Ultimate Fourth World #5

On any world, there is light and there is shadow, eternally intertwined- polar enemies, yet ultimately inseparable. Darkness is the natural state of existence; in the end, all things go down into the dark- all the light can do is to hold it off. Light, ultimately, is temporary- all fires are extinguished, all lives are snuffed out, even stars die and at the very end, the light is gone and all that is left is the shadow. And the shadow will always be there- patient, biding its time, for it can never be extinguished. And the irony- perhaps the bitterest irony of all- is that it is ultimately the greatest light which casts the darkest shadow.

And if New Genesis was the light of the universe, then Apokolips was most unquestionably its shadow.

BOOM

The thunderous crack sounded loud over the Armagetto. Below, the slaves continued to toil, accustomed to the roars of the Boom Tubes- the few who had not gone deaf after countless decades of enslavement. Work did not stop for a second, and if it did, the overseers ensured that those responsible were punished. There was no time for distractions, no time for wondering who or what might have arrived on the dark world, there was only time to keep fuelling the fires, to keep crafting weapons, to live, to work, to die for Darkseid. And if they had looked up, if the drones below had glanced into the smoke-blemished skies in some desperate hope, then they would have had that hope crushed by what they saw. Parademons- another flock of the soulless monstrosities, led by cruel Steppenwolf on his hover-bike… and with them, the demons bore the heavily manacled and unconscious forms of two who had once been Gods in Heaven, now condemned to be prisoners in Hell.

So it was that Orion and Lightray first arrived on Apokolips.



It was the smell which first awakened Lightray- a thick, noxious scent which clogged the nostrils and made him cough to clear his lungs. For an instant after awakening, he wondered at the heavy air, at the taste of copper that stained his mouth, and wondered where he was. It was then that the pain set in. It took all his considerable willpower not to cry out as flaming agony seared up his chest- he had been fitted with some sort of metal collar so he could not turn his head to look but it felt as though the Dread One himself had driven a molten dagger into his chest and-

…and then he remembered. Earth. A battle. A betrayal by Metron. Steppenwolf, Orion was captured, he tried to take out Kanto when a dagger was hurled at him and then… oblivion. Hence his current situation, where he was slung over the shoulder of a filthy monstrosity of a parademon, and all he could see was the smoke-shrouded darkness of the sky.

Okay, Lightray thought to himself. Not good. Still, he was nothing if not optimistic, and if there had ever been a more appropriate time to concentrate on the positives, this was it. He shoved aside the lancing pain that seared through his chest- had he been a mortal, he supposed that wound would have proven fatal, but it seemed even the poison-tipped daggers of Apokolips could not kill a god so easily- and ignored the fact that his breath were sounding steadily more ragged, and thought of the advantages of his current situation. Well, I’m alive. And… His thoughts trailed off. …And…um… Orion’s with me…? But was he? He couldn’t turn his head with this infernal collar on, and his limbs were numbed- some type of paralysing poison, he suspected. For all he knew, his friend might be… no, not Orion, never Orion. The Dog of War could not be dead, would never die.

For an instant, Lightray allowed himself to contemplate that possibility, and for one of the only times in his life, his face grew grim. But with customary resolve, he shoved those feelings aside. Orion was alive- clearly unconscious, otherwise he suspected he would be hearing the sounds of an attempted struggle, paralyser or not- but alive. And he’d get them out of this. He’d… he’d…

Lightray’s sightline changed so that instead of the thick brimstone clouds which rimmed the world, he instead saw light- but it was not the sparkling golden type he was accustomed to and which he could manipulate, but the foreboding scarlet flame of a pillar of fire that erupted from the world below… The flames reminded him of descriptions he had heard of the soulless eyes of the Dread Lord of this foul abomination of a world, and for a moment, even the joking youngster of the Gods could not suppress a shudder of horror as he contemplated what came next.



In the depths of the Shadow World, another god wrestled with something deep within her which was beginning to resemble a soul, as one of her “allies” demonstrated no such restraint.

*Crack*

Barda stood guard in the cell of Scott Free, blocking the doorway to ensure there was no escape. Mere hours ago, she had prevented the sadistic witch Lashina from continuing her onslaught upon the prisoner, as he lay near to death. But it seemed that dear Granny had other plans, and the respite, such as it was, was over.

