Post by Al David on May 2, 2017 0:55:36 GMT
The Flash
#11: First Steps Part 11
“Flashback”
Describing the Flash and Savitar’s second encounter as frantic would be a criminal understatement. For the still-green speedster, this was the first time he’d truly met his match. The Flash had to zig zag down the streets of Central City like a drunk driver to avoid being caught by the god of speed. Savitar was faster than before, and for good reason…
“My powers are mine, and mine alone, Flash! The Ghost, The Fallen—they wield my gifts no longer! You will not outrace me this time!” Savitar roared.
“Chess, I’ve drawn a bad hand here! Ideas?” The Flash spoke into his comms as he zoomed up a building in downtown Central City, shattering its windows.
Savitar maneuvered around each individual glass piece and continued up after his opponent.
“Uh…run, Barry, run!” Chester stammered.
“CHESTER!” Flash exclaimed, reaching the edge of the roof.
Gulping, he quite literally took a leap of faith, jumping across to another building. Savitar followed his example.
“Sorry, that’s what Max said last time. I—I thought it would help. God, I am not one for pep talks. Just, uh, think of lightning and, y’know, go faster,” Chester offered.
“That’s not how the Speed Force works!” Flash replied.
The two speedsters raced down the building and ran in a circle around it. Savitar inched ever closer to the Flash.
“What the hell did you do last time?” Chester wondered, panicked.
“I—I don’t know. Chess, I have limits—”
“Do you?” Chester interrupted. “I mean, every single time you thought you’d reached your limit, you proved yourself wrong. Why is this time any different?”
The Flash didn’t respond. Maybe Chester was right. This entire time, the only thing that had really been holding him back…was himself. If nothing else, he could at least outsmart the speed god.
The Flash sped up the side of another building just as a news helicopter came into view. A lightbulb going off in his head, he urged himself to go faster, blocked out doubt to the best of his ability, and neared the edge of the roof.
“This again?” Savitar chastised.
The Flash jumped—and latched onto the helicopter’s rotor! He twisted his body to avoid the tail of the vehicle, and then, using its momentum, he flung himself around in a 180 degree arc. Savitar could do nothing but widen his eyes in shock as the Scarlet Speedster intercepted him mid-jump and sent him flying with a powerful kick.
“BOOM, BABY!” Chester cheered. “That’s how it’s done!”
Savitar tumbled across the roof, but recovered before the Flash could reach him. The two slid to a temporary stop.
“Well played, Flash. I will not underestimate you again,” Savitar swore.
His confidence returned, the Flash motioned him on, “Bring it.”
The two took off, and this time the race was more evenhanded. They exchanged blows, taking turns chasing after one other. Street after street, the speedsters neared the Ruby Bridge. Now playing the role of the mouse, the Flash ran toward it and zoomed around to its underbelly. The race continued upside down beneath the many dozens of cars above the speedsters.
Reporters in a distant news chopper did their best to get a shot of the Flash and Savitar.
The on-camera reporter continued, “—and it looks as if the two metahumans are crossing the Ruby Bridge to—”
…
“—Keystone City!—”
In The Hole, Central City’s foremost criminal bar, Mick Rory watched the news with his hood up, taking another swig of whiskey. Every patron had their eyes glued to the television. Nobody spoke.
“—I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—”
…
“—It looks like they might be picking up speed!—”
Iris West, standing beside Dr. Chapel and a nurse in what once was Barry’s hospital room, crossed her arms and repeated, “Dr. Elias, what the hell happened to Barry Allen? Are you even listening—”
Elias waved her down, and pointed in the direction of the television screen. Iris and the hospital staff finally bothered to follow his awe-filled gaze, and mirrored his expression at the sight before them. The Flash and Savitar had just crossed into Keystone City, visible as nothing but trails of light.
“—Still no update as to the identities of these metahumans and what their motives could be. The CCPD have reported that they believe—”
…
“—these so-called ‘speedsters’ could be connected in some way to Bloody Monday—”
Wally leaned forward on the living room couch, his mouth half-filled with a granola bar. The reflection of the TV screen—and with it the race—flickered across his eyes.
“C’mawn, Bawwy, you gawt this,” he whispered through his snack.
“—and we—we have now lost sight of the metahumans! I repeat—”
…
“—We have lost sight of the metas!”
