#57: Children Lost In The Dark (Part 3 of 4)

Previously, in JUSTICE LEAGUE…

GREEN LANTERN has been compromised, his power ring corrupted by an alien consciousness that has sent constructs out to kill anybody they come across!

Thankfully, LAPUTA, the Justice League’s headquarters, went into lockdown, leaving BATMAN, along with the resident tech-whiz ANGELA SPICA, trapped within, struggling to survive but now finally overwhelmed by the emerald hordes.

With the clock ticking down until the shield protecting the world from the immensity that has taken over GREEN LANTERN’s ring comes down, it looks like nobody’s left to save the world from a being capable of thoroughly taking over one of the strongest wills in the universe!

Meanwhile, the rest of the team investigated the cause behind GREEN LANTERN’s possession, namely a mysterious book given to him by fellow Leaguer BLUE BEETLE. CYBORG quickly discovered a ‘memetic psychic virus’ hidden within its pages, and their only recourse is to track the author down… 

The team is now heading to a town that shouldn’t exist to try and solve the horrifying mystery!

With all this in mind, please join us now for the continuing adventures of the JUSTICE LEAGUE--

Just as she felt hope leave her, Angie could hear the demonic constructs shatter loudly-- impact, shatter, impact, shatter-- then she felt a thick arm loop around her waist. Her eyes were clamped down tight, but she suddenly felt the wind leave her lungs as her feet left the ground.

When Angie opened her eyes again she saw that both Batman and herself were being carried through the air by Hawkman, his wings mangled and his armour shredded. “You’re safe now. Relatively.”

“K-Katar? I didn’t-- I--” Angie didn’t know what to say so began to babble. “I didn’t know you were on the island!”

“I removed my biological imprint from the database weeks ago,” said Hawkman, matter-of-factly, not looking down at the woman in his arms, more concerned with their direction above the heads of the groping constructs. “I don’t like being tracked.”

“But-- but--” Angie looked over to Batman, who was slumped over and unconscious, bleeding profusely, then back to Hawkman. “Where have you been?!”

“Fighting my way down from the aviary. Hold on.” He spun upward through a shredded hole in the ceiling. “I found it easier to create my own doors.”

“Wh-where are we headed?” asked Batman, rousing from his unconscious state, bloodied lips moving slowly.

“To where the emerald light was the brightest. Either the belly of the beast… or to Green Lantern himself.”

“Good… good…” Batman passed out, and Hawkman cursed under his breath. They were under the gun, and he didn’t even know they had less than five hours to rectify the situation before it spilled out across the globe…



Katar Hol stood in the observation area of the specialised facility, watching as the young, super-powered children played together. His cowl was tucked under his arm, his wings folded as close to flat behind his back as possible. His weapons were tethered to his side, and he wore the revered, obsidian-black armour of the true Hawk Knights of Thanagar.

It had been some time since he’d been home and his exile was still in effect*.


Even though he’d seen his mother since*, the ache of returning home, to the aerial cities that floated above the forested spaces that covered his home world, still hung on him. He remembered the golden spires, the five immense houses of the most powerful families of his people. There were times he contemplating returning, petitioning his mother Shayera Hol, High Priestess of the Seven, current de facto leader of the Thanagarian people, to have the right to return, but what would he do other than take in the sights, breathe in the air, take flight in the skies, before returning back to Earth?


Katar Hol resigned himself to his situation. Hawkman of two worlds. Only allowed to fly through the skies of one.

Back to the matter at hand, there was one patient in particular who Katar was concerned about, a young girl Hawkgirl and he had needed to talk down from causing destruction in Platinum Flats some weeks previously*. She looked normal, calm, unlike the shivering, scared shape she’d taken on that disaster site of a street.


Above the children’s’ heads there was a low hum, one that penetrated the area the patients stood within, and Hol’s enhanced senses twitched-- as did his brow-- when it started to grate.

“It’s a power neutraliser, similar to the device you used to contain the girl in the first place,” said the doctor, wheeling up behind Hol in his wheelchair.

Harrison Wells had done good work in the field of metahuman studies across the years, though his recent re-emergence in Keystone City* meant he’d been making more and more appearances, be them working with the mysterious speedster known as Flash, or at STAR Labs, the scientific research endeavour he’d founded fresh out of college decades ago.


“Have they manifested their abilities when not in its presence?” asked Hawkman.

“Under stress, yes,” said Wells. “We try to avoid such situations, but these children are orphans, some hatve been experimented upon; their existence is a stressful situation at times. But we have counsellors on staff to assist every day.”

“Hmm. And how is Sarah doing today?”

“Good. We’re having trouble locating her parents though,” said Wells. “There’s no trace of them.”

“Odd. Do we have any idea how she got from Blue Valley to Platinum Flats? How she manifested her abilities?”

“We might have something,” said Wells. “There’s a genetic marker in her DNA I’ve never seen before. Some unknown factor that may be linked to her aerokinesis. We’re looking into it.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wells,” said Hawkman. “Please keep me-- the Justice League-- informed. If there are other children in her situation, then investigating the root of her abilities may be of great benefit.”

