Chapter Text
Out in the far reaches of the cosmos, in a galaxy very near to our own, there once was a planet not entirely dissimilar to earth. Its people too once stepped out from their caves and into the arms of each other, so many centum millennium ago. Together they built families, tribes, and civilizations. They learned how to forage for food. Soon enough, it occurred to them that they could grow their own food in the safety of their territory. Then, when the famines came, the primordial people of Krypton, still so early in the cradle of life on their planet, learned how to kill to survive.
With their bellies full, their minds ached in hunger. Not a hunger for food, but a hunger for knowledge, safety, comfort, and stability. Their tribes turned into nations, their territories into cities, their shelters into buildings, their disputes into wars. These wars taught them how to forge metal into weapons, how to turn rock into city walls, and how to kill for power. These cities expanded their walls, conquering whatever other nations they could until they became conquered themselves.
Soon when these mega-nations could only fight to a stalemate, a sort of agreement could be established. The fighting and dying would cease and in return the nations of Krypton could work together for the betterment of each other. With the absence of war, their souls longed for fulfillment. Men enslaved other men to do the needed work and used their own time pursuing leisure. These leisure-men learned how to construct art, religion, and great scientific advances. These were all the things needed for a joint culture, and they were kept from the enslaved masses. Yet the enslaved masses still bore witness to them. So it was, upon witnessing the injustices of their lots, the word of revolt began to spread amongst the slaves of Krypton. So it was the leisure-men remembered the horrors of war, and became afraid. So it was that another lesson should be learned, how to kill in the name of peace.
And yet the peace did not come. Instead there was revolution beneath the crimson sun. All across the land of Krypton, masses arose against those who oppressed them. At times, they were successful, at times they were not. As this was happening, the kryptonian understanding of science continued to evolve. Stone cities became bustling metal metropoli, fire and steam were replaced with electricity and the power of the atom, many even began to turn their eyes to the very stars themselves as an escape from the bloody battles of their homeworld. Slavery was abolished, at the very least in polite society, yet still the lower classes rallied against their oppression. This is when the idea occurred to introduce a form of mobility. Those at the bottom should be allowed an ostensible access to the top. It wouldn’t be easy, of course, but who could complain if it was technically possible. This is when they introduced capital. Stones and gems that had been looked on favorably could be traded in place of service or good, and, notably, no service or good could be officially traded without them. Those at the top would have many, those at the bottom would not. Whether they intended this or not, it is also when the people of Krypton learned how to kill without ever raising their hand nor their head.
With the introduction of capital, success became very easy to measure. Those with much capital were successful, those with little capital were unsuccessful, and thus looked upon poorly. Capital could be gained by many avenues. Great scientific advancement was one of them, and the sciences exploded to an unthinkable proportion on Krypton during this age. A great entertainer could accrue a large amount of capital, though so could an exploitative mind. And yes, in the great irony of Krypton, vast quantities of capital could be gained through war. As some of these men of capital pulled their resources from the very flesh of the planet, others looked for it beyond the confines of Krypton. It was one of these men that first made contact with extraterrestrial life. A deep space probe was captured by an alien construct and studied intensely. When this intelligence had surmised the presence of Krypton studying it as well, a proposition was made. The alien had no intentions of war, it came in peace, and for Krypton’s troubles, the alien promised it knowledge, power, and riches far greater than they’ve ever seen before. And Lo, Krypton had learned its final lesson, that it too can be killed.
Jor-El, one the chief scientists of Krypton, had attempted to warn them, but by that point it was too late. Many on Krypton had turned their hearts away from the true god Rao and began to worship this great intelligence in the sky. Even those that weren’t its acolytes found its presence far too lucrative or enticing to dissuade. As such, Jor-El’s warnings of apocalypse were written off as catastrophisation. Yet still the ground beneath them quaked, the winds carried on them destruction, and the very waters of Krypton turned to flame. It took the vanishing of Kandor, a capital city housing over 8 million, to finally open the eyes of the kryptonians.