“AW C’MON!!” complained one of the Children of the Lightning, who stood in the church surrounded by his fellow cultists, watching the news on his tablet.
Elsewhere in the room, the others, including The Ghost, had huddled around their mobile devices, keeping track of the race. Meanwhile, The Fallen gazed up at the stormy night sky. Lightning flashed across his blank eyes.
Near the back of the room, a single cloaked figure snuck up to Henry’s unconscious form and began to shake him.
“Henry,” Gehenna whispered urgently, “Henry!”
The older man stirred, blinking the haze out of his vision. “You…”
“Gehenna Hewitt. I’m with Team Flash—I mean—”
“You’re with my son,” Henry remembered.
Gehenna nodded. “Keep quiet.” She motioned to the cultists around them. “Dial the police. Let them trace your call. We’ll sneak out, but you have to leave your phone,” Gehenna urged.
Henry nodded and reached into his pocket. He went straight to his favorites and dialed Joe West’s number.
That’s when The Ghost finally bothered to check on their captive. Recognizing Gehenna beneath the hood, he screamed, “STOP THEM!”
“Run!” Gehenna screamed, helping Henry off the table.
It took the Children of the Lightning a moment to realize what was going on, particularly since a number of them were more than a little buzzed. Soon enough, however, they all began to cry out and surge toward Gehenna and Henry, who tried to escape through the back door.
Meanwhile, The Fallen continued to stare at the sky. It was only after the lightning blade-wielding priestess called to him, “Fallen! The police officer!” that he acted.
Gehenna had to support Henry, who still felt feeble, through the back door. However, before they could make it far outside, the first of the Children caught up to them. Reacting instinctively, Gehenna let go of Henry and grabbed the arm of the first cultist who reached for her. She then threw him over her shoulder onto the ground, stepped atop his back, and dislocated his shoulder with a vicious twist of his arm. That initial attack made the other Children hesitate, stepping back.
“What the hell…?” Henry wondered, breathing heavily as he put up his dukes.
“I’m ex-military,” Gehenna explained it away like it was nothing. “Marine Corps.”
“GET THEM!” The priestess ordered, motivating the Children to attack before Henry could respond.
The fight was chaos. Drunken cultists tripped over each other to get to the escapees. Gehenna dealt with one after another, breaking limbs and using the inexperienced fighters against one another. She even managed to duck under one man’s punch, causing him to break his comrade’s nose. Nailing the first in the groin, she made quick work of him.
Henry fared worse, but initially held his own nonetheless. He managed to knock out one cultist before being tackled by another. However, he clocked his assailant across the cheek, providing himself the momentum to push his way to freedom. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he missed the Fallen, who crept up behind him, knife in hand. In one swift motion, the corpse-like cultist impaled Henry in his back.
“NO!” Gehenna screamed, witnessing the blow.
Distracted, she allowed the Children the opportunity to dogpile her.
Thunder boomed as The Ghost cackled at the sight of the defeated before him.
…
Making their way to the suburbs of Keystone City, the Flash and Savitar tore their way down the street, igniting a trail of light behind them. Side-by-side, the speedsters looked at one another. That’s when Savitar struck. He tackled the Flash, and the two began to tumble across the ground, exchanging blows. Slowing, the Flash managed to take control, only for Savitar to grab him beneath the crotch and the armpit, tossing him away. The speed god sped over to him and pinned him, just like that.
Finally, a camerawoman in a news copter caught sight of them. Within seconds, as the Flash tried to squirm his way out of Savitar’s iron grip, the sky filled with news and police choppers alike.
“Metahumans, stand down!!” a sniper called from the police chopper.
Thrusting his forearm across the Flash’s chest to pin him, Savitar raised his free hand and began to vibrate it. The Scarlet Speedster’s mind raced for a way out.
“Who do you think is faster: man or god?” Savitar asked, his lips curling into a slight grin.
“Barry!” Chester called through the comms.
“Goodbye, Flash,” Savitar said, lowering his hand.
BANG! The police sniper fired.
The instant before Savitar’s hand reached the Flash’s chest, the Scarlet Speedster’s whole body began to vibrate. His particles moved so quickly that the speed god passed right through him. Savitar had only a moment to recognize his opponent’s accomplishment before he had to catch the sniper’s bullet.