“Of course. And, well, regarding your own medical…” started Wells. “You may want to come with me to my office.”


It was close to nightfall when the Boom Tube closed behind them, and the Justice League emerged into the night air on a deserted road.

“Okay, so that’s weird,” said Blue Beetle, gesturing toward the idyllic town ahead of them that backed up to a lake, that was bordered by a thick forest. “--This doesn’t look like the terrifying locale we were promised.”

Another Boom Tube opened up behind Blue Beetle, Doctor Light, the Guardian and Wonder Woman; and Big Barda, Majestic and Mister Miracle stepped through.

Mister Miracle was the first to speak. “There’s nothing we can do over Laputa right now. We thought it best to come here and assist-- whoa, whoa, can you guys feel that?”

Barda nodded. “Same as before. Like I was telling you, the vertigo that book caused.”

“And you guys can’t feel it?” asked Mister Miracle.

The Guardian shook his head. “No, nothing. If you’re the only ones who can, are we thinking it’s a Fourth World incident? Dark Gods?”

Miracle shook his head. “I don’t know. Majestros, you’re doing that thousand-yard stare thing you do. What are you picking up with that Zoom Vision of yours?”

“There’s a spatial distortion around this place,” said Majestic, squinting as he approached the town limits. “Cyborg, can you see it?”

“Checking.” Cyborg’s normally red eye switched colours. “Whoa. Some kind of opaque dome in the higher frequencies. Blocks out the town completely.”

“Can you share?” asked the Guardian.

Cyborg held out his arm to Doctor Light and she read the optical range he was using. She stretched her fingers out, clenched her fist, then waved her hand around in front of the team. Strobing light throbbed outward and slowly but surely, a completely different town became visible in a small area of space before the Justice League.

The welcome sign for Whilkirk had been replaced by one for a town called ‘Ugthothlhem’-- the setting for all of Enos Godwyn’s books. The new sign was covered in scarlet graffiti? Was it paint? Or something else? Whatever was used to write them, the board was covered in warnings; ‘You will never leave,’ read one. Some of the writing was in a language that none of the team recognised. Alien and otherworldly.

Barda quietly mouthed the name of the town, “…Ugthothlhem? That name is scratching at my brain. Scott, does it mean something?”

“I don’t know. But I feel it too. Like I want to remember something, but it’s out of reach, like the memories are on a shelf I’m too short to get to.”

Majestic hadn’t taken his eyes off the town. “Whatever this place is, it’s growing. Incrementally. Slowly. But whatever this distortion is, it’s growing larger.”

“Well, I’ll be,” whispered the Guardian. He looked over to Blue Beetle and Doctor Light. “Supposition, people?”

“It might be some kind of localised spatial distortion, only visible to those with heightened perceptions. I wonder if Superman would be able to…” Blue Beetle trailed off, and Doctor Light picked up.

“A pocket reality, or, maybe a bubble reality, something that’s nestled on top of ‘our’ reality and from what Majestic noticed, it’s appears to be spreading outward. I’m not an expert by any means, but there are two dimensions sharing this space, separated by some kind of… frequency…? Something that’s causing issues for our resident New Gods’ enhanced senses?”

Blue Beetle picked up the thread. “While you guys look human, you’re actually higher-dimensional beings made flesh. We’ve never, wait, oh! Vibrations! It’s Multiverse theory! The idea that each dimension is separated by a different vibrational frequency. Something the Flash came up with, or, well, first experienced in our line of work. Confirmed by the Flash of another universe!”

“So, what?” asked Cyborg. “We’re looking at Earth-2? Earth-3? Earth-something-weird?”

Blue Beetle weighed the options. “We could very well be. But how are we--?”

“Why don’t we simply--” Majestic reached out and touched the spatial distortion, and a shockwave rippled outward, sending the Justice League sprawling. Tentacles of throbbing, hard-to-see energy lashed out, prisming when the light caught it, and pounded at the ground. The concrete of the road exploded upward when struck, and they could see that whatever was attacking had been generated from the surface of the bubble itself.

“Majestic! Godammit!” hissed the Guardian, dodging a tentacle as it smashed down near him. “You have to stop doing things like that!”

Majestic smiled and looked over to Big Barda. “But isn’t this more up our alley? Don’t you want to punch out the thing that’s causing you and your husband such a headache?”

Big Barda grinned and patted her Mega-Rod. “He may be on to something…”


Batman lay awkwardly on the floor as Hawkman tore open another medical pack and went to work on sealing the wounds covering the Dark Knight’s body. The things that hunted them across Laputa-- the Justice League’s headquarters-- were a few minutes behind them, so while they had somewhat of a head start on them, Angela Spica and Katar Hol did their best to stabilise their colleague.

Batman’s costume was shredded, deep gouges in his body armour leading to razor blade wounds across his torso. Chunks of meat had been taken out of him, and they didn’t have everything they needed to get him back on his feet, but at least they had something that might be able to keep him alive. Once they sealed a wound, they tore shreds of his cape off and applied the makeshift bandages they’d put together. He was held together with dozens of stitches and numerous next-generation medical supplies that Hawkman carried in his own utility belt, along with some items the Dark Knight had managed to make the others aware of before passing out. Across his sternum lay a strip of Nth metal, the mystical element helping to repair the damage and keep him from tipping over the edge.