Unfortunately, by the time Kandor disappeared into a hale of unholy light, when Krypton realized its impending fate, the star-crossed planet was already doomed. Disasters, both natural and unnatural, had claimed countless lives. Those who worshiped the alien arose from their churches of the purple-dotted pyramid. With their eyes glowing a ghastly amethyste, with their minds now a slave that thing from the blackened eternity of space, with their bodies dripping a terrible technological ichor, they took to the streets. They converted who their master demanded, transforming them to technological terrors. Those the alien did not desire were killed, burnt, or dissected alive. The silver citadels came crumbling down. The very crevices of Krypton opened to swallow its people whole. The planet was beset upon by an unknowable fathom that they themselves had pulled from the depths of oblivion.
Many tried to escape. The richest among them could afford a form of spacecraft, but none could leave the atmosphere without the alien’s forces decimating them. Jor-El, however, had planned ahead. In his lifetime of scientific discovery, he had learned how to access another dimension. This plane devoid of life, this “phantom zone”, was technically habitable, but stark and barren. In it, time stood still, and to force somebody to live out a life there would be to condemn them to countless epochs of torture. Yet, a curious truth emerged when traversing the Phantom Zone. As long as one knew how to navigate it, one could use it to traverse this dimension as well. To the outside world, as long as you moved quickly enough, it would appear as if it were a form of teleportation. This is how Jor-El and his family were meant to escape the dying Krypton.
He had built a craft capable of traversing this Phantom Zone. He had tested it with a smaller, almost basket like, version and the family pet to make sure organic life could survive the trip. The experiment was a success, and Jor-El had plotted a path through the Phantom Zone to a safe planet. The atmosphere was different there. The gravity was less strong as well, the technology far less advanced and, oddly enough, their sun was yellow. But the people looked the same as them, the air was breathable, the food could nourish them. They could hide there, as long as they learned to control their reactions to an alien ecosystem. Jor-El built a much larger craft for the voyage. It could house him, his wife Lara-Zod, and their infant child, Kal. The on board Phantom Zone projector would allow them to leave this dimension before they reached the upper limits of the atmosphere. Krypton may die, but they would live.
The time had come. In his hand, Jor-El held a crystal codex. On it was housed all of the art, knowledge, and culture of Krypton that Jor-El longed to preserve. The alien’s acolytes rallied against the walls of his estate. The ground shook beneath his feet, and, looking out the window, Jor-El could see a bloody hand burst through his outer walls.
“Security integrity has dropped to 98%” came the chipper monotone of the estate’s artificial intelligence.
“Thank you Kelex.” Jor-El responded as he hurriedly made his way downstairs. The response was mostly a formality, and if Jor-El had any more time to think on it he would wonder why he had bothered.
“Further scans indicate that the structural integrity of Krypton’s core has degraded further to 45% of optimal status.” Kelex continued. “If you wish to vacate, I would suggest you take prompt action Jor-El.”
“That was the plan, yes.”
“I am delighted to hear that Jor-El. Kal-El, Lara-Zod, and their guests are awaiting you downstairs in the hangar.”
A chill ran down Jor-El’s spine and, despite the horrible danger, for a second he stopped running.
“Kelex?” He asked. “What do you mean by ‘their guests’?”
If there were any men left to record her story, they would likely have labeled Lara-Zod as the victim of sentimentality. Jor-El had warned her not to let others know about the craft lest they attempt to steal it for themselves. It was a fine-tuned piece of scientific equipment, specially built for two adults and an infant. Not only was it possible that another group of people could throw off the weight of the craft, thus affecting the precise calculations required for a journey such as this, but they may not know how to operate the intricate machinery. Jor-El considered explaining this to his brother-in-law, however the plasma rifle held to Lara-Zod’s back did not give off the impression of an understanding mindset.
Lara-Zod came from a military family. Her younger brother, Non-Zod was a renowned warrior who had trained his body to almost legendary levels of strength. Her sister-in-law, Ursa-Von, had once been an agent of espionage rumored to have slain entire armies in their sleep. They had even begun training her niece, Kara-Zod, at the young age of ten to become a killer. (Though at the age of sixteen when these events took place, she had still yet to take another life. It was a point of contention for much of The House of Zod, but not for Lara.) However, their ruthlessness and brutality paled in comparison to Lara’s eldest brother, patriarch to The House of Zod, victor of the battle of Argo City, warmonger supreme of Krypton, General Ur-Zod.
