DC Elseworlds 1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

A single slice from a Kryptonian dagger ended Diana's life. She gazed into the cold and calculating cerulean eyes of her beloved as the life fled from her.

It was done.

The killer allowed himself a momentary smile before letting the lifeless husk slip from his grasp. He glanced at the Amazons, who had shaken off their horror and were already armed and rushing toward him with deadly intent. They stood no chance – he knew it and so did they – but further killing was not his purpose.

He graced them with a single, sardonic grin before leaping skyward, saying nothing and leaving them to suffer in their anguish as he mocked their pain with a bubble of derisive laughter.

* * *

Kal-El sat straight up, terrified by his nightmare. His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythm of fear that he had to work hard to bring under control. Sweat beaded on his brow and torso, and he took a deep, shuddering breath before finally regaining his equilibrium. That alone should have clued him to the fact that something was horribly wrong. A Kryptonian, perfectly able to control all emotions, should have had no difficulty bringing to heel something as prosaic as fear.

It was the smell, though, that would break through his distraction.

The scent of blood is ineffable.

His hands were covered in it. Even in the dim light, at least dim to human sight, he could see it dripping through his fingers, puddling on the sheets.

His heart hammered again, a staccato beat of onrushing horror. Diana slept next to him, but he couldn't hear her heartbeat: that metronomic sound, as individual and glorious as her face was stilled. With dawning realization, he turned to look at her and realized the terrible truth.

Diana no longer slept next to him. Her head nearly torn from her body, face frozen in shock, answered all questions.

She was dead.

He bowed his head in silence. For a moment, he almost lost himself in his Kryptonian logic and rationality, letting the painful emotions slide away and off of him like water on glass. He almost took the coward's route of hiding and dividing himself from his grief.

He would not allow it.

He cradled her corpse and wept; great, racking sobs. He cried out once, the building shaking from his scream of pain. Her blood smeared his face.

It was the shout that woke up the neighbors. It was the shout that impelled them to call the police. It was the shout that brought him to justice as Officer Daniel Murphy of the Metropolis PD found Clark Kent holding the mutilated corpse of his wife, Diana.

On the witness stand, Officer Murphy recalled that it was a scene from an abattoir. Blood was everywhere; the bed, the walls, the floor. Even the ceiling held splatters and clots. Murphy was as hardened a beat cop as the force had, and he'd almost lost his coffee and donuts at the crime scene. His shudder of disgust and dismay might have been what sealed Mr. Kent's fate.

Still, it hadn't been a sensational trial. True, it was a crime of unusual brutality and fury, but it wasn't as if one of the Five Hundred, a member of the powered criminals and heroes, had committed the crime.

It simply involved a lowly blogger cum journalist and his plain French teacher wife.

What did raise the public's interest in the case was when Clark Kent, on the day before sentencing, managed to escape from prison. A murder, however terrible, was simply one death. An escaped killer, though, now _that _was salacious. For viewers fed a steady diet of reality TV, this kind of television was the most compelling of all.

For a few short weeks, the hunt for Clark Kent dominated the airwaves. Eventually Kent was found and cornered. The police had had no choice but to open fire when Kent, who had stupidly carjacked a bigrig tanker with a full load of gas, tried to ram the police barricade. The truck had instantly gone up in flames when a bullet ricocheted into the tanker, setting off a chain reaction. Clark Kent's crisp and thoroughly burned body had been found in the wreckage once the flames were put out.

Things settled down after that, and the world moved on, this time noticing the strange absence of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

On this subject, the Justice League was strangely silent.

* * *

Kal stood before the assembled members of the Justice League at the Watchtower. He met their eyes; some were still in shock; others furious and looked to be in a killing mood; a few were steadfast and unwilling to believe in his guilt. One however, looked on with the narrowed and hardened eyes of a born detective.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, gazed at his friend, no doubt trying to decipher the mystery that had nearly shattered – and might still – the Justice League.

"You've avoided all contact with us," J'onn, the Martain Manhunter noted. "One wonders why this might be."

A derisive laugh escaped Kal-El's lips. "I wasn't in the mood, J'onn. My wife is dead, murdered in our bed, and I stand accused of that crime. I've got other things on my mind."

"We are your friends," J'onn said. "Could you not have turned to us for help."

Kal gazed at the other members of the League. Shayera had her mace near to hand, looking like she wished she could punch it through his head. Good luck with that. Zatana and Canary were among those certain of his innocent. Captain Atom and Steel didn't bother to hide their fury. They wanted to put a hurting to someone. Flash…in some ways Wally was the heart of their team. From him, Kal saw anger and a desire to put his killing speed to good use. The Flash had been betrayed by the one he looked up to as a hero. Ironic: a superhero with a hero.

The Manhunter was inscrutable as always, as was Bruce.

"I saw no need. I have no means to explain the state of our apartment or how she died."

"Her skin was under your fingernails," Wally snarled. "Not much to fucking explain, is there, _Kal_?" he asked.

"You ripped out her throat, you bastard," Atom whispered, his body shaking, probably from the suppressed need to attack the man who had once been the mightiest and most noble of them all.

Kal bowed his head. Their words etched into his mind like acid, fraying and tearing at who he had always thought himself to be: a good man. He looked at the assembled League, gathering the tattered shreds of his pride. "I cannot be imprisoned on Earth," he said.

"You expect us to let you go free?" Wally shouted. "Fuck you! If I could, I'd cut your damn heart out right here, right now."

"He doesn't mean that Wally," Bruce said, softly. He turned his granite gaze to Kal. "Do you, Clark?"

Kal shook his head. "No. One of you must transport me to the Phantom Zone."

Canary and Zatana gasped.

"That's a one way ticket," Canary said. "You'll be imprisoned for all time."

Kal sighed. "Some crimes require no less."

"Then you really did it? You really murdered Diana?" Zatana looked utterly bereft.

Kal closed his eyes, replaying the entire lurid and vicious scene. All he could remember was a dream of killing Diana, slicing her neck open with a dagger, emblazoned with the symbol of House El. Then waking up and discovering her mangled corpse.

Had he killed her accidently? Ripping at her neck in response the terror of a nightmare? He'd witnessed stranger things in his life but none as horrific.

Kal shrugged. "I don't know," he said, finally.

"Murderer!" Zatana shouted. All respect for him fled from her eyes. "I curse you with all that I have. Curse you to never forget what you did! Curse you to never be without pain. May you live forever in torment in that hell to which you're going." She collapsed, sobbing as she and Canary huddled against one another.

Kal smiled wanly. "I wish it were so as well," he whispered. "I only know what I remember." He explained the dream he had had and the scene when he had awoken. "Whether I murdered her or killed her accidently, the end is the same: Diana is dead. Justice is needed."

"So it was all just an accident." Wally smirked. "And I'm the King of Spain. Nice try, asshole."

"It is the truth. It is all he remembers," J'onn replied. "He has opened his mind to me. I see and know all that he does of that night."

"It doesn't matter," Steel disagreed in a growl. "Like the man said, justice is needed." He glared at Clark. "I don't know if Zatana's justice is the right kind or not, but I do know one thing: I don't believe a goddamn thing you say. If I could, I'd end you now."

"Amen," Atom chimed.

Kal's eyes hardened, and he let them see the red. Enough. The hell with being nice. What had it ever gotten him? These little pansies wanted to rumble? He'd break their bones. And _then_ he'd start being mean. Right now was not a time to mess with him. "Try it boys, and there'll be two empty positions in the League." His gaze swept them all. "My fate is my own. My punishment is my own. Deal with it as you will, but my course is set." He turned to Bruce. "Will you send me there?"

Bruce nodded. "My pleasure."

"Still say he's getting off easy," Wally muttered.

Easy? Kal sighed. If only that were true. The scent of Diana's blood still filled his lungs.

* * *

Desaad crouched low over his Master's prone form. Darkseid, Lord of Apokolips slept on. It had been three days since the Great and Grim Tyrant – he'd acquired a new title a few months back – had last strode the halls of his palace. Even more disturbing was unaware Darkseid was of his surroundings. He could not be awoken. He could have been killed a thousand different ways in such a condition.

The unconscious state, be it natural or not, was when one was most vulnerable, even if one was safely tucked into bed in one's own home. Darkseid was home and in his own bed, but safety on Apokolips was an unknown commodity, even for the forbidding planet's equally forbidding tyrant.

