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MAY 10 |
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Where there was once a sand castle of extraordinary detail, there was now only sand. Two walls of solid ocean that reached to the sky held a passage into the sea to the fallen castle. Sea life gathered at the edges of the wall, congregating to catch of view as their queen as she made her way to land. Queen Mera rushed to the sand accompanied by a disheveled companion of leathered skin and dirty feathers. She quickly collapsed to her knees at the sight of the destroyed castle.
She hurriedly sifted through the sand, recovering the discarded golden helmet of Dr. Fate. Manitou Raven took the helmet urgently, dusting it free of dirt particles and holding it tightly with a yellow teethed smile. Mera continued digging, finding a single bone, a small metacarpal. After persisting, she found more bones, all parts from the same hand.
“You will not find him here,” Manitou Raven grumbled, holding the helmet possessively. “It seems he decided to leave the bones of his hand here as he entered into the Empty Space. His body is elsewhere, not to be recovered by mortal means.”
“If a part of him is recovered,” Mera replied as tears welled in her eyes, “then my husband can be returned.”
Manitou Raven looked confused. “How I would that be possible?” he asked. “Even through the majestic magicks of Atlantis, a soul cannot be retrieved from the other realms. If Aquaman did indeed perish along his journey, the dwellers of the Empty Space would have surely devoured his essence and soul forever.”
“You have been away from Atlantis for too long, old man,” Mera replied, “otherwise you would be familiar with the idea of hope. Or at least the idea positive thinking.”
“I have no time for that, Queen Mera,” Manitou Raven said as he stared at the Helm of Nabu. “We will be having company soon.”
As Mera rose to her feet, a blast of energy turned the sand that once formed the sand castle into solid glass, knocking Mera off balance and off her feet. Manitou Raven stood unaffected, expecting the attack.
He smiled as they were approached by two men. The first, the one that had cast the energy, was dressed in a grey striped business suit and red tie. His slickened black hair stayed the same shape despite the wind, his deep red eyes shone through the darkness over the slope of his hawkish nose. He was not smiling. The other man was hidden beneath a dirty magenta cloak, disguising his appearance to the world.
“Greetings,” Manitou Raven announced over the sounds of the beach.
“Do you know who I am?” the man in the suit asked.
“Of course, Dr. Stoner,” Manitou Raven answered. “The former Anti-Fate. I watched Dr. Fate defeat you as I was held prisoner within this Helm; my prison for three thousand years.”
“If you know who I am,” Dr. Stoner said, “then you know that you have something that belongs to me.”
“Absolutely,” the aged man said as he held the helmet out to Dr. Stoner. “The absence within the universe of an Agent of Balance will bring the forces of chaos and order collapsing into itself. There must be a new Dr. Fate.”
As he handed the helmet to Stoner, Mera knocked it from his hands, getting between the two.
“I don’t believe the helmet is yours to give,” she said as she picked the helmet from the ground. “Handing a thing this powerful to someone you called an ‘Anti-Fate’ does not sound like it has the best interests of the world in mind.”
The cloaked man stepped forward. “You do not know your place,” he said, words seeming to slither from his tongue. “A queen of seas on a backwater world holds no significance.”
He touched her on the hand and she was filled with burning electricity that clenched her muscles and buckled her joints. As she fell, she saw the inhumanity in the eyes of her assailant, burning with a hatred indefinable. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a clicking box that whirred and ticked as he moved it closer to the fallen queen.
“It is up to DeSaad, the majordomo of the Black God Darkseid, to shepherd the rise of the Fifth World,” the man spat as he pressed his Mother Box into Mera’s forehead. Mera screamed in agony as the box began to change her from the inside out. “And you will help us along the way.”
Through her torturous anguish, the last thing she was able to perceive was Manitou Raven joining DeSaad in rapturous laughter as Benjamin Stoner donned the helmet of Dr. Fate.
