The Gift of the One (Young Justice SI)

[ganonso]

The Gift of the One (Young Justice SI)

Author Note: This fic is heavily inspired by With this Ring by Mr Zoat the most entertaining SI in the DC universe yet. To be more precise it is inspired by WTR's version of Donna Troy who gains special abilities by making offerings to different gods. A little cross-over with the roleplaying game Scion and tadah comes this fic. As English is not my first language, feel free to point out any spelling or grammar mistake.

Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 1
I hope I'm going to wake up soon for this is a lousy dream.
The darkness that surrounds me is not natural. It is not simply the deepest of pitch black, That you can imagine and see when you're awake: the fur of a black cat by a moonless night, the color of deep space where you can see no stars. You can see this tint in natural things, wholesome things. Here this is different. I am surrounded in unnatural blackness; I drown in it. It feels like cold water above and around me, like acrid smoke choking my lungs. It is more than just an absence of light, it is cold that is more than absence of warmth. Feeling that reminds me on what I read about the Unlight of the spider-thing Ungoliant in Tolkien, except I see no webs.

Well I guess that means no more horror stories before going to sleep. From the sensations I'm guessing I'm having a nice normal nightmare, the kind where your brain is still awake and try to understand why the body won't move. I should wake up in more…

LIFE DETECTED.

What is that? It seems the darkness is moving somehow. I feel weightless now, able to fly and run. That's cool, my brain should have fallen asleep too and now I have a normal dream. I'm more lucid than usual but I should forget about everything when dawn comes.

SCANNING XILABA FOR SENTIENT BEING.

Wait. Xilaba? As in the "mayan underworld" Xilaba? As in "horrid place of death and decay whose lords were beheaded by our gods for being dicks" Xilaba? That's worrying. And scanning for sentient beings? That reminds me of something. What I was reading, seeing or playing about darkness and scanning? Tolkien? No, that sounded mechanical, more SF than fantasy? Warhammer? Possible I could dream about Necrons but… A moment. Necron. Nekron.

I am having a nightmare about Blackest Night? The comic? Shit. Why can't this be a normal DC dream where you bang Superman or a GL?

Since I'm lucid enough to not want a Black Power Ring attached to my dream self, followed by a zombie apocalypse, I dive downwards deeper in the darkness, hoping against all hopes, the ring won't follow me if I leave this place. That seems to work, I'm falling more quickly with each instant, as if I'm becoming heavier.

I seem to have touched the bottom. No more absence of body. If I was younger, I would think I'm awake. I'm on a road with black (of course) stones bearing the inverted triangles and the lines. I see light ahead of my position. I lose no time before I start to run: All places are better than Nekron prison-tomb and most fates kinder than being a superpowered zombie bent on torture and omnicide.

TARGET ACQUIRED.

No! I won't be a Black Lantern. That makes no sense. I am alive. Not resurrected by anyone. The ring should not consider me a viable candidate. Although, didn't Superboy Prime got a black ring in one of the tie-ins. No that doesn't count, he put it on his finger on his own free will and the process didn't complete. I run on the black road, thanking whatever gods may be I have apparently no need to breathe in this dream.

Visions assail me as I escape, as if my perceptions were enhanced a thousand fold. I see the place I'm running from; A dark and forbidding pit sealed by a multicolored trapdoor. The road I'm in course between the bars. That makes less and less sense but I'm not critiquing my dream interior design. The spectrum bright door is the least offensive things about this place. I must not look, just dart and run and hope to be quicker than a power ring.

Still I see Xilaba and am sorely tempted to vomit on the floor. This place is a mess even by my imagination's nearly inexistent standards. The things I see at the edge of my vision… Forests of rot grasping the sky, rivers of slime running in all directions. A sick sun long past its prime shining just enough to conceal nothing of the horrors below. By forest, river and plain, the whole thing is covered in undead. There seem to be no end to their number or their variety. They run the whole spectrum, from skeleton bleached white by the desert sun, to zombies so recent you'd think them alive. And this crowd move, capering, laughing, dancing, fighting even rutting together in scenes who could be normal or touching if they were not performed by decaying corpses.

This place is normal underworld. It can't be. I know the standard classical interpretation of the Underworld was: place where the dead are stored but I don't remember a place so disturbing in mythology. There's too much life, too much inept imitation of the living. The places were the dead are decaying for eternity generally have them rotting on a shelf or something. Also what with the mythological mashup? I spy bat-monsters, I'm pretty sure are Mesoamerican, feasting with cheap copies of Nosferatu and corpses, in what I assume are, mandarin robes.

My pace slow. I'm arriving at a crossroad and no road seems to go above, to the outside Classic nightmare logic. I gaze behind me an instant, no ring in view but that means nothing. Counting the path I'm on, and I'm not walking in the other direction, there are five paths exiting from this place. Strange. None of the creatures appear to walk them. Enhanced perceptions. Could you tell me please what wait at the end of these roads?

Well it seems my wish was granted. Hope that won't bite me later. Let's see.

Southern path: Dull sickly yellow road leading to a pit filled with, is that spoiled milk? I hope it's spoiled milk and not what I think it is. Ruined cities. Rotting jungles. Is that a zombie tiger? Yes, it is a zombie tiger, how charming. Nope not going here.

Western path: Black mirrored obsidian blades. Classy. It leads to a city with a Mesoamerican motif, perhaps Inca or Maya, I don't know enough to recognize the difference. Cluster of stepped pyramids. Images of a court of monsters laughing at something, two monsters playing ball with a, living screaming head, sure have your fun. Nope.

Northern path; White smooth bones leading to a boneyard. Of course, why not? This charnel house seems organized somehow, walls and roads and streets leading to the center… Where someone or something is busy crushing them all to slime. Nope.

Eastern path: Sticky red substance that is probably blood leading to… A field of poppies surrounding a little house? Let's go there, it seems less dangerous than the others destinations, at least.

I put my feet on the bloody path and sense them becoming sticky. Oh. Apparently it is one of these "I'm naked" nightmare as well. Lucky me. Flipping lucky me. I bet I'll wake with a strong urge to take a shower, or two. Still I can walk it. It is tiring, unnaturally so but I resist. Sleeping here could wake me up but I'd prefer not bathing in coagulated blood if that's possible so I power through.

Not long after I see the house and the poppy field. Black poppies whose scent is unbearably sweet. The house seems to have been built for a giant but it is strangely plain. Greco-Roman style, classic pillars. Not a trace of adornment except the statues of two winged youths and a woman with a robe of stars.

I kneel at the threshold muttering: "Hail lord or lady of this house whose name I know not. Please don't take ill of my presence in your home but allow me to pass unharmed" Well now that's done, let's seek a way outside.

Willingly I step in the darkness of the house. Not the blackness of my dream's beginning. There's something enticing in this night, something who lulls the mind and invite to let go of all burdens. Slowly I succumb to its call, resting my soaked body on the cold pavement, thinking the two youths at the entrance should be known to me. Winged youth sons of the night, that rings a bell. Hypnos and Thanatos! That's who these guys were and we're in a place of death.

How well. At least Thanatos was somewhat understood to be the patron of non-violent demise if I remember well, something with his link to sleep.

I should wake up in a few minutes and forget about all of this.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 2

This place seems better than the one I just escaped.

Escaped is not the right word. I remember falling into the embrace of black-winged Thanatos after escaping into his house. Even by the fuzzy standards of dream-logic I should be dead, not transported to some other locale.

Is this a dream though? It must be. People are not snatched from their beds to become the toys of omnipotent beings. If what I saw is real, if there's any possibility it's real and waiting for some of us at the moment of our demise, I shall never sleep again.

Perhaps I am dead. This would explain how I ended in this sick parody of afterlife. No, that's not possible. Even if I were dead in my sleep, my soul would not have been claimed by Nekron of all beings. I would have been carted off to hell immediately.

Am I sure this place is not Hell? It could look like it from a distance: a pale sun giving no warmth thrones in a grey sky. The ground is made of precious metals, gold, silver even platinum crumble into bright dust as I walk forwards. The air is heavy with whispers, so heavy I can feel the resistance at each of my steps. Where did Thanatos bring me?

I pass ghost towns as I walk. Like in the previous dream, a mish-mash of ages and epochs. I see churches in ruin, their bells rusting in silence, ransacked streets leading nowhere, blocks of stone, parts of buildings long since returned to dust. Wraiths of towers, shadows of monuments so eroded by time's caress you'd believe they were natural. In the cracks of their structures vine and pomegranate flourish, in their shade owls and bats nest near each other.

It is beautiful, in its own special way: humanity great works returning to the dust they were raised from. I see tombs, each with its ghost floating above. They come from all ages of humanity, some are so old I don't recognize them while others seem to have been made from plastic and glass.

Will I see your tomb next or even you, father? It must have been months since I've dreamed about you. Will it been displayed openly or hidden in a corner, simple setting element I won't remember? No importance. The only thing I can do in there is to walk and hope to wake up soon.

I hear water running. A river? Would be appropriate I suppose. My subconscious seems really to love clichés tonight. I wonder what dreaming of tombs means. Something like: "great changes and melancholy" I wager.

There it is. A river like I thought. Not normal but not seemingly dangerous. I know as we all know in dreams water is not that shade of pale blue, nor it is meant to emit phosphorescent grey light this way. I pass my fingers along the surface. Icy but not poisonous. At least I hope. What's beyond is hidden in mists.

The first step is painful. Not the familiar caress of ice, no. It is something more insidious, a chill to freeze the heart and the mind not the flesh. I advance and I weep for each step brings back memories of shame and sorrow. How many memories do I count before walking on the other shore? I don't know. I don't want to know. What I remember now is that among the rivers of the Greek underworld is Cocytus: the River of Tears.

I am in Hades. That's both good and bad news. Only the worst criminals are condemned to Tartarus so that's that. However, I doubt that even if died my family would have put a silver coin in my mouth to pay Charon. So I'm an intruder in the domain of a god who does not suffer trespasses. Lucky me. Lucky, lucky me.
A path is provided as always in this situation. Its tiles are of gold but I doubt they lead to Oz. I pass the usual sights of the underworld: Dark woods where the shades of suicides weep for their forsaken bodies, bogs and mires where the only flowers are the pale lotus and asphodel. Great fields of asphodel where man shaped shadows stand and drift aimlessly in the stale air. This is not a place of torment but extreme boredom if these shades are sentient. In a way it is sadder that's way because there is no justice in this. Just a long fading in a sleep-like state for those who did not become famous and lauded by their peers.

There are worse fates than this, I'm sure of that. Better fates too.

At last I see my destination. A great palace shining more than the false sun in the air. Silver, jade and gold, jasper and sardonyx are its walls, its domes and gates. I'm sure if I knew more about chemistry I would see more nuances, more colors adorning this place. Classical columns support a pediment engraved with scenes of a great war whose details I can scarcely made out.
A war against progenitors, against children, siblings and brothers. A war of fire, lightning and ice against the very creators of the world, against those who are prophesied to end it. The defeated falling like stars from their high thrones to be imprisoned in bleak Tartarus, some going into darkness willingly, most being forced to by spear and sword.

What did the Phantom Stranger say to Tim Hunter in the first Book of Magic comic? Something like the past is only a point of view and that history is mutable. Well that's certainly true in D.C. Crisis after crisis the universe is remade. So I suppose the Titanomachy could be a thing here.

I walk to the great threshold and kneel before the two…

Wait a second. They are more than two. Much more than two. In the darkness of the gate I see their thrones aligned on multiple ranks. So many faces. Some I recognize. A facies graved in emerald: Osiris. A jackal-headed man holding the cross of life: Anubis. The black-haired master of this place and his pale lady: Hades and Persephone. They are all here. The gods of death are all here. So many faces I don't identify, skeletons, ice-clad ladies, even a woman covered by mane of tangled hair so deep I can't see through.

They are terrifying in their immobility. I can sense their power even if they don't move, sending shivers down my spine. And, as it is normal and natural to worship what one's fears, I fall to my knees, head against the dust and mutter a feeble prayer.

"Lord Hades and you Lady Persephone master of these lands and guardians of the dead of my homeland. Lord Anubis and Osiris, guides and lord of the dead in the starry fields of paradise. Lady Hel who waits every mortal end. And you whose name and titles I ignore. I beg of you to forgive me for any offense I l may have caused you and to not judge me too harshly for I did good while I was on Earth."

"THAT'S DEBATABLE MORTAL" HE'S AN APT CANDIDATE THOUGH.

What? What is this voice. Like bones cracking and water falling, like plants growing and wind blowing. Do they speak in chorus or what? Their voice fills my mind with images like it was something more than sound, more than simple speech.

"YOU DID NOTHING OF IMPORT ON EARTH, FOR GOOD OR ILL." HE IS TAINTED THOUGH. WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT.

Subconscious, that's a low blow. Please stop. Dreams are not supposed to lower your self-esteem even if this is completely true. I still babble something like "Who are you?" before they answer with a chuckle.

"WE ARE THE GODS"

Temples filled with offerings, crowds of worshippers kneeling, sacrificing, praying, thanking, begging. Tribute of marble, of precious stones, of flesh, of silk and many other sweet things.

"WHO HOLD DOMINION OVER THE GRAVE." REVILED AND MOCKED AND SCORNED FOR FAULT NOT OUR OWN.

High domains and proud kingdoms. Shades falling in the ocean, passing the rivers, on boat, sprouting like weeds, always in the shadow of great wings forever flapping, forever beating. Realms of delight for the virtuous, fields bordering the green river of forgetfulness, gardens under starlight tending by ghostly servants, blissful chambers of uninterrupted sleep. Realms of waiting where shades fade under the trees or in the mud, neither blessed or punished, just separated of the world and gazing on their dread lords with terrified awe. Realms of punishment beyond human reason, places of justice full of fire and gnashing of teeth, of cold and blood and blades. Realms essential to the multiverse's ecology but rarely liked.

"YOU KNOW THE STORM THAT IS COMING. YOU ALREADY ESCAPED ONE OF OUR ENNEMIES TO COME HERE." SUCH LUCK WILL SERVE US WELL

No. No. Nope. I'm not hearing this. I'm not hearing this. Lousy dream, end, now. I don't want to remember that. I don't want to think about that. Quick, distract them.
"The dream I dreamt just before? How could have I escaped that place?"

"A TORCH CAN'T ENTER A PAPER HOUSE WITHOUT SETTING IT ABLAZE, BUT A SPARK CAN." NOT UNSCATHED THOUGH

Cryptic nonsense is cryptic but whatever, let's continue.

"If this place was real that means you are in a world of heroes. I'm sure they could help with any of your problems. You don't need me for anything, do you."
Something like a laugh, harsh and cold fills the air.

"THIS WORLD IS FULL OF HEROES, TRUE ENOUGH"

More images I recognize: Wonder Woman with her armor casting Ares from the sky, Batman brooding on a gargoyle watching his city, Superman wrestling some kind of Alien, the Flash against the rogues, red lightning against heath and cold, Hal Jordan battling Sinestro, green against yellow light. I've fallen on one of DC's "normalish" earths. Wonderful:

"HOWEVER THEY DEFEND THE LIVINGS. THE DEAD RECQUIRE AN ADVOCATE."

Do they mean me? Ok I had my doubts but I definitively dream. No way a council of gods would pick a slightly overweight 25's year student to serve them. Especially not if they had access to DC's population. I mean, they could select what-its-name the Black Adam kid who was resurrected in Brightest Day or any number of teen heroes that exist. Hell! Superboy died once if I remember well, why not a Kryptonian champion? Would be more useful than old me.
On the other hand, that would be interesting if not fun. One more superhero would not change everything and besides it's a dream. I could use some good old fashioned, you as super reverie after this night. As if they sensed my approval of the idea, I sense myself being lifted in the air, arms and legs spread as Their gazes burn into my flesh.

"SUCH ENTHUSIASM IS VERY MUCH APPRECIATED MORTAL."

And then the pain begins.

My legs and arms are spread around and my skin is parted. I'm spread in directions not perceivable by mortal mans, every cell and every thought and every speck of energy left bare for their probing attention. Sometimes they see something they don't like and sense my essence be cut and burned and branded, forced to adapt, forced to change. They reach my dreams; they reach my memories but let them untouched. They sculpt me with hammer and chisel, sometimes erasing entire parts whose use I don't know, sometimes destroying a stray cell with absolute minutiae.
Then, when they judge they have taken enough, they give and it's perhaps worse. Whispers invade my mind, filling it with secrets I don't want, knowledge I refuse, magic unfit for any man My eyes! What are they doing to my eyes? I feel them boiling as if they replaced them with living fire. Probing fingers poke my bones, scratching them with patient care, writing upon them perhaps.

My limbs quake and shivers, trying in vain to escape their grip. Am I having a seizure in my bed and suffering it in the dream? My hands seem to multiply until I'm like a Hindu god with each hand holding a weapon or a sacrament. Something is forced between my clanking teeth, protecting my tongue. They put something on my head, cold and harsh. Why am I still conscious? Why am I still conscious? Burned and cut and probed and changed, and still I am awake. Make it stop! Make it stop! I beg of you. Masters, I…

My prayer is apparently heard for they cease and they put me, gently, softly on the floor. Please, I want to wake up, I want to wake up now. Pain is replaced by drowsiness and I fall once more into sleep

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day: Part 3
SLAUGHTER SWAMP, NEW JERSEY
JUNE, 20 2010: 6.00 AM

What it is the American say? Third time's the charm. That's true in my case I think. If that was the first time I woke up in a strange place this night, I would think this is a messed-up dream. Now? After having travelled through hell and Hades to this place, I'm ready to consider all I lived before as real.

That's not a comforting new. That's not a comforting new at all. DC's Earth is one of the most dangerous place I can imagine and for the look of it, I was not dragged to plain old France where at least there are no crisis and supervillains.

Also more importantly, that means the agony earlier has all chances to be real as well. I've entered the service of gods. I hope their blessings will be worth the pain. I guess Captain Marvel powerset should be compensation enough but I'm not very hopeful.

I rise from the muddy ground, quickly checking if nothing is amiss. Thank the gods, I'm not naked anymore even if I doubt the black toga I'm wearing would be considered decent clothing. From the look of it, I have still all my body parts and I'm still human-looking, at least in general shape. I'll need a mirror to see if my skin has not taken a strange hue or I didn't had a case of "obligatory cosmetic superhero makeover". Unfortunately, a rapid touch at my belly convinces me I'm still overweight and without an ounce of muscle. Could be a problem.

I still have no idea on where I am except it's a swamp. I suppose it would have killed the gods to transport me to the local graveyard or anywhere I could get my bearings straight. The dawn breaks in the East and it inspires in me neither fear nor disgust. Good that means they didn't transform me into a vampire or another evil-looking creature.

"What would we do such a thing?"

I jump by reflex. The words sound like they are directly whispered in my ear, a clearly masculine voice that sounds both sweet and mocking, but there's no one around me. Telepathy? Invisible and intangible being? Neither possibility sounds too good.

"Spare me your quivering. I'm in you and speaks from your mind's depth. It's rather comfy in here. At least when you're not shitting yourself in abject fear."

In me? How? They inserted it! They inserted that thing in me during their little torture session on the other side!

"Your grasp of the obvious is astonishing. But I feel we're taking a wrong start. I'm here to advise you and help you in your quests. For this purpose, I was created and placed in your head. And before you ask, no I can't control or influence your thoughts. You still have your free will."

Awesome. I get a snarky advisor as my sidekick. Truly the gods have blessed me beyond mortal dreams. I focus my thoughts towards the voice, managing a thought-sentence.

"What are you what's your name?"

"I'm nothing of importance. When humans want to do something, they create tools. When gods want to do the same thing, they create servants. I guess you could consider me a more talky version of a Motherbox. As for my name: Sub Julio I was born, in the time of false and lying gods. They didn't give me, only my function. After browsing your mind, I think I quite like the sound of Vergil. I'm here to guide you after all."

Vergil it is then, which would make my probable super-hero name… I sincerely hope this parallel has not a Devil May Cry franchise or that could become very embarrassing.

"So Vergil. Do you know where we are?"

"You don't recognize the place? Strange but I suppose the gods' gifts are nothing without the instinct to use them. Say what. Focus your eyes to see what's beyond the material world and you will have your answer."

Focus my eyes? How the hell do I do that? I sigh and decide to concentrate on looking on a large patch of mire in front of me. At first I don't see anything except the mud, the dead wood floating in brackish water, but, after a minute or two of making my eyes ache, that changes.

The light of the rising sun is dimmed while some sort of vapor emanates from the swamp. Indistinct shapes dance at the edge of my visions, wisps popping in and popping out at regular intervals. Then comes the flow of images: I see a man richly dressed fall into the mud, his throat has been slashed open. The swamp energies bathe his corpse from years, turning gold to white, human frailty to undead strength, cruel intelligence to base cunning. At last he rises, the mire both his grave and the crucible of his terrible rebirth.

Well I guess that answers it. If I saw the birth of Solomon Grundy, I must be in Slaughter Swamp somewhat near Gotham. Seeing the deaths that occurred in a particular place could be useful for detective work but if my only power is being a glorified medium, I'll be somewhat cross. Well only a way to find out.

"Vergil, what are my powers and what I must do to keep our masters happy."

"Unfortunately, the answer to both questions is: I don't exactly know. To be fair I think none knows yet the answer to the first one. Being empowered by a dozen or so of mighty gods is not something that happens that often.

I can at least give you the basics. As you saw you can see the outskirts of the realm of the dead, you can also affect things there and enter it with minimal efforts. That's your normal everyday power. Now you can pray to a god to obtain a watered down version of his own abilities and panoplies. I'm not sure how exactly they will express themselves, but it'll certainly enough to make you a hero. The powers will pass with the rising or setting of the sun and the moon.

More important it's when you'll connect to a god that I will be able to relay their wished and commands to you. As far as I was briefed most want you to protect the world, gain them worshippers, do good deeds in their name and so on."

"Any of these gods who'd grant super-speed or flight"

"Lord Vayu of the Yazata is also god of the wind and the breath. He should do the trick, just pray and feel his power fill your veins."

Just pray? Easier said than done, especially when I don't know the form of address or the titles of the deity in question. Well, who risks nothing…

"Lord of the breath, lord of the wind. Vayu that blows on the dead and return their mortal breath to those who had given it. I implore you to show me favor and give me the power to serve you in all things."

For maybe three minutes, I feel nothing, then a burning sensation in my belly, going up and up until my tongue seems to be on fire. An unnatural wind rises around me, coils around me, both strike and caress. Moved by something I don't understand I raise my hands to lower them filled with a golden pommeled sword. The toga I wore has become chainmail, gold and silver chainmail moving with its own life.

It doesn't hurt anymore. Whatever the sensation is, it is glorious. I feel the air around me, conscious of each breeze's movement. I see the swamp for what it could be. A beautiful place where the dead would return to nature, not the polluted abomination it presently is. In my mind I hear Vergil's whispering what could be prayers.

"We are servant of truth, telling no lies. We fight against injustice and corruption when our gaze meets them and we'll deal with them as swiftly as the wind you command…"

Truth. Yes, I understand, the gods of ancient Persia were devoted to the concept to an extent few pantheons are or were. I truly hope lord Vayu tolerates associating with masked vigilantes because most of the Justice League have secret identities and thus lie.