Desaad clucked. What to do? What to do?

Desaad was wise enough to know his own limitations. There were those who wondered if he, Desaad, were the true power behind the throne. It was laughable. The Master allowed such rumors to exist because it forced uncertainty into the minds of the Lord's enemies. Should they attack Darkseid and overlook the true threat? Or go after Desaad and risk exposing themselves to the Master's lethal vengeance?

Desaad was not a power to be reckoned with. He was crafty and old and skilled in the use of subtly, all of which were a _power _of a sort, but all that Desaad had was reflected glory from the Master. Without Darkseid, Desaad was nothing. Less than nothing for when the next ruler of Apokolips made existent his or her poisonous ambition, no doubt, they would come prepared with their own advisor; they're own version of Desaad.

What need would the new ruler have for the current chamberlain? None. Desaad's future would be the Pit and the venomous embrace of that disgusting fiend, Granny Goodness.

Desaad realized all this in the space of a few seconds.

The Master's unnatural 'sleep' must remain undisclosed. He, Desaad, would secret the Lord's body off-world, somewhere safe and on some inscrutable mission that required Desaad's presence. Once the Master awoke, all would be set aright.

Until then, Desaad needed to act quickly to ensure the Lord's safety, and by extension, Desaad's.

Somewhere safe?

Desaad smiled. He knew just the place. Rumor had it that Superman had gone missing.

Perfect.

* * *

Kal and Bruce flew in silence, the dark emptiness of space looming beyond the viewscreen of the Javelin.

"Are you sure about this?" Bruce asked.

Kal shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"It does not, murderer from the House of El," Hippolyta said, her voice cold and imperious. Diana's mother was present to ensure that justice would be meted out to her daughter's slayer. The word of the League had not been good enough. She had told the other members, straight to their face, that they would lie to her to protect Kal. She had let it be known that while it was not in her power to kill Kal, the same didn't hold true for the other League members. Themiscyra would go to war unless the Queen was personally assured the appropriate justice was meted out to the slayer of the princess.

Hippolyta's presence was not a whim but a forced necessity.

Bruce eased back on the throttle. "Your stop," he said.

Kal unstrapped himself. He stepped past Hippolyta, his mother-in-law, the woman who held all men in contempt, but who'd nevertheless accepted him into her home, coming to believe that perhaps this one man was worthy of an Amazon's love, her daughter's love. He felt he should say something, anything in this his final moment, but no words came.

He shook his head and went to the airlock.

"Kent." He turned back at Bruce's voice. "I don't what happened, but I'll figure it out, and when I do…" Bruce nodded. "Someone's going to pay."

"So be it," Kal said, too weary to muster up the desire for vengeance.

"He is paying," Hippolyta said, no trace of forgiveness or compassion staining her face. "And as the Gods are my witness, he will pay for all time."

"As you wish it," Kal replied.

"Transdimensional key activated," Bruce said. "Take care Kent."

"Take care of yourself, Bruce," Kal replied, stepping forward into the void. For Hippolyta, no words were needed or wanted. Allowing her to watch him descend into the gaping maw of the Phantom Zone would probably be the most comforting thing he could do for her.

A rip opened in space, the slitted mouth of a beast designed to rend. Blacker than the empty space around it, it was the true void. It was the only entrance to the Phantom Zone, the tachyonic prison from which escape was impossible. Those rare few who had been freed from the Zone spoke in hushed tones of its horrors. They spoke of the Warden.

Kal would learn all of this soon enough. He had already cycled through the airlock and floated forward, wearing nothing but a black suit and boots, the sigil of his House chiseled onto the chest. He flew toward that ripped rent, bereft of friends and family. Bereft of hope and love. Bereft of Diana.

His heart was as empty as the world he would soon enter. This was where he belonged.

An interminable second for pain. His body torque and knifed, stretching to its limits.

He was through.

He beheld a grey and dim world, one made of dust and death. It existed at the center of the Zone in a perpetual twilight.

Kal landed upon the heights of one of the cliffs. It daggered toward the no-sky like the promise of a murder.

Murder. How apt.

Grey, unhealthy lichen clung to the walls of the rock faces, oozing a viscous fluid like bloody oil. Kal touched the liquid and instantly drew his hand back, surprised by the pain. It felt like acid burning.

He examined his finger. His skin had been peeled off, burned and throbbing and already red. His powers would soon be gone.

In the far distance, past the knifelike cliffs, hidden by dim shadows, a fortress stood.

The Prison at Time's End. The prison within a prison. The place of the Warden.

He'd have to get there quickly. Dangerous creatures roamed this wasted place of nightmares. He stood little chance of living without the Warden's protection.

That protection came with a price, but it was one Kal was willing to pay.

Better to be a slave than to be dead.

* * *

Darkseid brooded, glancing at the basalt black throne at the heart of Apokolips.

The ploy to destroy Themiscyra from several years earlier had been inspired. Failure had occurred, but only because the Kryptonian, the one the humans called Superman had regained his power when all other evidence indicated that he should have been spent and empty.

Even then, with the loss of the fifteen Legions, Darkseid would have decided the cost had been worth it. Both his worthless spawn, Kalabak, and the arrogant so-called God of War had both been eliminated and killed.

Had it not been for the cursed Batman bringing forth Doomsday, freeing the Kryptonian beast from his stasis prison within the Phantom Zone, Darkseid could have counted the situation a victory.

At least of a sorts.

Darkseid growled, the only sound he was capable of making to intone regret.

Doomsday had ravaged Apokolips, landing on the planet and laying it to waste. The massed armies had stood no chance; that was instantly known. Darkseid himself had to enter the fray. Still bloody from the beating the Kal-El of Krypton had laid on him on Earth, a beating no one was foolish enough to voice publicly, he'd fought the beast of fury.

They'd ranged all over Apokolips, leveling mountains and changing the course of rivers.

Darkseid won, and thus, so had Apokolips.

In the moment of his triumph, with his victory restoring faith among his people in their Master's indomitable will to power, disaster had occurred.

Kalabak. His spawn. The worthless sodomite who Ares had supposedly killed had been more cunning than Darkseid had ever imagined.

All this time, Kalabak had played a long game. He had created a clone of himself – the one Darkseid had been so utterly disappointed in. Meanwhile, Kalabak had taken on the form of Desaad.

Darkseid briefly wondered how long the real Desaad had been dead. Perhaps centuries. Certainly decades. Long enough to learn all the secrets that Darkseid had kept hidden. He'd never suspected Desaad of betrayal. Desaad had known the score: without Darkseid, Desaad would instantly be put to death once the new Lord of Apokolips arose.

Darkseid, though, he had grown careless over the years, letting Desaad, or more properly, Kalabak, learn far more than Darkseid had ever intended.

After the battle with Doomsday, with the monster sent back to Earth – let those fools in the League deal with the beast – and with his triumphal march through the capital of Apokolips, Darkseid had known a cheerless satisfaction.

The universe had been set to rights.

It was only then, as he approached his palace that he saw the truth. Desaad shimmered, and there stood Kalabak in his place.

Darkseid's lips curled at the memory.

He glanced at the throne. His throne. Now occupied by another.

"Be sure to clean the floors to a mirror sheen this time, begetter," the Lord of Apokolips spoke. "If there is but a single flaw, the Pit becomes your destination."

Darkseid bent low to the Master. To his spawn. To Kalabak. "Yes, my Lord."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Kal could no longer fly. He still had great strength, though, and he leapt from one ridge to another, covering the distance to the Prison.

He couldn't see them, but he knew the Croatoans, the only known beings born of the Zone hunted him.

True death could not come to those in the Zone. While they're bodies could be ended, their spirits lingered on – a hollow existence, full of heartache and insanity. And afterwards, were they lucky enough to be released from the Zone, reanimation was not a cure for their madness.

It was an awful fate, but there was one that was worse: coming to the attention of the merciless Croatoans, masters of pain, their victims begged for discorporation.

It was they who Kal sought to avoid, even if that meant serving the Warden.

She was a figure steeped in myth. None knew her history. What was known was that when the Zone had been found – and it had been discovered, not created – she already waited there, the spider at the center of the Zone. She was feared by the Croatoans, but not of them. None knew her origin. All knew she was a power. Thankfully, she had never ventured into the Universe at large, perhaps being unable to do so.

