The Source Wall

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

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I personally think that Justice League Unlimited was cut from cartoon network way too soon and believe that there was potential in continuing the stories. So, this is it, right here, the Justice League Unlimited series continued from where they left off.

(By continuing the series, I will open the door to using more of the DC Universe characters, including but not limited to: Teen Titans, Doom Patrol, Global Guardians, and other such less known teams, heroes, and villains.)

This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the DC Universe, which is trademarked by DC Comics and Warner Brothers. The mention of meta-humans, Justice League, Injustice Gang, Green Lantern Corps, or Injustice Society of the World, and any of the other DC Universe groups of superheroes or supervillains, and any supporting characters, are all characters and character concepts created and owned by DC Comics and Warner Brothers, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the DC Universe. The story I tell here, begins with the series finale of the animated television series Justice League: Unlimited continuity. This story concept is of my invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of the DC Universe story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of any official story line. I am grateful to DC Comics and Warner Brothers for this version of the DC Universe consisting of mortals-turned-demigods and morally gray-scaled villains, for without their animated series, and loosely-related feature length animated films, my story would not exist.

Falling through the immense nothingness that is existence and oblivion, the mind of a mere mortal would shatter into a prism of agony and disbelief. Even a god would falter at the thought of one’s fate pass the boundless barrier that border and encase the acknowledged universe. Yet, a mortal falls through and maintains their sanity, for the most part.
To ask this bald man if they were a mere mortal, they would laugh, and their self-centered, conceited nature would reply “of course not.” In all honesty, could anyone argue with such a man; one who has bonded with an artificial intellect and nearly reached godhood? Could any living being dispute the fact that this mortal is somehow beyond any other of its type? Surely this man was more than mortal when they had cleverly, and almost effortlessly, maintained their criminal lifestyle one step ahead of a god fueled by the energizing, radiation of a yellow-colored star who seeks his imprisonment and fall. Ha, if only the god from Krypton could see this man of earth now!
This man that had even gained governmental support from the very people he victimized with atrocious and malicious behavior. This man that now falls pass the threshold of the Source Wall in search of a means to defend the world they care nothing of except for to rule and control. A hero? A villain? He is a mortal, pure and simple. Unforgiving, apathetic, and callous with desires. A mortal that has tasted the elixir of godhood and is now obsessed with achieving its precipice no matter the sacrifice. This man that descends and rises all at the same time to an indefinite fate is Alexander “Lex” Luthor.
His anguished-laced howling as he falls through a blanket of darkness, ever-reaching for a small spark of light at the end of an infinite tunnel, touches no ears save his own. His body continually ripped apart and placed back together by the universal energies that naturally flow through the Source Wall, shines a darkness like the deepest pits of a black hole. Could it be Luthor’s essence, his soul? Could he be falling toward the fire pits of Hell? Maybe an eternal error had been made and he will wind up playing a harp whilst sitting atop a cloud in Heaven? If he could, Luthor would laugh at both these notions. Life and death are games to Lex Luthor. For him, there is no such a thing as Hell and Heaven; both are the creative concepts of weak-minded fools who fear what they could not explain. But, Luthor can do nothing except scream and pray to any nameless force for an end as he traverses the unexplained natural phenomenon that lies at the end of existence.
A small voice scratches at his subconscious, “but only a twelfth level intellect could survive the journey through the wall.” It was Metron, again with his undervalued warnings. Luthor wishes he could slap himself for his over-confident reply: then I’m over qualified. Yet, Luthor could do nothing but feel despair and eternal discomfort as his body and mind are destroyed and reborn in the same instantaneous moment lingering for all millennia and lasting the briefest fraction of a second. Time was everything and nothing, and Luthor wanted nothing more than to be void of life. No, to be void of feeling. Wait! Ever greater, Luthor longs for obscurity. He had never experienced such trauma, and he had survived bouts with Superman. Luthor wailed and laughed, his psyche irrevocably fractured. All his life flooded his brain. Truer a statement, all the lives of Luthor, even those of his parallel selves. All the achievements, sacrifices, losses, glorious gains, and deaths of every Lex Luthor that ever lived. Ever Lived!
With his vocabulary limited to only howls and screeches and weeping, Luthor felt as if his mind would implode then explode. Nothing made sense as his physical bearings could grasp no beginning or end, no up and down, no right from left. Flipping end over end he tumbled down into nothingness. Or was it that his body ascended to the force that began it all? Was that the Big Bang that his eyes just endured? Did all life just come into existence, or does he see the finality of existence as the universe finally collapses upon itself, decimating all traces of whatever was? Could Luthor had been thrown so far into time that he alone exists with nothing else? Never had he felt so absolutely alone and crowded as the energies of Creation surged through him.
Just as Luthor finally gives up and released his will power to the inevitable end, his body hits something hard. A ground? A floor? Does it even matter? His aching fingers began gripping at something tangible and the dust makes him cough. “It’s over!” he mutters as his body fails to rise, giving in to the experience.