That's no important for now. I jump in the air and doesn't fall back. I trip a lot as I ascend, finding the very wind is solid for my feet and I can command it to be a path for me. Strange, I don't fly, not like the heroes I saw on TV or in comics. I walk in the sky without expanding much effort. The closest analogue I can find is these flat escalators you see sometimes in airports. Not the fastest way to go but way less tiring than simply walking around.

I walk upwards until I can see the buildings of Gotham in the horizon. With trust I jump from my cloudy perch, bend my knees as I propel myself forward in the classical position of flying superheroes. I'll need a few tries to become proficient in this, but feeling the air around me as I push towards the city make even this first awkwardness worth it.

I should arrive in Gotham in an hour top. I wonder how the city looks in broad uncloudy daylight.

 

[Prince Charon]

Interesting.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 4
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY
JUNE, 20 2010: 3.00 P.M

It was a time I would have called Gotham as the very definition of unrealistic. A city so riddled in crime it collapses on itself in the absence of a lone vigilante and his adopted family. A city both decaying and wealthy slowly rotting in the water of its harbor while crime ran rampant in the deserted streets. No way it was possible screamed my child's mind. The whole thing could not have run itself, people would have left, industries would have closed, life would have become unsustainable. It was before I learned of the world, before I understood how, in places like this, criminals tend to bring order, mostly because chaos is bad for business and dead men pay no debt.

Still it's the seventh unmarked grave I dug up since my arrival in the city and I know there's a lot more. This one was clumsily buried in the corners of an abandoned ACE CHEMICALS building. While I lay him on the ground, I'm surprised by my feelings or rather my lack of. It's one thing to have Vergil pontificate on how the gods have burned the horror of death from my mind, but experiencing it is another thing entirely, a much more disquieting thing.

It's not that I find it beautiful. The corpse is barely even recognizable as a male after all this time. The skin is black from decay and I can perceive the faint shapes of the colony of worms that nest in what remains of his lungs. His face was damaged before his death, the skin burned by some kind of acid who left marks on the rest of the body. I see a network of scars running along muscled arms, forgotten shapes of old tattoos still visible even after death. He wore something reddish in color, even if it's difficult to tell from clothes as badly stained as these. No I don't find it beautiful at all.

Neither I am wholly indifferent towards the body. I don't consider it like you can consider a slab of meat on the market place. It is not only a carcass of rotten flesh deserving no attention. It housed the spark of human consciousness, it was human just like me and so it deserves to be treated and send off ritually. Burying, burning or leaving our people to the crows is what distinguishes us from most animals.

Now if his wraith could only shut up for a minute, I could do just that like I did with the six previous ones. I swear these ghosts understand their bodies are the only things that tether them to the world and they don't want to go. They don't understand they stayed only because the treatment of their mortal coil was so wrong they couldn't let go.

Death comes to us all and it not the dead places to linger where they have no place.

Still I feel no disgust in ordering the wind to carry the body for me, no revulsion at the thought of what I'm going to do. No primal connection between my ultimate fate and his. No sickness in the heart or the belly at the sight of his open wound and wormy innards. I could walk to mass grave and simply think of the most efficient way to treat the bodies there with respect.

When I arrived in Gotham, I found the city fair under the bright sun. As a normal comics' fan I was aware of the corruption running beneath the streets and in the shadows. Still, in my home parallel I never went to the U.S so I lost myself quite a bit among the tall buildings and the busy streets. I thought I would quickly be arrested for being a chainmail wearing, sword-bearing guy but, in this world, apparently my get-up screams "new vigilante" rather than "budding supervillain".

I suppose that says something on the universe if anybody can walk off the street and proclaim themselves a vigilante. Coming from a country where centralized power is the way to go for centuries, I don't think that's very wise but apparently people like it. Perhaps it is a Gotham thing. Perhaps things are so hectic one more freak can't be worse.

Still I managed to obtain some info from news kiosks and broadcasts: The Justice League of this parallel has more in common with the Unlimited version than the team of seven of the first seasons. They are a rather young organization, having formed seven years ago to fight an alien invasion. The Justice Society is no longer active but Wonder Woman was a member beating the record of "longest serving superhero." Dick Grayson is still a young teen so I guess he's still Robin.

And of course it is 2010 so in addition to moving to another world I have been dragged six years into the past. I don't know what to think of that. I have not been translated to my seventeen years old self so I guess it's ok but still I wonder if it's a real time difference or just an incoherence with calendars.

I was still wondering when I perceived them for the first time.

Having the gift of second sight is strange. While I had problems activating it in the swamp, in Gotham I have the inverse problem. It activated two hours after my arrival and I can't manage to stop it. I see shapes of old buildings superseded with more recent constructions. Some seem to be cloaked in shadows, others nearly invisible. And on them and around them crawls the crowd of unquiet shades who are apparently my responsibility.

Most, nearly all of them are unable to affect the world of the living in whatever fashion. Thank the gods for small mercies, the barrier between the world beyond and the world of flesh and bone is solid here. I was attracted by some of them who appeared to stand still above some locations, moaning softly. I got to one of them and discovered my first Gotham corpse.

A stolen shovel later and I was engaged in my merry round of bringing the dead above.

The first one I simply called these brave men and women of the GCPD, not sticking around to see if they did their job after I did part of mine. Vergil was very surprised at the notion of letting the proper authorities handle a freshly killed corpse but didn't object to my sticking to obviously criminal corpses afterwards.

"You are not very efficient. I'm sure we could have managed twice the number if you were quicker," quips Vergil in my mind, taking me out of my reverie I try to modulate my thought voice in a scolding tone before answering but I'm not sure I got the trick yet.

"Lord Vayu has not judged fit to give me strength beyond the dreams of mortal man and his preferred method of disposal take time. Or would you prefer I content myself with taking their last breath and leaving them to rot?"

No answer, of course. I use the wind to climb to the roof of the ransacked building laying the corpse in front of me. Now comes the disgusting part, or at least the part that should be disgusting to me.

I approach my mouth to the corpse's, fortunately it is already open, no need to break it open for this one. I take an inspiration and breathe deeply sensing a breeze that shouldn't be here emanate from the ruined life. The ghost has at last ceased his screaming and I surrender to the deluge of impression given by the man's final death. Not many things, just pain, acid and laughter but still enough to identify him as a former accomplice of the Joker killed by one of his boss' many practical jokes.

Well next part then. I hold my sword tightly and begins to hack the corpse to pieces. Not an easy task even considering my magical blade. I know I will have to do it again in a few minutes anyway. I cast my head towards the sky and let go an anguished screech.

And they answer in the moment. Crows, ravens and other carrion birds come in a cloud of black wings. They surround the ruined bodies, each taking his fill. It takes time to separate the rotten meat from the ruined bones. Like the five previous times, I regret not having the tools to properly render the body a neat mound of meat like in true traditional sky-burials.

I have to summon the birds three more times after having hacked the remaining bones to smaller and smaller pieces before they leave nothing of note. There neither fire nor earth are polluted with the presence of death and balance restored.

"What are we doing now?"

"I'll do this one more time, then a bit of rest before thinking about a way to attract heroic attention in a proper fashion." A foolish, foolish thought make its way to my head. "Say what do you say about a meeting with Batman at his home? Impressing him would be a good first step towards acceptance."

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1 Kneeling Day part 5:
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY
JUNE, 20, 2010, 8.00 P.M

"Your plan is insane."

You know what's annoying: Having a nicely constructed project in your head and having someone destroy it. The worst part is I know Vergil is right. This is a risky plan all-around and it involves being in pain for quite a while. It could totally work though and at the end the League would have to know I'm perfectly trustworthy or at least not dangerous. I can offer them a versatile power package with competences they don't have in quantity. While Batman and the Flash are supremely gifted detectives, the capacity I demonstrated to discover hastily buried bodies even after decades could be damn useful to an investigating organization.

"I don't contest that part. I'm contesting the part where you think sneaking in the sanctum of a known paranoid will be interpreted as a sign of competence, and the part where you end being beat up for your presumption and possibly antagonizing the chosen of the Theoï in the process. I especially contest the part where the whole reason for this course of action is your desire to see if you can defeat a known superhero or his sidekick in stealth or battle making this a simple matter of hubris."

"Batman could not be home and we're be meeting with Alfred…"

"Much better then. It's not even using the glorious gifts of the gods to pick a fight you can't win but using them to sneak around a doddering old butler. A truly worthy usage of your might, a display worthy of the legends of old. "

I'm scolded by the thing, the gods implanted in me to serve me. I don't think that meant to happen.

"I'm here to advise you, child, not to watch blindly while you go merrily running into a cliff. If this city hero is so difficult to approach, why not go see another?"

"Even with lord Vayu's gifts it would take at least a day to reach another protected city. As the gods have, in their wisdom, not see fit to grant me money or free me from human frailties such as hunger I'm going to need to get attention soon or begin to steal at least a minimum."

"So that leaves two solutions: The authorities or the attention-seeking actions."

"Like what exactly? Building giant statues of our masters for all to see? Or a great temple complex just outside the city. That would make the League go ballistic on me. Even if I admit it could be fun."

The scene plays out in my mind. I use the powers of an earth-associated god to order pillars and columns and great idols of bronze and white stone to sprout from the very ground. As I place the capstone on the greatest edifice, an angry team of heroes come to ask me what I'm doing.

Bad idea if the plan is to avoid getting beat up by heroes. I don't know the Justice League of this parallel but I'm sure the answer to religious buildings appearing overnight would be to kick first and asks questions later.

As for contacting the authorities.

"So you want me to go to a police department who fights costumed freaks for most of the time and says I want to see the commissioner. They'll shoot me dead before I finish speaking and knowing their enemies, they would be mostly right. You said yourself lord Vayu's didn't make me impervious to man-made weapons."

"Then pray to a god of endurance if you have so little trust in your own skill. Hades, Hel or the Baron are known for their stamina"

True, true, that should make me more difficult to kill at least. So which one? Hades? No, black toga, helmet of invisibility and bident don't strike me as the most innocuous clothing and earth manipulation strikes me as a quick way to cause an accident. Hel? No even if I'm not struck with the "half rotten" deformity I'd prefer invoke a notoriously cranky goddess after having warned fellow heroes of my abilities. The Baron is better, an American deity in his own right. Perhaps I could meet with some of his worshippers. Gotham should have a Voodooist community or at least people recognizing the Baron ritual garb for what it is.

What do I remember of the Baron? God of death and disease, master of the ancestor spirits, something to do with health and disease. Wait health? Healing powers are rare in the comics, the only medic I remember is Doctor Midnight and it seemed every ailing hero was brought to him. This could also be a surest way to get to the League without risking anything.

And if I get only an authority on disease and sickness? That would be less useful sure but I'm not worried. In every mythology those powers spreading blight and pestilence can stay their hands at will or drive away the plague.

Plus, I'm remembering Baron Samedi as being described as a joyful god, surely happier than dour Hades and sad Hel. After a day passed to tending to the dead a bit of fun will not be too much.

I slowly rise from my hiding place. After having sky-buried my eighth corpse, jolly work that was, I explained my plan to Vergil. It was meant to be simple really: Pray to Lord Hades and gain the helmet of invisibility he's famed for in addition to the capacity to manipulate earth and sense my location underground. Then use these capacities to sneak in the Batcave, revealing myself to Batman or Alfred. Vergil's screams, even if I know I was the only one to hear them pushed me to seek an abandoned building in Gotham's Narrows, near my final tended corpse, to argue my case. I did not expect this creature to show itself so stubborn, and to convince me so quickly of my true reasons to act like this. Truthfully, the last two hours arguing was more the sheer sake of it than any sensible reason.

I'm still hungry though, the belly aches having long been replaced with the familiar nausea. Unfortunately for me none of the bodies I tended had loose change in their ruined clothes. Indeed, they were quite picked clean of material possessions. Well I suppose it's the way of all cities.

While I look at the life that prosper there, I can't keep myself to feel sad. While I don't doubt than Batman crusade against crime is benefitting this city in the long and short run, the sheer number of homeless I'm seeing doesn't put a good view of his efforts to improve his city. They are certainly more numerous than at home and in worse state. While we have our share of beggars, that wasn't until recently we saw amputees and really sick people in number in the streets. Here? I'm halfway thinking I lost myself in a Victor Hugo novel and contemplates the Court of Miracles reborn. Here in the Narrows I saw people without an eye, an arm, a leg, suffering from all sort of pathologies and some I'm pretty sure imitate these pathologies because it makes begging more efficient. Story as old as time really.

Gotham gleaming appearance is nothing but a shell even after more than a decade of Waynetech investments, traditional factories still sits abandoned, home to vagrants and criminals. Apparently the city was quite famous before the end of the 70's for its toys and circus apparatus. Strangely I think that explains much on how the Joker and the others can create their branded items so easily, there's still a considerable stock to plunder and customize.

The city didn't recover from their factories closing and a very disproportionate population of criminals and vagrants existed since. Bruce Wayne does everything he can to reduce both these numbers but the freak criminals of Gotham make the city a nightmare to invest.

Which explains why I got thirty homeless in walking distance. Still that's not a number I would have imagined back home. Sure most of them are not really homeless, if you consider squatting abandoned apartment complexes is not homelessness but still they give me an idea for attracting the attention of the Justice League, or more urgent, get myself a bit of food and place to stay for the night.

So I trace figures in the dusty street while reverting to my own native French to summon the Baron's power:

"Je vous salue Baron Samedi et loue votre nom. Dieu des esclaves, dieu de la liberté après la mort , patriarche des Ghédés je vous prie de m'accorder vos faveurs. Dieu des fêtes et des sabbats attendant à chaque carrefour, je vous invoque avec votre nom et votre pouvoir.

Hail Baron Samedi and hallowed be your name. Slave god, god of the final freedom, patriarch of the Ghedés I pray and asks for your favor. God of the party, of the sabbats waiting at each crossroad between this world and the next I invoke your name and your power."

While Vayu's touch was a bright sensation filling my chest to jump outside at the rhythm of my breath, the Baron's grace is both more primal and more joyous. Music fills my ears like drums and jazz, and flutes, furious dance and mournful dirge. I feel something flowing down my throat, burning like alcohol all the way down. I jump in the open street, I dance and laugh as my clothes change once again, becoming a smoking, a white shirt and a top hat. In my hands a skull headed staff is placed and I continue to dance, slow and mocking until the transformation is complete.

Vergil's voice is now whispering sweet mischief in my brain, suggesting gross practical jokes, some are really tempting, others like filling every seventh needle with AIDS very much less so. He confirms what I thought, I can heal people with that power. That requires of course some of my energy but a little fatigue is small cost for being able to play Jesus.

Of course I immediately sense the limits of such an ability: Purging toxins and sealing wounds are easy, but regrowing entire limbs or actively destroy an ongoing disease, that's beyond my reach.

"But not of mine."

The voice that resounds in my head is not Vergil's. Indeed, I sense him cowering in the recesses of my mind, muttering prayers to ours masters. Of course I remember now. The Loa are known to possess their devotees when they want it. I suppose there are worse fates than to treat directly with a death god, voice to voice. I manage to answer to the god.

"Greetings Baron, what is your will?"

"Tonight? Only to get what amusement I can from your antics. Like you said I'm a partying god." A warm old laugh makes my bones echo for a moment. "Also as one of the gods closest to the mortals I'm the ideal candidate to complete your instruction.

Now while your initial plan was not the subtlest or the most well thought, it showed you understood the basics of your condition and was able to extrapolate the power sets you can obtain. At least it proves we didn't kill your brain.

Now imitating us and using phantoms of our weapons is fine but we didn't change the architecture of your soul for these paltry tricks. Unfortunately, your flesh is still unable to house our glory. You were meant to channel our full might, to enable us to act on this worl using you as a medium.

And thus you can assume a more powerful form than this pale shadow. At the price of great pain, you can be a bit more like us and not like you were. "

"I'm able to be a god incarnate on earth?"

"No. Or rather yes but the transformation would last minutes before our light rendered you to ashes. I'm talking about an intermediate level here, enough to fight alongside these world heroes but not divine. A temporary boost paid in flesh and bone and pain."

"I remember quite a bit of agony when you empowered me. I think I can bear a little more."

"We didn't do it by sadism. Hollowing a soul to make it a medium for our powers and stretching it to accommodate the possibility of your own future godhood is not an easy process even for masters in these matters.

But I digress, like I said I can provide you with your first taste of true power, the one you're meant to wear in battle in our name. I will even lead you in the first steps and ensure you don't level these decayed excuses for buildings in a temper tantrum.

What says you to this Raphael? "

Well it's not like I can really say no to a god, can I?

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1 Kneeling Day: part 6
GOTHAM, NEW JERSEY
Night of June,21,2010

How to describe what I'm feeling now? How to describe apotheosis, or at least, the nearest version I will experience?

I could say it's painful. Like blades inserted between your skin and your bones, like being stretched out and filled with golden flame. I could say that to become the Baron is to feel your lungs fill with salt water while your mouth mutter prayers to gods that can't hear or help you. I could say it is to feel the wet earth enclose you, birth a pestilence that will destroy all of you. I could say it's to laugh a desperate laugh as you see other dies and seek any oblivion to help you forget your plight.

I could say that and it would be true but it's not the whole of what I'm feeling. It's not like when I invoked his power. There I was filled with his might but only temporarily like the rush of alcohol down the throat, burning then dying off with only sadness to replace what joy you took. There the sensation won't die down, won't slow down. I don't yet know if the others will be like that but he doesn't want the party stopping, the joy fading, even if you are death.

I dance still. I dance with more fury I ever felt, jumping and kneeling and capering, spreading my arms wide, shifting on my legs, dancing the lascivious dance moved by a will not my own. My skin feels dry and bone like, painted black to better contrast with the apparent skeleton. My face bears the white skull design and the grin of lipless mouth. And still I move, still I dance pointing the skull-tipped staff in every direction.

I feel his will but I'm no puppet even if I could be. I'm his horse to mount and ride and let wander as he sees fit and I'm grateful for the fact. I feel the power filling my veins, making more than human, more than superhuman. The rich texture of the earth even hidden by the asphalt, the aching to shake, to tremble. The power of health so double-faced, to breed disease as well as to remove it, to blight as well as bless. And of course the majesties of death, the courts of the ghedes and the rotting servants ready to answer the call, to dance with me in a waltz worthy of this great city of innumerable crimes.

Once I was ignorant, unable to see the truth beyond flesh and bone. Once I was blind for I saw the world with fleshy eyes, eyes that would die. Now I see more, more than I ever wanted. The Baron's will is in me now, twisting and turning while his voice drives me on. I'm warm in the night of June, hot enough to want to laugh, to revel and to cry out in joy.

Three beggars are near my position. A man with only one eye and the scars of war in his mind and body. A boy, beautiful even near his death with veins filled by poison. A woman struggling against one of the damnable concoctions of this city, fighting the fear scarring her flesh. I see them not as the mortals see them but with another vision. I see their ailments, their scars hidden and open, I hear what in them cry for release, what in them begs and prays to the great absence. The Baron voice in my ears urges me to make them raise, to make them dance with us as they fall, healed or dead whatever they wish. I see alcohol in their veins among other things clouding their vision.

They don't recoil from me for they don't see me.

I can heal them, make them whole again, I can do that and it pleases me better than to grant them the death they are wishing for. So still dancing I turn to them, I turn to them and with a gest of my staff I cleanse their bodies of all that would impair their sight, burning their veins of all that would protect them against the terror of my face.

They see me now. Skull face and black skin, dressed for the gala, dressed for the dance, capering near them with my staff and shadows whispering around me. They see me and they stay paralyzed with cold hard fear. We're in Gotham and criminals don't limit their predation from those targets that pay. Most of the freaks here tested their products and methods on the poor before graduating to juicer prey. Their fear amuses the Baron. It is funny to him that they should fear one coming to heal them, to recoil from the hand who would raise them up.

He laughs at the idea of a skull clad avatar of himself dancing in the streets and doing no harm in a city where laughter is wed to pain.

I take the woman first, entering the pathways of her brain, the architecture of her flesh. Old scars and sabs close when I look at them but erasing the effects of an exposure to the Scarecrow is not so easy. The Baron guides me in this endeavor, explaining that understanding the flesh better would make my task less taxing. But even as I sense a spike being nailed to my head I heal her and let her be reborn under my gaze.

The boy is the easiest. With the mocking attention of the lord of graveyard I turn the drug in his system into poison, not the deadly kind, just the ones that are expelled by several bout of intense vomiting. When he will finish, his brain will associate the drug with the terrible sensation of his innards jumping up his throat.

The man I touch the least, erasing his scars before looking in the void of his missing eye. That one is a work of art as guided by my master I recreate the organ.

They still fear me, even after being made whole again. That's normal and still entertaining. Let's see if I can redeem the good name of skull headed maniacs everywhere in a sole night, shall we.

An hour pass as I wander in the squats and back-alleys of the Narrows. Each time I heal them of more than minor diseases and wounds I feel my energy wanes and pain fill my own bones. So I help myself to their bottles and food, trying to extend the span of my power. As I go in more well-off parts of the city, people begin to see me and do what you'd expect them to be: They scream, they flee, they run. I heal them of minor scrapes all the same wondering if they will know it.

And then I see them for the first time. In my eyes they shine like no mortal here have shined. Their nature is strange, completely mortal but somehow more than any man could realistically achieve without natural gifts and the tacit blessing of the gods. Perhaps one of the Theoi could understand it better than me. Or perhaps I see them brightened by the weight of their legend, the beliefs of others surrounding them like a cloak.

I resist the temptation to reach to them as they walk towards me, to bless them without their knowing, to make them for one night impervious to fatigue or healing faster. The Baron is a bit perplexed but I don't think unasked gifts like that would be well-received and I decided to not enter in conflict with them. Despite the drink, I feel the power slowly waning, leaving me and taking what remains of my energy with it.

So I tip them my hat while smiling and loudly greeting them.

"Good night to you heroes! I would have loved to help you in every way possible but..."

My skin takes again its accustomed tone. The energy I felt is gone now and I'm so tired. Under their eyes I'm subjected to the same transformation I endured backwards. No more skull, no more bones. The staff breaks in my hand and crumbles into dust. No more unearthly music in my ears, no more godly voice in my mind. The Baron smiles while leaving, ensuring me of his pride in my work tonight.

Still I walk towards them, now empty hands facing them wide open in an attempt to mark I have no weapon. Each step is difficult, not painful, not yet but like I'm walking underwater and struggle to put a foot before the other. My clothing is returning to the shadow, morphing back to the black toga I've awakened with.

"I'm feeling a bit tired."

My legs give way under me and I fall backwards. I sense arms taking me, laying me on the ground. My body aches for sleep and I don't resist closing my eyes. I'm smiling though for I found them. Whether or not they were attracted by my actions or passed by I don't know. I don't know exactly what paths I took or where I am. I can only suppose I didn't mess up to badly since I didn't take a batarang in the face.

So I sleep a fitful sleep, knowing from now on, things are in the hands of the Batman.

