Post by HoM on Nov 23, 2017 14:52:40 GMT -5
Previously, in Justice League...
Accompanied by the Witch Queen CIRCE and his diabolical demigod daughter DEVASTATION, ARES has returned to end the world! With a brand new set of powers thanks to his manipulation of the Celestial Court that watches over all the pantheons of gods across the galaxy, the new GOD OF NOTHING can manipulate reality at it's foundation, and he's come back to Earth to make the Justice League-- and all of humanity-- suffer!
The former God of War has laid down a challenge... a battle to the death for the future of all humankind! WONDER WOMAN offered herself as the world's champion, but as the challenger, ARES chose the opposition, and he levelled the challenge squarely at BATMAN! How can a man who vowed never to kill save the world if the only way to do so is by taking a life?
Meanwhile, AQUAMAN and HAWKMAN have fallen into a trap laid by DOCTOR PSYCHO, and they're currently the psychic madman's prisoners! And when THE GUARDIAN went to save the day, he was rendered vegetative thanks to the immensity of the psionic lunatic! Now CYBORG and FIRESTORM are the only hopes for saving the trio, and they don't even know what's going on in the bowels of the villain's lair!
With all this in mind, please join us now for the continuing adventures of the JUSTICE LEAGUE--
Nobody prayed to Athena. Or, at least, if they did, she didn’t hear them. She was a goddess, de facto queen of her pantheon, and she was unmoored as the rest of them. It had been centuries since she had received any substantial amount of prayer or consideration, but that didn’t matter.
Gods were likes batteries. Unless they were using the celestial power they had stored up across the aeons, they’d be fine. A few prayers here and there? From scant worshippers across the globe? That would sustain them if they wanted to perform an act of god or some kind of celestial intervention without burning through their stores.
Having an island dedicated to your name and teachings helped as well… so why didn’t the daily prayers from Themyscira, from Paradise Island, make it to her ears? That’s what she wondered when she awoke that morning, and when she emerged from her rooms in Mount Olympus it became obvious--
The entire celestial realm had become untethered from the earthly one. Mount Olympus was floating in the void, and if you squinted, you could see Asgard in the distance, thunder cracking beneath the dome that had been erected over its immense city, just as one had been across Olympus. And even further out she could see Aztlán, where the Southern American pantheon of gods roamed, and then, a pin prick in this black void, her hunter’s eyes could see the Golden City, where angels soared beneath their own dome.
“Athena, what’s going on?” asked Aphrodite, staring up at the void. The goddess of love was a beautiful blonde, enough to make even one as attractive as Athena feel insecure if she was of that predisposition. Beautiful silks enshrouded her body, barely protecting her immense modesties, but she didn’t care. She never did.
“We’ve been taken from our place in the cosmic order and rendered here… it can only mean one thing…” mused Athena. She was taller than Aphrodite, her hair a brown as dark as the night. As soon as she’d seen the darkness overhead, her robes had transmogrified into armour.
Aphrodite took her eyes off the dark and fixed them on her sister. “What’s that?”
Athena’s tone became dire. “A crisis of faith. A judgement from the celestial court. Humanity is spiritually alone for the first time since their inception, without belief in something…” The result didn’t bear thinking about… but what went unsaid spoke volumes.
“H-how will they survive?” asked Aphrodite. Though few prayed to her, vanity was a sort of worship in its own way to the most beautiful goddess the Greek pantheon had in their ranks. Without humanity… what would happen to her?
Athena knelt and clasped her hands together. “Now it’s up to us to have faith… I only pray my champion-- our champion-- finds a way to win the day.” Queen of the Gods and Goddess of Wisdom and War, Athena began to whisper a prayer to the only woman she knew would be able to find a way to save the world, one way or another.
Athena began to pray for Wonder Woman.
“Let me explain the rules.”
Ready for whatever came next, Batman and Wonder Woman determinedly watched as Ares’ fingers danced smoothly in the direction of the rest of the Justice League, as if he were conducting some arcane orchestra, and with his other hand he made the same gestures toward the Amazons of Themyscira. Behind him stood Circe and Devastation, his own little family unit, and their musclebound and nameless enforcer, his face obscured by a formidable and feature-obscuring lion mask.
“My beautiful daughter against your Dark Knight. No tricks. No parlour tricks. A decision made by death, and death alone.”
With enough power to demolish a planet between them, Aquawoman, Big Barda, Green Lantern, Majestic and Mister Miracle were casually suspended in midair by the primordial powers the so-called ‘God of Nothing’ manipulated, unable to move despite their own impressive abilities. The power Ares wielded was beyond comprehension! On the other side of the throne room, the Amazons were suspended as well, though their number sprawled out into the courtyard and streets surrounding the temple-like building.
“If you cheat, humanity’s future is forfeit. Remember that, Diana. If you lay a finger on my champion, before or during the challenge, I win. And likewise, if I tamper with your champion… I relinquish any hold I have over the fate of this world. Fair’s fair.”
Batman considered his options. He knew of at least fifty handcrafted chemicals and a dozen more naturally-occurring toxins he could deploy that would stop a heart, temporarily slowing the metabolic processes in a body to a form resembling death. But the magicks at play… there would be catches. There would be safeguards. Ares had strategised this entire encounter to an inch of its life, and that meant… death was the only answer.
“I volunteer myself as champion, Ares. Not him. He doesn’t stand for humanity,” said Wonder Woman, a hand across Batman’s chest as she stepped in front of him. Bruce looked at her, trying desperately to intercede, but he knew that the decision had been made without his consent.
“Oh, no. He does stand for humanity. He has to now. Your little lover boy will stand or he will die,” purred Circe.
“…When?” asked Batman.
“Tonight. Nine hours. I give you the day to prepare. But if any one of your allies intervenes. If you call in your reserves, your affiliates, your mercenary comrades, it’s a forfeit. And to ensure compliance, I hold your team as collateral. If you cheat, they die first. And then… the Amazons suffer more than you could ever imagine.”
Wonder Woman took a step forward ready to strike. “You…”
“No,” said Batman, gripping her wrist. She shot him a look but knew he was right. “We need to prepare.”
“Get ready, old man,” barked Devastation, licking her lips eagerly. “I’m going to split your head open and see what dribbles out!”
“Door,” said Batman. He stepped through, leading Wonder Woman through to points unknown.
Channels changed. Every monitor on in the complex changed to show that of a beautiful, blond man, with black energy crackling around the crests of his eyes. He smiled charmingly, and then sat back to reveal a trio standing behind him. It was the God of Nothing, flanked as ever by Circe, Devastation and the muscular, nameless heavy.
“My name is Ares. I am a God-- the only one that matters right now, and soon forever. Listen close… your despair-- your lack of faith-- your lack of purpose-- for all these things, I am here to judge you. I am here to decide if you are worthy of existence. Do you think you are worthy of free will? Or will you wallow in misery as your lives are taken from you and your prayers for nothing are answered by none other than me?”
“What… the actual… hell…” murmured Doctor Psycho.
All around him flowed ectoplasm, the substance that allowed him to shape reality in small instances. He had used his immense psychic powers to assume the identity of Harrison Wells, to take his shape, his life’s work, and now he was watching a familiar face brag about his own immense power on the television set.
“Doctor Wells, I’m sorry, it’s across all stations. Some kind of… pirate signal… I can’t block it out,” said one of the technicians in the room.
On the screen, Ares abruptly stood and began to walk forward. He stepped from the throne room of Themyscira into a Russian newsroom, whose announcers leapt out of their skin in surprise at the sight of him.
“I was once the God of War, but now I'm the God of Nothing. I want you all to realise that all life is worthless, that any effort you put into your dreams is a waste, and that you should sit and allow your sad selves to diminish along with your lives…”
Ares hadn’t stopped walking. He was in England, walking through one newsroom with his hands behind his back as if he were some quaint gentleman, ambling his way through life. A few steps later, he emerged on an American talk show, then a South African newscast. He was stepping from one place to another like it was nothing, zero effort, a smile on his face and his very presence causing those around him to shiver.
“…To that end, it’s quite simple-- I have put you on trial. All of humanity. Your connection to anything beyond yourselves is gone. All you have is your empty lives. Now, I would have been content to wait the trial out, but the Justice League have been in a thorn in my side before, so I put it to them-- your future is in their hands…”
He finally came to a stop back in the rubble-strewn throne room on Themyscira, standing admiring the work of the energy columns that kept the Justice Leaguers trapped and paralysed.
“…A trial by faith is now a trial by combat. A battle to the death…”
He motioned behind him, where the team were suspended in midair by the same energy that dribbled from his wide, mad eyes.
“…Your heroes are here as collateral. Your champion is named. But the rules are clear: It has to be this way now. Anyone who dares interfere will forfeit the future of the human race.”
“Oh, no, you bastard. You utter bastard,” murmured Psycho.
“What is it, sir? What's wrong?”
“He’s pulling a power play! All the work we’ve put in, all the plans set in motion! He wants to undercut us! He wants to end the world before we can take control! Oh, they won’t be pleased, no, not at all…”
“…Sir?” repeated one of the technicians. “What’s wrong… with your face?”
Psycho looked at his hands, then at his reflection in a nearby monitor-- the ectoplasm he’d drawn around himself to take on the appearance of Harrison Wells was slipping, causing his mouth to dribble down by an inch and his eye to sink in its socket. He clenched his fists and the ectoplasmic mask tightened, returning his stolen façade to perfection.
“Forget everything,” Psycho barked, waving his hand in the technician’s direction.
The subject of his outburst collapsed, his mind emptied of every memory, every learned skill. He lay on the ground wide-eyed and incontinent, before he forgot how to breathe and died starving for oxygen. No one else in the room seemed to question the action.
Ares smiled. “So: You will watch. You will see. My daughter will battle your champion to the death. Whoever wins decides the fate of all mankind. I am, of course, not exempt from the rules! If I interfere in the trial, you win. If you interfere, I win. That’s what you need to remember. Justice Leagues, Societies, Titans and whoever else-- if you dare intervene now, you will doom everything. Gods, monsters, heroes and men-- do not test me. I will see you crumble in defeat at the sight of your champion’s death. Don’t worry about finding the right channel… you’ll not miss what comes next.”
The screen went blank but Doctor Psycho had already left. There was a side room that everyone had forgotten existed, and inside, the diminutive demon scanned around. “Christine. Stand up. Come with me, dear.”
Standing at 5' 10" with very dirty blonde hair and dressed in clothes she’d not been allowed to change out of for months now, the woman Psycho had addressed pulled herself up and moved toward him. She smelled terrible, but that made sense considering she’d been under his thrall for nearly a year now.
Beside her, a man in a similar condition lay on the floor, pulling himself up on his hands to look at his captor. “Let her go, Edgar. Whatever this is, you need to let her go.”
“Harrison, just because I can’t pierce that wall of lightning in your brain doesn’t mean I won’t twist your head inside out,” growled Psycho.
Harrison Wells grimaced. He couldn’t move without his wheelchair, but his arms were muscular, able to prop his body up as he stared down Doctor Psycho. “The Justice League will stop you.”
“Justice League? Eheheh, I’ve had three downstairs for the better part of two days now! I made one senile! That was fun. The others… I’ll make Aquaman scared of water. Or I’ll make him forget how to swim. I’ll make Hawkman a savage. More savage. I’ll invert their personalities. Send them back out into the world to wreak havoc. And the rest? They’re a little busy dealing with Ares. I think we’ll be just fine until I’m done having my fun. Now either stand up and face me like a man, or shut up and sit there. I’ve got work to do.”
Doctor Psycho led Christine out of the room and sealed it after him, leaving the real Harrison Wells to rot in the dark. “If you’ve had them for two days… why haven’t you twisted them inside out already?” he murmured to himself.
Angela Spica was monitoring two situations that were becoming increasingly worse. The Guardian had dropped off the map just like Aquaman and Hawkman, and she’d just seen the broadcast that had broken in across every television channel and internet stream on the planet. Reservists were activating their Justice League communicators across the globe, asking what was going on, but Angie didn’t have any answers.
Ares had the rest of the team-- though Batman and Wonder Woman were conspicuous by their absence-- imprisoned, and the only active operatives on the board were her currently barely functioning boyfriend Vic Stone, aka Cyborg, and Firestorm, who she was in communication with at that moment in time.
{Anything, guys?} Angie asked Firestorm over the nanotelepathic communication link they all shared.
{We think we’re nearly there-- there was a weird distortion when Guardian entered S.T.A.R.’s grounds, so if we can focus and ping the signal back, we might have an in.}
There was a weird distortion when she responded, some side effect of the nano’pathic link interacting with the Matrix that allowed the twin components of the Nuclear Hero’s identity-- Lorraine Reilly and Martin Stein-- to become Firestorm.
