Chapter 55: The Twilight of the Gods and the Last Supper
The Justice League Watchtower orbited Earth in a tense silence, a silence that had nothing to do with the vacuum of space and everything to do with fear. Inside the main Meeting Room, the air was stale, charged with the static electricity of the anxiety of seven of the most powerful beings in the universe.
The round table was full. Superman was standing, arms crossed, staring at a holographic monitor showing deep space. Batman was seated, fingers flying over a keyboard, analyzing data that made no sense.
Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman, and the Martian Manhunter completed the circle, their faces illuminated by the cold light of star maps.
"They are here," J'onn J'onzz said, his voice resonating in everyone's minds. "Long-range sensors in sector 2813 have stopped transmitting. They just... went dark."
"It's not a standard invasion fleet," Batman growled. "No motherships. No battle formations. It's energy signatures. Billions of individual energy signatures. Mother Boxes."
"It's a swarm," Hal Jordan said, his ring glowing with a nervous light. "They are jumping through hyperspace. They will reach the solar system in less than an hour."
"Target?" Diana asked, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword.
"Earth," Superman said. "The whole planet. They are deploying in a spherical net. They are going to surround us."
The room's controlled panic was broken not by an alarm, but by a sound.
KRSSHHHHT.
The air in the center of the room, right above the holographic table, tore open. It wasn't a clean Boom Tube. It was a Garganta. A black, jagged mouth that forced itself open in the space station's reality. From the darkness emerged four figures.
Big Barda was the first, her full battle armor shining under the room's lights, her Mega-Rod lit and humming. Scott Free followed, checking the readings on his own Mother Box, his face pale under the mask.
Kara Zor-El flew out, landing softly next to her cousin. She was wearing her Kryptonian battle suit, and her eyes were red, swollen, but hard as diamonds. And finally, he came out. Urahara Kisuke.
But he wasn't the shopkeeper the League had known. He wasn't wearing his green-striped bucket hat. He wasn't carrying his fan. He was wearing a black cloak, long and heavy, with a white silk lining. A Captain's Haori, modified for war. Underneath, he wore a traditional black shihakusho.
At his waist, Benihime hung not as a cane, but as a katana, ready to be drawn. His face was serious. There was no trace of his lazy smile. His gray eyes were cold, calculating, and ancient.
"You're late, Urahara," Batman said, without getting up.
"Interdimensional traffic was terrible," Urahara replied, his voice devoid of humor.
He walked to the edge of the table, looking at the holographic map of the impending invasion.
"Darkseid is coming," he said.
It wasn't a question. It was a sentence.
"We know," Superman said. "We are mobilizing all reserves. Titans, Outsiders, everyone. We are going to intercept them in Jupiter's orbit."
"No," Urahara said.
The word cut through the air like a knife.
"If you fight in space, you will lose. If you try to stop the fleet, you will die."
He turned to look at the heroes.
"Darkseid isn't coming to conquer, Kent-san. He isn't coming to enslave the population or plant seeds of fire."
Urahara pointed to the red dot blinking over Japan on the map.
"He is coming to destroy. And he has a very specific target."
"You," Batman said.
"My shop," Urahara corrected. "And the knowledge it contains."
Scott Free stepped forward.
"It's the Rewrite," he explained, his voice trembling. "Darkseid felt what Kisuke did in Tibet. He felt how he changed reality without using the Anti-Life Equation. He wants it. He wants to know how to edit the universe."
"And if he can't have it..." Barda added grimly, "...he will make sure no one else does. He will erase the shop, the city, and the continent if necessary."
"Then, we fortify Kyoto," Diana said. "We bring the whole League there. We make a last stand."
"No," Urahara said again. "If you bring the war to Kyoto... Kyoto will disappear. The city is old, it is made of wood and paper. It won't survive a clash between gods and Kryptonians."
Urahara leaned on the table, looking each member of the League in the eye.
"This is my battle. It is my territory. And they are my rules."
"What are you suggesting?" Flash asked. "That we let you fight alone against Darkseid and his Elite? That's suicide."
"I won't be alone," Urahara said, looking at Kara, Scott, and Barda. "I have my family. And I have you," he continued.
He pointed to the global map of Earth.
"Darkseid isn't stupid. He knows if he concentrates all his forces in one point, you will respond. So he is going to split the board."
Urahara moved his hand over the hologram.
"He will open Boom Tubes in Metropolis, Gotham, Themyscira, Atlantis. He will send his legions of Parademons everywhere to cause panic, to distract you, to force you to scatter."