 

[mkire]

I have to say I saw this somewhere else. and the first chapter just didn't catch me. I almost skipped it a second time

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1 Kneeling Day: part 7
MYSELF, DREAMSPACE?

Once people believed gods spoke in dreams. So they dreamed of their gods, of having a tiger's head, of seeing seven fields raise and then wither, of figures cloaked in thunder and of Morpheus who speaks from every mouth glimpsed in the night. When the day broke they ran to soothsayers and oracles to interpret these divine messages. They were answered by the same words every seer offers to the waiting crowd, words I myself offered: One dreams of wealth, another of love, another of his near death. Now nothing has changed. Perhaps they are fewer those who seek the truth in half-remembered riddles and images. Still some do and receive the same answers anyone who asked the invisible ever had.

I dream but I will not content myself with such paltry answers. I'm not home in a world where we uncovered the void and recoil at its sight. I'm in a place where when you call out in the darkness, the silence answers with a voice of its own. I'm in a place where prayers are still answered for better and for worse and I don't fear any knowledge. For he who seeks truth, no terror can ever touch him.

I'm wandering what I know now be my own heart with every secret laid bare, every wound gaping in the open. Nightmares made flesh and cackling fantasies walk in my shadows, haunt my steps, cry to me in hope of attention, in hope of being fed. I don't look at them for I know them already, I know them too much. They can't scream, they can taunt but I don't have to listen to them, as long as I know them. For it's only when you gazed deep into the shadows than you know what you can allow to step into the light.

I walk without being tired, passing both terror and desire, passing monuments to the colors of the rainbow, mumbling about the seven sins and the seven costs, everything and nothing, the slow wheel of life that turns without ceasing, about beauty that chains to the world. For my pleasure I sing the words of Baudelaire on death, a fitting tribute to my gods I come to meet inside myself, perfect temple and perfect offering:

"Mais dîtes à la vermine/Qui vous manger de baisers/Que j'ai gardé la forme et l'essence divine/De mes amours décomposées.

But say to the vermin/Who will eat you with their kisses/That I kept the divine essence and form/Of my decayed love"

I leave long hallways twisting and turning with every breath and their riddles and their decorations. Grids of burnished brass, gates closed to the darkness within, to the shadows that are part of all that breathe. Did I walk these hallways home without ever remembering? Did my mind organize itself like a castle of memories with each stone a sign and a reminder? How could I know. Even if my guide would tell me, how could I believe him? The Baron said my soul and my mind were hollowed then extended and instinctively I follow the breeze of air and the foreign scent to where the gods wounded me and healed me.

I see him in these rooms where rain fall and feet strike pools of water dark and deep. I see him in room where every tear ever shed shine like moonlight and every stone is made of a thought you've made pondering about death and the afterlife. I see him beyond gates where a reaping skeleton harvest from a black field where emerges two human heads and countless dispatched limbs. I see him and from that glance I burn for him.

Never mortal man enthralled me so, never painting or sculpture or all objects born from man's imagination captured my attention so. Sculpted by the hands of gods, he's beautiful as them. Smiling and ever shifting he let me see all his shapes, all his wiles. Greek statues of a young athlete with glistening bronze skin and polished immobile eyes, Egyptian painting with limbs positioned wrongly but so perfect in proportion, obsidian-skinned youth with jade jewelry and feathers and bones to adorn his nudity. And just out of sight, out of mind, just glimpsed, never looked in full, himself in silver and black, incubus in majesty. Innocent yet alluring, powerful but servile, protector, protected, beautiful as a dream of stone.

Heavy is my desire of him, my need of his embrace. In this place where thought is fact, I see my interest escape my chest to crawl around me, coiling around me like living shadow whispering of games, whispering of wants too great to be easily denied. Oh kiss me, love! Look at me, take some pity of me and let my lips embrace yours. A kiss of you and then I'd die of it. I was never one for passion but that creature I can't even describe was crafted for my pleasure in the very heart of my mind. I walk to him, using all my willpower to not run.

And when I'm near enough to smell the heady perfume of his silver locks, the illusion crumbles. In this palace where thought is real I feel his, rigid and artificial, chained and neutered by our masters. When his form changes a new set of rigid rules, a new mask made to remind me of duties, to help the gods understand the world without them and me to understand the gods. He is not sentient. Even if he's a very good imitation, the shackles he wears make sure nothing will come of it without the blessihng of the gods. My desire dies not but I cast him in the shadows for how can I rut even in dreams with someone unable to consent.

He hears my thoughts and laugh softly, taking me by the hands and guiding me as is his due to the place where my mind and the gods' meet. This is not what I expected when I heard the word "hollowed". It's not a yawning abyss waiting to consume me. It's not an iron gate barred by chains and swords. It is a great place filled to the brim with the gods' altars. The wound is visible in the scared skies above us from where it rains a red substance looking like manna and like honey on the tongue.

I count the gods, knowing from first glance even the mythologies I've never heard of. Four from the Devas. Three from the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Norse and the Aztecs. Two from the Babylonians, the Thuatha and the Orishas. One from the Inuits, Incas, Mayas, Polynesians, Persians and Slavs. An impressive gathering with some figures I love, some I'm wary of, and some I know I risk to be a poor priest to. All powers seem to be represented here, from fire and lightning, to cold and ice, to the cold imposition of order to the joyous release of chaos. Masks of my own for me to wear, weapons to wield not in my name but in theirs, to their specifications and to their conditions.

Long and loose is my leash, gilded in gold and silver the walls of my prison, still I who knelt before none must now bear in the heart of my soul the proof of my service. Still service to higher powers, to true higher powers is its own reward, isn't it?

In this place I receive instructions, some by my guide's voice sweet as the scent of roses, some by the mouth of the graven idols in the vast temples. They tell me of vast intelligences, of beings so great and powerful they are universes of their own so as one of them is Darkness while his sister is Fertility and their kinsmans are Fire and Order. They tell me of the pantheons of these places, dreadful for humanity and more dreaded still by the gods that toppled them. Some I know like mind-twisted Cronos and sun-devouring Apep. Others I didn't know such as the ones who ruled in the place of death by which I came to this world: Bone-breaking Astovidad, pestilence-cloaked Nirriti, horror-crowned Lords of Xibalba and their brother I knew of black-winged Thanatos.

While the walls of their prison are still holding, they are mortals who, not content of their own considerable power, kneel to these pantheons in hope to be rewarded, who command the creatures of these realms after summoning them through crack in ancient Tartarus, who would offer the world and its gods to those who wait chained in the darkness.

Worse still, they are those who dream of harnessing the power of the Titans to their own use. Those who speak without knowing what they are talking about to chain mighty Aten who burns like the sun and bleed him of power to feed a continent, to kill black-winged Thanatos and thus end the merciful release of death, to make those progenitors who decreed the first laws lend authority to their own mortal rules. Grievous is the danger to the world if they fail, perhaps more grievous is the danger to the world if they succeed in their ambitions.

My task is simple. The heroes and new gods of this world will enter in conflict with these madmen and I'm to make sure they win this fight. Creatures of legend are walking and preying on humanity, they must be destroyed or imprisoned back again. And to reinforce the gods I must bring them worshippers, to make them powers of their own right.

No sin is too grave in the pursuit of these goals say the god, no pleasure too taboo if I succeed in my task. For my own power will grow as my renown spread and Fate takes notice of me. In the end waits for me a golden throne at the side of the very gods that judge humanity after death, a place where nothing will be impossible.

Softly, coiled in darkness and protected by knights of shadows I dream of glory. And I smile in my dreams for I'm still young enough for greed and pride to trump fear and terror.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1 Kneeling Day: part 8
GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY
June 22, 2010, 6.00 AM

I was halfway expecting to be tied down. That would have been a perfectly natural reaction to seeing a guy morph back from skeletal hoodie to normal young adult in a world where such changes can affect the unwilling as well as the adept. Waking up without feeling my hands and my feet bound together is strange. I would have expected more paranoia or at least a gag and a blindfold. Fortunately, this Batman seems nicer than any recent counterpart I can think of. That's or I'm an exception. Both are possible.

Stretching up as I open my eyes, I feel that the bed is actually good. Not palace-class but it's a true bed nonetheless. More and more amazing, I was ready for a simple mattress in a dank hole but apparently not. Another point in my "I'm not a prisoner" book. Someone has even been kind enough to let me some bread and a bottle of water near the window. Guess I can nominate Batman for the most humane holding facilities record. Still that doesn't make much sense. If I was deemed really not dangerous, I should have been transported to a hospital and if I was deemed trouble I doubt my accommodations would be so comfortable.

Where am I exactly anyway? I'm hearing cars in the distance so I doubt I'm in Wayne Manor. The place doesn't drip and glisten with humidity so I'm guessing it' not the Batcave either. I don't remember Batman having any private hideouts in the comics to interrogate suspects and anyway that doesn't look like a holding facility for the kind of enemy Batman face. Or am I in a specialized containment unit? That seems rather probable knowing Batman. Something labeled "for suspected dangerous but not hostile individuals" perhaps.

By the windows' shutters I see the light of the dawn but I know from experience I have slept too much for that to be the dawn after my capture. So one day? Two? Three? Does that matter. I eagerly help myself to the food and drink, ready to bet a silent alarm or something has already alerted the Dark Knight I'm awake.

The place is small and devoid of all save the barest amenities: Two pieces' apartment with an empty fridge and no electronics except the electric plates in the kitchen. Someone is taking no useless risks I see. I'm completely naked, even lacking the toga the gods gave me. I suppose it must hang in the Batcave awaiting analysis. A set of non-descript grey clothing is bundled at the feet of the bed so at least I make myself decent.

In the worst case I'm waiting until the night falls, which means being bored out of my mind quickly except if Vergil can learn to play chess in my brain or I learn to reach the strange dreamspace of last night. At best, I've only a matter of minutes to think on how to present the truth to the Justice League.

"The truth is the truth. I don't see why it would need to be presented." I don't disagree mate, but I'm not ready to tell to the organization who hesitates to kill immortals I'm being sent by gods of death who do not share their morality and engagement rules. I'm not bringing up the matter of Nergal or the Morrigan if I don't need to.

So I sit cross-legged on the bed and try to master my breathing. Back home it never worked, I'm nearly hyperactive when it comes to information and activity, the type of guy who is listening music, writing then in the five minutes reading across seven or eight folders. The type of guy who cannot have enough time in the day and no ability to concentrate on work or even a game for too long.

Now it seems that changed a bit. Sure my mind still wanders but I don't feel the need to rush anymore. Draw your breath in and release him out while concentrating on something. That's the rules, isn't it. The rules that never changes. In this case I'm concentrating on the changes wrought on my body now I can fully appreciate them. They are not very visible on the outside but their implications are surprising. I wore glasses all the time and I didn't even remark their absence since my arrival. My movements even when I was hungry were more coordinated, more sure than they were in all my life. Vergil is happy to confirm my suspicions: the gods have healed me from handicap and other ailments when they transformed me.

"Vergil were the things I saw in this dream. The Titans? The mission granted to me by the gods?"

"Yes it is, they even took the time to update my own knowledge. I'm now able to advise you on nearly every form of arcane energy existing on this planet as well to answer important theological questions."

"You mean like explaining how the gods exist in a universe where the Presence, Lucifer and the New Gods are also extant?"

It's an itch that bothered me since I arrived in Gotham and saw churches as well as remembering Darkseid's entourage from the comics. Cutting through Vergil's attempts of obfuscation I understand that while the Presence claims no dominions over the pagan gods, it is undoubtedly the biggest dog in the yard. They don't know if that's an effect of the monotheistic religions gaining the upper hand or if the triune god is really the creator of the universe identified in various mythology. Still while no war is declared between the Name and the others demiurges Vergil assures some outer kingdoms of hell were seized by our masters after Lucifer decided to quit.

More worrying is the presence of creatures and beings hailing from different creations, from earlier, cruder creations. The Silk Man is apparently very much active in the world, maintaining his form of immortality by stealing the substance of more stable individuals.

The New Gods are less of a concern. Vergil seem to regard them with amused contempt, describing them as children, potent but ultimately children playing with science so advanced it could be misunderstood with magic. He seems to reserve his bile for their Manicheism, estimating it a throwback to the tme of the Titans before the gods became complex moral beings.

After a time of enlightened discussion I hear a snappy voice breaking my trance.

"We have to talk"

Not deformed as much as Nolan's own Batman but certainly not a tone I would expect Bruce Wayne to be using with his latest supermodel toy.

He's not ridiculous. I don't know how he achieves this but he does. Normally the whole get-up, I'm dressing as a bat, would be a joke like it is in some adaptations but not there. The costume is grey and look visibly like an armor with plate and gears. Even the hears of the cowl look more like high-tech antennas picking signals than a cosmetic accessory. The only bit of flesh I can see is his jaw. Why does he leave hit exposed when a simple hood can hide it? I remember a story where he explained to the Joker it was to mock the clown's complete lack of humanity or something.

"You will be happy I think to learn 30 people of Gotham have been declared healed of various ailment ranging from malnutrition to amputated limbs without ill-effect. We spent yesterday looking at them and everything seems to be well."

Yesterday? So I guess that would mean I slept a whole day. And who is this we he's talking about? Robin and he? The League? Other people.

"Your costume is or rather was very surprising for a healer, as was your strange reversion. Stranger still is the fact you don't appear in any database here and abroad. As far from the world is concerned you emerged from Slaughter Swamp, got into Gotham in a costume making people take you for fellow hero Ystin and then impersonated the Baron Samedi to heal people in my city.

As you did no evil since you got here, I have decided to forgo my usual methods. Think upon your luck while you explain your presence here."

Well from Batman it is the equivalent of a friendly greeting. I nearly smile at the thought of the welcome Hal Jordan or the Flash would have given me. Still at least I have few chances to be considered insane. If Batman already established, I have no paper trail in this world, I will not be losing any time.

"I come from a parallel universe where there are no superheroes, no magic and no proved alien. I awoke in the underworld two days ago then was empowered by the gods who rule there to be their champion. I know that sounds incredible"

"In my line of work, you quickly reconsider what is plausible or not. Wonder Woman said she received a message from her own gods yesterday to look for a new agent of theirs."

Yesterday! Was Hermes off to seduce some nymph rather than bringing the Amazon Princess to my side. I could have avoided many things on my first day if I had a mentor.

"Technically you had one." Shut up Vergil!

The dark knight's expression is unreadable as ever as he continues.

"What are your powers?"

Does he expect a true answer? Of course it's Batman we're speaking of. Fortunately, I have far more information now than two days ago. Enough I hope to quiet any worries the League could have, or to worsen them. Depends of their mood.

"I am able to channel the presence of a peculiar god giving me an ersatz of their powers. As far as I know my powers could practically encompass everything from healing to control over the elements. I know that most of my patrons are gods and goddesses of fertility and growth so I suppose plant manipulation."

"How do you intend to use such powers?"

"The gods command me to help people in their name and continue the age-old business of destroying monsters and protecting humanity. They are also afraid some of their enemies could find willing proxies and want me to watch for such eventualities."

I hesitate to speak the next part even if I rehearsed since I knew I'd come in contact with the Justice League. Batman generally love people acknowledging his seniority so I guess that will earn me his acceptance if not his confidence.

"As I have nothing in this world, I intended to serve the League in all things, acknowledging your authority and respecting any restriction you could wish of me. While I never fought in my life, I think we established I can be a competent healer if need be."

Still unreadable. Will it kill him to have some recognizable expression? It's the mask I think, depriving me of many of the social cues we are accustomed to. Still I'd want to know if he's angry with me or anything like that. But apparently no.

"Follow me! If your story is true, we have no means to send you back to your home. We will provide you with living arrangement for the time being. We are glad for your offer of help and will assess your powers to see in what capacity you can help us."

I rise to follow him out of the small apartment, risking to ask where are we going. I don't know if I must be happy or frightened by Gotham's protector answer.

"Like I said, to assess your power, your limit, your weaknesses. If your powers come from a mythological source Wonder Woman is nominally in charge of testing you.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 9

HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C

JUNE, 22, 2010 9.00 A.M

Teleportation is a strange experience. Not as uncomfortable as you would think having one's atom forcibly separated then reassembled would, but definitively strange. Perhaps it is the strange nature of my soul but during the instant the transition occurred, I thought I could actually become pure consciousness before my flesh was given form anew. That feeling was simply there the fraction of a moment but still it was disconcerting. Still that sensation aside, the League access to teleporters must double their efficiency. Batman was not forthcoming on the span of the network but I think it must cover at least the United States and parts of Europe.

I must say I will happy to depart the Dark Knight's presence. It's not he's frightening. Well he's frightening. I don't know how he manages to do this but he does it well enough to cow me into silence. Seems logical to me that if we're in the early morning he must be awake for a bit more than health would advise. Well at thirty-three he's still young enough to cope with his lifestyle effects for quite a few years. Still at this moment he's as angry as your average pre-coffee guy. I wonder what he's like when he isn't at the verge of falling asleep.

The Hall of Justice, as Batman grumbled the name to me, or at least the section we arrived look just like a normal office building crossed with a fancy gymnasium. I see sparring rooms standing against what seem to be conference rooms. The comical image of the Justice League in full regalia, each standing in his own office, shuffling paperwork comes easily to mind. Yes, I see it, the Flash working at superspeed to put stamps of approval on latest reports, one of the Greenies on kitchen duty generating glowing green utensils, Batman complaining over how he has to finance everything the others destroy. It is inaccurate as it can be but the idea is glorious. If I have the occasion to go to Hollywood, I'm totally selling the idea: Justice League Sitcom. It will be a success beyond all successes.

Batman guides me to a sparring room and… I'm not surprised to see them awake so early in the morning. In superhero work the shifts are extra-long after all. What I'm surprised by is they are sparring now and not pulling any punches. Wonder Woman and, who is this guy? The spear counterpart to Hawkgirl? He certainly looks like her, even got the same mace. Perhaps it's just for standard equipment for Thanagarian agents, that and the birdie-helm and the…harness. Yep he wears a harness on his clothes. No idea what purpose the thing serves but no discussing fashion choices.

Diana wears, well that parody of armor she wears in all continuities she's not allowed to wear pants. The bustier has been designed by Hephaistos which explains some things out. The fact she's as durable as Superman explains more but still. I'm wondering how she fares against an opponent with a weapon able to harm her.

Which as she is currently parrying the mace with her bracelets must not be easily found. Weren't these weapons extra-effective against magic in the cartoons? Apparently not as Diana is winning the fight. The alien makes devastating sweeping moves with his weapon, switching effortlessly between one and two handed styles. If that wasn't a training session I would peg him for a berserker. The amazon dodges his strikes, parrying sometimes with the edge of her bracelets without counter-attacking. The fight is long, thirty minutes but after this time, the Hawk's fury is depleted and he is vulnerable to Diana's assaults.

Guess that answers my questions. Vergil, remind me if need be to never antagonize anyone on the Justice League.

"If need be? Were you planning on doing that?" he smirks in my thoughts. Well a reminder to not get cocky doesn't hurt anyone so.

Ten minutes later, she's before us, positively radiant. Batman is a bit warmer to her than to me but not too much. Another of my suspicions is confirmed when she sends him back "to get some sleep before Alfred drags him by the ear to bed like last time." There's something funny in the way the dark knight scowls and turn tail to the teleporter much quicker you'd expect him to be.

"He's always grumpy when he put too many all-nighters at once and can't sleep until the current matter is resolved. "she says with an indulgent smile. "Not the most ideal combination but you got to admire his drive."

She faces me now. She's not as young as the animated version but she's not old, certainly you never gave her eighty-five years. I'm not the best placed to judge if she's beautiful but she's got an impressive athletic physique, at least as muscled as Batman if not more. Her expression is something I can't really place: Pity, compassion, indulgence. Something in this spectrum. She offers me her hand to shake and I take it happily.

"I hope you don't hold my colleague for your holding or for his attitude. Batman is bit…difficult to connect. I'm Wonder Woman but you call me Diana. Welcome to our wondrous world, nice to meet you."

"I'm Raphael, currently without a suitably heroic nickname, hapless servant of the gods."

Yes, it's definitively a look of pity in her eyes now.

"Aren't we all? Aren't we all. We have much to discuss but that can wait a bit. Katar owes me a drink or two after this impromptu session. Care to join us?"

Well that was quick and certainly promises to be better than Batman's ministrations. I quickly acquiesce and follow her with what I imagine must be an idiot smile on my face. No judgement, no lasso of truth, things are going splendidly.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 10
WASHINGTON D.C
JUNE, 22, 2010 9.30 A.M

Sometimes things don't exactly conform to your expectations. I mean I don't believe for a second the League is still operating from the Hall of Justice. In all incarnations of the team I knew they operated from the Watchtower which makes slightly more sense for a global team than squatting in the U.S capital. How people are buying this while the rest of the building seems to be a freaking museum/shrine to the League with an official cafeteria to boot is beyond me. The museum is surprisingly humbler to what you'd expect for a team of world renowned heroes. No giant statues of the founders supporting the ceiling, nearly no frescoes depicting old battle and ancient foes. Ok the museum is dedicated to their victories, quasi uniquely from alien invaders, but the general humility is refreshing.

Granted, as I'm currently enjoying the building's food and drink, I'm not in a room to complain too heavily. The food is even not as loathsome as I expected American's confections to be, even above average for a great museum's shop. I'm more interested in my neighbors anyway. The contrast between them is enlightening.

Katar is almost Norse-like in attitude. Boisterous, quick to laugh, quick to reminisce about old battles and foes long gone, almost eager to go into a scrape once more. He seems to be a bit disappointed I didn't charge the first criminal I saw on my first day but he's very interested to hear about the phantom weapons granted by the gods and earnestly offer to train with me as, with his wife, he's one of the few Leaguers to fight with close combat weapons. Under the thunderous attitude, I can feel his gaze gauging me, evaluating me for strength and weaknesses and remember this guy was his civilization's equivalent to a western lawman and perhaps one of the Leaguers who killed before arriving to Earth.

Diana is strange. She can outboast Katar with ease: You can't exactly beat "I put the god of war on his ass one or two times in my life" in the epic department. However, I note she's engaged in many non-violent pursuit, managing contact between her island and the rest of the world, funding charities and supporting various causes in their names. I'm not dealing with the Xena-clone of the New 52, that's for sure.

I tell them my story as I remember it. Katar mutters a prayer to Mordiggian when I describe the purulent expanses of Xibalba while Diana is rather pitied by my description of dim Hades. Apparently she needed to get in there once to negotiate with Hecate the solution to Circe rampage-of-the-month, even if her divine blessings made the trek much easier. I'm at the point of my tale where I describe my coming to Gotham.

"And when I arrived, I discovered I could hear the unquiet dead. Gotham has quite a few of them as you can imagine. I didn't know what to expect so I followed the nearest that was hovering above a shadowy corner of the alley. Imagine my reaction when I discovered my first corpse."

"That must have been disquieting" says Katar "I remember my first found when I was on the force. I had to run to not contaminate the crime scene with all my puking"

"It was less horrible I would have thought. In my parallel I saw my father's corpse and it affected me way more than that. Sure, she had a slit throat and had this weird expression recent corpses apparently have. But I was more disquieted she had been left to rot than by the corpse itself. The gods apparently freed me from that peculiar sensation"

"What did you do with the corpse?" asks Diana with an intensity a little more than frightening.

