilities to bend dimensions to their whim, even in acting as a 'pantheon' of forever waging worlds. They were concepts of reality itself, representations with no deceit of only title, but personifications of fundamental, existential forces constantly at war within the evolving experiment of life, at times given physical form to further their efforts, their own ideals. A dictatorship held the bitter taste of truth within the mouths, within the souls of the naive. He made no attempts at cloaking his intentions, at masquerading as though the mortifying fact of anarchy through naturally unconstrained diversity wasn't what kept a god ever awake, ever compelled...
Across numerous locations throughout the planet Earth, seeds had been planted in secret, alongside that of the purely material destruction being wrought throughout the populated, landmark cities like that of Metropolis. Two of the most essential, most important agents of the Dark God were transported with contrasting, yet intertwining missions of conquest--of the soul. Glorious Godfrey, fork-tongued and trusted member of Darkseid's Elite was given the task of unleashing to the fullest his always vigilant, engrossing rhetoric against the 'super heroes' in his news interviews and radio shows, who saw themselves above the law of fellow Earthlings, who acted more often than not with justification only by might. His own sister, Amazing Grace, set forth with the equally devastating, manipulative task of assembling a hopelessly ill-prepared force against these invaders, against the Anti-Life and much more so the unheard of legion consisting of godly beings even the Earth hadn't witnessed in such formation.
The fundamentalist members of the world's religions were sought after like precious gold, the key to beginning revolutions. Terrorist organizations defined by persecution, the poorly veiled unhinged minds of the average inattentive citizens within any nation, easily broken given crude pushes of their fears, their gullibility. And steadily the prejudiced found a new, seemingly divine voice to all of their worst nightmares, and were to be given redemption through the act of fighting the good fight against the outsiders that opposed them. Armageddon was foretold within vast examples of scripture, and at long last the day of reckoning was upon all. The fervor of speeches, of well rehearsed references to psalms was breathtaking to the growing numbers of followers. So often the message relied upon the hypothetical, the prideful, the certainty that only one form of ideology, of religion, of race, of gender must rightfully hold power to better the world.
Via the open view from a tower of Armaghetto resting beside one of countless statues erected in commemoration of his rule, Darkseid observed his own masterwork of tyranny, of servitude, of order. Hands clasped comfortably behind his back, the sight of the fire pit before him illuminated the maze-like expanse of Lowly dystopia, corpses strewn throughout un-patterned areas of the cities, their work completed and their purpose met. The hordes of broken Lowlies cowered, shrouded in the sparse shadows, few adorned in the most lenient definitions of clothing, their opportunity for suitable livelihood in any sense impossible, and now no longer wanted. This beauty of simplicity was indeed the ultimate goal, but foolish plans of achieving this on Earth-0 had long been abandoned, if not re-worked through the reluctant but beneficial process of allegiances forged in common goals. One participant of the alliance spoke to Darkseid directly, a particular part of his endeavors successfully completed, and the time arrived. Sensing a desired intensity from an old negligence, the massive figure turned away, his patience worn thin.
Insanity reigned now through what remained of the major cities of the world, even among many of the scavenging survivors within the withered city of Metropolis. Though factions were originally formulated by both persuasive New God parties, the end goal of course was the ensuing mayhem broadened by the hectic hunting of the Parademons, and the physical annihilation the world was facing now that the group's arrival had begun, not to mention the potential and predictable conflicts caused by other unwanted visitors throughout the turmoil. Boom Tubes birthing onslaughts of Parademons were finally closed, the portion of organic warfare resources of Apokolips whittled enough on this mission. Instead, Boom Tubes of a generally smaller width appeared through the more remote Mother Box activation of Amazing Grace and Glorious Godfrey, their voices now lost within the hate fueled masses, as intended. Earthly weapons of war crowded the streets of Metropolis and most major cities of the world, unleashing a different species of damnation.
An enormous boot-clad foot stepped down through the last stairway of the tower--a young, wounded girl protecting her infant brother in her arms is gunned down by a zealous, blood stained group within a nook of the remains of Metropolis. The parallel leg slowly rested unto the stone step--a vaguely religious homeless shelter within the many slums of Gotham is mercilessly bombed, any straggling survivors quickly beheaded with rusted blades or raped. The dreaded final, all-encompassing step down, before transporting himself and emerging onto the ashen soil of a brave new world, and an aged, legless man weakly nibbles at the arm of his late burnt love, tired, scared, hurting, cold, hungry, broken.