Luthor raised his body from russet stone and peered around. The landscape was so alien, yet somehow familiar, with a horizon that seemed to stretch into the depths of infinity. What he took as the sky, simply because it was above his head, seemed fluid like violent ocean waves, and within the currents silhouetted forms went to and fro. To his left Luthor saw what seemed to be purple vines that reacted to movement and emotion.
How could a plant respond to emotion? And how does Luthor know that they do?
He was in a place where all knowledge and experience stemmed from, he was at the beginning of all existence, at the end of all that ever was and would be. His mind ached but he smiled, “I told Metron I was over qualified.”
From behind, Luthor heard the shuffling of small feet and the unmistakable sound of scrapping claws upon rock. Quickly, he pulled the pistols from the holsters that were strapped to his torso.
Bang bang!
The echo of the bullets searing time and existence collapsed his eardrums, making them bleed. Dropping the pistols to keep his brain from escaping through his earlobes, Luthor fell to his knees.
Something swifter than even the Flash seized the worthless tools of war before they could even hit the ground. Mouth wide and awed, Luthor looked up to see a multitude of piercing eyes from a creature he could scarcely describe. There were tentacles which seemed to descend from an oblong horizontal barrier of glowing black energy, whilst the form of a lizard, sort of like a gecko, ascended from the same energy. Did the barrier dissect the creature or was it orbiting it like the rings of Saturn? Luthor could not be sure. For too long Luthor stared, totally affixed with the piercing eyes of gem and glass and stone. A sonic pulse ripped through Luthor’s mind and body, it was like falling through the Source Wall all over again. “Please, for pity’s sake, stop!”
Instantaneously the pulse dissipated and Luthor opened his eyes; alone again, but with no guns. Luthor tried to stand but found his legs uncooperative. From an infinite distance, yet so close it felt as if his own psyche were speaking, a delicate voice whispered to his soul, “you shall not stand until I see fit.”
With brow frowned, Luthor shouted, “who is there?” His own voice seemed unacquainted, as if he were now someone else desiring to speak to Lex Luthor. His mind still felt like a peeled orange, exposed to the harsh elements which is existence.
“You are either very brave or quite foolish to attempt what you have mortal.”
“I pick the former,” Luthor boasted.
“Of course you would.”
Still, the voice had no physical origin, it was everywhere yet nowhere. Not knowing unnerved a logical and scientific mind like Luthor. He swashed around in his thoughts looking for words, “I’ll ask again, who is there?” Luthor waited for a reply, but received none. With enraging zeal, he hollered, “who are you?” Luthor looked left and right, high and low, yet saw no form.
“Do you not mean, where am I?” came a whisper on retching breeze.
Luthor snickered. Whatever was speaking most likely peeked into Luthor’s deeper thoughts, pulling out what he had truly desired to say. “One lacks respect to look into the thoughts of others.”
“That is a mortal rule,” the voice called back, “and besides, you are in the realm of Existence, where I may do as I please.”
Finally, some answers. Maybe. This being, it was of the Source Wall? Could it be the ruler? Maybe the creator of the wall itself?
“I am not the ruler of any titillating senses you endure,” the voice answered private thoughts. “For none could obtain dominion over Existence and Purpose,” the voice continued. “Those worthless titles hold no place here.”
“Out of my head creature!” Luthor called out. “And quit calling me mortal with such disgust.”
“You dare command me, one which is of Existence and Purpose? Mortals have indeed become flagrant with disrespect and self-worth.”
“I am here for a purpose, and if you wish me gone, then help, I beg of you,” Luthor hoped to appease the being’s vanity. “I want nothing more than to be gone from this place.”
“You trespass, and then dare give order hidden in tone of humility? Your trickery and deception shall not work here, except to offend, Alexander Luthor of Earth.”
“You know my name?”
“I know much and all,” The ground began to tremble as the voice boomed, “and alas, yes, I do know of you.”
Luthor pushed back against a gust of wind and smell and light, and before him a being shrouded in a colorless robe and cloak stood before him. Well, floated. No feet touched the stone ground, in fact, there were no feet at all. Where knees would give way to calves, then to ankles and finally feet, there was nothing. The apparition seemed to meld away into the scene behind. This creature was truly one with this maddening place and that drove Luthor near insane within that very moment. As well, Luthor could see no form to decipher female from male and then suddenly realized how the voice seemed to be both, as if two people spoke to him in perfect unison.