Hawkman’s hard-metal armour was torn to ribbons. He’d discarded numerous pieces of it, the jagged metal a danger to himself, the corners and edges capable of biting into his own flesh. His hairy chest was bare but for the brown auxiliary harness that held his wings at his back, Nth metal keeping him warm and working to knit his body back together where he’d been through the ringer at the hands of the energy constructs. His wings were extended above his head, ready for a quick exit, and his utility belt pockets were open for the most part, emptied of anything that could help get Batman back on the better side of life or death. His mace was clipped to his side, numerous bladed weapons hanging from the cord at his hips. A gaping hole was in the side of his helm, the lenses shattered in numerous places. He'd tossed it away when they landed.

Angela had removed her lab coat, her black shirt was torn in places where Batman hadn’t been able to keep her covered with his own battered body, and she’d knotted it at the stomach and rolled up her sleeves to try and cool down. They worked hard, sweat dripping down their faces, and her own wounds, their healing assisted with a chunk of Nth metal currently in her breast pocket, stung as she concentrated on the matter at hand.

“That’s another one done,” said Angela, as she poured a fast-acting coagulant gel from Katar’s utility belt into Batman’s wound. Katar was quickly, efficiently, stitching the Caped Crusader’s side, one eye on the wound, his steady hand doing steady work, the other on the hole in the floor they’d flown through. The emerald beasts would be here soon. “When did you get here, Hawkman?”

“A few hours ago. I flew in, didn’t use the Doors. I wanted to be in the air.”

“I didn’t get the ping saying you were on board,” said Angela. She wiped her brow. Just because the nanites in her blood regulated her fear centres didn’t mean this wasn’t hot, sweat-inducing work.

“Like I said before, I removed my imprint from the database. My comings-and-goings are my own.”

“Fair enough. I think we need to get moving again. We don’t have long until the shield comes down. These things could get out. We need to find Green Lantern.”

“I know. Batman, can you hear me?”

The Dark Knight’s eyes fluttered open. “Nnn.”

Hawkman nodded. “Good. We need to move. The Nth metal will help you get back on your feet. But this is going to hurt. You’re barely held together.” He picked up his helm, popped out the damaged lenses, and placed it on his head. His hair came out of the side in tufts, and Angela could see blood stains on the brown metal where he’d been gouged at. She said nothing. Katar heaved Batman up, the Dark Knight made a sound, like a hiss, like he was holding something in, and then they tentatively tested his ability to put weight on his legs. He stood, through willpower more than anything, and then nodded slowly. “Good. Good man.” With his shoulder hooked under Batman’s arm, Hawkman looked over to Angie and extended a hand. “We need to move. I’m not done yet.”


The Justice League scrambled as invisible tentacles, some kind of protective immune system of the bubble reality they rallied around, lashed out at them. Big Barda was slammed down into the ground, her helmet crushed and her body buckling under the weight of what had hit her, but they could only see the aftereffects, not the actual attacker. Doctor Light tried to use her abilities to make the dimensional distortions visible, but she was struck at the back by a tentacle, and flung back into the arms of Cyborg.

“Kimiyo!” cried out Blue Beetle. He reached out to her, but unbeknownst to him another tentacle headed straight for his all-too-vulnerable body. Before it could impact him, Majestic took the brunt of the hit, the impact sending him staggering backwards, but not down.

Cyborg checked on Doctor Light, who was coming around. He scanned her brain using the heightened sensors behind his eyes and could see she was concussed. He cradled her in one arm and then recalled the wavelength he’d provided to the heroine. His white sound cannon reconfigured and he sent a blast toward the city limits that had come alive and was trying to kill them, and suddenly the invisible tentacles became tangible, visible, and the Justice League finally could see the thing trying to scatter them.

Mister Miracle whizzed toward his wife, grabbed her, and dodged further attacks by zipping around using his Aero-Discs, the flat circles at his feet granting him the gift of flight. Wonder Woman displaced the tentacles that went for her by spinning her lasso in tight circles in front of her, while the Guardian bounded around, ducking, diving, his enhanced abilities giving him freedom to keep out of harm’s way as he went.

{I don’t like playing defence when there’s a countdown in play,} said the Guardian via the team’s nanotelepathic connection. Just over four hours until the shield separating a possibly-contaminated Laputa from an innocent world dropped, spilling horrors out across the globe. {We need to get this thing to settle down. Ideas?}

Majestic grimaced. {I disturbed it in the first place. Perhaps--} A tentacle lashed out in front of him, he side-stepped, but caught another square in the back. As it retracted, he went to grab it, but it slipped through his fingers, and he let out a loud, alien expletive. {It strikes us but we cannot return the favour--!}

{Strategic retreat,} said Blue Beetle. {Everybody back up, get some distance between us and it.}

{Go go go!} thought the Guardian, and the others made their move backwards. The tentacles continued to lash out, but the further back they got, the less they were attacked, until a good two hundred yards away, the tentacles finally retracted and settled back into the bubble.

