Justice League Presents... Wonder Woman #1

YEARS AGO LIVED A MAN CALLED HIPPOLYTUS. HE WAS KNOWN AS THE KING OF THE AMAZONS AND WAS THE SOLE MALE IN A TRIBE COMPRISED ENTIRELY OF WOMEN, AND YET THEY LOVED HIM LIKE A SISTER.

HIS TRIBE, THE LOST TRIBE ORIGINALLY LED BY HIS MOTHER ANTIOPE, WERE BLESSED BY ARES, WHILE THE AMAZONS WHO CALLED THE ISLAND OF THEMYSCIRA HOME, LED BY ANTIOPE’S SISTER HIPPOLYTA, WERE BLESSED BY ATHENA.

TO UNITE THE TWO TRIBES, THE KING OF THE AMAZONS MARRIED HIS COUSIN, DIANA, BETTER KNOWN TO THE WORLD AS WONDER WOMAN, AND THE TWO TRIBES BECAME ONE.

THEIRS WAS A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE, AND IT CAME TO A TRAGIC END WHEN HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF TO SAVE HIS SISTERS FROM THE WITCH QUEEN CIRCE’S TERRIBLE WRATH.

BUT SINCE THAT TIME, CIRCE RETURNED, SCHEMING WITH ARES IN A PLOT THAT RESULTED IN THE BIRTH OF THEIR CHILDREN AND THE JUSTICE LEAGUE BELIEVING THAT THE TWO MYTHICAL BEINGS WERE AT ODDS…

BUT WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE KING OF THE AMAZONS?

…AND WHATEVER WILL HAPPEN NEXT?



Hippolytus landed hard, and something in his back screamed. Something in his body had, he believed, shattered, and it made every attempt at movement an unending agony. He managed to roll from his front onto his back without screaming too loudly, but when he was in this new prostrate position staring upwards, he could see the trace remnants of the portal he’d been spat out of.

“Where… in the underworld… are we?”

His head rolled to the side toward the source of the voice, and when he saw the owner, his brow furrowed. He couldn’t do much else in his current state, but if he had been able to stand, or clench a fist, or throw a punch, he’d have done all of the above and more, because the reason he was here and not on Themyscira was standing right there, brushing herself clean of the dust that had gathered on her garments.

Circe noticed him and her lips curled into a cruel snarl. “You.. My little lion man.” She approached him cautiously, unsure of his current state, but when she saw him struggle-- spittle flying from his lips as he focused with all his might-- and nothing come of it, she cackled wildly and mounted his prone form.

“You unleashed Hades’ Tear and cast us into the void*, but this void is quite roomy, don’t you think? Big enough for two, at least.”


“gg… gg… get… offa… me…”

Circe laid a glowing hand on his chest and her eyes throbbed purple. “You’re all broken inside, my animal king. Pieces of your spine all out of place. That has to hurt, doesn’t it?”

She looked around suddenly, as if some far-off noise had caught her attention, but wherever they were-- stone walls became clear, ornate carvings made in the flesh of their brickwork-- they were seemingly alone.

She dismounted when something caught her eye, and he could hear her curse loudly away from him. She returned into view clutching the numerous pieces that her beloved Mask of Hecate had shattered into, then cast them aside in frustration.

“That was my mother’s… my grandmother’s… my great-grandmother’s… and now it’s no more…”

A smile formed, for all the good it would do him. “Shuh… shame…”

Circe kicked him square between the legs and he seized up, unable to protect himself. He managed a fist then.

“So, I can’t revert you back to the beastly form I had you in on my island*, but I can make a eunuch of you, can’t I? A mewling half-man. Barely a man. A girl. A small, weeping girl. Your beloved wife won’t take you back then, will she?”


“I didn’t pluck you from the mouth of the void for you to demonstrate such lack of imagination, wife.”

Circe turned immediately at the familiar voice, and her eyes widened with joy. “My husband!”

“The one and the same,” said Ares.

Appearing from seemingly nowhere, the God of War embraced Circe with one arm, and the Witch-Queen wrapped her thin arms around his armoured body, pulling herself tightly against him.

“You saved me from the clutches of Hades’ Tear?” she asked.

“The weapon was my gift to you, was it not? When I was God of the Underworld*, I knew all the secrets of the grey realm. I knew how to unleash the torments of the dead, and I knew how to negate them. I couldn’t let my beloved suffer for eternity, could I?”
“So romantic…” said Circe. She cast a glance at Hippolytus. “And what about him?”

“I wore his face once before, and it was less shattered back then*. My, how this fall must have hurt you,” observed Ares.

*Through Wonder Woman #4-6

He approached the broken form of the King of the Amazons, and allowed his fearsome helm to dissolve to reveal the smug expression he wore. He crouched down beside Hippolytus and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m planning for our future, wife. But first, shall we tear him apart?”

“I think I like the sound of that,” purred Circe.

“Yes, let’s strip away everything that makes him him, and call it practice,” replied Ares, pulling a knife from his side. He gripped Hippolytus’ mouth roughly and made sure the King of the Amazons was looking him directly in the eye. “Are you ready?”

WHAT IZ YOVR NAME?

Bolting upright at the sound of the words that vibrated into his being, the stranger opened his eyes. It took a moment or two for them to adjust to the darkness inside the cavern, but when they did, he could make out the faint outline of the speaker, and the shape was wholly inhuman. The words themselves were sharp, uneven, but they were everything in this place, and it took a second for the ringing to fade from his ears.

WHAT IZ YOVR NAME? repeated the voice.

The stranger looked at his hands. His fingers were transparent, and he could see the texture of the stone floor through them. This clearly disconcerted him, but he looked up at the shape that addressed him, and after clearing his throat, responded.

“I… I don’t know… I used to be... somebody… but now… I am nobody.”

There was a pause before the voice continued: THEN YOV ARE NOBODY.

“I am Nobody,” repeated the stranger. That fit.

DO YOV KNOW WHERE YOV ARE?

“I remember the void… and falling… but after that…”

THIZ IZ THE HALL OF THE ALL-GODZ.