“I am not male nor female, such labeling is beneath my sort,” the being prodded into Luthor’s mind again. “Your limited mind could not justly grasp such a thing as Truth, so I shall indulge your frail and miniscule objectivity, if out of respect for all life only.”
Luthor watched as the specter of nothingness sprouted limbs with appropriate humanlike appendages. A frigid face with sunken eyeholes emerged from beneath a hood that had a moment before housed only darkness, a darkness that expanded beyond the cloak itself and stretched to the end of time. Within the eyeholes a light bright like a nova sparked, forever in fluid motion, never stoic. Luthor gasped as the being stepped closer on clawed feet that resembled that of a canine. “I am of all that is in existence and have no form permanent to cause,” the being whispered.
Just as the being reached for Luthor, in the apparent action of helping him to stand, the hand vibrated and shifted, blurring in such a way that Luthor’s eyes ached. Momentarily out of sync with common-time, the hand began re-focusing, morphing into a skewed rendition of a skeletal hand with only three appendages. Just before it shivered out of Existence and back again, just a moment ago, it appeared to be the hand of an elderly man, but now it was definitely unfamiliar and frightening, which Luthor would have never admitted aloud.
“I am what is needed,” the being continued, “once Purpose has made me aware.” The being pulled Luthor to his feet, and then its hand shifted again, now appearing as the hand of a slender female of cream-colored skin.
“So, I can stand now, oh great one?” Luthor boldly mocked.
“So condescending, even in the face of my unearned gracious hospitality.”
Luthor grabbed his head as a pulse from the Source Wall tore through his memory and essence. Squinting Luthor saw the being looking at him, “you’re doing this, aren’t you?”
“Due to its inestimable infrequency, I am usually far more obliging to guests, and far more, kind,” the being replied with a hue of crooked sarcasm, or maybe, justified self-indignation. “But you will know your station.”
“Fine!” Luthor grunted. “I yield.” The pulse stopped immediately, and Luthor swore he saw a smile behind the darkness within the hood. He would have to play by the rules of the Source Wall if he would to survive. At least, for the moment. “What are you?”
“I am,” came a slow and assured reply. “And that alone should suffice.”
“Yeah, okay.” Luthor knew that the being would continue playing with daunting riddles, and cosmic musing, so he continued his questioning, ignoring the evident non-answers he would undoubtedly receive. “Where is this, place? Am I behind the Source Wall, or within it?”
“No answer would please your intellect and ignorance Alexander Luthor, for the answer is, yes and no, to both your inquiries,”
“Of course,” Luthor chuckled.
“Do my retorts provide you joy or comic delight?”
“Not really. But I need something –” Luthor could not find the appropriate words, nor even a linear thought to complete his statement. Refusing to be defeated, he simply said, “no, I find no amusement in any of this?”
“I suggest asking undemanding questions which could yield only absolute answers. In that sense, your mind could comprehend any statement I remark with.”
Was their smugness behind the being’s statement? Luthor smiled. This being was not so cosmic as it portrayed. Some frailty of mortality, some inkling of humanness, fluttered beyond the spectre façade. Luthor knew he would have to continue whatever kind of game he was victim to, in order to achieve his objective. He was the best businessman that the human race could produce in all of the galaxy, or any slighted dimension as it were. Alexander “Lex” Luthor was no stranger to a hustle.
“I have a better idea,” Luthor grinned, “pull what you need from my mind, which you seem so fond of. Reach in and grasp what I am looking for. Then, if you were to be so kind, tell me if I can find it in this place.” The being said nothing, just floated before Luthor.
The longest silence since he breached the Source Wall passed, and Luthor became momentarily uneasy with it. It was as if all existence went mute, not even that annoying buzzing hum that accompanies the lack of sound. “Would that be, appropriate?” Luthor pushed.
“Your Earth is under siege,” the being began, “by the ruler of Apokolips, known as Darkseid.”
“Go on, please.” Luthor smiled.
“You seek a means to stop this creature known as a New God?”
“Ha!” Luthor’s inappropriate self-worth blinded him from the fact that the being had asked a question, rather than voicing another riddle. “Darkseid is no god!”
“Yes, of course. You would never attach such a lofty and fragile title.”
