Seven Soldiers of Victory #2

2008:

On any other night, the Liberty Bar in downtown Philadelphia would be filled with the sounds of life: glasses clinking, patrons laughing or arguing, the television over the bar tuned to the local sporting events. And up until a half-hour ago, that was exactly the scene to be found inside the windowless establishment...but then the Seven crept into the bar’s shadowy interior and began to feed. They were silent at first, pulling solitary drunks into the shadow-realm where the Seven lurked unseen, but soon their bloodlust whipped them into a frenzy, and they couldn’t contain themselves any longer. Their victims tried to escape, of course, but it was no use, and soon all the patrons found themselves part of the ongoing sacrifice to the greater glory of Neh Buh Lah.

In the midst of their feeding, the Seven began to change, their small forms bulging and growing even as they still crunched bones and rendered flesh with their needlelike teeth. Though it appeared painful, they welcomed the changes wrought upon them, and shrieked with delight as the first of their brood stood up before them, having completed its transformation from impish grotesque to adult-sized horror, its inky-black skin mottled with strange white marks, each glowing with the same fire that illuminated its eyes. The marks were few in number at the moment, but soon they would multiply, spreading across its body as the Time of Rejoining grew closer. The same marks were appearing on its brethren, but they were not ready yet. Such was the way it always worked, with the most important aspects of Neh Buh Lah evolving the quickest.

Individually, the seven creatures had no names, but if designations had to be given, then the one that currently stood before the others would be The Mind: it housed Neh Buh Lah’s cunning, its desire to devour everything in its path, and most important of all, it shared an unbreakable psychic link with all the separate pieces of itself. The Mind was what struggled to pull its shattered form together over the past sixty years, scouring the shadow-realm for every last shred of itself until it gained enough cohesion to rend itself free, albeit in its current weakened state. But that wouldn’t last for long, thankfully, not with all these lovely morsels wandering about, just waiting to be consumed. Not to mention that, for the first time in millennia, their usual opposition upon this plane had ceased to exist. The creature let out a noise that might be called a laugh as it remembered how those seven pitiful warriors had wiped themselves out utterly in their attempt to stop Neh Buh Lah all those years ago. Now no one would be there to stand in the way as...

Wait. The creature cocked its head, staring at the brightly-glowing box above the bar. They had paid it no mind during their feast -- it was not a living thing, and therefore of no consequence -- but now, as The Mind waited for the others to finish, the chattering monkey-voice coming from the television said something that caught its attention:

“All seven founding members of the Justice League were on hand today at the United Nations to accept a commendation from the General Assembly, in recognition of their mission of worldwide peace and safety.” Though the television screen was partly obscured by a splash of gore, the image of seven costumed humans (one of whom could only be loosely termed “human”) came through loud and clear. One of them, a large, dark-haired male clad in blue and red, stepped forward to shake hands with a much smaller human in a business suit as the voiceover continued, “Though their ranks have more than doubled since their inception two years ago, these seven heroes are still very much the face of the League, and the newer members will be hard-pressed to carve their own niches alongside the likes of Superman, Wonder Woman, and the others.”

The creature jumped up onto the bar and pressed its face close to the screen, studying the faces of the humans. Seven warriors, banded together just as Neh Buh Lah began to reassert itself...it should have suspected something like this would happen. Turning towards its brothers, it spoke to them in their shared guttural tongue, telling them of the threat that almost escaped their attention. They shrieked in response, one of the creatures going so far as to throw a nearby chair at the television and smashing the screen before The Mind reached out and calmed them. Yes, there was opposition, it told them, but there always was. This time, however, things would be different: they would wipe out their opposition before the Time of Rejoining, eliminating the threat before it had a chance to do the same to them...but first, they had to find their enemies.

The Mind pointed a misshapen claw at one of its brethren and bade it to come forward. Like the others, this one housed a certain aspect of Neh Buh Lah. In this case, the most apt name would have been The Eyes: it had the ability to watch the world through the shadow-realm, and observe events hundreds of miles away with ease. Though it had not regenerated enough to take full advantage of this power, it was possible to give it a temporary boost until it could sustain itself, which was exactly what The Mind did now, sinking its claws into its weaker brother’s head until both creatures’ marks shone with the same eerie white light. Together, they scoured the entire night-shrouded half of the Earth, searching for a clue as to where these seven warriors lay.

After only a few minutes, the two creatures shrieked with delight: while they had not found their enemies in the flesh, they had stumbled upon a shrine of some sort, filled with graven images of their new enemies. These “heroes” demanded worship from those they protected, apparently...worship that should rightly be directed at Neh Buh Lah. The decision was made, then: they would travel to this shrine and raze it, showing these seven warriors who the true gods were. And when their enemies arrived to see what they’d wrought, the Seven would descend upon them and destroy them utterly.

Once they finished their feast, the seven creatures crept out into the night again, slipping back into the shadow-realm so that they could travel undetected, and with greater speed, to their destination.





“Anything of note to report?”

“Not a thing. It’s been a quiet night.” Katar Hol, former Hawk-Knight of Thanagar, now Hawkman of the Justice League, approached the transporter pad as Batman stepped down. “How about on your end?”

“The usual: breakout at Arkham -- Mad Hatter this time -- leading to a hostage situation, followed by a laundry list of threats and demands, and ending with me using the Hatter’s own mania against him,” Batman said. “That’s about as close as Gotham gets to a ‘quiet night’.”

Katar cocked an eyebrow. “Are you still needed back there, then? I can cover the first few hours of your monitor shift until things are wrapped up.”

The Dark Knight shook his head, saying, “Already taken care of it. Nightwing’s keeping an eye on the ground for me, and I can tune in some of the Gotham police bands specifically. That should keep things covered until dawn breaks in a couple hours.”