*Crack*

Yet again the whip slashed down upon the bleeding body of Scott Free, and yet again he refused to give an inch, emitting only the briefest of grunts as each agonising lash added to the mass of scars and bloodied welts on what had been his back. Barda’s hand tightened on her MegaRod. If it was up to her, Lashina would not be alive, let alone here, but it was not. She had exercised her prerogative to allow the prisoner to live, but Granny had arrived soon enough- it seemed that more prisoners would soon be there, and it was imperative the boy was broken before they arrived- no matter what it took. Thus Lashina had been unleashed again.

*Crack*

“Cease.” This time though, the command did not come from Barda. She turned in surprise, for the voice was familiar to her, as it was to all on Apokolips. Lashina stopped laughing and looked up, the smile frozen on her face, to see who had disrupted her fun.

“…Godfrey…” Barda murmured. She looked down at the shorter god, dressed in a resplendent white outfit, skin nearly glowing with light, orange hair sticking out from his head like a flame. Godfrey was an anomaly- handsome where everything else was ugly, glowing where all else was in shadow, charming where charm was considered a vice. But Barda knew him well enough to know that inside, he was as black as anything else here on this world. Godfrey was a viper, and a more dangerous one for concealing it in a seemingly innocent guise.

“Barda, eternal guardian of the depths, Granny’s right hand girl,” Godfrey smiled widely, displaying his perfect teeth as he approached.

“Godfrey,” she nodded, this time to his face, her expression completely impassive. “What brings you down to the prisons?”

“Business, my dear, business,” Godfrey said melodramatically. “I go where my Lord commands, and it seems we have a potential convert down here.” Despite her misgivings, Barda stood aside to allow the head of propaganda access to the chamber. She hadn’t heard anything about this, but if it was a direct order from the Dread Lord, then there was certainly nothing she could say to dissuade him. The arrival of one of the Elite heralded many things, but none of them were good.

…Bad, none of them were bad, she corrected herself. She was the chief lieutenant of the Female Furies Battalion, trusted by Granny herself, she had personally slain rebels and dealt harshly with the foes of Apokolips, and she would not be seduced by some ragged prisoner who had a way with words. She wanted Free to be broken, she reminded herself, and it would… it must… it would have to give her pleasure when it was done. Then she would be free of whatever sorcery he had wrought, free to serve her Lord for all eternity. She turned, with Lashina, to watch as Godfrey approached the huddled barely breathing mass that had once been a god.

“Scott Free…” breathed Godfrey. “Well, well… what a mess Lashina’s made here, hmm?” He crouched down beside Free, whose face was turned away, not wanting to show his captors his pain- something Barda could empathise with. “But- and I’ll understand if this is hard to believe, Scott…. Today is the luckiest day of your life.” He leaned closer, so close Barda and Lashina both had to strain to hear what he said.

“I’m here to liberate you.”



With a muffled roar, Orion thrashed around in his manacles, seeking some weakness, any weakness in their seemingly unbreakable hold. Even if Mother Box was held by one of the demons, the paralysis agent which had prevented him from doing this when he woke up was gone, and now the only things between him and freedom were incredibly thick reinforced unbreakable shackles on his arms and legs, a collar of the same material, several dozen parademons as close guards, several million of them on the surrounding world, and all the horrors, demons and monstrosities that their foe could summon. Not to mention the God of Evil himself.

All in all then, thought Orion, it was going to be close.

“Cease your struggling, you pretentious buffoon,” sneered the assassin Kanto from behind him. The column, captors and captive, had landed in the centre of the dark metropolis. Orion had been pleased to see the broken remains of the colossal statue that had once dominated the main plaza of Armagetto, demolished by his earlier efforts. They had entered a grim corridor which the Dog of War supposed led to the prisons- he could occasionally hear Lightray behind him, but their guards kept them far enough apart that they could not see each other, and every time he tried to talk, the collar poured electricity directly into his central nervous system. He didn’t know where they were going, but he didn’t want to find out.

“It’s… never… hopeless…” he spat, nearly roaring at the pain as his body shuddered under the voltage, but he refused to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing what agony he was under. Instead, he tried to think of more cheerful thoughts, something which was in itself quite alien for him. He focused on the image of himself with his hands around Metron’s neck, that treacherous old fool’s chair split open and broken. Soon, Metron, he promised. [i[If you led us into that trap, there will be a reckoning.[/i]

“They all say that, at first,” Steppenwolf noted from ahead of them. “Though you will be disillusioned sooner than most… no other prisoner has received the honour which you’re about to.”