What quick work was needed to bring this world physically, mentally, and emotionally into the grave. To show the ugliness of humanity to match, to rival, to outweigh the less impassioned assaults against steel and glass, and all foundations of the planet. Dozens of meta-human resistors were known of, including a persistent businessman. Few others of a godly degree and unknown affiliation were detected, their unexpected involvement perplexing but not altogether worrying by any means. It was the doors of Heaven and Hell, the foundations of The Source itself and its closest, most empowered protectors that were to be given a metaphysical 'knock' by this proposed New Order, Earth-0 serving as little more than an important, multiverse-intrinsic toy to be dismantled in the largest of scopes, for display as a signal. No known higher dimension housed these lords of reality itself, thus a woeful display to act as a battle cry for rule of existence was deemed necessary.
It was no coincidence that the crumbled earth the gargantuan instigator nonchalantly stood upon was the same on which the Kal-El who'd lost dear Ms. Lane stood, though Darkseid's acknowledgment of such an event was nonexistent, inherent in the measure to which he did not care. A towering God quietly studied the mere man before him. The havoc that had now been enacted for days was briefly ignored, and hellish red eyes glared from a craggy visage solely at Superman and his rage. "... I feared boredom in the process of my descent, Kryptonian, but you are as always a source of entertainment, however fleeting. I have awaited your true arrival, and at long last the collective reinforcement brigade." In spite of circumstances, the tone across the gravely speech was simple, familiar, even casual. Both knew, of course, what was to come given what had already transpired and crescendo-ed. Muscular arms unfolded, his sickening mind now fully attentive. "Shall we... ?" Milliseconds, before inhuman momentum had the stone-like head crash against Kal-El's own, against his being, against his soul--against what Darkseid hated he represented by existing--with the force to level a skyscraper.
It had been made clear millenia ago, yet so few saw it; so few were willing to see it. Even those among his New God kin rarely accepted, if not downright fought against the tide. They were Gods, in a greater sense than mere physical might, in cosmic awareness, in capabilities to bend dimensions to their whim, even in acting as a 'pantheon' of forever waging worlds. They were concepts of reality itself, representations with no deceit of only title, but personifications of fundamental, existential forces constantly at war within the evolving experiment of life, at times given physical form to further their efforts, their own ideals. A dictatorship held the bitter taste of truth within the mouths, within the souls of the naive. He made no attempts at cloaking his intentions, at masquerading as though the mortifying fact of anarchy through naturally unconstrained diversity wasn't what kept a god ever awake, ever compelled...
Via the open view from a tower of Armaghetto resting beside one of countless statues erected in commemoration of his rule, Darkseid observed his own masterwork of tyranny, of servitude, of order. Hands clasped comfortably behind his back, the sight of the fire pit before him illuminated the maze-like expanse of Lowly dystopia, corpses strewn throughout un-patterned areas of the cities, their work completed and their purpose met. The hordes of broken Lowlies cowered, shrouded in the sparse shadows, few adorned in the most lenient definitions of clothing, their opportunity for suitable livelihood in any sense impossible, and now no longer wanted. This beauty of simplicity was indeed the ultimate goal, but foolish plans of achieving this on Earth-0 had long been abandoned, if not re-worked through the reluctant but beneficial process of allegiances forged in common goals. One participant of the alliance spoke to Darkseid directly, a particular part of his endeavors successfully completed, and the time arrived. Sensing a desired intensity from an old negligence, the massive figure turned away, his patience worn thin.
It was no coincidence that the crumbled earth the gargantuan instigator nonchalantly stood upon was the same on which the Kal-El who'd lost dear Ms. Lane stood, though Darkseid's acknowledgment of such an event was nonexistent, inherent in the measure to which he did not care. A towering God quietly studied the mere man before him. The havoc that had now been enacted for days was briefly ignored, and hellish red eyes glared from a craggy visage solely at Superman and his rage. "... I feared boredom in the process of my descent, Kryptonian, but you are as always a source of entertainment, however fleeting. I have awaited your true arrival, and at long last the collective reinforcement brigade." In spite of circumstances, the tone across the gravely speech was simple, familiar, even casual. Both knew, of course, what was to come given what had already transpired and crescendo-ed. Muscular arms unfolded, his sickening mind now fully attentive. "Shall we... ?" Milliseconds, before inhuman momentum had the stone-like head crash against Kal-El's own, against his being, against his soul--against what Darkseid hated he represented by existing--with the force to level a skyscraper.