The Invincibles (12 page)

Wearily, Hyperman sighed. “I want you to want to get your life back on track. I don’t need you or anyone else worshiping me and I certainly don’t command it. Truth be told, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“
It does?” Stacy asked in a weak, squirrely voice.

“
Stacy, I’ve met all kinds of gods, angels, aliens, and supermen. None of them deserve worship. They’re people like you or anyone else, only different. They’re more advanced or evolved or talented or luckier or maybe even smarter. It comes down to things like genetics, skill, technology, discipline, practice, and so on. Some of it is beyond your current understanding, but that’s all right. It doesn’t make what they do miracles though. It doesn’t make them divine.”

“
You are though! You’re good at everything!”

Hyperman shook his head. “Now that just isn’t true. Before I came here, I was trying to write a novel and failing at it. I couldn’t come up with a single sentence I liked.”

“
Why do you need to write anything?” she asked.

“
Because I wanted to have an actual challenge. And you know something? I’m a terrible writer, but that’s all right. In a way, it’s refreshing to know I have some limitations. But don’t say that only applies to something like writing where my hyper-powers don’t really factor in. I don’t even always save the day with my great hyper-powers. Did you hear about the children the Death Reaper took? Horrible, wasn’t it? I couldn’t save them and that will always haunt me.”

“
You…you must have allowed that to happen. I’m sure you had your reasons, and it will lead to some greater good in the end.”

“
No, a maniac with no super-powers at all outsmarted me! I let people down, and the price was terrible. See? I’m not perfect. Nobody is, superhero or not. I and every other superhero on the planet have lives we go back to when we’re not saving the world. We have friends, families, and bills to pay. Deep down, we’re as ordinary as anyone else. We simply pitch in to help whenever we can. Our powers don’t make us better than anyone else. If anything, you and all the so-called normal people are far more important. After all, you’re the ones we’re always trying to save!”

“
That might all be true, but that’s just what you know in this incarnation! Not even you can process the entirety of sacred knowledge in the flesh and blood you currently wear. Your true self guides you though. You follow your divine instincts, even if you don’t realize it.”

Hyperman closed his eyes and listened to all the doctors and nurses in the hospital, analyzing their patients’ worries and knowing just the right advice and medications to give them. They seemed to know just how to handle the mentally ill, but they’d had years of training. He normally only dealt with the mentally ill when they went on a rampage and needed to be punched out. However, he definitely couldn’t do that to Stacy. She required a more subtle and understanding approach, one with which his hyper-powers couldn’t help him much.

“
Please listen to me, Stacy,” he slowly said. “I’m not the lord or creator of the universe or anything like that! I don’t judge anyone. I don’t choose who lives or dies or goes to heaven or hell! I try to save everyone!”

“
Yes,” she replied. “According to scripture, you try to save everyone in this life and that, in turn, saves their souls.”

“
Scripture?”

Stacy nodded. “We have gospels, testaments, and holy books about you. They fill up whole libraries.”

“
Really?” Hyperman rubbed his chin. “I’m curious. What exactly do your beliefs say about me?”

Stacy gulped. “You…you actually have no idea?”

“
This is my earthly form, remember? I don’t know everything I should and need help filling in all the details. So humor me, will you?”

“
Well, we believe that you…you are the afterlife. Heaven, Valhalla, the Elysian Fields, Paradise. They’re all contained within you. Everything and everyone you save becomes a part of that eternity. Peoples, worlds, and entire civilizations! Your powers come from all the souls you hold within. The more people you save, the more powerful you become.”

“
That’s…that’s interesting, I suppose,” Hyperman said quietly. “Do I have more than one group of followers?”

Stacy took a breath. “Yes. Every group has their own interpretations of scripture. Some think they have to put themselves in danger because they need you to save them, and others forbid that. They think interfering with your divine mission is a sin. A few believe they have to help you in their own way by doing charity work or becoming cops and firemen, getting into politics, or with art or whatever. And…and some even think they have to become superheroes themselves. There are also those who become criminals and super-villains. They think you need someone to save everyone else from.”

Hyperman’s stomach twisted in on itself as he tried remembering the faces of all those he’d saved and fought over the decades. He wondered if they were who they’d seemed to be. How could he ever know?

“
What about other superheroes?” he asked. “Are any of them considered gods too?”

Stacy bit her lip. “I personally don’t think they are. I believe they’re special people trying to follow your example and helping out. I’ve met other people who think they are gods, though, or in some kind of pantheon with you. Or they think other superheroes are angels or even devils that have to be stopped. A lot of groups have their own ideas and not even everyone in a group agrees on everything. And, yeah, a lot of groups tend to overreact or get extreme and…and do stupid things. Like I did, I guess.”

Hyperman bowed his head. How many of his friends had been targeted by maniacs because of these warped and twisted cultists? How much pain and misery had he indirectly caused them?

“
How long have you people been around?” he asked aloud. “How could I never have heard of you before?”

“
Were you looking?” Stacy replied.

“
Of course not! I’d have never thought that anyone would ever worship me! I’m not a savior! What you say can’t be true! None of it! It would mean…it would mean that I’m more different from everyone than I even thought! Not just regular people, but other superheroes too! It’d mean that I’m really all alone!”

Without thinking, while he spoke, he picked up his chair and ripped it apart, grinding some of its pieces to sawdust in his hands.