The two heroes headed down the hall to the Justice League’s monitor room, where a bank of computers constantly swept the world’s satellite feeds and news channels, then cycled the information onto a wall of screens so that whomever was sitting on monitor duty could watch for any problems that might require the League’s assistance. Katar’s hawk-shaped mask was hanging off the back of the chair, and he picked it up after he’d keyed his security code into the computer, officially putting an end to his night shift. Batman then sat himself down in the vacated chair and began typing in his own code. Out of habit, he glanced up at the security monitors that kept an eye on the League’s HQ, both inside and out. Nothing looked out of the ordinary at first, but there was something on one of the monitors that kept drawing his attention that particular screen. “Did you turn down the security lights?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Katar looked at the screen Batman was indicating. Sure enough, many of the low-level lights lining the Hall of Justice’s main foyer appeared to have gone out. “Strange...I don’t recall it being like that before.”

Batman switched the view to one of the larger screens, then began cycling through all the surveillance cameras. “The rest of the building seems fine. Perhaps a circuit burned out somewhere,” he started to say, then paused as an alternate view of the foyer came up: it appeared that some of the display cases had been smashed open, the broken glass scattered across the floor reflecting what little light there was.

“I definitely didn’t see that before,” Katar said, and began to put his mask back on. “How did someone get in here without tripping the alarms?”

“Good question...let’s go ask.” They left the monitor room and made a beeline for the main foyer, sometimes referred to as “the trophy room” by civilian visitors. It was the only area in the entire Hall of Justice accessible to the public, and had been set up as a way for the average citizen to learn about the history of the Justice League and their activities -- after the incident with the U.S. government last year, public relations had become a bit of a concern, and this was one of their solutions. Photographs of members past and present lined the walls, and scale models of some of their foes and weaponry (all nonworking replicas, of course) were on display. Visiting hours ended when the night shift began, and the time locks wouldn’t open the public-access doors for another four hours, so whomever had busted the cases open was certainly not the average sightseer.

Moving in near-silence, they entered the room, Batman switching on the night-vision in his cowl to make up for the lack of light -- Katar needed no such assistance, as the Nth metal he bore enhanced all his senses, including sight. What they both saw gave them pause: nearly all the glass cases had been shattered, along with the models contained within, and deep gouges scarred the walls, but there was no sign of any intruders. The two heroes glanced at each other, then Batman jerked his head up slightly. Katar nodded and silently took to the air, taking advantage of the room’s high ceiling to get a better view of the situation. Meanwhile, Batman put his back to a nearby wall and switched his night-vision over to a heat-sensitive variety, hoping to pick up on the intruder’s footprints, if not the person in question, but nothing of the sort came into view, not even by the smashed displays. This can’t be right, Batman thought, and flicked his eyes up to where Katar hovered -- the Thanagarian’s body radiated waves of red and yellow, his wings outlined in cool blue. Equipment’s not malfunctioning, so where...

Suddenly, he saw a clawed hand out of the corner of his eye. He whirled on it, reaching for a batarang, only for another hand to grab him by his cape and yank him towards the wall. How did they slip in behind me? he thought, then realized that the hands were reaching out of the wall itself! He slapped his own hand on the clasp that held his cape in place and fell to the ground, then threw a couple batarangs at whatever had tried to grab him. To his dismay, he heard his weapons thunk against the steel wall harmlessly. All the while, the clawed hands continued to pull his cape into the shadows covering the wall, followed by a horrid shriek when they saw their prey had escaped.

As the Dark Knight got his feet, Katar swooped down, saying, “What happened? It looked like...” The rest of the sentence died in his mouth as seven human-sized creatures began to crawl out of the shadows before them, patterns as bright as stars swirling over their jet-black bodies. “Seven Devils...” the man from Thanagar breathed without the least hint of irony.

“Airborne, now!” Batman grabbed hold of Katar’s arm as the Hawkman spread his wings and shot straight up. Unfortunately, one of the creatures leapt forward and managed to sink its claws into Batman’s boot before they could get out of reach. He tried to kick it loose, but it wasn’t discouraged in the least, and began to tear through his Kevlar-lined suit like it was tissue paper. Blood ran down his leg, dripping onto the creature’s upturned face, which it licked away with its long pointed tongue, grinning all the while. “I’ve got something better for you,” Batman growled, and pulled a small flash-bang grenade out of a pouch on his belt and showed it into the creature’s mouth. While the force of it exploding wasn’t enough to kill, it at least made the creature let go and fall to the floor.

“I don’t see the others anymore,” Katar said as they watched the creature melt into the shadows below. “What in the world are those...” He stopped when he caught sight of movement overhead -- somehow, the creatures had reached the ceiling, and were now attempting to drop on them from above! “Hold on!” Katar tightened his grip on Batman as he tried to bank out of the way, but it was no use: three of the things slammed onto his back and knocked them out of the air. As soon as they hit the ground, Batman scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked down again as all seven of the monsters jumped him, biting and tearing and gibbering in some unknown language. “Get away from him!” Katar bellowed, and swung his mace at the creatures, sending them flying across the room. Each one took only a moment to shake off the attack before jumping into the fray again, but to Katar’s surprise, none of them attacked him personally -- they all seemed obsessed with ripping Batman to shreds. “This is no good,” Katar told him after he’d cleared the creatures away once more. “Like it or not, we need to fall back.”

Batman nodded reluctantly, then said, “Cover your eyes.” He pulled out a handful of flash-bangs and scattered them across the room. Harsh white light engulfed them from all sides, causing the creatures to shriek and fall to the floor, flinging their arms over their heads in an effort to block out the glare. “It’s the shadows,” the Dark Knight explained as Katar helped him back down the hallway they’d originally come from. “I don’t know how, but it looks like they can move through the shadows themselves, like a dimensional door...that’s why the alarms never went off.”

“That seems to fit with what we’ve seen, but why attack us? Or more specifically, why you? They barely noticed me.”

“Maybe its the Nth metal...I don’t know.”

Katar didn’t like this: rare was the time when Batman admitted to not knowing something about a situation, and here he’d just uttered those words twice. “We should get you to the infirmary. Those things dealt you quite a bit of damage.”