“Good call, Beetle,” said Cyborg. “How’d you know it wouldn’t keep attacking?”

“We instigated the attack; take us out of the equation, it reverted back to normal,” said Beetle, checking on Doctor Light. “Cyborg, is she--?”

“Mild concussion! She’ll be fine.”

Blue Beetle turned back to face the bubble reality that had settled over the small town of Whilkirk. Ugthothlhem. The horrifying home of monsters and maniacs, a place where fictitious heroes fought fictitious otherworldly beings. Things from other dimensions, from before humanity walked the earth. Monsters from the deep, demons from the pit. A place that shouldn’t exist.

Ted shook his hand out, trying to shake off the pain from where Barda had accidentally injured his finger. “Godwyn’s in there,” he said, finally. “We need to drag him out.”

“How do you suggest we do that, Beetle?” asked the Guardian.

“We go in, knock a few teeth out, pull him out by his feet. This isn’t just a guy who wrote a bad book. There’s so much more at play. Cyborg said, when he read the last book, the prose style changes like somebody overwrote his work. And this bubble reality, the fact it’s attacking us, it’s massive, and he’s the one who did it. Or is at the centre of it. We go in. We get him out. Make him tell us what he did. Or save him, as the case may be. But there’s one thing I’m really scared about. There’s one thing that sends shivers all the way down to my coccyx. Every book he wrote, there’s a character, and they’re all archetypes. Rational. Literal. They take no crap and they see everything with a scientific, critical eye. The, uh, ‘Sane Man’. They’re the ones who face off against the horror, and it's their refusal to believe, their decisions, that always lead to the end of the world.”

“Well, that’s you then, isn’t it?” said Cyborg. “You fit that mould more than anybody.”

“Maybe? I guess? I don’t want to be tricked into ending the world.”

“You won’t,” said Mister Miracle. “We won’t let you. Besides, you know which decisions to make. And when to be a pain in the neck. Make the right decisions if they’re presented to you. Don’t do what this… Ugthothlhem… this place wants you to. Okay?”

“Okay, I guess, I’m just…” Before Ted could doubt himself any further, Wonder Woman placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Okay. I got this.”

“Good. A small team then,” said the Guardian. “Agreed?” The others nodded, apart from Barda Free, who held the fractured remains of her helmet in her hands. “Barda,, you and Scott are the ones who are getting the weird vibe off the bubble, if you don’t want to go in, we understand. Are you feeling up to it?”

Behind Barda’s black eye, the only injury still visible from her attack, was a look of determination. She blinked, the bruising faded, and then she smiled. “More than you could imagine.”

“Majestic, the Frees, Wonder Woman and Beetle, the man who seems to know so much, you’re our boots on the ground,” said the Guardian. “Cyborg, I need you out here. You’re able to keep the bubble reality visible, and with Doctor Light concussed, I want a second pair of eyes just in case. Fair?” No one argued. “Now, how do we get past the damn thing’s defences?”

Blue Beetle took a tentative step forward. Then another. The Justice League watched as he returned to the spot where they’d first been attacked. He was standing in the middle of a road, next to a sign covered in graffiti that had originally said ‘WELCOME TO UGTHOTHLHEM’ before it had been so heavily vandalised.

“It didn’t attack us until we aggravated it,” said Beetle. He glanced toward where Majestic had touched the bubble, just a ways away from the sign. “That’s not how you enter a place.” He reached out slowly. If Barda had received a black eye from the impact of one of those tentacles, he’d be crushed instantly. But instead of reaching out to a random section of the bubble, his hand touched the space on the road. Where a car would enter, where somebody might hitchhike a ride into the town. If you were a respectable sort, if you meant no harm, you would just enter. He reached out, and the air around his hand shimmered, and then vanished.

No attack came. He withdrew his hand, then turned back to the others. “We walk.”

“Well, I’ll be,” said the Guardian. He rubbed his chin, shrugged, then looked at the others. “I’ve got a feeling our nanotelepathy won’t work inside there, but we’ll be here. Good luck in there.”

The others headed over to join Blue Beetle, and Wonder Woman looked at Majestic, who was staring up at where the bubble resided with an odd fascination.

“What’s wrong, Majestros?”

“An undetectable bubble reality,” mused Majestic. “My old compatriot, Lord Emp, designed something very similar called a tesseract bunker. You could set one up behind enemy lines and prepare an attacking force. Completely undetectable to the opposition. Your… Trojan Horse, I think is an appropriate analogy. Or, at times during the first Daemonite war, medical facilities. You design…” He trailed off and began to shake his head. “Tesseract bunkers…”

“Are you all right, Majestros?” asked Wonder Woman, as they joined the others in front of where they could enter the bubble reality.

“Just thinking of everybody I lost all those years ago*,” said Majestros. “I’ve searched everywhere… maybe there's a reason I can’t find them…” He dismissed the thought. “Shall we enter the unknown?”


“Let’s,” said Blue Beetle. The five of them stepped forward, and vanished from sight.


