#68: Other Ways To Get To The Same Place (Part 2 of 4)

Amy Danielewski had been a member of staff at the New York-based Themysciran Embassy since its inception nearly a decade ago. It hadn’t been that long, in the grand scheme of things, but in her life, with what she'd been through, those near ten years meant something. Diana, once a princess and later a queen, had seen something in her, and she’d risen up the ranks of the organisation until she had the run of the place, all thanks to the faith her boss had shown in her.

And she needed that faith. Her parents had both died when she was in her teens, and that had led her down a dark path. In an attempt to numb the all-consuming grief that overtook her she turned to alcohol then later drugs. But even that didn’t help. She was about to kill herself, throw herself off the George Washington Bridge one oppressive fall night, when she lost her grip on the guard rail and fell-- she resigned herself to her death, even though she hadn’t entirely made the decision herself-- when Wonder Woman herself saved her.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Amy remembered Diana saying, “will you allow me help you find your footing?”

Counselling, a twelve-step program, and then a job offer. Come work for me, and help those in need when they need it the most. Help those who cannot help themselves.

So why, after all the progress she had made, was she sat in this bar, staring at the triple vodka, straight, she’d ordered? In her pocket, she felt the weight of her eight-year sobriety chip, bronze in colour and inscribed with the Serenity Prayer, something she was reciting under her breath as she tried to find some ounce of strength in herself.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference…”

When no relief came from the prayer to a higher power, she turned to one she knew well enough to call ‘sister’. She prayed to Diana, and hoped that some respite would come from the feelings of overwhelming grief that threatened to overpower her…

LAPUTA:

With a passive alarm going off to signify his entrance, the Guardian stepped through the orange portal that led directly to the Justice League’s island headquarters with a near skip in his step. Things might finally be looking up, just maybe, and even though they still had a way to go, he was a few steps closer to a winning result*.


“What’s the board look like, Angie?” He asked, entering the monitor womb where Angela Spica was currently sitting. The monitor womb was an immense spherical chamber, wall to wall with monitors that tracked potential risks to the safety of the world, be it a natural disaster, a villainous uprising, a cosmological crisis, or even a scientist who might be playing with forces they don’t understand. The Justice League stood ready to act whenever the world needed them.

“Umm…” Angie turned back to him, wiping her puffy, reddened eyes. She’d clearly been crying for some time, even if she was trying to gird herself against it now. “M’sorry. Gimme a minute…”

The Guardian’s brow furrowed and he unclipped his helmet, tossing it aside as he put an arm around the young woman. He was the one who hired her to be his scientific advisor, first with the Global Peace Agency and later with the Justice League. Whatever the shape of her life now, he felt responsibility, and if she was hurting so would he.

“You don’t have to apologise, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just Victor. He’s… ever since the attack*… he’s just so distant… I know he’s going through a lot… but… well…”


“He’s lost himself. His sense of self. It’s going to be difficult. Back in the day, I knew men who lost limbs, their senses, the things that they thought defined them. He needs to work past this, and all we can do is support him. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be an uphill battle. But with you at his side, and the Justice League at his back, he’ll get there. But you can’t force this. You know that. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do. God, these feelings, y’know?” She balled up her fist to wipe away the last of the fading tears. “Not used to feeling them so strongly. Thought I’d bottled them all up good and proper, and here they come, tumbling out over a boy.”

“It’s always the big things that’ll do it,” assured Harper.

“I guess so,” she said.

“So, the board? You got this?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m here. I’m here. We’re at amber right now: Nanotelepathic link is currently down for the main team-- telemetry tracks them heading to Themyscira, so the mystical interference makes sense. Aquaman and Hawkman are active but not replying to general alerts, that’s my biggest concern. Majestic is on the moon doing his brooding thing, so I was about to ask him to check in on them.”

“Right. Let’s send a request for update to the main team, and let’s focus in on the others.” He paused, and put a finger to his ear. An unnecessary gesture considering the nature of the nanotelepathic link, but an old habit that was dying hard. {Majestros, I need you back on Earth. The team aren’t responding to hails and we believe they’re in Themyscira. Can you please do a flyover?}

There was a long silence, before Majestros responded. {…On my way.}

“He sounds grumpy,” said Angie.

Harper couldn’t help but agree. “Another dead-end in S.T.A.R. Labs. Whatever Vandal Savage knew about why Majestros was kept locked up in his lair* was wiped from his memory by Ma'alefa'ak**.”

**Justice League #59

“Oh, man… that’s fought. What do you want to do about the boys down in S.T.A.R?”

The Guardian put his helmet back on and smiled that all-American smile of his. “I’ll go pay them a visit. But--”

Once again, the quiet alert rang out overhead, the signal that a friendly somebody had just opened a portal onto Laputa, and a second or so later Firestorm entered the monitor womb, where Angie and James stood waiting. She scratched the back of her flaming head and then gave a short wave to the former, before straightening up in front of the latter.

“Hey guys, uh, no one’s responding on the nano’link, so I thought I’d touch base with you guys before doing anything rash,” said Firestorm, sheepishly.