Nestled amidst the craters on the surface of the moon stands the majestic Watchtower; the base of operations of the Justice League of America. The world’s greatest heroes gather on the lunar surface; monitoring and dispatching their services at the planet’s behest. Regular meetings keep the team up to date, but the meeting this day turned into something much more than regular.
Superman usually facilitated the gatherings, but the Atom had stepped up to brief the other members of the recent mission to Earth-3. In attendance was a bare bones crew, seven current operatives (Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Plastic Man, the Flash, Zatanna, along with the aforementioned Atom and Superman) shared the dangers and confrontations of the week.
“So King Orm of Earth-3 could prove to be a valuable ally should we be forced to their world again,” the Atom concluded as the others listened. The Flash tapped the eraser of a pencil rapidly on the desk while Plastic Man formed his head into a giant eraser. Nothing had happened today, everyone seemed bored.
The Martian Manhunter noticed the inattentiveness and rose to address the Justice League. “Is our business not interesting enough?” he asked. “Perhaps if we dance or have a slideshow it would be more appealing.”
“J’Onn,” Superman interrupted. “We’re all ready for some action. It’s been two days since any of us had to put on our costumes. Things are quiet on Earth.”
“I hate to resort to old fashioned clichés but,” J’Onn replied, “it’s always calmest before the storm.”
“Or darkest before the dawn,” Black Canary added as she shrugged. “There can’t be a Crisis every day.”
“Sometimes it seems that some of us need a daily Crisis to feel useful,” J’Onn said as he sat back down. “It makes everything that each of us faces all that more important to share. These meetings are for information exchanges that help us operate more efficiently as a unit and as individuals.”
“I agree,” the Flash defended. “But it’d still be nice to have a Crisis right about now. I’m bored out of my pants here.”
As Flash finished his sentence, the meeting was interrupted by the sound of substance expanding. The air in the room popped outward as it was displaced and replaced by three strangers. An impossibly built strong man in red robes and chalk white skin led the three holding two motionless bodies. A dark skinned man and a shorter, squatter yet older man stood on either side of him. The Justice League leapt to their feet as they recognized the bodies that the strangers had come to deliver.
“I am called Zacharael,” the abnormally proportioned giant announced. “I have brought terrible news to accompany some terrible events.”
Zacharael approached the meeting table as the League members stood stunned. Calmly, the archangel rested the dead body of Aquaman and the headless corpse of Dr. Fate on the table. Whaler and Nicholas Onokentauros stood back, dreading the possibilities of their presence within the Watchtower.
“These men were your allies,” Zacharael said. “We did not know where else to bring them.”
“What happened?” Superman whispered, his voice shaken as he surveyed the bodies of his long time friends.
“Lilith, the Demon Mother has returned,” Nicholas Onokentauros announced. “She’s here to take back what’s hers.”
“She won’t stop until it’s all back to the way it was,” the Whaler squeaked, sounding more nervous than he thought he was.
The League took in the sight of the bodies; a huge gaping wound in the center of Aquaman’s chest led to little hope for his revival. Dr. Fate was missing his head; it was disintegrated into less than dust. It was obviously apparent that their boredom had come to an end.
Superman buried his grief long enough to take charge of the situation. “Zatanna,” he stated as she shook her attention away from Dr. Fate’s state, “get a position on this Demon Mother. Wally,” the Flash was already moving, “call in the reserves.”
The Justice League mobilized, each going into previously coordinated tasks. Black Canary covered the body with a Justice League flag as Superman turned to face the archangel and his associates.
“It would be unwise to face her so vengefully,” Zacharael said. “Perhaps it was a mistake to inform you of the situation. Lilith is an impossible enemy; one that will not fall with punches and gadgets.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Superman said, strength in his voice that Zacharael had rarely heard in all of his years. “We’re the Justice League. Impossible is what we do.”
“It looks like we have our Crisis,” the Martian Manhunter muttered under his breath.
