New SHAZAM in Flashpoint World - Chapter 8
Chapter 8: A Crash Course in Divinity
The flight to Gotham was proving to be an experience far removed from the initial terror and subsequent clumsy fumblings over Metropolis. With each passing mile, Jack’s confidence grew, the Speed of Mercury becoming less an alien force to be wrestled with and more an extension of his own will. He soared high above the patchwork quilt of fields and forests that separated the two major cities, the wind a constant, exhilarating roar in his ears, the sun warm on his face. He experimented, tentatively at first, then with growing boldness. He discovered he could vary his altitude with a mere thought, accelerate to speeds that made the landscape below a blur with a gentle push of intent, and bank and turn with a grace that felt utterly instinctual, yet completely new. The Wisdom of Solomon, it seemed, was a remarkably effective flight instructor.
As the initial, giddy thrill of sustained flight began to settle into a more comfortable rhythm, Jack’s mind, ever the cataloguer, the analyst, began to turn towards the other aspects of the incredible power thrumming within him. Flight was just one facet of the Speed of Mercury. The acronym itself, SHAZAM, was a mnemonic for a suite of divine abilities, a pantheon of patrons bestowing their essence upon him. He was a walking, talking, flying conduit for six legendary figures. It was time for a proper mental inventory.
He started with the ‘S’ – the Wisdom of Solomon. This, he was already intimately familiar with. It had been the gentle, guiding intelligence that transformed his panicked flailing into controlled flight. It was the super-computer in his brain, processing information, learning, adapting at a rate that was frankly terrifying. Super-learning, he mused, a thrill tracing down his spine. What else can I learn? Languages? Quantum physics? The entire history of this screwed-up world in an afternoon? The potential was staggering. Then there was the danger sense aspect. Had he felt it yet? Perhaps that prickle of unease before Zod’s broadcast, a subtle intuition he’d dismissed as general anxiety? He’d have to pay more attention, learn to recognize its signature. Hypnosis… that was a strange one. Could he actually influence people’s minds? The thought made him vaguely uncomfortable. It felt manipulative, a line he wasn’t eager to cross, even if it might prove useful. And omnilingualism – the ability to understand and speak any language. He hadn’t had a chance to test that yet, but the implications were huge, especially in a world potentially filled with unknown alien threats.
Next, ‘H’ – the Strength of Hercules. This was more straightforward. Super strength. He’d felt a hint of it scaling that fire escape back in Metropolis – the rusted metal had groaned under his grip, not from his weight, but from the sheer, effortless power he’d exerted. He hadn’t truly tested its limits. Could he lift a car? A building? The thought was both exhilarating and deeply unsettling. The potential for accidental destruction was immense. He made a mental note to be extraordinarily careful with his new physique. One ill-judged high-five and he could send someone into orbit.
Then came ‘A’ – the Stamina of Atlas. Self-sustenance and infinite stamina. He paused his mental cataloguing to consider this. He hadn’t eaten since that ill-fated bowl of popcorn in his old life, what felt like an eternity ago. He hadn’t slept. Yet, he felt no hunger, no fatigue. He felt… energized, vibrant, as if he were plugged directly into an infinite power source. The implications were profound. He didn’t need to eat, sleep, or even breathe, apparently – though he was still breathing out of habit, the rush of air a familiar sensation. This self-sufficiency would be a massive advantage, especially if things went as badly as he feared. He could keep going, keep fighting, long after any normal human, or even Kryptonian reliant on yellow sun, would have collapsed.
The ‘Z’ was next – the Power of Zeus. This was the big one, a veritable grab-bag of divine attributes. Magical Resistance. Untested, but a comforting thought given the nature of his own abilities and the potential for other magic-users in this, or any, universe. Physical Enhancement. This was clearly active – his strength, speed, senses, all were magnified to an incredible degree. Interdimensional Travel. His mind snagged on this one. The Rock of Eternity existed outside normal dimensions. He had been pulled from his reality into this Flashpoint world. Was that Zeus’s power at play, facilitated by the Wizard? Or was it the “old magic” the Wizard had mentioned? More importantly, could he control it? Could he use it to get home? A sharp pang of longing, so intense it almost made him falter in his flight, shot through him. The thought of his cluttered apartment, his mundane job, his predictable life, had never seemed so appealing. But the power was untested, and the idea of blindly attempting interdimensional travel was a recipe for unimaginable disaster. He mentally shelved that one under ‘Desperate Last Resorts Only.’
The list under Zeus continued. Spell Source and Sorcery. This was potentially a game-changer. He wasn’t just wielding pre-packaged powers; he was a source of magic. Could he learn to cast actual spells, to shape magical energies beyond the intuitive uses he’d managed so far? The Wizard had been a sorcerer. The thought of delving into actual spellcraft was both daunting and incredibly alluring. Another one for the ‘to learn, carefully’ pile. Advanced Healing. If he did get hurt, how quickly would he recover? Could he regenerate from serious injuries? He wasn’t keen to find out empirically, but it was a reassuring safety net. Lightning. Ah, the iconic power. The Wizard had used it to trigger his transformation. Could he wield it himself? Summon bolts from the heavens, or from his own hands? The thought sent a shiver of anticipation through him. This one, he felt an undeniable urge to test. Soon. And finally, Weather Control. Manipulating storms, calling down blizzards or hurricanes? That seemed like an advanced skill, far beyond his current pay grade. For now, he’d settle for not accidentally causing a localized drizzle every time he got emotional.