“What… honour is that…?” came another voice, and a fierce surge of pride flooded Orion as he recognized the voice as Lightray’s. His younger friend was fighting and alive as well. For a moment, he wished he had never dragged him into this- where, part of him whispered, they would both surely die. But another, more selfish part was glad- because he couldn’t ask for a better ally at the end. Even jovial Lightray was resisting!

“A meeting,” Kanto sneered, his smile spreading ever wiser. “With the extinguisher of hope.” He gave a brief laugh. “He’s waiting for us.”

Inside, a feeling of coldness washed over Orion. He tried to deaden it, to drive it away. They were trying to scare him, nothing more. He knew what was coming, but he tried to persuade himself otherwise. They must mean Desaad, who extinguished hope beneath the blades of his “surgical implements”, or twisted Granny with her so-called “love” of her charges. But deep down, another voice whispered. He doesn’t mean Granny. You know that. Nor Desaad. They might be present but they aren’t the ones waiting for us. Another part of him desperately fired back, Then who is? Who is waiting for us, Orion?

And he knew the answer, knew it even before he looked up to see the huge twisted horseshoe which symbolised only one New God in all existence. The Omega, the end of all things. He knew it before the parademons all mindlessly halted as one, in perfectly ordered lines, to simultaneously raise their right claws and clench them into fists. He knew it before they and Kanto and Steppenwolf repeated in unison the mantra of this foul place. Who’s waiting for us? The answer came with their words.

“Darkseid Is”.



For the first time in many New Gods’ lifetimes, smoke rose from Supertown. It poured from chimneys and funnels, thick black fumes entering the pure atmosphere, dispersing amidst the clouds to despoil the sky. The grim smog was a necessary evil- a phrase that seemed all too apt on New Genesis these days. The cold wind had picked up days ago and had not ceased, and even besides the new smoke, storm-clouds were clustering ever more thickly, swelling nearly to bursting point. The children had returned to their homes in the shining city, their play interrupted, toys strewn where the youths had been called. Now the tranquillity of the calm world was shattered by constant thumping noises and the sound of metal clanging against metal, and the streets, once brimming with life and youth and laughter, were empty and cold.

For the first time in three centuries, New Genesis prepared for war.

Highfather Izaya strode down the ranks of an assembled battalion of warriors in what had, until that day, been a sports pitch. It was less then a day ago that he had declared emergency measures be taken, immediately after a communication with Apokolips. What words had passed, none knew, but the moment he had emerged, Highfather had ordered mobilisation on a scale not even dreamt of since the Great War. All New Gods were recalled to the golden citadel, all children were to be taken indoors, families were to prepare to evacuate to the surface; the factories and forges, so long abandoned, were restarted as they began making instruments of death once more. And every male god over eighty was summoned to bear arms in the name of their homeworld once more.

As he walked past rank after rank of the warriors in their golden armour, Highfather could not stir himself to feel pride despite the bravery and steadfast resolve on every face. Instead, he could feel only sorrow.

“How did it come to this?” he whispered so that none but he could hear it. At the end of the line he bent over his staff for a moment, feeling every one of his countless millennia.

“Highfather,” Magnar, the eternal guardian of the city, saluted behind him. “We have another company ready for inspection in… in what used to be the schoolyard. Are you…?”

“I’m fine, General,” Highfather responded, summoning solemnity and dignity once more. “We knew this day would come.”

“We did, sir, but… it’s so sudden, I just…” Magnar paused, as though uncertain of what to say. “…I did not think it would be now. And I did not think we would be the ones to restart this infernal conflict.”

“Nor I,” Highfather replied. “But prophecy must be fulfilled, and we cannot abandon Orion and Lightray to torment and death in the pits of that dark world. May the Source forgive us…. we must make war.”

He could not resist glancing into the skies once more, at the dark blot which marked where he knew the two young gods were held captive. Was he doing the right thing? If he failed, Heaven would be torn down, and in place of light, there would simply be greater shadow. But the pieces were in place, and they were locked in their course. After Godfrey had all but informed him that he was targeting them, Izaya had consulted the Source Wall, and it had told him what he suspected, that now they were captive on Apokolips. Though he did not- could not­- know it, Orion was the foundation of all Highfather’s plans, of all the hopes of a world, of reality itself.