’I did it!’ the Flash thought. For the first time, he’d successfully vibrated his entire body through an object, in this case Savitar’s hand.
With a flick of his finger, Savitar launched the bullet back at the sniper, killing him.
“NO!” the Flash roared, slowing so he could grab Savitar.
However, the speed god smacked his hands away and swung his fist down toward the Flash’s chest. The Scarlet Speedster managed to react quickly enough to vibrate through the blow. His fist plunged into the Flash’s body, Savitar began to speed up his body. If he could vibrate faster than the Flash, he’d tear him apart from the inside out. Realizing this, the Flash focused on one thing and one thing only: going faster.
’I can do this! I can do this!’ The Flash grit his teeth as his golden Speed Force energy flew out chaotically, intermingling with Savitar’s azure aura. ’I can go FASTER!’
Suddenly, in a burst of blue-gold light, the Flash disappeared.
Police officers were too shocked to fire. News reporters stumbled over their words. Savitar looked down at the empty space before him, realization dawning on him. He’d won. The Flash was no more. Savitar’s victorious cheer got lost amidst the sounds of thunder.
At last, a reporter from KCTV managed to state the obvious, “It looks like the Scarlet Speedster…is dead!”
…
Death initially felt like static electricity, but then transformed into the soft crunch of grass beneath the Flash’s costume. The ground began to quake, and his survival instincts kicked into gear. The speedster activated his powers, stood, and surveyed his surroundings.
The obvious thing? He wasn’t dead. The open plains around him looked like any other Kansas field the Flash had seen. However, he found himself perplexed by two particular sights. First, the source of the ‘quake’ was in fact a buffalo herd stampeding away. The second thing that caught him off guard was the group of thirteen scarcely garbed Native American men sporting war paint, who stood just two dozen yards away, each armed with a spear or bow and arrow. Not to be culturally insensitive, but the Flash didn’t think anyone still dressed like that, let alone went hunting with primitive weaponry. Was it even legal to hunt buffalo?
Slowing down, the Flash waved at the hunters in the hope that they could point him toward Central City. “Hey—”
The youngest hunter fired his arrow. In a split second, the Flash caught it just inches from his head. The teen would have killed him if he hadn’t reacted quickly.
Slowing again, Flash watched as one of the older hunters scolded the teen in a language he didn’t recognize, while the others looked in the direction of the speedster, terrified. The eldest hunter kneeled, and in turn the others did the same. The teen initially hesitated, but followed their example nonetheless. Yet again, the Flash found himself a bit shocked. They were treating him like a god…
Uncomfortable with the situation, Flash decided to leave them be, and sped off in search of a town. However, there was nothing but plains, bison, and teepees for as far as he could see. It almost seemed like he’d gone back in time.
Desiring answers, the Flash returned to the hunters, surprising them again.
“Where is Central City?” he asked slowly, emphasizing the name of his hometown.
“Sin-trull sih-tee?” the eldest hunter wondered, pointing at the Flash.
“No,” the Flash shook his head, and indicated himself, “Flash.”
“Flash,” the eldest repeated. The speedster nodded, as the others murmured, “Flash.”
The hunters, sans teen, who looked defiantly at the Flash, bowed again. The eldest motioned for him to follow. “Flash.”
Unsure of what else to do, the Flash elected to follow them. Walking amidst the pack of hunters, he noticed none of the others would so much as brush him. They stood a good two feet away, at least, with the exception of the teen, who not only walked right by the Flash’s side, but spoke to him.
“Flash, oba wachee no?” the teen pointed to the Flash and then the sky.
The speedster followed his gaze to the storm clouds looming overhead, and pieced together that the teen was either asking if he’d created the upcoming storm or came from it.
Before one of the older hunters could admonish the teen, the Flash offered him a smile and shook his head. He then touched his own chest, saying, “Flash,” and then pointed at the teen, requesting his name.
It took the boy a second to recognize his intention. He quickly introduced himself with a hand over his heart, “Ro’tacha.” As a breeze picked up, he motioned around. “Ro’tacha.”
“Ro’tacha…wind…” the Flash realized.
He extended his hand, and, after a tense moment, Ro’tacha took it.