In the darkest recesses of the planet, something stirred. Hibernating deep below the surface, it had not seen the light of the sun in time immeasurable. The thing opened its eyes which filled with dirt as it did so and for the first time saw life as it was meant to be seen. It was to bring death. Filling its desiccated body with earth into its veins, Gaap reached into the world once again. He had a reunion with his brothers and sisters to attend.
When Sonneillon and Philatanus had lain down to sleep, there was not an ocean. The inseparable twins that looked nothing alike had slept for ages, never thinking that they would need to awaken. Yet now, the call beckoned them from their slumber. The red and obese Sonneillon and the wispy and skeletal Philatanus manifested gills to process the water around them as they made their way to meet the rest of their brothers and sisters.
Leonard Ayperos and his immortal serpent Botis had lived their lives uneventfully since before the Great Flood. They had a hell of a time surviving the Flood but defied the wrath and vengeance of God and continued to live. Leonard had become a successful clockmaker and had operated out of Bulgaria for the last four hundred years. He was not expecting to have to return to the ways of his original life. He cursed his damnable mother as he and his brother, the serpent Botis, left Bulgaria behind them to join the others.
If you are travelling through Los Angeles at night, you will eventually run into a quaint little piano bar called the Lux. Both the exterior and the interior seem normal, no one expects to be drinking the ales and spirits served by former Lord of Hell, the Morningstar. Since his resignation, he had owned and operated the Lux, playing the piano at all hours for the patrons, sometimes even fulfilling requests.
This night, Lucifer was experimenting with a piano arrangement he had adapted from a John Zorn album. The customers seemed to approve for the most part, Mazikeen had a much harsher opinion.
Lucifer’s consort Mazikeen, with half of her face covered with an ornate porcelain mask, served cocktails as usual; yet tonight she was out of sorts. Bad moods did not mix well with Mazikeen’s usually surly disposition. As the night grew longer, she did something she had never done before: she dropped a tray on a customer. Frustrated, she retreated to the back room. Within moments, Lucifer joined her, concerned for her state.
“What ails you, Mazikeen?” Lucifer asked, music in his voice.
“Whispers beyond the wall,” she said, grunting at the sound of her own words. She hated the way she sounded since her face had been restored. “Sounds of awakening calling for the siblings to come together.”
“Your mother has returned, it seems,” Lucifer replied. “I imagine you’ll be wanting the rest of the night off.”
Mazikeen was reluctant. “Leaving would leave you unprotected,” she said.
“Oh, I think I’ll be fine for a few days,” Lucifer said with a smile. “I’m expecting to have a few guests myself. I should be safe in their company while you deal with your family issues.”
“I do not enjoy this idea,” Mazikeen said as she removed her apron. “I will return once I inform the Lilim that I have no intention of rejoining them.”
“Return when you will, Mazikeen. I will try not to miss you.”
Mazikeen was angered by Lucifer’s sarcasm and left in a tiff. Lucifer grinned slightly to himself as he returned to his piano. The patrons had filtered out slightly, leaving only a few left to wait for last call. A finely tuxedoed man walked to the piano and handed Lucifer a small scrap of paper as the Morningstar sat back upon the bench.
“We’re enjoying your interpretation of Zorn,” the man commented with a smile.
“Thank you,” Lucifer said as he read the note. Without addressing its meaning, he smiled warmly at the man.
“Might I ask you to stay for an hour,” Lucifer offered. “I believe I may be in need of your services, Mr. Wayne.”
“My other clothes are in the car, Morningstar,” Bruce Wayne replied as he returned to his seat to rejoin his three friends.
It had been years since Harry Chawney had gone by any other name than Dharma but he was thinking upon that now. He had spent so much time seeing the future and past, he no longer felt he lived in the present. There was no longer a Harry Chawney, only Dharma. And if things did not work out the way that Dharma hoped, there would be nothing.
