AUTHOR'S NOTES: Matt & Mike Chapman created these universes (and would have made a funny cameo if it weren't for the real-person rule). And I think both DC Comics and Marvel Comics share the blame... er, credit, for inventing this whole cataclysmic crossover thing.


Chapter One: Loomings and Doomings

The time draws nigh; the Great Schism has already begun, though there are none who are aware. Many worlds – some resting in the present, some lost in the past or rushing through the future, some real, some fantastical, some surreal – will shatter as mirrors. And one world will become another, the boundaries blending until indistinguishable, until all exist in one world. And in this world they will face their trials; by fire, by steel, by war, by nature, by artificiality. They will fight, for they will have no choice; and to fight will be to ensure death, sparing no one. And all of this will be the work of one, who plots revenge on another. But if those who are pure of spirit and tempered of will are willing to find the Bearer of Order, all will be restored, and what will happen will have never been. And the least likely of creatures will hold the key to the future...

"HOMESTAR!" Bubs' raspy voice shook Homestar back into reality.

"Oh! Whoa. Wight. Uh, what happened?" Homestar stammered, trying to figure out what had happened. He now knew that he was standing in front of Bubs' Concession Stand, but what had he just been doing? He vaguely recalled a sense of being removed from his body, somehow, and a strange voice, speaking of things he sure as heck didn't understand...

"Like I said the last twenty times, that'll be $4.50." Bubs explained, crossly, a melting Chocomint Pop in his hand.

"Yeah, man." Came another raspy voice, this one from behind him. Homestar dazedly turned around, right into Strong Bad's petulant mask. "Grab your glove and get into the freakin' game, man! I've got better things to do than stand behind your daydreaming butt all day!"

"As do I!" Huffed the King of Town, standing behind Strong Bad. "I'm wasting away to normal back here! If I do not receive my Mayo Dog within two minutes, there will be trouble!"

"Kingy, nobody's impressed." Strong Bad accused. "You're just pretending to be mad so people will associate you with me, and therefore imbue you with a small fraction of my coolness."

"I'll have you know... well, you're right, I suppose." The King sighed, his affected anger melting back into that dithering, schlubby persona we all know and mock. "I'm still a poser. How do you do it?"

"Lessons are $50 if you're interested." Strong Bad declared, even as Homestar fished money out of wherever he keeps it on that jersey of his and exchanged it for his half-melted snack.

"Best cowwespondence course I ever took." Homestar added, Strong Bad shoving him out of the way the exact instant the purchase was complete. "I got an automatic C for immediate payment!" But by now nobody was listening. Strong Bad was negotiating the price of a slightly damaged Raisin Crust with Bubs, and the King was still standing around mourning the emptiness of his mouth. Shrugging, Homestar left the Concession Stand behind and retreated to the place where he went to do his deep thinking. Well, knee-level thinking. For Homestar that's pretty darn deep.

Chewing idly on his confection, the cool grass beneath him and the warm sun above him, Homestar's scattered thoughts returned to that... whatever it was that happened to him. One minute he was standing in front of Bubs like normal, and before he knew anything different, he was suddenly somewhere else, even though he obviously had never left, judging by what the others had said. So what had happened? It was like a dream, and yet so real at the same time. And, Homestar told himself, it couldn't have been a dream because he was clothed at the time. And what was that voice talking about? She had sounded like that voice on the phone that tells him that the number does not exist when he dials 1-800-IFORGOTMARZIPANSNUMBER. Talking about the end of the world? Shattered dimensions? Death by combat? It was heady, and it was much too much for a simple creature like Homestar to think about. So he thought about clouds instead. How come they never fell from the sky? Did they have jet engines hidden in there somewhere?

"What are you doin' here, man?" Once again Homestar was stirred from his reverie. He looked up and saw Strong Bad looking down at him, gnawing petulantly on his Raisin Crust.

"Oh, hi Stwong Bad." Homestar said with a smile. "This is where I go when I need to be by myself. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I kinda live here." Strong Bad pointed out.

Homestar looked up and saw that he was sitting in Strong Bad's front lawn. "Has that house always been there?" He asked, curiously.

Strong Bad shook his head. "So what was with you back at the stand there?" he asked, more pressing concerns on his mind. "I mean, you've always been kind of outta it, but back there you were totally gone, man. What's the deal?"