“Not yet...we need to flood the whole building with light first, try and cut them off from the other areas.” He paused for a moment at a control panel built into one of the walls and began punching buttons. A whine of motors reverberated down the passageway as heavy security doors slid into place, sealing off the foyer from the rest of the Hall of Justice as an added precaution. “If we can keep them confined in there, it’ll give us time to come up with a strategy.”

“We should call in some of the others,” Katar suggested.

“There’s seven of them and two of us...I’ve fought against worse odds.”

“Batman...Bruce...those things, whatever they are, obviously want to kill you. I don’t think anyone would fault you for calling in reinforcements.”

The Dark Knight’s hand hovered over the control panel as he mulled it over, then he quickly punched in a code -- a red light began blinking on the panel in time with a pulsing hum from the audio system. “General alert signal,” he explained. “It’ll be broadcast over all members’ comlinks. Now, as I was saying...”

He never finished his sentence: in the blink of an eye, all the lights in the passageway went out, along with the sound of the alert signal. “This is impossible,” Batman said, and slammed a hand against the control panel, which had gone just as black and dead as the rest of the building. “There’s no way in Hell they could’ve cut off the power! There’s absolutely no way!”

Then they heard a growling in the dark. Batman reached for more flash-bangs, only to find one of the creatures kneeling right beside him, its teeth sinking into his wrist before he could even touch his utility belt. Gritting his own teeth, he pulled out a batarang with his other hand and began to stab at the creature with its razor-sharp tip until the thing let go. Two more soon took its place, one of them tearing at the night-vision lenses in his cowl while the other ripped off his belt, ensuring that he could produce no more tricks. He still held onto the batarang, though, and slashed at the creatures blindly as they tried to drag him down. From somewhere in the darkness, Batman could hear Katar yelling, followed by the thud of his mace, and he wondered how long the Thanagarian could keep up the assault before the creatures overwhelmed him too.

Suddenly, a shaft of emerald-green light shot out of the darkness, knocking one of the creatures for a loop back down the passageway. More quickly followed, zeroing in on the remaining creatures until they had all been cleared away. A green barrier then blocked off the passageway, sealing the creatures on the other side, and a globe of bright green energy appeared near the ceiling, illuminating the forms of Superman and Green Lantern hovering the air above Batman and Katar. “See, this is what happens when you go on the reserve roster,” Hal quipped to his companion. “You miss all the good parties.”

“This looks like anything but that,” Superman replied, and came to rest next to Batman, who was leaning heavily against the wall, his cowl half-ripped away and blood dribbling from a gash on his forehead. Superman took in the sight and said, “My God, Bruce, what’s going on?”

Batman shrugged off the Man of Steel’s concern and said to Hal, “Tap into the building’s power system, and fast! We need this place lit up like the Fourth of July.”

“You want it, you got it.” The globe flattened and merged with the ceiling as the near-limitless energy contained in Green Lantern’s ring laced its way through the building, sparking up the light panels as it went. “Damn...looks like the generators overloaded,” he said, the ring providing him a small schematic of the power system. “Lights aren’t too big a deal to emulate, but if you want the teleporters or any of the computers back online, I’ll need to access them directly.” He nodded towards the creatures, who were clawing at the barrier. “Did those things do this?”

“Apparently,” Katar said, “though we’re not sure why they’re even here. They trashed the main foyer, then proceeded to do the same to Batman. We tried to send out a distress signal, but...” He gestured to the burned out control panel.

“You got it out for about two seconds,” Superman told him, “just long enough for his ring and my super-hearing to pick it up. I doubt the regular League comlinks even registered so much as a single beep.”

“By the way,” Hal added, “since we couldn’t get the doors open, there’s a big hole where the south entrance used to be...sorry.”

“That’s the least of our worries.” Batman had picked up his utility belt and buckled it back into place as he watched the creatures. “We need to get these things down to the holding cells, figure out just what they are and....” He stopped talking and began to take a few steps back. “Lantern, increase the power to that barrier!”

“What for, everything’s...” Hal then saw what the Dark Knight was referring to: one of the creatures had laid its clawed hands flat against it, while the others seemed to sink their own claws into the lead creature’s back. Soon, all seven of them gave off an eerie, purplish-white glow from the marks on their bodies, which quickly began to emanate across the barrier itself, causing it to crack. The Green Lantern leveled his ring directly at the barrier, trying to thicken it, but it was no use: the barrier shattered and dissipated, letting the creatures free once more. “Everybody behind me!” Hal shouted as he shot off a volley of energy blasts, but the creatures dodged them all with ease.

“Here we go again,” Katar said, and brought his mace to bear. Just as before, the creatures homed in on Batman and virtually ignored Hawkman, but this time they also went after Green Lantern and Superman, tearing at the two newcomers with the same zeal for destruction that they’d given the Dark Knight.

Though he was loath to do it, Superman turned his heat vision directly on them, which kept them at bay until one of them got behind him and jumped on his back and began clawing at his eyes. He grabbed it and threw it against the wall, where it quickly rebounded and ran after Lantern instead, who was trying to keep one of the monsters from biting the power ring right off his finger. Superman could feel something dripping down his face, and when he reached up, he felt the bloody gouge the creature had carved into his cheek. Put together with everything else they’d seen, it added up to a dangerous conclusion. “They’re magic!” he called out to Batman.

“Perfect,” Batman growled back, and continued to hack at the creatures that were dragging him to the floor. Magic wasn’t something he liked dealing with: it was too unpredictable, it didn’t follow any natural rules of the universe...and worst of all, it meant that the four of them probably weren’t going to be able to put these things down for good. Best they could do was escape the Hall of Justice and try to contact one their magically-endowed members. He was about to order Superman to do just that when the passageway was flooded with a brilliant golden light, bright enough to make the creatures stop their attack and throw themselves to the floor, screaming in pain. The four heroes squeezed their own eyes shut against the brilliance, which seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Then from out of the light came a voice, booming with authority but speaking in the same sort of guttural tones that the creatures used. One of them answered in kind, while the other things shrieked like a perverse Greek chorus. Superman made his way over to where Green Lantern stood and asked, “Can your ring translate any of this?”