“Is this how you always feel?” Angela asked Hawkman. She was re-energised after only a few minutes of brief contact with the Nth metal shard he’d given to her, and she could see the gouges across Batman’s body had also started to heal. Hawkman was still carrying them, still putting distance between them and the constructs. Thankfully, they’d not had any further interactions with their attackers.

“I’m only half-human, I don’t have your frame of reference,” said Hawkman. “But I don’t get tired. I don’t need to sleep. Even without the Nth metal, I am stronger, faster, an inherent healing factor boosted by prolonged exposure to the substance.”

“Are we-- close--?” asked Batman, as he stirred from his unconscious state and glanced around. They had finally reached the atrium, where Hawkman had started his day. No emerald glow to signify their enemies were nearby.

“I’ve put distance between us and them,” said Katar. He wiped sweat from his eye. “The monitor womb is across the way. A straight--”

Before he could finish his sentence, the doors of the atrium, sealed by the power outage, were torn open. A massive emerald being, larger than the ones that had hunted them across the halls of Laputa, surged in, a body comprised of writing, snapping tentacles and teeth. It resembled a Sherman tank in size, and in viciousness there was no animal that would do the aggression displayed justice.

“Seven Devils,” whispered Hawkman. “What is that?”

Batman pushed himself away from Hawkman. In his hands were two batarangs, razor sharp and ready to be used. “Get to John. Fix this. Save him. Save the world from whatever has him.”

“Batman,” started Hawkman. “You--”

The immense, monstrous thing that had busted down the doors roared, emerald spittle flying from its many mouths. It had twenty different voices, crying children, dying men and women. A nightmare made emerald real.

The Batman set his jaw and turned back to Hawkman. “Go,” he barked. “Go now!”

Hawkman grabbed Angela, and as she struggled, as she protested, he smashed through the glass dome that separated Laputa from the skies and headed across toward the second building, where the monitor womb, and hopefully Green Lantern, resided. She cried out that they couldn’t leave him, that it was certain death, but these were all things Katar knew. He wouldn’t let Batman’s sacrifice be in vain.


Doctor Light stirred from her head-trauma-induced unconsciousness and looked around. Cyborg was standing over her, paying more attention to the town limits, while the Guardian paced around impatiently.

“How long?” asked Harper.

“Three hours before the shield comes down,” said Cyborg, checking the readout on his wrist computer. He looked down at Doctor Light, who extended her hand to be pulled up. “Careful,” he said, gently helping her to her feet. “How are you feeling?”

“Dazed,” said Kimiyo. “What did I miss?”

“They entered the town,” said Cyborg. “You’ve been out for about an hour.”

“Any word from the others? On Laputa, or from inside there?” She gestured toward Ugthothlhem. “Anything?”

“Nothing,” said the Guardian. “Nothing at all.”

“Do you hear that?” asked Cyborg, looking back toward the highway leading to the isolated town once known as Whilkirk, now overtaken by a rogue bubble reality going by the name of Ugthothlhem.

The Guardian grimaced. “Helicopters.”

They came into view soon after. Unmarked helicopters roared overhead and then numerous military vehicles approached by road, dust clouds kicked up behind them.

“I should have anticipated this,” said the Guardian. “Rogue alternate reality interfacing with our world. The military would have boots on the ground as soon as they found out.”

“And we revealed it to the world,” said Cyborg. “Made it visible by satellite when I projected the frequency that allowed us to see it. We announced its arrival.”

“Godammit.” The Guardian removed his helmet and clipped it to his belt. “They’ll carpet bomb the entire area to make sure nothing alien contaminates the outside,” he said, running his hands through his sweat-ridden hair, “even with our guys inside.”

“Do we need to fight them?” said Doctor Light, rubbing the side of her palm into her temple. “I mean…”

“I can talk to them,” said the Guardian as a helicopter roared overhead. “I’m not a general anymore, but I’ve been fighting in wars since--” The helicopter landed and a five-star general disembarked, with a face that Harper recognised instantly. “Oh, sonofabitch.”

General Samuel Lane approached and grimaced at the sight of the trio of Justice Leaguers. “Someone want to tell me why there’s an extradimensional bubble smack dab on top of a town and the Justice League haven’t resolved it yet?”

The Guardian didn’t say anything out loud, but Cyborg and Doctor Light heard him over their nanotelepathic channel. {…Oh damn.}


Hawkman landed on the roof of the second building, and directly below their feet would be the monitor womb, the highest point of that section of the island. Angie staggered back, and tried to see inside the aviary where they’d left Batman. Before her eyes could focus, there was a massive explosion and smoke began to billow out, sending up a cloud that bounced delicately off the top of the blast shield and collected over their heads in clumps.

“Oh, no, no,” whispered Angie. “He… He…”

“Green Lantern must be below us,” said Hawkman. He took an Nth metal blade from the scabbard tied to his thigh and drove the tip into the reinforced steel at their feet. It went through like a knife through hot butter, little to no effort required from Katar to slice. “We could be walking into a trap. But we have to try.”