Angie’s brow furrowed. The Guardian hadn’t walked into the upstate New York S.T.A.R. Labs facility without a plan. Whatever was happening there, there was shielding that kept errant signals from escaping the grounds, and he wanted Firestorm to disable that before they risked any more bodies. He was a Trojan Horse of sorts, a beacon they were trying to locate somewhere behind the curtain pulled across the facility.
Firestorm had been floating above the clouds, using her elemental powers to skim the building-- both above and beneath the ground-- to try and disable the shielding, and if she said she was close, the next phase of the plan would come into effect.
“Angie, Ang--! I got something--!”
Vic Stone trudged quickly into the monitor womb where Angie was operating from, his voice back to the more familiar tones she’d grown accustomed to prior to his savage attack at the hands of the carrion creatures known as ‘the Throshti’, who had torn as much living matter off his mechanical frame as possible, leaving him in his current state as an automaton with a brain that was no longer required to operate his immensely powerful cybernetic frame*.
“Victor?” Angie said quickly, surprised to see him emerging from the labs down in the base of the floating headquarters after the painful interaction they’d had mere hours before*.
He knelt before her, and she looked down at him, at the metallic façade where his face had once rested. He’d lost half his face in the initial accident that led to his father transforming him into Cyborg, and then he’d lost the rest in deep space at the claws of the Throshti.
The mask-- and that’s all it could be called, she thought-- was an approximation of his face, but motionless and without expression. At least his synthesised voice was his own, rather than the patchy, electronic tones he’d been using after the attack. Not that she blamed him for that-- when his vocal folds had been shredded, all he had was the subdermal vocal box.
“Angie, I’m so sorry. I’m just… I’m drowning, and I was pulling you down along with me. You didn’t deserve it and I’m… I’m a better man than that, no matter my current circumstances. I can’t… I won’t…”
He shook his head but she put a finger to where his mouth would have been, shushing him as she went. She lent forward and kissed him on the chrome of his forehead. “It’s okay, honey. I’m just glad you’re here. What… what have you got?”
He looked up at her, and while his expression didn’t move, he took her hands and cradled them in his own. It wasn’t the same. His ability to receive heat signals was glitchy, always reliant on the presence of his flesh to formulate an appropriate response, but he held her nonetheless. “Wells isn’t Wells, it’s Doctor Psycho. I’m not sure how long it’s been going on, but I did a deep dive on all the evidence the Birds of Prey and Hawkman gathered at Seaworld. I backtracked to all the incidents with children manifesting abilities* and he’s always there, along with this woman, here.”
A projection appeared, from an emitter embedded in his body, of a blonde woman of average height, dressed progressively worse depending on the scene of the crime. She started off fuller built, more muscular, but as each projection of her appeared she became more bedraggled, more tired, and Angie’s eyes opened wide when she realised who she was seeing.
“You know her?” said Vic, noting her expression.
“Heck yeah, I do. We used to go out for drinks on Margarita Tuesdays back in my Global Peace Agency days. That’s Christine Trelane. She used to work with us back in the GPA, but Stormwatch poached her. She vanished after Bendix went bonkers*. Jeez, she looks terrible.”
“I couldn’t find any information on her in any database, and that’s a massive concern considering we have access to all of them,” said Vic.
“Makes sense though. GPA operatives have their personal data scrubbed off all databases during their tenure with the group. Stormwatch were black-ops to the max, so it’s not like they’re going to put her data back out in the world… She was a… we used to call her a talent scout. She could sniff out superhumans. But… this is so strange… do we know where she is now?”
“I’m guessing she’s wherever Psycho is. The man’s a sicko, and we need to take him down. Where’s Harper?”
“Gone to take him down, but it’s part of something bigger-- we need to tell Firestorm,” said Angie.
{I’ve picked it all up,} replied the Nuclear Hero. {And we’ve got good news-- I can disable the jamming field and get us into the facility. I could use back-up though, if they’ve taken out the others-- and with what you’ve said about Ares, we’re not going to get any back-up because we are the back-up.}
“We need to figure out how to help both teams,” said Cyborg, defiantly. “I picked up the pirate signal that Ares sent out across the world-- he’s on Themyscira, but if his ‘rules’ are true, we can’t take the fight to him. We need all hands on deck. Did you see how Batman and Wonder Woman weren’t with the others?”
“Go support Firestorm, she… they… need the assist if Psycho has been using Christine to gather superhumans. Who knows how that sick bastard could have been twisting them. I’ll check in with the Cave, see if they’re taking calls.”
“You got it,” said Cyborg. He stood and headed toward the door, before turning back to face her. “I love you, Angie. And I’m sorry I took my situation out on you today. You deserve better.”
“Then be better. Save the world, lover boy,” said Angie. “And I’ll be here waiting.”
“How’re you holding up?” Aquaman asked Hawkman, who was currently breathing huskily across the way from him. Every lungful was belaboured, and from what he could glean, his winged companion wasn’t in the best of shape before they were captured, let alone now.
“R-rough,” replied Katar, wearily.
“You’re sick. Clearly have been for a while. Why didn’t you tell anybody? Or have I missed something in the briefings in my absence?”
Katar laughed, but it didn’t sound like it was a healthy noise. It was punctuated by a ragged cough that emanated from a hollow-sounding place in his sternum. “Been… been a while now. F-found out not long after I rejoined the team myself*.”
“That long? Does anyone else know?”
“Hawkgirl*… Majestic**… I didn’t intend for the latter to… to find out, but that damn Zoom Vision of his… but I had to tell the former… she’s my heart.”
“Why didn’t you tell the team?”
What had Katar said to Majestros, in the Laputa atrium when the Kheran warlord had confronted him with knowledge of his sickness? The words played out in his head: “…I won’t spend the last of my days wasting the time of the greatest heroes of this world-- this damn universe-- to try and further my own life. I will live my life like I always have, I will endeavour to never waste a day, and to never miss an opportunity to make this beautiful world better than it was when I first arrived on it.”
“The team have other priorities,” said the Thanagarian, simply.
“Bull crap. You’re… you’re part of the family. If I had known, I would have had Atlantis’ best scientists and sorcerers working on finding a cure. The team would have--”
“That’s the problem! That’s the problem. There are other things going on in the world, things more deserving of our focus, than whatever ails me. I’ve lived a long life and done a lot of good, and if it’s my time then it’s my time. I won’t… I won’t let my weakness-- my sickness-- detract from the focus of the team.”
“I can’t keep this secret, Katar. You’re sick, and the team deserves to know. When we get out of here--”
“If,” corrected Hawkman.
“When, godammit, when. When we escape after bashing Doctor Psycho’s head in with your mace, you need to come clean. And if you don’t, I’ll tell them.”
“You… you do whatever you think is best, your majesty,” said Hawkman.
“You know, when you’re pissed off you stop coughing. Maybe keep that in mind.”
Katar looked up from where he was hanging his head and Arthur was smiling. He almost chuckled, but then the muttering of the addled Guardian drew their attention. He was curled up on the floor, unresponsive to their voices after the attack, but he hadn’t stopped muttering.
“Did he just--?” asked Katar.
Arthur nodded. “I think he did.”
Emerging from the portal that had taken them away from Themyscira, Wonder Woman looked around and realised they were beneath Wayne Manor, in the underground cavern that made up Batman’s eponymous Cave.
“What are we doing here? We need to fight, we need to--” she started, but he cut her off immediately.
“Ares has us under his thumb. How?”
Diana paused. This was the man she cared for more than anyone, and he’d been challenged to a fight to the death with the future of all mankind on the line. And their approaches were so different-- she wanted to do something-- then-- there-- immediately-- while he needed to break the events down, figure out their root, their cause, and plan appropriately. What did she know? How could she give him the answers he needed?
“There’s a place called the celestial court. It’s not… you can’t just go there. It’s a metaphysical location, not a landmarked one. There, gods grant gods power. Gods need prayer. If they don’t have that fuel, their… batteries run dry. Athena stripped him of his title when we last saw him*, that meant he could no longer feed on war… so he had to find an alternative source or he’d cease to exist.”
“Hh,” murmured Batman.
He removed his cape and cowl, and headed toward the armoury. Entering, you would see dozens of weapons of mass destruction, either confiscated from the rogues of Gotham or ones of Bruce Wayne’s own concoction. He would strip the items down to their base components and rebuild them. He could dismantle one of Victor Fries’ cold guns down to bits in less than a minute now. It was a point of pride.
Diana followed, and watched him as he typed something into a keypad near the back of the room, causing the wall to rumble and roll open, revealing a larger room where a mechanical colossus in black and grey was partially constructed, held up by a series of chains from the ceiling.
“What… is that?” she asked.
“It doesn’t have a name yet,” he replied.
“Oh, yes it does. I have taken to calling it Haystacks, because it’s a mean contraption and would crush you if you ended up under its heel.”
Diana turned and saw Alfred Pennyworth emerging from one of the antechambers in the Cave. Bruce’s loyal manservant, and the person responsible for raising him since the death of Martha and Thomas Wayne, was wearing overalls and a layer of grease, and was currently hefting some tools into the small room where Haystacks was hanging from chains.
“We’re not calling it Haystacks,” said Bruce.
“I do believe we are, Master Bruce.” There was a stern tone in Pennyworth’s voice. He relented quickly, bowing in respect toward Wonder Woman. “Miss Diana, an absolute pleasure to have you back with us. If you care to join me upstairs, I can show you the plastering work that was required after your last visit*…”
Diana’s brow furrowed. “Why Haystacks? Why… does it have to have a name?”
“When Master Bruce was a boy, I kept him entertained with a spectacle from my teenaged years: World of Sport. Giant Haystacks and Big Daddy… my father would have been outraged had he known I partook in viewing such things with my dear mother,” said Alfred, smiling at the memory, before dramatically brandishing his spanner in the air as if it were a rapier. “And if my time in the theatre taught me anything, it’s that every great prop must have a name! Besides, I don’t think the man who calls the shurikens he utilises in his mission against the criminal underworld ‘Batarangs’ really has a leg to stand on.”
Bruce grumbled, then looked up at the incomplete device. “Fine. Haystacks. We have under nine hours. Do you think we can get it operational?”
Alfred rubbed his forehead and considered the question. “Not with all the non-lethal armaments we had planned, but the exoskeleton will be in a fit state for use.”
“Then it might buy me some time,” mused Bruce.
“It’s a battle to the death, Bruce. It’s something you simply cannot win. How do you think you can defeat the girl, Devastation?” she asked.
With his back to her, he shook his head while looking at his clenched fists. “When we last saw her, she was a newborn, Diana. She’s been indoctrinated by her parents. If I have time, I can… I can get through to her. I can still win this without blood being spilled.”
“What if she can’t be reasoned with?”
“Then I die, and humanity falls with me,” said Bruce. He pressed on, “I’m sorry, Diana. I have work to do.”
“That’s not enough. This isn’t enough,” she replied.
“What else can I do? What else can I do but fight with everything I have at my disposal? She’s a child, a girl, and for all the hells we’ve lived through, for all the devils we’ve fought, I can’t… I can’t…” He trailed off, and Wonder Woman stepped forward, putting her hands on either side of his face. “Diana…”
“Do you trust me, Bruce?” she asked.
“Always,” he replied, without hesitation, despite their situation.
“Do what you have to do here. I won’t interfere on your behalf, but I have to consider the… long game. Trust that whatever comes next, it’s for the safeguarding of all humanity,” she said, with a kiss on his lips to seal the deal. With a word-- “Door”-- she was gone, leaving Alfred and Bruce to their impossible task.
“You won’t even believe what’s happening out in the world while you waste away down here,” said Doctor Psycho, shedding the ectoplasmic guise of Harrison Wells as he strolled into the holding cell.
He was followed by the near-catatonic Christine Trelane, who neither Aquaman nor Hawkman recognised. If the Guardian knew, he couldn’t be asked-- he was sprawled on the floor, whispering to himself incoherently. The diminutive psychic terror wiped his brow and looked up at his prisoners, a sick grin on his face.
“How are we feeling, boys?”
“Swell, how about you?” replied Aquaman, through gritted teeth.
“Oh, wonderful. Did you know the world is ending outside? Batman against Ares’ bitch daughter, for the fate of the world, ho ho, such fun. He has to kill her, you see. Kill her or the world ends.”
Hawkman looked up lazily. He was sick to his very centre, his body ravaged by the mysterious cancer that had ravaged him for some time now. Without Nth metal pushing the disease back he was closer to death than he’d ever been, but the pain allowed him to focus in that moment.