Such a savage being, one to who Darkseid could go for lessons in cruelty and humiliation, was Kal's only hope. A terrible choice, but Kal reckoned her the lesser of two evils. She would hurt him, that was assured, but it would not be continuous...he hoped.

On the other hand, from the Croatoans he would not find a moment of mercy. They would torture him for all time , judgment and punishment for the long ago war started by his forebears between Krypton and the Zone.

The Croatoans were beings of focused energy, and the Kryptonians had sought to unlock the mysteries of Zone's natural born inhabitants. Had Kal's ancestors been able to do so, they would have conquered the Universe, subjugating it, possibly for all time.

The war lasted but a few years, but in that time, many Croatoans had been trapped in bubbles of gravity and plasma, tortured to reveal their secrets, until they finally dissipated into nothingness.

The few kernels of knowledge the Kryptonians had elucidated were few and far in between. It did not allow them to transform their world or their society in the way they envisioned.

However, it did change them in a way they did not foresee and which they did not understand or know.

All this had been done with the approval of the Warden, who may have had the power to prevent it. She and the Croatoans would know the truth, one way or another, but it didn't matter. The Zone's denizens could not take revenge on the Warden, but on the only Kryptonian left in the Universe…for him, they would have planned a _very _special reception.

Within the Zone, Croatoans were nearly immortal, only dying at the hands of one another or the Warden, and many of them remembered the war fought millennia before Kal's birth.

Kal reached his destination.

The Prison loomed before him, hulking and menacing. Beyond the fifty-foot wall, paced with narrow arrowslits and murder holes, the bulk of the Prison squatted. Crenellated towers, made of a yellow stone, like dried pus, rose haphazardly, as though no planning or thought had gone into their construction. There had been thought, however, Kal mused. Five in all, the four shortest turrets seemed to support the tallest one and the shape of their grouping appeared as a fist, middle finger extended: a giant, knuckled "fuck you" to the universe.

Kal smirked.

If this was supposed to be menacing, so be it, but, to him, it seemed overwrought. After all, the _entire_ Zone was menacing. Having a Prison whose construction seemed made to induce nightmares was simply over-the-top. It was unnecessarily theatrical.

It would have been more interesting, and perhaps more terrifying if the Prison was light and airy and looked to be a place of refuge. A prisoner, newly arrived, would have made for this seeming haven, only to discover the horrible truth once within.

Now _that _would have been scary.

He shook his head. Instead, there was this overly-dramatic structure in a place that was already terrifying enough. As far as Kal knew, no one came to the Zone of their own volition. The reputation of the place ensured it.

What did that say about Batman that he had once volunteered to come to the Zone several years back? What did that same about Kal?

He sighed. It didn't matter. The Croatoans were coming.

He rapped his knuckles on the high metal-shod doors of the Prison, the booming echo of his knock echoing hollowly within like the sounding of doom.

Kal snorted in disgust.

How typical.

Opening the sally port set in the tall doors was a short, round figure. He looked like a ball with six pipestems stuck into him at various places and a tiny, little pinhead with otherwise normal human features. He stood with an aggressive stance, denying entry into a small room that, no doubt, led into the rest of the fortress. He wore a red sweater and glared at Kal. "Kryptonian, you seek the refuge of the Mistress?"  
Kal nodded.

The creature smirked. "The Mistress knew of your coming from long before you were born," he said. "To enter her abode, you have to overcome but one challenge: remove my feet from the ground."

"That's all?" Kal asked. That didn't sound so bad. Of course, this was the Warden, and she was not known for kindness or mercy. There had to be something more to it than that.

The creature, whatever he was – and Kal had never heard of such a species – nodded.

"Are you allowed to fight back?"

The creature shook his head and grinned. "I won't punch you or do anything else to hinder your attempt. Just get my feet off the ground."

Kal stretched his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles. Here went nothing.

He bent low, seizing the creature around the waist. Rao! Christ! Whatever. The creature didn't move an inch. He didn't look that heavy, and while most of Kal's almost incalculable strength on Earth was gone, still, he had his natural Kryptonian build. That should have been more than enough to get the job done.

Kal growled. He tried again. Nothing. He found a long rock, shaped like a rod. With another rock acting as a fulcrum, he tried to lever the creature off the ground. Still nothing. The creature grinned at him, smug and confident. Since the creature wasn't allowed to fight back, Kal punched him.

Kal bent over, cradling his hand. It had felt like punching steel. Or what punching steel would have felt like to a normal human. He tried pulling the creature up by his arms. Still nothing.

What the hell kind of creature was this?

Kal glanced back. The Croatoans were minutes away. He had to figure this out. Fear began etching at him, and his hands moistened with nervous agitation.

He studied the being before him. It simply looked like a giant ball with long, skinny appendages. What was the trick to it? It carried a torch well away from its body, but other than that, there was no other clue to understanding how to solve this riddle.

_Wasn't that Batman's job anyway?_ Kal thought uncharitably. _Didn't he go after lowbrow criminals with stupid names like _'The Riddler'?

The torch? Kal wondered if heat had anything to do with this challenge. "May I borrow the torch?" he asked the creature politely.

The smiled slipped. It was for just a fraction of a second, but it had definitely slipped. Wordlessly, the creature handed Kal the torch.

Kal studied the creature. Heat was the key. He was certain of it. Now how to apply it? He pressed the fire close to the creature's corpulent, rotund torso. It didn't so much as blink, and the heat seemed to have no effect on it.

Kal grimaced. "Any hints you can throw my way about what I need to do?"

The creature smiled wider. "None, Kryptonian. Hurry now. The Croatoans are nearly upon you.

Kal didn't need the creature to tell him that. He could already sense the Croatoans drifting nearer. Their energy signatures blistered the air, heralding their arrival like the scent of burnt flesh. It was an unmistakable odor. Had he had the time to ponder, Kal would have wondered why he could smell their presence. As beings of almost pure energy, his senses shouldn't be attuned to them at all; certainly not in the Zone, and probably not in the universe at large either.

It was a mystery for another time. A more important one faced him.

Kal waved the torch at one of the creature's appendages. It flinched! It definitely flinched. With growing excitement, Kal pressed the torch to one of the creature's feet.

It moved the foot, a miniscule movement, but it was there. Kal held the torch there for what seemed like endless seconds, and a sheen of sweat broke out on the creature's face, but nothing more than that.

Kal was running out of time. The Croatoans were at his back. He could hear their hissing excitement as they spied their quarry; the prize they'd dreamt of torturing ever since Kal's forebears had so foolishly invaded this dread realm. They chattered or clicked, Kal couldn't really say, but somehow he knew that they planned on drawing out this moment. They could have snatched him right then and there, but they wanted to feel his fear build and turn to panic as he realized he had no hope of escape.

It was a communication that he hadn't expected to be able to understand.

He disregarded his growing alarm. He had only a few precious moments left.

He summoned the last of his resolve and energy, and his eyes flared pink – not the demonic red that his enemies noted and feared; he lacked the power for that, but what he was able to produce would have to be enough. Heat poured off his eyes, turning the rock upon which the creature stood to a lustrous orange.

The creature's smile slipped and he hopped from one leg to another, but never so that both feet were off the ground at the same time.

Kal timed it, and when the creature had lifted a leg off the ground, relieving that appendage, Kal thrust the torch at the foot still on the ground.

With a yelp, the creature hopped into the air, both feet off the ground.

For good measure, Kal reared back and planted a hard front kick straight into the creature's gut. With a grunt of pain, the creature flew back, head over heels, landing in a heap against the far wall of the small embrasure.

Dimly, Kal noted that when it was off the ground, it wasn't nearly as obdurate or heavy as when it was secured safely on its feet.

Kal heard the dismay of the Croatoans. They prey was about to get away. With a hiss of electrical discharge, they rushed forward, but they were too slow. The moment the creature had flown backwards, Kal had been moving. He already stood embraced within the embrasure of the Prison.

The Croatoans reared back at the sally port, denied entrance on pain of death. The Warden had made it clear that her fortress was inviolate to them. They hissed in anger and Kal smiled at them, almost a sardonic grin of acknowledgement. The Croatoans and Kal both understood that his life was held within the razor sharp and unpredictable talons of the Warden. She could still throw him out and into their clutches.

