Chapter 1: Brave New World

The following is a Story-Focused Narrative between Sparga and Mokaryu̅.

Post Order shall proceed as follows:

Sparga > Mokaryu̅ > Repeat
Additional participants may be approved for inclusion at the consent of both Writers.

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There was a strange sense of peace that went reverberated in his heart as he flew overhead through the skyline up above Parsley City. The knowledge that somehow, against all odds and all the tribulations, his efforts were beginning to bear fruit was something he thought might never occur. Sparga always assumed his goal of restoring the symbol on his uniform as an ideal of hope would be an uphill climb that even his strength could never lift without difficulty. But somehow, one way or another, the people of Earth weren’t totally afraid of him anymore. There was still a large majority of the population who were - the scars left by Kal’s tyrannical regime would never truly go away, nor would the memories of those who bore those injuries. But that was the burden that the Saiyan-Kryptonian hybrid accepted when he took on his adoptive father’s mantle and legacy, however tarnished it is. He hadn’t expected to polish some of that blemish off of such a heavy responsibility any time soon, but somehow or another, there was a decent forty percent of Earth’s population who were at least open to hearing him out. It fluctuated up and down between thirty-five percent, sure, and his comrades constantly told him not to worry too much about it. But the symbol he wore meant something to him - and it used to mean something to the world too. And that meant notion meant more to him than the idea of him actually wearing the crest.
He fought tooth and nail, even against his own long-lost flesh and blood, because he believed in that ideal so fiercely. So ardently. And somehow, the universe heard his passion. And the memory of Kal-El the tyrant was slowly being pieced over by the whispers of Sparga the idealist. There were plenty of intergalactic warlords who always came to test whether or not the new Superman did in fact defeat and usurp the previous one, eager to prove themselves as the top of the interstellar food chain. But none had succeeded. Sparga was settling into his new position as Superman well over these past few four years since his departure from the Time Patrol.

It has been six months since Sparga’s triumph over the Kryptonian warlord who found a way to restore the Planet Krypton - now a barren and lifeless world waiting for occupation after his victory. But Sparga didn’t know what to do with an empty planet he never wanted in the first place. And four years prior to that since the Saiyan of Steel left the Time Patrol, four years since the multiverse was reshaped in a desperate effort to prevent its collapse. And somehow, only a handful of people ever actually noticed the difference, if they did at all. And another two years before that where Sparga actually defeated the man who raised him to restore the ideal of Superman as a symbol of hope. Sparga had kept himself busy in that time, desperately trying to help the people of Earth when he wasn’t preventing catastrophe or thwarting a galactic thug with a chip on their shoulder. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe that this remade Earth pieced together with parts of two worlds he’s lived in separately was in fact the only world he’d ever known. It was just… somehow too right. Like things were finally starting to make sense and come together for him. Things that he thought needed to be kept apart being made whole somehow gave him the clarity to start accepting all parts of himself at last, even parts he thought were ugly. It was like he couldn’t truly be Superman until he accepted those ugly parts of himself to bring his soul into balance.

And now that he had, it was like everything was finally falling into place.

A soft chirping beep in his ear alerted the Superman to his communicator to an incoming signal, and he let his flight’s momentum decline to a comfortable brake. Once his glide had stabilized into levitation, he lifted his hand up to press the button in his earpiece to open the signal and listen.

Sparga: “Go for Superman.”

Green Lantern: “Supes! Buddy! Please, listen. I’m telling ya! Justice Gang is NOT a good name! We’re almost done rebuilding the Hall, we deserve to call ourselves the Justice League! You’re almost done with your patrol, right? Come on back and I’ll show you my eighty-seven page power point about why we deserve to call ourselves the Justice League!”

Sparga: “... Miso, we’ve been over this. There’s only three of us. That’s not enough for– D-Did… you say eighty-seven pages?”
Miso: “I told you, bro! I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this! It’s practically written in the stars, man!”

Sparga hovered silently for a few seconds longer than he’d have liked, shell-shocked by this looming danger. It beggared belief to even comprehend such a colossal magnitude. What the hell did he put in that power point to make it eighty-seven full pages?! Sparga knew he’d have to go back to the Hall of Justice sooner or later, but he was not about to tackle that fight without backup.

Miso: “Supes? Bro? You still there? Hellllooooo…. I know your radio is still on. You good?”

Sparga: “.... Yeeeaahhhh… Why don’t we wait for Braiselle to finish her patrol too before we worry about that, Lantern?”

Miso: “Good idea! I’ll radio her right now!”