"Your job..." Urahara said, his voice taking on the tone of a general commander, "...is to keep the sky clear. Protect the civilians. Contain the Parademons. Make sure the world doesn't burn while I deal with the final boss."
"And you?" Aquaman asked.
"I will be at the shop. Waiting for him. With the door open."
Batman stood up. He walked until he stood in front of Urahara.
"It's a risky strategy. You're betting you can contain a New God in a shoebox."
"My shoebox is bigger on the inside, Detective," Urahara said. "And it has traps you haven't even dreamed of."
Superman approached. He put a hand on Urahara's shoulder.
"Kisuke," Clark said. "Are you sure you can stop him? Darkseid... is the end of all things. He is entropy incarnate."
Urahara looked at Superman's hand, and then at his eyes. A small smile, the first of the night, appeared on his lips. But it wasn't a kind smile. It was a sharp, dangerous smile.
"I am not going to stop him, Clark-san," Urahara said. "I am going to serve him."
He pulled away, his cape billowing.
"He is a difficult customer. And as a good shopkeeper... I have to make sure he gets exactly what he came looking for."
He turned to Kara.
"Let's go. We have a dinner to prepare before the guests arrive."
Kara nodded. Urahara opened the Garganta again.
"Good luck, Justice League," he said, before crossing the threshold. "Try not to die. It would be bad for business."
They disappeared into the darkness, leaving Earth's mightiest heroes in silence, preparing for the longest night of their lives.
The return to the shop was like entering the eye of a hurricane. The Garganta closed behind them with a definitive sound, cutting the connection with the Watchtower's hysteria and leaving the group in the familiar silence of the candy shop.
Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust in the air. Everything was exactly as they had left it. The gum price sign. The lucky cat on the shelf, waving its mechanical paw in an eternal greeting. The smell of sugar and old wood. It seemed fragile. It seemed like a house of cards about to be knocked down by a divine breath.
Urahara Kisuke wasted no time on sentimentality. He walked straight to the front door. With a slow, deliberate movement, he flipped the wooden sign hanging in the glass. From "Open" to "Closed." Then, he threw the bolt. Click.
He stood there for a moment, hand on the cold metal of the lock, looking out into the dark, empty Gion alley.
"Kara," he said, without turning. "Barda. Scott. To the basement. Get ready."
"What are you going to do?" Kara asked, stopping at the foot of the stairs.
"I am going to close the windows," Urahara replied.
As soon as they went down, Urahara turned toward the center of the shop. He raised his hands. He didn't use a spoken incantation. He used his Reiatsu. A wave of spiritual pressure, dense and heavy, emanated from his body, sweeping through the shop.
"Fortress Protocol: Activated," he whispered.
The reality of the shop changed. Physically, the wood didn't move. The glass didn't break. But spiritually, the building transformed into a bunker. From the foundations, invisible walls of Seki-Seki stone—the rock that nullified Reishi in the Soul Society—rose conceptually, superimposing themselves on the shop's walls.
Any being attempting to pass through those walls would feel their soul drained instantly. In the alley outside, the air shimmered. Invisible Kidō mines, gravity traps, and explosive seals activated, covering every inch of cobblestone, every shadow, every angle of approach.
On the roof, the force field generators Scott Free had installed turned on with a sub-sonic hum, creating a spatial distortion dome that would cause any unauthorized teleportation attempt to end up sending the traveler into the sun's core. The shop was no longer a shop. It was a kill box.
Urahara nodded, satisfied. He went down the stairs into the pocket dimension. The atmosphere below was one of frantic, silent activity. Big Barda stood in the center of the living room, putting on her armor. It wasn't the ceremonial armor she had used in Themyscira.
It was her full Apokolips war armor. Red and gold metal plates, heavy, marked by scars of a thousand battles. She adjusted the winged helmet. The metal closed with a hermetic snap. She grabbed her Mega-Rod. The weapon hummed, fully charged, glowing with lethal light.
Scott Free was beside her, adjusting the Aero-Disks on his boots and gloves. His Mister Miracle suit was impeccable, the bright colors defying the approaching darkness. His Mother Box, strapped to his chest, emitted a rapid, constant ping, syncing with the house's defense systems.
Kara Zor-El was floating a few inches off the ground, adjusting the bracers of her suit. Her red cape rippled gently from her own kinetic energy. Her eyes were dry. Her face, serious. She was no longer the girl eating pizza on the sofa. She was the daughter of the House of El.
