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#2
JAN 11 |
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The days went by so slowly in high school, each hour feeling like a century. It was Tuesday, the second day of the school week, yet he felt he had been imprisoned within the walls of the school for a millennium. With little that interested him and few friends to share the interests that he had, Vince Kennedy was an outcast, a loner. Even in a city such as Dakota where everyone is a bit of a misfit and a loner, Vince was lost in the background.
His behavior and social awkwardness was not the only thing that kept Vince at arm’s length from the others; he had always been different. Since he was a boy, before he had the ability to read, there had appeared within his imagination a series of symbols, an equation, but not one of numbers. He saw the mathematics of emotion within his mind. He had no knowledge of what this meant and had no idea of the powers that he could discover if he had the opportunity.
Looking down at the tiled floor of the hallway as he always did, he never made eye contact with anyone. He shuffled between classrooms and never muttered a word. As he headed for Algebra, the hairs on the back of his arms rose to attention as his mind began to sing the equation. He knew he was different, but now he was about to learn just how much so.
He looked up from the floor, surprised to see everyone around him carrying on as usual. Could they not feel what was about to happen? As he surveyed the hall, all was normal but for the presence of a cloaked man standing amidst the rush of children. The man’s black eyes poured with tears as his mouth formed a silent scream of terror. Inexplicably, Vince knew who the man was and what his appearance represented. He was witnessing a pariah of destruction, a multi-dimensional entity of impending doom.
Vince dropped his books and began to approach the Pariah, knowing that no one else was aware of his existence. As he walked, the others seemed to slow. The Pariah’s scream became minutely audible as Vince neared. The Pariah’s scream turned into words as he snapped his dark eyes to lock with Vince. His mouth moved urgently, his demeanor was sad and weeping with tragedy. Vince concentrated on the words said and could almost understand. The Pariah repeated them over and over again.
Finally, Vince heard them as the words combined within his head and mingled with the emotions that swam in his imagination.
“None will be spared,” the Pariah repeated. “None will be spared.”
At that, Vince heard a nearby explosion, coming from the neighboring harbor called Paris Island. He peered to the window and saw a hint of green. Somehow, he knew what was going to happen.
Mere seconds after Superman stepped into the teleportation tube and activated it, he found himself not where he was intended to go. He was with his comrades aboard the Justice League’s Watchtower, on their way to face an incalculable threat descending upon the defenseless city of Dakota. It was so dark around him, even his Kryptonian vision struggled to adapt. Although he instantly knew he was not with the others members of the League, he was certain that he was not alone.
“Hello?” he whispered carefully, hoping not to alarm anyone.
“Good morning, Superman,” a slightly familiar voice responded. “Good to hear we’re not alone down here. A bright ray of hope in this impenetrable darkness.”
“Icon?” Superman asked after his seemingly fuzzy memory connected the dots of information within his head. Icon, an alien refugee like Superman, was Dakota’s fearsome protector. To consider the idea of the two of them being effortlessly captured would lead to the belief that they were faced with an immense threat.
“In the flesh,” Icon responded. “Or what they’ve left of it.”
As Superman struggled to see through the black, he discovered that Icon had been terribly beaten, scabbed and ruined, almost unrecognizable. Superman gasped as he could only guess at the extent of the surely grave injuries.
“What happened to you?” Superman asked as he penetrated his vision through Icon’s incredibly dense flesh, observing multiple broken bones and internal bleeding. Icon’s physiology was alien but his injuries were bound to be fatal to any species.
“The Demon Mother, Queen of All Legend, has come back,” Icon explained, his voice irregularly calm. “I thought I was going to stop her but I ended up here without even realizing I had moved. She’s serious trouble, especially if she has you.”
Superman got to his feet and moved to help Icon in hopes of gathering information for escape. “Let’s get out of here,” Superman suggested. “Your injuries look fatal; we need to get you to a physician.”
Icon chuckled. “There isn’t a way out of here,” he said gravely. “At least not until she’s done the deed with us.”
“The deed?” Superman asked, growing dread obvious in his voice.
“Lilith births a thousand demons a day,” Icon said. “She plans to use us as donors.”