Dharma used a Shadowslide, a form of instantaneous teleportation that can only be used in complete darkness, to enter Paris Island, as near to his goal as the shadows allowed. The littered streets were soiled with garbage and vandalism as he walked the three blocks from an alley to the Lake Michigan shore. Not long ago, Paris Island was a haven for gang crime and metahuman skirmishes; now it was almost completely abandoned. Its protectors, the super-powered gang called the Blood Syndicate, kept crime away from the island and, by extension, most people away as well. It mattered little to Dharma; soon, there would be no one left on Paris Island and the future would be bursting wide open to him again. There was something coming to Paris Island and he needed to be there to witness it, to manipulate it.
He reached the beach, covered in moss and dead things, and waited. After several minutes, he was no longer alone. A deafening explosion erupted behind him, jolting him from his thoughts of the future. He turned to see a man walking nonchalantly down a corridor of solid yellow light. Dharma had heard of a Boom Tube before but had never been in the presence of one until now. Although this was not what Dharma was waiting for, he knew he would have to deal with it.
The man raised a double sided battle axe in front of himself; it pulsated with energy. It was obvious that he was more than human; his yellow skin seemed almost like rubber, his mustache was a bit too cartoonish, his smile was inhuman. Although Dharma had seen him in his future visions, he did not know who the man was.
“I am Dharma of the Shadow Cabinet,” Dharma announced his presence, although he was sure that the man had seen him. “This vicinity is in grave danger to all within it. You must not be here.”
The man’s smile elongated as he walked within striking distance of Dharma. “I am Steppenwolf, ugly human,” he spat. “Commander of the Armies of Apokolips. You have no authority over my actions.”
“You have come a long way,” Dharma said, his thoughts spinning between now and then and soon. “I assume both here are here for similar reasons. Perhaps you feel something great about to happen as well.”
Steppenwolf laughed a horrid sound. “I am from Apokolips, long haired whelp. I feel nothing. The thing that you feel is a thing that I know. I have been awaiting this moment for numerous cycles. I am the ultimate hunter. I come to hunt the ultimate beast.”
Dharma was intrigued, both by Steppenwolf’s words and by the fact that he had not been attacked and murdered. “You know what is coming?” he asked.
Again, Steppenwolf laughed. “Of course. I hunt the Demon Mother called Lilith.”
It was Dharma who laughed this time. “Lilith, you say? God’s first woman, exiled from Eden because she refused to be Adam’s submissive?”
“One and the same,” Steppenwolf replied.
“A God of Apokolips, the very Commander of its dreadful Armies seeks a mythological woman born of Earth by the hands of the universe’s real creator?” Dharma was in disbelief. “Are you aware of the contradictions that you present by merely suggesting that the both of you exist?”
Steppenwolf was angry; he did not like being laughed at. “All mythologies come from somewhere, even the mythologies of my origins.”
“So you are telling me that you are mythological,” Dharma stated quizzically.
“I am not sure why I have not killed you yet, louse,” Steppenwolf said as he pondered the electricity of his battle axe. “Something prevents me.”
Dharma and Steppenwolf stood in awkward silence for a brief moment until Dharma was struck with a harrowing realization.
“This is the moment,” he warned. “I can no longer see where the world is going.”
The world around them grew silent, the sound of wind ceased. Birds disappeared from the sky and the water of the great lake paused in mid-ripple. All was noiseless as if time had stopped. Then the world went nuts.
Lilith rose from the ground before them, so quickly that it seemed as though she had spontaneously appeared. The snarl of her red lips caused even the hardened heart of Steppenwolf to skip a beat as he felt foreign anxiety grip his body. The black antlers that sprouted from her head dripped an unknown ichor, while her immaculate silk gown remained free of any soil. It was obvious from her physical attributes that she meant them, and everything, harm.