They withdrew, hissing their promises. There would be no second chances or near-miraculous escapes next time.

Kal shut the door and turned to the creature. "What's your name?"

"Broke," the creature sputtered. He flopped on the ground like a rag doll, trying to regain his feet. Kal took one of his arms and lifted him upward until the creature had both of his feet firmly planted on the ground. The creature shook, trembling before the Kryptonian. "She will not be pleased," he said fearfully.

Despite his predicament, Kal still felt pity for the creature. The Warden was not likely a Mistress who tolerated disappointment. He couldn't imagine what punishment she would mete out for Broke's failure. He shrugged. He'd had no choice. It was either that or be tortured for eternity by the Croatoans. Or until they grew bored and discorporated him.

"Where do we go now, Broke?" Kal asked. "To see the Warden?"

Broke smirked. "You are not worthy of her presence," he said. "A cell is the best you can hope for. She has some special plans in mind. Succeed at them and perhaps she will allow you to serve."

Kal sighed. About what he'd expected. "Lead the way," he said.

"Oh, I will," Broke promised, his face taking on an ugly cast. "The Mistress ordered me not to fight you during your test, but she never said anything about afterward." With a quick waddle, much faster than Kal would have expected for such a round and short creature, Broke rushed him.

A punch to the solar plexus and the breath was blasted from Kal's lungs. He crumpled, struggling to breath. Broke grabbed him by the hair. "Not so easy as that, Kryptonian. I saw the pity in your eyes. Don't pity me. Fear for yourself." With that, Broke smashed a fist against Kal's chest, nearly cracking ribs, certainly bruising them. Punches rained down, too fast and too hard for Kal to block them all. The last was a bruising shot that nearly blasted him into unconsciousness, but not before he heard Broke speak again. "This is the Prison of the Warden. You may think you understand what that means, but you do not. Soon you will."

With that Broke smashed Kal's head into a wall. He lost consciousness.

* * *

He awoke, lying on a hard, stone floor. He had no idea how long he'd been out. Probably hours. He was bruised all over. His face was puffy; he could tell that without a mirror. He pried at a loose tooth, wiggling it with his tongue. He found a few more teeth that had almost been knocked loose, but they all seemed to be there, all thirty-six of them – four more than a human had.

He tried to take a look at his surrounding, but both his orbits had been fractured, and his eyes were almost swollen shut. _Great. _He groaned and sat up. Dizziness and sudden shooting pain made him lie right back down. He waited until the aching subsided and tried again. This time he was ready for the hurt. Christ. That little bastard Broke had really worked him over. Kal had trouble breathing and could tell he'd cracked a few ribs. He had to take shallow breaths. His gut was a mass of ache. Kal tried to stand, but his left leg buckled. It wasn't broke, but he remembered Broke stomping on it. His left thigh was swollen almost to twice its normal size. It wasn't bad enough to cut off blood flow – one of the gifts of Kal's Kryptonian heritage was an almost unerring sense of bodily health. Muscles were probably torn was all. His right arm hung useless. Dislocated.

With a groaned, he realized what he had to do. He carefully stood, and while pressed chest-first against a wall, he grasped his right hand behind his back and slammed his shoulder back into place. With a moan of pain, he slid bonelessly to the floor, trying to regain his equilibrium.

Broke had taught Kal a valuable lesson: pity wasn't an emotion he could afford in this place.

And if he ever got his hands on that fat little bastard, things would be very different next time.

Once the pain – the new pain, that is – subsided, he sought to explore the confines of his room. At least his cell smelled clean. He searched on hands and knees. It was a square room, about six by six feet, with stone walls on three sides an iron gate on the other. A cot was pressed against one wall. As he waved his hands to and fro in circular motions, he brushed against a metal tin.

He grasped it and sniffed. Water. Where they got that stuff on this desolate place was a mystery.

Kal sipped. Even his damn throat was swollen, making it hard to swallow.

After slaking the worst of his thirst, he shuffled toward the cot he'd come across in his search. With great care, he levered himself up on it until he was lying out on it.

It wasn't comfortable, but compared to the floor, it was a goosedown mattress.

"Broke messed you up pretty good," a voice whispered. It came from a small hole drilled into the wall to the left of the cot and right next to Kal's ear. "You should have gone after him when he was down."

Kal pondered whether to answer or not. The voice sounded friendly enough, but Kal wasn't looking to make friends here. He knew himself well enough to know that he would trust those he spoke with, possibly even befriend them. That would be a weakness that would quickly be exploited to Kal's detriment.

From everything he knew of the Zone, individuals formed alliances of convenience, but that only lasted until the next betrayal. It wasn't a game that Kal believed he could succeed in. He didn't have the meanness to do so. After all, the Universe's dregs ended up in this hole, and they weren't noted to play well with one another.

He sighed. Simply talking couldn't be too dangerous, though, could it?

"Learned that lesson too late," Kal said.

"You're lucky you lived to learn it at all," the voice said. "The Mistress noticed your pain and rescued you. I heard Broke's gonna scream for a month for doing that." The voice chuckled before taking on a more pensive note. "So, why's the Warden so interested in you, anyway? You're a Kryptonian, right?"

Kal debated whether to answer. He had no idea who was on the other side of the wall. "Who's asking?"

A pause. "Just another damned fool stuck in this hell." Another pause. "You sound like a decent body. I heard there's only one Kryptonian left in the Universe, and he's nothing like his ancestors. He's supposed to be decent and good. If that's you, then how the hell did you end up here?"

Kal sighed again. How had he ended up here? He was here because it was the only prison that could hold him. It was the only place Hippolyta had agreed was a fit punishment for murdering her daughter. Otherwise, she'd promised to go after the League as well as his mother and father and Lex. Though such a battle would have come at terrible price for Themiscyra, it was one Kal knew the Amazons were willing to pay, down to a woman. For the murder of Diana, they would have stopped at nothing to bring down Kal-El of Krypton, or barring that, destroy all that he loved.

More than that, it was the only prison that would satisfy Kal's own unique sense of justice for what he'd done. Murderers deserved to be in the Zone.

And Kal knew he was a murderer.

When he woke up from the beating Broke had given, he remembered small details from that terrible night that he'd somehow forgotten.

Odd, since Kryptonians had perfect memories.

Yes, he had had that awful dream about slitting Diana's throat. But the dream had been stimulated by anger with his wife. They'd been happily married for a year. It had almost been dreamlike in its quality: the joy they had had.

And she'd broken faith with him.

She'd cheated on their marriage with the flashy new Green Lantern, Chael Maia. From Brazil originally, Chael had come to America at the age of fifteen. After high school and college, he'd joined the Marines and became a pilot, flying a Harrier jumpjet. A dashing and handsome man, he still retained a seductive latino-spiced accent.

Diana had tried to pretend otherwise, but she'd been intrigued and attracted to the newest member of the League. And why not? Maia was handsome, elegant, and had a joie de vivre that all women found instantly attractive.

She'd given in to her desires and passions. It had only been once, but once was more than enough. It had nearly ruined Kal and Diana's marriage, and in hindsight, Kal realized it probably had.

On the night of Diana's death, she and Kal had had a brutal argument, full of nasty recriminations and anger. They had almost come to blows.

So, in that light, Kal's dream made sense. When he'd awoken, her flesh had been imbedded under his fingernails, just like Wally had said. More than that though, Kal remembered seeing his thumbprints impressed into Diana's jaw. Kal had choked her first before ripping out her throat.

Kal was where he belonged. If he hadn't known it before, he knew it now. "I'm just another murderer," Kal said.

"Your wife?" the voice asked, somehow guessing the truth.

"Yes," Kal said, giving voice to his new-found knowledge. "I murdered my wife."

"Yeah, but most of us here are murderers, and none of us care who we killed. You're different. Best hide that. Sounds to me like no matter how she may have betrayed you, killing her is the worst thing you can imagine, isn't it?"

Kal had had enough. "Look, friend, I don't know who you are or who you think I am, but I'm just another damned fool stuck in this place, ok," he said.

"That doesn't always have to be the case if you're the Kryptonian," the voice said.

Kal's ears perked.

"Quiet now. If I've given you hope, you best bury it deep down and squash it," the voice advised. "The Warden can smell hope like shit in a flower bouquet."