“Not a word,” Hal replied. “Whatever language they’re talking in, it’s either too old or too obscure...and that doesn’t exactly comfort me.” He willed his ring to darken the green aura about himself in an effort to block out some of the golden light -- through the glow, he could make out a vague human figure wearing a cape and a bell-shaped helmet, his hands raised in a gesture of placation as he hovered above them. The seven creatures alternately cowered and made threatening moves towards the figure, then as if by some unseen signal, they leapt as one towards him, striking furious blows until the figure collapsed to the floor, the glow soon fading afterward. The crippling light now gone, the creatures ran down the passageway in the direction Superman and Green Lantern had originally come from. “They’re gonna get away!” Hal said, and began to give chase, only to be hit in the back by a powerful blast and knocked out of the air himself. He cursed and looked behind him to see the figure now standing with a hand reaching out in his direction. “I don’t know who you are,” the Green Lantern said to the blue-and-gold clad man, “but you’d better have a damn good reason for doing that.”

<I would hope, Harold Jordan, that saving your life is a good enough reason,> the mystic known as Doctor Fate replied. <You must believe me when I say that neither you nor anyone else on Earth has any chance of stopping them...and that anyone who attempts to do so will surely die.>





“Thanks again for coming along, guys,” Speed Saunders said as he and his friends stepped into the waiting hospital elevator. “If Daniel’s in as bad of shape as it sounds, he’s gonna need all the support he can get.”

“No thanks needed. Besides, it would’ve taken you hours to get here, otherwise,” Jay Garrick said as he adjusted his distinctive silver hat tucked beneath his jacket. Both he and Alan Scott had changed into their working clothes before leaving New York, each of them making use of their abilities to give Speed and Ted Grant a quick lift to Philadelphia. Once they reached the hospital, however, they switched back to civvies so as to not call undue attention to themselves. “Just be glad his son called you before we’d all left the restaurant.”

“I’m just glad I got out of washing all those dishes,” Ted added.

Jay looked across the elevator at him and said, “Hey, you volunteered to help.”

“That was merely a formality...I figured a speedster like you would be finished with them before I had a chance to roll up my sleeves.”

Alan ignored their bickering and asked Speed, “Did Victor happen to say how Daniel got hurt?”

“According to the police report, he ran out into traffic and threw himself in front of a car.” The three heroes stared at Speed, who said, “Yeah, I don’t believe it either. I know he was in a mood when he left tonight, but I certainly wouldn’t say he was suicidal...and if he was, there’s a helluva lot better ways to do it than that.”

“Was it by the cemetery?”

“Victor didn’t say. He wouldn’t know about that anyways, remember?”

Ted frowned. “You mean the kid still hasn’t told him?”

“Nope...and you’re not gonna tell him either.” The elevator doors opened on the intensive-care ward and the four men stepped out, with Speed saying, “Daniel made the decision a long time ago to keep that part of his life away from his family. As far as they know, this party he throws every year is actually hosted by me, and you’re all just a bunch of old Army buddies.” He shook his head. “Now that this has happened, though, I’m not sure how well that cover’s gonna stand up.”

As they turned a corner, they could see Victor Leong talking to one of the nurses on duty. He looked haggard, which wasn’t surprising: after receiving a phone call from the Philadelphia PD, he’d jumped in his car and driven for hours to reach the hospital. It wasn’t until he was on route that Victor even thought to call Speed on his cell phone to let him know about the accident. When he caught sight of them, Victor excused himself and went over to his “uncle”, saying, “My God, I didn’t expect you to get here so fast. I only just arrived myself.”

“Well, my friends here were already giving me a lift to the airport,” Speed fibbed. “I was going to catch the red-eye back to St. Roch, but once I got your call, I switched flights.”

“That worked out pretty good, then.” He shook hands with the other men and said, “I’m Victor Leong, Daniel’s son. Nice of you to come along for moral support.”

“No problem at all, Victor,” Alan said. “How’s your father doing?”

“The nurse said they just brought him up from surgery. I haven’t been in to see him yet, but she said he’s probably pretty groggy.” Victor paused, looking hard at Alan. “It’s funny, but...have we met before?” The four men shared a mutual glance, but before any of them could come up with a good cover, the younger man blurted out, “Oh my God, you’re Senator Scott! I caught an interview with you on the news channel a few weeks back!” He shook Alan’s hand again, more vigorously this time. “I had no idea Uncle Speed knew you.”

The old heroes inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and Speed said, “Well, you know, I don’t like to brag, but we’ve been friends for a long time...all the way back to the War. Right, guys?”

“Yeah, right, the War,” Jay replied.

“How could I forget?” Ted added with a roll of the eyes.

“Hard to believe it, by the look of you three,” Victor said. “If you’d asked me, I would have said you guys weren’t even born during World War II.”

Speed waved a dismissive hand at his friends. “That’s what clean living will get you. Never believed in it myself.” He then put a hand on Victor’s arm and said, “Come on, let’s go check on your dad.”

The lights in the room were off, the only illumination coming from the monitoring equipment running by the bed and the faint glow of streetlamps outside the window. Daniel lay very still in the darkness, drowsing in a haze of anesthetic -- he’d come away from the accident fairly well, with a broken collarbone, a fractured leg, and a smattering of cuts and bruises. Due to his age, however, there was a concern about how well those injuries would heal, and he’d very likely spend the next few days in this room. Victor walked up to the bed and leaned over him, inspecting the battered face of his father. “Dad? Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

Daniel began to stir at that, his eyelids fluttering before opening halfway, though it did him little good: his glasses had been smashed in the accident, so the world beyond the bed was a blur. “Vic...Victor? Where...”

“You’re in the hospital, Dad. You got hit by a car. Do you remember that?”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes slipped closed again, and everyone assumed that the anesthetic still had a good hold on him. Then Daniel snapped to full wakefulness as panic overtook him. “He’s back...he came back...he’s out there right now,” he gasped, his hands clutching at the bed sheets.