"Nothing, I called the police and went on find others. These ones were old, decayed beyond all recognition. I could sense their breaths still prisoner from the dead flesh, still struggling to free itself from the corpse. I heard their ghosts scream from the state their bodies were.

So I gave them what they wanted. I freed their breaths and called birds to return them to nature. They seemed to appreciate that enough to disappear in the ether"

"They didn't want to be avenged?" Katar seems astounded by the thought. I suppose I would be too if I came from a warrior culture or didn't had parts of my feelings on death or the dead altered.

"Most of them apparently thought Batman would foil their boss' schemes whatever they were."

It's strange. I would have easily thought the League "righteous face-punchers" expecting metahumans to prove themselves by reducing crimes. However, Katar is positively happy with me burying the howling dead while Diana is actually interested if I would be able to reproduce the healing of the night at a grander scale.

The rest of the morning I listen intently to their stories, learning incidentally that the Martian Manhunter is not the last Martian in this universe but the representative of an entire cave-dwelling civilization. Most of the Rogues' gallery I'm remembering are active, even if Luthor didn't go to prison even once and is enjoying his seat as the richest man on earth. I'm their first experience in parallel universe hopping so no Crime Syndicate, Anti-Monitor, Super Prima-Donna Prime or other alternate. Diana seems to have as a project to let me spar with her to see to what limits I can push myself. After that, training and exercise regimen to at least bring me to fitness standards even without superpowers.

Fate is rarely so kind to let you plan that way. As we finish our conversations, Diana's communicator comes alive and I hear what I'm slightly sure is Superman's voice.

"Superman to leaguers in Washington, there's been a synchronized traffic accident on Arlington Memorial and Theodore Roosevelt Bridges. City services report they lost contact with the firemen and rescue team they've sent."

I have no idea what even these bridges are but that doesn't sound ominous at all.

"Wonder Woman here. I'm with Hawkman at the Hall of Justice, we're ready to intervene. ETA ten minutes at most Are there any additional information?"

"No sighting of one of our usual clients whatsoever. For all we know this is a simple accident and a series of unfortunate circumstances piling up." Beat. "I don't think we ever saw one of those, did we?"

"How Batman calls it : "never ascribe to accident what can be explained by malice, never ascribe to fate what can be explained to criminal madness. Wonder Woman out"

Katar and Diana exchange a brief glance before rising and signaling me to follow them. I think my exam just graduated from practice session to live-fire exercise. Wonderful. I pulse in my mind: "Vergil. Which of the gods would be appropriate to the situation at hand?"

"A health god would be the key to provide support. If you want to be more direct Lir's son, Oya and Sedna are gods of water."

Well then all depends on what I want to do. Joy.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 11
THE HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C
June,22,2010 09:45 AM

My choice is made, defend rather than attack support from the shadows rather than attack. Diana eyes me warily as she signals me I'm allowed to use my powers. Katar seems rather curious as he squeezes his mace's guard while his wings beat quickly in impatience.

"Sister of Magic whispered by many names. Sister of Fertility cut short by a brother's blade. Sister of Storms humbled by a son's revenge. Daughter of Earth trod upon by his own father. Daughter of Sky whose stars are like raiment on her skin. Mother of the Jackal that roams between this life and the next.

I saw you at the side of the Lord of Duat weeping for him. Your tears brought him back to life, your compassion back to health. Princess of Magic whose name is a knife howling in darkness. I invoke your name and your power Nephthys who stands alone, of a brother by a husband bereft, of a husband by a nephew bereft. By the tears you've shed, by the love you shared, by the power you wield I summon you to my help."

How much these gods differ from each other. This time I feel wormy darkness seek the way to my heart judging his flame at his taste, growing then encompassing the whole of my being. I feel the soft touch of healing flowing down my veins, a fierce protectiveness awakening beyond my eyes. I feel ancient words not uttered since the great house by the Nile was deserted dance and shiver on my tongue. My clothes don't change but under them I feel the cold kiss of bracelets and pectorals and necklaces of silver and bronze and tin and gold. Without looking at them I recognize them for what they are: The heart, the spine, the scarab and the knot. Potent symbols but where is my weapon? I needed not to ask for in my hand rests now a knotted cross, the cross of life wrought in amethyst.

Something must have changed for Diana and Katar' eyes are now appreciative. The Amazon Princess takes the time to indicate me the location of the accident, to the west of the Hall of Justice and order me to take no offensive action whatever I find there if not agreed by her. There's no need she says to risk my life if two heroes are in difficulty.

I have no intention to risk my hide if I can help it but I'm nearly sure it will come to that. It always does in these stories and I entered a world held in part by narrative laws. I know that because I see the connections now. Fate is real in this world it seems. At least I can fell his push and pull on me and them and even the mortals who stood in our presence. Each the hero of his own story, each dragging other characters along, all these stories making the great tragedy of life, death and rebirth.

What am I saying? It must be the influence of a goddess of magic doing something to my perceptions. I ask Vergil how to use my new gifts and he indicates me a way. While Diana and Katar fly away I turn away and hum a slow song in a tongue I don't understand while thinking upon them.

While Nephthys is not a goddess who leads the dead to their appointed place, she's proficient with magic and all sorcery works on connections. I've entered the story of the Justice League by meeting Batman and by my own desire to see them and serve them. I'm also in the story of the war of the Titans and the Gods and this incident could bear their mark. I go into a dark corner of the Hall.

The shadows docile and bidden open to let me step through them and rejoin the heroes.

The ecstasy of the joining quickly fades while I run across a bridge of living darkness towards the light. The ankh is still in my hand, even if I don't exactly understand what powers it can contain. An increased connection to magic is nice but can't replace the lore I haven't learned. Still fragments of spells, some I learned in my parallel knowing too well they didn't work, some I just heard whispered in my thoughts. Still I hope I won't have to use them. I hate using something without knowing all the rules.

I reemerge in front of the river, what it is named? I think I knew it once, read it in the Blue Tunics' comics. Not important. The stench of death is overflowing, coming from the two bridges I'm standing between. No obvious damage to the bridge themselves but even from here I see burning cars and bodies drifting beneath the water. I feel there are still people alive. I must go heal them and drag as many as I can out of here. I'm not seeing the two heroes though. Where are they?

My question is answered when I hear a body strike the water and Hawkman dive towards him, mace raised and ready to fall. Diana is pursuing another enemy in the sky, an enemy I don't see save as a silhouette of strange distorted angles.

Who are these guys? I don't remember seeing anything like them in the main D.C universe. Hawkman's enemy emerge from the water. What a ridiculous costume he's wearing. Skintight blue costume marked with a skull transpierced by a lightning bolt. He tries to join the bank but Katar strikes him before he does before dragging him on dry earth.

Wonder Woman is faring as well against her own enemy, fists finding weaknesses even in the deformed proportions of her opponent. She shows a violence that surprises me before I see her breaking what seems to be the creature's head with a kick. The bodies fall to pieces into the light. An illusion? And what would these clowns cause a massacre at the city's entrance?

"They didn't cause it, they were there as scapegoats." says Vergil in my thoughts

What, how can you say something like that? You don't even know this guy and his "companion"! Perhaps they are simply madmen like the Joker. What am I not seeing? I focus my eyes on the bodies in the river, hoping to see something beyond the ordinary. I feel the living, the dead and the… The dead!

I see them crawling from ruined cars, floating above broken bodies. They don't want to go. They don't understand they are gone. Some of them are trying to move their corpses and some will succeed, then their hunger will consume some other livings.

And among them, emerging from the water I see her. What she is I don't know but a single gaze makes me sure as Vergil she's responsible for this. Her skin is broken steel, with open wounds weeping burning oil. Her hair is ablaze, her tears blood. She could pass for human from a distance, neither ugly nor fair but up close her inhumanity is unmistakable. I know what she is. I know because I feel it. She's a thing of accidents, a younger sister of those who cause houses to crumble on their inhabitants and lightning to strike random. Vergil names her Druj, one of the lesser demons of Persian lore, daughter to the line of Ahriman.

At her side I see a man clad in green bearing… A triangle? A burning triangle he uses to warp space. This one is mortal, just carefully hidden by the twisting of the light on his flesh. An ingenious means of invisibility but one that does not conceal the flame of his life.

The druj turns her gaze to the fallen villain at Hawkman's feet as Katar flies to help Diana disperse another illusion. The blue-clad one rises soon pointing his hands to the Thanagarian and emitting a withering ray of energy striking home.

I know what's must be done. It was foolish to think it could have happened otherwise. Vergil breathes as I begin to intone the song that unlock my deeper powers. This time I'm rested and full so it shouldn't put me in a coma. My clothes fall off as my skin is covered with a tunic of fine linen and a leopard skin. My eyes are underlined by a trait of kohl and two feathered wings hang from my arms. I feel devotion to a land of opposites, of desolation and growth. I see great cities and statues swallowed by the sand. I hear the names of the judges of Duat for I'm one who stands with them in the hall where the dead are heard.

My hands are sheathed in energy as I run against my enemy for I'm part of Nephthys who loved her brother so much she weeps to raise him to his dark throne beneath the sands. My power surrounds Katar and Diana, not only healing them of the minor and major scrapes of the fight but shielding them in enchantments, twisting their story to make them impervious to harm. As a curtesy I destroy the complex bending of light that protects Wonder-woman from her gaze.

But my enemy is the druj and against a daemon I let power flow without restraint. The ankh in my hand is surrounded by shadow until is a perfectly serviceable sword. My mouth let pass words of powers as my eyes ever-discerning try to pick the secret of her essence. I'm going to cut her and destroy her. I have the power to do this, the right to do this.

She doesn't flee. Indeed, she counter-charges me, dodging my blade and let her own power loose, speaking to my lungs to let them be filled with scalding smoke, she lies to my bones to let them be broken, she lies to my eyes to let see her as slender as a willow wand, as inoffensive as one of the corpses she created.

She lies to my flesh and my flesh believes it. Even with the joining, with the power I got, I'm still hurt at the mercy of her embrace. She is strong. Stronger than she looks and with efforts she cast me in the river to drift before speaking orders and letting me drift among corpses.

I cling to consciousness despite the pain, despite the lies, despite the wounds. I try to reach the two senior heroes and for a moment I contend with the druj in this field, incantation against incantation, spell against spell, healing against healing and protections against protections. I don't even know if any of my armors really add anything to their already formidable protections but I still try. Corpses are all around me now as we flow downstream. I call the power a last time, trying to affect the outcome of the fight that continues above me.

Then the dead close their hands on my limbs and drag me beneath the surface.
​

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day part 12
POTOMAC RIVER, WASHINGTON D.C
JUNE,22,2010, 10:20AM

Dragged beneath cold water, I retreat into my own mind, without knowing if I simply wish to escape the sensation of drowning or seeks a way to turn the situation back to my advantage. Perhaps a bit of both. Perhaps in the sanctity of my own self, I can convince myself to ignore the lies the druj told to my flesh, to turn back the dead against her and at least contribute to the victory. I learned a valuable lesson or two up there: the joining plays havoc on my perceptions and must be mastered before using it into a fight and rushing into combat is not a good idea at all.

"Well and I thought I would have to scold you for your idiocy once again. I'm happy that won't be necessary"

Vergil's voice resounds across flooded hallways bearing familiar frescoes, women bearing the sun disk, women bearing knives to tear the great serpent apart, symbols magic and incantations hidden in sigils on the wall. Familiar scenes I study to remember the bits of lore I knew and the knowledge my joining should have granted me. Smoking altars, amulets, effigies, scrolls are floating amidst jetsam, ready to be used but I learned to be cautious.

"We don't have much time left" says Vergil bearing the same appearance I wore earlier, an Egyptian priest holding the staff of office and the necklace of authority. "You can still defeat our enemy and prove yourself to your would-be mentors." He speaks swiftly, teaching me what Nephthys inscribed on my manifold soul, how to shield me against the demon's lies and counter-attack. He's not sure if I will be able to defeat her on my own but I can at least stop her to intervene in the duels in the sky. Hawkman and Wonder Woman should be able to wipe the floor with their enemies with ease if I'm the only one able to provide support.

Fortunately, the necessary preparations can be made here, in my heart of hearts. I concentrate on the many natures of my soul, the fragments death will separate. Near the Nile's they believed man was the fusion of disparate elements and each of them could be mastered by the initiate. Flesh, essence, heart, spirit, shadow and name, each a fragment of the whole, each granting peculiar powers. They would have considered me a living idol in which the presence of the gods lingered. They would not have been far off.

My smile echoes Vergil's own as I rejoin my body, feeling the pain that wracks my limbs, feeling the exhaustion of channeling and ignoring them. The dead are still grasping me, dragging me with them to the bottom of the river and then perhaps deeper if the druj has the power to open passages between this world and the next.

I'm in pain but fear has left my mind. I see things clearly now and I'm angry with myself to have been so taken with my power I forgot how to use it.

Nephthys' aura surrounds me forcing the dead to pause, giving them new orders. They release me and go with me upwards until my head breaks the water's surface to let me fill my aching lungs with fresh air. At least if that doesn't work out, I won't endure the unpleasantness of drowning.

I swim to the nearest riverbank, still in horrid pain but apparently unseen. The druj is too busy reinforcing the villains with her powers, healing their scrapes and keeping fatigue from bothering them, to notice me. Good, it will make my task much easier if I can work in the shadows.

First I need to heal myself alas the power of health and guardianship are devoted to help another and not I. So I use magic. Sekhu is what the Egyptians called the body and as a champion of the gods I'm master of my own fallible flesh. I ignore pain, remembering old wounds and diseases I endured rather to bother a doctor. That seems to work as pain is still there but no longer does it impair my movements or cloud my mind.

I rise myself up to have a clear view of the demoness before calling the shadows. This time I craft carefully what I want, making solid ropes arrayed in a net of pure darkness. The ropes are solid as steel and I reinforce them with magic and will, wishing them hard enough to immobilize a spirit. Soon I have a perfectly serviceable weapon ready to be used. I judge the distance, throw the net and speak loudly, nearly scream

"Attendants to the cords! Bind my enemy!"

As possessed by its own will (which it is in some fashion) the net coils itself against the target leaving her embroiled in links of shadow. I don't stop there but continue my incantations while raising the ankh to point her. She is not human but she affects a human form and human weaknesses. Oil runs in her veins and come ablaze when her steel skin is cut but they are still skin and blood subject to wounds and diseases and magic.

So I work the magic I let loose in Gotham in reverse. I wish her blood to burn even inside her. I wish her skin to rust, her will to weaken. More than anything I wish her harm and pain as she caused me. So I strike muttering a curse and smiling to her brought low in the net, struggling vainly to escape. She will succeed eventually but I have the time for one more strike. My smile widens as I intone.

"Obey to magic! Burn, leave nothing but ashes!"

Burn she does for her nature is to burn in fiery end, to melt steel and revel in the ashes. She's a creature of machines, of fires and death as surely as a nymph is a creature of growth, water and air. So the spell doesn't kill her, far from it. Still she feels pain, surges so madly she breaks the bounds set on her and turns to face me with wrath deforming her already inhuman face.

This time she's the one charging in anger, summoning gouts of burning oil and red-hot steel blades to strike me. I'm still surrounded by cold shadows. Enough to mold them into a shield to let her burning have no consequences, enough to mold them into knives and throwing them at her when she's too busy to dodge. For simple shadow-objects they bite deep making her recoil but she's still conscious and able to attack. Inhumanity has many advantages I suppose.

Clad in living shadows I await the next attack. I know I had not the energy to try more spells and without them Nephthys skillset is far more applicable to defense and subtlety than outright combat. Still I have enough mastery over darkness to make them a solid defense. Perhaps holding enough to me to rouse the dead to my aid, bidding them to tear their murderess to shreds with claw and keening screams.

I have no need of that for we hear the sound of two bodies hitting the water at great speed. Apparently my protections held quite a bit for Hawkman and Wonder Woman seem relatively unharmed while they dive in our direction. The druj turns from me to prepare herself to the shock but Diana disdain to strike her directly preferring to tie her in her lasso.

One of the most asked questions in the world always has been: What happens when a unstoppable force meets an unmovable object. At this moment I have the answer to a close one: What happens if you tie a creature made of lies with an item meant to force truth on others.

The answer is not pretty at all. The druj screams as the rope tightens itself around her limbs, scalding her inhuman skin. Her whole nature is to embody a lie, even if I don't understand exactly how "car accidents" are a lie. Vergil assures me lord Vayu or an emissary of the Yazatas could explain the metaphysics. What I'm more interested with is that despite the lasso of truth evidently killing the demoness, Diana does not relent until the druj is completely unraveled to nothing, the core of her being made impossible by her confinement. What escape the lasso are tatters even Vergil judges inoffensive.

Diana hovers towards me next. I don't know how much time the fight lasted but she and Katar are not visibly harmed. My own transformation is receding albeit this time I'm just midly extenuated and not comatose. The amazon princess' eyes are hard when she assesses the burns on my body. Nothing grave considering most of the damage was mere illusion but enough to be really painful now I don't have divine endurance anymore. I'm visibly limping and struggling to stay up.

"Thank you for healing and warding us during the fight. This should not have been needed but Angle-man and Bolt were surprisingly stronger than usual." Her voice is cold and professional. I suppose an effect of the fight. Before I can answer, she continues with a much warmer tone.

"Your intentions were good even if some of your actions at the beginning were reckless. But in the end what I saw was par the course for beginning heroes. Katar will secure these two" she points to the two villains while you're going to get some medical attention"

With that said she takes me by the arm and with the strength given by a long habit drags me towards the bridges where I can already hear the sirens.

Well if they don't seem to consider that as peculiarly eventful I wonder what's going to happen next.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 1: Kneeling Day What If: Aggressive SI
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON DC
JUNE,22,2010, 12:00PM

Some things are terrifying beyond all reasons like the charnel fields of Xibalba. Some things are impressive beyond mortal ken like the assembly of the gods that greeted me in the underworld. And some things while not possessing the power of a titan and a gathering of divine power manage very well to impose respect and silence in their beholders: The trinity of Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman looking down on me in mostly benevolent judgement is one of these.

I admit I don't understand Diana's presence here at all, she was leading us in battle, she already know all that I have to report. Hell, I would be very surprised if she disagreed with my actions. Sure she could have considered them overkill in most situations, but the trap sprung on us justify all types of means even some more detestable that those I used back there. And she ordered me to use lethal force when she saw what we were up against.

Batman is scowling as usual so no hints on what he thinks of this. He certainly seemed to approve my shutting off some criminals in Gotham when I arrived, especially when I reassured him the horrid mantle of the Lord of Mictlan was destined to frighten gangbangers so much they would take no action against me. Also he knows his mythology, he understands the Black One is no power of evil but a defender of the innocent.

Superman is the big unknown. His expression is unreadable, the face or a mask of benevolent impartiality. I don't know if in this universe he'll be the big blue scout or more like the cocky bloodthirsty warrior of the New 52. In either case I didn't kill anyone I was not allowed to and I showed clear hesitation and waited a direct order to do so.

The fact I would have done so without regrets if I hadn't been under the eyes of Wonder Woman is irrelevant to the question at hand. Creatures of incarnated sin don't get to complain. Superman's voice drags me back to reality;

"We have heard Wonder-Woman's recounting of the events on the Potomac but we'll like to know what was your impression of them. You said to her and Batman sooner your outlook could be modified by the power you're channeling." His voice is full of…Concern. Yes that's the word. Are they believing the gods twist my perceptions of reality? Well they do but only to show me the world as it is and should be, bereft of the illusions and limitations of mortal flesh. I force myself to adopt a monotone, professional tone as I begin:

"When the call came, I was hesitant on what power channel into myself. The gods' gifts are versatile but when one option is chosen it is chosen for at least the half-day. As the situation screamed supervillains to Hawkman and Wonder Woman and she had decided to evaluate my abilities in a spar, I decided to channel a warlike divinity to help them in their fight. I choose lady Kali who is one of the best fighters among the gods" and whose wrath is the most terrible and frenzy the most durable but I didn't remember that and Vergil didn't think to remember, the blasted thing!"

So many gods are evoked by dance and song and the Destroyer's spouse is no exception. This dance is slow then quick then frantic, a prelude for the battle to come, to get the blood pumping in my veins, to get my heart beating in my ears. My mouth moans ancient hymns and new ones, songs first to gentle Parvati then to her coming to war in her attire of Kali the Black who turns against weapons the chaos and the terror. Then more clearly comes the prayer, the spell who invites the goddess to come through my hollow soul and fill the shell of my flesh.

"Oh you beautiful even in death and sin. Oh you strong beyond all mortal and divine strength. Oh you spouse of He of the Third Eye and Splendid Locks. I remember your victories. I remember your dance as you broke the corpses of your enemies beneath your feet. Blood flows from your mouth oh Terrible One, blades fills your arms and limbs decorate your beauty. Kali the black warrior of the Devas. Kali Destroyer of the Sins of Three Worlds, patron of the Thugs, I invoke your name and your power and submit to you my flesh and my mind."

She comes, she comes. A long curved saber comes in my hand and I sense the thirst of the weapons, the presence of divine chaos, of grisly war and night filled with terrors. These are my powers now and I can't wait for the occasion to unleash them.

"When we arrived in view of the Potomac, we were ambushed by two supervillains: Bolt and Angle Man according to your colleagues. They were accompanied or obeyed four creatures of legend Vergil identified as the responsible parties for the synchronized accident. They took the liberty to reanimate all the dead to use as weapons against them. As I was the only one of the group unable to fly." I look to Wonder Woman: "Perhaps it is best you tell this part, sir?"

"Seeing as our adversaries on the ground were demons and undead I authorized you to use lethal force in your attempts to maintain them on the ground while I chased Angle Man with Katar"

I thank her profusely. Now there only a difficult par remaining and we can return to more interesting things.

"Seeing as I was badly outnumbered I took the mantle of the Destroyer to the next level and attacked the demons. There were three of the deevs, malformed giants with power over beasts and one druj, a sort of nymph attuned to destruction, and perhaps thirty undead servants"

My skin blackens as I come in her true power. My fangs grow to bite my lips and sweet is the blood on my tongue. The long curved saber is joined by a trident while two arms of pure shadows are grafted to my torso. Grisly trophies adorn my flesh each a conduit of my power. Red. I see red everywhere only broken by painful pinpricks of light. My enemies! It's my enemies that hurt me so! They will die. They will die screaming and I will dance on their broken corpses.

I don't see them. Not clearly anyway. I run in their general direction, howling dreadful howls, weapons at the front. They send the dead against me in a wave of darkness of cold. I laugh for am I not mistress of death and pyres and don't unquiet shades flee my wrath like everyone? I strike right and left sensing soft flesh and ephemera break under my blades. It is not enough! It is not nearly enough. I perceive without sight the deformed giants raising their own blades against me while the succubus' spite engulfs my flesh in black flame.