Superman was aghast. “She’s going to force us to father her legion of demon children as she takes all of creation for herself?”
The Martian Manhunter was the last to enter the teleportation tube and henceforth was the last to be captured. Whereas Superman was stolen away from the others entirely, J’Onn J’Onnz found himself with the others but encased within a golden sphere which hovered atop an enormous cloud of green smog.
Zatanna was leaning against the edge of the sphere, chanting backwards as she tried to disrupt its integrity as the Atom enlarged from microscopic size to announce the futility of escape.
“There’s nothing beyond this energy ball,” the Atom said disappointedly as his full height was restored. “I shrank to the limits of my comfort and saw no end in sight. It’s like an infinite loop of energy, a force field that bends around into itself to reinforce itself.”
Flash shook his head. “Increasing its vibrational frequencies doesn’t do anything either,” he said regretfully, “except give everybody in here a case of the shakes. Zatanna’s mumbo jumbo isn’t doing diddly either.”
Zatanna stopped casting her backwards spells for a moment, obviously annoyed by the ‘mumbo jumbo’ reference. “As I spell speak, it’s almost like it talks back to me,” she said. “Like its recasting everything I cast at it forwards as a counteraction.”
The incredibly tall and uniquely proportioned archangel called Zacharael sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, praying or meditating. His voice held a strange timber to it that made it obvious that he was more than human. “Do you not recognize the origin of this prison?” he asked, his words surprising everyone. “I have but seen it once but I know who our captor is, as impossible as it may seem.”
“Zacharael speaks of Dr. Fate,” Nicholas Onokentauros replied. “We’ve been captured by Dr. Fate.”
“Dr. Fate is very dead,” Black Canary said in disbelief.
The Martian Manhunter spoke up. “Hector Hall is dead,” he said. “Someone else has taken the Helm of Nabu and is using it with much greater skill. I can sense him nearby.”
“Anybody else get a case of the heebie-jeebies?” Plastic Man asked, as thousands of goose headed shaped bumps rose from his pliable skin. “I don’t like the sound of any of this.”
“As well you should not,” an unfamiliar voice bellowed from above. As the heroes of the Justice League and their erstwhile cellmates looked above, they saw the unmistakable form of Dr. Fate, his eyes blazing golden fumes as he whisked in place, immaterial.
He held in his hand an orb the size of a basketball with dozens of eyes embedded into it. It oozed a slimy substance as Fate held it to the golden sphere.
“You are learning firsthand that Dr. Fate is something to be feared,” Dr. Fate announced. “No longer are the Helm and vestments wasted with an unworthy host. Dr. Fate will bring about and thereafter create the Fifth World.”
The Martian Manhunter held his head in pain as he received telepathic information from a desperate mind scan. “He means to make us watch,” he muttered through the pain.
“Watch what?” was an overwhelming question from more than a few of the others.
“Lilith the Demon Mother is directly below us,” he continued. “She is going to destroy the Spectre and the entire city around them.”
“I assure you there is nothing you can do,” Dr. Fate stated simply. “You all have front row seats to the beginning of the end.”
“Your disciple has a knack for theatrics,” the despicable voice of DeSaad hissed as they watched the occurrences unfold on a floating Apokoliptian monitor screen.
“He is accomplishing what we could never dream,” Manitou Raven, the aged Inde, muttered, gripping the wood of his medicine staff as he watched in anticipation. “I have waited long for this and Benjamin Stoner will not fail as the new host of the Fate vestments.”
“Of course you realize what will happen if you fail?” DeSaad said with an impossibly ugly smile.
“There is no more room for failure within my old frame,” the Raven replied.
DeSaad laughed uproariously. “I have been failing for thousands of years, my friend. Believe me when I say that there is always more failure waiting to bring about your demise.”
“Then it is good that Darkseid does not know of your current activities,” Manitou Raven said. “To fail away from his presence is to not fail at all.”
“Darkseid will not know of any of this until it is too late,” DeSaad said, smiling even bigger as he watched the golden orb and Dr. Fate disappeared into the green smog enshrouding Paris Island.