Sparga winced, pitying the Green Lantern recruit for that if he actually bothered Braiselle with this. Not exactly eager to listen to those two fight again, he released the pressure of his finger off of his earpiece to cut the frequency and disable two-way communication. He wanted to actually keep his head in the game while he was out in the field. But for all intents and purposes, it was so peaceful and quiet right now that he wanted to just keep flying aimlessly. And if no criminal activity or dangers from beyond reared their head, he’d do exactly that. Earth always needed its Superman, and he was ever vigilant to remain its stalwart guardian. But right now, he was more than content to enjoy this rare moment of idyllic calm, for however long it lasts. This world, this universe, was still so new and had so much to offer upon its rebirth and union of its previously separate parts. And whatever lay in store across the horizon, he was ready to meet it.

 

[Prince Mokaryū]

Unbeknownst to the Heroes on Earth, a mass shape was moving through space with a presence that made it known that whoever was in the ship came to see what this primitive planet, Earth, had to offer to the lone figure who stood in the command deck, piloting the ship using their gravity ability to direct the ship, doing their absolute best not to hit the moon then it was a straight path towards the planet. It's possible that the inhabitants detected the ship once it reached their atmosphere. "Lets see what the people of earth will do first once detecting my ship," the person in a cloaked red and black-robed hood concealing most of their body and face, but subtle signs of their alien-like biology can be shown with the pink tail swishing and curling to the left side, black and red high heels with blue rings around the ankles.

 

[Sparga]

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As with all good things, the idyllic and tranquil peace that carried throughout the day was bound to come to an inevitable end. In his vigilance and stalwart awareness, the subtle shift of vibrational resonance pinged in the deepest corner of Sparga’s attention. It was faint, almost imperceptible even for him. But that intrusion into the back of his perception was something not so easily overlooked, given how quiet the day had been. As he hovered above the city skyline, Sparga’s gaze lifted up past the clouds and toward the heavens above, brow furrowing in focus. Was it another invader from beyond the stars? Or someone coming in search of aid? The Superman wouldn’t know until he investigated.

Before he could act, his communicator pinged again in his ear and the voice on the other side chimed off. The emergency line breached through his disconnect, unifying the frequencies to alert all necessary parties.

Miso: “Whoa, whoa. Scanners indicate something big coming up on our atmosphere.”

Sparga: “I felt it. It’s not moving too fast, but it’s definitely coming toward us. I’m heading towards it now.”

Miso: “You want a hand with it? I can be up there in half a second.”

Sparga: “No, hang back for now. Let’s play this one smart and not throw guns at it right away…"

Before the Green Lantern on the other end of his communicator could respond, the Saiyan Kryptonian hybrid’s elevation level suddenly bolted into a higher altitude when his velocity ignited. The air behind him dragged into a conal displacement as his body forcibly pushed through the atmosphere so swiftly that the oxygen particles slammed into and dragged at one another in compression. As his body shot through the air, the ripple of sound waves lagged behind him, pulling into a cone that burst into detonation as he broke the sound barrier with startling ease. The shockwave that followed sounded akin to a thundercrack as Sparga blew past the atmospheric layers of the planet and into empty space.

As he soared across the endless void toward his destination, Sparga caught sight of his objective. And in no time at all, he swiftly flew toward it. His hybrid biology’s unique traits made it so he didn’t require oxygen in the vacuum of space, granting him a degree of comfort in his travel toward his destination, and when he came within the ship’s proximity, he immediately let his momentum slow to a crawl before stopping at what he assumed was the bridge’s windshield. Should the occupants be within view, they’d catch sight of the male clad in a tight, form-fitting compression suit that left nothing of his sculpted musculature to the imagination and draped with loose-fitting black hakama chaps tucked into black boots. Sections of his uniform were accented with deep red bracers and hip armor wrapped with a black sash. His distinctive silhouette was enhanced by the large mane of bushy black spiked hair that cascaded down past his waistline and furry prehensile tail swaying behind him without a care in the world. But what stood out the most, aside from that impossibly wild and thick mane of spikey long hair, was the bright red S emblazoned across a shield-shaped crest embroidered in almost leather-like plating on his suit’s chest in full display as if proudly announcing who and what he was.

His right hand lifted to stretch out with his palm facing upward so he could wrap the knuckle of his index finger’s phalangeal joint against the ship’s hull and windshield as if knocking on the door casually. His posture was effortless, unperturbed, and nonchalant as he did so, shoulders slack and an impossibly friendly, but subtly overconfident smirk on his features. He knocked gently, but obviously and boldly, to announce his presence and alert the ship’s occupants that they were being greeted at the door.

His expression was confident and calm, and he carried no air of hostility. He knocked only once, letting his knuckle wrap a few times gently to ring against the ship to get their attention before deigning to wait patiently for whoever was inside this ship to make themselves known.