Pain is nothing. Pain simply fuels the rage, simply fuels the will. I am Kali of multiples austerities who devours her weaknesses as she devours all things. I charge them all without thinking, confident in the strength of the goddess filling each fiber of my flesh. My rage is so encompassing, so fierce that what remains human in me can only find a single frame of reference. I don't think the demons were expecting my batlle cry:

"Blood! Blood for the gods! Skulls for the pantheon!"

I dodge a giant halberd while my trident bite belly flesh, spreading entrails far and wide. The deev grunts, pain twisting further his porcine face. I want to laugh. The face of the Persian demon looks just like something out of a video-game, like the 3d version of Ganon. I tear my weapon from his bowels and targets the heart. One down. The druj floats above us, gout of hot metal scalding my flesh, blight filling my lungs. You want to play to this demoness? I turn my face to her and let her see me in anger. Eyes roll in my orbits, blood fills my mouth, traits twist in divine frenzy. No Gorgon, no demons of later myths looks so terrible as me in my wrath. Her nature breaks as she knows fear and unravel herself before I can catch her.

The last two are barely more difficult. I lose my weapons in the heart of the first and attacks the last unarmed. I need no weapon as my hands close around his throat, giant limbs superseding my febble flesh. The elephantine neck resist during a moment then breaks and he's at my feet.

I revel in my victory, I trample their corpses to sweet, sweet wine. I howl my joy to the heavens where the two heroes seem to have dispatched their adversaries. Then my joy become frustration because I need more enemies. My energies reserves are dwindling but I can still do so much good in the city in the distance, the city full of criminals, worshippers and enemies who need to be shown what a goddess can do.

What human in me recoils at the thought but less strongly than before. I'm Kali whose rage ceases only by the love of my husband and none here can make me bow and calm.

I don't see the first strike of the mace and doesn't feel the second. Hawkman dived behind me and proceeded to try to take me down. Dream on little warrior, I just defeated giants, what a winged man with a mac can…

Another strike, this time I'm outright recoiling under the onslaught. He dodges my own blows, striking and pummeling my armor of darkness give way and breaks in fragments.

I feel the noose of the lasso tighten on my neck, burning with the power of truth. My host smiles while he remembers a certain capability of the Lasso of Truth: to send an ensorcelled being back to her original form. My thought breaks and are replaced by clouding mists as I recede back the wound in his soul, back to my place among the gods.

"Using the Lasso of Truth, Wonder Woman was able to stop me before I could use what remained of the goddess' power to rampage across the city. I had forgotten on how Kali's rage was so great she once trampled her own husband before realizing it."

The three seem to confer among themselves using only their eyes. I shudder at the thought I have not yet evoked the most disturbing this in all this. During my first day here I thought the effects on my mind were an issue on who I summoned like Nergal or the Lord of Mictlan. Now I'm not so sure. I'm still convinced my best chance of survival and power resides in trusting the gods and surrendering to their divine might to surmount my own weaknesses but it seems the flaws of such a method are a little more than I expected.

Well who risks nothing…

 

[ganonso]

Interlude: Hell's Week

I think this day will be a contender for "worst day ever" but I'm not betting on it. If anything I'm sure tomorrow will be harder still.

I dodge the blow meant for my neck as I try to guide my electrified machete to my opponent's heart. I'm still wary of hurting him seriously but when Superman assures you he's fine with taking a hit, he means it. Besides it's not as if I had been able to land a blow on him during all our sessions. As I foresaw the blade simply grazes him as he grasps me by the arm and pull. Crap I hate when he does that. He shakes me like a ragdoll before throwing me in the nearest wall. I hear the sound of my bones echoing with the strength of the blow. Clark controls his strength at the perfection but when he strikes you, you feel it for the rest of the day nonetheless.

"Get up. We both know you can still fight."

You know another flaw of training with Superman? Contrary at what you could think, he's as relentless as Batman or Wonder Woman. Well Batman is the most frustrating by far but you know what I mean. Clark pushes you to show your best and don't let you off until you can no longer move without pain. He said to me once he could not, in good conscience, let someone who wishes to fight the never-ending battle go to fight at less than his full potential.

I don't even try to rise, instead pointing my hands towards him and thinking. Thinking on my current patroness Oya and her volatile character, her strength and fury in battle. However I also thinks on how I want to hurt my opponent. Not a good thought but, when you spent the three last hours trying to strike someone to see him evade your blows, the need to achieve something is intoxicating. Besides the League have showed an interesting variations of opinions on me channeling my rage and spite.

My anger expresses itself as arcs of lightning racing towards their targets. I whisper prayers to Oya wife of the thunderer of Yoruba lore, to the violent goddess who left her husband to found her own kingdom and the storm intensifies. His limbs shake a bit and he grunts in pain while recoiling. For a bit I'm tempted to howl "POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!" but that passes. I rise and try and fail to maintain the lightning storm, to batter him into submission.

That last perhaps thirty seconds, after that Superman does what Superman does. He lunges at me through the tempest and send me in the opposite wall. I have only the time to roll over while two light rays of heat visions strike a place slightly where my head would have been; Well fair is fair I suppose. Still I'm happy this version of Superman can apparently choose between "irritating sunburn" and "burning hell" for the intensity of his gaze.

Strange what different approaches different heroes can try. When I sparred with Lantern Jordan, he didn't have any scruples to encase me in a construct then swinging me across the room then shielding himself and taunting me to break it. Superman and others among the League use their powers minimally when sparring, displaying the true variations of their abilities in others exercises. Idem on my own abilities some like Katar demand I take my most potent form at the beginning as others like Batman refuse to let me use it at all. At least I learn to adapt to different situations.

This time I'm finished. Even Oya's enhanced strength is gone and the colored fabrics and the golden jewels I'm wearing return to the shadow. Clark helps me to rise and assess the damage. Well that's one perk of working with him, the report on all my mistakes waits for at least a few minutes. Judging I will just sport a few more bruises he helps me out of the training room to a nearby chair. I must take fifteen minutes or so before being able to walk rather than limp.

I never was so happy to be sitting comfortably while Superman brings out water. Comes to think of it, I've never seen him take something other than water or fruit juice, are all heroes food nuts? I don't think so but then I see them by group of three of four a day and generally food is not the main subject of conversation. Still imagining the menu on the Watchtower for three at least species of aliens is an interesting exercise. I wonder if this version of Martian Manhunter is addicted to oreos like in the comics.

"So what did we learn today?" Superman's tone is rather cheery for someone I just tried to electrocute. Still this is a lot better than Batman's who manage to congratulate you with the same tone he speaks to Gotham's criminals.

"To never challenge you face-to-face. But then I already knew that" And what an embarrassing moment it was when Wonder Woman asked me while I was still struggling in the lasso of truth how I felt to the prospect of sparring with other members Justice League. Jordan in peculiar seemed to think my answer of "nearly crapping my pants right now" halfway between darkly amusing and personally insulting. Fortunately, she didn't then ask me how I would fight the Justice League. I think "slitting your throats while you are sleeping" would not have endeared me to the crowd.

"To be fair most people do and seem to forget it quite a lot. No I was more talking about how when you are outmatched in close combat it is better to keep your distance from your opponent. The lightning was the most efficient thing you did in all the practice run."

The discussion continues for a time. It would be easier if I could openly declare I knew some of their secret identities. Clark strikes me as one who would be more tempted to talk about his job at the Daily Planet rather than his other job. Not that he doesn't like to be a hero but I suspect he enjoys as much of more being a journalist. The conversations with him stay professional, not cold but not overly warm either.

It must have been a week since the training began according to Wonder Woman's specifications. I'm apparently the first to follow it but she thinks it proves efficient enough to let prospective new heroes or sidekicks do the course. The workload involved makes me less enthusiastic but I can't deny the results.

Two combat exercises a day with whatever hero is in the Hall at the moment. Exercises ranging from sparring sessions to "dodge Captain Atom rays to improve your dodging". Required readings on things as diverse as criminology to medicine. And that's just the general gist of it. I also read what magic books the League can let me borrow, to train in the basics of the Arts. For the moment I just breached the general theory.

Well if I got myself killed on the field that won't be the League's fault. A week of this treatment and I lost ten kilograms and have surely more stamina in my mortal body I ever had. I'm not nearly athletic enough to even approach a hero's normal level of fitness but I'm confident that will come in time.

Still even performing my devotions in my room is generally a painful effort after such days. The League let me fill the wall of my room with images of my gods and Diana even brought me small statues of the Greek ones from one of her journeys to Themiscyra. Praying seems to enhance my connection to them, to let me channel them more easily and with less strain on my own flesh.

Nonetheless I'm aching for a change. Perhaps after Americans get their "independence day". I could arrange something with Wonder Woman or the others.

 

[ganonso]

Interlude 2: Perspectives
THE WATCHTOWER
JULY 1st 2010

Earth was still a humbling view for Diana: For some, seeing the outlines of continents through the cloud, understanding the whole span of the oceans, seeing the very planet turn below them. All that would have filled the heart with pride. It would not have been necessarily a bad thing. There is much to be proud in the role of defender, to claim you protect and watch over the cradle of humanity with all your might. Not for her though and not for her companions in the Justice League. As part of an organizations where some people inspired, against their will, modern cults and esoteric followings, pride could be as dangerous as an enemy's blade.

She was no goddess even if she was formed from the flesh of one of the Protogenoï. She was strong, yes and blessed by the gods of high Olympus but she was no goddess. She didn't want for worshippers or even followers. She didn't even particularly want to convert people to the ancient religion of Hellas. That happened anyway as some she saved recognized the ancient names in her expletives or dug old interviews. There was no revival, at least not yet but more of sixty years of heroing had won the Amazon Princess scores of innocents ready to thank the patrons of she who saved them.

Her new protégé as the others referred to him was no god either even if he was their most direct intervention in living memory. A champion for entities the world no longer respected or adored. Even in Themiscyra, Hades and Persephone were respected but kept at arm's length while torch-wielding Hecate was more feared than loved, especially considering her long involvement with Circe. Diana understood the gods' wishes for a champion and for the moment, Raphael's action placed him higher than all the idiots who had been seduced by Ares deadly lure and empowered by the God of War. Not a difficult challenge mind you considering their tendency of reveling in their powers rather than fear them as the young man did his.

Still she didn't approve of the gods' methods to create such a champion. Quick-footed Hermes had not told her where they had found this soul. Apparently the young man had crossed the way to Xibalba and then to Hades all by himself. Still the cold report of the way the gods of death had imprinted their very essence in him, binding him to their service by pain and sheer power, had been trying to her respect for the Pantheon. She was ready to bet her lasso Raphael had not been offered a clear and honest choice before having his soul torn apart and hastily rebuilt with additional parts.

He had gained power from the ordeal yes, power and the potential to grow as a power in the sunless lands but such might had its own price. He had told her of the orders, the directives relayed by the disembodied mind squatting his head. Most of them were sensible and reasonable but Diana had met too much gods to hope this was always going to be the case.

Still the man wanted to do good and had showed a complete willingness to obey orders. She didn't doubt in a few years he could be League material

"Lost in thoughts, Princess?" King Orin's voice drew her from her reverie. Sometimes she pitied poor Aquaman saddled with an unfortunate reputation as a hero. How people managed to think someone as strong as her or Superman, able to master the creatures of the most varied biome in the planet and ruler of his own sovereign nation was mockable, was beyond her. Sure she had been subject to some pointed barbs in the forties and fifties when the American public tried to rein the changes the war had made to the conditions of women, but that didn't last long. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Orin took the mockery in strides, finding even a perverse thrill to collect the most egregious examples. "A reprieve from the formality and the solemnity of home", he said to her one day, "and besides you can't imagine faces criminals make when I catch them inland."

"Thinking on our duty, your Grace, thinking on our duty as always." It was a private game between them, he called her Princess, a title she never really accustomed herself to, and she answered in kind. Even some of their colleagues had trouble distinguishing when the exchanges were warm and when they took a mocking tone.

She turned to face him. Orin's skin was moist, the result of recent immersion. Strange it was not his habit at all. The costume was simple, green pants and orange chainmail. Ancient Atlanteans were good blacksmiths and enchanters to be sure but their taste in colors was terrible. Like many times before, Diana marveled the king of Atlantis who was not even half her age looked older than her, due mostly to the short blond beard and the wrinkles of care all over his face. She didn't hesitate to ask right away:

"Seems you needed a bath, your Grace. What happened? Did the surface air finally get to you?"

"Your protégé happened. He almost managed to desiccate me during training." Unlike what's one could have expected, the tone was not so angry than slightly annoyed at some minor inconvenience

Diana filled that one on the list she had made since Raphael's training began. As always, when someone was training her powers, wounds risked to happen. And the boy's strength was he could shift both in powers and in intensity. That was not as versatile as said the Green Power Ring or the ability to shapeshift but that could lead to surprising results in the spars: Animalistic war-forms, aura of icy cold, illusions, shadow constructs and more could be found in his bag of tricks. Even he could not exactly predict what a god would give him before channeling the power into his flesh.

For the moment he had managed to touch only three of them. Superman had been electrocuted, Hawkman had fought an avatar of Kali and received some minor gashes in the process and Zatara had one of his standard striking spells reflected on him. Not bad for a beginner but not exceptional considering each time he managed to inflict only very minor wounds, even with the advantage of surprise.

"How did he manage that? You are no more vulnerable to dehydration than a normal human."

"And am I lucky for that. He lost control of someone named Nergal and radiated sunlight all over the place. It was like spending a day without drinking anything. Yet that was the only blow he landed on me in the whole session."

So business as usual. Raphael's had a tendency to try to blast his enemies into oblivion when he was channeling warlike deities, that or to charge them head on lost in blood-frenzy. His attacks could not overwhelm a Leaguer and when his fury was spent he was easy to immobilize. Still that made a fourth hero touched. Perhaps she couldn't count it though, after all if the whole room had been affected… Still a question to ask:

"What did you think of him?"

Orin's face remained neutral as he gathered his thoughts. Aquaman had never been given to impulse, especially not when he had to render judgement, which as a monarch was depressingly often. Some time after he spoke again:

"Some parts of him are built for our line of work. He's curious, diligent in his studies, and eager to please his betters which apparently means us. He interacts with everyone from Barry to Giovanni like a curious student, always ready to hear us pontificate on whatever subject can help him. At heart, however, he is still full of fear and anger. The fear comes from his circumstances but I heard him talk about the world with enough bile to make Batman in a very bad day proud." He paused a moment before continuing "By instance he identified Luthor as a villain apparently simply by basis of his social status. He said something to the effect of: Of course he is evil, he's a billionaire in charge of a multinational company evil is ca contracted requirement. So he's more personable than Ollie's brat but less than my own Aqualad or Kid Flash"

Business as usual then in this field too then. For the moment of all the Leaguers, Red Tornado had the best opinion of the boy, a fact helped by the fact he had intruded in a conversation on humanity the robot was having with John Stewart. The rest of the League had very much the same opinion than Aquaman: An earnest boy with a somewhat bleak outlook on the world but eager to use his power to change it for the better. Stewart and Jordan thought him too fearful but as Green Lanterns they considered nearly everyone too fearful.

At least he had not made enemies in a week and was moral enough. Diana supposed she had been lucky with that one. He also proved the training regimen she had planned with Batman long ago for the case a young hero not affiliated with a Leaguers came to them was efficient.

She wondered how things would go with the sidekicks.
​

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 1
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY, 4, 2010, 2:00 PM

There are times I question the wisdom of the Justice League. I know it's trite and overdone and they do their best to help the world. Sometime though, you've got to admit they don't exactly think things through. And that's annoying because they are better than that, they can do better than that. Also some of their mistakes are grating because you can't figure why they did it. I mean it would be interesting to know who thought it was such a bright idea to make the whole Hall a public museum while still pretending the League operates from here. It's a disaster waiting to happen when a wannabe supervillain who thinks he is the next big thing tries to blow it up.

In this case I'm railing against the idiot who thought it would be nice to make some areas like the friggin library actually visible from the visitors' circuit. Seriously it's really difficult to read when you sense you are observed like a caged bird by gawking tourists. I am sorely tempted to invoke the power of one of these Mesoamerican deities who are the very definition of terrible ugliness to scare them off but the scolding I received when I clothed myself in Manannan's mantle letting the sea-god's illusions be visible is still fresh in my memory. Captain Marvel and Jordan seemed to think it was hilarious though so, in a sense, that was worth it.

Rather than continue to obsess over the tourists and the silent click of their cameras (Thank the gods for small mercies, the whole thing is soundproof.) I return to my book. I was surprised the League maintains a library, a well-furnished one with that. Most of the books are fiction reflecting the tastes of the Leaguer who brought them here and there are some gems hidden among the shelves. I would pay dearly to know how this library was gathered, who brought what. There are whole ranks of mystery and detective novels, translations of classical plays and poems and some more surprising things. Someone provided a collection of good military thrillers, another heavily annotated Lovecraft anthologies. I'm nose-deep in this one, trying to decipher the cursive annotations, some on the style, others apparently commentaries on the alien biology presented and how it makes no damn sense whatsoever.

They told me Batman, Aquaman, the Flash and Green Arrow were bringing their protégés to the Hall today. Apparently it's a great privilege and they expect them to be happy. I nearly laughed myself to death when I thought about how fifteen years old me would have felt about being brought to a place every tourist can see and being told it's a privilege. At least it gave me the chance to ask about them, their character and general amiability. Aqualad is considered too serious but dependable, Robin and Kid Flash wreck everything together and Speedy (What's with the name, Red Arrow would be more natural) … Well let's say "sullen teenage jerk" is somewhat of a consensus.

"And of course our library…" Thanks the gods they arrived.

Well their costumes are not as ridiculous they could be so that's a definitive plus. Robin's is surprisingly sober with the complete pants and the absence of green. Kid Flash is a fashion disaster with the bright yellow but I'm ready to think friction-resistant fabrics don't exist in every tint. Aqualad is, well the blond-bleached hair is not meshing well with his skin but the costume is sensible red and black. As for Speedy … What's that hat? What purpose does it serve? Even Green Arrow wears a sensible hood rather than a Robin Hood reject. At least it's not the walking target Kid Flash is.

"And who's that guy?" Kid's Flash's remark surprises me. Did their mentors not talk to them about me meeting them here? Two solutions: Either Wonder Woman ordered me to meet them without telling their mentors of the fact. Or he thought he would surprise his sidekick. In either case, it doesn't speaks well of the League's communicative skills.

"Dude. We talked about this. This is the guy Batman and I caught in Gotham after he did a live Friends on the Other Side's impression." What? I was acting strange when I was fused with Baron Samedi's essence but I would remember about offering faustian bargains, wouldn't I. I decide to intervene before this line of conversation goes any further.

"Yes I'm that guy. My name's Dante. Nice to meet you." Unfortunately for me there is a Devil May Cry franchise in this universe but I don't know what other names I could go for. Take a name from the mythologies who empower me and I anger the rest of my patrons. Take a name related to my name like Archangel and suddenly everyone asks me why I have no wings.

"Happy to meet you too. Are you foreign? You don't sound American?" Apparently Aqualad is the stoic of the "to the point" guy here. Good to know.

"I'm French. And from a parallel universe." I smile while I point them one by one. "So Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad and Speedy" who decides he would also get to the point.

"What are you doing here anyway? This is supposed to be our big day." If it is, why are you sounding so angry? Is that your default tone? You must have so many friends. Still I resist my first instinct that would be to snark.

"To be fair, sirs." I say slightly bowing to the heroes, "I would like to know that myself. Wonder Woman simply told me I was to wait for you here."

After a quick look for the others, Flash simply declares: "We just wanted to give the kids a tour of the HQ to show them what's waiting for them." What? They didn't even tell their sidekicks about the Watchtower? Why? I can't see the difference between the kids pestering for a ride to Washington and the kids pestering for a tour of the satellite. I can't see that end well.

"Except that isn't the League's real HQ, just a relay center for the Zeta beams and a front for the League's real control center in space." I hate when I am right like that. However Green Arrow nearly literally melting under Batman and Aquaman's glare is wonderful Someone didn't keep their mouth shut.

"They're treating us like kids, worse like sidekicks" Roy. Is his name Roy? You may want to see the reality of the situation, you are sidekicks, apprentices, protégés, whatever. There's no shame in being an apprentice until you have nothing more to be taught by your mentor.

So Speedy angrily leaves the room, under the gaze of dumbfounded tourists, (seriously I need to catch the one who thought it was a good idea to make the Hall semi-public), mumbling about how Obi-wan is jealous of his potential and he's more than ready to pass the Trials. And Superman saves the moment by announcing a mission, apparently project CADMUS, the breeders of monsters of the DCAU exist in this continuity and their HQ is conveniently on fire. Why is that a Justice League alert anyway? Do they monitor the place? Or do they react to every fire, road accident and the like? Clark is interrupted by Zatara who warns about

"The sorcerer Wotan is using the amulet of Aten to blot out the sun." And what Wotan does have to gain for doing this? Supervillains… More importantly if the League is going to fight the evil sorcerer, the sidekicks will… No. I've got to stop this before it starts.

"Sirs?" The mentors' eyes turn to me. At least they are not glaring yet. Still I inhale deeply and prepare myself for an argument.

"Considering the fire department seems to have things relatively in hand, perhaps the others and I could go to Cadmus and help speed-up the rescue efforts. It's not dangerous and would be a good outing for everyone concerned" Well considering CADMUS' other incarnations and the way my first outing went, I'm sure I'm lying. However, that seems to convince Batman and the others enough. It's Aquaman that acquiesces after a quick glance.

"You will help the fire department and content yourself with that. No investigating unless you come right in the middle of a crime. No stupid heroics whatsoever. Is that clear."

While the sidekicks nod their approval I'm sure I can see the gears turning in their heads to assert the manner they will twist these orders around. Forwarding Cadmus' location to us is easy and they are already leaving the room with me in toe when Flash's voice resounds, half-joking, half-deadly serious:

"You realize if something happens to them, it'll be your fault?"

Well I hadn't thought of that. But then But then how difficult will convincing three teenagers to restrain themselves to the actual mission be?. And at least now the League will know where we are.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 2
WASHINGTON DC.
July, 4, 2010 2:30 P.M


"So, not to sound ungrateful and all that, but why did you help us?" After seeing my confounded face, Robin continues: "You know, proposing we go to CADMUS and convincing them to accept."

Because I rather would cut my own hand rather than believe even for a moment you were going to obey them and stay at the Hall of Justice on your own. When I was fifteen, it would have taken me five minutes to hatch some ridiculous plan like "let's solve the League's case for them" and you are so much more independent than I. Also I'm sure I would have been responsible for your little group anyway and be unable to stop you from doing something idiotic. Well, I can't exactly say all that out loud so let's been diplomatic.

"You don't seem the kind to stay doing nothing when you can help. Besides I was in the Hall for nearly two weeks. I was going to crack without some action!"

We're running to Project CADMUS headquarters. In this reality the building is simply two-stories high, which seems very suspicious to me. For the moment my knowledge of this world from your outside has proven reliable: Most of the people I know from the comics are present and their alignment remains the same. So seeing as Cadmus ranged from Luthor own private society to government-agency with a mad scientist license, I'm pretty sure they're hiding something. The building is close to the Hall of Justice, which makes me question the League's operations seeing as they want the place investigated but didn't even bother with a cursory X*ray vision sweep or Green Ring Scan.