“Good call, we were just doing the same thing,” said the Guardian.

“Where is best for us to go?” came Martin Stein’s voice from Firestorm’s mouth. He sounded impatient, and the sudden appearance of his voice was more surprising than it was usual.

“Before that, a quick word,” said the Guardian.

Angie took the cue and excused herself into one of the adjunct rooms, leaving the two heroes alone. Harper paced around for a second before looking at the two-in-one nuclear hero.

“This morning I directed you to go to Chicago to join up with the others. You clearly didn’t. Why?”

“Someone became quite concerned after Doctor Gray’s comments this morning,” came Stein’s voice.

“No, that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all,” countered Lorraine Reilly, her lips and voice moving as one.

The Guardian raised his hands. “Slow down. If you’re going to do this, separate first so you’re not talking over each other,” he said.

Firestorm’s shoulders slumped and in a flash of blinding light and a puff of smoke, Lorraine and Martin stood separately when once they’d been combined as one. Stein removed his glasses and began to clean them, taking a few steps away from his fellow component of the Firestorm Matrix.

Lorraine began to speak. “I told you earlier, she said I might… that I might…”

“…Be susceptible to the same debilitating illness as the former co-host of the Firestorm identity, yes,” said Harper, sensing her unease.

Martin interjected. “And as you told her, and I told her as well, we’ve run all the tests we can think of, and she's clean! So am I! And I’m not concerned, I’m anxious to continue with our work as Firestorm…”

“And it’s all well and good you saying that, but you don’t seem to be affected by whatever affected Ronnie, so what if it’s something that only infects the lead consciousness of the Firestorm Matrix? What if you ride around as a voice inside my head, while my body is becoming irradiated? What if you’re floating around in my brain while my body is dying?”

“Then quit,” said Harper.

“Excuse me?” spluttered Stein.

Harper took a step past Martin and placed a hand on Reilly’s shoulder. “You’re not like Ronald, Lorraine. Your body chemistry is already completely different thanks to the procedure that created your Firehawk abilities. You’re starting off from a wholly different position than he did. Your body chemistries are incomparable. Now you’ve been plugged into this ‘Matrix’ of theirs, and you’re doing good work. You can stop being Firestorm, and you can continue being Firehawk. Stein can be here, on Laputa, same as Angie, acting as a scientific advisor. That works for me as much as you staying together as Firestorm. But do you want to know what I think?”

“I mean…” started Lorraine.

“Lorraine, do you want to know what I think?” repeated James.

“Go on,” she said.

“I think you’re scared. Absolutely god damn terrified. Your first mission with us, and the world nearly ended-- drowned-- and the only reason we put it right was you*. Imagine what would have happened if you weren’t here? And you know what? I think that’s all you do. You’re playing what-ifs in your head. ‘What if I’m not enough?’ ‘What if I’m not strong enough?’ ‘What if I mess up?’ ‘What if people die?’”


“It’s not as simple as that,” said Lorraine, quickly, quietly.

“It never is. But that’s how you’re processing it, isn’t it?”

“No. Yes. I mean… I never wanted this life… and now it’s… it’s so big…”

“Lorraine, I’m over a hundred years old. Born in 1909. Kept perpetually young by the mad science treatments I received in 1939. I’m… I’m consistently out of my depth and I’ve lived through things you cannot possibly imagine. But all I do, all I can do, is keep moving forward. One foot at the other. If I stop, I think… I think it’ll catch up with me. Everything… everyone I’ve lost. Now, if you’re genuinely concerned for your safety, let’s keep you and the professor separate for a while. But if it’s a case of being in the Justice League and that being absolutely terrifying for you? Then I guess I’d have to hang up my shield as well. Because I should have retired by now. I should be in Florida or something, soaking in the sun and drinking beers on a boat, I don’t know. What do you say?”

Lorraine wiped at her eyes, and looked over at Martin. “I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy few months.”

“Just because I float around in your head doesn’t mean I can read your mind,” he replied, embracing her tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m really thick-headed sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” repeated Lorraine. Her eyes glowed and elemental energy encircled the pair of them as they hugged, and a second later they combined to form Firestorm once more. “Where do you want us?” she then asked.

The Guardian smiled. “By my side. Every time.”


“Make yourselves at home. Your friends did,” said Ares, grinning from ear to ear. He sat atop the throne of Paradise Island, flanked by Circe and two strangers to the three members of the Justice League assembled before him. His posture was so casual, and his words followed by a flippant motion of his hand, beckoning the trio forward, that added an additional edge of tension to the proceedings. He hadn’t ‘won’, but he was certainly acting like it…

Along with the host of Amazons that populated the island, Big Barda, Green Lantern and Wonder Woman were entombed in the mysterious black energy that fluctuated around the throne room. The substance was almost liquid in appearance, but licked and crackled like fire. Those submerged in it blinked but could not move, and it took Batman a second to realise that Diana was staring directly at him, her eyes opening and closing erratically.

Morse code: More powerful than before. More dangerous.