“Oh, you know all about killing kids to save the world, don’t you, Katar? I’ve plumbed the depths of your psyche to know how much your own experience with such a moral quandary ravaged you*. So many cracks in the foundation to help let me worm my way in,” purred Psycho.
“Shut your damn mouth,” growled Hawkman.
“Shut yours,” ordered Psycho, and the Thanagarian Hawk Knight couldn’t help but obey. He began to breathe heavily through his nostrils, his rage bubbling up to the surface.
Aquaman grimaced. “What’s your endgame, Psycho? What do you even want?”
“I want the world to burn, and it looks like our plans for a little apocalypse are being superseded by someone else’s, so I’m thinking on the fly here,” said Psycho.
“The kids-- what do you want with the kids?” pushed the King of the Seven Seas.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s what it’s all about. The children are our future, and what’s the point of ending the world if it’s not liveable in afterwards? But you know what? I think that’s enough talk. Enough dialogue. I’ll be back to ruin your lives in a few hours, and then… then…” Doctor Psycho waved his hand casually in the Justice League’s direction. “You won’t even know what hit you…”
“Hey, wait one second,” interrupted Aquaman, “you said that hours ago. You said you’d be back in an hour and by my count it’s been longer. You ravaged the Guardian’s mind, but look at you, you’re flop sweating. God, I’m feeling better than ever thanks to all the moisture you’re pouring into the air. You’re weak, aren’t you?”
“He’s stretched too thin.”
Doctor Psycho spun around and stared a pair of holes through Christine Trelane, whose mouth was still open from whispering the words. Tears streamed down her face but her lips were half-curled into a smile. She then collapsed, all her mental and physical energies taken up by breaking the conditioning put upon her by the villain, but it was enough--
“He’s not strong enough,” said the Guardian, standing abruptly.
“What?!” gasped Psycho, staggering back.
Harper tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got a computer in my head. Let’s see what’s in yours.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” said Aquaman, concentrating hard.
Doctor Psycho cried out as blood burst from his nostril-- a brutal, unrefined psychic spike of energy was thrown from the half-Atlantean’s mind to his own. It was an inelegant attack due to the nature of the hero’s powers but it did the job. Psycho collapsed clutching his head, and the Guardian pulled his shield from his back and swung it at the restraints holding Aquaman and Hawkman aloft. They fell to the floor, and then surged forward.
Psycho raised a hand and a thrum of psychic energy staggered the trio, but it wasn’t enough to down them. Furious at their impudence, he pushed even harder, and that did the trick, causing the Leaguers to fall to their knees. It was too late though. In Harper’s hand was a remote trigger, and he pushed the button hard. There was a gentle vibration in the room, but alarms started blaring across the complex.
“What have you done?” growled Psycho.
“Signal flare,” replied Guardian.
Thunderous klaxons sounded-- and then Cyborg stepped through a portal right in front of the psychic and put himself between the psychic and the heroes. “Shield is down. Firestorm did the job. And you--” He looked down at Psycho. “--I think it’s time for your medicine.”
“Burn! Burn! You’re all on fire!” shouted Psycho.
Aquaman doubled back, his limbs covered in flames, and then looked at Hawkman, who was patting his arms frantically as if he were on fire-- but he could see nothing on his ally’s body. A psychic illusion! Enough to--
--Cyborg tapped down hard on Psycho’s head, instantly knocking him out and rendering him unconscious and his illusions nonexistent.
“Huh. Psychic attacks don’t work on me anymore. Good to know,” said Cyborg.
“We need Nth metal,” said Aquaman, helping Hawkman to his feet.
“And some pants,” observed Cyborg.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” said the Guardian.
Aquaman glanced back at the shield-wielding hero. “What do you mean?”
“We’re in the basement of a secret super-science facility filled with mind-controlled children. They’ve been under Psycho’s thumb for months, right? You think this’ll be easy?”
“Pants,” murmured Hawkman. “And my mace. In that order.”
“Diana, is that you?”
The Gateway City Museum of Cultural Antiquities had a reputation for hosting the once Princess and now Queen of Themyscira back in her early days as ambassador to the world. That meant that sometime the patrons who visited were often excited by the fact that maybe, just maybe, Wonder Woman herself may drop in at any time to revisit an old haunt.
Today was one of those days.
Julia Kapatelis was surprised at Diana’s presence but it didn’t stop her from being glad to see the woman she thought of as a second daughter, after all the time they’d spent together, and everything they’d gone through. For Diana, the feeling was mutual, but as she combed through the crates of artefacts in the storage area of the museum, she didn’t really have a chance to show it.
“Security said you were back here, said you made quite a commotion when you landed--what’s wrong? What are you looking for? Does this have something to do with Ares and his… his whole trial-by-combat challenge to Batman?”
“I need the Bow of Charon,” Diana said, looking back at Julia with tears in her eyes.
“The bow? I haven’t thought about that thing since… since Chris…*”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t want to dredge up the past… I thought I would be able to locate it without trouble…”
“It’s no trouble. It’s in my private storage area though, you need to come with me,” said Julia.
Diana followed Kapatelis down a winding corridor deeper into the vault beneath the museum, as the elder woman explained herself.
“After Chris was murdered and the weapon was returned to the museum by the police, I thought it best to keep out of circulation. I had considered contacting the embassy… maybe it would have been better kept on Themyscira, but after the consultation from Jason, he prepared part of the vault and we felt confident it would be perfectly safe down here.”
“Jason Blood eventually turned up for the consult?” said Diana, well aware she was avoiding talking about what was really playing on her mind.
“He’s here every week, looking through the artefacts. In fact, we’ve been out for dinner a few times. I know you said he had a dark side, but the man is wise beyond his years and at the same time, funny as hell. Makes a change from the stuffy academics that usually walk through here.”
“He’s definitely… a character,” said Diana, remembering Jason Blood’s devilish alter ego of Etrigan.
They came to an area of the storage vault that was empty, but Julia held her hand up to stop Diana going any further. She indicated toward the ceiling, where a line of carvings in the concrete glowed with arcane power.
“He actually warded the place,” marvelled Diana.
“It’s a powerful charm too. Those markings are Enochian. I looked into it, and they’re some of the most powerful magical runes he could have used,” said Julia. Even at her age, she looked giddy with excitement at the gesture the man she was infatuated with had performed.
After a few minutes, Julia held up the ornate silver bow Diana had come looking for. “Here we go, dear. Why do you need this? After everything you went through the first time around… it’s a scab of a memory to pick at.”
“To defeat a god,” said Wonder Woman, gripping the weapon as she tested the near-invisible bowstring that connected either end.
“How do you feel?” Arthur asked Hawkman, as the former helped the latter move through the corridors of the underground complex. They’d found their costumes in a room near to the holding cell, and Katar was currently clutching his mace tightly, the pale pallor of his flesh receding as the Nth metal pushed back against the cancer ravaging his body.
“Better… better…” said Katar.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked the Guardian. Over his shoulder was Doctor Psycho, currently unconscious thanks to the tap on the head courtesy of Cyborg, who had the weakened Christine Trelane bundled up in his arms. She was barely responsive, massively dehydrated, and riddled with numerous infections thanks to the long-term effects of Doctor Psycho’s possession. It seemed that the only thing keeping her standing before was his psychic might.
Aquaman looked at Hawkman, then back to Guardian. “I don’t know. We’ll need to run tests back on Laputa.”
“You’re lying,” said Cyborg, pointedly.
“Excuse me?” replied Aquaman.
“I’m-- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m reliant on my onboard sensors more so than ever before. I’m pushing them as far as they can go to make sure we don’t bump into any nasties down here--”
“I say what I mean and I stand by that, Victor. You’d do best to remember who I am,” said Aquaman.
During all this, Hawkman remained silent, flexing his grip on the Nth-metal mace while the hardness spread across his chest, continuing to work its so-called magic.
Cyborg didn’t have a face with which to show emotion, not since the attack that left him in his cybernetic shell without any physical components to hang his humanity on*, but if he did his brow would have furrowed. Aquaman was clearly lying. Micro-expressions, fluctuation in heart rate, the way he reacted to Victor’s statement, it was obvious that the King of the Seven Seas wasn’t telling the truth, but to then deny it? If Hawkman was sick, shouldn’t the rest of the team know?
“Stow it for now, gentlemen,” said the Guardian. “You hear that?”
Cyborg nodded. “Damn, I got distracted. Twelve heat signatures, including--oh--”
“Hey there boys, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
Followed by a large group of children of all ages, Firestorm waved warmly at the rest of her teammates. The children no longer looked like the threat they had been to the Guardian upstairs, instead they looked… like children. Some sucked their thumbs, some rubbed tears or the edge of sleep from their eyes.
“Do you know where my mommy and daddy are?” asked one of the children.
After offloading Doctor Psycho to Cyborg, the Guardian knelt so he was as close to eye level to the child as possible. “Not right now, but I’m not going to rest until I do.”
“Much as we can tell, whatever psychic prodding that… ninny… performed on them went away as soon as we dropped the shield,” said Firestorm.
“That was probably Cyborg,” said Aquaman. “Gave Doctor Psycho a love tap for the ages. Scrambled the fight right out of that bloated head of his.”
As if given the go-ahead by the mention of his name, Doctor Psycho’s body suddenly dissolved into a pile of ectoplasm.
“Oh, sonofa--” blurted out the Guardian, before looking down at the children. “--Gun.”
“One of his ectoplasmic disguises. Madness. But I know where he’ll go,” said Hawkman.
“You up for it?” asked Aquaman.
“Get the kids out of here. They’re at risk the longer they’re in his orbit.” The strength was back in the half-Thanagarian’s voice, and his fingers no longer played along the shaft of his mace. Instead his grip was steel, and his intention clear. “Cyborg, Firestorm, you’re with me.”
With a flap of his wings, Hawkman propelled himself up in the air, and then down the corridor, followed shortly by Firestorm and Cyborg. Meanwhile, Aquaman and the Guardian gathered up the children and Trelane then headed to where the rest of them were situated, knowing they had to get them out of there before Doctor Psycho was able to get his focus back!
“How long do we have?” asked Bruce, glancing back toward Alfred.
“Mere minutes, by my count, sir.”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was covered in dirt and grease, but the chassis of the exoskeleton was buzzing as the internal engines revved up. The armaments weren’t onboard, there wasn’t enough time for that, but the hulking monstrosity provided protection and enhanced strength… enough to buy him some time when facing a god. At least, that’s what the Dark Knight hoped.
“Sir, if you should fail…”
“I don’t want to consider that,” said Bruce.
“You’re confident you shall find a way to win?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Not always, sir. No.”
“Then I could use a prayer, Alfred. Because I don’t think I have one,” said Bruce.
“You’ve always had my confidence, Bruce. If there’s anyone alive who can figure out a way to win…”
“…Yes?”
“Well, it would be Lady Diana, do you not think?”
Bruce smiled. Levity in the face of the end of the world. For that, he could always rely on Alfred Pennyworth.
“Alfred, if I don’t make it…”
A newcomer entered the conversation. “It’s that bad, eh?”
“Did I not raise you better than to enter a domicile without knocking, Master Dick?”
Nightwing somersaulted down from the top floor of the cave, down to where the workshop was situated. He placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder then looked up at Haystacks, letting out a low whistle to show how impressed he was. “Where have you been all my life?”
“You’re aware of the situation?” asked Bruce, as he pulled his top shirt on.
“The only thing standing between humanity and the apocalypse is you. A fight to the death. Have you considered toxins? An incapacitating agent? Something to give the appearance of death?”
Bruce patted the utility belt around his waist. “I’m not convinced I’ll be allowed to win like that, but I’ll try. I’m sure Ares will have a safeguard in place.”
“Is there anything I--?”
Bruce interrupted him. “--If you’re aware of the situation then you know that any intervention from outside forces on my behalf will render the victory to Ares.”
“Then… you best not lose,” said Nightwing. He handed Bruce his cape and cowl, and the Dark Knight pulled it on. “Where’s Wonder Woman?”
“I’m not sure.” As the two men stood, the air began to crackle with energy, and Batman grimaced. “It’s time.” He climbed into Haystacks and Alfred began to secure him into the machine. Dick watched with awe as his adopted father began to meditate--centring himself in the face of certain death.
Nothing new there then.
The air crackled in the the stadium that hung on the cliffs of Paradise Island. It was here that the Amazons’ contests were held to honour Athena, to honour their gods… to decide who would bear the mantle of Wonder Woman. A decade or so ago now, a young princess bore an enchanted helm that disguised her true identity, and using every ounce of her training, every facet of her compassion and heart, she won the right to be the ambassador to Patriarch’s World.