* * *

Darkseid spit blood from his lips. He had been foolish. The Master had not asked his opinion, and instinctually the once-Lord of Apokolips had given voice to his thoughts. Kalabak loomed over him, his eyes glowing red.

"Your opinion was not desired," the Master growled. "You no longer rule here. If you cannot learn that lesson after a week in the Pit, then perhaps you are too stupid to learn it at all."

Darkseid groveled. He groveled! It still infuriated him how he had to bow low to his spawn, but he would do whatever it took to restore what was his. "Forgive me, Lord, I was simply thinking of your own well-being."

"And you think I am unable to do so?"

Darkseid cringed. "Not at all, Master. I simply seek to serve. Command me, and I will obey."

Kalabak considered him. "Perhaps there is hope for you after all," he said. "Depart."

Darkseid bowed and backed away, always facing the Lord.

"Walking is for those worthy of doing so," Kalabak said, smirking. "Crawl away on your belly," he commanded.

Wordlessly and with no hint of the anger he was feeling, Darkseid fell to his knees and then his belly and slithered away. Even when he was gone from the Master's view, he slinked onward. On Apokolips, spies were everywhere. The Master had given an order, and it behooved Darkseid to follow it.

He didn't stop slithering until he was back in his small chamber. It was a small room, entirely open on one side. It stank of shit and piss and puss and a hundred other horrific smells. Pitflies, bulbous and veined like a cancer and the size of his palm flitted around, attempting to sting and paralyze him. Darkseid's rock hard skin proved impervious, and eventually they departed.

Darkseid lay on his bed. Even then, he didn't let his anger show. Who knew what monitoring devices were present?

He considered his position.

Kalabak had been cunning in over-throwing his sire. Darkseid gave credit where credit was due. But as the ruler and tyrant of Apokolips, he was weak. Darkseid could see that already.

The Master was capricious and prone to rash and angry decisions. He was drunk on his power. He was unworthy of the throne, and soon enough, factions would form to bring him down. He did not have a Desaad to advise him.

Darkseid realized with a grimace that he himself had never truly had a Desaad either. It had always been Kalabak.

Regardless, despite Kalabak's great shrewdness and wisdom when he'd served as Darkseid's chamberlain, ruling in one's own right was another matter. Thus far, Kalabak was failing and flailing.

The knowledge of the Omega Power had been stripped from Darkseid's mind in the first instant when Kalabak had faced him following the former ruler's battle with Doomsday. It had been that moment that had sealed Darkseid's fate. How Kalabak learned to take away Darkseid's greatest power, the once Master still didn't know.

Now, that knowledge was comfortably lodged within Kalabak's own cranium; knowledge he wasn't averse to using.

Thus far, he'd consigned seventy-three servants – and all the people of Apokolips were ultimately servants to the Master – to oblivion. In Darkseid's millennia of rule, he'd only had to use the Omega Beams on his subjects two hundred twenty-one times. Of course, most of those occurrences had been early on in his rule.

Darkseid reconsidered. Perhaps Kalabak wasn't drunk on power but simply consolidating his rule.

He almost allowed a growl of frustration to escape his lips, but kept it buried. There could be no hint of violent emotions, else Kalabak might use the Omega Beams on Darkseid.

He thought furiously.

There had to be a chink in his spawn's rule. What was once done – the stealing of the knowledge of the Omega Beams – could be undone.

He could yet regain his rule.

Thus did Darkseid ponder in his small room overlooking an offal pit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The man known as Batman stood on the finger of land thrust up into the sky. Below him, a long, green valley stretched out, ringed on all sides by sheer cliffs rising in jagged escarpments. In the far distance, two peaks stood taller than any of their brethren. A human's vision wouldn't have been able to pick out the small gap between the two mountains, the only pass into the valley, but then, Batman was no longer human.

He hadn't been in over two years, ever since Darkseid's last invasion of Earth. Batman had volunteered to go into the Phantom Zone and retrieve the body of Doomsday. It had been a ploy, most of it designed by Clark, to send the Kryptonian monster to Apokolips and keep Darkseid occupied at home after the League defeated his parademon horde in the skies and fields of Themsicyra.

Batman had failed. It still galled him, two years after the fact, that he hadn't been successful in his mission. Everyone else in the League had been. But, he, Batman, the one who trained night and day so that he _couldn't _fail, nevertheless had. It had been a humbling experience.

In fact, Batman wouldn't even be standing in this private place of solitude if not for the aid of one of Darkseid's own, a general named Thistle. Thistle had once been of New Genesis, captured during battle with forces of Apokolips. Over the decades of forced and tortured servitude to the dark Master of that war world, Thistle had tried to keep true to his vows on New Genesis, looking for a moment in which to betray Darkseid and deliver defeat to him.

The moment came during the battle for Themiscyra. Thistle had sacrificed himself, transferring his persona into the dying body of Batman and transferring Batman's into the body of the parademon general.

It had been a powerful gift, and Thistle had only done so because by then, he had grown tired of life; tired of the death he'd seen; the murders he'd committed; the horrors he'd witnessed. Death was the release Thistle had sought, and the general had been glad that his last action inflicted further hurt on the Lord of Apokolips.

The parademon general's body was a powerful one; able to take any shape or form, with the strength of a bulldozer and the speed of jet. Batman could now see in the infrared and ultraviolet and hear in both the subsonic and ultrasonic range. He could fire laser-like beams from his eyes. Oh yeah. He was also telepathic and had limited mind control powers.

Batman wasn't a power like Superman – but then who would be – but he was more than able to hold his own with the other members of the League now. It wasn't because he was so much more physically powerful – the others still outclassed him in many ways – but mostly because of who he had always trained himself to be.

He had a much more powerful body, but underneath it al, he was still the Batman. And when it came time to a fight, he was as deadly as they came. He could afford to be no less, even when he had simply been a human.

Just then, had there been any to see him, they would have seen his black-cowled eyes glow red.

Those same eyes scanned the horizon, searching.

Here she came: Shayera.

Shortly after the battle of Themiscyra, Batman's long time butler, Alfred; the man who had essentially raised Bruce Wayne, had been murdered. Batman glowered, and his jaw tightened. Alfred had died because Batman had thought himself so clever. No one would think to associate the billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne, with the Dark Knight, scourge of the Gotham underworld.

Well someone had, and that arrogance had cost Alfred his life. Not surprisingly, it had been the Joker who had been responsible.

Batman could still remember every event from that night:

_ He'd been at a charity ball, and the moment he'd come home, he'd known something was wrong. He hadn't been able to 'hear' Alfred's thoughts, which wasn't necessarily a problem since Alfred had his own life. But, he'd heard the Joker's maniacal laugh. In the foyer, Alfred's entrails had been shaped into the form of one of Batman's own iconic bat symbols._

_ "How do you like my art project, Bruce? Or should I say Bats," the Joker had asked, giggling madly._

_ Crushing sorrow and heartbreak had arisen within Bruce's chest. He had fallen to his knees and clutched Alfred to his chest, not concerned by the blood. He had difficulty seeing from the tears and sobs rising like a wave._

_ The man he had thought of as a father was dead._

_ All because of this psychopath the fools at Arkham couldn't keep caged. All because Batman had long ago taken a vow never to kill. He had always thought that allowing himself that easy route would simply pave his way to hell. Murder was certain to lead to the darkness Batman had worked so hard to eradicate from the mean streets of Gotham._

_ He had realized with a bitter sense of irony that his vow may have kept his conscience clean, but it only allowed those who didn't deserve life to keep on killing. Sometimes a rabid dog had to be put down._

_ Batman had stood, a look of hatred on his face._

_ Even Joker must have realized that something was different as Bruce Wayne transformed directly into Batman, but this time wearing the face of a demon._

_ "Now, Bats, don't get too mad. Remember your blood pressure," Joker had said, backing out of the hall. "Remember, you don't kill."_

_ "I didn't once. I do now," Batman had hissed._

_ Joker giggled, nervously. "Good one, Bats," he'd said, laughing harshly. "Almost had me fooled there. By the way, what's up with the new look? Some sort of holographic projection to scare me? Well, I'm scared."_

_ Batman had advanced wordlessly._

_ "Now, come on, Bats. Aren't you taking this a bit personally? Hurt me all you like, but just don't kill me. That's our deal. If you kill, you'll lose your humanity."_

_ "Look at me, you psychopath. Do I look human!"_

_ "With your eyes glowing red, not really?" Joker had squeaked._

_ With a wordless roar, Batman had rushed forward. He had hurt the Joker. Hurt him until he was broken and dead._

Killing the Joker had left Batman hollow and empty inside. It hadn't helped that the Joker had made sure to forward proof of Bruce Wayne and Batman's singular identity to every newspaper and tv station in the country.