“Well, aren’t you going to rush us? Try and crack our heads together?” asked Ares, beckoning the newly arrived trio of Aquawoman, Batman and Mister Miracle forward.

Mera stepped forward but Mister Miracle grabbed her arm, earning a cutting look from the queen of the seven seas in return. But he simply shook his head, his Fourth World senses-- his god awareness-- going crazy in the presence of Ares.

“This is an interesting move for a God of War,” mused Mister Miracle, putting himself between Aquawoman and Batman and Ares’ entourage with wide, open arms. It was the kind of move that screamed ‘look-at-me-look-at-me’, but then again, he was a showman at heart, and being the centre of attention suited him just fine. “But then again, you’re not one of those anymore, are you? I can see the primordial energies radiating off you… you’re something else entirely.” He shot a look back at Batman. Concern. Fear. All familiar expressions to the Dark Knight. Whatever Scott saw in Ares, it was enough to shake him to his garishly coloured boots.

Ares leaned forward and his eyes shone as he looked down at them. “And you’re Scott Free. New God. Your sphere of influence is escape, which is ironic considering you shouldn’t be here.”

“Never stopped me before,” said Scott.

“And it didn’t stop your fellow New God either,” he said, motioning over to where Barda was suspended. “Barda Free. New God. Defiance. I admit, my new perception of the world is fascinating. But if you are of a celestial origin you shouldn’t be here.”

While Batman slowly approached one of the columns of energy, Mister Miracle simply shrugged and took another step forward, opening his cape to provide some barrier between the two groups. Behind him, Aquawoman had her hands strained as she began to draw moisture in the air toward herself. “I get mixed signals a lot of the time on this world. Why don’t you elucidate as to why my presence is unwarranted?”

Circe shook her head violently. “And give your friends a chance to come up with some plan of attack? I think not, you peasant. Daughter! Beast! Have your way with our uninvited guests!”

The purple-haired and garishly clad young woman beside Circe licked her lips and dove forward at Mister Miracle, and the large shouldered man wearing a lion-shaped mask followed suit, raising his spear as he went for Aquawoman and Batman.

“And who-- do I have-- the pleasure-- of sparring with-- today?” asked Miracle between deft dodges of the young woman’s crushing blows.

“Sparring? Today-- I’ll-- kill-- you!” she growled.

“Foreplay,” laughed Miracle, “my wife would have your head if she heard you. And mine!”

Batman ducked the first swing of the spear, the silver-tipped weapon whistling in the air as it went over his head. The follow through on the other side of his weapon nearly caught Aquawoman in the ribs, but she drew two swords of hard water from the moisture she’d drawn into the air around her and parried the shaft downwards.

Taking advantage of the tip now being jammed up in the air, the Dark Knight grabbed it with one hand then swung forward with a show-stopping punch with his other. His blow struck the man in his exposed mouth, but the man just barred his teeth and took it, not budging an inch. If the Dark Knight had connected that punch with an average’s man face it would have broken bone and splintered teeth, but if anything, it just pissed his opponent off.

Aquawoman transformed her swords into a singular club and went to smash the man’s head at the temple of the mask, but he leaned back and she caught nothing but air, before he dipped away from a haymaker thrown by Batman, who had taken into consideration that his attempt at a knockout blow hadn’t even fazed the man and so went for more of a debilitating approach to his attack.

The fight took the form of a dance, Aquawoman and Batman moving as in sync as they could manage under the circumstances, their twin assaults being picked apart by their faster, stronger attacker. This fight wouldn’t end until someone missed a step.

“But c’mon,” said Miracle, arching over the young woman’s head with a burst from the anti-gravity aero discs he wore on his soles, “I don’t like to dance without knowing my partner’s name.”

Their fight had taken them across the throne room, between the pillars of energy that held the island’s occupants prisoner, and neither of them had landed any blows on the other. Miracle was dodging and weaving, Muhammad Ali in his prime, nothing but air between the punches being thrown in his direction and his body. He was taking his attacker’s measure, and seeing if this game of cat-and-mouse might wear her out.

So far, he hadn’t been so lucky.

But he’d been chased by hordes of Parademons through the Armagetto slums of Apokolips, he’d flown through cosmic storms bareback on a space-whale and once-- just once-- he’d dodged Darkseid’s own Omega Beams through sheer determination, a can-do attitude, and a Fourth World miracle-- so he wouldn’t be brought down by some woman with a chip on her shoulder--

“How-- are you-- so fast?” she spat, her fists never connecting with her enemy.

“You try being slow in Granny’s orphanage,” he replied, words flowing from his mouth as quickly as he moved around her. “Okay, how’s this--” He landed a few feet away from her, spun his cape around his hand and then bowed gracefully. “I’m Mister Miracle, but my friends call me Scott.” He looked up from where he was bending forward and saw her charge forward, so with his cape in one hand and like a trained matador, he whipped it around her fist and then wrapped it up like a parcel, then bent her arm back so he had her in a hammerlock.

“Geeeet offa me!” She growled, as Scott synched in the hammerlock.