Shaking his hand, the Flash smiled and said, “Nice to meet you, Ro’tacha.”
Slowly, Ro’tacha’s lips curled up into a toothy grin. “Chauk pell’fa, Flash.”
…
The other Native Americans proved just as terrified and excited to meet the Flash as most of the hunters had. That made already difficult communication that much harder, even when he met the chief. All he could gather before the chief started a party in his honor was that the tribe was called the Ochatwa. The Flash spent nearly an hour asking around about Central City, but no one seemed to speak English or have heard of it. Eventually, his suspicions about time travel crept to the forefront of his mind, and he gave in to the tribe’s wishes.
The Flash spent the evening moping over the feast thrown to win his favor. On either side of him sat beautiful women. Time and again, the chief seemed to offer the women to him. Each time, the Flash declined the offer. Eventually, the chief even brought forth a man, but again the Flash waved them away.
The only time he genuinely smiled was when he caught sight of Ro’tacha dancing around the fire. Stomping this way and that, the teen looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. At one point, he began to dance with a girl, who quickly pushed him aside. Without a hint of shame, Ro’tacha took a swig of something that certainly wasn’t water and moved on to another girl. That drew the attention of a woman the Flash could only assume was his mother, who pulled Ro’tacha away to scold him.
Long after the sun had set, after what had felt like millenia to the Flash, the chief led him to an empty teepee adorned with the finest bedding he’d seen since he’d arrived. Thankful, the Flash shook the chief’s hand, and then lay down.
So…where exactly was he? More importantly, when was he?
As the chief ducked out of the teepee, the Flash began to vibrate his body, faster and faster. This was how he’d traveled in time, right? He could do this…faster…
Nothing happened. He continued his attempts for what felt like hours, before surrendering to his exhaustion. Tomorrow he’d find out just when exactly he was…tomorrow he’d go home.
…
The Flash awoke to the sounds of clinking metal. He scrambled out of bed just in time to avoid a deadly blow dealt by a white man wielding a rapier. Flash made quick work of the soldier, knocking him out with a punch, and then pushed past the flap separating him from the rest of the tribe. His jaw dropped instantly, as he froze in place, the horrifying sight before him etching itself into his memory.
The Ochatwa’s encampment was burning. Men, women, and children lay about the plains, butchered like cows. The chief and the eldest hunter stared blankly back at the Flash, their corpses strewn right in front of his teepee. They’d tried to protect him, he realized.
Cavalry wielding rapiers and crossbows confirmed the Flash’s suspicions that he was in the past. The lack of firearms indicated it was likely prior to 1600. The unmistakable sound of French revealed the nationality of the murderers. This was a massacre, and French colonists were to blame.
Kicking himself into overdrive, the Flash took off. One by one, he defeated the French invaders, but in the end he wasn’t fast enough to save the Ochatwa. Not a single teepee but his lay untouched. The screams of the mortally wounded outlasted the thunder booming overhead. Rain poured down upon the fallen, but could not put out every fire. The Flash could only spot one uninjured Ochatwa: someone he recognized.
Ro’tacha let loose a blood-curdling scream as he straddled a French soldier who had long since died, repeatedly stabbing him with a bone knife. The Flash sped over to the boy and grabbed his armed hand before he could bring it down again. Ro’tacha lashed out at him with his free hand without looking, but the speedster caught it. The boy finally met his gaze. Immediately his anger gave way to grief. His tears mixing with the rain, Ro’tacha allowed the Flash to pull him away and hold him in his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Ro’tacha…” the Flash whispered.
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning arced down from the sky and struck the Flash on the open plains. Golden energy coursed from his body into Ro’tacha’s as the speedster transformed into light. In an instant, he had disappeared, leaving Ro’tacha to fall to the ground, shivering, his skin sparking with azure electricity.
…
In a burst of light, the Flash reappeared on a sunny day just inches from a kneeling man’s face. The other man didn’t so much as flinch, although he did appear surprised by the Flash’s sudden arrival.
“Flash,” the man uttered.
To the speedster, the man seemed familiar. His hair was braided in the same fashion as…
“Ro’tacha?” Flash wondered.
Ro’tacha, now fully grown, grinned and embraced the speedster. “Flash!”