“In the red light of the firepits…” he breathed, so quietly Magnar could not hear it. Another prophecy, and if it were not fulfilled then an entire universe would descend into darkness. But none knew- none could ever know- that to make war, to violate the truce as they must now do, would mean the destruction of Highfather himself. He had never thought, when they wrote that Pact three hundred years ago, that it would ever lead him down this path, but now…. “How did it come to this?” he whispered again, and followed Magnar to the next company.


“…Liberate?” Scott Free spat through ruined lips. He looked up, and Barda nearly recoiled despite her vast experience with mutilation and horror. His face was barely recognisable. The bridge of his nose had been snapped by a crack of the relentless bullwhip, his face was scarred and pitted, one eye had scabbed over and was pouring blood. She had no idea how many times he had been whipped, but she had never seen torment like it in all her three and a half centuries of life.

“Liberate,” confirmed Godfrey, still kneeling. He reached down and took Scott’s hand, his face earnest and serious as he gazed into Scott’s eyes. “It’s okay to admit it, Scott. You’re in pain, you’re suffering, you’ve never felt so bad in your life. And you probably a feel a bit proud, you poor child. You think you’ve been brave, you think you’ve stood up for your tragically misguided beliefs. You’re in agony, so much agony, and you don’t see that there’s a way out. You can be liberated, and I’m here to help. I’m here to free you…” His voice was now reaching fever pitch as he looked away, nearly trance-like; Barda looked on in fascination, she heard Lashina beside her quietly reciting the mantra, intoxicated.

“Freedom!” Godfrey’s voice boomed out powerfully. “Freedom from suffering. Freedom from pain! Freedom from oppression and indignity, freedom from agony- yes, my friend, it is possible. Freedom is not distant as the liars claim. Your escape from the pain and torment you have been put through lies right here.” Barda looked at Scott. The reluctance and haggard pain was gone from his face and he stared at Godfrey, seemingly as intoxicated as Lashina, drinking in his words.

“Barda,” came a hiss, and she turned to find Bernadeth standing there, but the shrew was not looking irate, not this time. She instead looked nervous, fidgeting. “You’ve been summoned! We have to get to the throne room at once, Granny wants us present!” Barda nodded, and paused for just a moment. It felt… wrong somehow, to abandon Scott with the viper and that harlot Lashina, but… what choice did she have? A foolish question, she knew; there was no choice. She followed Bernadeth silently, Godfrey’s words echoing down the corridor after her.

“Imagine it. Total, complete freedom, Scott. Your very name suggests it. Escape from darkness. Escape from horror! Escape from thought!”



Scott looked up, drawing shallow breaths as he listened, ignoring the blood pooled in his lungs.

“I can see you know doubt, my dear friend,” Godfrey said to him, reaching down to lightly touch his chin. Scott winced, but it felt… right. It felt soothing, refreshing.
“You poor, poor boy, you’ve been through so much but they never got it right. Life has never been kind to you. Your 'life' has been one tortured moment after another… Of course you doubt, it is only natural. Life, my friend, makes you doubt. But here is the escape, Scott…” he turned back to the wounded God, his face vivid and flushed with excitement. “Anti-Life will make you right!”

“A…Anti-life?” Scott asked, ignoring the blood that bubbled up to his lips.

“Anti-Life,” nodded Godfrey with a wide smile.

“What… what is…?”

“It’s Freedom, Scott. What we discussed. It’s an escape from thought, from chaos, from indecision, from fear. In 'life' you are in pain, you do not know why you are here, you doubt, and chaos is sown. But Anti-Life… Anti-Life takes away the bitter thralls of ‘choice’, the harshness that is ‘life’, and replaces it with order. Calm, cool, collected- with one purpose, one goal. And it’s so easy, friend. You can escape your pain, get away from this dull place, escape to a higher plane.” Scott paused, uncertain.

“I…I…” he looked away, deep in thought, his expression troubled. Lashina gazed between them, adoration on her face as she looked at Godfrey.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Godfrey pressed softly. “Having to make such a momentous choice- having to suffer indecision, to worry about consequences and ethics… forget the lies, Scott, forget the empty teachings you absorbed in a past life, and concentrate on the now. Let me take the pain away. All you need to do, Scott, to unlock yourself, is to accept it. Accept that Anti-Life will make you better. Think of the Great Lord Darkseid who makes all things possible. Think on him, and accept his great gift. Accept Anti-Life, and have the relief of knowing you are eternally liberated from the burden of thought and hard decisions. Accept him, Scott Free.” He smiled like an old friend. “What do you say?”