"Well, it was kinda weird." Homestar responded, a faraway look in his eyes. "It was like somebody had taken me somewhere to tell me something. I couldn't see anything, and I heard this weally stwange voice..."

"Yeeeeeah." Strong Bad muttered, sceptically. "What was this alleged voice saying, anyway?"

"Oh, you know." Homestar shrugged. "The usual. The world blowing up, all of us dying, stuff like that."

"Homestar, sometimes I think that hat of yours in on too tight." Strong Bad snorted, walking towards the door. "You'd better get off my lawn." He added. "I don't want the herbicide getting you." The door slammed behind him with finality.

Homestar slowly rose to his feet and slowly wandered aimlessly, stopping only when he nearly tripped over the Stick. He looked around. The sun was bright, the grass was green, some type of bird was singing, and the Poopsmith wasn't downwind. Nothing seemed wrong. Plus, this was Free Country, after all. Nothing dangerous happened here. Well, except for that time Bubs had purchased contraband surface-to-air missiles for the Fourth of July celebration, but once the fallout cleared everybody had a good laugh about it. It was more or less a perfect place. What could ever happen?

"I weally hope that last thought doesn't come back to haunt me." Homestar commented to himself.


"Bwa ha ha ha!" The Strong Bad cackled as he tightened the ropes around Marzipan's quivering form, foreboding piano music in the background informing the audience that this was not a particularly good thing.

"You've tied me to the railroad tracks!" Marzipan protested, just in case the ropes and knots and railroad tracks and the general cliché weren't painfully obvious to the audience.

"That's right, my dear!" The Strong Bad gloated, twirling his immaculate moustache with diabolical flair. "And unless your precious Homestar Runner pays me 100 dollars in unmarked Confederate notes, you will remain tied to the railroad tracks forever! Bwa ha ha ha! What do you think of that, The Sneak?" he asked, turning to his scruffy rodent companion, who merely snuffled and scratched some fleas.

WHOO WHOO! The train's whistle sounded as its black-belching smokestack became visible over the horizon. "Oh no!" Marzipan cried. "I'm going to get hit by a train!" The honky-tonk music rapidly grew in tempo as the train bore ever closer. But fear not, ladies and gentlemen. The cavalry was on the way. Such as it was.

"These must be the railroad tracks." An uncommonly observant Homestar Runner mumbled as he walked unhurriedly along the tracks, the ever-loyal Fat Dudley following behind. The Homestar Runner walked a few more steps before stopping. "Well, they're not here. We should go home now." He muttered.

"Bub bubub bub bub bubub." Fat Dudley scatted, gesturing. Homestar turned and saw that Marzipan was tied to the tracks literally three feet ahead of them.

"Marzipan!" Homestar 'exclaimed', sounding like he was prepared to fall asleep at a moment's notice.

"Help meeee!" Marzipan screamed like some wussy damsel in distress.

"Bwa ha ha ha!" The Strong Bad cackled. "So, you've arrived at last! Have you brought the ransom money?"

"Not really." Homestar mumbled.

"Then you will watch her get rubbed out! Bwa ha ha ha!" The Strong Bad laughed. By now the train was very close indeed.

"Do something!" Marzipan whined, not being very helpful. Homestar was lost for a moment, but fortunately Fat Dudley had conceived an elaborate rescue mission.

"Bub bub bubub bubub bub." Fat Dudley bubbed.

"Cut the ropes?" Homestar asked, sounding like he couldn't care less. "Fat Dudley, that might be crazy enough to work." Homestar put this plan into action, although the fact that he didn't have anything to cut the ropes with rather hindered his effectiveness.

The Strong Bad laughed triumphantly. Marzipan was still tied fast, Homestar was totally lost, and Fat Dudley couldn't do anything because there wasn't room enough for him in the frame. Victory was at hand.

CRASH! All heads turned, some faster than others, at the sound. The train had stopped, though not by choice. Some idiot Goblin had driven his Gremlin onto the tracks and caused a crash. The conductor was gesturing furiously at the driver, who was merely doing a jig on the hood of his wrecked vehicle. Nobody seemed to notice that the Goblin was very green, instead of very grey like everything else. By this point, Fat Dudley was finally, finally able to intervene and pull Marzipan from the tracks.