“Make me,” replied Miracle, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

She threw her head back hard, catching him square in the nose, sending him barrelling backwards as his cape tore at the shoulder due to the power behind the blow. He slid to a stop near the pillars of energy that held the rest of the Justice League and the entirety of the Amazon in stasis. Blood began to spread across the front of his mask so he tore it off, revealing his broken nose that was currently pouring like a faucet. He ran a hand through his hair and then detached the rest of his tattered cape, and then stood, raising his fists like a pugilist of old.

“First blood, nice,” he said, licking his top lip.

“First blood? No. A promise of what’s to come next. My name is Devastation-- as in yours, as in the world’s, as in the entirety of humanity and beyond.” She balled up her fists and copied his posture. “You’re the New God of Escape? I’m the daughter of the God of War and the Queen of the Witches. Come at me like it means a damn and I’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

Scott shrugged. “Devastation? Now, was that so hard?”

With Circe by his side, Ares sat back in the throne he had stolen and began to laugh.


Arthur opened his eyes and instantly new he was naked and chained-- it was a hard to miss situation. He was leaning forward, the restraints at his wrists protruding from the ceiling, and the shackles at his ankles on the wall. He was spread eagle, completely vulnerable, and if he cared for his modesty he might have blushed. Instead, with his senses still settling back in after being unconscious, he turned his heavy head and saw that his half-Thanagarian comrade was in a similar prostrate position, though he was wheezing heavily and looked like he'd been through a few additional rounds with their captors.

“Katar? Katar, wake up!” hissed the King of the Seven Seas.

“Hnnn… hhh… uhhhh…” Katar’s headed lolled up, and he looked how Arthur felt. “Wherrrrre?”

“Somewhere most definitely naked,” replied Arthur.

“Seven… Seven… Seven Hells…” said the Hawk Knight.

The King shook his head. “Not yet. Doctor Psycho, he’s one of Diana’s right? How long have you… how long have you been coming here?”

“Months… nearly a year…” Katar coughed horribly, and globs of thick liquid flew from his lips. He was so weak and Arthur didn’t know why. Had Psycho done something more to him? How long had he been under the villain’s thrall? “I should have… should have known…”

“He’s a psychic, you couldn’t have known. We really need to fill that gap on the roster…”

Katar coughed again, convulsing each time as whole-body shudders went from his top all the way down to his bottom.

“Katar… what did he do to you?”

“Our boy is sick, your majesty,” came the voice of Doctor Psycho as he entered the cell. “For the most part he’s been keeping it to himself, but Doctor Wells diagnosed him, and that means he confided it to me as well. Who else have you told?” The small man stood beneath Katar and smiled. “Well?”

After a moment of silence, Hol managed to hock an almighty chunk of blood and spittle in the face of the villain, who casually wiped it off with a handkerchief.

“Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit,” growled Katar.

Doctor Psycho shook his head. “No, no, no. You’re in no position to make demands of me. You, on the other hand… I’ve stripped away your psychic defences. Confiscated your weapons, and the Nth metal harness and trinkets that were keeping your sickness at bay. How long do you think it’ll be until you succumb to the cancer eating away at you?”

Katar shook his head. “I’ll… I’ll live long enough to cave your skull in.”

“Rude. I shouldn’t pander to you, but I’ve loved your hangdog expression since day one, and my employers aren’t paying me to kill superheroes. Not yet, anyway. I’ll be back in an hour or so, and then I’ll strip away everything that makes you you and then build you back up. I’ll twist your personality into so many knots your own lady love won’t recognise you. What you loved you’ll hate. What you fought against will be the cause you champion. And then you’ll murder Wonder Woman for me. What a bit of fun that’ll be. Now, before--”

There was a clicking in the corner of the room as an intercom activated. “Doctor Wells, the Guardian is currently in the reception hall upstairs asking after his teammates in the Justice League.”

“The Guardian… he’s the super soldier, isn’t he?” mused Psycho, rubbing his chin.

“You stay away from him, you bastard,” barked Arthur.

Psycho raised a hand. “Don’t worry. These things always come in threes.” Arthur spasmed as psychic energies ripped through his mind, and then he slumped forward, weakened by the attacks he’d suffered. “I’ll bring him down to you in a bit, okay?”


click

Victor Stone had a lot on his plate and he was struggling to process it. His organic body had been completely shredded, leaving him just a brain in a bowl. Angela was trying to support him, but he was being an ass, but couldn’t she understand that he had earned that right? He wasn’t who he was the week before, and he that shook him to whatever core he had left.

Who could understand his current situation? There was Cliff Steele, a man who had lost his entire body in an automobile accident and experienced… what did the journals call it? He experienced a full body amputation. He was a full body amputee, who went from one existence to another in one fiery explosion. Maybe Vic could contact him at the Doom Patrol, where he went by the name of Robotman.

And then what? Commiserate? Over a shared trauma?

Nah, thought Vic, this type of grief doesn’t bear spreading out. But…

…Angie.

click

Photos of a time before the attack, back when he was a human-cybernetic hybrid, flashed on the screen in front of him. He had learned to accept his situation as Cyborg. He was never going to be a quarter back again, he was never going to be the man he had been as a teenager. Now he was a man, and he was even less of a human than he had been after the initial accident that transformed him into the Titan, then Justice Leaguer, known as Cyborg.