Batman sighed at the memory.

The frenzy of reporters at Alfred's funeral, trying to get an interview with the man they all now knew to be Batman had been disgusting. They were just trying to do their jobs, but had they needed to be so titillated by his pain?

Given his blown cover, he'd also liquidated much of Wayne Enterprises. The proceeds from the sale went to finance the newly incorporated League Consulting and Industries, the corporation meant to fund the Justice League and free it from the humiliating spectacle of begging on bended knee to various nations and organizations for money.

It still surprised Batman that the President of League Consulting was none other than a supposedly reformed Lex Luthor. It had been at Clark's insistence. Lex had been invaluable in setting up the corporation, which wasn't surprising since his skills as a CEO had never been in question. Lex was a great businessman.

The new Lex had insisted that Wayne Enterprises R&D department be merged into League Consulting along with the production facilities for high end tech items. The corporation reverse engineered Kryptonian technology and leased it to various companies and governments, always making sure to keep a tight leash on usage. No one was allowed to use League tech to wage war on their neighbors; not unless they wanted the actually Justice League knocking on their door and kicking it in.

Of course, a reformed Lex Luthor was still Lex Luthor. Batman didn't trust him, and he and certain others of the League maintained a close vigilance on Luthor. Thus far, Lex's actions had been impeccable and proper.

_We'll see how long that would last_, Bruce thought. _Especially with Clark gone._

Having his identity known had, in some ways, been freeing for Batman: he no longer had to pretend to be that which he wasn't. That said, it didn't mean that he had been happy as a lark. Far from it. Alfred's death had hit hard, and Batman had retreated into Wayne Manor, closeting himself from the world.

It wasn't surprising that he and Shayera – similarly hurting since the death of Hal, her fiancé and the father of her child – had turned to one another in their pain.

It hadn't been a physical relationship. Neither he nor she wanted that. They were simply two friends who had been terribly hurt and sought solace with one another. Shayera especially needed the help, being a single mother and all.

The lack of physical intimacy hadn't stopped Batman from helping to raise Shayera and Hal's child, young John Jordan. He smiled, a look of such fondness and love that it was utterly incongruous to his fearsome reputation. Little Jack was a much Bruce's son as he was Shayera's.

No. They'd only needed companionship, but eventually it had become something more. Certainly physical. Batman's cheeks reddened at remembering how uninhibited Shayera could be. Earthy didn't begin to describe her. Such a change for a man whose entire persona was built on control and rationality.

Batman realized with an almost comical start that he was in love with Shayera. He had no idea how she felt about him, and annoyingly, his telepathic powers didn't extend that far. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to ever learn her true feelings either.

The disappointment if she felt other than he hoped would be crushing.

He watched her fly in low, rising on a thermal until she landed next to him.

"Lose the mask," she commanded. Without a word, Batman did as she ordered and Bruce Wayne's face appeared. "Much better," she said with a smile, stepping forward and kissing him.

"You made good time," he commented.

"I'm a better flyer than you," she commented.

"What about if I'm like a Hawkman," he asked, blurring into a form that was a male version of her own: beaked-cowl and helmet; wings of an eagle with a span of twenty feet, and tight-fitting flying leathers.

Of course, hers looked much better on her, hugging every delicious curve the way they did.

She shook her head. "No good. You're still a parademon under it all," she said. "The shape may be right, but there's something up here…" She tapped her head. "…that's always going to be wrong compared to Thanagarians when it comes to flying."

"I see," he said.

"Don't take it personally, Bruce. It's sweet you even want to try," she said, somewhat condescendingly.

He didn't mind her tone. He found it endearing: her hard as steel confidence.

"The world's going to hell in a handbasket ever since Kent and Diana…"

"Yeah, I know," Shayera said. "They've been gone for a month, and every psycho from the Five Hundred and even some plain-old crime lord normals think it's open season."

Bruce shook his head. "They would have never dared if those two were still with us."

"What's done is done," Shayera said with a shrug. "Any hope of help from Themiscyra?"

"No," Bruce said, curtly. "Themiscyra blames us for what's happened. "Their queen has no desire to send another to Man's World."

Shayera scowled. "Those Amazonian bitches certainly have a high opinion of themselves. Especially when the League bled and died for them."

Bruce had no response to that, especially since he agreed with Shayera. "The only good news out of this whole thing is that Darkseid's apparently been deposed. The new ruler, Kalabak, his son, I think, is too busy consolidating his power to bother with us in our weakened state."

Shayera nodded. "We are much weaker, aren't we?" she asked. "You get so used to those two carrying such a heavy load."

"We'll get by," Bruce said. "We always have before."

"Yes we have." Shayera smiled at him and took his hand. They stood there watching the shadows grow long on the valley, wings rustling in the wind.

* * *

Desaad had managed the trip to Earth with the utmost secrecy. None from Apokolips had followed or had even known his ultimate destination. He'd boomtubed to a carefully selected moon many light years from the dark world of his birth where he'd hidden away an old intrasystem tug.

Boomtubes could be retroactively tracked from Apokolips, but ships in space could not. From the moon, he'd shipped out, boarded another ship. Once at the system's main spaceport, he'd transferred to an FTL ship; then to another, once at his destination; and finally left from New Genesis system, itself, aboard an entirely different FTL ship.

Desaad hadn't been nicknamed the Paranoid for no reason. All of it a specially designed plan to escape Apokolips in case he ever fell out of favor or Darkseid fell out of power.

Such as now.

Desaad carefully monitored all Earth communication. Thus far, no one knew of his arrival.

Good. Discovery would be a disaster.

Desaad clucked in irritation. So many ploys could have been employed against Earth had he simply understood how resolutely ungovernable humans appeared to be. Such a plethora of governments, all arguing and never agreeing. How the stupid monkeys loved to fight.

Desaad shook his head in disappointment. The only reason his Master had never mounted a full-scale invasion was because it would have left Apokolips vulnerable to attack from New Genesis. If not for that planet or pathological pacifists, who still, nevertheless, waged war quite well, Earth would have long ago come under Darkseid's thumb.

And also because of Earth's two greatest heroes, Desaad admitted to himself a moment later.

Right now, though, they weren't available to defend her, were they? And the Master was unable to take advantage of such a weakness.

Even worse, to Desaad's mind, some fool had dared raise his standard above the palace at Apokolips, declaring himself the new Master and Lord. When the true Master reclaimed his power, there would such a reckoning as hadn't been seen on the War planet since Darkseid's own rise to dominance.

Oddest of all, the new Master was reputed to be Kalabak, which was patently absurd since the Master, the true Master, had vaporized the spawn with Omega Beams.

Desaad had witnessed it himself. From that kind of death, there was no coming back.

Desaad shook his head in irritation. It didn't matter. Finding the solution to the Master's true dilemma was of most import to the true Lord of Apokolips. All other matters took second seat to that issue: the restoration of Darkseid.

* * *

It had been a month since Kal's arrival to the Phantom Zone. In that time, nothing had been asked of him. He'd been left to his own devices for much of that time.

In the morning, breakfast was ready, on a brass tray. It never tasted good, but it was filling and didn't kill him. About the best he could hope for in the Prison. After that, he was given a few hours out of his cell and allowed to exercise. The same pattern repeated itself between lunch and supper.

During that time, he didn't hear the voice that had spoken to him that first day when he awoke from Broke's beating.

There came a time when he felt completely healed. No pain anywhere. On that day, Broke came for him.

Kal pressed himself against the back of the cell, keeping his distance.

Broke smirked. "I'm not allowed to hurt you, so you don't have to worry," the odd, little man had said. "The Mistress deems that you've rested sufficiently. Follow." With that, the rotund man turned and waddled away, not giving Kal a chance to get in a question.

Kal stepped free of the cell and walked a few paces behind Broke, searching.

Ah. There.