Now Ares sat in the royal box overlooking the centre of the stadium. The killing grounds. His very presence caused reality around him to vibrate at an ungodly pace. He was the God of Nothing. And that meant that nothing could stand in his way…
You wouldn’t know it for looking, but across the world, the sights of the stadium were being beamed across the globe. If you were in front of a screen of any kind, be it your computer, phone, tablet or television, you were about to witness two beings go to war for the sake of humanity’s survival.
“Hello, Dark Knight. I see you wore your warrior’s finery,” said Ares.
Inside Haystacks, Batman allowed the sensory array to do a full sweep of the area.
Behind the royal box sat the Justice League that had been left behind in Ares’ custody. They were free of the energy cocoons that held them fast, but were bound by something to their chairs. The signature in the air was obvious; Circe’s magic. Why had Ares released them from their containment, only for his wife to put them back in chains?
Inside the royal box sat Ares, flanked by his minion and his wife. Circe was running her hands through her hair, a look of mad glee in her eyes. She was enjoying this. The minion, all height and muscles and stoicism, was characteristically still.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Batman.
Devastation laughed and drove her fist into the arm of Haystacks. Where did she come from? He had managed to lunge forward at the last second, but the damage was done, and his right arm went dead in a spray of sparks. She was the daughter of a god, she was magic, she was powerful, and where-- where was she--?
He spun around but it was too late. She was on his back. He cursed and triggered a shape charge built into the suit that sent the back panel flying into the dirt, taking Devastation with it. His back was now exposed, ready for a quick exit. She didn’t stay down for long. He kept his front to her, the onboard computer trying to track her movements, but her speed was off the charts, close to Diana’s own, perhaps. He knew he had to face her at all times, but that didn’t seem to be a bother to her. She surged forward, ducked under his attempt to grab her, and pushed her hands into the chest panel of the suit.
And then she tore it open.
Like that, his one advantage was gone, rendered completely useless by the hands of some teenage demigod. He cursed himself again, his arrogance at thinking that a suit of armour put together at the last minute, in six hours no less, could give him the advantage he needed.
He pressed the eject button and flung out the open back panel, then triggered the self destruct, the shaped charges that covered the suit triggering all at once. It was an old Lucius Fox rule-- if you have to abandon anything you’ve built-- or ‘procured’ from Wayne Enterprises R&D-- make sure that it’s reduced to slag before it can fall in an enemy’s-- or a competitor’s-- hands.
There was a pillar of smoke where Haystacks had once stood. What a waste, he thought. Had it given him the space he needed?
Devastation strolled out of the maelstrom, grinning. “Face to face now?”
“You’re slurring your words, Edgar. I’m thinking a concussion?”
“Shut up, Wells, you cripple bastard. I’m in control here. I’m still in control,” said Doctor Psycho, scrambling inside the side room that had held Harrison Wells prisoner for however long the distinguished S.T.A.R. Labs founder ‘hadn’t been himself’.
“Then why are you hiding? In the dark? With me?” pressed Wells.
“I spread myself too thin. Was supposed to prepare the next generation… but the magnitude of it… damn that Trelane bitch… she told them… told them what happened…” said Psycho, pacing. In his hand he had a small device that was blinking off and on in an array of lights. It seemed to be picking up the pace-- blink, blink-blink, blink-blink-blink-- but it wasn’t where the mad doctor needed it to be yet.
Harrison watched but said no more. He was at this monster’s mercy. He’d been a prisoner for months, it felt like. Who knows how long it might have actually been? What kind of tricks of the mind had the psychic inflicted upon him?
The door to the side room exploded inward, barely missing Wells as he pulled himself to his de facto cell.
“Psycho!” howled Hawkman.
“Oh, well, isn’t this swell,” murmured Psycho.
“You’re going down for a very long time,” said Hawkman. He held a psychic inhibitor in his free hand, while the other was gripping his Nth-metal mace as it crackled with unearthly energy.
Psycho chuckled. “Oh! You remembered the inhibitor this time! What happened last time? Did you forget about it? I wonder what else I’ve made you forget…”
“What’s he talking about?” asked Firestorm.
“I wasn’t talking to you, stupid bitch!” shrieked Psycho.
“Rude,” she replied.
To punctuate her point, she raised her hand and a blast of elemental energy sent Psycho back into the wall, where he wheezed as the air refused to stay in his lungs. His hands found the device he’d been holding, and quickly brought it close to his heart.
“Both of you… all of you… you’ll… you’ll never see them coming now… they’re here… they’ve been here forever… and they’ve won… you’re dead and you… you just don’t know it yet…”
The villain’s hand pressed the trigger on the device he’d been holding and his body vanished with a scream as the air burned. The Justice Leaguers covered their eyes in surprise apart from Hawkman, who stared a hole into the space where Psycho had been sprawled.
“No trace of him in the building,” confirmed Cyborg.
“I’ve never seen these kinds of energies before,” said Firestorm, casting her hand around the air, plucking at the atomic structure of the energy signature that hung in Doctor Psycho’s wake.
Hawkman approached Wells. “Doctor Wells, are you all right?”
“I’m fine now, Katar. Please, we have met before. Numerous times. You can still call me Harrison.”
“Let’s get you out of this filth,” replied Hawkman, pulling Wells up into his arms.
“Are the children--?” started Wells.
Firestorm held her hands up and nodded. “Safe. We’ll need to run a full investigation into the facility’s goings on to try and figure out what he’s been doing, but all that stuff about training the next generation… what was that all about?”
“I don’t know… but I know we’ll figure it out,” said Wells, as they left the room.
Wonder Woman stepped into the stadium through an orange portal generated by their Door technology, and looked down at where Batman was battling Devestation. Her arrival didn’t go unnnoticed, as Ares gestured at her while looking at his minion. “Deal with her.”
The helmeted heavy nodded, and with a grunt charged up toward her, while the Justice League looked on as the battle unfolded below.
Batman hadn’t been able to say a word before now. She was fast, but threw punches like a tank-- heavy and powerful, but if you could move fast enough, dodgeable. She’d been able to take on Wonder Girl and Troia*, only departing when she was about to be discovered. She could have killed them-- she nearly did kill Zenobia, the second woman of this generation to bear the mantle of Wonder Woman.
Devastation smiled. She was playing him.
“You don’t have to do this,” said Batman.
Devastation took a step back and shrugged. “Why not?”
“We were there when you were born. Your mother was terrified of your father. You’re barely over a year old but look at you. You’ve been manipulated.”
“Nah,” said Devstation, she threw a punch that caught Batman square in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the tall walls of the stadium grounds.
He coughed blood. Internal bleeding. Not good.
Wonder Woman pulled the bow up and took aim down at the combatants. Out the corner of her eye, she could see the lion-helmed monster bound toward her. She swore, and placed the weapon down, before raising her gauntlets to dodge the blow she could see the heavy was about to throw. His knuckles cracked against her wrists, but that didn’t deter him. She kicked upwards, into his side, but he caught her leg with his thick, muscular arm, and grabbed her left wrist with his spare hand. He dragged her arm downward and then threw all his might into a colossal headbutt that sent a horrible noise into the air on impact, and sent an almighty crack down the side of his helmet.
Diana staggered back, completely dazed. Who was this man? Was he a demigod sworn to Ares’ side? His armour reminded her of Hercules, and the stories her mother told of the subjugation she experienced at his hands, all those millennia ago. It’s like his entire costume was designed to evoke a response from her.
“You know, we could have let her intervene,” said Circe, leaning down to whisper in Ares’ ear.
“I know, but I do like seeing Wonder Woman beaten. And the poetry of it is beautiful,” he replied.
“Yes, but if she intervenes, if she kills our daughter for her beloved, we still win. The victory you so rightly deserve.”
“At the cost of our daughter?” countered Ares.
“Well, we could always have another,” retorted Circe.
Ares chuckled. “That we could.”
Batman held his hand up as Devstation went for another blow. She hesitated, surprised by his voice as he barked “Wait!”, then she gasped as a spray of chemicals flew from a projector hidden in his wrist. She doubled backwards as a toxin spread through her body-- down her throat-- in her lungs-- into her bloodstream.
Ares sprang forward in surprise. This man had taken a vow never to kill!
Devastation coughed, caught her throat, and then laughed. “Poisons? You try to poison me? Laughable!”
“Is this laughable?” asked Batman, as he finished fiddling with the circuitry in his glove. There was an audible crackle, and a pair of voices emerged from a speaker hidden in the insignia on the Dark Knight’s chest--
“Yes, but if she intervenes, if she kills our daughter for her beloved, we still win. The victory you so rightly deserve.”
“At the cost of our daughter?”
“Well, we could always have another.”
Batman pushed the point home. “They don’t care about you. They don’t love you. Stand down. We can end this without any further bloodshed. There’s a place for you here, with us-- not with them.”
Devastation looked up at the royal box where Ares and Circe both looked down in surprise, their private conversation having been picked up by the directional microphones hidden in his cowl. Usually he’d utilise them to amp up the ambient sound in a situation so he could utilise a whole different level of stealth than his League of Shadows training had granted him, but they had other uses.
“Mother… father…” murmured Devastation.
Wonder Woman spat blood. Her attacker was pressing his momentary advantage. He pulled his sword from its hilt and raised it with evil intentions-- and then Diana sent an uppercut directly toward his chin, catching him hard, splitting his flesh on impact and finishing off his helmet. It flew off in fragments, revealing the bearded, bedraggled man underneath.
“Gods,” whispered Diana, in horror.
Hippolytus, her cousin and husband, the leader of a lost band of Amazons, long thought dead at the hands of Circe*, the bravest warrior she had ever known-- was here-- under Ares and Circe’s thrall-- and trying to kill her.
She looked him in the eyes and only saw an icy cold rage that didn’t make sense considering the man she’d once known, once bedded in the name of preserving the institutions of Themyscira. He snarled, and she drove her elbow into the side of his head, just under his ear. The lights went out in those dead eyes of his, and he toppled, unconscious at her feet.
“Mother… father…” murmured Devastation. “You’re just as cruel as I always hoped.” She laughed and then focused her attention back on the Dark Knight. “The only way you can win today is if you can kill me. But you only see that baby you helped bring into the world, mortal. You don’t see what I am now-- your better. I’m going to end your life and then end humanity’s future along with it. Don’t you think that’s beautiful? All your hopes, all your dreams, they’re gone, because of me, because you can’t bring yourself to do what those you fight do every-- single-- day.”
“I’m sorry,” said Batman, as he raised his fists one last time, his heart heavy with the fact that she was right. He couldn’t kill her. The Justice League couldn’t save the world. This was it. This might be--
A familiar voice shouted an unfamiliar phrase. Not enough to distract, but enough to be noted. Then there was sound and pain. Something that made the Dark Knight stumble backwards away from Devastation. What had the voice said? “For Ares”?
Confused, Batman clutched at his chest where an arrow now jutted out. The kinetic dispersal plates that lined his suit should have activated, the promethean-weave padding-- micro-thin and stronger than reinforced steel-- should have caught the arrow head on impact, or pulped it into an ineffective mush.
His cowl computer was sending an alarm signal to the Cave. Massive internal injury. Massive internal haemorrhaging. If the magical shield over Themyscira didn’t prevent the majority of signals from leaving its shores, Alfred would have been shouting in his ear, but he was alone as the darkness began to creep in at the edges of his vision.
Wearily, Bruce looked at his hands. Dripping red from where he’d tried to staunch the bleeding. Digits trembling uncontrollably. He was in shock, but he knew how to-- how to combat that--- that-- and anything-- but-- his heart tried to beat but it was broken. Irrevocably damaged by the arrow point. How was he--
Who was--
Had Ares--
Before his vision could fail him, he found the bow man. Bow woman. She was in the stands on the other side of the stadium, away from the battlefield, away from where the Dark Knight had been warring with Devastation.
Life was leaving him. He could feel his body become weightless, and his legs suddenly lost their ability to hold him up. He fell to his knees and nearly toppled forward, but instead he held himself up for just a moment longer.
“Diana…” he murmured.
Wonder Woman stood, bow in hand, tears in her eyes, the unconscious body of Hippolytus at her feet.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispered, for no one to hear.
And then Batman died.
Accompanied by the Witch Queen CIRCE and his diabolical demigod daughter DEVASTATION, ARES has returned to end the world! With a brand new set of powers thanks to his manipulation of the Celestial Court that watches over all the pantheons of gods across the galaxy, the new GOD OF NOTHING can manipulate reality at it's foundation, and he's come back to Earth to make the Justice League-- and all of humanity-- suffer!