“Who’s out there?” Victor asked. “What happened, did somebody attack you?”

“You have to call Speed, right away,” Daniel said, as if he hadn’t even heard his son. “Go now...call him...tell him he’s back...”

Speed stepped up beside Victor, saying, “I’m already here, Daniel. What’s going on?”

“I saw him, he’s alive.” Daniel tried to reach up and pull the man closer, but the pain from his busted collarbone prevented him from doing so. “I was at the cemetery and I saw him...”

Speed felt his shoulders sag. It appeared that his earlier assessment about Daniel’s state of mind had been wrong after all. “I don’t know how to tell you this, kid, but...you’re wrong,” he said quietly. “Greg’s dead, he’s not coming back, no matter...”

“I’m not talking about Greg, dammit!” His voice was strained, more from frustration than pain. “I’m talking about the Nebula Man! I saw him...or at least those little gremlins he’s made out of...I saw him in the cemetery. He tried to grab me, but I got away, I...” He looked beyond Speed, squinting, then said, “Who’s there? Did you bring the others?”

“A few,” he said reluctantly.

“You already knew, didn’t you? You’ve come to finally finish that thing off.”

Speed glanced back at his friends and saw the same look of worry that he felt on his own face. Question was, were they worried about Daniel’s mental state, or that what he said may be true?

Daniel himself caught sight of the look. “You...you don’t believe me, do you? You think I’ve gone crazy or something,” he said, and tried to sit up. “Don’t you think I know what that thing looks like? He killed Greg, he killed my friends...your friends...they died trying to stop it. All this time, we thought they’d succeeded, but we were wrong...and now...” He sank back onto the hospital bed after that, feelings of defeat weighing him down. “They all died for nothing,” he said after a while.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Victor looked from his father to Speed and the others with wide eyes, saying, “Is someone trying to kill my dad?”

The older heroes said nothing, waiting to take their cue from Speed, who merely turned to Victor and said, “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about right now...but later on, when your dad’s rested up, we can talk about this.” He then looked at Daniel, saying, “You hear me, Stuff? You just sit tight for now, while me and the boys go take care of things.” Speed stepped away from the bed and conferred with his friends in low tones for a moment, then they began to file out of the room, leaving a stunned Victor alone with his father.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Victor leaned against the bed’s side rails, trying to keep his voice calm, but inside, fear and confusion were tearing him apart. Knowing his father had been badly injured was traumatic enough, but all this strange talk about cemeteries and people dying had him worked up even more. “Who were those guys with Uncle Speed? Do you know them?”

Daniel’s head was turned away from him, facing the dark corners of the room. Without looking back at his son, he said, “They used to...work with some friends of mine. It was a long time ago.” He closed his eyes, memories of days gone by flitting through his mind. “A very long time ago.”





1943:

“How you doin’ back there, kid?”

“I’m okay!” Daniel had to shout to hear himself above the roar of the engine as they raced along the Boston waterfront. He didn’t want to admit it, but riding on the back of Greg’s motorcycle like that scared him -- he knew that if he lost his grip, he’d go flying right off the seat and maybe crack his head open upon landing. So he wrapped his arms around Greg’s middle with as much strength as his ten-year-old body could muster and tried not to think of such things. “Are we almost there?”

Greg glanced up at the numbers painted on the warehouses lining the docks. “Number 14 should be right around the corner...better ease on up, don’t want to spook ‘em.” He slowed the motorcycle to a stop, then twisted around to look at the boy seated behind him. “You nervous?”

“No...maybe a little.” He put his hands on the seat and swung his legs on either side of the cycle, careful not to bump his canvas-top shoes against the hot pipes. Ever since his grandfather died three months ago, Greg Saunders had been taking care of him, introducing him to a life he’d never imagined while living in Chinatown. Actually, it was two lives: there was Greg’s public life as “The Prairie Troubadour”, traveling from city to city as he sang at concert halls and radio stations, and then there was his life as the Vigilante, which was the guise he’d first met Daniel in. He’d been wary of letting the boy participate in that second life, but he’d proved himself well enough, following Greg’s orders to the letter whenever they went out together.

And now, he was letting Daniel in on another aspect of that second life. “Don’t worry. Under all them fancy costumes, they’re normal folks, just like me.” He tugged at the bandana covering his face, saying, “It might take ‘em a while to let you behind their masks like I did, but that’s just them bein’ cautious. Don’t take it personal-like, okay?”

Daniel nodded, then said, “Should I start wearing a mask, too?”

Greg’s brow furrowed. “We’ll talk ‘bout that later.” He set the motorcycle in motion again, taking it slow around the corner. Soon, a group of six people came into view in front of one of the warehouses, along with what looked like a white horse with wings. Daniel gawked at it from behind Greg as the cowboy pulled up to the group, saying, “Sorry we’re late.”

“Hey, when did you start picking up hitchhikers, Vig?” Stripe asked, gesturing to the boy.

“Looks like a Jap,” Spider said. “What did you do, bust up a junior spy ring?”

The joke made Daniel hunker down behind Greg even more, which the cowboy took immediate notice of. “He’s Chinese...and that ain’t very damn funny, Spider. His grandpa was killed by Japs, that’s why I’m takin’ care of him.”

Crimson Avenger stepped forward as the two of them got off the cycle. “So I guess you’ve got yourself a new partner, eh?” He looked down at the boy and said, “What’s your name, son?”

He just stared up at the masked man for a moment, then said with a squeak, “Daniel Leong, sir.”

“Very nice to meet you, Daniel. You can call me Crimson.” He shook hands with the boy, then said, “Has Vigilante told you a lot about us?”

“Uh-huh.” He looked past Crimson Avenger, taking in the other heroes. Stripe stood beside the Star-Spangled Kid (though judging by his height, it looked like he was quickly outgrowing the “Kid” moniker), and Shining Knight had an arm around the waist of Firebrand, his horse Winged Victory standing at the ready behind them. They all seemed friendly enough, smiling and nodding hello when he gave them a small wave.