“Gods…?”

THE CELEZTIAL PANTHEON. THE COVRT OF ALL-FATHERZ-AND-MOTHERZ.

Realising it as he made the gesture, Nobody held up his hand, showing the shape in the dark how he was losing his substance. “I’m… fading… Why? Why is this?”

YOV WERE ZOMEBODY. NOW YOV ARE NOBODY. ZOON YOV WILL BE NOTHING.

“Can nothing be done to… to save me…?” asked Nobody.

There was a long silence as Nobody stood there, watching the shape flex and flow amongst the shadows. Finally, after what seemed like an age, it replied.

THERE IS ZOMETHING ABOUT YOV. A QVANTVM OF THE DIVINE.

“There… there is?”

THERE IZ A LIGHT WITHIN YOV. BY YOVR GOD-RIGHT THERE WILL BEA TRIALZ. YOV COVLD BE ZTOKED. A FIRE COVLD BE LIT. FROM THAT EMBER, AN INFERNO.

“Where… what… I… when do we begin?” said Nobody.

“You shouldn’t ask questions like that… the pantheon is made up of the most grandiose of all the gods… they could go on…”

Turning, Nobody looked at the speaker, and was surprised to actually see somebody standing there. There was no abstraction, no arcane form, just a man holding a large, ornate bowl, smiling as Nobody pulled himself up.

“Who are you?” asked Nobody.

The gold-skinned figure was broad, with an immensely curved nose that started higher than the crown of eyes that circled its temple sat. It smiled, a large smile that caused fat cheeks to rise, and extended a hand to Nobody.

“Take no offense, young godling, but names hold power here, so we do not give them freely. I am the scribe of the Celestial Pantheon…” and it’s my role in proceedings to grant you a vision of what you fight for..”

“Scribe then? Is that what I can call you? If I’m to be Nobody…”

The scholarly-looking being chuckled and nodded. “Scribe! Yes, I think that title will do for now.”

Nobody took Scribe’s hand and tiny shards of golden light sprang from where their flesh met. Scribe immediately withdrew in surprise, and Nobody looked down at his digits, watching the light fade. “What…?”

“Your being… exudes light,” said Scribe, rubbing the thick fingers of his free hand together, the water in the bowl his other held perfectly still even as he moved around Nobody in his eagerness. “I’ve felt that kind of presence once before, decades ago…”

“Do you know who I am?” asked Nobody.

“No, I am afraid not. I only know what’s come before, and who has blessed us with her presence,” he said.

“‘Her’?”

ZAY NO MORE. NOW THERE IZ ONLY THE CHOICE AND THE TRIAL THAT FOLLOWZ.

Scribe bowed, backing away from Nobody.

The near-formless newcomer to the Celestial Pantheon looked around, searching for the abstract shape that addressed him initially. “Choice? What choice? There are trials to be had, and I will prove to you I am worth… worth existing.”

Five small shards of differing appearance slipped into existence before him, and he was taken aback by their beauty.

The first was earthen; the colour of bark, or mud, the composition rough and coarse. When Nobody looked at it, he could smell forests, that damp floral scent of soil, that compost one could get lost in if you dug too deep… but his eyes moved away, and the olfactory sensation faded. Looking at it for too long made him feel buried, lost, and it was a feeling he didn’t want to linger in.

The second shard shouldn’t have been a solid shape; perfectly clear water flowed in space, ripples forming where Nobody’s quiet breaths touched it. He thought he could hear waves when he focused on its surface, but what fascinated him more was the reflection he saw, of the face he wore that he didn’t recognise, and the expression it twisted into when it began to drown. He moved on quickly.

The third shard burned the air around it, molecules crackling--

“What are these things?” asked Nobody.

DECIDE YOVR COVRZE OF ACTION. THE TRIAL TO VNDERTAKE.

Scribe piped up, speaking quickly before he could be quieted, “The shard you select dictates the trial you undertake, Nobody. Choose wisely. The decision made here is one of life, death and existence…”

Nobody nodded and returned his attention to the shards. The third shard was an inferno that was barely contained by the shape it was forced into. Tiny threads of liquid heat licked out, but there was no reflection there, no drowning, just a pure force of nature, something to burn away one’s self and leave something… honest. There was a facet of that which fascinated Nobody.

The fourth shard almost whistled. Like wind caught between tree branches. The sound changed pitched quickly, and a shiver flowed through Nobody’s spine when he focused on it for too long. He understood now, with this fourth shard, that he was being asked to select an element, and the element would dictate his trial. But what of the fifth?

There was a void in space. Something missing. If Nobody looked at it from an angle, if he paid it little attention and did his best to look past it, he could see the outline of the shard. An empty place for something to fill. Was this shard his?

“What is that?”

ARE YOV MAKING YOVR DECIZION?

“No, no, I don’t want to make a decision without being informed about it. I wasn’t raised... raised…”

A memory nearly became solid in his head, but before Nobody could grab it, the memory became air and slipped through his fingers. He cursed himself. What eluded him? What fought so hard to evade him?

“He has a point, your majestic presences. Besides, if they ask, we do tell…” said Scribe.

…ZPEAK.

Scribe grinned so broadly that his entire face seemed to double in size. He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his tunic and took a step forward. The bowl of water he had been holding floated perfectly level in front of him as he approached.

“Wonderful. Allow me to elaborate. Before you are representations of the building blocks of the universe: Earth, water, fire, air and ether,” said Scribe.

“Ether?” repeated Nobody.

“Ah, yes, yes. The most subtle of the elements, the essence of emptiness. The space the other elements fill. Without it you’d have chaos.”

“Ether,” repeated Nobody, with a solid grasp of it this time. He reached out for that token and took it into his hand, where it was quickly absorbed into his being. For a second, he was complete, and his entire body shimmered, became physical, before fading into half-existence once more.

“A bold choice. Very bold,” said Scribe.

“Can you tell me what’s to come next?”

THE DOOR.

With the words, an immense doorway appeared before Nobody, and he knew he had to go through.