"What are your powers anyway? You don't seem superhuman. Are you trained in the mystic art?" I suffer for poor Aqualad, he's visibly the calmest of the bunch and the most restrained one, but his companions couldn't listen to his suggestions less. I'm wondering what he will think of having someone who actually follow his plans for once.

"I'm able to channel the essence of a god into my flesh, to take their powers as my own and their weapons for my usage."

We stop, the building is just ahead on the street and even my companions know better than to rush in a burning house without thinking. While they observe their surroundings I decide to make a demonstration. As I suspect foul play without knowing exactly what it is I'm picking the overkill option. In the JL cartoon CADMUS created Doomsday after all. So I signal the young heroes to wait a moment and see as I intone.

"Glad of War, All Father, King of the Gods, Gallows God, God of the Runes, Thief of Kvasir's mead, Rune-Holder, Gugnir's Bearer, Balmung's Giver, I call upon you! God of War with many names, God of Magic of multiples runes, I summon you. Give me strength and cunning beyond mortal ken. Raven God whose thought and memory fly by the vast world, look upon your supplicant. Chooser of the Slain gaze upon your servant from your lofty throne and give me weapons and magic. Odin son of Bor, I invoke your name and your power!"

Odin's presence is most contradictory. You feel what you would expect to feel while channeling a Norse God. Joy in your heart, hot meat filling your belly, warmth in your veins making you swift to anger and eager to laugh. You feel strong, cocky, ready to take the whole world. Poetry is in your mouth ready to fly in the air even as you slay your enemies. Yet it is quickly tempered by ancient cruel wisdom. Your mind expand in unexpected direction as old cunning fills your brain. Your tongue becomes quick to lie and trick. Your flesh hardens not like an athlete or a fighter accustomed to playful wounds but like one who nine days whole hanged from a tree nailed by a spear in his breast.

As I learn to summon the gods, their clothing goes with me with much less awkwardness. I'm clad now in chainmail adorned with silent runes. On my head is a winged helm. In my hand lies a spear whose shaft bears ancient oaths and at my belt rests in a sword its sheath. Hanging from my belt are two treasures precious despite their appearance: A small purse containing the runes and a skin filled with sweet mead. It contrasts heavily with the costumes of my impromptu team but judging from their expression it's suitably impressive.

We get back to running now. The acrid smell of smoke becomes more and more pronounced. The fire is indeed a small one and, to speak the truth, the fire department seems to have no need of us.

Scratch that an explosion sends two scientists flying before Kid Flash runs to them. Damn seeing super-speed in action is very different of seeing it in a screen. I actually see the image of the speedster flicker a moment while he appears scant moments away griping from a window of the building.

Robin is the next to run, grappling from a fireman's ladder to jump at the window and help Kid Flash to the room. I hope they will wait for us to get there at least. Not counting they seem to have forgot all about the fire. I turn to Aqualad who is visibly distraught but very much not surprised.

"Join them if you can and try to convince them to wait for me. I'm taking care of the fire."

The Atlantean runs and manage to use water from a hose to form a whirlpool and ascend to his friends. I'm happy to see he takes the time to help two stranded people along the way. Now it's my turn I'm concentrating when one of the firemen accost me:

"Hey Viking-guy! You're planning to help while your friends are up there."

I smile without answering, still concentrating on the runes. For such a warlike deity in a warlike pantheon, Odin is quite the sorcerer and I know more about ancient Norse magic and their imitators than more ancient magic system. I select from the bright graphemes before my closed eyes those I need and I begin.

"By the Torch and the Craftsman, by the Pierced Hand and the Need, by the Giant and the Ice. Fire is tamed. Muspel fights Nifhel and the two create the world. Kenaz above, Naudhiz aside, Isaz in front KNI"

The fire begins to calm under my words but it is not enough. I twist my body, my limbs extended in the very shapes of the runes, reproducing my spell in gestures rather in world and more flames are put out. The rest should be easy for the firemen to extinguish. I gaze upwards and see Robin and the others are waiting for me. I turn for the fireman that talked to me and points the window.

"Name's Dante mister. Now that the fire is under control could you please bring the ladder to this window. My young companions are waiting."

Surprisingly he agrees. Well perhaps in this world a hero can benefit from some leeway and I did their jobs for them after all. It takes only a few minutes for me to regroup with the others.

Who then tell me they saw a horned humanoid descend through a nearby elevator and they want to investigate. Of course they want to. I sigh while Aqualad forces opens the gates revealing a deep chasm, much too deep for the official building to handle. I wince when I hear Robin propose we wait to learn whatever they are hiding before contacting the League. Seriously have these guys even see a movie or something. I take my sternest tone.

"We're not going to do that" Robin and Kid Flash's expressions are firmly in the "are you thinking you can stop us territory" but I continue: "We're informing the League right now we're going down. If these sub-levels managed to avoid League's detection I'm betting CADMUS can monitor or block communications from them." Well it is what I would do if I was a supervillain in an underground lair.

"Don't make these faces, they are still busy with Wotan and will be for a moment. It's just a safety precaution." In the case of our untimely demise by Doomsday, but that I keep for myself.

Fortunately, Robin has the good sense to send a message to the Hall of Justice before we jump down the shaft to Project CADMUS real labs.
​

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 3
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,4,2010, 2:45PM

Seeing super-strength in action is impressive. It's something to hear about feats of strength or see them through a screen, it's another entirely to see one of your comrades tear away open steel gates. We are sub-level 26 of project CADMUS, twenty-four levels beyond what the company declares having and I'm sure juicer stuff awaits. Kid Flash is prancing about, visibly waiting for us to get up to speed and run for… I don't think he knows what he wants us to find really. Robin is nimbly prodding along the hallway, apparently seeking an entry point for his computer. Strange I didn't think hacking worked that way but then we're in comic-book land so I'm ready to be open-minded about the possibilities of science here.

Kid Flash finally gives up and simply runs ahead of us, trying the "I already looked the entire building" routine. We see him stop abruptly before jumping back towards us while we hear the rumbling of great beasts walking and trampling.

What are these things? They look like no animal I know of. Grey and hard skin, marred with tears and exposed muscle tissues. No apparent ears. Two great tusks protruding from their face and fangs in their mouths? Their forelegs end in prehensile hands but they walk on all four. I gasp between my teeth:

"Behold Behemoth which I made as I made you. Behold the strength residing in his loins."

For it's the only comparison I can draw. These beasts are obviously the product of human science or magic and but what alchemy was used in their making, I can't tell. At least my companions are as flabbergasted as I am. I was beginning to think I was the only one to be surprised by weird science come to life.

Then I notice them, riding on the head of the great beasts. Little crouched pale-skinned imps, nearly invisible compared to the bulk of their mounts but assuredly in control. Telepathic control? Pheromones? Whatever the case they must be used to control the larger beasts. I wonder what the great beasts would do if their rider was dismounted or killed. Would they stamp across the laboratories? Would they stay docile until new orders were issued? Either way it could be useful if we have to made an escape.

The herd passes us by before I have the chance to test my theories. Not a problem, I would be surprised if that was the last we see one of these imps. They seem both fragile and indispensable to control other beasts so in case of a fight it should be important to take them out first. But some things to do before that. I go to Kid Flash's side before dragging him out of his astonishment:

"Fancy yourself being trampled?"

He shrugs, from what I see from the others' faces, him running ahead without looking ahead must be a regular occurrence. I shake my head in incomprehension. What are these kids taught by their mentors? More importantly didn't they have impressed in their minds their work, our work, is dangerous? There are things who can catch even a speedster after all. Never mind, if they survived their cities' rogues, they can take care of themselves. We go on until we see…

Another kind of creature. Are they breeding beasts for specific purposes? Are we going to find parts of the lab clad in living flesh, sphincters gates leading to rooms with beating walls? Are we going to have to put down "escaped experiments" when the scientists leading this thing will inevitably toy with forces they cannot fathom? All is possible but still I cannot help to admire these particular beings.

Their forms are obscured by their own bio-luminescence but they look insectoid. Each is trapped in a glass sphere like insects in amber, wreathed in lightning and linked to the general circuit. I can nearly feel the power that emanates from them. How is this possible? I know some creatures produce light to help them lure prey or see in the stygian depths of the oceans but electricity? Electricity in quantities meant to be harvested and controlled?

This is science-fiction territory. People able to gather and birth such things would theoretically be capable of all things created by the Bene Tleilax and perhaps even more. Clones, replacement parts, specification-crafted human beings, the possibilities are endless. What I don't understand is, even if I'm very much not a scientist, it seems to me the mere preliminary work before the creation of these things would be hugely invaluable. Yet, according to Robin's info CADMUS deal in ordinary, at least to my eyes, work as far as genetic research is concerned.

Robin is currently hacking the mainframe and trying to get what makes this place a secret. Because Robin, breeding monsters is bad for PR, it tends to make people associate you with crazy supervillains and mad scientists with delusion of godhood. It's like biological immortality: Can you imagine a company researching to unlock the secrets of deathlessness in a world where mystic forces are provable and the whole thing not going horribly wrong?

"Well it's officially whelming" I don't know if that's a word Robin. On his holographic computer's screen are exposed all the catalogued sub-species of "genomorphs" and their assorted qualities. Telepathy, razor claws, acid spit, steel web, flight, omniphagia. Name your poison and chances are a genomorph has it. Aqualad recognize the silhouette he saw going through the elevator. G-Goblin, highly telepathic and destined for foreman and leadership. This one is surely sentient even if I still believe G-Gnomes, the little imps are nothing more than relays.

"These are living weapons!" Robin exclamation could be the truth but looking on their stats I don't think so.

"Most of them are but some are obviously destined for civil work: Beasts of burden, communcations relays, miners, workers in dangerous environments."

"In any case," interjects Kid Flash, "they are slaves. At least some of them are classed as sentient as Red Tornado or a Morrow type AI."

"We must alert the League immediately!" I would agree Aqualad if this was possible. I'm betting our communications are already intercepted. If these gnomes are telepaths our presence must have been picked on earlier. Worst case, a squad is on the way right now.

I play with my mead skin; the draught would send me into a trance where I could get insight on what CADMUS real projects are but would incapacitate me for a bit. So I wait for a real mystery where we will have to be sure to not let anything escape us.

No surprise, the League cannot be contacted but Robin has found something even more interesting than living weapons: "Project KR held in sub-sector 52." KR? Krypton? Kryptonite? Are they trying to synthetize kryptonite? No that's not a biological component so I don't think their techniques can help them in that endeavor. Perhaps they want to create someone like Mettallo capable of channeling the deadly rock, but how would they do that? Cloning Kryptonian life? Much better chances to be that but what or who? Doomsday or Superman? That's the question.

We're agreeing to try to identify this project KR when we hear the coming of a squad.

They are numerous. Twenty creatures in all. Ten are what they call G-Elves even if I can't fathom why they are named thus. They are crouched, walking on four legs but their front limbs are clawed and their hind legs are built for the jump and the chase. Their faces are twisted in violent unthinking grins, long pointed ears trembling in the air. Five are of the G-Basilisk drooling creatures with acidic spit and soporific breath. The last five are G-Gargoyles flying above us with leathery wings, watching us with hungry gazes.

And among them and above them a living man. Clad in blue and gold with a golden shield on his right arm, he leads them confidently. On his shoulder one of the wretched imps is sitting like some parody of one's inner angel. His voice is clear to our ears and his voice reassuring. Nonetheless my hand find the guard of my sword and I recoil behind my comrades as I slowly unsheathe it.

"Kid Flash, Robin, Aqualad? What are you doing here? And who is this guy?"

Not charging at our sight? Good but the imp can still relay orders or twist the thoughts of a man. Aqualad seems to recognize our glorified security guard.

"I know you. You are Guardian, a hero!"

Guy, have you seen what he's leading? At best he's a pawn, at worst an accomplice. Either case means a fight. Guardian announces us he's chief of security here and we're trespassing. True but not important. Besides what is a hero without a little breaking and entering? My sword is nearly ready in my hand I whisper to it while I can:

"Gram and Balmung I name you: Truth-bearing blade, what you touch, you hurt." Runes slightly glower on the blade while I ready myself. Kid Flash's voice is nearly inaudible so focused I am on my gestures.

"You're breeding weapons!"

I crouch slightly, ready to jump. Not yet, not yet. The time is almost there but not yet. Wait until they attack. I eye the gnome on his shoulder. Its horns flash red and Guardian's demeanor change and he orders his forces to show us no mercy.

I jump on him, blade at the ready, and with a battle-cry, strikes the gnome. The devilish creature dodges my blow and scamper on the ground.

Then battle is joined.
​

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 4
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,4,2010, 2:55PM

My sword strikes Guardian's golden shield in a shower of sparks. Battle-lust is in my veins now and I surrender eagerly to the red mist filling my head. Dangerous thing to do, but in a fight with monsters with claws able to rake metal and breath that corrodes solid steel, it is more dangerous to deny myself a useful weapon. I won't host Lord Odin's essence in my flesh while I'm not sure Guardian could then survive the onslaught. The genomorphs though? None of the specimens we are fighting are noted as sentient in CADMUS' files. I know them as beasts. And as beasts shall I treat them.

Smoke fills the air as Robin drops one of his grenades and disappears in the mist. A few moments later I hear the sound of his grapple biting one of the gargoyles' wings and suddenly retracting, dragging the creature to the ground and into Robin's batarangs' path. At the edge of my vision I see him, rolling and dodging, launching on the enemy his reserve of projectiles. Some explode, some electrify their targets, some simply strike but all wound. He's quick enough to avoid to be torn apart par the raging G-Elves. Still a gout of acidic spit aimed at his feet forces him to stay in the midst of the action.

Kid Flash has opted to walk on the walls and jump in the fray with super speed. His blows are more powerful I would have thought as he's able to at least stun the creatures and he's certainly agile enough to avoid their blows. Still they try to surround him, to restrain the range of his movements while flying creatures pick him from the above. Still he avoids them, charges at the most battered by Robin's assault and pummels them at super-speed. While not impressive as the explosion I would expect for a blow at such a speed, his powers seem to knock them out and I hear several bones break under his fists.

Aqualad has unsheathed his own weapons, two hollow handles filled with water. His tattoos flare as the water surges to form a machete-like blade and a spiked mace. From my readings, I associate two-weapons fighting with gladiators and show-off but Orin's apprentice is neither. He disdains the Elves to charge at the loathsome Basilisks that coil around us, trying to corral us between acidic slime and razor-sharp blades. I don't know how his weapons can maintain their cohesion, let alone wound foes but wound them they do: Deep blue gashes appear where his blade strikes while visible hematomas reveal themselves after a passage of his mace. The Basilisks, white as the others genomorphs, their resemblance with a snake broken by the human-like face and the faceted eyes on their head, try to counter-attack but recoil from the fury of his assaults.

We are reducing the numerical advantage by the minute, but they are still ten of them and Guardian for the four of us. For the moment our fury or our superhuman skills have compensated for the coordinated tactics of the squad but I prefer not to think what would have become of a human unit if it had been assaulted by such a pack. Tattered bodies in bloody lumps is the image coming to mind. If CADMUS' goals is to breed an army, the creatures they crafted are efficient even while needing a little more work.

As for me, my own berserk rage is barely enough to hold off Guardian. He's quick, quicker than I would have imagined of a man in such armor, his fists made my chainmail ring ominously when they strike it while my sword cannot notch his shield. From my spars with the Justice League I would consider him on par with this august body as of unharmed combat.

Still while I fight him I'm trying to piece the location of the gnome clouding his mind. If only I can find it and kill it. One of the gargoyles dives at me, trying to rake my neck with its powerful claws, but I dodge the flying creature and, guided by my sword, manage to cut one of his forelegs. The wound seals immediately without bleeding and the gargoyle just attacks me with more ferocity, forcing me to defend myself against it and Guardian.

What can I use? Magic? No I will be dead before intoning the first spell. Lord Odin's Essence? No I would kill Guardian, which would alienate me from the League and the team. No, the solution is to surrender to the red mist, to surrender to the rage, to answer fury to fury and strength to strength. Odin is the giver of rage to those who wears the bear-shirt and so he helps me.

Everything in my field of vision turns red. Pain ceases to matter as my blood is pumped full of adrenaline and other stimulants. I cease to think, letting my sword move of its own accord. Named sword, living sword, well not living until I reach my full potential but it's the thought that counts in these matters. I'm not myself anymore. I'm enraged, striking, dodging, parrying in an endless circle but part of my mind stays attentive, stays concentrated on my true target.

Strike, a lung pierced, a limb cut, a sword ringing on a neckbone. Parry, steel against bone, claw against sword, strength against strength. Dodge, claws raking my neck, acid burning my hand, lungs full of something trying to dull my edge. No thought. No thought. Just the raw need to break something, to let something loose, to see blood flow and so relieve my needs. They wound me. They wound me but I don't feel them. I'm all in readiness.

And at last I catch it, my sword picks it on the floor and runs him through. Turns out they are pretty resistant but can still die if the heart is destroyed. Good to know. Its death-scream rings in all our minds, deafening us with psychic torment. Surviving creatures and Guardian fall on the floor as we are stunned for a few minutes.

Still we won our first engagement, that will be a thing to celebrate when the mission will end. But no prancing around in bear pelt while the beast still lives. We hear the rumbling of many steps, of many squads on our way, and run to the elevators, to the bottom of this hole, to project KR.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 5
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,4,2010, 3:10PM

The elevator is rather cramped for four people. I imagine the genomorphs, at least the non-humanoid ones use other ways to move across the buildings. Which begs the dread and terrible question: How much time before another squad or three is on our tracks? My highest hope is sub-level 52 is one of these places with only one access and one exit for security purposes. In the worst case, well I'm fully decided to push my comrades to flee while I summon Lord Odin's manifestation and test if I can be killed in this form.

My comrades are not very happy with me at this exact moment but I think it's mostly the shock. Apparently I killed two or three creatures back there and the young heroes do protest a bit too much for my tastes. They were trying to kill us and had good chances to succeed in their attempt; even if they were sentient, which I doubt, we would have been perfectly fine according to the law to defend ourselves. And yes killing the damnable gnome was self-defense, and moral to boot, as it was using Guardian as a weapon against us.

I think they know that. Hell, Aqualad seems more shocked at seeing creatures, as inhuman as they were, hacked apart and beheaded than by the principle of the things. Robin and Kid Flash are more distraught but, again, I think this is their first time seeing someone being controlled remotely by telepathy. As I read in the League's files, at least those they let me read, talented mind readers are rare, even Martian Manhunter would have difficulty controlling Guardian so tightly, but then he's not, by his account, the mightiest mind of his race.

To break the ice during the long, long elevator ride, I decide to try to break the ice: "So what do you think we're going to find in this Project KR? My guess is a huge kryptonite lizard monster. Then we will have to fight it before he destroys Washington."

Aqualad looks at me dumbfounded while the two others spot the reference. Fortunately, the differences in artistic productions between this world and mine are minor, I have spotted some: Apparently Vampire Chronicles was made in blockbuster saga at the same time Twilight got made in my parallel. Unfortunately, the quality is not that good and the producers thought particularly clever to insert tons of Batman references.

But then every media in this planet seems filled to the brim with superhero references, they are partly mythic icons and celebrities: their life is imagined by every tabloid in the planet. You haven't had a good laugh here before having read the story of the torrid and tragic and doomed love between Batman and Bruce Wayne. I'm still wondering why this one let the most outlandish rumors fly on his subject actually. As long as it's not criminal you can practically accuse him of sleeping with all American's jet-set without raising a fuss.

Still that means I have a nice common ground with the others when helpful subjection of "giant robot powered by kryptonite hearth" and "legion of kryptonite-armored space marines" are offered. At least it makes them smile by the time the elevator opens its doors on the last sub-level.

Well its vaster than I thought and looking very different from what I expected. We descend in the middle of a labyrinth of caves. I think some of the Genomorphs could have dug them before they installed the strange machines protruding from the wall. No purpose I can guess but then mad science loves installing machines everywhere.

"We're not running anywhere blind. This place is good for getting lost" declares Aqualad. Good thinking as is Kid Flash's addition.

"I think it's there the genomorphs live" he says pointing hive-like apertures in the ceiling and the walls. "How many of these beasts do they breed anyway?" Pens and pens I'd wager. I have no clue on their lifespan but it can't be very long. Are they even able to reproduce? None I saw presented sexual characteristics of any kind but with monsters, that's not exactly always apparent. Ruthless but sane scientists would make them sterile but then nothing I saw here screams good scientist to me.

No computer connection means it's my turn to guide. I inhale slowly while calling Perthro, the lot-cup who guides stranded travelers along their wyrd. I intone

"By the Favorable and the Matrix. By the guide in the wyrd and the labyrinth. By Ariadne and the Dice. The Norns weave the fate, I realize it. Guide us and show us the way to our goal: Perthro!"

The rune manifests as a feeling, tingling as we hasten along the directions spotting more and more machines without evident purpose. Some are activated by the small electricity producing creatures but we can't understand their design. Even Robin and Kid Flash who, so far, have demonstrated a comprehension of science deeper than I ever mastered are aghast by what they see.

Of course the gates to project KR is closed. A good gate. I would be very astonished if it was made in something as pedestrian as steel. If my suspicions are correct, it should be more resistant on the inside than the outside. But again, it's no sure thing so let's see. Aqualad and I can perhaps destroy the gate with his strength and my sword and runes. I turn towards Robin.

"You wouldn't have picked the Batman's trick to appear with exactly what we need, would you? A nice package of C-4 could come in handy there." He grins as he pulls what seems to be a fragment of clay from his utility belt.

"Don't need it Dante. You are so violent, all the gate needs is a little Robin's touch and all will be well." He quickly prances to the access pad and begin to furiously type on his holographic computer and, soon, the gates open by itself without a sound.

Well, all all this has been easy so far? No, not easy, but at least not horrendously difficult resulting in our untimely horrid death. So, as we enter, I prepare myself for the worst.

In the end I'm not disappointed. Yes, it is not Doomsday or Bizzaro or even Metallo, so that's a relief. A short-lived relief though as I glance across the room to the pods.

Not one but three, each containing a human, or near-human being. They are all glowing softly, indeed they provide the illumination for the room. What's inside is difficult to see at first, crouched in fetal position in a bright liquid I guess is made of nutriments. These are gestation pods, this is clear from the first glance, so I'm guessing clones. However why three and who are they? I'm not very surprised to see Superman's face leering at me from one of them but only one of them is an adult. Also two of the pods are engraved with sigils none of my comrades recognize. Some of them are pretty generic or could be, a spiral, an ouroboros. Above each of them, a capsule containing three gnomes.

I approach the pod containing the adult. It is strange to gaze to an imitation of Superman in such a vulnerable position, strange and rather disquieting. His traits are just visible in the unearthly glow of his nutritive soup. What is it made of? It stinks. It really stinks and I cannot place where I smelled that before only that I did. Wait! Manure, it's manure! But why? I remember in a flash.