The former God of War has laid down a challenge... a battle to the death for the future of all humankind! WONDER WOMAN offered herself as the world's champion, but as the challenger, ARES chose the opposition, and he levelled the challenge squarely at BATMAN! How can a man who vowed never to kill save the world if the only way to do so is by taking a life?
Meanwhile, AQUAMAN and HAWKMAN have fallen into a trap laid by DOCTOR PSYCHO, and they're currently the psychic madman's prisoners! And when THE GUARDIAN went to save the day, he was rendered vegetative thanks to the immensity of the psionic lunatic! Now CYBORG and FIRESTORM are the only hopes for saving the trio, and they don't even know what's going on in the bowels of the villain's lair!
With all this in mind, please join us now for the continuing adventures of the JUSTICE LEAGUE--
Nobody prayed to Athena. Or, at least, if they did, she didn’t hear them. She was a goddess, de facto queen of her pantheon, and she was unmoored as the rest of them. It had been centuries since she had received any substantial amount of prayer or consideration, but that didn’t matter.
Gods were likes batteries. Unless they were using the celestial power they had stored up across the aeons, they’d be fine. A few prayers here and there? From scant worshippers across the globe? That would sustain them if they wanted to perform an act of god or some kind of celestial intervention without burning through their stores.
Having an island dedicated to your name and teachings helped as well… so why didn’t the daily prayers from Themyscira, from Paradise Island, make it to her ears? That’s what she wondered when she awoke that morning, and when she emerged from her rooms in Mount Olympus it became obvious--
The entire celestial realm had become untethered from the earthly one. Mount Olympus was floating in the void, and if you squinted, you could see Asgard in the distance, thunder cracking beneath the dome that had been erected over its immense city, just as one had been across Olympus. And even further out she could see Aztlán, where the Southern American pantheon of gods roamed, and then, a pin prick in this black void, her hunter’s eyes could see the Golden City, where angels soared beneath their own dome.
“Athena, what’s going on?” asked Aphrodite, staring up at the void. The goddess of love was a beautiful blonde, enough to make even one as attractive as Athena feel insecure if she was of that predisposition. Beautiful silks enshrouded her body, barely protecting her immense modesties, but she didn’t care. She never did.
“We’ve been taken from our place in the cosmic order and rendered here… it can only mean one thing…” mused Athena. She was taller than Aphrodite, her hair a brown as dark as the night. As soon as she’d seen the darkness overhead, her robes had transmogrified into armour.
Aphrodite took her eyes off the dark and fixed them on her sister. “What’s that?”
Athena’s tone became dire. “A crisis of faith. A judgement from the celestial court. Humanity is spiritually alone for the first time since their inception, without belief in something…” The result didn’t bear thinking about… but what went unsaid spoke volumes.
“H-how will they survive?” asked Aphrodite. Though few prayed to her, vanity was a sort of worship in its own way to the most beautiful goddess the Greek pantheon had in their ranks. Without humanity… what would happen to her?
Athena knelt and clasped her hands together. “Now it’s up to us to have faith… I only pray my champion-- our champion-- finds a way to win the day.” Queen of the Gods and Goddess of Wisdom and War, Athena began to whisper a prayer to the only woman she knew would be able to find a way to save the world, one way or another.
Athena began to pray for Wonder Woman.
Issue Sixty-Nine: An End To The Age Of Wonders
Part Three: “Dark Night Of The Soul”
HoM / FLINCHUM / BOWERS
THEMYSCIRA:
“Let me explain the rules.”
Ready for whatever came next, Batman and Wonder Woman determinedly watched as Ares’ fingers danced smoothly in the direction of the rest of the Justice League, as if he were conducting some arcane orchestra, and with his other hand he made the same gestures toward the Amazons of Themyscira. Behind him stood Circe and Devastation, his own little family unit, and their musclebound and nameless enforcer, his face obscured by a formidable and feature-obscuring lion mask.
“My beautiful daughter against your Dark Knight. No tricks. No parlour tricks. A decision made by death, and death alone.”
With enough power to demolish a planet between them, Aquawoman, Big Barda, Green Lantern, Majestic and Mister Miracle were casually suspended in midair by the primordial powers the so-called ‘God of Nothing’ manipulated, unable to move despite their own impressive abilities. The power Ares wielded was beyond comprehension! On the other side of the throne room, the Amazons were suspended as well, though their number sprawled out into the courtyard and streets surrounding the temple-like building.
“If you cheat, humanity’s future is forfeit. Remember that, Diana. If you lay a finger on my champion, before or during the challenge, I win. And likewise, if I tamper with your champion… I relinquish any hold I have over the fate of this world. Fair’s fair.”
Batman considered his options. He knew of at least fifty handcrafted chemicals and a dozen more naturally-occurring toxins he could deploy that would stop a heart, temporarily slowing the metabolic processes in a body to a form resembling death. But the magicks at play… there would be catches. There would be safeguards. Ares had strategised this entire encounter to an inch of its life, and that meant… death was the only answer.
“I volunteer myself as champion, Ares. Not him. He doesn’t stand for humanity,” said Wonder Woman, a hand across Batman’s chest as she stepped in front of him. Bruce looked at her, trying desperately to intercede, but he knew that the decision had been made without his consent.
“Oh, no. He does stand for humanity. He has to now. Your little lover boy will stand or he will die,” purred Circe.
“…When?” asked Batman.
“Tonight. Nine hours. I give you the day to prepare. But if any one of your allies intervenes. If you call in your reserves, your affiliates, your mercenary comrades, it’s a forfeit. And to ensure compliance, I hold your team as collateral. If you cheat, they die first. And then… the Amazons suffer more than you could ever imagine.”
Wonder Woman took a step forward ready to strike. “You…”
“No,” said Batman, gripping her wrist. She shot him a look but knew he was right. “We need to prepare.”
“Get ready, old man,” barked Devastation, licking her lips eagerly. “I’m going to split your head open and see what dribbles out!”
“Door,” said Batman. He stepped through, leading Wonder Woman through to points unknown.
S.T.A.R. LAB’S UPSTATE NEW YORK FACILITY:
“My name is Ares. I am a God-- the only one that matters right now, and soon forever. Listen close… your despair-- your lack of faith-- your lack of purpose-- for all these things, I am here to judge you. I am here to decide if you are worthy of existence. Do you think you are worthy of free will? Or will you wallow in misery as your lives are taken from you and your prayers for nothing are answered by none other than me?”
“What… the actual… hell…” murmured Doctor Psycho.
All around him flowed ectoplasm, the substance that allowed him to shape reality in small instances. He had used his immense psychic powers to assume the identity of Harrison Wells, to take his shape, his life’s work, and now he was watching a familiar face brag about his own immense power on the television set.
“Doctor Wells, I’m sorry, it’s across all stations. Some kind of… pirate signal… I can’t block it out,” said one of the technicians in the room.
On the screen, Ares abruptly stood and began to walk forward. He stepped from the throne room of Themyscira into a Russian newsroom, whose announcers leapt out of their skin in surprise at the sight of him.
“I was once the God of War, but now I'm the God of Nothing. I want you all to realise that all life is worthless, that any effort you put into your dreams is a waste, and that you should sit and allow your sad selves to diminish along with your lives…”
Ares hadn’t stopped walking. He was in England, walking through one newsroom with his hands behind his back as if he were some quaint gentleman, ambling his way through life. A few steps later, he emerged on an American talk show, then a South African newscast. He was stepping from one place to another like it was nothing, zero effort, a smile on his face and his very presence causing those around him to shiver.
“…To that end, it’s quite simple-- I have put you on trial. All of humanity. Your connection to anything beyond yourselves is gone. All you have is your empty lives. Now, I would have been content to wait the trial out, but the Justice League have been in a thorn in my side before, so I put it to them-- your future is in their hands…”
He finally came to a stop back in the rubble-strewn throne room on Themyscira, standing admiring the work of the energy columns that kept the Justice Leaguers trapped and paralysed.
“…A trial by faith is now a trial by combat. A battle to the death…”
He motioned behind him, where the team were suspended in midair by the same energy that dribbled from his wide, mad eyes.
“…Your heroes are here as collateral. Your champion is named. But the rules are clear: It has to be this way now. Anyone who dares interfere will forfeit the future of the human race.”
“Oh, no, you bastard. You utter bastard,” murmured Psycho.
“What is it, sir? What's wrong?”
“He’s pulling a power play! All the work we’ve put in, all the plans set in motion! He wants to undercut us! He wants to end the world before we can take control! Oh, they won’t be pleased, no, not at all…”
“…Sir?” repeated one of the technicians. “What’s wrong… with your face?”
Psycho looked at his hands, then at his reflection in a nearby monitor-- the ectoplasm he’d drawn around himself to take on the appearance of Harrison Wells was slipping, causing his mouth to dribble down by an inch and his eye to sink in its socket. He clenched his fists and the ectoplasmic mask tightened, returning his stolen façade to perfection.
“Forget everything,” Psycho barked, waving his hand in the technician’s direction.
The subject of his outburst collapsed, his mind emptied of every memory, every learned skill. He lay on the ground wide-eyed and incontinent, before he forgot how to breathe and died starving for oxygen. No one else in the room seemed to question the action.
Ares smiled. “So: You will watch. You will see. My daughter will battle your champion to the death. Whoever wins decides the fate of all mankind. I am, of course, not exempt from the rules! If I interfere in the trial, you win. If you interfere, I win. That’s what you need to remember. Justice Leagues, Societies, Titans and whoever else-- if you dare intervene now, you will doom everything. Gods, monsters, heroes and men-- do not test me. I will see you crumble in defeat at the sight of your champion’s death. Don’t worry about finding the right channel… you’ll not miss what comes next.”
The screen went blank but Doctor Psycho had already left. There was a side room that everyone had forgotten existed, and inside, the diminutive demon scanned around. “Christine. Stand up. Come with me, dear.”
Standing at 5' 10" with very dirty blonde hair and dressed in clothes she’d not been allowed to change out of for months now, the woman Psycho had addressed pulled herself up and moved toward him. She smelled terrible, but that made sense considering she’d been under his thrall for nearly a year now.
Beside her, a man in a similar condition lay on the floor, pulling himself up on his hands to look at his captor. “Let her go, Edgar. Whatever this is, you need to let her go.”
“Harrison, just because I can’t pierce that wall of lightning in your brain doesn’t mean I won’t twist your head inside out,” growled Psycho.
Harrison Wells grimaced. He couldn’t move without his wheelchair, but his arms were muscular, able to prop his body up as he stared down Doctor Psycho. “The Justice League will stop you.”
“Justice League? Eheheh, I’ve had three downstairs for the better part of two days now! I made one senile! That was fun. The others… I’ll make Aquaman scared of water. Or I’ll make him forget how to swim. I’ll make Hawkman a savage. More savage. I’ll invert their personalities. Send them back out into the world to wreak havoc. And the rest? They’re a little busy dealing with Ares. I think we’ll be just fine until I’m done having my fun. Now either stand up and face me like a man, or shut up and sit there. I’ve got work to do.”
Doctor Psycho led Christine out of the room and sealed it after him, leaving the real Harrison Wells to rot in the dark. “If you’ve had them for two days… why haven’t you twisted them inside out already?” he murmured to himself.
LAPUTA:
Angela Spica was monitoring two situations that were becoming increasingly worse. The Guardian had dropped off the map just like Aquaman and Hawkman, and she’d just seen the broadcast that had broken in across every television channel and internet stream on the planet. Reservists were activating their Justice League communicators across the globe, asking what was going on, but Angie didn’t have any answers.
Ares had the rest of the team-- though Batman and Wonder Woman were conspicuous by their absence-- imprisoned, and the only active operatives on the board were her currently barely functioning boyfriend Vic Stone, aka Cyborg, and Firestorm, who she was in communication with at that moment in time.
{Anything, guys?} Angie asked Firestorm over the nanotelepathic communication link they all shared.
{We think we’re nearly there-- there was a weird distortion when Guardian entered S.T.A.R.’s grounds, so if we can focus and ping the signal back, we might have an in.}
There was a weird distortion when she responded, some side effect of the nano’pathic link interacting with the Matrix that allowed the twin components of the Nuclear Hero’s identity-- Lorraine Reilly and Martin Stein-- to become Firestorm.
Angie’s brow furrowed. The Guardian hadn’t walked into the upstate New York S.T.A.R. Labs facility without a plan. Whatever was happening there, there was shielding that kept errant signals from escaping the grounds, and he wanted Firestorm to disable that before they risked any more bodies. He was a Trojan Horse of sorts, a beacon they were trying to locate somewhere behind the curtain pulled across the facility.