Urahara entered the room. His captain's cape billowed behind him. He walked to the table where Benihime rested. He picked up the sword. He pulled it out of the sheath a few inches, revealing the crimson shine of the steel.
"Wake up, princess," he whispered to the metal. "We have company. And I think this time... they won't want sweets."
He sheathed the sword with a sharp click. He turned to his team. To his family.
"Perimeter defenses are active," he reported. "The alley is a minefield. Airspace is locked down. If they try to open a Boom Tube directly inside the house, the feedback should vaporize the first one through."
"But it won't stop them," Barda said, her voice echoing metallic inside her helmet.
"No," Urahara admitted. "Darkseid will walk through those traps as if they were cobwebs. But it will serve to filter out the rabble. The Parademons. The cannon fodder."
He checked the clock. Two hours remained until the estimated arrival of the main fleet, according to Batman's calculations. They could have spent those two hours reviewing tactics. They could have meditated. They could have sharpened their weapons one last time.
But Urahara did the unexpected. He took off the black cloak and laid it carefully on a chair. He rolled up his kimono sleeves.
"Well," he said, rubbing his hands together and breaking the deadly tension with a smile that was almost, almost, normal. "You cannot fight the God of Evil on an empty stomach. It would be bad for digestion."
He walked toward the kitchen.
"Who is hungry? I think there are enough leftovers in the fridge to make an apocalyptic Nabe."
Kara blinked, surprised. Barda let out a short, raspy laugh.
"You're crazy, Kisuke," Scott said, shaking his head, but with a smile of relief on his face.
"Completely," Urahara replied from the kitchen, pulling out a large pot. "Now, come help me chop vegetables. If we are going to die tonight, at least we will die full."
Forty minutes remained until the end of the world. Outside the Urahara Shop, Kyoto slept under the protection of a psychic invisibility field Urahara had activated so the citizens wouldn't see the approaching red sky.
But inside the pocket dimension, in the warm, lit kitchen, the scene was one of defiant normalcy. The Nabe pot bubbled in the center of the low table in the living room, giving off steam that smelled of dashi broth, soy sauce, and the vegetables Urahara had bought that very day.
There was no strategy. There were no battle maps. There was only food. Kara sat on the floor, legs crossed, blowing on a piece of hot tofu she held with chopsticks. She was wearing her Supergirl suit, but she had taken off the cape to eat more comfortably.
Beside her, Urahara was pouring sake into small ceramic cups. Scott Free was levitating pieces of carrot with a small force field from his glove, tossing them to Krypto, who waited patiently (or impatiently) under the table.
And Big Barda, the woman who had been raised to eat tasteless combat rations and kill before the sun rose, was laughing. She was laughing at a story Urahara had just told about the time he tried to sell an invisibility candy to a ghost.
"So the ghost ate the candy," Urahara was saying, gesturing with his cup, "and became so invisible he forgot he existed. I had to search for him with a spiritual vacuum cleaner for three days."
Barda let out a guffaw that shook the table.
"You are a disaster, shopkeeper," she said, wiping a tear of laughter. "On Apokolips, they would have thrown you to the war dogs just for being so... inefficient."
"Efficiency is overrated," Urahara replied, toasting the air. "Inefficiency is where the fun happens."
Scott looked around. He looked at his wife, laughing. He looked at Kara, radiant despite the shadow looming over them. He looked at Urahara, the center of this hurricane of madness.
"You know..." Scott said, his voice becoming soft. "I never thought I'd have this. A table. Friends. A dinner before... well, before whatever."
"Don't get sentimental, Scott," Barda warned him, though she put a hand on his knee. "You are not dying today. I haven't given you permission."
"No one is dying today," Kara said firmly. She raised her water glass. "We are ready. We are strong. And we are together."
Urahara looked at Kara. He saw the strength in her eyes. He saw the leader she had become. He raised his sake cup.
"A toast," Urahara proposed.
Everyone raised their glasses.
"To the family we choose," Urahara said, his gaze sweeping the circle. "To the exiles. To the misfits."
He smiled, and it was a sad, beautiful smile.
"And to difficult customers. Who always force us to improve our service."
"Kampai!" they shouted in unison.
They drank. The sake burned pleasantly. The food warmed the stomach. Under the table, Urahara sought Kara's hand. He found it. She intertwined her fingers with his, squeezing hard. A squeeze that said: 'I am here. I am not letting go.'