Horse dung, human sperm, some medicinal herbs, put in a closed environment above a small fire for forty days. It's not science, even mad science, it's alchemy. That explains the sigils on that one, looking more closely I manage to piece the seven metals and the seven planets and one I don't know but who seems to incorporate fragments of the Philosopher's Sulphur and the Philosopher Egg: the sperm and the womb of the great work. That raises more questions than it answers.

This thing is nearly mature. That's evident even not knowing when it was created. While normally the begetting process needs a dose of sperm I suppose blood could work. Not that would be so much easier to obtain without Superman's permission. And he doesn't know that or he would not have warned the League about the fire.

And the two others? Are they also created magically? If that's the case they are at wildly different maturity levels. The one I'm examining is a full adult who could even pass for Superman without many problems. The one Aqualad is looking at, while the two others are arguing about the stats they are finding on Robin's computer, seems to be a teenager, sixteen-years old. I turn my gaze to them, my real gaze who sees the frontiers of life and what I see…

"This one is a homunculus." I point to the nearest while my comrades raise their ears. I point to the one none of us have approached yet. In the fringes of the underworld his pod radiates living shadows blacker than the ones in the swamp. For the first time, my eyes are attracted to the pipes network linking the pods together.

"This one has been dead for several days." I swallow a bit before continuing, unsure how to break the subject." Yet he's still dreaming, he's still sort-of-conscious."

 

[Prince Charon]

Interesting difference from canon, that.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 6
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,4,2010, 3:15PM

The mead in my mouth tasted of fire but down my throat the taste became sweet honey. Knowledge tends to behave in the exactly contrary way, sweet in the mouth but in the entrails bitter. I took the mead after explaining to my comrades it was an easy way to gain the knowledge even the secret files of CADMUS would hide. Even the trances was not a problem, considering we are standing behind a solid gate and, I didn't say that of course, could be protected by the three of them until I woke with new-found purpose. Robin is still trying to break the encryption on this place's records. The fact they are not only encrypted in the usual manner but written in some sort of alchemical cipher I'm sure only Batman or Zatarra can understand doesn't make me hopeful.

So I took my skin and drank half of it in one go. I've never tasted mead before but I'm sure it's not meant to be so burning or so sweet on the tongue. Still I'm grateful it tastes so good, even before the vision takes hold of me. I scream as I fall on the hard ground, twisting and shaking from all limbs. It's not the orderly predictions of prophecy, the simple alignment of tarot cards for a reading or even a casting of runes in a chalk circle. It's the revelation at the heart of every psychotropic ever ingested, the wisdom you gain by losing all you are in the great bliss of artificial paradises. There was a time, in my world, where I tried to experience it by willful starvation and sleep deprivation. That never worked of course even if my dreams afterward were strange and disquieting. But this is a different world and all my rites and fancies are true or can come true by the favor of the gods.

I am in the middle of a barren field bordering a city of Greece. I don't recognize it but I notice the red fountains and the bubbling water. An eagle is eating a serpent on a nearby small tree. In the field labors a man of regal appearance. A standard Greek hero this one, clad in leather, bare chested and sweating under the hot sun. He's sowing something in the bare earth, each time taking a full handful of dragon's teeth and throwing them away. Only now do I notice his hands are facing the wrong direction, strangely adjusted to the wrists. It should remind me of something but what?

From the teeth spring monsters uncounted. Sprites of lightning, trolls under their bridges, elves clad for the relentless hunt, basilisks like scaled cocks wallowing in venom. From another handful spring the giant terrors of myth, serpent-tailed chimeras, lions of unusual size with brass fur and iron claws, dog-waisted Scylla in her grotto waiting for sailors to pass her by. Every monster I ever dreamed of, born again in a new and terrible form, ready to multiply and infest the earth with their malevolence.

Above the sower stand two terrible women. One I identify by her wings and the serpentine body replacing her legs. Echidna, mother of all important monsters, daughter of Tartarus and bride of Typhon. The other I can't say who she is but she looks a Celtic woman of high birth and renown. She holds a leash and a bridle and smiles as she corrals each and every monster sprung from the earth to hold behind her.

From earth don't spring monsters anymore but living men. At least crude imitation thereof. Copies of Superman arrayed like a mighty legion. I see the three we have seen: one white as chalk, cheeks caved in by rigor mortis, rotting from the inside but still dreaming behind glass-like eyes. The second already an adult, destined for an early death bears proudly the etching attaching him to solid iron. The third walks like a man despite the red collar and manacles he is wearing, he is bent, weighted by shame and regrets, unable to fly. A fourth is following him in the sky, raging like thunder, his wrath like lightning. All walk or fly under a heptagram shining like the sun.

I see altars next, altars and supplicants and worshippers in number I cannot count. They kneel before the heptagram and worship its seven heads, bearing its marks and reveling in the gifts it offers to them. Beyond the light of the figure, I see the unseen pantheons long exiled and some faces I do recognize from my readings: a stony giant with fiery eyes, a plump woman breaking and bending will, a proud beast who walks like a man but eyes with like dying stars. The New Gods, the servants of Anti-Life stand in the shadows, not directly implicated but their influence touches all things corrupt in the universe at large.

Slowly I regain consciousness. My comrades are busy around the holographic screen of Robin's computer, trying frantically to stop something but what? I regain my bearing, draw my sword and concentrate on the runes. Protection, protection, which ones of them provide protection? Ah yes Algiz and Eihwaz. I invoke their powers raising two shimmering barriers between us, the pods and the gates.

My idea is good for at this moment, the pods empty themselves with a wet sound. Nutrient liquid coats the floor and the three clones jump on the barrier, their first blows failing to breaking it. My comrades jump into position, readying themselves.

I will try to contain the genomorphs by magic but I'm sure I'll fail. When this will be the case, I will be forced to take Odin's mantle as far as I am able. I can't say if I'm more frightened than excited at this prospect. It's necessary, and for standing our ground, and for fleeing if the fight turns to our detriment.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 7
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,4,2010, 3:20PM

I don't wait for the three clones to jump again against the barrier to launch another array of spells. I have no desire to fight them before they tire themselves against my walls and my comrades are content to wait behind me. My incantations come rough from my throat, each more memory and instinct than really well thought plan. Nevertheless, I'm sure it will work for a time; until we discover what the homunculus and the undead can do. First I trace from the tip of my sword the knot-form of Othala the rune of home while intoning:

"By the Legacy and the Gift of the Evening. You who rules all sacred spaces. For in his home the eagle remains secure, help us reinforce our ramparts. OALU!"

This works. The form I traced is now bright blue on bright white, a new layer of protection. However, I'm not yet done. As quickly as possible I trace the eight branches of Hagal on the floor, Hagal who looks like a H with the transversal bar doubled and inclined. Hagal who served in ancient times to delimit the ritual space. I trace the rune at my feet and try to make it as large as possible, encompassing my companions in its embrace.

"You the Red, Ymir's daughter and the Hail. Because Hropt loved the ancient world we shelter under your wings. HALU!"

We are bathed in red light, like flames who do not burn us. I'm sure it will burn our enemies though. I'm hesitating to launch a third spell like in the novel I read but I decide against. If I was alone, I would create the Cosmic Egg of Mannaz to place myself out of reach but I could not use the rune to protect the others. Still three layers of protections are better than one and I'm confident it will bear at least one more assault.

The young heroes are arrayed for battle. Aqualad is sporting two water-machete. Good! If his weapons are magical it could seriously hurt our adversaries. Kid Flash is crouched in readiness, ready to charge the first to break the shield. Robin has disappeared in the shadows but I'm sure he's examining when and where he will be able to strike most effectively. They have not worked together all three, but they fought in teams of two and after the fight with Guardian can coordinate a little.

As for myself, I slowly work my way to frenzy. I look to the undead clone. I smell the stink of necromancy on him and that disgusts me. Not because it offends the god I'm joined with, gods know necromancy is one of Odin's pastime but because it offends me deeply. Dead should remain dead and not trouble the living with their problems. That's also the fact I'm sure its state was not an accident. Someone purposely thought the dead carcass of Superman would be perhaps more willing to serve than a living being. The other two don't disturb me. I pity the homunculus doomed to die as quickly as he grew and the clone because it's only a weapon in the hands of despicable beings. I also pity the undead and I decided to grant him peace.
They are waiting behind the shimmering wall, without a sound. Receiving orders perhaps, or crafting a strategy? I'm not sure of their level of intelligence but except if they are berserkers I would expect they're at a human's scale.

One moment they're immobile and the next they launch themselves. The homunculus claps his hands marked with the sigil for iron and similar etchings burns bright around his body. It doesn't try to charge the barrier but he runs for its pod, seizes it in both hands and with a grunt of effort tear it from the ground. Even as I simmer, I can't help but being impressed when it turns around himself with the pod and hurls it right on the barrier. The pod crumbles to nothing when it meets my spell, but the wall shakes under the strain and a neat scar appears across its surfaces. I raise my sword, crouches my own legs and prepare to jump.

The undead is the next. As soon as the scar appears it looks at it with angry eyes. Two beams of pure cold race to the wound in my defenses and the wall is covered in ice. This thing is definitively Bizzaro with its inverted powerset. Seeing its first attack vain the monster inhales deeply before releasing a sphere of fire on its target, then another, then another until the scar widens at its liking. It is immediately joined by the homunculus who points its hands to the breach and releases lightning. Lightning? How did they create this thing and how can it do that? Lightning, ice and fire strike again and again and again until the wall at last give way breaking in glass-like splinters on the floor.

The clone moves at this moment, as fast as a speeding bullet, it launches himself at us. He's stopped in its track by the flames of Hagal, motes of light surrounding his arms, lighting his skin, wreathing it in low-intensity fire. Pain doesn't seem to stop it as it moves towards us, shambling and relentless, its brothers in tow. Hagal is struggling to contain them, to slow them but they cannot be turned from their purpose so easily. The Great Mother's rune breaks as the walls, branches extinguished, its energy all spent in wounding the three creatures.

And wounded they are. Nothing too grave, at least not yet, but still they are bleeding, their skin is burnt as if by a candle. The homunculus is leaking small doses of stagnant liquid which is certainly no blood while the undead is spewing black sludge. They shamble like zombies but stiffen themselves as they walk, recouping from the sudden unexpected pain.

I don't wait for them to regain their bearing as the fury I welled up expresses itself. There's something liberating in surrendering to the red, to forget pain, fear and hesitation in one terrible wave. To let instinct or what passes for it in my case take command of your body and move it at its leisure. I run to the undead and unleashes a flurry of blows he doesn't even try to parry. The blade bites in the flesh, grating at the bones with a wet sound. My opponent gazes on me with his cold vision and I scream, more from surprise than pain, as one of my hands is covered in ice. I redouble my attack, targeting at random throat, wrists and face. If it is as resistant as it seems, piercing it will gain me nothing but a stuck sword. Better to cut it to pieces.

It counter-attacks of course and I recoil as it unleashes a stream of fire from its mouth. I draw back, faster and faster, unable to counter the flames pouring at me. My comrades fare little better. While they were not surprised by the assault as they could have been, and dance at the edge of my vision, dodging fighting, hitting, they are not so powerful as to counter their opponents. More time. If they had more time to work all three together, even without me, they would have won this even by now. Teamwork and coordination can generally overcome superior individuals. As it is now, each of us resists by his raw power and in this team I have the most of it for the moment.

The fight lasts what seems an eternity before the two others clones comes to me. Apparently they have finished with my comrades. Bad, very bad. From my experience even the mantle of a god cannot guarantee victory against Superman, even less against three. I hear pounding at the door. Other genomorphs I'd wager. My blade moves of its own accord but it's time to cut my losses and try what I may. While I was fighting the sixteenth rune presented itself in my mind. The sixteenth rune Sowelo like the sixteenth Arcanum, the sun and the primal fire and the lightning and the destruction. I visualize its lightning shape, I trace it in the air with my sword, even as I'm pummeled by my opponents, feeling no pain only because I'm in a trance.

"By the power of the Wheel and the Root. Breaker of Chains and Great Sustainer. I kneel before the sacred and bend to your will. Fall like thunder and render judgement now. SOWELO!"

The fire doesn't come from above obviously; it doesn't even come from the ground as if I had summoned Kenaz. It springs from my own body lighting the room in bright white flame. For a moment I become flame and whirlwind and the thing hidden beneath the old symbolism of the swastika. The power washes over me and my comrades lying on the ground and it strikes the creatures. The clone is the least affected but the two others screams and howl as they turn to ashes and cinders, flame springing from their own bodies to consume them.

I fall on the ground. The pain of every wound I sustained in the battle, and they seem to be quite a few, is wracking my bones and leaving me unable to stand. I try to hold to my consciousness but I fail miserably and my mind sinks under black waters.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 8
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,5,2010, 0.01 AM

Darkness everywhere around me, the sensation of drowning beneath black waves as the world spins out of control around me. Sinking deeper, always deeper into unconsciousness, not remembering my name or my goal. My thoughts turn around me, bright stars I can't catch, cloud I'm forced to let pass by. I vaguely know what I feel is like sleep but also very different. A voice I don't know screams in my ears, trying without successes to slow my descent. It's useless. All I feel is weight of water above me, crushing me under old forgotten shames, eyes turned inside, not feeling pain anymore, not seeing anything of the world, oblivious to which I'm dead or alive.

Something try to make contact with me. Its, his, it feels definitively male, touch is hesitant as he didn't want to be near me but steeled himself for the greater good. Thoughts who are not mine try to peer under the deep ocean, catch my sleeping sinking form and begin to surround me. I feel disgust at the necessity of the action, temptation to let simply go and let him/me at my/his fate. Yet, he decides to accomplish what he was going to do. His power coils around me and drags me upwards, painful memory by painful memory, until my head is above the water and I can hear and think anew.

Thus I know I'm in the space of my mind, a representation of my consciousness and that I have at least one ally here. I call Vergil who has been silent since I took Odin's mantle, surely because he has nothing snarky to say before the mission ends and he'll be able to tear me a new one without being interrupted. With a sigh the psychic scenery changes, becoming a forest of yews and ashes. I remember the fight briefly. I must have fallen unconscious at the end. However, even Vergil can't give me details on what happened after.

The psychic intruder bids me to awaken and I do, racing upwards until I regain mastery of my bruised limbs. Such is my situation I almost fall back in unconsciousness: I'm still drowning, surrounded by re-transparent liquid. I try to stop my respiration by instinct but my lungs are burning and I open mouth and nose at the same time. To my surprise the liquid, not water and tasting awful, is respirable. What is going on here? Perhaps it is my waking sensations but it seems to me the walls of my pod are beating at the rhythm of some unseen heart. Still I sense the icy touch of syringes and needles piercing my skin in many places. I'm also stark naked.

It takes a few minutes of painful stretching before I consider I'm completely awake and sure of my sensation. My comrades and I are imprisoned in living pod, naked and pierced by an array of medical implements I don't know the purpose of, not that I want to. From what I see from the other's vats, at least some of them are collecting bodily fluids of all natures, which is not a good thing to see and feel. I consider my options for a moment. I still sense Odin's power in me which means I can still mantle him and use some power to break the vat. I'm readying myself to do just that when I see him enter the circle of pods.

He's less wounded than I thought but then I don't know how much time passed between our fight and now. Still the bright white suit is in tatters revealing scars of burned tissue. He walks to us without any sign of pain so I assume he's healed. He considers us carefully. I'm wondering how we appear to him. I know how we appear to humans: strange fetuses peering from red-liquid and mist like Dune's navigators, but he was grown in one of these pods. Not the exact model, obviously but I will be surprised if we are the first hosts of these machines. Still he looks at us with icy blue eyes, judging us. And then he talks. I mean there was no reason of him not being able to but it's still a bit surprising.

"My brothers are dead." And that's a good new, boy, even if you don't realize it. Some things are not to be created. His tone is cold, neutral. No not neutral, under the monotone you can hear the slightest bit of wrath. Good. Perhaps we can trick him to crack open the pods. Can we even talk here?

"No but with my help communication will be possible" This voice is true monotome, sounding directly in my head, linking my thoughts with my comrades. I eagerly hail them, happy to confirm no one was left for dead in the battle. Their presence is twitching in the link but they calm themselves as the new presence depart our minds while the link is established.

Our benefactor walks from the shadows. He's humanoid, near-human in fact. Save for the blue skin and the nearly comical horns protruding from his forehead. His expression is impassible even if I sense a wave of contempt when he looks at me. He stands still near the clone without moving a muscle while we try to contact each other telepathically.

It's more difficult than it sounds. Translating your thoughts in images and understandable phrases without bearing your heart for all to see is not something you get right the first time. So we spend five minutes to tentatively reach to each other until we are sure we can converse without overwhelming the others parts of the conversation with raw emotion. When he's satisfied his voice is clear in our minds.

"When I set that fire up, I didn't foresee what would transpire. I admit I'm not sure what to do now."

Ok I decide to let my comrades deal with one, after all I'm the one who killed genomorphs so I doubt he'll be willing to negotiate with me. Also when "he" set that fire up? That raises some questions. Aqualad is nevertheless quick to answer.

"You wanted to be free. You wanted the League to investigate that place." Again why? Does the League really put all the fires in Washington out? But the guy is an abomination of science so I am not surprised his plan was not the well-thought of. It brought us here so it worked in a fashion. The clone's voice rings angrily in our ears.

"I'm not going with them. I don't want to leave here. It's my home." The genomorph is not impressed and soothes him, for a certain value of soothing:

"We have already talked about that today brother. You want to see all the G-Gnome have taught you about and they are your best chance to do this, to fulfill your purpose. Nevertheless, you must be freed before that can happen." He pauses. "Your antics have angered our creator. He spent most of the evening trying to repair Kadmon and Soter. Even my clearance will not help you go back to the surface."

I decide to intervene: "There will be no need of that. I can transport us out of here. If "Superboy" want to join us, he can." And I think he will, if not by his own desires then under the influence of Odin's silver tongue. I look to Robin, trying to distinguish while he's doing. He's shaking in his vat, perhaps trying to free himself. Well if one of us could do it, it would be him. "Superboy" thought message to us is strange.

"I knew what I was. I knew of my purpose. Replace the Superman if he'd perish. Destroy him if he'd turn from the light." If not for the army of abomination against nature I would be very sympathetic to this goal. DC's earths have tremendous luck when it comes to superhuman and Ka-el in particular. To seek a means to counteract an evil Superman is just common sense. The means employed though… The clone continues.

"I awoke with orders, functions, purposes. I awoke to stop you from… doing something bad. My brothers died and the rage passed and…" he points to the horned genomorph "Dubbilex is telling me we serve bad guys, that I will never meet Superman or one of the others, that they consider me just as a weapon" You are a weapon, boy, crafted to be one anyway. Of course you can transcend your purpose but I doubt we have time for a whole philosophical discussion on your nature now. "I want to see the outside, to see heroes, to see what I'm meant to protect"

I try to smile behind the curtain of red: "Free us and we'll show you all that. Scout's honor."

He exchanges a gaze with Dubbilex then, smiling coldly, puches my pod. The surface doesn't break like glass but open like a sphincter, letting the strange liquid spill over the floor. Robin's vat is broken from the outside. I have no idea how he managed to do that but that's impressive. While he and Superboy frees the others I walk to Dubbilex. We'll need to recover our costumes, at least Robin's utility belt and computer, and Aqualad's water-bearers. And I seem to have forgotten something. Well we intruded upon Cadmus, beat Guardian up, found three, superman pods. Wait, three, my vision said they were four. I tell to Dubbilex.

"We can't let a Superman's clone unattended. Where's the fourth"

The genomorph's face has at last an expression, surprise but not an unhappy one. I'm sure I'm alone to hear his voice now.

"You seek Match? He's at this level if you want to take it."

Match? What kind of name for a clone is that?

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 9
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,5,2010, 0.30 AM

What a team we make, walking merrily along CADMUS' hallways talking along the way of our objectives or newest members. Robin, youngest but not the least, all clad in red and black with more toys in his utility belt than a professional gunman has bullets. Kid Flash running quicker than eye can see like a bolt of yellow, tip-toeing while he waits for us to catch along. Aqualad black and blond and red, two water-bearers at the belt, flippers between his fingers, gills along his neck, the most professional among us. The two new arrivals: Superboy in the tatters of his white solar suit with the S sigil proudly attached on the torso, pacing like a wrathful beast while he considers our objective. Dubbilex, tall gaunt horned and blue, silently linking our thoughts and letting us talk without sounds. And of course myself, neither the least or the greatest of these, dutifully leading to an objective I alone saw.

I'm surprised things have worked so well. The pods were opened without violence, Robin impressed everyone by jumping out of his before Dubbilex commanded the somehow-living thing to release its prey. We recovered our costumes, or in my case conjured them anew from the shadows. Then we destroyed every sample of skin, blood and sperm CADMUS had already extracted. (Finding we were destined to be broken down to our component parts and cloned was not a very good news but fortunately they would have waited to extract all before disposing of us). Still I'm fearing what will come after.

I still think we can't let Match rot in a pod to be used against the League but my enthusiasm was severely dampened when Dubbilex announced Doctor Desmond, the brain responsible to create his own race, will be attending the pod and the clone. While I would normally not be frightened by a mere human untrained in combat, I remember all too well the two creatures who shared Superboy's chamber. Alchemy and necromancy point to sorcerous involvement with CADMUS and none of us has ever fought a sorcerer. Even Aqualad trained in Atlantis in battle-magic has only theoretical knowledge of such a fight.

The Cadmus in my vision sported deformed hands and I'm wondering what they could mean. I don't remember any creatures bar the Indian Rakshasas sporting such deformities and I can't imagine how an Indian ogre would manage to be employed by even as shady an organization as CADMUS. No matter. Each step along the way to the depths of sub-level 52 brings us near to answers.

Dubbilex speaks with abundance about his people. I was mistaken, genomorphs are sentient but not as individuals. I have not the resources for understand the nature of their intelligence but it seems to be a gestalt of some sort. With exception a single genomorph is a beast, five are child-like and twenty are of human intelligence. Yet in either case they develop their own personalities and keep their individualities. The G-Goblin is surprised of my enthusiastic support for the freedom of his specie, after I have murdered some of them but I seem to have convinced him, with a heavy dose of lord Odin's manipulative skills, I was mistakenly considering them non-sentient and was defending my own life and that of my comrades.

I don't know if he believes me but he's desperate and the League is his best hope for his people anyway.

We arrive to Doctor Desmond private lab. As Dubbilex explains to us, the good doctor is fond of mixing the different CADMUS projects together in his spare time, trying to combine their strength in one terrible being.

Well I must say the lab looks the part. At this depth into Cadmus the walls are irregulars, seeded with genormorphs' eggs/cocoons who serve as the room's lighting. The equipment looks normal if a bit unsettling: vivisection table, beakers, vats, sizeable library and all the assorted things. It seems normal before you remark the tiny runic script covering every inch of matter like some hieroglyphs. Even the scalpels and syringes are consecrated like ritual implements. A collection of vats contains deformed specimens at different stage of developments, some looking too much human to my taste. The books seem old, too old for being only scientific volumes. No trace of the good doctor or Match yet, so we advance carefully into the lab, letting Robin leads us in making the less noise possible.