He grabbed a torch and shoved it at one of Broke's feet. The little man hopped in the air, surprised by the pain.

Kal showed Broke no mercy and kicked him in the back, knocking him off his feet. Broke fell heavily, flopping on his stomach and struggling to turn over. Kal was on him in an instant, hammering the back of the short man's head with hard elbows. Knees to the ribs followed and had Broke gasping in pain.

It was dirty fighting, but this place had few niceties and rules weren't high up on the list.

Kal rolled Broke onto his back, and for good measure, hit him with a few more elbows to the face. "Am I going to another trial?" Kal asked.

Broke glared. "Yes." He said nothing more.

Kal held his patience. "Can you tell me anything more about it?"

"No."

Kal lifted an elbow, ready to apply some more judicious pain if that's what it took to get some answers around here.

Broke held up his hands, all four of them, pushing back at Kal. "Wait," the little man said. "I can't tell you. The Mistress says that you're only allowed to learn once you arrive."

Kal wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. He decided it didn't matter. He'd learn the nature of the test soon enough. "How many tests are there going to be?" Kal asked, choosing a different line of questioning.

"Six," Broke said instantly. "The Warden feels that six is a symmetric number." The little man waved his four arms and two legs. "See. I was originally born with two arms and two legs."

"And can anyone hurt me if I pass this next test."

Broke glowered. "No. The Mistress was most instructive…" The little man shuddered, perhaps in remembered pain. "…no one is allowed to harm you save in the test itself."

Kal nodded. Whatever the Warden had planned, Kal was probably not going to like it at all. It wasn't like he had any choice though.

With a sigh, he helped Broke to his feet, landing a last, heavy punch to the rotund man's solar plexus.

Broke gasped, but once his feet were on the ground, he seemed to recover, almost instantly. He glared hate at Kal, but also fear.

Good. Inflicting all that pain had served its purpose. Kal wasn't a sadist. He hadn't enjoyed hurting Broke, but it had been necessary. The weak were preyed upon here in the Zone, and Kal couldn't afford to show any weakness.

Without another word, Broke led Kal on until they came to a narrow wooden door. With a hard rap, Broke opened the door, leaving it open until Kal entered.

The Kryptonian stood in rectangular space, about fifteen feet wide by twenty long. On the far side of the room, directly opposite to the door he had entered, stood another door." It was then that Kal became aware of the room's other occupant.

In the corner to the right, a very tall and very slender woman stood, filing her nails. Just like Broke, she had four arms and two legs. Four arms equals four hands equals twenty fingers. Kal looked closer and realized with a start that the woman had six fingers on each hand. So did Broke.

Ok. Four arms equals four hands and twenty-four fingers. No matter how you did the math, the woman would filing for awhile.

Broke bowed to the woman who gestured him to depart, much as an aristocrat might a peon.

She straightened and put away the nail file. "The door over there." She pointed. "All you have to do is get through it before your time runs out." She passed him a watch with a countdown timer. "Here's what you got." The timer said ten minutes. I'm allowed to do anything short of discorporate you." She smiled sardonically. "I'll even give you a three second head start, big boy."

Kal was moving before the words were out of her mouth. Of course, the woman lied. She was after him on the count of '1'. While Broke had been stumpy and powerful, the woman was fast as a bullet.

She buzzed toward Kal, knocking him back. Punches and kicks followed one after the other; too fast to block them all. When Kal tried to grab her, she darted away. He could barely keep up with her movements, much less land a punch. There had been a time when he refused to hit a woman, but that time had long since passed.

He tried again, taking a zigzag path. Maybe that would through her off.

It didn't.

She tracked him down, driving him away from the door. Individually, her punches didn't hurt, but what she didn't mass in power, she made up with in volume.

"What's that matter, Kryptonian? Can't keep up with me?" she mocked.

Kal stalked her, hands bunched in fists, bunching forward on bent knees. He quickly realized she was simply playing with him. He pressed her against a wall, ready to get a shot in or grapple with her, and she would be free before he could even think to move.

Again and again, he gave chase, trying to pin her in a corner.

Again and again, she flitted away.

Kal glanced at the watch, breathing heavily. He had two minutes left. He grimaced as she landed another punch to his face. And one to his ribs. Dammit! Those blows were starting to add up.

He stalked her, and once more, at the moment just before he had her trapped, she was gone.

He almost smiled just then.

She had a pattern.

She faked right and eventually always circled to her left.

Kryptonians were ambidextrous, but Kal had been raised human, and he was right-hand dominant. The woman was circling straight into his power alley.

Kal rolled his shoulders, and brought his hands to the ready, left fist slightly forward of the right. He faked a shoot, as though he meant to sweep her. She danced back. Her back was to the wall, and she slid along it – to her right.

Perfect.

She'd keep going to his left until she was about five feet from the corner.

His watch began beeping. Probably meant he had a minute left to finish this.

The momentary distraction allowed her to get in a few punches and kicks before she was gone.

Kal stalked her, knees bent, shuffling forward, matching her moves. She allowed him keep up with her. It was part of her game.

Again, she slid along the wall, moving to her right. She was almost there.

Kal threw a straight right before his eyes even registered she would juke to his right. It was all a matter of timing.

He connected and heard her grunt. She stopped dead in her tracks. He had his left cocked and loaded and hit her again. A punishing right hook, flush to the jaw.

Her eyes rolled up and she face planted straight into the floor. Unconscious with toes curled up. Kal was still in motion, moving before her body hit the floor. He leaped and landed a thunderous elbow, straight into her temple.

Better safe than sorry.

The watch was beeping more urgently.

Kal rushed to the door, threw it open and stepped out of the room.

He was done and out with seven seconds to spare.

Broke's face fell when he saw Kal come out. The little scowled. "The Mistress orders you back to your cell," he said in a disappointed snarl. Without another word, he spun on his heels and marched away.

* * *

"You've survived another test, I see." The voice from the next room was back. "Congratulations on your achievement."

"Where have you been?" Kal asked, almost in an irritated growl.

"I serve the Mistress," the voice said, not really answering Kal's question.

"What's your name?" Kal asked. In the few conversations they'd had, names had never been exchanged.

"I could ask the same of you."

Kal chuckled humorously. "Looks like neither of us is big on the trust department right now." The Zone, and especially the Prison were places where knowledge could be currency.

"I know you are the Kryptonian, _Kal-El_," the voice said. "You do not belong here."

Kal's smile slipped. "It seems you have me at a disadvantage," he said. "And you're wrong, I do belong here. I already told you what I did."

"Yes. You murdered your wife," the voice said, clucking in disapproval.

"So what do I call you?" Kal asked, irritated and trying to change the subject. He didn't like remembering the events that led to his imprisonment in the Zone.

There was a pause, almost a hesitation. "Call me Doom."

Kal smirked. "Why does everyone in this place insist on taking scary names?"

"Because it is a scary place. Best learn that quick. By the way, the woman you defeated, Crow…she's on the rack right now, screaming out her lungs. The Warden does not treat with failure."

"Sorry to hear that." Kal didn't let the guilt touch him. He'd done what he had to. If he'd lost the fight, it would have been him screaming, and likely screaming for eternity.

"Don't be. Her pain ends in a few hours; one hour for every second you had left before you got out." Doom snorted. "It would have been bad for her if you'd defeated her early on, though, instead of late."

"Lucky lady," Kal agreed, noncommittally.

Doom grunted. "How'd you beat her anyway? She's so fast."

"Lucky punch."

"Right. Lucky punch. Lucky lady."

Kal didn't bother answering Doom's sarcasm.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something," Doom said. "Your trials, they will test the most potent of your prior powers. Think about that."  
Kal's ears perked. He couldn't trust Doom, but what he said made sense. "Broke tested my heat vision. Crow had speed like I once did, and I had to find a way to counter that. There's still flight and strength."

"Smarter than you look."

"Broke said there would be six tests. What happens in the final two?" Kal asked.

"Intellect and self-awareness."

Kal considered Doom's last statement. He had no doubt that everything he'd been told thus far by Doom had been under the orders of the Warden. It was likely that everything that happened here occurred as a direct result of her wishes. It was unlikely that anything Doom had mentioned hadn't met with her prior approval first. Except maybe one thing.