***

Hyperman paused and listened. In a room down the corridor, a schizophrenic man screamed and needed to be strapped down. He’d drawn the staff’s attention and the noise he made had masked Hyperman’s little tantrum. Slowly, Hyperman breathed in and out, and got a handle on himself.

“
You’ll have to forgive me,” he told Stacy. “I…I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m…I’m sure you understand. I’ll clean up and get a new chair though. You…you know I’d never hurt you, right?”

“
Of course,” she quietly chirped, but had clamped up into a tight, shaking little ball on her bed.

The sight of her like that hurt Hyperman like a Diatomite-x knife to the gut. He couldn’t blame her for being afraid though. She was absolutely right to be horrified at seeing someone with godlike power (her god in fact!) losing it for even a second. His shame kept him from looking her in the eye. He couldn’t lose control like that! Not even slightly! Someone could get hurt! He had no excuse! None!

Finally, he forced himself to peer up at Stacy.

“
Where can I find the rest of your people?” he softly asked.

***

She told him where to find the temple she attended and the others she knew of in the city’s suburbs. At hyper-speed, he swooped down through them, finding the phone numbers and addresses of several other places of worship in their offices and those led to even more. The trail continued all across the country. Faster than an eye-blink, Hyperman flashed through their temples, rifling through all their offices and computers, picking through their trash, and reading their entire libraries. He had to find out everything he could about these people. Nobody even noticed him. He moved too quickly. The temples’ attendants simply thought he was a cool, forceful breeze.

The temples came in all shapes and sizes. There were sleek new office buildings, old churches and schools, farmhouses, tavern basements, and even forest caverns. People of all ethnicities and from various walks of life worshipped there. Their ranks included teachers, farmers, lawyers, judges, scientists, doctors, painters, policemen, businessmen, actors, and comic book artists. The various groups went by a plethora of names. The Church of Hyperman, the Disciples of Hyperman, the Hypermanians, the Hyper-Lords, Children of Hyperman, and more. Most temples actually posed as legitimate businesses dealing in the sciences or even as religious organizations that studied astrology.

High in the sky above America, Hyperman spent a few hours, squinting with his hyper-vision and watching different worship services across the Midwest. Hearing prayers and songs asking for his blessing and deliverance deeply unsettled him, but he forced himself to keep watching, He wanted to know what they were all up to.

Some of the faithful wore regular everyday clothes, while many others threw on gaudy hoods marked up with glowing infinity symbols. Others dressed themselves in full pathetic-looking Hyperman outfits. Photos, paintings, and statues of Hyperman surrounded the rows of chairs, benches, or pews. Hyperman mosaics or a massive infinity symbol dominated the altars. Up on podiums, the clerics’ voices boomed out of microphones as they read scriptures and news stories about Hyperman. Smoothly, they segued into sermons about following his example, doing right by others, making a difference, and never allowing evil to rule the day to glorify his holy, hyper name.

It was too much for even Hyperman to take. They all truly believed that he was their savior. It wasn’t a lie or scam. It was what they believed in their heart of hearts. He flew higher and higher up, trying to get to where he hopefully couldn’t hear any of their prayers or sermons anymore.

***

He floated above the world where the atmosphere thinned, and the blue sky darkened into the thick black of space. Now that he knew there were people doing it, he’d probably never stop hearing someone praying, singing, or chanting to him. Someone somewhere would always be carrying on with “Hyperman this, Hyperman that. Amen.”

Even at this distance, he heard them down below. He couldn’t help it. He knew they were there and had to listen to all their pleas and prayers. It wasn’t enough that he saved all their lives, this world and others, and sometimes the entire cosmos on a regular basis. They wanted him to bless them with good luck, give them smart, healthy children, and help them have long, dignified lives. They were asking for things they needed to work at themselves. Nobody needed super-powers to achieve them. Luck and hard work went a long way into helping make those wishes a reality though. However, they weren’t beyond anyone’s grasp. Hyperman couldn’t fix their lives for them. He couldn’t help them find jobs, meet the right person to marry, and move on after a loved one’s death. He’d save their lives, but they had to do with them what they could.

Still, those people’s struggles and grief touched a chord in him. He had so much power and wished he could do more for them. Maybe he could though. He’d always managed to achieve the impossible. Even before he knew people were praying to him, he hated to let anyone down. Now people were crying out to him for help, and he had to do whatever he could for them. He was a hero after all, and that was what heroes did.

He concentrated, trying to pick out one or more voices among the many that he could somehow help right away. His ears pricked up and listened in on a gang of men loading their guns and talking about attacking one of his temples. He immediately darted down back toward the Earth and streaked across the pallid blue sky.

A short, stout office building squatted down in the middle of a corporate park in Southern Illinois. Still, crystal-blue water filled a man-made lake that bright, freshly mowed grass surrounded. Sunshine glinted off the cars in the parking lot. The temple took up the building’s top two floors. Inside, the plain-clothed Hyper-Faithful ended a service with a rock band jamming out.

“
Hyperman! Oh, Hyperman!” the singer wailed while the guitarists and drummers hammered away behind him up on the stage. “Power on high! Power from the sky! Come save me, Hyperman! Ye-aaaah!”

Three vans pulled jerkily up outside, screeching and skidding tire tracks across the pavement. Their side doors flew open and hooded men leaped out with machine guns, shooting in the windows, not caring if they hit the dentists on the first floor instead of the worshippers.