We could have not bothered. We see them both in a secondary room. Like our pods, this one is alive and beats at the rhythm of the thoughts of his host. A collection of vials filled with bright unidentifiable liquids are pumped into the vats, some provoking a shaking or a bulging in the prisoner. Doctor Desmond is at his desk, mixing some kind of concoction, seemingly unaware of our presence.

Robin signals us to stop while he pulls a batarang from his belt. The non-explosive kind, of course. He preps himself and without a sound, launches it directly to the doctor's head. The weapon flies through and… breaks under the skin while the doctor turns to face us with a smile on his face.

He seems normal enough. In his forties, standard build, a ponytail. His hands are facing the right way but then, even if the vision is to be interpreted literally all that unassuming appearance could just be an illusion. I cast a gaze on the components he was mixing: Dried heart, brain and liver but not human ones, they are far too large for that. The mixture is bright blue, very bright blue, phosphorescent like these radiation-contaminated water in cartoons.

He laughs considering us: "And I was wondering who was the traitor in our organization. Everyone seems to forget their place today. No matter. I guessed you would want to take the last of my children."

Children? That's not creepy at all considering one of them was rotting from the inside and the others was destined to die in forty days. But then mad scientists have to be mad.

"So what do we have here? Three sidekicks without their elder and betters. An overseer fancying itself a revolutionary. A weapon pointed to its wielder." He takes the mixture while gazing at me. "And a fugitive serving wizened obsolete old idols." Fugitive? What is he talking about? Superman try to jump at him but Desmond already drinks the mixture and changes…

His skin is black, black of starless night not a natural skin color. His eye and mouth are burning with unearthly red fire. He's tall, two meters at least, perhaps two fifty, all in bound bulging muscles. His hands are definitively attached the wrong way now. Still despite its appearance, his eyes still betray intelligence. He's has not gone berserk and indeed he laughs while walking to us.

"And to say I was wondering how to test Match." He makes a gesture towards the living pod who opens like some noxious flower.

And a clone of Superboy charges us with eyes burning with heat vision.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 10
PROJECT CADMUS, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,5,2010, 0.45 AM

Fortunately for all of us, Superboy is the first target of Match's rampage. Well I doubt he counts himself fortunate for being embroiled with his cousin/brother/clone on the floor in a wrestling match punctuated by bright flashes of heat vision but at least he's able to take it. After a brief exchange of gazes, Aqualad runs to the two fighters, trying to restrain the raging clone. Kid Flash, Robin and I circle the creature Doctor Desmond became, warily trying to assess his capacities. He doesn't seem to react to our presence, confident in his own invincibility, waiting for our attacks to break upon his skin.

I have no idea what this mixture has done to him. Vergil assures me the organs of giants give great strength and fortitude and that the Rakshasas are already terrible in their normal form. We surround him completely without exactly planning to. Robin eyes us to coordinate an attack. We give signs of assent and wait for his move. It shouldn't be long.

Indeed, it doesn't. Robin jump backwards unleashing a batarang's volley. The projectiles explode as soon as they come in contact with the black impenetrable skin. Kid Flash runs around Desmond keeping the smoke to evaporate. Then I charge, sword at the ready in a terrible blow. It doesn't work. The sword strikes with a ringing sound, nearly shaking itself loose from my hands. Unabated we try other blows, other projectiles but to no avail.

"Pathetic." As I'm the nearest Desmond seizes me by the shoulder before effortlessly sending me into a solid wall, making me kneel in pain. He tries to do that to the two others but Robin dodges the grip, puts weight on the creature's head then jumps at my side without difficulty. Kid Flash is less lucky and is cast aside like me but he manages to put his feet on the wall and fall without harm.

For a moment I wonder where Dubbilex is in all this but soon I get my answer. The equipment in the lab begin to shake and tear itself loose and rise high in the air. The genomorph is nowhere to be seen, lurking in the shadows I suppose. With a resounding crack, all objects in the room are sent flying to Desmond to no effect. I begin to think it's hopeless. Seing vials of acid crash into him with no more visible harm than a moment of chirping and smoking, desks and chrome tables break without inflicting damage, makes me doubt we can really restrain him. His voice rises in the storm of debris, mocking and alluring:

"You are wasting your efforts children. I cannot be harm by the powers of men."

Very specific prohibition here, at least it ties into the myths. Ravana rajah of all Rakshasas was defeated because he forgot to ask to be protected from mankind. If Desmond's protections are of the same sort, they should be subject to the same interpretations. Man could mean human so we'd need an alien, could mean male so we'd need a heroine. In either case, reaching the surface can only help us. But we must act quickly.

Next to us the three fighters have disentangled themselves. Aqualad bends his muscle as he try to pin Match down while Superboy have his clone's neck in his elbow. The two are forced to loosen their grip when the clone flashes heat vision at Aqualad, piercing the costume at chest level. Free to concentrate on his remaining adversary, he easily shakes Superboy loose. He stops after that, hesitating between going to us and finishing his opponents off and I take this moment for what is worth.

I accept Odin's mantle even as it hurts me. The light disappears from one of my eye, making the world fuzzier than usual. I don't concentrate on the deep cold aching my joints, old age wracking my limbs. The shaft of the spear I unfastened from my back is bright with blazing runes, each representing a kept oath. The winged helm is now a baroque thing more magnificent than any Viking chieftain's panoply. Two ravens materialize out of thin air before going upwards and phasing through rock and stone.

That gets Desmond attention. Robin almost lacks the time to roll over and dodges the furious charge while I just get my spear in position. The blade only grazes the nightly skin and doesn't draw blood. Looks like my guess of "immune to male warriors" is correct which means the second part of my gambit is still needed. I remember the street just in front of the building, the shops I saw, how CADMUS appeared as we approached. I try to encompass the six, seven of us as I strike the ground with the spear called Gugnir and we are all, friend and foe alike, transported elsewhere with rainbow light and the sound of eight legs stomping.

It's a partial success. We are not outside CADMUS but in the central lobby, so mostly right where I wanted to bring us. Dubbilex is absent, perhaps because he was standing too far. Match and Superboy are disconcerted by the sight of the night's sky peering through the windows but they soon return to try to maim each other. Aqualad, not blinded by fury like them, try to goad Match towards the walls. Trying to make the building crumble? Not a bad idea. I scream to the others: "If you have a plan, do it now! I hold that thing back!" Desmond laughs at my presumption but my comrades disperse in good order. Just two things to do now. Just two things…

Desmond charges me, trying to send me back into another wall, but this time I'm ready. I escape his grip, still grazing him. While it doesn't seem to hurt him, he doesn't seem to find the experience a good one, so he comes after me again and again and again until he drags me by the throat and pulls me from the ground. I still manage to whisper through my choked throat.

"I'm of the blood of Ymir, the blood of giants." Desmond is forced to release me as I begin to grow in size and bulk to become more like him.

We wrestle with each other. Neither of us is trained in unharmed combat so we don't manage to hurt ourselves very much. Still I can keep him off balance until the others enact their plans. We try to strangle each other; we try to punch each other before realizing it has no effect. My one eye deep into his red ones, we try to tear each other limb from limb to no avail, rolling and turning like a pair of disgruntled lovers on the cold floor.

An explosion resounds, then another, then another. Robin's work take care of half the pillars of the room while Aqualad goads the two Superman's clones to turn their attention to the rest. Someone, Kid Flash I believe cry to me to get out and with a smile and simple visualization of Raidho the rune of the chariot, I let the former doctor be buried on a pile of rocks.

He's not harmed of course, but still not being harmed will not keep him from needing some time to emerge from the rubble. Some time I can use to concentrate on the ravens. A brief look through the eyes of Hugin and Munim indicates they have found their targets. They are on their way. Now, to deal with Match.

The clone is not fazed by the defeat of his creator. Indeed, he has become even more furious, punctuating his strikes with the red light of lasers. While Superboy is the main target of his ire and he even ignores Aqualad who was fighting him for the last hour or so, he still tries to fry us as soon as his counterpart is busy rising up from a blow.

Lucky for us, the cavalry is coming. We need to just last a little more time. Perhaps we can even best him. We surround him from all sides. My blade or Aqualad water-bearers are able to wound him but I don't want to kill him just yet. Still I charge him, easing Superboy's burden and manage to pierce his shoulder with a thrust of the spear.

Hearing Superman's younger voice screaming in pain is not a beautiful sound but that's the touch of heat vision that makes me regret my action. When I was training with Superman he deliberately limited himself to low-intensity blast. They stung but these ones burn my flesh. Even Odin's formidable stamina is not able to keep me from recoiling in pain, without even tearing Gugnir from my opponent's elbow. Lucky for me Aqualad is the next to land a blow, electrifying his water-bearers and forcing Match to his knees. What are the others doing? I have my answer when I hear Robin's voice

"Dante, Aqualad, Superboy! Cover your ears!"

I cover them but that doesn't make the experience any less painful. The batarang Robin launches emits a high-pitched sound, nearly at the limit of human hearing. I grit my teeth as the ringing drills in my head but the clones fare much worse. Match is yelping like a dog near a particularly painful doorbell and after a few moment falls unconscious on the ground. Superboy is less affected but still I can see a trickle of blood falling down his lips where he bit too hard to not scream.

Well! We defeated a mutant and a Kryptonian clone without having the League to help us. That's a success beyond my wildest expectations even if I suspect the others would tell this is totally normal, then boast than no foe could possibly be beyond them. Still simply recounting all the moments we could have died in there gives me the shudders.

We turn from Match to look at the sky and see Superman descending from the heavens. With every other members of the Justice League. Those who can't fly float on green platforms held by one of the Green Lantern. I see a look of relief in my comrades' mentors' eyes but still they manage to look stern while putting their feet on the ground. That strikes me as a little exaggerated. I mean we only destroyed one building and most of it is underground!

Superman catches Superboy and Match on the floor and his expression shift from stern to… What is that? Disgust? Disappointment? Surprise? Fear? A mélange of all these feelings, none of them good. He nearly recoils when Superboy looks at him right in the eyes. The rest of the League seems to hesitate on who will talk first. I decide to relieve them from that burden.

'Sirs." I say to them while pointing to the rubble pile that was CADMUS. "We have a perhaps still conscious enemy under there. Nothing we did to him seemed to slow him down so I think he simply lacks the space to move."

With the speed given by long habit, Wonder Woman and a score of Leaguers position themselves to watch the rubble and begin to discuss the best way to contain the former doctor. I don't know how things will end but at least I think I delayed our dressing down until morning.
​

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 11
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,6,2010, 11:45 AM

The clones' bodies twist and shake as we lay our hands before them. They try to scream, once more, but after four hours of procedure their voices are raw and hoarse, reduced to frightened whispers. Neither I or my colleague on this operation relish their pain but it is unfortunately a necessity. Nothing I can do without mantling Nephthys can put them to sleep and they prove resistant to Martian Manhunter's probes and injunctions to rest. So they remain conscious while we sift through their minds and body like a gold digger sifts through sand and mud.

I don't envy the Manhunter's task. Even if he agreed to let us probe his mind, Superboy's psyche fights him by instinct, forcing him to be extremely subtle and invasive in his attempts to parse what exactly CADMUS imparted to their weapon. Match resists him even more, threatening to overcome him with raw emotion and pure concentrated violence. My own task is double. Officially I must ascertain their clones' physiologies, at least before Star Labs takes the relay for Match. In practice I have to maintain them as immobile as possible, a task only made possible by Nephthys' powers on disease. My spells bind them to their medical beds but it's the vicious sickness I conjured in their bones that keeps them from raging too much.

Nevertheless, we advance slowly but surely, discovering one by one the traps laid for them in their brains and flesh. Superboy is not a full-Kryptonian clone, parts of his body are human and others are coming from unknown sources. I don't know exactly why CADMUS did this but seeing Match's berserker tendencies I'm willing to charge difficulties in creating a fully-functional brain. Still a hybrid should normally be far more difficult to create than a pure-breed. I can see no flaws in his altered organism but Martian Manhunter is digging and destroying a wealth of hidden controls: Susceptibility to mind-control, seventeen command words ranging from power suppression to cold calculated efficient murder of possible teammates. The list is long and growing by the hour. It's enough to make me consider to bind Superboy with sanctified oaths and geassa before allowing him out of here

Match is even more difficult. Not only his conditioning is only martial in nature. (Why? Did they scrape the project when it was obvious he was rabid? Or did they create him only to kill and not replace Superman as Superboy was obviously meant to be?) His mind is void of everything nor related to warfare and consummate hatred for Superman. Manhunter wishes to continue probing, to see if there is something we can bring to the surface. I argue we should put him off his misery or build his mind from scratch.

Everything would be easier if Superman had deigned take a stance on the issues or even allowed us the use of the Kryptonian databanks of the Fortress of Solitude but no. I understand he wants nothing to do with clones grown of DNA stolen from him but the whole thing begins to piss me off. If one of them is grievously wounded, they will be out of the reach of even my mantling a god of health. The only recourse would be CADMUS or directly requesting audience with one of the powers of healing in the world.

I sigh in relief when Manhunter signals the end of the procedure for the day and I'm free to dispel what bindings I held Superboy's in. Match I leave bound by sorcery and disease, too weak to rise from his bed, too weak to do anything but simmer. Would the League permit me to put him in a coma but they judge that unethical as long as there is hope Match reveals itself to be a person and not a weapon.

Barring a breakthrough, we will surely be at the same point until the end of the week.

I'm still grimacing while I help Superboy (he really needs another name) to rise, achieving to purge his organism of all I put in there. He's still wincing in pain but he's happy. He began to be that way when we discovered the first command word and burned it from his mind. Now while he still dislikes the intense pain, he will bear it as long as he's not sure his mind is not completely his own.

Time for a quick change of clothes and we're off to the cafeteria. I admit I was somewhat surprised the League will make no attempt to hide Superboy's existence from the world. His nature will remain secret, of course, but he's not confined to League's facilities. Good, that would have been a terribly misguided thing to do. And at least he can socialize with his fellow young heroes.

I repress a grin. At this time nothing is confirmed, but Wonder Woman has more or less confirmed to me the four of them will indeed constitute a team of heroes. They are still discussing what this team will do, how it will be operated, from where and all these logistics questions, but they will get their wish. As for me? Well, the League thinks I managed a good job in keeping them alive and well and they are ready to let me a bit of free time to accomplish the will of the gods. Like the future of the team, the range of what I can do to foster worship in the old pantheon is up to debate. However, as long as I don't force anyone and I respect American law on preaching that should not be a problem. I must hit the books on this peculiar issue but from what I remember they are rather lenient on religion here even if they seem a little bit less crazy about that than in my home parallel. I have several ideas already on how to use my powers in non-combative ways and bring a suitable flock to my masters.

As we join the others, already hogging a table in full costume and seemingly oblivious to the attention they receive, I amuse myself by comparing their lunches. What a person eats can tell you so many things on their personality: Aqualad seems to be the most balanced of the trio: rice, fish, greens and water. Robin is happily gulping on fries and meat with nary a vegetable in sight. And Kid Flash. Well seeing him eat I wonder if he's bulimic. I didn't see him long enough to watch if he makes himself vomit after eating. Still I don't see any reasonable way to explain the quantities he ingests. It's not even bad or fat food, he's currently putting beans in his mouth at remarkable speed. He's so quick I'm amazed his costume remains clean. Superboy is apparently anxious to taste anything which is not nutrient paste and helps himself to the day's pasta then go to sit with them.

I'm rather relieved to see them getting along so easily. Sure Superboy is far from having a "normal" personality and joke with them but it's certainly better than I would have thought. Kaldur, Dick and Wallace are going out of their way to make him feel welcome, to show him the world. I'm also be doing that but I suspect with a somewhat different outlook.

It's funny, I think as I take my order (lamb, fries and green with a glass of red) and go sit at their side. Realistically they are not so much younger than me. Ok this is a lie. Robin is a child, Wallace is not far off and Kaldur while remarkably mature for sixteen is still a teen to me. Nevertheless, they make me feel old from my twenty-five years' point of view. They, at least the central trio, consider themselves brothers, I would consider them children.

I'll make a point to visit their team when I'm able. They need someone outside their age group but not so old they would associate them with their mentors. Still I wonder if I'll have the time to visit them often.

Well life is full of surprises, isn't it.

 

[ganonso]

Episode 2: Dragon's Teeth: Part 12
HALL OF JUSTICE, WASHINGTON D.C
JULY,6,2010, 1:00 PM

"So how are you going to do it?"

Strange how these things work. The meal was excellent even if the wine was kind of shitty but that's par the course. Kaldur did everything he could to make Superboy welcome, with much better results than Kid Flash and Robin exuberance. As talking about anything at CADMUS was out of the question in public the subject came of my obligations to the gods. I grinned all along. Wally, Kid Flash, is apparently not believing the source of my powers is magical nor that I have duties to the powers above. I can commiserate. After all I was an avowed atheist back home but since my arrival here I had to face the fact. Gods, and magic and science none thought possible are real and disbelieving it will not make it go away.

Still hearing Wally frantic explanations of "energy-to-matter transmutation" to explain my changes of costume and "psychic powers using ritual words as focus" to explain all the runecasting I did while we tangled with CADMUS' guards, is good for a laugh.

I insisted they accompany me on my errand to show them how I will spend my days after our roads will part. Seeing as they had nothing to do this afternoon they accepted to quickly change and walk the streets with me. None of us are in costume for several reasons, the most important one being I have no desire to associate the young heroes' names to a pagan revival. As full of preconceptions on America as I am, I don't believe I'm too far off in foreseeing a massive shitstorm when people will begin to pray to the old pantheons. No need to have the team pegged as pagan so soon in their careers.

So here we are, walking Downtown Washington in the heat of July with Kid Flash asking me how I do plan to convert people. Well, not only not all of my patrons requires worship, (Nephthys totally wants it though, a matter of being nearly forgotten by the world while her sister, brothers and son acceded to the heights of human imagination), but finding potential devotees is not that difficult. Cults do it all the time and unlike them, I can give to people nearly anything they can ask. At a price generally but nothing in this world is really free. Well I can't quite resist the opportunity to lecture, can't I?

"Religion is all about fulfilling a need Wally. There is something in man who reach to the invisible, who thinks there are powers organizing the movement of the worlds. Generally, more hectic your life, the more you crave some meaning, some order in the universe. Comfort the poor, bewilder the great and you have a new religion already in the making. How am I going to do it? I'm simply going to do the same thing Jesus did, and they called him a god pretty quick."

My comrades' relative lack of reactions is not what I expected. Even the mildest Christian would have screamed blasphemy by now, if only because I plan to usurp the role. Still I don't see why I'm so surprised. Kid Flash seems to be a Dawkins-style sceptic with fortunately a little less vitriol. Aqualad has his own religion who seems to be a hodge-podge of every water divinity existing. Superboy was not implanted with a religion but he seems to know about festivals and the like. Robin is the only one who could have been religious but apparently no.

Even in July it's not difficult to find some homeless if you leave the main streets a bit. While Washington seems not as bad as Gotham and only have the normal American rate of crippling poverty, you find your share of desperate people. I neglect to mouth to my comrades the first group we met is begging at what, two or three streets from the Hall of Justice. I doubt they would appreciate the irony like I do.

Three of them, all men in their fourties, I dismiss. Not for lack of pity but their fall from the American Dream must be recent for they bear few marks of disease or ailment. Sure they are malnourished with rashes on their skin, bleeding gums and breaths reeking of cheap alcohol but they are easily fixable. No missing limbs, no deep painful condition. I will heal them of course but they would not take that for a divine intervention, just a cleaning up.

The fourth, a black man in perhaps his sixties is in a worse state. His bald head is covered in white rashes who remind me of leprosy even if I know it can't be that. His eyes appear cloudy, the pupil seeming like a patch of mist at the center. I don't think he can see me as I approach, my comrades observing from a small distance. When I spoke of Jesus I didn't mean to be so literal but you don't insult the gods by refusing their gifts.

"Eh youn' man. Got any money?" Well he can apparently still hear. His companions are visibly too stoned, on minor things for what I can identify at first glance but he's still sober.

"I've some, but I have something better to give you. How are you seeing things old man?"

"Most days I can't see a damn thing. Eyes of mine begun to not work five years ago and things haven't got any better."

"I can give you your eyes back. If you want them back of course."

"Sure thing. Let me call my banker and you'll get a right shower of cash for your troubles. I can't pay for anything, young man, nor can I pass under the knife of some psycho. You know, you'll fix my eyes then piss off with my liver or anything else."

Unfortunately, even in my parallel he would be right to be wary, of course much less than here but still. I take my most comforting tone but I was never great a soothing people.

"There will be no knife. That will take just a moment. But you must accept"

"Well, things are not gonna be any worse for me? It's not like I'll be living off the street hey." His laugh sounds like a cough. I'll give it a look when I have fixed his eyes.

I simply concentrate on the power of Nephthys who is healing while spitting on my hands. The old man recoils a little when he feels my wet hands on his eyes but still go with the procedure. Only a last thing to do to seal the deal.

"I ask but one thing for this. You'll remember the name Nephthys and say to all people like you Nephthys helped you, that Nephthys healed you."

"Nephthys? Is that one these queer saints? Are you a churchman?" I chuckle a little.

"Something like that. Now you'll do this?"

"Yes I'll do it. On my folk's bones, I'll do it".

I smile as I send the surge of energy down my hands and into his flesh, reknitting and repairing, making him haler he was in years, healthier than most men his age. Rashes recede, minor scars disappear, skin recovers its luster. I can't fill his belly but that problem is easily solved by some of the stipend the League gave me. I tell him in a loud voice.

"Then open your eyes and see. The old gods have made you whole again"

When he wipes his eyes and open him his pupils have regained a normal color, black on grey and he gazes in wonder. I quickly swipe him some cash, enough for a meal or two with a stern warning to not use it on anything else and remember the name. After that, purging the three stoners is hardly anything to write about even if it obviously cements my status as a miracle worker.

My comrades look bewildered. Except Superboy of course who has already tasted my powers over health and disease. Robin in particular seems officially whelmed. Is he considering the possibilities for Batman and he if they got injured? Does he think I could have saved his parents if I were on the scene this night some years ago? Kid Flash is oscillating between the skeptic persona and the normal "Oh my God, you cured a blind person" stage. As for Aqualad, who knows what is he thinking. He seems to be considering the practical applications. I creep near Kid Flash and launches.

"So that's how I'm doing it and will continue to do it. When channeling a god of health, I can heal somewhat ten people in this state by day." Not good enough in my mind but still useful as long as I don't enhance my channeling capacities. Still I should find other groups to fill my day's quota.

The buzz of the temporary communicator the League gave me nearly make me jump in surprise. What do they want? I doubt it's an emergency for my comrades' own devices are silent. I pick it up, put it to my ear and quickly answers.

"Dante's in" The voice picking up is Wonder Woman's

"Raphael. Could you go back to the Hall please. We have reached a consensus on the Team" And that concerns me how exactly? I quickly babbles I and the other will go back immediately but Diana continues.

"I'm saying it to you now to not have you surprised at the meeting but we have decided the team will operate under the League's aegis, and you will serve as liaison between the two groups. If you are willing of course."

Wait. What now?