Firestorm had been floating above the clouds, using her elemental powers to skim the building-- both above and beneath the ground-- to try and disable the shielding, and if she said she was close, the next phase of the plan would come into effect.
“Angie, Ang--! I got something--!”
Vic Stone trudged quickly into the monitor womb where Angie was operating from, his voice back to the more familiar tones she’d grown accustomed to prior to his savage attack at the hands of the carrion creatures known as ‘the Throshti’, who had torn as much living matter off his mechanical frame as possible, leaving him in his current state as an automaton with a brain that was no longer required to operate his immensely powerful cybernetic frame*.
*Justice League #65
“Victor?” Angie said quickly, surprised to see him emerging from the labs down in the base of the floating headquarters after the painful interaction they’d had mere hours before*.
*Justice League #67
He knelt before her, and she looked down at him, at the metallic façade where his face had once rested. He’d lost half his face in the initial accident that led to his father transforming him into Cyborg, and then he’d lost the rest in deep space at the claws of the Throshti.
The mask-- and that’s all it could be called, she thought-- was an approximation of his face, but motionless and without expression. At least his synthesised voice was his own, rather than the patchy, electronic tones he’d been using after the attack. Not that she blamed him for that-- when his vocal folds had been shredded, all he had was the subdermal vocal box.
“Angie, I’m so sorry. I’m just… I’m drowning, and I was pulling you down along with me. You didn’t deserve it and I’m… I’m a better man than that, no matter my current circumstances. I can’t… I won’t…”
He shook his head but she put a finger to where his mouth would have been, shushing him as she went. She lent forward and kissed him on the chrome of his forehead. “It’s okay, honey. I’m just glad you’re here. What… what have you got?”
He looked up at her, and while his expression didn’t move, he took her hands and cradled them in his own. It wasn’t the same. His ability to receive heat signals was glitchy, always reliant on the presence of his flesh to formulate an appropriate response, but he held her nonetheless. “Wells isn’t Wells, it’s Doctor Psycho. I’m not sure how long it’s been going on, but I did a deep dive on all the evidence the Birds of Prey and Hawkman gathered at Seaworld. I backtracked to all the incidents with children manifesting abilities* and he’s always there, along with this woman, here.”
*First seen in Justice League #49
A projection appeared, from an emitter embedded in his body, of a blonde woman of average height, dressed progressively worse depending on the scene of the crime. She started off fuller built, more muscular, but as each projection of her appeared she became more bedraggled, more tired, and Angie’s eyes opened wide when she realised who she was seeing.
“You know her?” said Vic, noting her expression.
“Heck yeah, I do. We used to go out for drinks on Margarita Tuesdays back in my Global Peace Agency days. That’s Christine Trelane. She used to work with us back in the GPA, but Stormwatch poached her. She vanished after Bendix went bonkers*. Jeez, she looks terrible.”
*The rise and fall of Stormwatch is documented in Justice League #42-48
“I couldn’t find any information on her in any database, and that’s a massive concern considering we have access to all of them,” said Vic.
“Makes sense though. GPA operatives have their personal data scrubbed off all databases during their tenure with the group. Stormwatch were black-ops to the max, so it’s not like they’re going to put her data back out in the world… She was a… we used to call her a talent scout. She could sniff out superhumans. But… this is so strange… do we know where she is now?”
“I’m guessing she’s wherever Psycho is. The man’s a sicko, and we need to take him down. Where’s Harper?”
“Gone to take him down, but it’s part of something bigger-- we need to tell Firestorm,” said Angie.
{I’ve picked it all up,} replied the Nuclear Hero. {And we’ve got good news-- I can disable the jamming field and get us into the facility. I could use back-up though, if they’ve taken out the others-- and with what you’ve said about Ares, we’re not going to get any back-up because we are the back-up.}
“We need to figure out how to help both teams,” said Cyborg, defiantly. “I picked up the pirate signal that Ares sent out across the world-- he’s on Themyscira, but if his ‘rules’ are true, we can’t take the fight to him. We need all hands on deck. Did you see how Batman and Wonder Woman weren’t with the others?”
“Go support Firestorm, she… they… need the assist if Psycho has been using Christine to gather superhumans. Who knows how that sick bastard could have been twisting them. I’ll check in with the Cave, see if they’re taking calls.”
“You got it,” said Cyborg. He stood and headed toward the door, before turning back to face her. “I love you, Angie. And I’m sorry I took my situation out on you today. You deserve better.”
“Then be better. Save the world, lover boy,” said Angie. “And I’ll be here waiting.”
S.T.A.R. LAB’S UPSTATE NEW YORK FACILITY:
“How’re you holding up?” Aquaman asked Hawkman, who was currently breathing huskily across the way from him. Every lungful was belaboured, and from what he could glean, his winged companion wasn’t in the best of shape before they were captured, let alone now.
“R-rough,” replied Katar, wearily.
“You’re sick. Clearly have been for a while. Why didn’t you tell anybody? Or have I missed something in the briefings in my absence?”
Katar laughed, but it didn’t sound like it was a healthy noise. It was punctuated by a ragged cough that emanated from a hollow-sounding place in his sternum. “Been… been a while now. F-found out not long after I rejoined the team myself*.”
*Justice League #57
“That long? Does anyone else know?”
“Hawkgirl*… Majestic**… I didn’t intend for the latter to… to find out, but that damn Zoom Vision of his… but I had to tell the former… she’s my heart.”
*Justice League #58
**Justice League #63
“Why didn’t you tell the team?”
What had Katar said to Majestros, in the Laputa atrium when the Kheran warlord had confronted him with knowledge of his sickness? The words played out in his head: “…I won’t spend the last of my days wasting the time of the greatest heroes of this world-- this damn universe-- to try and further my own life. I will live my life like I always have, I will endeavour to never waste a day, and to never miss an opportunity to make this beautiful world better than it was when I first arrived on it.”
“The team have other priorities,” said the Thanagarian, simply.
“Bull crap. You’re… you’re part of the family. If I had known, I would have had Atlantis’ best scientists and sorcerers working on finding a cure. The team would have--”
“That’s the problem! That’s the problem. There are other things going on in the world, things more deserving of our focus, than whatever ails me. I’ve lived a long life and done a lot of good, and if it’s my time then it’s my time. I won’t… I won’t let my weakness-- my sickness-- detract from the focus of the team.”
“I can’t keep this secret, Katar. You’re sick, and the team deserves to know. When we get out of here--”
“If,” corrected Hawkman.
“When, godammit, when. When we escape after bashing Doctor Psycho’s head in with your mace, you need to come clean. And if you don’t, I’ll tell them.”
“You… you do whatever you think is best, your majesty,” said Hawkman.
“You know, when you’re pissed off you stop coughing. Maybe keep that in mind.”
Katar looked up from where he was hanging his head and Arthur was smiling. He almost chuckled, but then the muttering of the addled Guardian drew their attention. He was curled up on the floor, unresponsive to their voices after the attack, but he hadn’t stopped muttering.
“Did he just--?” asked Katar.
Arthur nodded. “I think he did.”
GOTHAM CITY:
Emerging from the portal that had taken them away from Themyscira, Wonder Woman looked around and realised they were beneath Wayne Manor, in the underground cavern that made up Batman’s eponymous Cave.
“What are we doing here? We need to fight, we need to--” she started, but he cut her off immediately.
“Ares has us under his thumb. How?”
Diana paused. This was the man she cared for more than anyone, and he’d been challenged to a fight to the death with the future of all mankind on the line. And their approaches were so different-- she wanted to do something-- then-- there-- immediately-- while he needed to break the events down, figure out their root, their cause, and plan appropriately. What did she know? How could she give him the answers he needed?
“There’s a place called the celestial court. It’s not… you can’t just go there. It’s a metaphysical location, not a landmarked one. There, gods grant gods power. Gods need prayer. If they don’t have that fuel, their… batteries run dry. Athena stripped him of his title when we last saw him*, that meant he could no longer feed on war… so he had to find an alternative source or he’d cease to exist.”
*Justice League #52
“Hh,” murmured Batman.
He removed his cape and cowl, and headed toward the armoury. Entering, you would see dozens of weapons of mass destruction, either confiscated from the rogues of Gotham or ones of Bruce Wayne’s own concoction. He would strip the items down to their base components and rebuild them. He could dismantle one of Victor Fries’ cold guns down to bits in less than a minute now. It was a point of pride.
Diana followed, and watched him as he typed something into a keypad near the back of the room, causing the wall to rumble and roll open, revealing a larger room where a mechanical colossus in black and grey was partially constructed, held up by a series of chains from the ceiling.
“What… is that?” she asked.
“It doesn’t have a name yet,” he replied.
“Oh, yes it does. I have taken to calling it Haystacks, because it’s a mean contraption and would crush you if you ended up under its heel.”
Diana turned and saw Alfred Pennyworth emerging from one of the antechambers in the Cave. Bruce’s loyal manservant, and the person responsible for raising him since the death of Martha and Thomas Wayne, was wearing overalls and a layer of grease, and was currently hefting some tools into the small room where Haystacks was hanging from chains.
“We’re not calling it Haystacks,” said Bruce.
“I do believe we are, Master Bruce.” There was a stern tone in Pennyworth’s voice. He relented quickly, bowing in respect toward Wonder Woman. “Miss Diana, an absolute pleasure to have you back with us. If you care to join me upstairs, I can show you the plastering work that was required after your last visit*…”
*See Justice League #59-63
Diana’s brow furrowed. “Why Haystacks? Why… does it have to have a name?”
“When Master Bruce was a boy, I kept him entertained with a spectacle from my teenaged years: World of Sport. Giant Haystacks and Big Daddy… my father would have been outraged had he known I partook in viewing such things with my dear mother,” said Alfred, smiling at the memory, before dramatically brandishing his spanner in the air as if it were a rapier. “And if my time in the theatre taught me anything, it’s that every great prop must have a name! Besides, I don’t think the man who calls the shurikens he utilises in his mission against the criminal underworld ‘Batarangs’ really has a leg to stand on.”
Bruce grumbled, then looked up at the incomplete device. “Fine. Haystacks. We have under nine hours. Do you think we can get it operational?”
Alfred rubbed his forehead and considered the question. “Not with all the non-lethal armaments we had planned, but the exoskeleton will be in a fit state for use.”
“Then it might buy me some time,” mused Bruce.
“It’s a battle to the death, Bruce. It’s something you simply cannot win. How do you think you can defeat the girl, Devastation?” she asked.
With his back to her, he shook his head while looking at his clenched fists. “When we last saw her, she was a newborn, Diana. She’s been indoctrinated by her parents. If I have time, I can… I can get through to her. I can still win this without blood being spilled.”
“What if she can’t be reasoned with?”
“Then I die, and humanity falls with me,” said Bruce. He pressed on, “I’m sorry, Diana. I have work to do.”
“That’s not enough. This isn’t enough,” she replied.
“What else can I do? What else can I do but fight with everything I have at my disposal? She’s a child, a girl, and for all the hells we’ve lived through, for all the devils we’ve fought, I can’t… I can’t…” He trailed off, and Wonder Woman stepped forward, putting her hands on either side of his face. “Diana…”
“Do you trust me, Bruce?” she asked.
“Always,” he replied, without hesitation, despite their situation.
“Do what you have to do here. I won’t interfere on your behalf, but I have to consider the… long game. Trust that whatever comes next, it’s for the safeguarding of all humanity,” she said, with a kiss on his lips to seal the deal. With a word-- “Door”-- she was gone, leaving Alfred and Bruce to their impossible task.
S.T.A.R. LAB’S UPSTATE NEW YORK FACILITY:
“You won’t even believe what’s happening out in the world while you waste away down here,” said Doctor Psycho, shedding the ectoplasmic guise of Harrison Wells as he strolled into the holding cell.
He was followed by the near-catatonic Christine Trelane, who neither Aquaman nor Hawkman recognised. If the Guardian knew, he couldn’t be asked-- he was sprawled on the floor, whispering to himself incoherently. The diminutive psychic terror wiped his brow and looked up at his prisoners, a sick grin on his face.
“How are we feeling, boys?”
“Swell, how about you?” replied Aquaman, through gritted teeth.
“Oh, wonderful. Did you know the world is ending outside? Batman against Ares’ bitch daughter, for the fate of the world, ho ho, such fun. He has to kill her, you see. Kill her or the world ends.”
Hawkman looked up lazily. He was sick to his very centre, his body ravaged by the mysterious cancer that had ravaged him for some time now. Without Nth metal pushing the disease back he was closer to death than he’d ever been, but the pain allowed him to focus in that moment.