“Batman just sacrificed himself for us and you’re-- you’re--” Angie couldn’t work up the tension in her chest. The nanites regulating her brain chemistry instantly rectified her emotional response, so as angry as she wanted to feel, chemicals flushed through her brain to calm her. She felt positively unhinged, wanting to feel one way but feeling another immediately. “Oh, God. Oh, God, he can’t be dead.”

“If there was a way to survive that stunt, he’d have found it,” said Hawkman. He gripped the sheet metal he’d cut around and wrenched it out, providing a gap in the roof for them to slip through. “Batman always finds a way.”

“We just knitted him back together after he got shredded, and he…” Angie exhaled heavily. “What’s… What’s the plan?”

Hawkman shrugged. “Green Lantern. If he’s compromised, take him out. If he’s held hostage, rescue him. Get the ring out of the equation and then all these monsters are gone. Angela, this might be the safest place for you. I can’t guarantee your safety when we enter. We’re facing something monstrous. The only reason I’m not experiencing a panic attack is because the Nth metal enhances my own brain chemistry. Right now, I’m operating on pure hyper-awareness. I’m sorry if you think I don't care about what happened to Batman, but he was… No. I need to focus on this. Are you ready? Are you coming?”

“Let’s find the bastard that did this,” said Angie.

Hawkman flapped his wings once and entered the monitor womb. He caught Angie when she jumped down to join him, and he helped her stand. There was no light in the immediate area. The dozens of monitors were silent, some shattered. What had they expected? More emerald light? John Stewart to simply be there, waiting for them.

“Do you hear that?” asked Hawkman.

Angie concentrated. It was faint, but she heard something. Sobbing. The kind of guttural gasps for air that came with complete defeat. Loss. Mourning. Uncontrolled and unhindered by any emotional restraint. She didn’t know if it was the Nth metal shard close to her breast but everything felt sharper for her.

Hawkman raised his mace, handed Angie a small baton, and the duo approached the sound. In one of the corners of the monitor womb, a small shape gibbered and sobbed. Katar scraped the edge of his mace against the wall and the sparks formed by the otherworldly metal illuminated the space.

A teenager, tears in his eyes, looked up at them, and Katar recognised him almost immediately.

“John?” whispered Katar, confused, “what did they do to you?”

John Stewart, no older than fifteen, absolutely terrified, cowered in the corner before Angela Spica and Hawkman. Lost in the dark, he shook uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks. Katar crouched down and looked him in the eye. “John, are you in there?”

“Wh-where’s my sister?” asked John. “A-are you h-here to help?”

Hawkman opened his mouth to speak but didn’t have the words. He didn’t know John. He had no answer to that kind of question. Was this a moment in the Green Lantern’s life when something terrible had happened to him? Who was his sister? What had happened to her? “My name is Katar. I am here to help you.” He extended a hand. “Shall we find your sister?”

Angela had rarely seen Katar Hol interact with anybody but fellow superheroes, but he spoke surprisingly softly, showed a remarkable amount of restraint. She understood his experiences over the last year or so had left him shaken up. He had to kill a small boy to stop him from detonating and murdering hundreds*, and he left the team in disgust at the fact there was no other way.


John emerged from the dark and looked up at Angela, not knowing what to make of the woman. Angie smiled as best she could, and held out her hand. “I-I’m Angela. Angie. You can call me Angie. Do you know how you ended up here?”

John shook his head. “I was… With my brother and sister, and she was in the backseat…” He closed his eyes, jammed them tight, and let out another sob. “And then… the… the… there was another car…” His knees buckled, he fell down, and Hawkman looked down at him, his heart sinking.

“God, what happened to him?” asked Angie, her hushed tones useless when in such close proximity to John, but she didn’t think he would be able to answer.

“Physical and physiological regression,” murmured Katar. “I’ve seen soldiers at war break under pressure. Perhaps whatever happened here can force that change.” He placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Do you know what did this to you?”

“Where’s Rose?” asked John. “My sister, she was in the back…”

Katar grimaced. He wanted to slap this boy across the face in an effort to shake something loose, but he accepted that it more than likely wouldn’t work. “Your sister isn’t here, John. I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”

“Gone?” whispered John.

Hawkman shook his head and turned back to Angie. “Green Lanterns are chosen for their ability to overcome great fear. It’s how they can utilise the power rings the way they do. I can only guess that the last time John truly felt fear was when he lost his sister. What else is there to fear when you lose someone that close to you? What’s left to lose? What if the ring’s regressed him to when he wouldn’t be able to use it?”

“But where is the ring?” asked Angela.

“I don’t…” started Hawkman. His eyes turned to slits as something struck him in the distance. A light in the corridor outside the monitor womb. Some emerald throb. More constructs? There was no skittering or scraping. No monstrous movement like the ones they’d all seen across in the first building, beneath the aviary.

Mace gripped tight, he began to approach the light.

“Hawkman,” hissed Angela. “Where are you going?”

“Stay here,” said Hawkman. “Stay quiet.”

Katar moved from the confines of the monitor womb, down the hallway, and into the conference room next door.