"Curses, blast and degradation!" The Strong Bad swore. "Once again my impeccable cunning schemes are dashed by the cruel hand of fate! This is all your fault, The Sneak!"

The Sneak wiggled his nose.

"Do not use seafarer's language with me!" The Strong Bad roared. "Mind your manners, you insolent vermin!"

"Well, everybody, there's only one thing left to do now." The Homestar Runner drawled. "I'm gonna do a dance." He trotted about for a moment to a jolly tune, until something unspeakable occurred; the dance was interrupted. Namely by a mop hitting Homestar in the face with a wet splat.

All turned once again as yet another oddly coloured character stormed onto the screen. He was a large, muscular man, a messy beard covering his face and only a loincheesecloth covering anything else. "Oooooooh." Marzipan moaned as she fainted into Fat Dudley's arms.

Homestar was singularly unfazed, as usual. "What's your name, stranger?" he mumbled.

"I am..." the man paused for dramatic effect. "Thy Dungeonman. I was cleaning yon animal offal in my dungeon when I suddenly ended up in this strange place. I demand to know who has brought me here!"

"I would not bring your slovenly self anywhere, you hirsute cur!" The Strong Bad growled. "Now take your leave or I will force myself to set The Sneak upon you!"

Thy Dungeonman looked down at the small creature. "Percy!" he cried, his mouth frothing with righteous indignation. And spit. "I shouldst have known thou wert behind this! Prepare to meet thine mop-headed demise!"

The Sneak bristled his back and hissed, and the fight was on, the Strong Bad shouting some melodramatic tripe in The Sneak's encouragement. Watching all of this, the Homestar Runner could make but one comment: "Does this mean I can't do a dance?"


What's Her Face awkwardly brushed her hair away from her face. In tense moments, she had formed the habit of hiding her face behind her hair. It was a habit she was determined to break, as each strand constituted a full 12 percent of her hairstyle, and they needed to count. Her composition regained, she once again lowered her face to the small figure who was standing before her. Rehearsing in her head one final time, she lowered the boom. "Thomas, our relationship is... weird. Almost weirder than weird."

Okay, so What's Her Face wasn't a gifted speaker. It's not like she was alone in that respect. Thomas responded, not with words, but by spraying her full in the face with a nearby "Firex 'Tinguisher". LACQUER'D!

What's Her Face rubbed her eyes and sighed as the little extraterrestrial scampered off. It was the most affectionate thing Thomas had done to her all month, but still something was missing. "My eyes feel like poison ivy." She sighed to herself.

Had her eyes not felt like poison ivy, she likely would have noticed Cheerleader bolting through the halls at Mach 2, sending What's Her Face headfirst into the lockers. MASH! Cheerleader screeched to a halt and looked at the girl she had sent sprawling. "Oh, it's one of my friends, I think."

"Why do you run so hard?" What's Her Face asked, dislodging herself from the wall.

"Ooooh, I'm so psyched out!" Cheerleader squealed. "There's some olda boys down the hallway. They play music in a rockish band!"

"I'm going to make out with all of them!" The Ugly One squawked, rounding the bend.

"I'm going to make out with... more of them!" Cheerleader countered.

"Oooh! Maybe they'll think I'm hot!" So-and-So gushed as she joined the group.

"Maybe they'll think you're... Elsie." Cheerleader sneered.

"NO!!! I don't want to be Elsie!" So-and-So sobbed.

"C'mon girls. Let's go make them love us!" Cheerleader cheered.

"SO GOOD!!!" So-and-So and The Ugly One chorused. The three girls ran off, giggling. What's Her Face got to her feet and watched them go. Following them when they were like this often got her terribly injured, and she knew it. But... it would at least get her mind off of Thomas. She shuffled after the others wearily.

Meanwhile, four men stood in the hallway, looking dazed. They definitely did not belong here, as they were full colour people, rather than crude stick figures. Also, they dressed like 80's garage rockers, complete with leather, blue jeans and hideous blonde hair.

"Man, I don't know what was in those bran muffins, but I'm totally hazing here." Gary, the lead guitarist, commented. "Does this place look like... lined paper to you guys?"

"Lined paper, sandpaper, flypaper..." Marry, the bassist slurred. "It all looks the same to me by now."