He was now so close to Scott that the younger God could smell him even over the rank smell of the prisons and the stench of his own blood… and the red-haired god smelt of rancid, hideous decay, of corruption and plague and pestilence.

“No thanks,” he coughed. Godfrey blinked in disbelief.

“…Wha…?” He began, but then Scott’s fist slammed into his face as the young New God leapt up in a display of strength hitherto unseen. He had been saving himself, reserving himself all for this moment, and now he unleashed it all. It would take everything that he had, but he swore, this day, today, he would finally be free. With a cry of rage, Lashina curled up her bullwhip and sent it lashing towards the prisoner, but he grabbed Godfrey and dragged the stunned master of propaganda a few inches to the left so that the tip slashed a tear across his pristine features, leaving him to give a cry of rage.

“You… wretched creature!” he shouted, blood pouring from his face, but he was drowned out as Lashina gave her own cry of horror- she had wounded one of the Elite, a crime beyond even comprehension on Apokolips, and Scott took advantage of the chance to run for all he was worth towards the exit… where Barda had left the door open upon her departure.

“Catch him, you fool!” hissed Godfrey. “You’ll NEVER escape!” he shouted after Scott. But Scott simply ran, ran as he had never run before, using up all the strength in his body, fighting past the pain and the torment that threatened to tear him apart, sprinting up towards the single-file winding staircase just outside the prison block, praying he could get past the parademons at the top end. Lashina was coming after him, but as he reached the staircase, he rounded one last time and gave his trademark smile through broken teeth and bloodied lips. “Miracles, Godfrey, are my speciality.” Then he gave a wink and heaved the colossal door shut, cutting himself off from Lashina as she gave another howl of rage.

Then the battered New God loped with all his strength toward the exit, and freedom, exhilaration forcing him on. Finally… after so long… after centuries of trying, he had escaped the prison block. But he could not allow himself to take a moment, could not allow himself to congratulate himself or to laugh, for his trials had barely begin, and he might yet end up back in the dungeons. Now… there was just the small matter of escaping the planet.



To their surprise, Orion and Lightray found they were not accompanied by their captors into the audience. Instead, when the colossal stone doors groaned open, Steppenwolf and Kanto took them roughly and shoved them through the entrance without a word. Lightray tried to shout a question out, but the evil gods ignored it, and the instant the two younger Gods were through, the doors slammed closed again, leaving them alone in the Throne Room of Apokolips

Orion’s first reaction was one of confusion. The room was dimly lit, so much so that he could barely see at all, even with his enhanced senses. The only light came from the opening onto a balcony at the top of the palace, but even that was merely a dull red light blotted by smoke, throwing the room into murky shade where the corners were bathed in shadow. Straight ahead of them, they could see a large stone throne on a causeway over what appeared to be bubbling lava. It wasn’t quite clear, though it was moving and giving off steam, whatever it was, but the throne was empty. They could hear nothing at all, though there was a putrid rotting stench of decay clogging their nostrils- it had been here since they arrived, but it was even stronger in the throne room. Other than that, the Dog of War felt nothing save for a lurking, creeping sense of coldness.

None of this was remotely what either of the two had expected. They exchanged a wary glance. It seemed likely that their enemy was playing with them, and that was a very, very bad sign.

“Welcome, children, to Apokolips.” As one, they both whirled to see the huge form of the lord of this foul world towering over them, gleaming eyes sparkling with malice and fire. Instinctively, Orion tried to bring himself into a battle position, but it was useless with the tight restraints on his hands and the leg-manacles which barely allowed him to walk.

“D…Darkseid,” he spat over the pain of his collar. If the Dark Lord was at all impressed by the pain the young god overcame to speak that word- a pain which seemed to be stronger than ever here- then he gave no sign. Instead, the lord of Apokolips stood, feet apart, hands behind his back, surveying them gravely, face unreadable.

“I wished to see you before the End. The famed Orion, so ‘noble’, so ‘proud’” Each syllable was invested with heavy scorn. “Mere infants playing in the world of the gods. You have warrior spirit, that cannot be denied. But you waste it on petty endeavours and pursuit of so-called justice.”

“I… I swear to you by the Source, monster…” Orion hissed, and the agony seemed to increase with every word, sending his body into spasms. “You will not harm another God of New Genesis…” In response, the God of Evil merely gave the barest smile, and as he did, a spasm of pure torment lanced into Orion’s belly, causing him to collapse onto his knees, gasping as wave after wave of unending pain struck home, all while Lightray stared on in horror.