The only exception was Spider: he sat on a shipping crate, picking at the wood with the tip of one of his arrows and watching the whole introduction with a look of disapproval in his eyes. After a while, the archer said, “You’re not planning on bringing that kid along with us, are you?”

“Sure, why not?” Vig responded. “He can handle himself real good.”

“He’s a kid.” Spider laid extra emphasis on the last word. “We’re gonna be heading out into open water after a fleet of smuggling ships, and you’re bringing them a damn hostage.” He pointed the arrow at the boy, as if he wanted to stick him with it.

“I never heard you object to me coming along,” Star-Spangled Kid said, “and I was only a few year older than him when I met you.”

“Different case: you are older, plus you’ve got that belt.” He hopped off the crate, saying, “I’m not going to risk this mission over some wet-behind-the-ears brat that can’t do anything but get in the way.”

Daniel saw Greg’s eyes narrow, and he knew that his new guardian was smarting just as much from Spider’s words as he was. “Listen,” Greg said, “I’ve brought him along on a few other cases, and I’ve seen what he can do. I ain’t sayin’ he’s up to our level, but he ain’t helpless, neither. His grandpa taught him this...I don’t know, this stuff...a bunch of hits and kicks and things.” The cowboy waved his hands in a poor imitation, trying to emphasize his point. “I’ve seen him take down thugs as big as you with it, no sweat.”

“Is that so?” Spider stared down at the boy, the arrow still in hand, then said, “Tell you what: if he can take me down with this ‘stuff’, then he can come along.”

“Spider, you’re being ridiculous!” Firebrand said. “You want to beat up a little kid to prove a point?”

“I’m not gonna hurt him,” the archer replied as began to strip off his quiver, “but I’m sure as Hell not going to take it easy on him, either. Besides, if he’s as good as Vig is making out, there’s nothing for him to worry about, right?”

Crimson leaned over to Greg and said, “I think Tom’s serious about this. You’d better leave Daniel here before this gets ugly.”

Greg didn’t respond to him, instead kneeling down next to Daniel and looking him in the eye. “I’m not gonna force you to do this, son. You don’t have to prove a damn thing to me, I already know what you can do. As for Spider here, don’t pay him no mind, he’s just thick-headed -- when he thinks he’s right, he’s impossible to deal with.”

The boy looked from Greg over to Spider. The man was standing there, arms crossed, ready and willing to smack him around just because he didn’t think Daniel belonged there. He’d been dealing with people like that during all ten years of his short life, people who thought Chinese should stay in Chinatown, away from “real” Americans...or better yet, they should all climb back on the boat and go back to China, never mind that Daniel had been born here. He knew this incident had nothing to do with him being Chinese, but the attitude was the same: You’re not wanted here, so just go away quietly before you get hurt.

He looked back to Greg and said, “I wanna do this.”

“You’re sure, son?” Daniel nodded, and Greg tugged on the brim of the Yankees baseball cap the boy wore, smirking beneath his bandana. “Okay, then...you go out there and clean his clock.”

The boy stepped forward and began to circle around Spider, sizing him up -- he knew that the man was doing the same to him, but luckily, Spider had already expressed disbelief in his ability, so the boy gave him nothing that might dispel that just yet. “Okay, small fry, you go first,” Spider said.

Daniel responded by doing...nothing. He stopped his circling and merely stood there, a good ten feet away. He didn’t so much as twitch a finger.

“What, you chickening out already?” Spider goaded.

“No...I already made my move.”

“Funny, I didn’t feel a thing. Guess it’s my turn now.” He started to come at Daniel, moving fast so the boy wouldn’t have time to get out of the way. Unfortunately, Daniel had no intentions of moving, at least not how Spider was expecting. At the last possible moment, Daniel dropped to the ground, his back pressed flat against the docks. Spider tried to come to a stop, but his own forward momentum caused him to stumble. As he began to fall forward, Daniel brought both of his legs up, his feet connecting with Spider’s stomach. The breath whooshed right out of him, but that was the least of the archer’s problems: the boy continued to push out with his legs, bringing them up and over his small body as he braced his hands against the docks, until it looked like he was attempting to stand on his head with Spider balanced on the boy’s upturned feet. When the man’s momentum had carried him completely over Daniel, the boy dropped his legs and tucked them under his body, so that he was crouching beneath Spider as the man continued to sail past. It wasn’t until then that Spider realized how close to the edge of the docks they’d been fighting -- the boy’s first move hadn’t been a physical attack, he was merely positioning himself so he could knock Spider into the water!

Greg let out a whoop of approval the moment Spider splashed into the drink. “See? I told y’all he could handle himself!” the cowboy said, then scooped the boy up as he got to his feet. “There ain’t nobody who can mess with the Chinatown Kid!” Daniel was grinning from ear to ear as Greg hoisted him up on his shoulder, parading him around like the boy had won the World Series -- Daniel even took off his cap and waved it around, as if saluting an unseen crowd. The other Soldiers were proud of him as well, patting him on the back and saying that Vigilante had made a good choice for a partner.

Then they all fell silent as something wet splashed up on the docks: Spider had pulled himself out of the water, and was now standing there, soaked to the bone, and he looked none too happy about it. As he walked over to them, Shining Knight stepped in his path, saying, “Stay thy hand, Thomas, the boy bested thee fairly.”

“Move aside, golden boy,” Spider huffed, pushing past the knight. He stepped up to Greg, who’d put Daniel back down and was now standing between the boy and the archer. The two stared each other in the eye for a good long while, then Spider said, “I take it that was the ‘stuff’ you were talking about?”

“A bit of it,” Greg replied. “There’s more ‘stuff’ where that came from.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing he’s on our side, then.” Spider’s gaze flicked over to the boy, then he offered his hand, saying, “That was damn clever, kid. Never saw it coming.”

“Thank you, sir,” Daniel said, and shook on it. The man still looked a little irked over the whole thing, but there was a grudging note of respect in his voice now as well.