Truthfully, Flash hadn’t recognized Ro’tacha at first because he looked wildly different. The boy he’d been with just seconds before was lean and covered in paint. This man was not only built like more of a superhero than the Flash, but didn’t have so much as a smudge of mud on his face.
Returning his embrace, the Flash got his first good look at the surrounding area. It looked as if they were at a grave site with burial mounds plotted all around. That led Flash to surmise he hadn’t moved at all, but rather had gone forward in time. This was where the Ochatwa had died.
Before the shock of his constantly changing situation could settle, the Flash noticed a large crowd in the distance. A legion of Native Americans and Europeans stood back, shocked. To the side, a group of a dozen or so eerie gray-skinned men reminded the Flash of the Fallen, Jamie…Max’s corpse-like, silent brother.
Ro’tacha pulled back and helped the Flash to his feet.
“What the hell is going on…?” the Flash muttered.
“You have returned,” Ro’tacha said in English, surprising him. The lone survivor of the Ochatwa smiled and explained, “White men taught me your language.”
“They…taught you English?” mumbled the Flash, shocked.
“Those who followed me, yes,” Ro’tacha continued. His smile growing ever prouder, he finished, “I have put your gifts to good use by uniting many disparate people.”
“My gifts…?”
“I never got to thank you face-to-face.” Ro’tacha extended his hand to the Flash, who hesitated before shaking it. “Thank you for making me a god.”
“I don’t understand. What gifts? You’re…” the Flash swallowed, then finished, “A god?”
A godly unifier of disparate tribes, even colonists. This sounded just like…
“The lightning, my lord. You blessed me with it, did you not? You gave me speed like yours.” Ro’tacha zoomed around the Flash as he continued, blue energy trailing behind him as he began to piece together the situation, “The ability to control the very essence of life.”
“’Control the very essence of life’?” the Flash began, before Ro’tacha interrupted him.
“I am now the one who does not understand. Have you not watched my every conquest? Did you not intend to give me these powers? I have only remained young for decades past my time because of your gifts, because I could drain the life from my enemies. I assembled my Children to honor you—to honor us!! Was this not your will?” Ro’tacha’s voice shook with a surprising fear, as well as something else…anger.
“Ro’tacha…what year is it? By the white man’s calendar?” the Flash asked, realization sinking in.
Ro’tacha scowled, “The year of their false god 1618.”
“And your people…they call you Ro’tacha?”
Ro’tacha smirked, an all too familiar suit of armor forming over his skin. “In a sense. I am the wind incarnate. They have named me Savitar.”
The Flash felt like an enormous weight had dropped into his gut. It all made sense now. His encounter with Savitar in the present—their interconnecting Speed Force auras—had somehow sent him back in time to the so-called god’s origin. The history books were right. He would fight Savitar…and he knew he would win, at least in this time. He just had to be smart about it.
“I’m impressed, Ro’tacha,” Flash began.
“Please, call me Savitar,” the other man proudly interrupted.
“Savitar,” Flash corrected himself, “You’ve become powerful. Immortality? Raising the dead?” He motioned to the battalion of corpses. The Flash quickly wondered if he, too, could do that, before continuing, “Amassing an army? Impressive. But you are no god.”
“My Children would disagree,” Savitar growled, his anger returning. “Be clear in your words, Flash. What are you saying?”
“Need I repeat myself? You aren’t a god,” the Flash shot back.
“That is enough. If you will not explain yourself, I will discover the truth myself,” Savitar wrapped his hands around the Flash’s head faster than the Scarlet Speedster could react.
Both speedsters’ eyes lit up with blue energy, and the Flash felt his mind race back to memories, old and new: weekends at grandpa Don’s, his mother’s death, his high school graduation, the day he got his powers, his first encounter with Savitar…
“No…NO!!!” Savitar recoiled, freeing the Flash. “Traitor…liar…” After a moment, he looked up, eyes bright with tears, “You—you are no god!!”
Savitar lashed out with his fist, but the Flash saw the attack coming. He sidestepped the blow and launched Savitar forward with two hands. The self-proclaimed deity tumbled before his followers, motivating the warriors to draw their weapons. The corpses nocked arrows and drew spears. However, as he rose, Savitar reached out with his hand, stopping them.