Above the circular table that the Justice League often sat around was the Green Lantern ring that had generated the constructs that haunted and hunted Hawkman, Batman and Angie throughout Laputa’s halls.

Writhing around the ring were tentacles of hard, translucent light, lumpen, small barbs covering their surface. Hawkman focused on the tentacles. Across their surface, between the needle sharp claws and suckers, were patterns that intersected and split out, and at his arrival the roiling, rolling movements paused.

There was a moment of silence. Then the room shook, a heavy vibration spreading out from the table toward Hawkman’s feet. The Thanagarian’s grip tightened around the mace.

“What do you want?” asked Katar.

A voice emerged from inside the ring. “u an ftathuna sha ang ur a'a'xshung,” it whispered, “sha ft'unga' ur sha ga'knatt ang sha ftughs-- aftlha unaga ang un ftasghaan.”

Hawkman took a step back. “I don’t have any idea what you just said.”

“suna su tiarra' su fta ftu'n,” buzzed the ring.

Massive tentacles shot out of the central construct and Hawkman displaced it with a sharp wave of his mace, the impact of energy on Nth metal sending shards of sparks into the air.

Hawkman turned tail and headed back toward the room where Angie and John waited, more tentacles shooting outward, trying to catch him as he ran. He turned a corner and declared loudly to the others, “I found the ring!”

“Why are you running?” asked Angela.

“Because now it’s found us,” said Hawkman, spinning around as hundreds of emerald tentacles dragged themselves into the room after him. “And I think it’s angry.”

General Sam Lane projected an aura of equal parts cool and barely-restrained anger at any situation. He was a five-star general, one of the men at the forefront of combating esoteric threats on American soil on behalf of the US military, and it was in part thanks to his experiences in the early days of Superman’s career. He’d been promoted time and time again to head up bigger and better organisations within the army that were tasked with protecting innocent men and women. And in this duty, he’d just arrived outside Ugthothlhem, where the majority of the Justice League had vanished into, where only Cyborg, Doctor Light and the Guardian remained to hold the line.

“Colonel Harper,” said Lane, almost through gritted teeth, at the sight of the Guardian. A man of balance, James had rarely heard such equal parts disdain and respect used when his name was uttered.

“General Lane, sir,” said Harper, saluting.

Lane shook his head, but said nothing. The receipt of a salute from James Harper of all men, closer to a hundred than his thirties-in-appearance face suggested, it was like being saluted by your grandfather. The Guardian was a military legend. In front of Lane, saluting like a private, it was almost insulting.

Standing beside the Guardian was Cyborg, analysing the situation using the scientific equipment built into his body, the nanites swimming in his cybernetic body able to shift and warp depending on the need. Operating a console at his back was Doctor Light, still somewhat concussed by the attack earlier, but able to keep working nonetheless.

“What’s happening here, Colonel?” asked Lane. “Some sort of incursion from a parallel reality? If the Justice League is on-site--” he glanced around, “some of them, at least-- why is this not shut down?”

“Our scientists theorise that what we’re standing in front of is a bubble reality,” said the Guardian, remembering Blue Beetle and Doctor Light’s highfalutin breakdown from earlier. “Manifested on top of our reality. I have operatives inside the reality, seeking to bring the incursion to an end.”

Lane looked behind him. The full military might of the American government was at his heels, awaiting his signal to do whatever they had to do. “You have operatives inside there? Who?”

“Wonder Woman is leading the team, Blue Beetle is science-support. Back up includes Big Barda and Mister Miracle.”

Harper was careful to exclude Majestic’s name from the list. His identity was not yet public, and the Justice League were part of a small group of people who were aware that Majestros of Khera’s archenemies, the race known as the Daemonites, were on Earth. The reptilian race had the advantage and the team weren’t yet ready to take the fight to them. Soon though, they’d have the technology they needed to end their threat for good. Until then…

Lane nodded. “You know the protocol for incursions of any sort, Colonel. If you’ve failed to shut this thing down, you know the standing order.”

The Guardian was well aware of the orders. Presidential. Something that couldn’t be questioned. “…Muon bomb the infected area.”

Cyborg’s eyes lit up at this in surprise. “Muon?A clean bomb? You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly serious, son,” said General Lane. “You think it’s an easy choice to detonate an explosion of that magnitude on American soil? Harper, why don’t you tell your comrade who came up with the protocol?”

Cyborg’s attention moved over to the Guardian.

Harper shook his head. “Well, it was obviously me.”


“Well, this is new,” said Ted Kord, looking at the clothing he’d materialised into when he entered Ugthothlhem, the town Enos Godwyn was apparently holed up in. Instead of his Blue Beetle costume he was now wearing a dark blue suit and white shirt, a powder blue waistcoat and tie, and a bowler hat that matched his attire. His finger still hurt like hell, and if anything the pain intensified when he stepped through the bubble. What was it about the little things that hurt the most?

“Subjective reality. Okay. Weird, but doable. What do you guys think?”

Ted turned to look at the other members of the Justice League assembled, but there was nobody else with him at the city limits of Ugthothlhem. The shimmering veil that separated the outside world to the one inside the bubble still stood, and there were silhouettes present in the shape of his friends where they had all stepped through-- but why was he the only one standing here?