“Oh, you know all about killing kids to save the world, don’t you, Katar? I’ve plumbed the depths of your psyche to know how much your own experience with such a moral quandary ravaged you*. So many cracks in the foundation to help let me worm my way in,” purred Psycho.
*Justice League #39
“Shut your damn mouth,” growled Hawkman.
“Shut yours,” ordered Psycho, and the Thanagarian Hawk Knight couldn’t help but obey. He began to breathe heavily through his nostrils, his rage bubbling up to the surface.
Aquaman grimaced. “What’s your endgame, Psycho? What do you even want?”
“I want the world to burn, and it looks like our plans for a little apocalypse are being superseded by someone else’s, so I’m thinking on the fly here,” said Psycho.
“The kids-- what do you want with the kids?” pushed the King of the Seven Seas.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s what it’s all about. The children are our future, and what’s the point of ending the world if it’s not liveable in afterwards? But you know what? I think that’s enough talk. Enough dialogue. I’ll be back to ruin your lives in a few hours, and then… then…” Doctor Psycho waved his hand casually in the Justice League’s direction. “You won’t even know what hit you…”
“Hey, wait one second,” interrupted Aquaman, “you said that hours ago. You said you’d be back in an hour and by my count it’s been longer. You ravaged the Guardian’s mind, but look at you, you’re flop sweating. God, I’m feeling better than ever thanks to all the moisture you’re pouring into the air. You’re weak, aren’t you?”
“He’s stretched too thin.”
Doctor Psycho spun around and stared a pair of holes through Christine Trelane, whose mouth was still open from whispering the words. Tears streamed down her face but her lips were half-curled into a smile. She then collapsed, all her mental and physical energies taken up by breaking the conditioning put upon her by the villain, but it was enough--
“He’s not strong enough,” said the Guardian, standing abruptly.
“What?!” gasped Psycho, staggering back.
Harper tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got a computer in my head. Let’s see what’s in yours.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” said Aquaman, concentrating hard.
Doctor Psycho cried out as blood burst from his nostril-- a brutal, unrefined psychic spike of energy was thrown from the half-Atlantean’s mind to his own. It was an inelegant attack due to the nature of the hero’s powers but it did the job. Psycho collapsed clutching his head, and the Guardian pulled his shield from his back and swung it at the restraints holding Aquaman and Hawkman aloft. They fell to the floor, and then surged forward.
Psycho raised a hand and a thrum of psychic energy staggered the trio, but it wasn’t enough to down them. Furious at their impudence, he pushed even harder, and that did the trick, causing the Leaguers to fall to their knees. It was too late though. In Harper’s hand was a remote trigger, and he pushed the button hard. There was a gentle vibration in the room, but alarms started blaring across the complex.
“What have you done?” growled Psycho.
“Signal flare,” replied Guardian.
Thunderous klaxons sounded-- and then Cyborg stepped through a portal right in front of the psychic and put himself between the psychic and the heroes. “Shield is down. Firestorm did the job. And you--” He looked down at Psycho. “--I think it’s time for your medicine.”
“Burn! Burn! You’re all on fire!” shouted Psycho.
Aquaman doubled back, his limbs covered in flames, and then looked at Hawkman, who was patting his arms frantically as if he were on fire-- but he could see nothing on his ally’s body. A psychic illusion! Enough to--
--Cyborg tapped down hard on Psycho’s head, instantly knocking him out and rendering him unconscious and his illusions nonexistent.
“Huh. Psychic attacks don’t work on me anymore. Good to know,” said Cyborg.
“We need Nth metal,” said Aquaman, helping Hawkman to his feet.
“And some pants,” observed Cyborg.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” said the Guardian.
Aquaman glanced back at the shield-wielding hero. “What do you mean?”
“We’re in the basement of a secret super-science facility filled with mind-controlled children. They’ve been under Psycho’s thumb for months, right? You think this’ll be easy?”
“Pants,” murmured Hawkman. “And my mace. In that order.”
GATEWAY CITY:
“Diana, is that you?”
The Gateway City Museum of Cultural Antiquities had a reputation for hosting the once Princess and now Queen of Themyscira back in her early days as ambassador to the world. That meant that sometime the patrons who visited were often excited by the fact that maybe, just maybe, Wonder Woman herself may drop in at any time to revisit an old haunt.
Today was one of those days.
Julia Kapatelis was surprised at Diana’s presence but it didn’t stop her from being glad to see the woman she thought of as a second daughter, after all the time they’d spent together, and everything they’d gone through. For Diana, the feeling was mutual, but as she combed through the crates of artefacts in the storage area of the museum, she didn’t really have a chance to show it.
“Security said you were back here, said you made quite a commotion when you landed--what’s wrong? What are you looking for? Does this have something to do with Ares and his… his whole trial-by-combat challenge to Batman?”
“I need the Bow of Charon,” Diana said, looking back at Julia with tears in her eyes.
“The bow? I haven’t thought about that thing since… since Chris…*”
*What’s Julia talking about? Check out Justice League #53
“I’m sorry… I didn’t want to dredge up the past… I thought I would be able to locate it without trouble…”
“It’s no trouble. It’s in my private storage area though, you need to come with me,” said Julia.
Diana followed Kapatelis down a winding corridor deeper into the vault beneath the museum, as the elder woman explained herself.
“After Chris was murdered and the weapon was returned to the museum by the police, I thought it best to keep out of circulation. I had considered contacting the embassy… maybe it would have been better kept on Themyscira, but after the consultation from Jason, he prepared part of the vault and we felt confident it would be perfectly safe down here.”
“Jason Blood eventually turned up for the consult?” said Diana, well aware she was avoiding talking about what was really playing on her mind.
“He’s here every week, looking through the artefacts. In fact, we’ve been out for dinner a few times. I know you said he had a dark side, but the man is wise beyond his years and at the same time, funny as hell. Makes a change from the stuffy academics that usually walk through here.”
“He’s definitely… a character,” said Diana, remembering Jason Blood’s devilish alter ego of Etrigan.
They came to an area of the storage vault that was empty, but Julia held her hand up to stop Diana going any further. She indicated toward the ceiling, where a line of carvings in the concrete glowed with arcane power.
“He actually warded the place,” marvelled Diana.
“It’s a powerful charm too. Those markings are Enochian. I looked into it, and they’re some of the most powerful magical runes he could have used,” said Julia. Even at her age, she looked giddy with excitement at the gesture the man she was infatuated with had performed.
After a few minutes, Julia held up the ornate silver bow Diana had come looking for. “Here we go, dear. Why do you need this? After everything you went through the first time around… it’s a scab of a memory to pick at.”
“To defeat a god,” said Wonder Woman, gripping the weapon as she tested the near-invisible bowstring that connected either end.
S.T.A.R. LAB’S UPSTATE NEW YORK FACILITY:
“How do you feel?” Arthur asked Hawkman, as the former helped the latter move through the corridors of the underground complex. They’d found their costumes in a room near to the holding cell, and Katar was currently clutching his mace tightly, the pale pallor of his flesh receding as the Nth metal pushed back against the cancer ravaging his body.
“Better… better…” said Katar.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked the Guardian. Over his shoulder was Doctor Psycho, currently unconscious thanks to the tap on the head courtesy of Cyborg, who had the weakened Christine Trelane bundled up in his arms. She was barely responsive, massively dehydrated, and riddled with numerous infections thanks to the long-term effects of Doctor Psycho’s possession. It seemed that the only thing keeping her standing before was his psychic might.
Aquaman looked at Hawkman, then back to Guardian. “I don’t know. We’ll need to run tests back on Laputa.”
“You’re lying,” said Cyborg, pointedly.
“Excuse me?” replied Aquaman.
“I’m-- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m reliant on my onboard sensors more so than ever before. I’m pushing them as far as they can go to make sure we don’t bump into any nasties down here--”
“I say what I mean and I stand by that, Victor. You’d do best to remember who I am,” said Aquaman.
During all this, Hawkman remained silent, flexing his grip on the Nth-metal mace while the hardness spread across his chest, continuing to work its so-called magic.
Cyborg didn’t have a face with which to show emotion, not since the attack that left him in his cybernetic shell without any physical components to hang his humanity on*, but if he did his brow would have furrowed. Aquaman was clearly lying. Micro-expressions, fluctuation in heart rate, the way he reacted to Victor’s statement, it was obvious that the King of the Seven Seas wasn’t telling the truth, but to then deny it? If Hawkman was sick, shouldn’t the rest of the team know?
*Justice League #66
“Stow it for now, gentlemen,” said the Guardian. “You hear that?”
Cyborg nodded. “Damn, I got distracted. Twelve heat signatures, including--oh--”
“Hey there boys, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
Followed by a large group of children of all ages, Firestorm waved warmly at the rest of her teammates. The children no longer looked like the threat they had been to the Guardian upstairs, instead they looked… like children. Some sucked their thumbs, some rubbed tears or the edge of sleep from their eyes.
“Do you know where my mommy and daddy are?” asked one of the children.
After offloading Doctor Psycho to Cyborg, the Guardian knelt so he was as close to eye level to the child as possible. “Not right now, but I’m not going to rest until I do.”
“Much as we can tell, whatever psychic prodding that… ninny… performed on them went away as soon as we dropped the shield,” said Firestorm.
“That was probably Cyborg,” said Aquaman. “Gave Doctor Psycho a love tap for the ages. Scrambled the fight right out of that bloated head of his.”
As if given the go-ahead by the mention of his name, Doctor Psycho’s body suddenly dissolved into a pile of ectoplasm.
“Oh, sonofa--” blurted out the Guardian, before looking down at the children. “--Gun.”
“One of his ectoplasmic disguises. Madness. But I know where he’ll go,” said Hawkman.
“You up for it?” asked Aquaman.
“Get the kids out of here. They’re at risk the longer they’re in his orbit.” The strength was back in the half-Thanagarian’s voice, and his fingers no longer played along the shaft of his mace. Instead his grip was steel, and his intention clear. “Cyborg, Firestorm, you’re with me.”
With a flap of his wings, Hawkman propelled himself up in the air, and then down the corridor, followed shortly by Firestorm and Cyborg. Meanwhile, Aquaman and the Guardian gathered up the children and Trelane then headed to where the rest of them were situated, knowing they had to get them out of there before Doctor Psycho was able to get his focus back!
GOTHAM CITY:
“How long do we have?” asked Bruce, glancing back toward Alfred.
“Mere minutes, by my count, sir.”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was covered in dirt and grease, but the chassis of the exoskeleton was buzzing as the internal engines revved up. The armaments weren’t onboard, there wasn’t enough time for that, but the hulking monstrosity provided protection and enhanced strength… enough to buy him some time when facing a god. At least, that’s what the Dark Knight hoped.
“Sir, if you should fail…”
“I don’t want to consider that,” said Bruce.
“You’re confident you shall find a way to win?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Not always, sir. No.”
“Then I could use a prayer, Alfred. Because I don’t think I have one,” said Bruce.
“You’ve always had my confidence, Bruce. If there’s anyone alive who can figure out a way to win…”
“…Yes?”
“Well, it would be Lady Diana, do you not think?”
Bruce smiled. Levity in the face of the end of the world. For that, he could always rely on Alfred Pennyworth.
“Alfred, if I don’t make it…”
A newcomer entered the conversation. “It’s that bad, eh?”
“Did I not raise you better than to enter a domicile without knocking, Master Dick?”
Nightwing somersaulted down from the top floor of the cave, down to where the workshop was situated. He placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder then looked up at Haystacks, letting out a low whistle to show how impressed he was. “Where have you been all my life?”
“You’re aware of the situation?” asked Bruce, as he pulled his top shirt on.
“The only thing standing between humanity and the apocalypse is you. A fight to the death. Have you considered toxins? An incapacitating agent? Something to give the appearance of death?”
Bruce patted the utility belt around his waist. “I’m not convinced I’ll be allowed to win like that, but I’ll try. I’m sure Ares will have a safeguard in place.”
“Is there anything I--?”
Bruce interrupted him. “--If you’re aware of the situation then you know that any intervention from outside forces on my behalf will render the victory to Ares.”
“Then… you best not lose,” said Nightwing. He handed Bruce his cape and cowl, and the Dark Knight pulled it on. “Where’s Wonder Woman?”
“I’m not sure.” As the two men stood, the air began to crackle with energy, and Batman grimaced. “It’s time.” He climbed into Haystacks and Alfred began to secure him into the machine. Dick watched with awe as his adopted father began to meditate--centring himself in the face of certain death.
Nothing new there then.