Scribe hurried over as the doors opened. “You’re about to undergo one of the most difficult trials of your existence. I cannot help you, or tell you what to expect, but I can offer you a glimpse into what you fight for. Your identity. Your home. You have no memory of what it was, but the trial solidifies your place in this universe. I recognise your form as being that of humanity. There was a warrior from that place that came here, long ago, and I value that time immensely.”

“Another? Who?” Nobody was drawn toward the threshold, even as he tried to stay near Scribe.

Scribe shook his head sharply. “I cannot say. But it is my part in this to provide you with a glimpse at what you fight for, plucked from the threads of your memory that are contained in your innermost self. It might help you understand who you are, and where you stand in the grand cosmic scheme of things. Or it might ruin you. What say you?”

“Yes, please, please! Hurry!” said Nobody, urgency rising in his voice as he saw the nothingness beyond the threshold of the door.

Scribe ran his cupped hand through the bowl and flicked the drops of water at Nobody’s face, before taking a step back and smiling as the droplets began to fizz.

“Ow! What-- what was that?” Nobody was left confused as the gravity of the door finally took him over the edge and he went down into the abyss. And then--


The shrill rattle of the school bell announced the end of their final exam as Cassandra Sandsmark burst out of the front doors of Saint Elias School for Girls with a big grin. Done! She jumped down the steps with superhuman agility, backpack swinging from one strap, before slowing her pace, her youthful enthusiasm overriding common sense for a quick moment.

It was a miserable day and curls of fog swept across the Spanish Revival towers of the prestigious boarding school. The air was suffused with the scent of damp cedar. Behind her, voices echoed down the linoleum hallway as more uniformed girls flooded out of the gym, excited for the end of the school term and the start of winter break.

“Hey! Cassie! Wait up!”

Cassandra came to a stop as Suzanne ‘Cissie’ King-Jones ran down the front steps.

The young hero known as Arrowette was lean and graceful, her dirty blonde hair gathered into a single braid she flicked over her shoulder as she came to a stop next to her friend with a scowl, “How did you do? I can hit a moving target with a trick arrow at three hundred feet, but I can’t calculate velocity to save my life!”

“That’s because it’s instinct for you, Cissie,” Cassie said as they started towards the gate of the school grounds. “I’m sure you did totally fine.”

Cissie stuck out her chin, “It’s not instinct, it’s years of training. Besides, stop changing the subject-- how did you do?”

“Oh, who cares, we’re done!” Cassie grinned and pumped one fist in the air, “First day of break! Let’s get the team back together.”

Now that school was over, Cassie was ready to return to action as Wonder Girl alongside the other members of Young Justice: Robin, Superboy, Secret, and Arrowette.

Cassie glanced back at her unsuspecting classmates, talking about their families and vacation plans and boys. People needed their help, the world needed their help, and Cassandra was still concerned that Impulse remained missing.

No one knew his secret identity or if anything bad had happened to the courageous (if slightly annoying) speedster. But even that couldn’t dampen her spirits for long; after all, the only way to find him was to get back into action. She let out a guilty grin… It didn’t hurt that being Wonder Girl was a ton of fun.

Cissie glanced over her shoulder. They were twenty feet away from their classmates; most students standing chattering near the front doors, skirts flapping in the damp wind to which Cassie was immune and which Cissie ignored. She lowered her voice. “So,” Cissie said with a slight smile that tilted one corner of her mouth, “Have you heard from our fearless leader yet?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “No. He’s on some sort of training mission, I think. You?”

“Not yet,” Arrowette confirmed.

“I can’t wait!” Cassie said as they reached the entrance to the school grounds, “I have to visit Mom at the museum, but I’ll see you later?”

Cissie agreed and the two girls made plans to meet that evening, eager to go out on patrol in costume. Cassie swung her backpack onto both shoulders and started down the hill away from the school.

Cars crawled up and down the steep hills that descended towards the bay. Their headlights glowed in the thin mist that puddled in each valley. Tendrils of fog obscured Gateway Bridge and crashed against the red-and-white radio tower on the top of Paradiso Hill like a silent ocean.

Used to the familiar sights, Cassie checked her phone as she ducked into a long alley that would exit next to the streetcar that would take her downtown to the Museum of Cultural Antiquities.

The narrow buildings were lined with fire escapes and dumpsters. The uneven concrete was scattered with small puddles, wet scraps of paper, and discarded plastic bags. Several hundred feet away, the far end of the alley was framed by a wooden arch created by two telephone poles and a rack of transformers, and Cassie could hear the distant hum of traffic.

Cassie already had two texts from Arrowette but before she could reply, she felt an itch between her shoulder blades. Suspicious, Wonder Girl glanced behind her and saw that a woman in a tan trench coat and hoody had entered the alley.

Cassie frowned and sped up.

The woman followed and Cassie narrowed her eyes.

She turned, her instincts telling her to run, and then the mysterious woman let out a high-pitched cry and launched herself into the air in a powerful leap. Her coat flapping about her legs, she flew past Cassie and skidded to a stop with a splash, tendrils of mist curling around her tall boots, the colour of dried blood. The hood of her jacket obscured her face and hair, but scant strands of indeterminate colour were visible in front of the mysterious woman’s face.

Cassandra had settled into a fighting crouch in an instant, her heart pounding.

Who is this woman and what does she want? I can’t compromise my secret identity until I know what’s going on, she thought.

Her nerves tingled as she opened one hand slowly. “Hey, I don’t know who you are, but you’re messing with the wrong schoolgirl. Just walk away.”

“Well, I can’t do that, Cassandra Sandsmark,” the tall woman had a surprisingly girlish voice. “I’m here for one thing and one thing only, and I’m afraid I’m gonna have to go through you to get it.”

Shocked, Cassandra opened her mouth but before she could reply the woman hurtled towards the young hero, an opening in her coat revealing a costume that looked like Wonder Woman’s, but it was all wrong! The costume was a blur of dark red and black--

Wonder Girl sprang backwards, reluctant to compromise her civilian identity, and her assailant seized on her momentary confusion and grabbed one dangling strap of her backpack.