With uncharacteristic cowardice, Steppenwolf began to cry, brown fluid ran from his unused tear ducts as his body quivered with fear. This was an unnatural feeling for him; he had never faced fear and certainly never showed weakness. He had never known true pain and panic until an unseen force under the control of Lilith’s speechless will gripped him around his entire body. The invisible force began crushing him as he realized he could not struggle. He was lifted into the air and thrown into the sky, out of sight and away from the confrontation.
Lilith had done all of this without breaking her gaze with Dharma. Her head cocked to one side, she grabbed his chin before he could react. He quaked in his shoes as she reached into his mouth, forcing him to open his teeth to her. She tore his tongue from his face using only two fingers, twisting it until it popped. Dharma screamed a gurgle of agonizing protest as blood gushed from his mouth.
The Demon Mother jiggled the bleeding tongue in front of her face for a brief second, seemingly amused by its shape and color and then consumed it. She stuffed the entire tongue into her mouth, biting down into the fluid rich soft matter, oozing the blood from the corners of her chewing grin. She chewed slowly and meticulously, swallowing after the tongue was truly destroyed.
“Language,” she spoke with multiple sounds from the same vocal chords. A rasping, voice of decay accompanied the beautiful music of other voices. “There are other ways to learn them but few are quite as delicious.”
Dharma collapsed to the ground, slowly becoming aware of why his vision did not see beyond this encounter. He gagged on his own blood as he slowly asphyxiated. Lilith watched with feigned concern.
“You will be my first disciple of this world that has become new to me,” her words sang. “You will bear witness to my rightful ascension and spread my legend into history within these cultures and societies and then beyond this sphere into the cosmos.”
Dharma could not protest as he struggled to continue living. He bled severely yet did not die. The blood poured from his mouth at an impossible rate but never slowed.
Lilith turned away from Dharma, moving gracefully as her silk robes flowed in the motionless wind. She raised her perfect arms to the sky and bellowed ancient phrases in a voice that defied her exterior beauty. Roars and screeches blasted from her lips, her mouth extended to unfeasible proportions as the sounds blasted the world.
The ground rumbled and the very air trembled as her offspring, millions of hidden sons and daughters lost since her exile and imprisonment, rose from the earth, descended from the sky, surfaced from the depths of the lake. She was joined by her brood as they awoke around all of creation. She laughed as she thought of all that would fall to her. She was banished from creation countless millennia ago; a creation that she would denied. She refused to lie beneath Adam, now she would force all that exists to fall beneath her.
As her Lilim swarmed across the entirety of Paris Island, some inhuman, all more and less than human, the atmosphere parted above them. Blasts of green smoke, thicker than a solid mass, reached tendrils from the clouds an encircled the Demon Mother and her spawn. A cacophony of mayhem swam around them as it spun into a mighty tornado centering on Lilith herself.
Then, the storm became a man. He wore a dark green cloak that steamed with a strange green energy. A hole in his chest fumed the same green energy. His ghostly white skin was hidden beneath a green mask, but the mask did not hide his identity. Lilith knew who she faced.
“You will advance no further,” the Spectre demanded. “He who created you has no intention of letting you spread your poison.”
Lilith laughed, verging on hysterical. Her Lilim joined her in her laughter, creating an insane choir of horrible cackling that distorted the barriers of sound.
“You are His ultimate fool,” Lilith stated through her twisted smile. The Spectre’s hands erupted in green flame as he prepared to face the Demon Mother. He was the first and final defense in situations like this; his opponent transcended normal manners of dealing with evil.
“It does not matter what I am,” the Spectre declared as his body enlarged to four times the normal size. “You will return to the prison from which you escaped or you will face the wrath of a vengeful creator.”
Lilith’s eyes blazed with blazing red fury as she grew to equal the Spectre. Her Lilim cheered her on as they poked and punished the fallen Dharma.
Her voice boomed. “I have no problem dealing with the laughable wrath of my vengeful creator.”
“Tongues for breakfast,” she grinned, “Right Hand of God for lunch.”
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To Be Continued...
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