"No, dudes. It can't be paper." Noted Perry, the drummer. "None of us have cut ourselves, right?" There was a general murmur of agreement at this point.

"DON'T LOOK NOW, GUYS!!!" Larry, the diminutive frontman yelled. "BUT HERE COME SOME LADIEEEEEEEEES!"

Four stick-figurey girls were racing towards them. "Man, our groupies are getting homelier every year." Perry sighed.

"Well, dudes, we'll have to face facts." Gary noted. "Times change, you know? It's not '87 anymore."

"It isn't?" Marry asked. "When did that happen?"

"Oh, come on, Marry." Gary scoffed. "It's gotta be at least... uh, fifty days in September... '92 by now. Maybe '93."

"Don't you think we might have hit 2000 yet?" Perry asked.

"Are you joking, dude?" Gary asked. "Do you see any flying cars around here?"

By now the girls had reached the band. Despite their enthusiasm, they suddenly skidded to a halt in front of them. "Hi." Cheerleader giggled. "We're at least as old as you!" the girls exploded into a flurry of nervous giggles at their subterfuge.


"Uh, Larry, you don't need to use that concert voice all the time." Gary piped up. "And you don't need to say everything into that microphone."


"Ooh, they say they're a Limozeen!" So-and-So cooed. "That's so cool I don't even know what it means!"

"I'm gonna go for it!" The Ugly One exclaimed, walking towards the band. Proving that her taste is as bad as her looks, she approached Marry. "Ooh! Your axe looks just like a guitar!" She said, reaching for it.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Marry cautioned. "This thing's still..."

ZORCH! Several dozen bolts of electricity tore through The Ugly One's body, leaving her with the colour and consistency of charcoal.

"...wired." Marry finished.

"I smell like Leslie Harvey." The smoking mess that once was The Ugly One moaned.

"If you'll be my fifth or sixth boyfriend, I'll let you play music at our prom-like dance-ish event thing." Cheerleader tempted Larry.

"I'M NOT SURE!" Larry replied, the force of his voice blowing Cheerleader into the wall. "I MIGHT HAVE TO TALK IT OVER WITH THE BAND!!! WE MIGHT HAVE TO TAKE A RAIN CHECK!!!"

"So, who does your hair?" So-And-So asked Perry. "It's so... tawny."

"I can't remember, man." Perry shrugged. "I did it once and it's just stayed this way ever since."

What's Her Face hung back from the discussion, near the lockers. She figured that there would be no harm in just watching the events play out from a safe distance.

KA-LANG! Her optimism was justly rewarded when the locker next to her swung open violently, smashing her into the wall. From said locker emerged a frightening humanized marshmallow, his head bitten open on one side. "Word up, morons!" it proclaimed. "I'm Marshie! Take the M and the arshie and put them together, and you've got fun, because you've got me!!!"

"What is that?" So-and-So asked.

"Maybe it's some form of... gym teacher." Cheerleader suggested.

"BACK OFF, TIN CAN MAN!!!" Larry yelled. "I'M ON CENTER STAGE!!!"

"Hey, guys!" Marshie replied. "Watch as I eviscerate this lady-man! There's no stopping me!"

"I'm just lying here until the man says it's over." What's Her Face groaned, just before the lockers fell on her.


Home Starboy was running so fast that the background was a blurred set of rainbow colours with weird horizontal lines streaking through them as hideous synthesized music warbled in the background. In anime terms, that means that this is supposed to be exciting. Finally, after running what must have been several light years, Starboy found what he was searching for: that blue-haired super-champion of just about everything, StinkoMan.

"Hey StinkoMan!" Home Starboy yelled, screeching to a halt just behind 'The Guy'. "We need your great strength and some of your powers! There is a great lot of trouble in the place that I just came from!" There was no response. "StinkoMan?" Home Starboy asked, walking around to the front.

StinkoMan was, for reasons unknown, sleeping in a standing position. A large bubble was sticking out of his nose, and it inflated and deflated as he snored. Upon seeing this, Home Starboy fell over for some reason. Recovering quickly, he pulled out a comically large mallet and clobbered StinkoMan comically hard across the blue-topped skull. The bubble burst. StinkoMan's eyes snapped open as large as saucers.