Suddenly, Cassie was jerked into the air and slammed into the ground with a grunt. The concrete cracked with an explosion of dust and her phone flew out of her hand.

“Big mistake!” Cassie lashed out with her foot and flipped herself upright. She tossed aside her backpack, “Whoever you are, back down and I won’t have to--”

Cassandra let out a grunt as a speeding fist took her in the jaw and her head was snapped to one side, then a boot caught her in the chest and she flew backwards to slam into a wall. Several old bricks crumbled under the force of the impact and rained dust and debris on her head and shoulders.

Dazed, Cassandra wiped blood from her mouth and her eyes watered from the dust. She rose back to her feet just in time to block another blow that shook her whole body. Her opponent was a blur!

Who is this woman? I’ve trained with Diana and Donna, and this woman is almost as fast as they are!

It was all she could do to avoid the next flurry of blows. She had no time to speak or demand answers from her attacker. Cassandra blocked the next heavy punch with her left arm, her tattered white sleeve falling back to reveal an Amazonian bracelet. It rung with another hit and her arm went numb. The second punch left her right arm burning with pain.

Panting, Cassandra released a powerful kick. The woman caught her and tossed her into a dumpster with a resounding clang. The dented metal shrieked in agony as Wonder Girl tore herself free. I need help! She’s too fast--

“Stop running around!” Cassandra let out a growl that ended in a strangled grunt as two hands closed around her throat.

Cassie fought for air as her attacker raised the young hero into the air. The vicious woman’s face was hidden beneath her hood, but along with an amused smile visible within its shadows, there was also the glint of a tarnished tiara, another mockery of the uniform worn by Wonder Girl’s mentor.

“This is such a shame, Wonder Girl. You were no match for me. Time to end this.”

Cassandra’s vision started to fade as she struggled, kicking her attacker in the chest and trying to squeeze her wrists with both hands--

--There was a hiss and then a sharp boom of an exploding arrow, and Wonder Girl was blasted backwards into the dented dumpster for a second time.

Ears ringing, Wonder Girl stumbled upright, her school uniform ripped into shreds that revealed black tights and a black shirt emblazoned with a golden ‘W.’

Her opponent was retreating as another arrow hammered into her raised arms, crackling with electrical discharges that bathed the mysterious woman in a blue glow. Suddenly, she was gone in a blur of speed. A third arrow flashed down the alley after her.

“Wonder Girl! Are you alright!” Arrowette bounded down the alley, another electrical arrow poised on her bow.

Cassie shook her head, “I… I just got the crap kicked out of me!” she said, wiping her bloodied mouth with one hand.

“You look terrible, are you bleeding?” Arrowette said, as she scanned the exit of the alley in case their attacker returned. “Can you walk? We have to move, fast.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can.” Cassie grabbed her backpack and cracked phone. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know,” Arrowette said as she led the way up the nearest fire escape, “But we really need to find out!”


If Nobody could have vomited-- if his body wasn’t so damn intangible-- he would have. The memories he’d experienced weren’t his own, he knew that, but he felt an indelible connection to the girl whose battle he’d witnessed, and he wanted to make sure she was okay, but right now…

After being sucked through the door, Nobody found himself knelt amongst obsidian black crags that floated a hundred metres above an immense void. There were no stars, not specks of light, just the absence of things, a despairing emptiness that began to eat at him as soon as he acknowledged it.

“Oh… gods…”

The sharp rocks that twisted underfoot had an odd temperature, hot one moment then freezing cold the next. The only shared trait between the two extremes was the fact that both spread an immense pain into his being, and all he could do to defer it was to shift around on the pads of his feet whilst he looked for some sign of what was to come next.

“Where… where am I? What is this?”

The voice of the shape from the dark emerged from all around him, but there were no shadows in which it could hide. Though when Nobody tried to find the source, to find some glimpse of the voice’s owner, he could find none. Yet it spoke nonetheless…

THE TRIAL OF PVRIFICATION WILL ZEE INTO YOVR BEING AND JVDGE YOVR HEART OF ITZ PVRPOZE.

“…What?”

IF YOV ARE PVRE OF INTENT THEN YOV WILL BE REDVCED INTO THE PRIMORDIAL MECHANIZMZ REQVIRED TO REINZTALL YOV INTO YOVR RIGHTFVL EXIZTENCE.

As the void seemed to loom toward him-- almost as if it were filled with vast, invisible tendrils that were hungry for whatever was left of hm-- he looked down at his feet once more, and squinted as the reflections within the obsidian shards became clear.

BVT BE WARNED-- IF THERE IS AN IOTA OF DOVBT IN YOVR BEING, YOV WILL BECOME THE ROCKZ ON WHICH YOV NOW WALK. BVRNING FOR ETERNITY.

The multi-faceted reflections were not his own, but of beings taking all kinds of different shapes and sizes… long dead gods that had failed to pass this overwhelming trial to find celestial purpose.

Then it made sense: The shards weren’t disorganised shapes, but a twisted tapestry of limbs, torsos and faces, all locked in anguish, and, within the reflective surfaces of the shapes, the crystal corpses seemed to scream and reach toward Nobody ineffectually-- they could do no harm, as they were simply displaced reflections, having lost all substance in life… but their sight shook him to the core.

All he could hear was the slow, clockwork grinding of the shards of rock beneath his pained feet, and the heavy, pressing weight of the void that surrounded him.

“Hello? Hello?”

Nobody swallowed when no answer arrived. What could he do?

Standing there in the vast emptiness, looking down at his feet, he could see the tops of his toes begin to discolour.

No, that wasn’t right-- they were losing colour, losing substance-- he was changing, something evaporating inside himself, and if all these others had experienced the same and were now part of this hellscape, what chance did he have? He looked at his hands, his fingers, and saw that the tips of his digits were no longer there. He was losing himself--

“I’m dying. I’m dying up here. Oh… oh gods…”


The sun was setting on Los Angeles as Donna Troy walked down Vista Del Mar back to the parking lot where she had left her rental car. The sky was the color of a fresh bruise, stained with pink and orange.