Ur-Zod had long since been the tormentor of Lara-Zod. When they were children and had been conditioned into warriors, Lara was the weakest among them by far. Physical training pushed her beyond her limits. Learning the histories of Krypton’s various wars inspired the nightmares that would haunt her throughout her life. Sparring with her siblings often brought her within an inch of her life. It was Ur-Zod that nursed her back to health, that made sure she was once again in fighting shape. Then, of course, it was Ur-Zod that would fight her again. As such he was her only source of comfort and safety, but also her main source of danger. It was this that left her so indebted to him, no matter how much she despised his actions. This is why, even though she knew the end results of her actions, she still chose to tell General Zod of how to escape the dying Krypton. This is why she was so disappointed in herself as she stood, cradling her baby in his crimson swaddle, crying silently as her husband begged for their lives.
“Please Ur, just set the rifle down.” pleaded Jor, though he knew he was pleading in vain. General Zod was not paying attention to his brother-in-law. Instead he was simply keeping Lara captive only to allow his family time enough to board the interdimensional spacecraft behind him.
“Ursa!” Called out the General, “Have you found the data crystals on the ship? Do you know how to operate it yet?”
“Yes my lord” responded the spy. In her hands she held crystal codexes similar to Jor-El’s. One held the instructions and flight patterns for the craft, the other stored not science and culture but history and war.
Another quake shook the ground and even from their stronghold beneath the surface of Krypton they could hear laser fire above.
“Security integrity has dropped to 75%,” the building informed them. “Intruders have been detected on the grounds and, in accordance with previous commands, laser turrets have been engaged.”
“RAODAMMIT KELEX!” Jor-El screamed through his tears. “Just stop talking!”
“We have everything we need. Kara, Ursa, Non, on the ship,” Demanded General Zod. “We’re leaving.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing Ur!” Jor-El continued. “The ship wasn’t built for this. You are damning your family by attempting to flee.”
“I am sorry to hear of your dissatisfaction Jor-El,” Kelex cut in.
“And you Jor-El!” Barked back General Zod. “You would damn us by having us stay?”
Another quake, more laser fire. Non and Ursa both boarded the ship behind him, but Ur-Zod’s own daughter Kara did not move. For she had become enraptured in terror by the scene unfolding before her. As Zod moved the rifle from Lara’s back towards Jor-El’s head their child, Kal-El, began to cry.
Kelex spoke again “I believe something has gone wrong with my systems, Jor-El. I may be being compromised.”
“You would damn all of Krypton Jor-El?” General Zod moved closer with his rifle. “You would watch the great empire die from your ark in the sky?”
“I would rebuild Krypton!” Jor-El’s fear had turned to anger. “A land with so much promise and knowledge that must bow to the likes of warmongers no longer!”
“There is something wrong with my systems, Jor-El. There is something wrong with my systems. There is something wrong with my systems, Jor-El. There is something wrong with my systems. There is something-”
“And who should they genuflect to in my place?” Zod pressed the barrel of his rifle against Jor-El’s forehead. “You!?”
“Why oughtn’t they be led by men of science and reason then General?” Jor-El shouted back at him.
The ground shook, the lasers fired, rivers of blood and flame flowed across Krypton’s bloated corpse, and still the man in the sky continued his assault.
“There is something wrong with my sys… sys… SYsysmSts wRozxng … jOR-eL. Zxxzxzxxzz… integ…. Zxzxzx… 50%... 40%... 30%... zzxzxxxxzzz… hail. All hail … zxzxzxzxz… There is something wrong with my zyxtems, Jor-El. There izzzzzzomething wrong with my systems.”
“A new Krypton should have no place for killers like you Ur!” Jor-El stood in righteous defiance.
“I will build the new Krypton brother-in-law! And they, like you,...” With these words, the militarists struck Jor-El down to his knees with the butt of his rifle. “Will kneel before Zod!”
“Kara” The voice was calm and filled with love. As Kara-Zod turned from her stupified terror, she saw her aunt holding and infant wrapped in red out to her. “Take Kal for me.” Lara continued. “Hold him close and watch over him, please. Make sure that no harm should come to him. I know that you can.” Kara-Zod nodded her head, and took her crying newborn cousin into her arms.