"TERIYAAAAAAAAAAH!" StinkoMan screamed as he reflexively released a ki-chi attack, sending Home Starboy crashing against a tree in a smouldering heap, loose cherry blossoms fluttering prettily around him. Without missing a beat, StinkoMan was in his protégé's face. "Do not EVER do such a thing as that AGAIN!" he screamed, fire flaming from his ears and his head inflating to twice its size. "Why do you go around head-hitting those who feel asleep?"

"OH!!!" Home Starboy said, tears streaking down his face. He then recovered as though nothing had happened. "Strange guys have been seen around places around here! We want you to investigate!"

"Investigate! Kyaaaah!" StinkoMan scoffed. "Investigating is for those who are investigators! Only call on me for such matters as challenges and fighting! And maybe fighting challenges!"

"So will you do it?" Home Starboy asked, totally oblivious to Stinko Man's earlier statement.

"Humph! Okay." Stinko Man conceded. "But there had better be some fighting involved. Or even just a challenge. RUNNING ON THE ROAD GO!!!" StinkoMan took off like a blue-haired bullet, Home Starboy following close behind. There was a five minute montage of them running, what with the streaking backgrounds, the horrible music, blah blah blah. Finally they reached the city, where StinkoMan's pet, the adorable CheatCheat, was hiding in some bushes.

"We have come here!" StinkoMan shouted as he screeched to a halt. "We... KYAAAAAH! CheatCheat!" he yelled, dancing in glee. "Just looking at you makes me happy on the inside!"

"Cheat! Cheatcheat!" CheatCheat yelled, slapping StinkoMan across the face with a paper fan, making him cry. "Cheatcheat cheat!" he added, gesturing to the other side of the bushes.

"Huh? Strange things? Why did you not say so?" StinkoMan asked, peering through the bushes. He gasped as he saw a variety of fluffy yellow things in a variety of military costumes. "Hum! Are those not relatives of yours, CheatCheat?"

"WAAAAH! They are the so ka-wa-ii!" Home Starboy squealed.

"Cheatcheat!" CheatCheat squeaked, his mouth totally out of sync with his words for some reason.

Meanwhile, the intruders were having a discussion of their own that was slightly more intelligent. But only just.

"Come on, men!" Gunhaver rallied the troops. "We have to keep going!"

"Ahem!" snorted Foxface.

"Oh, sorry, Foxface." Gunhaver apologized. "You don't have to come if you don't want to." Foxface would explain the reason why she ahemed, but she had used up her one allotted per episode.

"'Ow much longer, commander?" Fightgar whined. "Oi 'aven't fired me gun in the past foive minutes!"

"Steady on, Fightgar!" Gunhaver John Wayned. "We have to locate and disable that frog! Since it's so evil, it must be affiliated with Blue Laser!"

"Yeah, you'd think so." Silent Rip piped up. "But maybe since we ended up in a different world, there are different bad guys here. Isn't that a possibility?"

"Don't be so naïve, Silent Rip." Gunhaver scoffed. "Everybody knows that all the bad guys are on the same side. Otherwise, they wouldn't be bad guys, right?"

"Uh, right." Silent Rip sighed, scratching his helmet.

"You picking up anything, Crackotage?" Gunhaver asked.

"Am I suppose ta be pickin' sumfin' up, sir?" Crackotage asked in that bizarre Jamaican accent of his.

"No, just wondering." Gunhaver dismissed. "How about you, Firebert?" Firebert made a vague waving motion. "Oh, right." Gunhaver added. "Sorry. I forgot you can't talk."

"Uh, guys?" Reynold asked.

"What are you whining about now?" Gunhaver demanded.

"Oh, nothing." Reynold mumbled. "I just saw a bunch of guys standing in front of us, that's all."

"A bunch of guys!" Fightgar laughed. "That's a good one, bucko!" Then all the Cheat Commandos turned and saw StinkoMan, Home Starboy and CheatCheat standing in front of them.

"Guys, I'm pickin' up a bunch o' guys." Crackotage noted.

"Do y' want me to shoot 'em one at a time or all together?" Fightgar asked, priming his weapon.

"Just one moment." Gunhaver interrupted. "We'll use standard commando protocol. We have to do something nice at least once per episode."

"But I wanna shoot 'em!" Fightgar bawled.

"Just hold on. I'll find out their motives. If that guy's hair is any indication, they might be Blue Laser agents. But we'll find out before we take them out." Gunhaver insisted.