Behind her, the sun was a swollen crimson orb slowly sinking between the red-and-white smokestacks of the El Segundo Power Plant. The power plant was surrounded by backlit construction equipment in the process of repairing the damage caused by a local villain named Tectonic Man several weeks prior.

Heat muddled the air above the parched asphalt as stray cars buzzed past, up and down the street. Donna shrugged her camera bag further up her shoulder, the black plastic case that held her other equipment bouncing against one leg. She glanced behind her as a white truck barreled around the corner from West Grand. There was a flicker of shadow as the truck turned onto Vista Del Mar and her eyes narrowed-- no, it was just the chain-link fence swaying as the vehicle passed. The driver tapped his horn in acknowledgment and Donna smiled and waved-- it was the shoot’s lighting crew, heading home for the evening with their equipment.

Donna rolled her eyes. Relax. It’s Los Angeles, not New York. No one is interested in Donna Troy, fashion photographer.

Donna had just wrapped up a full day’s photoshoot at an abandoned lot next to the power plant-- although it had felt like longer by the time the art director had been satisfied.

The shoot was for Cape and Cowl LA’s latest superhero-inspired clothing line, using the power plant as an industrial backdrop, along with an actor playing Tectonic Man. The other models had worn an assortment of stylish outfits inspired by spandex crimefighters, and Donna had been told her work and the accompanying story would be featured in the winter issue of ‘Justice Unlimited.’ Quite the coup for the young, up-and-coming photographer.

Coyotes started up a chorus of uncanny yips in the hills behind her and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Get a hold of yourself, she squared her shoulders.

One of the lightning technicians had offered to escort her to her car, parked fifteen minutes away on Dockweiler Beach, but he had no idea just how unnecessary the offer had been…

…Or so it had seemed.

Donna scanned the street. Still nothing.

The young woman quickened her pace and arrived at her car, a three-year-old Kord Appaloosa. The parking lot was deserted and the lampposts cast long shadows across the parked cars, several hidden under faded plastic protectors.

On the other side of a low concrete berm was the beach. Placing her camera equipment on the ground next to the trunk, Donna found the plastic fob and pushed.

The sudden flash of her car’s headlights briefly illuminated a dark figure in a long coat standing in front of the bonnet, poised on the wall in a crouch. Donna hadn’t seen or heard a thing but immediately settled into a defensive stance, her warrior senses screaming that this woman was dangerous.

The mysterious stranger bounded onto the cracked asphalt and straightened up. “Troia-- or do you prefer Donna?-- I’ve come here for one thing, and I’m going through you to get it. Same as I did your little blonde sidekick over in Gateway.”

Concern shot through Donna’s body-- Blonde friend in Gateway? Cassie?

Donna raised her chin, not giving her attacker first blood from her cutting comments. “You’re not the first to--”

The woman was on her before she had a chance to blink. The attacker’s coat hung in the air behind her, shed like dry snakeskin, revealing a sinister parody of Wonder Woman.

Shocked, Donna barely blocked the first blow with her forearms, her sleeves tearing into shreds on impact to reveal the Amazonian bracelets she always wore, a signifier of her proud Themysciran heritage.

Regardless, she flew backwards across the deserted parking lot to smash into a nearby concrete barrier. There was a resounding crack as she was thrown against it, and flying chips of concrete were scattered across the beach, along with cement dust.

With a burst of speed of her own, Donna counterattacked and the mysterious woman deflected her blow with contemptuous ease.

“Is that it? I got more fight out of the kid,” scoffed the woman.

“Shut-- up--!”

Donna let loose with a second punch, but the villain was faster than Hermes and dodged it with ease. To add insult to injury, she used Donna’s momentum to send the Titan crashing once more into the asphalt, but Donna rolled to her feet and the two circled each other for a moment.

The young Amazon was breathing evenly, trying to ignore the burning sensation in her back and arms.

Her opponent sneered. “I’d really hoped you would be more of a challenge than my last, but I see that I was wrong.”

With a snarl, the villain flew forwards--

Donna blocked the first kick, and the first punch, but the third blow knocked her to one side. She was throwing haymakers harder than anyone-- or anything-- Donna had ever battled before.

The mysterious woman seized her by the collar of her leather jacket and smashed her into the ground. “You’re nothing! You hear me? Nothing!”

Donna grunted in pain, Hera--!

Without remorse, the villain slammed her into the ground for a second time and car alarms started to wail. “Nothing!”

“Why don’t you back off!”

Choking on a cloud of dust, Donna lashed out with both legs and threw the mysterious woman back into the air. She staggered to her feet and swept her hair out of her eyes, thick with dust and sand. The alarms shrieked as, bathed in flashing red lights, her opponent rose to her feet.

“You can’t stop me, Donna Troy.”

Donna spat a glob of blood and then her lips twisted into a smirk. She raised her fists and then shrugged. “Just watch me,” she said.

“Hey!”

There was a commotion on the beach behind them and the sound of raised voices. A party of beachgoers, indistinct in the dim light, was making their way towards the parking lot.

The mysterious woman glanced towards them and then let out a growl. “I don’t need an audience… yet.”

With a whisper of scorching wind, she was gone.

The alarms continued to wail into the night. Donna staggered to one side and let her arms fall limp. That was close. Too close. Donna knew she needed to get out of the area to protect her secret identity. She stumbled towards her car, wincing with each step. She needed to find her Titans Communicator and warn the others. Something was seriously wrong.


Nobody lurched backwards, clutching his head. Memories that weren’t his own, visions of persons he didn’t fully comprehend, they all flooded into his mind, and he struggled to process that along with the severity of his current situation. He was losing himself, and if he didn’t figure out what to do next he’d be like these beings that sat underfoot, merged into the platform on which dozens, hundreds, maybe so many more, had also lost themselves upon.

“What do I-- what do I-- oh. Oh!”