…Angie.

click

“What… am I doing…?”

His voice didn’t sound like his own. The sub vocal processor was clunky and he had relied on the inputs from what was left of his original vocal folds to make his post-human voice sound like Vic Stone’s. He was wallowing. Drowning in his grief. He was mourning the loss of himself, but he was still here, wasn’t he? Even if… even if his brain was backed up every sixty seconds to the immense processors that lined the remains of his brain. Who was he? A ghost haunting a robot body, or a ghost haunting a computer that controlled said body?

click

Vic’s typed something into the console in front of him and security footage from Seaworld began to fill the screen. Aquaman had joined Hawkman there, and now the Birds of Prey were on site, talking to witnesses, trying to figure out what had happened to cause the incident there.

While he analysed the footage, he concentrated the nanites that floated around the tubing in his body on the task of upgrading his sub vocal processor. He knew what his voice sounded like. He had countless recordings of his interactions with people saved to the hard drive that was his brain. Multitasking, he began to concoct a program that would…

“Hello. Hello. Angie. Angela. Vic. Victor. Victor. Stone. Cyborg. Teen. Titan. Justice. League. Justice Leaguer.”

Vic would have smiled if he had facial musculature. He didn’t, so he just nodded, whispered a prayer to a god that he was convinced wouldn’t hear him, but at least the prayer was made in his own voice.

“Justice Leaguer,” he repeated. Okay. Something. Something his. Something of his was back. That was… a win.

“Wait,” he said, pausing the footage he was reviewing. He had hundreds of security feeds plugged into the Justice League computers, and he was watching them all simultaneously. But that didn’t feel like enough. So he shut down part of his main processors and opened his consciousness up to the footage, so that--

…He was there, at Seaworld, before the incident. All the security footage combined to make a life, fully three-dimensional representation of the day’s events, something he could walk through but not interact with. He was walking through the crime scene, before all hell broke loose. The sound quality was patchy, just as the imagery before him was grainy in places. He couldn’t do anything about that, and depending on where he moved, where he walked, the quality of both dropped out. But this was some next generation crime scene investigation… and he was sure Batman had something ten generations beyond it in his cave.

Now, what was he looking for? What had he seen?

There had been a man in a wheelchair, and facial recognition software had identified him immediately. What was Harrison Wells, founder of S.T.A.R. Labs, doing at the scene of the crime? And who was that woman he was casually chatting to? Blonde haired, blue-eyed, but dishevelled, looking like she’d not slept for days? Facial recognition ticked away, trying to identify here. No hits yet.

“No, wait,” Cyborg said to himself. They weren’t chatting. Her face barely moved, and Wells was talking at her, not to. Whatever that meant, it couldn’t have been anything good.

Cyborg followed the pair around for a while, before Wells wheeled himself to where a young family had been eating ice cream, leaving his companion standing perfectly still off to the side. Then Vic realised where Harrison was going-- there she was, the alleged attacker, the young girl called Maisie… along with her parents? But hadn’t Hawkman’s initial report said that her parents weren’t present? That she didn’t know who they were?

Wells watched the girl for a while, before standing up from his wheelchair and taking a step forward. But Wells was paralysed from the waist down, ever since the accident that killed his fiancée… everyone knew that… so what was happening here?

Wells approached the family, and put his hands on their shoulders. They looked at him, and then their expressions went blank. They walked away from their child, who wasn’t paying attention to what her mother and father were doing, content to lick the ice cream cone she’d been given minutes before.

The pair left Maisie and Wells alone, and that’s when things got even weirder. Wells beckoned his blonde friend forward, and then his body and the wheelchair he’d abandoned shrivelled up, tendrils of white, effervescent something-ness flowing across his body and seeping into his orifices. A second later, and Wells had transformed, and the transformation set off another alert on the facial recognition software.

“Holy cow,” whispered Vic, “that’s Doctor Psycho.”


Batman threw a handful of black marbles at the face of the beast that attacked them, and a cloud of thick smoke clung to their attacker’s head and shoulders, blinding them. The Dark Knight knew that he would tire first against this demigod, and that fighting harder, or faster, wouldn’t win the fight-- but fighting dirty? That might do it.

“Nnnnnrrrraaaaaagh--!” roared the lion-masked juggernaut, who swung the spear wildly, only for Aquawoman to swing her water club down on the shaft and allow its liquid body to spread across it, giving her the purchase to yank it out of his hands. He was suddenly weaponless, and that meant he started throwing crazed punches-- Batman ducked and a pillar behind him evaporated in a plume of dust on impact. Anger made their opponent sloppy, but it also took away any restraint he had been observing previously.

“Oh, this is boring,” said Circe, stepping in front of Batman, much to his surprise. While her ally attacked Aquawoman, she blew a handful of dust in the Caped Crusader’s face that enveloped him, causing him to turn away in shock, clutching at his face. “Listen to my voice, tall, dark and mysterious. I am your beloved and the redhaired wench is trying to hurt me. You need to hurt her before that happens.”