“Got that right,” Luthor boasted. “Darkseid is nothing more than an alien despot, possessing advanced technology and weaponry, trying to turn Earth into cinder because of an understandable grudge against another alien that doesn’t belong on my planet.”
The being refused to comment on Luthor’s unusual possessive vocabulary over an entire world. Luthor sighed, “at the risk of sounding rude, is there something here that could stop Darkseid?” The being responded by lifting its cloaked arm and extending a bony, lengthy appendage. Luthor turned accordingly and saw a shape in the distance, one that resembled a peapod. It seemed to be miles away at first, but as Luthor walked toward it, suddenly it was at his fingertips.
It was massive, like a boulder, and covered in throbbing veins, as if it were alive and breathing. Luthor slowly circled it, not daring to touch. After three times around, out of nowhere, there appeared a translucent membrane sectioned off, revealing what was within. At first, Luthor only saw a silhouette, but gradually, the form of human man could be seen. “Who is in there?” he asked.
No response from the observant being of the Source Wall. “Why so quiet now?” Luthor asked. The being remained silent. “So be it.” Luthor looked the odd pod over, then placed his palm onto the membrane. It shrilled away and steam escaped from the opening. Luthor refused to allow fear to overcome him. He peered inside. “A man?” he scoffed.
Maybe not a man, but definitely a creature with the unmistakable form of one. It sat within the pod, eyes closed, as if they were asleep. A cavernous sleep that endured a few millennia. There was a strong and pronounced chiseled chin, flawless physique reminiscent of archaic Greek marble sculptures, and no hair atop a shiny bald dome of a head. Luthor felt proud, as the figure within the pod reminded him of himself. He could not hide the smile.
Even though it was inside the odd pod, Luthor calculated that it would stand at least seven feet, if not much more. He watched as the chest swelled and receded. The thing breathed? Luthor suddenly shuddered, moving back, stumbling over his feet, as if fear had finally gripped his stubborn soul. The thing within the pod made him think of Amazo’s android, but as if this were the absolute perfect version of the self-made immortal that seemed to be unstoppable.
“I assure you,” the being of the Source Wall began, “this is not the manufacturing of a mortal of Earth. This is perfection personified by Existence. That is not fleshed tissue covering bone and muscle, but rather, it is Absolution, Irrevocability, and Judgment enclosed by the very fabric of the universe.”
“No more nonsense,” Luthor demanded. “What is this thing? And how does it stop Darkseid?”
“I did not claim that this was your solution.”
Luthor laughed. Fed up, he shook his head. “You pointed this way,” he motioned to the pod.
“Is there but a solitary solution, in any direction suggested, at any given time?”
Luthor hated that this annoying and absurd being had a point. He pushed himself away from the pod to seek what was beyond it. Upon the ground was a mandala-type arrangement of black stones, and at its center hovered a sphere of energy. It shimmered with a brilliance Luthor had yet experienced. His mind raced and enlightenment bowled his psyche over. It felt like the brain-freeze children described when they haphazardly and swiftly gorged themselves with cold ice cream. “The anti-life equation?”
“Would that not yield the onslaught of the bringer-of-death known as Darkseid?”
“It would but briefly stop his attack.” Luthor peered deeply into the rotating specs of energy that appeared to be symbols of some sort. Concept, idea, hope, free-will; it all orbited upon itself. At first Luthor thought it was in random zig-zags, but soon realized there was an intricate pattern.
“Your mind grasped its meaning far swifter than anticipated,” the being said. “Even in lieu of the advancement your mind has endured from your time melded with the construct Brainiac.”
“It was as I told Metron, I’m over qualified.” Luthor touched the equation that pulsated on such a diverse multitude of dimensions that the idea of four alone was incalculably ignorant. It was so far beyond time and space that Luthor began to laugh uncontrollably. He quickly regained his composure, actually apologizing for the momentarily acceptance of insanity and absurdness. He asked the being if he could take the equation to Darkseid, and was told yes.
“Could you send me back?” Luthor mused. The being nodded. “Well, I will be out of your hair soon, sort-to-speak.” Luthor held the equation gently, like a newborn. He looked down at his green apparel, and empty holsters, his lips twisting in revulsion. A thought hit him before the being of the Source Wall could initiate travel accommodations. “One moment. Could you send me to my office first?”