From nowhere, a woman’s voice: “Embrace the infinite…”

“Hello? Hello?!” He could have sworn there was a voice - some soft, feminine tone that floated across the void - but just like the others, he couldn’t see the owner. He wondered which god, which overseer of this celestial trial, had uttered such a cryptic phrase to him, but at this point, he didn’t know what he could do.

Except… maybe he did. Maybe? That’s all he had. Maybe.

He was losing himself. Coming apart at the seams. And this was a test, a trial-- what was his crime?-- Thoughts were becoming fragments, becoming distant-- and he was turning into nothingness. Turning into the very place he’d been banished to.

He looked down at the rocks below. Bodies trapped in obsidian forever. What had they done? They’d stayed here, clung to a lifeboat, an island, clung to the safety of the place. He searched their expressions. Fear. Horror. But for others there was calm-- patience-- but they were still trapped--

What was ‘Earth’? Why did it have another name, just off from his recollection, just out of reach? What did that symbol mean, on the chest of that girl? The symbol? Wonder… wondering… what-- no, he caught himself, tied down what little concentration was left in his diminishing head, and gritted his phantom molars.

Those who stayed on the rock died. Those who gave themselves over to this died. He could surrender to the change, become the nothingness that fuelled the challenge, become the nothing that his name-- Nobody?-- suggested, but it looked like his being would coalesce and become part of this floating rock, ready to be mounted by some god in the future who was trying to reclaim their mantle or position in the universe.

Or he could truly give himself over… do as the voice instructed… and embrace the infinite…

And so Nobody realised what he had to do. Feeling more and more of himself evaporate, he scrambled over the obsidian shards with spectral feet and clawed his way to the edge of the field of floating rocks with phantom fingers. When he reached the edge, he breathed an immaterial sigh of relief. What came next barely bore thinking about, but it had to be done--

“I’m coming home.”

With a final breath and a prayer to himself singing in his heart, he threw himself into the void, and--

--with little fanfare, Nobody landed back in the chamber of the gods that his journey had started within, and a cacophony of voices began to fill the chamber. A thousand different voices, a million different languages, a billion different meanings, but as his senses settled he began to hear what was intended, and something stirred in his being that signalled that something massive was about to happen--

“You chose the trial of ether.”

“The FOUNDATIONAL properties OF the UNIVERSE.”

YOV ARE THE FIRZT TO PAZZ ZVCH A CHALLENGE, AND THAT MEANZ MVCH HERE.

“YoUr EsSeNcE hAs BeEn DiStLlEeD, cAtEgOrIsEd, RaTeD”

Scribe smiled, and looked Nobody in the eye. “I’ll speak plain: The path back to your full celestial existence has begun.”

“Plain? That’s… that’s not plain. I don’t understand, what does this mean?”

“Your… for lack of a better term soul sings to the trial you undertook. Water… you could be the god of the seas, or of rain, or of storms or thunder. You could be the god of serenity or stillness. Air suggests flight, or wind, or serenity… or stillness…” He laughed. “There are facets. Degrees of godliness. The flame suggests rage, or war, or volcanos or the stars. Do you understand? Thank goodness you didn’t choose fire. The last being of your… shape… was here because of one who might’ve. Fire suggests war. A woman… a champion… came here to end war.”

“Woman? Whatever you did to me, those waters you threw on me before my trial, they gave me visions of women… warriors. Wonders, even… I thought I knew them… but my memory… it’s still so far away…”

“Wonders?” said Scribe.

“Yes… I… I think… there was a girl she was-- she wore a costume I recognised, but not the one I knew-- the insignia on her chest, the… I…”

Nobody quickly crouched, urgently trying to get the image from his mind’s eye down onto something tangible, something he could share-- and drew four lines in the sand with a shaky finger, then another four immediately beneath that.

Scribe’s eyes opened wide. Two Ws… “Wonder Woman?”

Nobody shook his head. “She was a girl… it wasn’t right…”

Scribe couldn’t help himself, the name left his lips without any warning: “Hippolyta?”

Nobody’s eyes became slits. “What?”

“The warrior from your world that journeyed here an eye-blink ago… she was sent here on a quest from her pantheon. She was the chosen champion of her kind, and she underwent a similar trial to prove her worth to us… to the court…”

“Like mine… what was her intention? If she’s like me, what was her intention?”

“A scourge was upon the world, a great evil in the hearts of men. A fever of war. That’s why I was relieved to see you not choose the fire token, because the memories of that time… the war that raged across Earth…”

Nobody felt something seize up in his chest. Those words held a weight that he hadn’t considered before.

“…And what did she find when she passed the trials?” he asked.

“That there was no celestial cause behind the war that ravaged her world. It was of an entirely mortal design,” said Scribe, sadly.

NOW DECIDE, boomed the loudest voice amongst them.

“Decide?” repeated Nobody.

Scribe rolled his eyes. “They’re dramatic. You can choose your new godhood. The ether, the building blocks, that’s where you can cull your new abilities from. And I think… with what you’ve done… and with what the court has seen in you… there is so much you can now do with this invitation. Join us back in the universe, Nobody. Find your power, claim your mantle-- your name.”

“What… what do I do?”

“You have but to utter the word, the word to which your celestial nature shall be bound. Nobody-- what are you a god of? And know, once you say the word, the process is irreversible. It cannot be stopped. So think hard. Think carefully. What are you the god of?”

Nobody looked around the room and smiled. Threads of golden light were drifting down from the ceiling and spreading themselves across his limbs. If he had been immaterial moments before, now he was so irrefutably real, so solid as to be an image imposed over another, stark and real and sharper than anything else.

“…Nothing,” came the godling’s response.

The threads intensified in their brightness and then exploded like lightning, as if a massive surge of energy moved from their source-- hidden somewhere in the cavernous ceiling of the place-- down into Nobody. A miniature lightning storm erupted overhead, illuminating previously hidden shapes that looked like stop-motion images as their shadows were cast intermittently between thunder strikes.

Scribe had never seen the rite of transference-- for that was what this was-- become such a violent display.

“I gave everything for this,” said Nobody, his voice changing.