“Unlikely. Your actions have ensured that New Genesis comes here for you. After all these years, I could never have planned it so perfectly. Because of you, Highfather will be destroyed…” His smile widened as he saw the growing shock on Lightray’s visage and heard Orion’s pants from the floor as he tried to force himself up. “The war you have so long desired is coming, Orion, and in less than a half-century, I will crack Heaven asunder and the universe shall be mine to rule… and I could never have done it without you.”

“He’s right…” Lightray gasped. “You are…” But he never finished. The Dark Lord merely looked at him and he fell to the ground with a cry of pain, clutching his head which felt about to erupt.

“I would offer you the chance to submit to my unending will, but you are too foolish as yet to accept it, child,” The God of Evil sneered down to Orion. “It matters not if you kneel now. Now… later… in the end, you will kneel.” By way of response, Orion, grunting in pain the entire time, pushed himself up onto his knuckles. The Evil One looked on in interest as he continued to force himself up, inch by inch, teeth grit, ignoring the agony washing over his body, simply refusing to quit until he managed to stand raggedly, the chains of his manacles clinking, and look up into his tormentor’s eyes. Orion tried to summon the strength to spit, but he had no saliva left in him- it had all been burnt away.

And then, for some inexplicable reason, the Evil God changed ever so slightly and reached out with one hand which brushed lightly against Orion’s chin before he could jerk away. As it did, he felt a hideous sensation of pestilence, as though infected by some diabolical disease, and a sweeping coldness which caused him to shudder. Then the moment was gone. The God of Evil stepped back so that he was lost in the shadows once more, and his minions seemed to know their master’s will at once for the doors were thrown open and parademons clustered in to take them away again. He was done with them for now. As he was led away, Orion turned one last time to get a glimpse of the sky outside. He was horribly afraid it would be the last time he would get such a glance of any sky, and saw Metron sitting silently on his chair where he had been for the entire meeting. Orion scowled in rage at the reminder of betrayal, but Metron’s face was completely impassive as he watched the two godlings led away, scarcely even acknowledging their presence.



Barda joined the two new prisoners not far outside the throne room. She could tell immediately that they were not regular prisoners; nor even like the New Gods brought back from occasional raids to suffer under Desaad’s knife. These two still glowed with that inner radiance that Scott seemed to have even now, and in Barda’s eye, that meant they were trouble.

“They’re in your care now, my dear Barda,” Kanto told her mockingly, his eyes reminding her of their conversation in the dungeons. “Don’t let Granny down.”

“These,” General Steppenwolf said, holding out two strange, beeping devices. “Are their Mother Boxes. They only seem to respond to them, but we’ll have them cracked open soon enough, and then all New Genesis’ secrets will be ours. They came with the prisoners. The master wants them given to Desaad for dissection immediately after the prisoners are secure.” This provoked a gasp from the fairer prisoner and a shout of rage from the red-headed one, but the collars continued to electrocute them and the parademons slashed at their already bloodied faces with claws until they simmered down.

“Acknowledged,” Barda said curtly. “I’ll see they arrive safely at the prisons.” With the Parademon guards, she turned and strode away, Mother Boxes tugged into her belt, already forgetting about the two new prisoners. She would be going back to the prisons yet again it seemed. Back to the ever present dilemma of Scott. She hated him so…. At least, she thought she did. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was not to hate. She did not hate the Elite, she supposed; she feared them, but she didn’t hate them. And she no longer hated the enemies of Apokolips as once she had… no, as once she had pretended to. But never had she known… what was that word Scott had used? Never had she known “love”, or “pity” or “kindness”. For they were vices, she had been taught. The closest thing to love she knew was the hand of the Granny who had raised her, who had trained her, and that… that should be enough. Of course it should have- she had purpose, she had goal, she did not suffer from chaos or doubt. She knew her place: to live and die for Darkseid. So why then was…?

