He dies in a series of hammering thumps. He dies by
holding his own, a biblical column refusing to yield from the thrust of a blind
Sampson, he dies bartering slugs, thrashing the adversary in rippled welts of
Alien blood, seared across the upside own pyramid of the red S shielded over
the aortic consonant on his chest.
He dies watching him fall almost simultaneously, an
earth-decimating adversary of inscrutable origins who Superman didn’t even know
existed 7 hours ago when he was giving a cable-access promulgated speech on
values and Justice League leadership to high school students across the contiguous
U.S.
He dies with the innocuous eyelids of ice looking at him, batting, bartering blinks saying that it is too late, wishing that someone was there to help him. He dies an ambassador of the city he has sworn allegiance to, to the globe he has vowed to protect
He dies with the innocuous eyelids of ice looking at him, batting, bartering blinks saying that it is too late, wishing that someone was there to help him. He dies an ambassador of the city he has sworn allegiance to, to the globe he has vowed to protect
He dies the greatest superhero the scalp of the planet
has ever known. The DC pog in the corner of issue 75 seems to be shedding ink the color of a tear.
He dies cradled around in gentle manger of her arms.
He dies alone.
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