Lucifer Morningstar rose from his piano bench as Bruce Wayne returned from outside. Wayne carried an unmarked suitcase which he laid upon a table surrounded by his allies. As Lucifer clicked the lock on the front door and closed the Lux for the night, Wayne began to develop a plan.
Around the table stood an unlikely assembly of allies. Nyssa Raatko, daughter of the infamous international criminal Ra’s al Ghul, sat quietly as Wayne pulled the unmistakable black cowl from his suit case. She seemed impatient and had no intention of staying within the Lux any longer than necessary. Her father was called the Demon’s Head, yet now she occupied the same room as the original demon himself. It surprised her a bit to feel that her father paled in comparison to Lucifer Morningstar.
Across the table stood Bekka of New Genesis, the wife of Orion and daughter of Himon, inventor of Boom Tube technology. She was accompanied by the New Genesis warrior known as Magnar, second fiercest warrior of the New Gods. They were ridiculously out of place. Bekka looked worried as she gripped Magnar’s hand. Magnar was almost fidgeting with impatience.
“Tiresome!” Magnar exclaimed. “Your plan is good enough. No more talking.”
Bekka forced Magnar to his seat and rubbed his shoulders to calm his nerves. It was obvious to everyone that there was more going on between the two beyond being travel companions. “This plan worries me, Batman,” Bekka said calmly, her voice was a gentle wave of tranquility that instantly calmed everyone. “We cannot afford to lose anyone infinitely.”
“We won’t,” Batman growled as he finished dressing in front of everyone. He reached into his suitcase and pulled from it an obviously enchanted dagger. Its runes glimmered dully as it throbbed in his grip.
“As Batman has undoubtedly explained while the four of you patiently waited for me,” Lucifer Morningstar said, “you are in dire need of my services. They are given at no small cost but they come with my own special guarantee.”
“I don’t think that means very much,” Nyssa stated, regretting it as soon as she said it.
Lucifer smiled. “You’ve read too many bibles,” he said. “Now do you need me to kill a New God or what?”
His statement came so matter-of-factly, it sent a cold realization down everyone’s spines. Bekka and Magnar bowed their head as they knew what was to come.
Batman handed the dagger to Lucifer as Magnar stepped away from the table.
“You can’t be killed conventionally,” Batman said to Magnar. “Only Lucifer can get you where we need you to be.”
“I know,” Magnar said, trying to sound confident. “I do not fear this plan going astray. I know you to be a man of your word, even if you do not keep the most desirable of company.”
Batman leaned to Magnar’s ear and whispered. “When you cross, remember who you need to find. Do not forget. Don’t be distracted with what you see and hear.”
“I am Magnar,” Magnar said. “I do what must be done.”
“Good luck then,” Batman said as Lucifer plunged the dagger into Magnar’s chest, sinking the blade to the hilt. Magnar grunted and winced as he fell to his knees.
“Find Aquaman,” Batman reminded Magnar as the New God’s light faded from his eyes. Magnar nodded slowly as he died for the first time.
Bekka cried privately as Nyssa knelt beside Magnar, injecting the warrior in the arm with a needle full of black liquid. Batman picked Magnar’s body off the ground, surprised that he weighed so little.
“Let’s get him to the Lazarus Pit,” Nyssa said as she moved towards the exit. “Time is not on our side.”
The front doors of the Lux opened of their own accord as Batman, carrying a dead New God, alongside Bekka and Nyssa Raatko bid Lucifer Morningstar as hasty farewell.
“Do not expect another favor ever again, Mr. Wayne,” Lucifer said as they exited. Batman was silent as they left; knowing that any thanks he might have had would fall upon the deaf ears of the First of the Fallen.
The air turned green, an impenetrable fog covered the entirety of Paris Island. The ‘bad weather’ was slowly churning its way into the neighboring city of Dakota as sirens began to blare, the sounds of police and emergency crews springing into action. The water of the Great Lake that surrounded Paris Island began to boil as the wrath of God faced the Creator’s first failure.
The Spectre and the Demon Mother had grown to immense heights as they prepared to battle. Lilith could feel the palpable hesitation exuding from the Spectre, a reluctance unbecoming of the spirit of vengeance.