Without hesitation, Batman turned sharply toward Mera, but instead of attacking her as instructed he cracked Circe in the knot under her jaw without even looking-- a pinpoint knockout blow that hadn’t worked on the beast of a man attacking Aquawoman and him, but on impact against the Witch Queen sent her to the floor. The Dark Knight rubbed the side of his nose and found a secret switch that cleared the nasal filters he wore, then he exhaled heavily, expelling the rest of the dust that had clung to his face. Simply-- he hadn’t breathed any of the damn stuff in.

But then the room exploded in a storm of black lightning drawn from the pillars of energy that held the Amazons and the rest of the Justice League captive-- Ares stormed up from his throne, spit and fury flying from his mouth as he bore down on the Dark Knight. “You dare strike my wife? I will have your life, you insect!”

The ceiling to the throne room erupted with stone dust and debris and without warning, the Kheran warlord Majestic tore into the throne room, grabbed Ares by the shoulders and went to throw him through the wall in front of him. Instead, Ares simply shrugged off the Greco-Roman wrestling move and Majestic’s momentum sent him careening into the ground in front of him, an almighty trench forming as the floor gave way under the superhero’s own ill-directed flight path.

“Well, at least you tried, Majestic,” said Ares. “But thank you for the distraction-- I’ve regained my senses. Enough.”

He clicked his fingers and the Justice Leaguers who were battling his champions were flung across the room and pinned against walls. The still bloodied Mister Miracle looked over at Majestic, who was dazed.

“That was your rescue attempt?”

“He’s… so powerful… I don’t understand…” Majestic replied, catching his breath.

Ares grinned. “More powerful than you can possibly imagine. Now, shall we get down to why we’re all here?”


As he stood in the reception of the mansion the S.T.A.R. Labs facility was built beneath, the Guardian noticed that the nanotelepathic link wasn’t working. It wasn’t down, but there seemed to be some shielding that prevented him from sending any messages or receiving any responses. He knew that Aquaman and Hawkman were ‘active’ on the lines, but they weren’t responding to their messages… what did that mean?

The door to the reception opened and Harrison Wells entered, wheeling himself in with a smile.

“Doctor Wells, thanks for making time for me,” said the Guardian.

Wells smiled. “My pleasure, sir. It’s Harper, isn’t it? James Harper?”

“Guardian when the helmet’s on,” he replied, tapping the golden helm on his head.

“Well, we’re all friends here,” said Harrison.

“I’m looking for two of my comrades. Last ping had them here. Your staff don’t seem to know where they are?”

“Oh, they’re downstairs. All very top secret though. I can take you to them.”

“Please.”

Harper wished his shield was on his arm rather than his back. There was something about this whole situation that made him uneasy. There was something… off-putting about the smile Wells wore, like it was… almost subtly… off. He realised what was happening, then. It was his computer brain, the implants he’d been given when he became the Guardian, warring with his own perceptions. There was a sense of, if Harper moved fast enough, moving his head from one side to the other, he would see that Harrison Wells wasn’t actually there, that his face was some kind of projection that only…

“You’ve seen right through me, haven’t you?”

Harper grabbed at his back but his fingers came back empty. He turned to see what had happened to his shield but was suddenly thrown across the room by an invisible force. Wells just sat there, his fingers latticed as he watched the events unfolding. Three hundred punches-- all counted by the Guardian’s war computer-- landed in his solar plexus, causing him to lose his breath and preventing him from catching a new one. Harper swiped wildly, trying to catch invisible attacker, and struck pay dirt-- the back of his hand caught something, and there was a crashing sound to the left of him, where a… where a…

“No…” Harper whispered.

A young boy, barely ten years old, was slumped amongst the wreckage of the bookcase he'd collided with, not moving-- Harper took a step forward to check on him but then his skin exploded in agony as flames licked across his body. His left arm was encased in ice, and fell to his side suddenly useless. His helmet began to melt so he discarded it, throwing it in one motion toward Wells, but it careened through the man’s shoulder like it was made of liquid and clattered to a stop near the door.

“What-- what--”

“You’re outnumbered, Jimmy,” said Wells. He stood up and approach the Guardian, who found himself falling to his knees as his pain receptors all fired at once, overriding any conscious thought to move his limbs or fight back.

Behind Harrison Wells stood a cadre of children, energy crackling at their fingertips, or bouquets of fire, or arrays of ice. The child in the ruins of the bookcase stood, smiled, and cracked his knuckles. There was a child who vibrated just out of sight, clutching the Guardian’s golden shield. Before Harper could say a word, or find the ability to speak, the child he’d struck hit back with all his might, knocking the super soldier out instantly.


“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. Themyscira. The literal seat of my enemy’s power,” said Ares, gesturing toward the throne he’d passively been sitting in moments before. “I’ll tell you what. I wanted to piss my sister off. My entire family. My old pantheon stripped me of my title, my powers, left me with nothing* and I wanted to see if they would stand against me. And you know what? They didn’t.”