Lex Luthor felt that an eternity had passed since the being of the Source Wall had thrown him back to feeble reality, into his office to change outfits, and finally to the battleground that saw Darkseid hunched over a weakened Superman. Darkseid had been holding a kryptonite knife, intending to carve out the Kryptonian’s heart. For a moment, Luthor had desired to watch the death of Superman, but felt the irony of saving him would eat at supes forever. He could not have passed that opportunity up.
Luthor had offered Darkseid the Anti-Life Equation, and then had been dragged back to the Source Wall, then forced beyond it. The sensation of boring through the Source Wall a second time, Luthor quickly discovered, was just as painfully intense as when he first endured it. His mind peeled away, his secrets escaped into the void, and his flesh plopped down unto stone, just beneath the floating being of the Source Wall.
Luthor looked up, and the being looked as if it had just cast him away a moment before. Maybe no time at all had passed within the Source Wall. Luthor sat up, tilting his head side-to-side, cracking his neck. Slowly, an unholy laughter began trickling from his mouth, like a small bubbling brook intended to be a mighty, rushing river of force. “What do you think Darkseid? Was it all you had dreamed?”
Only silence. Luthor looked left and right, up and down. He saw no one other than the being that had annoyed him earlier. “Where is Darkseid? I know for a fact that he touched the equation. He should be here, trapped for all time like me.”
“Again, your understanding both baffles and exceeds anticipation,” the being sighed. “True, when one solves the equation, they are forever bound to the Source Wall. You understood that almost immediately.” The being pulled away its hood, and Luthor was shocked to see a sleek, triangular head of leathery white that tapered into a rounded bulge that hung at the end of a wavy tentacle-like appendage that mounted the head. “Yet, you should have realized that one’s path is not that of another.”
“What does that mean,” Luthor hollered.
The being grinned, revealing blue-stained spiky teeth, “I never intended, nor achieved by coincidence, to mislead you Alexander Luthor. I attest, that you, in all of your pride, stubbornness, mortality, and self-righteous indignation, have quite effectively and humorously hustled yourself.”

Submitted: September 01, 2022

© Copyright 2022 CENTAURI ADAMS. All rights reserved.

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