“You know that I will not be stopped,” Lilith spat with a smile, her supernatural confidence affecting the Spectre’s unnatural thought patterns. “You know that if you do not fall at my feet that you will soon be serving at my whim. Your terrible green smoke show is destined to burn out.”
The Spectre was struggling to shut out her attempts to control his emotions as he continued to grow in size. He did not notice the small energy bubble overhead that held the Justice League prisoner. As he grew to rival the heights of the clouds, Lilith made her move.
Lilith made a snapping motion with her finger tips and the Spectre began to be swarmed with legions of her offspring. Despite his herculean size, the demon children climbed up his feet and onto his legs. Their number never ceased to multiply; as more climbed onto the Spectre’s body, more would flow from beneath Lilith’s clothes. She was birthing demons as she fought the Spectre.
“There is no lost cause,” the Spectre said in defiance as he flushed away the Lilin from his legs with a plume of green energy. Those that survived the assault began to grow and metamorphose, becoming more hideous and dangerous than ever. As they crawled and clawed at the Spectre, the demon children in turn birthed more demon children.
The flow of terrible things increased from Lilith’s body as she laughed and the things began to tear apart buildings. As the Spectre was beginning to be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the beasts, the entirety of Paris Island toppled around him.
The Spectre opened his mouth impossibly and birthed demons of his own, spawning green serpents from his body. The serpents coiled across his body in an attempt to rid himself of the crawling terrors upon him as he lifted his burning green chest emblem and spewed a beam of blinding light at the Demon Mother. Lilith grunted in discomfort at the sight of the holy light of her creator but quickly recovered.
With unforeseen quickness, almost as if she moved without the passage of time, she plunged her fist into the Spectre’s chest. The Spirit screamed in agony, erupting with energy as he felt pain unknown to the comprehension of man. As his screams died with the energy, he realized with horror what had happened.
Lilith stood before him, her hand deep within his chest. He could feel her razor sharp nails clutching his heart. Beyond the initial agony of the deed, there was very little pain involved. As Lilith squeezed his heart, the shroud of fog began to dissipate. The Spectre finally took notice of the captive Justice League and silently wished for them to be anywhere but near.
“I have some last words for you to take back to your master,” Lilith hissed as the Spectre began to bleed green from his mouth.
“There will be more than me to stand in your way,” the Spectre struggled to respond.
“No,” Lilith replied as she twisted her hand within his chest. “There will not.”
Lilith thought for a moment, increasing her fatal grip as she did so. “Forget about the last words. I have nothing to say to Him,” she said, her face twisted with spite.
Almost effortlessly, she crushed the Spectre’s heart. The Spirit of Vengeance erupted with anguish, his screams destroying buildings miles away. Within an instant, the physical shell of the Spectre exploded, decimating everything on Paris Island, evaporating the harbor around the land mass and disintegrating everything that lived.
The Justice League was caught in the mushroom cloud of emerald death, kept alive to watch the horrific consequences of Lilith’s return. Dr. Fate watched in glee as he departed for parts unknown.
Lilith smiled as she stood amongst the fallout. As easily as she had dispatched the Spectre, it was assured that nothing would ever be able to stop her.
Hal Jordan awoke with sand in his mouth, the air around him colder than anything he had ever felt. He spat the sand out and tried to get to his feet. His head throbbed incessantly and he felt as though he was going to throw up. As he struggled to his knees, he began to realize what had happened.
He had died; failing in the most important task he had ever been given. The Spectre had been destroyed and the soul of Hal Jordan had finally been thrown into whatever Hell it deserved.
He heard monstrous noises from all directions, shivering in the freezing temperatures. Had he been another man, perhaps he would have begun to weep. However, weeping was not for Hal Jordan. In defiance, he stood and decided to get used to his eternal damnation and was surprised to learn that he was not alone.
“Hello, Hal,” Aquaman said with a smile. “A little cold out tonight, isn’t it?”
Hal was aghast, not even knowing that Aquaman had died, despite being near-omniscient as the Spectre. Yet surely if there was any doubt that Hal was dead and Aquaman was as well, it was dashed by the company Aquaman was keeping.
Behind Aquaman stood Barry Allen and Oliver Queen.
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To Be Continued...
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