“Okay, then,” Crimson interjected, “if we’re done playing around, let’s say we get down to business...” He spent the next ten minutes laying out the plan of attack for the other heroes, with Daniel listening just as intently as the rest of them. He was still new to the game, but he was eager to learn, and as the night wore on and they moved into battle, that eagerness -- along with his novice martial-arts skills -- just endeared him to the group even more.

And by sunup the next day, everyone had taken to calling Daniel Leong by the nickname “Stuff.”





2008:

Beneath the streets of Metropolis, the seven aspects of Neh Buh Lah scurried away from the Hall of Justice, their strange gibbering voices echoing off the walls of the sewer. They cursed the sorcerer for intervening, though in a way, he had done the creatures a favor: in his attempt to stop the bloodshed, Doctor Fate had let slip that the members of this “Justice League” were not truly the seven chosen warriors. They were powerful, to be sure, and could cause some damage...but they did not possess that spark of the divine necessary to drive the Seven back into their realm. Without that, the heroes were merely more meat to be torn apart in Neh Buh Lah’s hungry maw. Not even Doctor Fate would be able to put up a fight against them for very long, though the knowledge he possessed about them was infinitely more dangerous than his magicks: he might be able to delay the Time of Rejoining until seven new warriors could be properly chosen. Oh, but they could not wait much longer for that moment! They could feel it building within their twisted frames, the marks upon each of them pulsing in time with one another as the forces that would bind them together once more grew to a fever pitch.

Unfortunately, they could also feel dawn approaching, which would drive away the darkness, and with it would go their ability to move freely upon this world. True, they could flee to the night-shrouded side of the planet and continue their regeneration there, but The Mind sensed that the further they moved from the site of their near-destruction sixty years ago, the more difficult that regeneration would be. It was as if some portion of themselves was still tied to Christ Church Burial Ground, and would not be recovered if they performed the Time of Rejoining elsewhere. For an entity that had spent the majority of its life split into seven pieces, the idea of losing any part of itself, no matter how small, was abhorrent. They must return there, The Mind told its brothers, and make that place of the dead their place of rebirth.

The other aspects shrieked, for they knew that, even traveling swiftly through the shadow-realm, there would not be enough time to reach Philadelphia before the accursed sun shone down upon it. Just as it had done earlier, The Mind calmed its brothers, and pointed out to them how much power they had already regained...and that calling up that power to solve their problem was a rather simple matter. With that, The Mind gestured to one of its brethren, the one that housed The Strength of Neh Buh Lah: the ability to control the great dark energies that coursed through its gestalt body when it was realized in its full glory, and would soon use to tear the Earth asunder. Though they were still seven separate creatures, The Strength could forge a link with all of the Seven and bring forth a massive surge of black magicks, just as it had done in the Hall of Justice when it overloaded the building’s power supply, and later when it broke the Green Lantern’s energy barrier. The task before it now was much larger, but not impossible.

The six creatures gathered round The Strength as it raised its hands above its head. They each sank their clawed right hand into its body, their left digging into the shoulder of the one next to it, until they resembled a spoked wheel, with The Strength as its axis. Then the white marks upon their bodies took on a purplish cast as The Strength gathered the magic coursing through each of them, focusing it into its upraised hands so that it could direct all that energy at their intended target.

Far above Metropolis, the pre-dawn sky began to roil with deathly-black clouds, like the gathering of a powerful storm.





“Are you telling me that we’re just supposed to sit on the sidelines while those things wreak havoc?” Superman was following close behind Doctor Fate as they made their way down the hall. Hawkman followed as well, just as eager for answers as the Man of Steel. Beforehand, they had taken Batman to the infirmary, though he had not gone willingly -- Green Lantern had stayed behind with him to make sure the Dark Knight at least bandaged his wounds before he joined the others in the main foyer.

<As loathsome as it sounds, it is for your own safety,> Doctor Fate replied. They were approaching the sealed security doors, and Fate merely waved his hand, causing the doors to part with ease. <As I said before, there is no way you can stop them, and any attempt made by you would only end in your deaths. I am sorry, Kal-El, but the Justice League has no place in this battle.>

“Then why are you still here?” Hawkman asked. “My father’s told me a little about you: he said you’re one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. Shouldn’t you be going after them right now instead of wasting time talking to us?”

<Despite what you have heard, there is little I can do to effect the outcome of these events, at least directly. Though I sensed that Neh Buh Lah had returned to the mortal plane once more, and alerted my masters -- the Lords of Order -- to their presence, I do not possess the power to defeat them. Until the seven warriors are revealed, all I can do is track the path of chaos left in their wake.>

“If seven warriors are what you need, then you’re already halfway there.” Katar slapped his mace into his open palm.

<I admire your courage, Katar Hol. It is a trait you share strongly with your father...but in the face of Neh Buh Lah, courage alone is meaningless. The Lords of Order do not bestow their blessings on just anyone, no matter how desperate the situation.>

“Who’s this ‘Neh Buh Lah’ you keep mentioning?” Superman asked. “Is he the one who sent those things after us?”

<The creatures you fought and the entity known as Neh Buh Lah are one in the same.> Fate had stopped in the middle of the foyer, taking in the destruction wrought upon it. <Long ago, when the human race was little more than scatterings of nomadic tribes, seven shamans joined together in a search for power. They found a way to tap into the dark forces of the universe, which still flowed freely at that time, and were soon intoxicated by it, to the point where they decided to sacrifice themselves utterly to it. Unfortunately, they were unaware that those dark forces held a sentience of their own, and merely lacked the physical form necessary to wield it. But the sacrifice was made, and the seven shamans were torn apart and remade as one powerful being: Neh Buh Lah, “The Seven As One”. Driven by a mad lust for blood and chaos, it set itself up as a god, demanding worship from the very tribes the shamans once watched over, and gathering even more power so that it could devour the entire world. It came very close to succeeding, but from each of those seven tribes, one warrior rose up to confront Neh Buh Lah. Though the odds of defeating it were insurmountable, each warrior bore within them the conviction that something had to be done, even if they had to do it alone.>

“But they weren’t alone,” Katar said. “There were seven of them, not one.”