Scribe’s eyes tightened. The man before him was strong, tall with a lion’s mane of long, dirty blonde hair down to his shoulders and a rough beard that hid a hard-set jaw. But there was another-- another man inside him-- and now-- with the lightning strikes drilling down on the floor, that second image was becoming tighter--

“What is this?” whispered Scribe.

Energy whipping around him, Nobody shook his head and reached a hand out toward the alien god. “Let me show you.”

Memories-- or a vision of the world beyond the court of the gods-- rushed to meet him, and when his perceptions mashed into them, he couldn’t help but be caught up in them--


There had been three women to bear the mantle of Wonder Woman.

The first, Hippolyta, was the Queen of the Amazons, and she assumed the mantle during the Second World War that raged across Patriarch’s World, and then intermittently until her death. During that time, she fought alongside the Justice Society of America, and she did an immense amount of good. She was the originator, and she made the name ‘Wonder Woman’ mean something great.

The second, Diana, held the mantle after winning a contest of champions on the island her mother ruled over. She emerged like a figure of myth, empowered by the gods and on an eternal quest to bring peace to the world. Through her deeds-- both when she fought alone or side-by-side with the Justice League-- she made the title of Wonder Woman legendary.

The third was a footnote to most. A challenge was made and the mantle of Wonder Woman was contested. Through the machinations of the greek pantheon, Diana lost her title and position on Themyscira, and was exiled to Patriarch’s World. Instead of the name being used to spread peace, Wonder Woman became a figure of war, and the troubled woman who bore that mantle would have to live with that for the rest of her life…

That woman’s name was Zenobia. And while she had once walked a path of conquest in the name of Ares, she’d never seen such destruction in such a short period of time. Once, when she was filled with anger and resentment, she’d allowed the God of War into her heart and she became his champion, his mockery of a Wonder Woman, but it was the faith of her sisters that led her back to the path of the light. Now she saw something out in the world that scared her-- the destructive potential that once lived in her, that lived in the hearts of all mortals.

In the depths of the Congo, the slavers camp was a smoking ruin, the bodies of the enemy soldiers laid out as a warning to those who might come looking for them. Their throats were slit, their stomachs torn open, and there was nothing but blood and gore to show for their once-despicable lives.

Last night, Zenobia had led the women and children held here without a drop of blood being spilled. The slavers didn’t know she’d been there, but they would have by the time they checked the cages. She could have gone to war here, but her priority was the safety of those she was rescuing, not the deaths of their captors. Back when she was under the patronage of Ares, she wouldn’t have thought twice-- they’d have died by her blade and if innocents were caught in the crossfire… so be it.

That said, it wasn’t like she was going to let the slavers get off scot-free. She returned the next morning, only to find this tapestry of destruction strewn out before her. Blood and bodies. War waged and won.

“Goddess… what happened here?” she whispered.

A noise-- she turned quick as a whip and raised her wrist guards, only for the punch to send her skidding back. When she looked up, whoever had thrown the punch was gone, but there was a voice, drifting through the air like a song, that cut into her heart.

“You’re everything he said you would be. Everything and more. Everything but less.”

Melodic and mocking, there was something in the voice that urged Zenobia to grip her shield and ready herself for whatever was to come next.

She focused her warrior-honed senses on the immediate area. She may not have been Wonder Woman anymore, but that didn’t mean she was any less of an Amazon.

“You beat the Princess, didn’t you? That’s what led you here. I guess that means I have to beat you. So I can get where I’m going.”

At the last moment, Zenobia turned, but all it meant was she caught an elbow in the face. She cried out, despite her training, blood gushing from her now-broken nose, but managed to raise her shield just as a second elbow was driven down-- with enough force to dent her shield!

Thunderous blows rained down on the shield until it was a pulverised wreck, so she discarded it and kicked forward, catching her attacker in the gut.

It was like kicking a concrete block-- her foot nearly broke on impact.

“Who-- who are you?” asked Zenobia, her vision still fuzzy after that first blow.

The figure before her moved faster than her dazed eyes could follow. She felt pressure at her elbows and then nothing but pain, her hands suddenly useless and unresponsive. She kicked up, but her knee suddenly felt like there was broken glass in the socket. Next, her hands felt the pressure, then the pain, and she realised she was being dismantled, her weapons-- her body-- being taken from her one bone at a time. She tried to move backwards, but the leg that still worked was suddenly swiped out from under her and she fell on her back, and her attacker mounted her and laughed.

“Who am I? I’m Wonder Woman. Just a different one. One who does things differently. What is it that you once said? ‘It’s not about anger, it’s about power?’ How about it’s both?”

Zenobia went to respond but the pain ravaging her body was too great that it caused her to hesitate, and that’s when her attacker continued her assault. Devastating blows rained down on her face, splitting flesh and breaking bone. Her vision didn’t have a chance to readjust, instead her eyes swelled shut and she was blind, broken, trapped in her own body.

Whoever this was knew her most intimate thoughts. Knew things she’d shared with a select few. Those words recited back to her, a mockery of her own intentions, were said over a year back, to someone who needed hope*, and now-- now--


“I’m not going to kill you, sister. You beat the Princess. You became Wonder Woman. I beat you and it just proves what I already knew. I’m Wonder Woman. So when you see her next, you tell her I’m coming. And I’m bringing a war with me.”

The world spun, it shrank, and then it went black for the warrior called Zenobia. She thought of her friends back in the United States, the ones she’d said her farewells to before she departed to find some semblance of meaning in her life… Were those farewells said for good? Was this the end?

After some time passed-- she would never have been able to tell you how long-- Zenobia awoke but found that she could barely breathe. Lights strobed overhead as she was pushed on a gurney through a darkened corridor.

“Wh-what…?” She didn’t recognise her own voice, the harsh rasp that emerged from her mouth that of a broken woman, someone who had experienced the unrelenting beating of their entire life.

“Hush, hush, don’t you worry yourself,” came the soft, feminine voice.