"So many yellow things!" StinkoMan yelled. "WHAT are you DOING here?"

"They talk like foreigners!" Fightgar screamed. "Kill 'em!"

"I'm no expert but are you ASKING FOR A CHALLENGE?!" StinkoMan roared. He shot forward at the speed of light, ready to punch Fightgar's lights out, but his blow was blocked by a commando decked out in red, only his glaring eyes visible.

"Whaaaa?" StinkoMan gasped. "Pyjama man! What are you supposed to be like? Some sort of ninja?"

"Of course I'm a ninja." Ripberger whispered in a deep, mystical voice. "Can't you tell by my vaguely Chinese accent?"

"But ninjas don't come from China..." Reynold mumbled to himself.

"PREPARE YOURSELF, REDFACE!" StinkoMan yelled, shooting high into the air, ready to unleash a Double Deuce attack. Home Starboy had a nosebleed in anticipation.

Ripberger acted quickly, pulling out a throwing star and flinging it in StinkoMan's direction. It missed by a country mile. "Oops." However, it struck a nearby tree and caused a comically large branch to fall and land comically hard on StinkoMan's head, knocking him back to Earth. "Uh... I meant to do that." Ripberger muttered.

"BARF!" StinkoMan yelled. "You guys fight so hard! I guess you had honour or something."

"Nice work, Ripberger." Gunhaver applauded.

"He's alright." Ripberger added. "He's not with Blue Laser."

"He isn't?" Silent Rip asked. "How can you tell?"

"He's not wearing a visor." Ripberger pointed out.

"Ohhhhhhh." All of the commandos said in unison.

Ripberger stepped forward, his hand extended. "Okay, I guess I'll take a shake of your hand." StinkoMan conceded, shaking with Ripberger.

"Oh, boy of joy!" Home Starboy cheered. "We are all now super friends!"

"I am StinkoMan." StinkoMan explained. "I am more or less the running of the things in parts around here. What brings you to this place?"

"Sorry." Gunhaver said, firmly. "That's strictly confidential. On a need-to-know basis."

"Well, I would need to know." StinkoMan argued.

"Darn!" Gunhaver snapped his fingers. "They always get me on a technicality. Oh, well. We're an elite fighting force who has reason to believe that Blue Laser, our sworn enemy, has activity in this area. A giant frog that we believe is on their payroll has been seen causing fires around here."

"Giant frog?" StinkoMan asked. "I have seen no such of frog around here!"

"Uh, guys?" Reynold asked.

"Oh, what is it this time, Reynold?" A peeved Gunhaver asked. "Why did we even take you along with us, anyway?"

"Because I was in the action figure line." Reynold growled. "Anyway, I've been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes that this entire area is now on fire."

"Wha-huh?" StinkoMan exclaimed. The Cheat Commandos and the 20X6 gang looked around, and saw that indeed every building, tree and structure was now engulfed in flame.

"Uh, I noticed." Silent Rip insisted. "I just didn't feel like mentioning it."

"This must be work of that frog!" Gunhaver growled. "Prepare for battle, everybody! Except Reynold."

"All right, big frog." StinkoMan challenged. "Now you must face the likes of me as well!"

Suddenly, from behind a flaming skyscraper, a monstrous form emerged. Fangs glistening, muscles bulging, scales shining, wings flapping, eyes burning with black fire. A hideous grin crossed the beast's fanged face, smoke billowing from its cavernous nostrils. It had spotted its latest prey.

The Cheat Commandos stared, slack-jawed. That thing was much bigger than their mission briefing had indicated (Flashfight really did need contact lenses). And StinkoMan now had a massive bead of sweat on his face that just wouldn't go away.


Plunk-plunk plunk-plunk plunk plunk-plunk-plunk

Plunk-plunk plunk-plunk plunk plunk-plunk-plunk

In a strange world, to the left of your imagination and the right of your neurosis, there sits a plane in which a small group of strange beings go through the same motions again and again and again. It doesn't make sense to us, but it's all that makes sense to them.

A lone figure stood, his gaze fixed on the jagged black/pink sky. His ancient form was carved from stone, and his narrow, triangular eyes seemed to look beyond what they saw. It had already begun. Now was the calm. Soon was the storm. Soon...