Ted searched his pockets for any equipment that had been on his person when he entered the town. “Nothing. Of course.” He tipped his hat and let out a low exhale. Above his head, the sky cracked and boomed with thunder, but no rain came. There was a tension in the air, a heavy pressure that he couldn’t be sure was external to him, or internal to his head. He wondered if it was both.

“Okay, bubble horror reality built on non-Euclidean geometry. Let’s see what life is like in the middle of town and let’s figure out where the hell my team went…”

After a short walk from the edge of the town, where he had entered this odd pocket dimension, Ted Kord arrived in the centre of Ugthothlhem. The locals smiled and waved at his presence and to maintain his cover as not-someone-who-was-going to-cause-trouble, he returned the gesture, a smile and nod added to the repertoire. Well, this isn’t awkward, he thought.

On either side of the street, shops were open, and above his head, the skies, while cloudy, full of murk and foreboding, remained bright enough. Outside the town, where Ted had been with the others in the Justice League, it was dark. Pitch black, middle of the night. Cold air and colder atmosphere, some kind of side effect from the proximity to the bubble. On the inside, the air was warm, even as clouds gathered. Was there some kind of time distortion in effect too? Did time progress differently in here? He hoped not. Figuring out the rules would take time, and with the shield around Laputa dropping in three-ish hours and his sense of time completely flummoxed by his entrance into this weird alternate world, it was time he didn’t have.

Not that Ted was complaining, but his finger hurt from where Barda had violently slapped Enos Godwyn’s book out of his hand. He’d popped it back into place, but the fact it still hurt told him something. His clothing had changed, sure. His friends had vanished, correct. But his body was still his own. He only hoped the same rules applied to the others if he found them.

Everyone looked mildly unperturbed by this stranger’s presence, which was weird. This town wasn’t real, it was, for all intents and purposes, an invading force. A bubble reality landed smack dab on top of another town, Whilkirk, that truly was real. Ted didn’t know if the citizens of that town, all couple of thousand or so, had survived the landfall of the invading alternate reality, but he prayed they did.

So who were these people, dressed like they were straight out of the 1920s, all three-piece suits and summer dresses? It was calm, peaceful. But beneath the veneer of peace he suspected something was lurking. He had every book written by the man he was searching for, Enos Godwyn, and if this place was some kind of literal, physical representation of the fictional town of Ugthothlhem, then there would be horrors awaiting behind every door. Behind every corner.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” said a bulky-looking man, doffing his hat to Kord. “What brings you to our quaint suburb?”

The man had an aged white handlebar moustache, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, and there was a small, round badge on his chequered lapel that read, ‘VOTE GUERNSEY BUDD’, the name of the mayor of Ugthothlhem. He was, depending on the book you read, an inept, bumbling oaf, who was either deluding himself about the events that took place across town over the years, or he didn’t care, content to live his life out in a position that offered no real power but allowed him to cut ribbons and kiss babies. The yearly elections, for whatever reason they required frequency, were a running joke in the books. Maybe there’d be some deep dark secret revealed about his true nature down the line. Maybe he was a nobody. Maybe he was the devil. But right now, Ted didn’t have anything but his genre awareness to go on. And that terrified him.

“The name’s Budd, Guernsey Budd. I’m in charge around here,” his thumbs slipped behind his suspenders, he leaned back and puffed out his chest, “been mayor of this township for as long as it matters!”

“I’m just passing through,” said Ted. Said any disposable protagonist who stepped foot in a novel written by Enos Godwyn, he thought. “But I heard,” he began to think on his feet. Something clicked in his head and he knew that if he didn’t play his cards right, he would be the first one to be offed when the murders started. Because inevitably, there would be murder, there would be horror, some extra-dimensional thing lurking in the shadows, under the bed, and if he was uninteresting, if he kept to himself and didn’t interact with the town, then why would any author want to keep him around? “But I hear,” he continued, a voice whispering in the back of his brain, telling him what he needed to do, “that a shipment has come into the local antiquities establishment that may hold my interest. The name’s Kord. Theodore Kord.” He extended his hand and the mayor took it gratefully.

“Oh? The gent who owns that place is a member of one of our oldest families in fair old Ugthothlhem,” explained Budd. “His new lady love, an out of towner, is fronting it while he’s busy with the season’s celebrations.” He leaned in close, like he had a sordid secret to tell. Or he was a pantomime villain, “She’s as meek as they come but a hard nut to crack nonetheless,” said Budd, leaning in like he had a secret to tell. “Do you know where you’re headed?”

“I do indeed, sir,” said Ted. “And I have to be getting on, but I hope to be seeing you again soon. Have a great day. Good luck with the elections!”

“How did you--?” started Budd, but then he noticed he was wearing his lapel button, and chuckled. “Oh, thank you, thank you. Be seeing you!”

As the mayor walked off, happy to engage with other citizens of his small town, Ted was left on the pavement, a damning thought dawning on him. Genre savvy be damned. I’m going to die in this place.