As glass shattered in the rooms above, Lara-Zod engaged her brother in battle once more. Violence was the only way of life in The House of Zod, and the blood that connected them spilled on the ground.
Jor-El rushed to close the security doors behind him. Heavy titanium came crashing down, preventing the alien’s acolytes from entering the hangar area for now. Lara and Ur-Zod brought mighty blows against one another. With punch after punch the flesh tore from their knuckles and blood clouded their vision. Kara, in her infinite fear, opted to retreat.
Holding baby Kal-El in her arms, Kara rushed onto the interdimensional space-craft where her mother and uncle were waiting.
“We have to leave. Now” She hurriedly informed them.
Yet despite her warning, they did not make haste. Instead they stood slowly and made their way to either side of Kara, suspicion in their eyes. When Ursa-Von opened her mouth, the words she said spelled doom.
“Without Zod?”
Kara came crashing out of the craft, having been thrown by her mother. Though she held with all her strength, baby Kal-El still fell from her grasp. Ursa and Non descended from the craft, ready to doll out a military punishment to their deserter. Kara attempted to crawl towards Kal, but was lifted by her blonde and bloodied har. As Non held her aloft in the air, and as Ursa beat her, Kara bore witness to her aunt’s final moments.
One fire from the rifle was all it took. A laser blast to her chest, to her heart, and Lara-Zod was dead. Jor-El abandoned the barricade he had been building to kneel by her side. As the consciousness faded from her eyes, Kara and The House of Zod escaped from Krypton.
Whilst his only hope of survival vanished into The Phantom Zone, Jor-El, the scientist prophet of Krypton, cried over his lover’s corpse. A dent formed in the titanium behind him. His barricade would not last for long. Soon, like his wife, like his planet, like everything he had ever known or believed in, Jor-El would be dead.
He picked up his son, born only months ago. It seemed so wrong to him, so cosmically unjust, that one still so soon in the cradle of life should be snuffed out so violently. This was the horror of war, and, he knew it now, the horror of great knowledge. If only the people of Krypton had been content, so long ago, to stay in their caves. To never form the tribes that would become nations, to never erect their walls and their weapons, to never turn their eyes to another piece of land let alone the stars, that would be to live correctly he thought. If they did not build their metal metropoli, if they did not harness the atom’s power, they would not have found that horror in the blackness of space. What good were truth, justice, and a better tomorrow if they could not be alive today?
The titanium door was coming free of its bearings now. The alien’s forces would soon be upon them. With a deep breath, Jor-El took one final look around what was left of his estate. There in the hangar he saw the empty space where his project used to be. He saw the love of his life dead before him. He saw where the family pet had slept before it ran away, frightened off by the natural disasters. And, finally, he saw the little basket like ship that the animal had traversed realities with months before. It was far too small to fit Jor-El, but it was the perfect size for his son Kal.
Crying in hunger, thirst, and confusion from the loud noises all around him, Kal-El found himself lowered into an odd metal thing. It was much like his crib, but the walls were far higher and the surface below his back was far more uncomfortable. Surely it wasn’t the time for a nap, was it? Kal had not been fed, he had not been burped or changed. These were all the things his mother did, and he had not seen his mother since cousin Kara was holding him. Where was she anyway? Surely she could make the loud noises stop, or fill his belly, or kiss the boo-boo on his arm. He should grab his father’s hand as it was pushing all these buttons before him. Then his father could go and get his mother, surely. If he cried some more then his father would have to get her, he always did. But instead his father simply pulled his hand away, placed something clear in the crib with Kal, and rubbed his cheek.
“Sssshh sh sh Kal. There’s no need to cry now. Just close your eyes and go to sleep.”
Jor-El closed the basket with his son inside and initiated the launch. The barricade came collapsing down as a flood of mechanical men came rushing in. They overtook Jor-El, tore apart his lover’s corpse, and many reached out to try and pluck the basket from the sky. However, they were too late. The basket now was far out of their reach, ascending out of this reality and off towards somewhere safe. In his dying breath, the last living man on Krypton watched his greatest creation fly up. Up, and away.