THEMYSCIRA:
The air crackled in the the stadium that hung on the cliffs of Paradise Island. It was here that the Amazons’ contests were held to honour Athena, to honour their gods… to decide who would bear the mantle of Wonder Woman. A decade or so ago now, a young princess bore an enchanted helm that disguised her true identity, and using every ounce of her training, every facet of her compassion and heart, she won the right to be the ambassador to Patriarch’s World.
Now Ares sat in the royal box overlooking the centre of the stadium. The killing grounds. His very presence caused reality around him to vibrate at an ungodly pace. He was the God of Nothing. And that meant that nothing could stand in his way…
You wouldn’t know it for looking, but across the world, the sights of the stadium were being beamed across the globe. If you were in front of a screen of any kind, be it your computer, phone, tablet or television, you were about to witness two beings go to war for the sake of humanity’s survival.
“Hello, Dark Knight. I see you wore your warrior’s finery,” said Ares.
Inside Haystacks, Batman allowed the sensory array to do a full sweep of the area.
Behind the royal box sat the Justice League that had been left behind in Ares’ custody. They were free of the energy cocoons that held them fast, but were bound by something to their chairs. The signature in the air was obvious; Circe’s magic. Why had Ares released them from their containment, only for his wife to put them back in chains?
Inside the royal box sat Ares, flanked by his minion and his wife. Circe was running her hands through her hair, a look of mad glee in her eyes. She was enjoying this. The minion, all height and muscles and stoicism, was characteristically still.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Batman.
Devastation laughed and drove her fist into the arm of Haystacks. Where did she come from? He had managed to lunge forward at the last second, but the damage was done, and his right arm went dead in a spray of sparks. She was the daughter of a god, she was magic, she was powerful, and where-- where was she--?
He spun around but it was too late. She was on his back. He cursed and triggered a shape charge built into the suit that sent the back panel flying into the dirt, taking Devastation with it. His back was now exposed, ready for a quick exit. She didn’t stay down for long. He kept his front to her, the onboard computer trying to track her movements, but her speed was off the charts, close to Diana’s own, perhaps. He knew he had to face her at all times, but that didn’t seem to be a bother to her. She surged forward, ducked under his attempt to grab her, and pushed her hands into the chest panel of the suit.
And then she tore it open.
Like that, his one advantage was gone, rendered completely useless by the hands of some teenage demigod. He cursed himself again, his arrogance at thinking that a suit of armour put together at the last minute, in six hours no less, could give him the advantage he needed.
He pressed the eject button and flung out the open back panel, then triggered the self destruct, the shaped charges that covered the suit triggering all at once. It was an old Lucius Fox rule-- if you have to abandon anything you’ve built-- or ‘procured’ from Wayne Enterprises R&D-- make sure that it’s reduced to slag before it can fall in an enemy’s-- or a competitor’s-- hands.
There was a pillar of smoke where Haystacks had once stood. What a waste, he thought. Had it given him the space he needed?
Devastation strolled out of the maelstrom, grinning. “Face to face now?”
S.T.A.R. LAB’S UPSTATE NEW YORK FACILITY:
“You’re slurring your words, Edgar. I’m thinking a concussion?”
“Shut up, Wells, you cripple bastard. I’m in control here. I’m still in control,” said Doctor Psycho, scrambling inside the side room that had held Harrison Wells prisoner for however long the distinguished S.T.A.R. Labs founder ‘hadn’t been himself’.
“Then why are you hiding? In the dark? With me?” pressed Wells.
“I spread myself too thin. Was supposed to prepare the next generation… but the magnitude of it… damn that Trelane bitch… she told them… told them what happened…” said Psycho, pacing. In his hand he had a small device that was blinking off and on in an array of lights. It seemed to be picking up the pace-- blink, blink-blink, blink-blink-blink-- but it wasn’t where the mad doctor needed it to be yet.
Harrison watched but said no more. He was at this monster’s mercy. He’d been a prisoner for months, it felt like. Who knows how long it might have actually been? What kind of tricks of the mind had the psychic inflicted upon him?
The door to the side room exploded inward, barely missing Wells as he pulled himself to his de facto cell.
“Psycho!” howled Hawkman.
“Oh, well, isn’t this swell,” murmured Psycho.
“You’re going down for a very long time,” said Hawkman. He held a psychic inhibitor in his free hand, while the other was gripping his Nth-metal mace as it crackled with unearthly energy.
Psycho chuckled. “Oh! You remembered the inhibitor this time! What happened last time? Did you forget about it? I wonder what else I’ve made you forget…”
“What’s he talking about?” asked Firestorm.
“I wasn’t talking to you, stupid bitch!” shrieked Psycho.
“Rude,” she replied.
To punctuate her point, she raised her hand and a blast of elemental energy sent Psycho back into the wall, where he wheezed as the air refused to stay in his lungs. His hands found the device he’d been holding, and quickly brought it close to his heart.
“Both of you… all of you… you’ll… you’ll never see them coming now… they’re here… they’ve been here forever… and they’ve won… you’re dead and you… you just don’t know it yet…”
The villain’s hand pressed the trigger on the device he’d been holding and his body vanished with a scream as the air burned. The Justice Leaguers covered their eyes in surprise apart from Hawkman, who stared a hole into the space where Psycho had been sprawled.
“No trace of him in the building,” confirmed Cyborg.
“I’ve never seen these kinds of energies before,” said Firestorm, casting her hand around the air, plucking at the atomic structure of the energy signature that hung in Doctor Psycho’s wake.
Hawkman approached Wells. “Doctor Wells, are you all right?”
“I’m fine now, Katar. Please, we have met before. Numerous times. You can still call me Harrison.”
“Let’s get you out of this filth,” replied Hawkman, pulling Wells up into his arms.
“Are the children--?” started Wells.
Firestorm held her hands up and nodded. “Safe. We’ll need to run a full investigation into the facility’s goings on to try and figure out what he’s been doing, but all that stuff about training the next generation… what was that all about?”
“I don’t know… but I know we’ll figure it out,” said Wells, as they left the room.
THEMYSCIRA:
Wonder Woman stepped into the stadium through an orange portal generated by their Door technology, and looked down at where Batman was battling Devestation. Her arrival didn’t go unnnoticed, as Ares gestured at her while looking at his minion. “Deal with her.”
The helmeted heavy nodded, and with a grunt charged up toward her, while the Justice League looked on as the battle unfolded below.
Batman hadn’t been able to say a word before now. She was fast, but threw punches like a tank-- heavy and powerful, but if you could move fast enough, dodgeable. She’d been able to take on Wonder Girl and Troia*, only departing when she was about to be discovered. She could have killed them-- she nearly did kill Zenobia, the second woman of this generation to bear the mantle of Wonder Woman.
*Justice League Presents... Wonder Woman #1
Devastation smiled. She was playing him.
“You don’t have to do this,” said Batman.
Devastation took a step back and shrugged. “Why not?”
“We were there when you were born. Your mother was terrified of your father. You’re barely over a year old but look at you. You’ve been manipulated.”
“Nah,” said Devstation, she threw a punch that caught Batman square in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the tall walls of the stadium grounds.
He coughed blood. Internal bleeding. Not good.
Wonder Woman pulled the bow up and took aim down at the combatants. Out the corner of her eye, she could see the lion-helmed monster bound toward her. She swore, and placed the weapon down, before raising her gauntlets to dodge the blow she could see the heavy was about to throw. His knuckles cracked against her wrists, but that didn’t deter him. She kicked upwards, into his side, but he caught her leg with his thick, muscular arm, and grabbed her left wrist with his spare hand. He dragged her arm downward and then threw all his might into a colossal headbutt that sent a horrible noise into the air on impact, and sent an almighty crack down the side of his helmet.
Diana staggered back, completely dazed. Who was this man? Was he a demigod sworn to Ares’ side? His armour reminded her of Hercules, and the stories her mother told of the subjugation she experienced at his hands, all those millennia ago. It’s like his entire costume was designed to evoke a response from her.
“You know, we could have let her intervene,” said Circe, leaning down to whisper in Ares’ ear.
“I know, but I do like seeing Wonder Woman beaten. And the poetry of it is beautiful,” he replied.
“Yes, but if she intervenes, if she kills our daughter for her beloved, we still win. The victory you so rightly deserve.”
“At the cost of our daughter?” countered Ares.
“Well, we could always have another,” retorted Circe.
Ares chuckled. “That we could.”
Batman held his hand up as Devstation went for another blow. She hesitated, surprised by his voice as he barked “Wait!”, then she gasped as a spray of chemicals flew from a projector hidden in his wrist. She doubled backwards as a toxin spread through her body-- down her throat-- in her lungs-- into her bloodstream.
Ares sprang forward in surprise. This man had taken a vow never to kill!
Devastation coughed, caught her throat, and then laughed. “Poisons? You try to poison me? Laughable!”
“Is this laughable?” asked Batman, as he finished fiddling with the circuitry in his glove. There was an audible crackle, and a pair of voices emerged from a speaker hidden in the insignia on the Dark Knight’s chest--
“Yes, but if she intervenes, if she kills our daughter for her beloved, we still win. The victory you so rightly deserve.”
“At the cost of our daughter?”
“Well, we could always have another.”
Batman pushed the point home. “They don’t care about you. They don’t love you. Stand down. We can end this without any further bloodshed. There’s a place for you here, with us-- not with them.”
Devastation looked up at the royal box where Ares and Circe both looked down in surprise, their private conversation having been picked up by the directional microphones hidden in his cowl. Usually he’d utilise them to amp up the ambient sound in a situation so he could utilise a whole different level of stealth than his League of Shadows training had granted him, but they had other uses.
“Mother… father…” murmured Devastation.
Wonder Woman spat blood. Her attacker was pressing his momentary advantage. He pulled his sword from its hilt and raised it with evil intentions-- and then Diana sent an uppercut directly toward his chin, catching him hard, splitting his flesh on impact and finishing off his helmet. It flew off in fragments, revealing the bearded, bedraggled man underneath.
“Gods,” whispered Diana, in horror.
Hippolytus, her cousin and husband, the leader of a lost band of Amazons, long thought dead at the hands of Circe*, the bravest warrior she had ever known-- was here-- under Ares and Circe’s thrall-- and trying to kill her.
*Way back in Wonder Woman #26
She looked him in the eyes and only saw an icy cold rage that didn’t make sense considering the man she’d once known, once bedded in the name of preserving the institutions of Themyscira. He snarled, and she drove her elbow into the side of his head, just under his ear. The lights went out in those dead eyes of his, and he toppled, unconscious at her feet.
“Mother… father…” murmured Devastation. “You’re just as cruel as I always hoped.” She laughed and then focused her attention back on the Dark Knight. “The only way you can win today is if you can kill me. But you only see that baby you helped bring into the world, mortal. You don’t see what I am now-- your better. I’m going to end your life and then end humanity’s future along with it. Don’t you think that’s beautiful? All your hopes, all your dreams, they’re gone, because of me, because you can’t bring yourself to do what those you fight do every-- single-- day.”
“I’m sorry,” said Batman, as he raised his fists one last time, his heart heavy with the fact that she was right. He couldn’t kill her. The Justice League couldn’t save the world. This was it. This might be--
A familiar voice shouted an unfamiliar phrase. Not enough to distract, but enough to be noted. Then there was sound and pain. Something that made the Dark Knight stumble backwards away from Devastation. What had the voice said? “For Ares”?
Confused, Batman clutched at his chest where an arrow now jutted out. The kinetic dispersal plates that lined his suit should have activated, the promethean-weave padding-- micro-thin and stronger than reinforced steel-- should have caught the arrow head on impact, or pulped it into an ineffective mush.
His cowl computer was sending an alarm signal to the Cave. Massive internal injury. Massive internal haemorrhaging. If the magical shield over Themyscira didn’t prevent the majority of signals from leaving its shores, Alfred would have been shouting in his ear, but he was alone as the darkness began to creep in at the edges of his vision.
Wearily, Bruce looked at his hands. Dripping red from where he’d tried to staunch the bleeding. Digits trembling uncontrollably. He was in shock, but he knew how to-- how to combat that--- that-- and anything-- but-- his heart tried to beat but it was broken. Irrevocably damaged by the arrow point. How was he--
Who was--
Had Ares--
Before his vision could fail him, he found the bow man. Bow woman. She was in the stands on the other side of the stadium, away from the battlefield, away from where the Dark Knight had been warring with Devastation.
Life was leaving him. He could feel his body become weightless, and his legs suddenly lost their ability to hold him up. He fell to his knees and nearly toppled forward, but instead he held himself up for just a moment longer.
“Diana…” he murmured.
Wonder Woman stood, bow in hand, tears in her eyes, the unconscious body of Hippolytus at her feet.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispered, for no one to hear.
And then Batman died.