Batman tried to push forward, to escape the invisible energy that held him and the others fast, but found that whatever power Ares wielded was more than his mortal body could resist. He remembered the moment on Laputa, what felt like an age ago now, when Diana’s patron Athena manifested amongst them and made her proclamation against Ares… “…By decree of the gods of Olympus; Ares-- Lord of War no more.”

But here he was, wielding more power than he’d known him to before. How? What now fuelled the once-God of War? And Majestic struggled to escape with more power than Batman could ever hope to wield, and he did nothing but wear himself out. The air around the Kheran vibrated under the strain, and the Dark Knight realised he was trying to pick up speed, go hypersonic, but he was stuck in place, so his cells screamed under the exertion instead.

“Majestic, stop,” Batman instructed. “Bide your time.”

Majestros shot the Caped Crusader an angry look, but then finally gave up, his muscles sagging and his body slumping. He went quiet, and tried to catch his breath.

“And do you know why my family aren’t here?” asked Ares, stepping forward so he was strolling in front of the struggling Justice Leaguers.

“Oh, do tell,” said Mister Miracle, his mocking tone sure to get him in--

--Before anyone could even blink, Ares moved impossibly fast and grabbed him by the throat. Physical contact caused Miracle’s collar to burn away, and when the God’s gauntlet gripped the New God’s now bare neck, his skin began to burn.

“Because humanity is on trial, New God. The doors between the celestial world and this one are closed. I have put faith on trial, and my family-- and not just them but all gods-- cannot walk the Earth. You are alone. Alone without the cushion of belief to rest your head.”

“Then how do you walk among us today?” asked Aquawoman. She looked over to where Mister Miracle was struggling to breathe. Wasn’t he a god too? Isn’t that what Barda and he always said?

Ares shrugged. “Because I am the God of Nothing, and that means the rules do not apply to me.”

“God of…” started Miracle. The wound on his neck was healing thanks to his New God origin, but his voice still sounded ragged. “…But that’s… that’s…”

“Impossible? Nothing is impossible, New God. I would think you of all should know that by now.”

Aquawoman shook her head vehemently. She was straining, sweating profusely as she mustered her immense Xebel-borne powers, but she manifested nothing, no water from the air, not even weaponising the beads of sweat on her brow. She grimaced and spat an accusation all question: “Why aren’t we dead? For all your power, for all your trials and proclamations, why haven’t you killed us?”

She hadn’t faced off against a surface world celestial before, but Mera of Xebel, Queen of all Atlantis, knew one thing: She hated arrogance and it radiated off this being. Demanding to know why one hadn’t been killed probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but she wanted to know.

Ares considered the question and then walked over so he was directly in front of her. He ran an armoured hand across her cheek, and her skin bubbled on contact. She refused to cry out, but it was the kind of wound that might leave a scar.

“Because I want to give you an option. Faith is on trial. The doors to higher plains are closed. Soon, humanity’s ability to believe will atrophy and then they will simply pray to… nothing. This entire world will worship one god, one higher power, and it will be me. And then I can spread from world to world, collective consciousness to collective consciousness, until I am the galactic god, the one celestial power, and humanity will be dust and I will be eternal.”

“Then what’s the option?” asked Batman, simply.

Across the room, Devastation had stirred Circe from her unconsciousness and helped her up with their lumbering beast of a compatriot’s support.

The Witch Queen blinked herself back to cognisance, and rubbed her jaw where Batman had struck her. A quiet incantation and she was healed. Finally, she looked over at where Ares had the Justice Leaguers pinned and growled angrily. “I’ll turn him into the creature he idolises. I’ll transform him into a flying rodent. I’ll--”

She hesitated.

“What is it, mother?” asked Devastation.

“Do you hear that? The sea? It sounds so close,” mused Circe.

Ares answered Batman’s question smugly. “The option? Trial by combat. On my terms. I’m still partial to a bit of war, even though that’s now my daughter’s domain. I challenge you, the protector of humanity, to trial by combat. To the death. If you win, I leave this world and humanity regains it’s ability to believe. But if I win, and I will, it all goes,” he clicked his fingers, “just like that, and humanity becomes a battery. Without hope, without feeling, without anything but belief in me, humanity is reduced to… nothing. Which is perfect. For me. For fuel.”

He turned to look at the other members of the Justice League he had entombed in the malevolent black energy he wielded, and Mera finally showed her hand. She clenched her fist and the Aegean Sea that had once lapped on the beaches of Paradise Island stormed through the doors and windows, smashed through the walls at their weakest points, and then collided with Ares full on.

“Poseidon--?!” murmured Ares, as he threw his hands up to protect himself, even though his current form wouldn’t have been battered down by a tsunami at this point.

The distraction worked though. Aquawoman, Batman and Mister Miracle fell forward, a momentarily lapse in concentration on Ares’ part meaning his restraint wavered. The columns of energy dissolved, releasing the Amazons, as well as the captive Justice Leaguers.

Now free: A race of warrior women, trained from birth to fight. A team of elite superheroes, dedicated to protecting humanity.