Penultimate on the list, the second ‘A’ – the Courage of Achilles. Invulnerability and Optimism. Invulnerability was a big one. Was he bulletproof? Could he walk through fire, withstand explosions? Like the advanced healing, it was a power he hoped not to have to test too severely, but the thought of being impervious to harm was a significant comfort. As for Optimism… Jack gave a dry, internal laugh. “Could definitely use more of that,” he thought, his natural cynicism warring with the faint, persistent sense of hope that now seemed to underly his thoughts, a subtle warmth that hadn’t been there before. Was this the Courage of Achilles at work, a magical Prozac? Or was it just a side effect of flying at Mach-whatever above the clouds?
And finally, ‘M’ – the Speed of Mercury. Super Speed and Flight. He was currently reveling in the flight aspect. But super speed wasn’t just about flying. Could he run at incredible velocities? Think at super speed, processing information and reacting faster than any human? This, combined with Solomon’s wisdom, would make him a formidable tactical thinker, if he could learn to control it.
The sheer breadth and depth of these powers were staggering. He was a divine arsenal, a one-man pantheon. And he had absolutely no idea what he was truly capable of, or how to responsibly manage any of it beyond the most basic applications.
The urge to test one of the more… active… powers was growing irresistible. Lightning. The Power of Zeus. It felt like a live wire humming just beneath his skin, waiting to be unleashed. He scanned the landscape below. He was flying over a vast, uninhabited stretch of marshland now, miles from any discernible human settlement. Perfect. If he was going to accidentally smite something, better it be a patch of unoccupied swamp.
He slowed his flight, coming to a hover high above the murky water and tall grasses. How did one summon divine lightning? Did he need to shout something? Invoke Zeus’s name? He recalled the Wizard’s stance, the way he’d held the staff (which Jack could still sense, like a phantom limb, ready to be resummoned). He tried to mimic that sense of authority, that deep connection to the primal forces of magic.
He focused his will, picturing a bolt of pure, incandescent energy forming, crackling, ready to strike. He extended a hand, palm open, towards a particularly desolate patch of water. “Okay, Zeus, old buddy,” he muttered, “let’s see some sparks.”
For a moment, nothing happened. He felt a flicker of disappointment, then a surge of frustration. Was it like the flying? Did he need to try a few times, let Solomon’s wisdom kick in? He concentrated harder, pouring more of his will, more of that thrumming internal energy, into his outstretched hand.
A faint tingling started in his palm. It grew, rapidly, into an intense, prickling sensation, like a thousand tiny needles. The air around his hand seemed to crackle, the scent of ozone sharp and clean in his nostrils. A ball of white-hot energy, small at first, then swelling rapidly, coalesced above his palm. It was blindingly bright, spitting miniature lightning bolts like an angry celestial kitten.
“Whoa,” he breathed, a mixture of fear and exultation coursing through him. This was it. Real, honest-to-Zeus lightning.
With a grunt of effort, he thrust his hand forward, mentally willing the bolt to strike the patch of water he’d targeted. The ball of energy leaped from his hand with a deafening CRACK-BOOM that echoed across the marshlands, a searing white lance of pure power. It struck the water, and the surface erupted in a geyser of steam and superheated mud. The shockwave buffeted him even at this altitude.
“Holy…” he began, his eyes wide with shock and awe at the raw destructive force he’d just unleashed. It was incredible. It was terrifying.
It was then that he saw them. A flock of what looked like large, dark birds – possibly geese or ducks – had been startled by the initial crackle of energy and had taken flight from the reeds, directly into the path of where his next, less-controlled thought of “maybe a bit to the left” might have sent a follow-up. No, they were pigeons. How they got here, he had no idea. They were flying in a panicked, haphazard formation, directly towards the dissipating steam cloud.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” he yelled. He hadn’t meant to unleash another bolt, but the power was still thrumming, eager, and a stray thought, a flicker of intent, was apparently enough. Another, smaller, but still potent bolt, was already forming, arcing from his fingertips towards the oblivious birds.
Panic lanced through him. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, be responsible for vaporizing a flock of innocent (if geographically confused) pigeons on his first day as a demigod. He twisted his wrist, a desperate, clumsy jerk, trying to divert the errant bolt. It skewed wildly, missing the birds by a hair’s breadth, and instead slammed into a tall, dead cypress tree at the edge of the marsh. The tree exploded in a shower of splinters and smoke, igniting momentarily before the damp air snuffed out the flames.
The pigeons, miraculously unharmed but undoubtedly traumatized, scattered in every direction, squawking their indignation.
Jack stared at the smoldering stump of the tree, then at his still-tingling hand, his heart pounding. He let out a shaky breath. That had been too close. Way too close. He had the power, alright. Control, however, was clearly still in the beta testing phase.
He sagged a little in mid-air, the adrenaline ebbing away, leaving him feeling slightly foolish and profoundly humbled. “Note to self,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “Aim better. And maybe, just maybe, check for pigeons before playing Zeus.”
The road to becoming a competent Champion, he was quickly learning, was paved with near misses and a healthy dose of self-directed sarcasm. Gotham City, and whatever awaited him there, suddenly felt a lot further away.