*BOOM*[/b]

With a crack of thunder, the corridor exploded, shattering into a thousand stone fragments. With a roar, Barda found herself falling as the floor below her seemed to open up. She had no idea what was going on, all was chaos and confusion. There seemed to be debris and rock flying everywhere, all of it being sucked downwards, and she had lost track of the others except as a mass of swirling bodies. After an instant she realised what it must be. some fool has opened a massive Boom Tube inside the palace! Whoever it was would be gutted for such gross incompetence, but Barda had more immediate concerns. The Boom Tube had swallowed up several floors of the palace and she could see it now, a golden tube of light sucking in parademons and masonry. Behind it, she could see the Generator, lying discarded on the ground. Even as she flew through the air toward the tube, tumbling wildly, she withdrew her Mega Rod- not for nothing was she renowned for her skilful aim, after all. Taking aim, doing her best to try and keep as steady as possible despite the fact she was falling through space with a thousand screeching parademons and parts of the Palace floating between her and her target, she narrowed her eyes and thumbed a trigger on the Rod….

…and a beam of light vaporised the generator, causing the glowing tube to vanish in an instant and relative normality to return. With a crash, gravity took hold and Barda- along with several hundred tons of rubble and quite a lot of parademons and surprised gods- tumbled straight downwards to smash against the ground. Barda ignored the pain that lanced up her side, leaping to her feet. After first securing the Mother Boxes, she whirled.

“The prisoners?” she spat to the first parademon she saw. “Where are the prisoners?” But the creature simply turned around in confusion, apparently as bewildered as she was. “Devils of the Dark One…” Barda swore, and took stock of her position. The Boom Tube had blown a hole through the bottom five levels of the palace, where they had been on their route to the prison…. If they had been blown away by the force of the blast, and survived the plummet… they could be loose outside the palace, in the Armagetto.

“Come with me,” she snapped to the nearest group of Demons. “…I am not letting these prisoners evade me…” she breathed. “I will not fail my god… I will not…” She was doubting, why was she doubting? She shouldn’t be doubting, it was life that made you doubt, Anti-Life was supposed to make you right and she believed in the Dark One, she did. But she could still not escape the creeping feeling that nibbled at her ever-growing soul.



Scott Free gave a ragged gasp of exhaustion as he hurled himself down the deserted Armagetto side-street. All the inhabitants were still hard at work slaving away in factories, this was not their allotted three hours for sleep. They would be hunting him, he knew, but his heart hammered on with triumph. He had done it… by the Source, he had actually done it. After escaping the prisons, he had been pursued by parademons and had attempted to use what he had snatched from Godfrey… only to accidentally open a boom tube right in the centre of the palace. It was luck even the self proclaimed Miracle-maker could scarcely believe- both a way out and a distraction.

I can make it… Part of him whispered. I can make it…He was so very tired, the scars and welts caused by Lashina spiking more with each passing instant and the hot wind of the world feeling cruel against his bare skin. Even his rags were more torn than ever before after the morning’s onslaught. Another part of him though, whispered back, You fool… you can never make it now! Granny will catch you and imprison you deeper and darker than ever before… But Granny could never take away his triumph. He could see light- even the dim light of Apokolips was better than eternal shadow- he could feel the air, however oppressive it may be, he could smell something, anything, no matter how dirty, that was not the dankest depths of the prisons… no matter what happened, this was a victory, he knew.

He rounded a corner into a small plaza surrounded by squat dwellings, still out of breath…. And came to a sudden halt in shock as he saw the first people he had seen yet. Had his flight come to an end so soon? But after only a moment he realized they could not be of Apokolips. Though both torn and exhausted, they still seemed to gleam, to glow with golden light in a way nothing on this foul world ever could, and he could see the shattered remains of manacles on their feet and wrists- fugitives, it seemed, such as himself.

“Who are you?” snapped one of them, raising two bloodied fists. “Speak!”

“Peace, Orion,” his companion gasped. “He’s not one of them. You can see that from the look of him. We have to keep moving, they’ll be after us with everything they have. We must get out of here, we must…” Then a deep, animalistic voice intruded.

“The only thing you must do…” The three looked up in horror….

…to find Bernadeth, Mad Harriet, Stompa, Wunda, a freed and enraged Lashina, and, leading the group, the monstrous brute son of the Dark Lord, Kalibak himself, all standing atop hovering platforms, eyes glinting with fury and anticipation as Kalibak leveled his club at the beleaguered Gods. “…is DIE FOR DARKSEID!”

TO BE CONCLUDED…

Next Issue: Orion, Scott Free and Lightray versus the Furies and Kalibak in a no-holds barred battle Royale in Armagetto next issue, as “The Gathering Storm” comes to its action packed breathtaking finale! PLUS, Barda makes the single biggest decision of her entire life. Be here in 28, gang- it’s all been leading to this!