Their opposite: Ares. Circe. Devastation. Their brutal, nameless enforcer.

Wonder Woman shook her head and blew her hair out her face as she looked across the throne room at where the God of Nothing and his compatriots stood. “Trial by combat? You’re on.”

Phillipus, General of the Amazons, lifted up her sword and raised it above her head, ready to release a war cry that would rally all those on Themyscira to battle, but instead Ares clapped his hands and everyone was forced to the ground. The fight was over before it could begin, and he laughed at the audacity of the all-female army that had tried to stand before him.

“Challenge accepted. My daughter will represent me on the killing floor. And let me see.”

“I’ll stand for humanity!” declared Diana.

“You heard me while you were trapped, Princess. Trial by combat on my terms. And you accepted! So, I choose the representative of man. Do you remember what I said to you last time we met? I took your measure. I know you inside and out. You are a champion, Diana of Themyscira, but that one-- over there-- he’s a true protector. He stands for humanity. In a battle. To the death.”

Wonder Woman turned in the direction Ares had pointed. Batman was the one he had chosen. She swallowed hard, remembering the events of Laputa when Circe had come to them asking for help, when she was heavily pregnant with Ares child and sought protection. What had Ares said, when he looked upon the Justice League present at that time?

“Warriors.” Who had that privilege? Big Barda, the Guardian, Hawkman, Majestic and Mister Miracle.

“Intellectuals.” Stepped down from active duty, but heroes none the less: The Atom, Blue Beetle and Doctor Light.

“Hybrids.” Absent, but judged: Cyborg and Zatanna.

“Champion.” Wonder Woman herself. She knew not what he had meant, but his intention was now clear. He knew then what he had planned now. He was picking them apart. Strategising. Preparing.

And finally, “Protector*.” Batman. The one man who had taken a vow never to kill. His strictest code. His strongest moral imperative. None should die


“Oh, no,” whispered Diana.

And he’d just been challenged to a battle to the death, with the fate of all humanity at stake.


The Guardian was thrown into the cell, and slid to a stop against the far wall, beneath Aquaman and Hawkman.

“Guardian!” barked Arthur, straining against his restraints. “Guardian, wake up!”

“Why did the bad man try and hurt you, Professor?” asked a small boy. For his size, he had large muscles all over his body that gave him a slight hunch in his posture, but his eyes were bright and clear. He didn’t seem to hear Aquaman, nor notice the two heroes bound to the wall.

“It’s as I told you when you first arrived here, David. There are villains in this world, and it’s up to you and your friends to stop them. That’s why you’re here, training to save the entire planet,” said Wells-Psycho, patting the young boy on the shoulder. “Now leave me here, while I question him.”

“Sure thing,” said David, leaving the room.

The door to the cell closed, and Doctor Psycho emerged from the psychic illusion of Harrison Wells. “They’re so easily pliable with a good story and a warm milk before bed.”

“Tell me what’s happening here!” demanded Arthur. “Tell me!”

“As I said before, you’re in no position to make demands, but as you won’t remember this day, or any other day, after today… day… I’ll spill my guts to you… just as you’ll spill your son’s guts when you return to your kingdom. But first…”

The Guardian stirred and began to pull himself up, but Doctor Psycho was on him immediately, small, grubby hands clutching at either side of the super soldier’s head. “I know all about you. I know how old you are. I know that your body is held together by drugs and plastics from a century ago. How would it feel, do you think, if you were to finally feel your age? Over a hundred years old… what would that mean? From your perpetual, super soldier thirties, to…”

Harper cried out, his eyes opened as wide as they could go, “nnnnnnnnaaaaaa”

Doctor Psycho was hissing in his ears, loud enough for Aquaman and Hawkman to hear. “Loss of sight. Loss of hearing. Arthritis in all your joints. Your body betraying you. Bones creaking. Becoming fragile. Osteoporosis. Heart disease. A susceptibility to stroke. Diabetes. Incontinence. Your body hates you, James Harper. Your body wants you to die but it won’t let you. It’s still letting you hold on. Even as every moment, every waking moment, is agony. But you won’t care, will you? Do you know why? Do you know what’s keeping you from caring?”

“nuhhh unnnnnnhhhhh”

“They say that dementia is like a sinking ship. All your memories falling into the inky black waters below, your life up until that point becoming muffled and distorted, until they’re drowning in darkness and can’t be reached, leaving you a wreck scattered across the ocean floor.” He glanced over at Aquaman. “Fitting, don’t you think?” He turned his attention back to the Guardian. “You’re still the man you once were, and maybe you’ll remember sometimes, but that memory will be met with pain and agony, and you’ll understand that everything hurts, but won’t know why. Why won’t anyone help you? Why won’t anyone put you out of your misery? Why? Why?”

Psycho let go of Harper’s head and the hero fell to the floor, his limbs contorted at awkward angles, his eyes wide and unblinking. He gibbered and drooled, but was unable to move beyond twitching intermittently. The Guardian was broken, and he didn’t even have a chance to put up a fight.

“Now, who’s next?” asked Doctor Psycho, looking up at Aquaman and Hawkman.