<But they did not know that. Not until the battle had begun did they each realize the presence of the others...but once that realization was had, the seven warriors became as one. Not physically, as the shamans had foolishly done, but spiritually: they were joined together by their desire to protect their homes and their people from this living darkness, even if it meant their own deaths. Sadly, they could not overcome the might of Neh Buh Lah, and soon lay dying, but the Lords of Order, who had been watching this upstart godling very closely, were impressed by the actions of the seven warriors, and decided to intervene. The Lords of Order ripped Neh Buh Lah from the physical form it had fashioned from the seven shamans and let it fall to dust, then split its dark spirit into seven separate entities, each of which only contained a fraction of the power it had acquired, and cast them deep into the shadow-realm where Chaos dwells. As for the seven fallen warriors, the Lords of Order gathered their spirits up and charged them with a task: should humanity ever fall under the spell of Neh Buh Lah again, they each must seek out a living mortal soul to fight in their stead, who would then be granted favor by the Lords of Order. Those seven, and they alone, are the only ones capable of splitting Neh Buh Lah asunder and sending it back into the realm that spawned it.>

“Seven warriors,” Superman muttered, and looked over to the wall where large photos of the League’s roster were hung. The one of the first lineup had been torn to shreds, but the one of the League’s current members had been destroyed in a more selective fashion, with only the images of Batman, Wonder Woman, and Flash -- the only original members still active in the League -- ripped through. He turned to Katar and asked, “You said those creatures barely laid a hand on you?” Hawkman concurred, and the Man of Steel then said to Doctor Fate, “I think you’re mistaken about the Justice League having no place in this: it appears that the original seven members are the ‘chosen warriors’ you keep talking about, and those things were trying to kill us before we found out about it!”

<I am afraid you have made the same mistake that Neh Buh Lah made. Though the League was founded by seven heroes, that number alone does not deem you to be the seven chosen to stand against it. It is mere coincidence, nothing more.> Fate strode over to the ruined photo of the original League and passed his hand over it -- the image began to dissolve and twist with golden light as he explained, <The number seven has cropped up in numerous places throughout history, though there is no visible connection between any of them: the Seven Sins of Man, as well as its Seven Virtues, the Seven Days of Creation, the Seven Seals that herald the Apocalypse, the fabled Seven Seas and Seven Wonders of the World...even Thanagar has its legendary Seven Devils. One might surmise that the magic released during that long-ago battle with Nuh Buh Lah may have infused the number itself with power, but that is not our concern at the moment.> The twisting image began to settle down, coalescing into seven figures once more, but not the ones that the photo first showed. <Over the centuries, many men seeking power heard the whispers of Neh Buh Lah from the darkness, and were fooled into bringing it forth onto this plane, just as those shamans had been fooled, and each time, seven warriors were called upon to send it back. The seventh time occurred in the winter of 1941, but was interrupted before the ceremony could be finished. Nevertheless, the seven warriors had already been chosen.> Fate gestured to the figures in the newly-revealed picture, saying, <Behold, the champions known as the Seven Soldiers of Victory: the Shining Knight, Firebrand, the Star-Spangled Kid, Stripe, the Spider, Vigilante...>

“And the Crimson Avenger,” Batman finished for him as the Dark Knight entered the room, still readjusting the spare uniform he’d pulled out of storage. Green Lantern was following right behind him. “I’m not familiar with the others,” Batman continued, “but I know that a man called Crimson Avenger spent some time in Gotham back in the mid-‘40s or so. Long enough to get a statue in Robinson Park, that’s for sure.”

“There also used to be a member of the New Outsiders called Vigilante,” Superman added, “but he certainly wasn’t a cowboy.”

<Once again, coincidence explains the latter,> Fate said, <but the masked man who once watched over Gotham City was indeed the same Crimson Avenger who fought alongside the Seven Soldiers. Though the purpose for which they had been brought together was short-lived, they remained a team, and fought alongside each other for seven years in an effort to keep America safe, each of them unaware of the mystic bonds that tied their destinies together.>

“Seven years...there’s that number again,” Katar said.

“What happened after seven years?” Hal asked. “Did they finally break up?”

Fate shook his head. <Unfortunately, their destinies finally caught up with them, and all seven of them perished when the same people that tried call forth Neh Buh Lah in 1941 managed to succeed. The Seven Soldiers of Victory gave their lives to destroy it, just as the six groups of warriors before them had done.>

“So now, someone else has put on the same ceremony, and the Soldiers aren’t here to stop them this time,” Superman said. “But from what you’ve described, these spirits should’ve picked seven new people...why haven’t they come forward to stop this?”

<Because according to the Lords of Order, the Seven Soldiers of Victory are still the chosen warriors, just are they were in 1941. The seventh coming of Neh Buh Lah has never stopped since then, it has merely been delayed -- first by seven years, and then by another sixty. As far as I can determine, no actual ceremony has been performed since the one in 1948.> The image of the Seven Soldiers faded away, leaving only the ruined portrait of the Justice League. <The Seven Soldiers of Victory are long dead, but my masters insist that they are the only ones who can stop this...and they speak of the Soldiers as if they are still among the living. I have tried to gain an explanation from them, but...> Fate suddenly stopped talking, then made his way over to the glass-fronted public-access doors, which faced towards Metropolis. An ugly black cloud was beginning to grow over the city, spreading quickly in all directions -- within minutes, it had cast a thick, oppressive shadow over everything below it, including Happy Harbor and the Hall of Justice, and showed no signs of stopping as it flowed across the sky, blotting out the rising sun.

“This is their doing, isn’t it?” Superman asked, his eyes fixed on the underside of the impossibly-huge cloud of darkness as it rolled overhead -- by his estimation, it would cover the entire East Coast in a half-hour.

Doctor Fate nodded gravely. <Time is growing short,> he informed the four heroes. <Unless the mystery surrounding the Seven Soldiers of Victory is unraveled, this world will never see the sun again.>