Urahara returned the squeeze. He knew what was coming. He knew the odds were impossible. He knew Darkseid was an endgame that had erased entire universes. But in that moment, with the taste of sake in his mouth and Kara's hand in his, Urahara Kisuke felt invincible.
Not because he was powerful. But because he had something to lose. And that, in his experience, was the most dangerous weapon of all. The moment of peace broke. Not with an explosion. But with a growl.
Krypto came out from under the table. His fur was bristling. His teeth were bared. He looked toward the ceiling of the pocket dimension, toward the fake nebula sky, and let out a deep, resonant bark.
At the same time, the lights in the living room changed. The warm lighting went out. Red emergency lights, which Urahara had installed in the corners, turned on. They didn't blink. They were red, solid, and fixed like eyes of blood.
The hum of the perimeter shields rose in pitch until it became a sonic shriek.
"It is time," Urahara said.
His voice was calm, but dinner was over. He released Kara's hand gently. He stood up. He put on his black cape. He adjusted his hat. He picked up Benihime from the table.
"Barda-san. Scott. Kara-san."
He looked at the three of them. They were no longer diners. They were soldiers.
"Let's go greet our guests."
They left the pocket dimension, crossing the hallway into the physical shop. The shop was dark, lit only by the red glow of the defense sensors. Urahara walked to the front door. He unlocked it. He threw the sliding door wide open.
They stepped out into the Gion alley. But it was no longer the Kyoto they knew. The night sky had changed. The stars were gone. The moon had been erased. The sky was red. A blood red, sickly and pulsating, that bathed the city in a nightmare light.
And the sound...
PING. PING. PING. PING.
The sound of a billion Mother Boxes opening in unison all over the planet resonated in the atmosphere like the heartbeat of a galactic heart. In the distance, on the horizon, they saw flashes of light. Boom Tubes opening over Tokyo, over Osaka, over the sea.
Kara and Scott's communicators burst into activity. Voices of the League shouting coordinates, orders, global invasion reports.
"They are everywhere," Kara said, looking at the red sky. "Metropolis. Gotham. Themyscira."
"They are dividing the League," Scott said. "It is the standard tactic. Overwhelm. Confuse."
But over Kyoto, the sky behaved differently. There wasn't a swarm of small portals. Right above the Urahara Shop, the red clouds began to swirl. A vortex formed. A single Boom Tube. Colossal. The size of an entire city.
It opened slowly, tearing the fabric of reality with a roar that shook the ground beneath their feet. Screaming hordes of Parademons didn't come out. From the portal descended a platform. A gray stone platform, suspended by anti-gravity technology that hummed with a low, threatening tone.
And on the platform, seated on an obsidian throne, was He. Darkseid. He was gigantic. A mountain of living granite. His hands rested on the arms of the throne. His face was impassive. His eyes glowed with the red of the Omega Effect.
Around him, standing like statues of war, was the Elite. Kalibak, with new armor and an even bigger mace. Desaad, hunched and smiling sadistically. Granny Goodness, with a look of pure vengeance. Kanto, the assassin, cleaning his nails with a dagger. Mantis, buzzing with insectoid energy.
The platform descended until it hovered about a hundred meters above the shop, casting a shadow that covered the entire alley. Darkseid leaned forward. He looked down. At the small wooden shop. At the five tiny figures daring to stand in his way.
Urahara took a step forward. He stood in the center of the alley, alone. He looked up at the God. Darkseid spoke. He didn't use a microphone. His voice needed no amplification. It resonated in the air, in the ground, in the bones of every living being in the hemisphere.
"URAHARA KISUKE."
The city trembled with his name.
"CLASS IS DISMISSED. GIVE ME WHAT IS MINE. OR WATCH YOUR WORLD BURN."
The silence that followed was absolute. The wind stopped. Urahara adjusted his hat one last time. He unsheathed Benihime slowly, the sound of steel against wood ringing clearly in the red night. The crimson blade shone, defiant, under the Omega light. Urahara raised his head. And smiled.
It wasn't his lazy smile. It wasn't his kind smile. It was a wild smile. Ferocious. The smile of a man who has been waiting for this for too long.
"On the contrary, Darkseid-san," Urahara shouted, his voice amplified by his own Reiatsu, rising toward the sky to meet the god's.
He raised his sword, pointing directly at the floating throne.
"The lesson... has just begun."
Urahara's red Reiatsu exploded around the shop, clashing against Darkseid's Omega energy. The sky screamed. And the war began.