“This is my fight!! The Demon will die by my hands!!” Savitar declared.
Just like that, the real battle began. The Flash and Savitar charged at one another. This time, Savitar was prepared, and his warrior instincts kicked into gear. He feinted a punch, then roundhouse kicked Flash into the ground, sending a tremor across the plains. However, the speedster quickly recovered, rolling up onto his feet.
The Flash knew he was outmatched in hand to hand combat. He only had two real ways to win. He either had to outsmart Savitar, or outrun the pseudo-god altogether. Why not try for both?
“I can do this, I can do this,” the Flash muttered, sprinting away from Savitar, who immediately gave chase.
“COWARD!!” Savitar roared.
“At least I’m not delusional,” Flash yelled back. ’Keep it going. Just piss him off some more.’
Savitar grunted in frustration and attempted to tackle the Scarlet Speedster. However, the Flash changed direction at the last second, causing him to crash into the ground. Savitar nonetheless rose back to his feet before the Flash could return to strike him. The speedsters took off again, zigzagging this way and that. Suddenly an idea popped into the Flash’s head.
“That’ll do, pig,” he whispered.
The Flash ran right into the crowd of Savitar worshipers. He wouldn’t actually hurt any of them, but their so-called god didn’t know that. As he suspected, Savitar slowed to a halt, while his followers shrunk back, afraid.
“How much did you see?” the Flash asked, stalling.
“Fight me, coward,” Savitar growled.
“Answer my question,” the Flash demanded, vibrating his hand. A child screamed. The hero felt a pang of guilt.
Savitar waited a moment, then sighed in resignation. “I know enough. I know that I will return. I know my Children will revive me. The Ghost…The Fallen…The Distant Son…by just uttering their names, I have set the entire plan in motion.”
“Their names?” the Flash pushed. Did he know about his father?
“Their titles. However you wish to refer to them. Their real names are as insignificant as you,” Savitar spat.
Relief washed over Flash. Savitar didn’t know his father was the Distant Son. History hadn’t changed…which meant he was still going to win. If Savitar had to lose…had to end up as nothing but a Speed Force ghost, then that meant…
’Gotcha,’ Flash grinned.
“What’s your play, Flash?! Fi—”
Flash zoomed through the crowd toward Savitar. The speed god reacted quickly enough, preparing to punch the Flash. However, the Scarlet Speedster was more than prepared for his attack. He vibrated his molecules so that he passed right through Savitar. Planting one foot, the Flash spun around and grabbed him beneath his armpits. He then took off across the plains, picking up speed faster than he ever had before.
Savitar tried to squirm his way to freedom, but the Flash had pinned him with the sheer force he produced by running. He knew he could do this, because in truth he’d already done it! History was set. Soon enough, even with their auras, neither speedster could speak. Their surroundings became but a blur. The Flash’s brain couldn’t process everything as quickly as he could run. Finally confident in his abilities, he’d broken all his previous records, but it still wasn’t enough. He had to keep going—he had to run faster!
The Flash could only see white, but he continued onwards. He focused on the feeling of electricity coursing through him and urged it to strengthen him, to make him faster. With the utmost confidence, he tapped into the Speed Force in a way he never had before, and began to vibrate Savitar alongside him as he ran. Their golden and blue auras began to merge until all that was left was stark white energy.
That’s when it began. Savitar’s hand faded into Speed Force energy. He tried to scream, but his voice was lost in the vacuum. His other arm went, then his legs, chest, neck, and, at last, his head. The Flash had won…but he couldn’t stop. He tried, but his body wouldn’t slow down. His hands, too, began to merge with the Speed Force, and that’s when it hit him.
’Mom…’
That memory. The first time he’d ‘walked.’ And the days he’d played with both of his parents. The nights his father would read him Flash comics before bed. His father…he needed Barry. The whole world needed him. They needed a hero.
They needed the Flash.
Focusing on his father, the last time he’d seen him, how much he loved him, he began to see an image in the Speed Force. It was of his father, injured, bleeding on the gravel outside of the Children’s church.
With one last step, the Flash emerged in the present at his father’s side, sliding to a halt, energy trailing behind him.
“Flash!” Gehenna exclaimed, caught beneath half a dozen cultists.
The Scarlet Speedster grinned. “Sorry I’m late.”