Zenobia, one of the few women in the world outside of Diana herself to bear the mantle of Wonder Woman, tried to move but she was bound, and the feeling caused her to thrash harder-- and she still couldn’t move. Being restrained was antithetical to the Themyscira code, their people strove for freedom in all things, and to be held down by whatever this was made her heart pound.

“Father said I couldn’t kill you. That we had to send a message. But I want to make this message hurt, Zenobia. Or, rather… they will.”

Zenobia couldn’t see who her captor was referring to, but she heard a clicking-- reptilian in nature but beyond that, she couldn’t tell-- and then felt hands moving up her legs. She strained again, but to no avail.

“I-- will-- escape-- this- and-- I-- will--”--

A mask was shoved over her mouth and chemical fumes flooded her senses. She tried with all her gods-given might to escape once more, panic reflex kicking in now, survival instinct, but even as she felt her restraints beginning to strain, beginning to creak, darkness welcomed her.

“Do we have an agreement?” she heard her captor ask.

“Yesssss…” came the response, as Zenobia finally passed out.


Scribe gasped, yanking his head out from the vision. His eyes darted around, and he saw Nobody, caught in the golden lights of ascension, his right to godhood affirmed by his passing the god test laid out for him, as decreed by the celestial court.

“What-- what-- what are you?”

Nobody considered his hand, and scratched his beard knowingly. “There was a man called Hippolytus. King of a tribe of so-called lost Amazons. Eventual husband to the rightful Queen. I wore his face once before*, and I’ve worn it today to trick you. Don’t look so shocked-- I forgot all about it for a while, but that’s just thanks to my beloved wife. We stripped Hippolytus’ pure essence from his golden soul and grafted it onto my own. An act that hid my true identity. Hid who I truly am. And it worked! All it took was the cannibalisation of my remaining godhood! All it took was reducing me to nothing, and now you’ve given me everything I wanted--!”

He laughed, and his face changed completely, the beard and hair gone, a different kind of smile than his original face would have ever worn…

THIZ CANNOT BE--! hollered the other voice, as the celestial court also interjected--

“All of you-- quiet!” boomed Nobody, and they all fell silent. He began to pace. “Good. Now, listen: My godhood was in just as much jeopardy as you thought. I was stripped of my god-right to war by my bitch sister. Stripped of my identity in more ways than one. But thanks to you fools here, you gave me access to the greatest power I could have ever imagined. God of Nothing. Could you have truly believed I wanted to be god of absolutely nothing at all? Before there was existence, there was nothing. The building blocks of reality itself. The contract between us is clear. I am a god once more, not one of reality, but by what could be reality. You have provided me with the ultimate weapon to wage my war with!”

Scribe looked around. There were gods in this room, not just himself and the being he’d known as Nobody. They circled the room in abstract forms. Shapes hard to describe. He had been chosen for this task as he was the most humanoid of them all, but as they crackled and thrashed in the air above, he knew they were angry, angrier than they’d ever been.

Nobody laughed, and it sent reverberations through the chamber. “You’re lashed to your rules like a captain to the wheel of his ship. You couldn’t help but handover the ultimate power to me. Oh, what comes next will be glorious.”

Scribe wiped the liquid from his face and rushed up toward Nobody. “Who are you? Who are you?”

Nobody looked down at Scribe and smiled once more. “Who else? I’m Ares. I was always Ares.”

He held his hand out to the side and the bowl that held the waters that allowed them to glimpse the world beyond shot into his grip. With his other hand, he grabbed Scribe once more and pulled him close.

“Every prayer: What do you want? answered with Nothing is a prayer to me. I don’t need to be invoked. I need to be a rejection. That’s all humanity-- it’s all mortals-- do now. They reject when they should embrace. What do you believe in?… Nothing. They believe in me, even when they don’t know I exist. How many pray to Athena? To Odin? To the Coyote? Thousands, maybe. Perhaps I underestimate. But it doesn’t matter. Existence rejects itself. Embraces me.”

“This-- this is wrong!” cried Scribe.

“It’s my will. Therefore it is right. Now. A question. Answer carefully. Think hard. Hippolyta came here, so long ago, to find out if the war that raged across her world was my doing. My family couldn’t give her an answer, so she was sent here, where we are all judged when no more prayers come, but where all decisions made by our ilk are catalogued. With all that in mind, answer this: What could you possibly say that would mean I spare your wretched little life?”

Scribe swallowed hard. He had tried to summon his own celestial abilities, but in the presence of this supercharged god it was for nothing. For him. There was power in words, in the record, but not in the face of such nihilistic fury. Of course he knew the answer. There was only one thing that could be said in the face of Ares when he said he would kill you.

“N-nothing,” Scribe whispered.

“Your prayers are answered,” snapped Ares.

He shoved Scribe’s face into the waters once more, and images blurred past the god’s vision, moving too fast for him to focus, events relayed that meant nothing to a being who was about to die.

Further trials-- Wonder Woman-- he saw her, for a moment-- a heart in her hands, one that beat in time with hers, but her tears-- a world in judgement-- barriers being erected-- time snapping like a rubberband extended too far-- death and darkness-- so much death-- betrayal-- a traitor-- traitors-- and the face of the--

Ares held Scribe down until he kicked no more. Until there was nothing left inside him, every ounce of his being dragged out and absorbed into the celestial immensity of the God of Nothing himself. A black hole of existence. Entropy made god-flesh.

He tore a hole in reality and shoved Scribe’s body through, aiming him for Earth, a signal to some, a warning for others. He had once been a god of war but now he was the god of absence, of nothingness. With his first victim gone, he cast a glance up at the pantheons above and laughed.

“I know you’re mad. You’ve been tricked, but don’t despair. You’ve been tricked by the best. As the most powerful of you, as the being here with the most worshippers, I declare the ultimate sanction against the Earth-- the trial of the gods. Their belief will be tested… and if found lacking, they will be extinguished. Who here can challenge my decree?”

There came no response.

“Then let the games… begin…” said Ares, God of Nothing.

Even if he didn’t know it, there was one result of the trial of the gods that was a cosmic given: A hero would die before it was over… but who?