Kal had committed himself to the Zone, but by the same token, he now realized that he'd grossly underestimated what it would take to survive here. He wasn't sure he had it in him to continue doing the cruel and heartless things that need doing. He knew he was a murderer and had thought anything else would be easy after that.

He was wrong.

He hated doing what he was being forced to do. He needed to get out of this world before it changed him utterly. His actions thus far, hurting others simply to avoid pain…he didn't like who he might end up becoming.

Even murderers, it seemed, had limits to what they were willing to do.

"The first time we spoke, you mentioned that Kryptonians might…"

"Keep that quiet," Doom hissed. "Pass the final test, and we will see. Until then, think not upon it. Hope is not your friend."

"Hope," Kal mused. The best way to kill that would be to remember Diana's mutilated corpse. What place was there for hope in a universe where he'd killed his love?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Darkseid bowed low as the Master strode past, not deigning to dignify the presence of his progenitor with a glance or a scowl. Apparently, the once Lord of Apokolips had fallen too far to be worthy of his glorious notice.

The parademon generals, once in awe and fear of their Master, Darkseid, would not look at him. It was as if they were worried his disgrace and debasement might be contagious. A few nodded slightly, only a little, but enough for Darkseid to understand that they were concerned: the once Master might once again become the present Master. More though, and these Darkseid noted and memorized, openly smirked; laughing at the fallen state of the being they'd once held in abject terror.

They would pay for their insolence.

Or so Darkseid promised in the silence of his mind.

The generals and their aides marched past and the hall outside the throne room was empty but for a few lowly servants.

Such as Darkseid.

It had been more than a month, and Darkseid was no closer to understanding how Kalabak had turned the tables. How had the spawn removed knowledge of the Omega Beams from Darkseid's mind?

Darkseid had ruled Apokolips for millennia, and once, he had had the patience of the ages to wear away at his enemies and bring them to slow ruination.

In this matter, however, the matter of his humiliation, he was not so patient.

He realized that the over-whelming confidence that had carried him through all battles, be they victory or not-victory (defeat was a word he never allowed used as a descriptor of his wars), had fled.

He shivered. He blamed Granny Goodness. Again he was struck by the ludicrous nature of her name. A month under her tender ministrations had riven a bolt of fear into him; a cantankerous boulder, slowly spilling its foul effluence and wearing away at his pride.

Granny Goodness.

She was very good at what she did: debasing a person utterly and completely. She should be. She had been Darkseid's most apt pupil. She had been especially energetic and inventive when the mighty Darkseid had fallen into her lap.

Apparently, she had dreamt of just such a scenario for many decades.

Darkseid shivered again. He feared her touch.

Just today, he had been informed that the Master had promised that Darkseid would go back to the Pit in two weeks.

The days of Darkseid's life was written thus: serve as a slave to the Master for two weeks and be tortured by Granny Goodness for a month.

It was intolerable!

But what could he do? Darkseid was still powerful, but Kalabak was moreso. That alone was reason enough for Darkseid not to step out of line. The Master could just as easily kill Darkseid as send him to the Pit.

Still, Darkseid did _not _want to ever be a guest in the Pit ever again, but he couldn't think of a way to get out of it.

"Lord Darkseid," a sibilant voice whispered in his ear. "I look forward to our next meeting."

Darkseid spun around.

Standing in all her naked glory was Granny Goodness herself. Once she had been beautiful and proud, but Darkseid had cured her of that. Now, she was a bloated and ugly woman with warts and leaking pustules all over her leprous body. She had ceased wearing clothes centuries ago, no doubt to horrify all who saw her.

"Fill my womb with a child, and perhaps it will go easier on you," Granny said with a chuckle, knowing Darkseid would rather wade through a river of shit than enter her. As disgusting as was her exterior, it was said that her birth canal was a cesspit of corruption and disease.

Granny saw the expression on her face, and rather than grow angry, she was amused. "When I'm done with you, you'll beg to couple with me," she said, licking her lips lasciviously. With that, she walked away, her fat body jiggling in time to her steps.

Darkseid stumbled back to his room; the one over-looking the offal pit and nearly collapsed in tears.

Humilations piled atop degradations.

Through his fear, though, at his core, he raged at his weakness. He had suffered through far worse as a young man. Where was his pride? Where was his fury? Crying? He? Darkseid? It was revolting.

He viewed himself in his smoky mirror with self-loathing.

_Wait. What was it about the mirror…_He blinked and the thought was gone.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong," Wally said.

Bruce frowned at him. "I've done it a thousand times," he said. "I think I'm pretty good at by now."

They sat in Shayera's room in Watchtower.

Zatana glanced over. She was doing a crossword puzzle. "What's a six letter word meaning 'scared'? Starts with a 'C-R' and ends with an 'N'."

Wally and Bruce frowned in concentration.

Shayera rolled her eyes. "Craven," she said, sounding disgusted. "Honestly, you two, English isn't even my first language."

Zatana snapped her fingers in excitement. "Meaning that twenty down is 'vintner' and seventeen across is 'twin'. And…yes! Finished it." She grinned in triumph.

Just then, John burped.

Bruce smiled at Wally. "See? Told you I knew what I was doing," he said. He lifted Shayera's son, John, off his shoulder.

The incongruity of Bruce Wayne, the Batman, patting a small baby's back to make him burp never ceased to surprise Wally. It wasn't the act itself, but the utter look of contentment on Bruce's face whenever he was caring for John. Wally shook his head. Batman had _always _been the bad cop in the League; the tough hombre with a spine of steel. The man who never backed down from any challenge; even, or especially when any sane person would have.

Yet, here he was holding John, babbling baby talk to him. What would the world think if they could see him now?

Bruce didn't notice Wally's bemused expression. He had eyes only for John. The baby was only seven months old – to Shayera's dismay, Thanagarians had pregnancies of fifteen months – and John probably had no idea how easily he had this most dangerous of men wrapped around his plump, pink pinkie.

"Daddy's wittle baby feel all better getting the burpies out?" he cooed. "Does he want to go nightie-night?" He shifted John to his lap, rocking him.

John cried for a few seconds, but soon had thumb in mouth, sucking contentedly. His eyes closed.

Bruce stared at John's face, imagining what the baby might be thinking. To Bruce, he looked like an angel with his shock of blond hair, just like his father's. Bruce sighed. It was really too bad Hal wasn't the one doing this.

In one of life's cruel ironies, Bruce lost his humanity when his body died in the Zone, but he'd become more human when he'd become involved with Shayera, and especially after she gave birth to John.

Would any of his current happiness have happened if Hal lived? It was a question Bruce didn't want to think about. No one should ever consider whether their life might be better since a good friend died.

Shayera watched as Bruce held her son. She knew how lucky she was to have his help. Shayera knew that Bruce loved her, and it embarrassed her and filled her with guilt that she didn't love him back. It had been two years since Hal died; a pain she still was coming to grips with. Thanagarians didn't love easily, but when they did, they loved with every ounce of their being.

Losing the man who'd won her heart wasn't a hurt she'd get over easily.

Still, she was fond of Bruce. Of that, there was no question. And maybe love would bloom again in the arid desert of her heart.

She wasn't sure what would happen, though, if Bruce ever discovered that she didn't love him. Would he leave her? That didn't bother her as much as the thought that he would leave John. The baby adored Bruce.

Zatana observed the tableau, almost as an outside observer. The truth was that while she was a member of the League, there was still a tightness to the original seven – now down to four – that the newest members – she, Dinah, Steel, and Atom – had yet to breach. The original members had shared so much pain and heartache and adventure. It was the kind of bond that only those in war might experience.

The walls between the two groups were cracking, though.

She looked at Wally, smiling as he watched entranced by the absurdity of Batman gently rocking a baby. It was a scene Zatana would have found impossible to envisage a few short months back. Batman had always been the most hardcore of their group. In fact, if truth be told, he'd always scared her a bit, and that was when he'd just been human.

Now, with the power of parademon general…she shuddered. It didn't bear thinking if he ever went rogue.

Although, looking at his face, the peace expressed upon it, she doubted that would ever happen, so long as his family was safe. And it was a family, though Shayera's feelings for Bruce probably weren't quite what he wished. Zatana was a magician – a true one – but it didn't take magic to see the truth of Bruce and Shayera. It only took Zatana's woman's intuition to recognize unrequited love.

Zatana stood and joined the others, placing her hand on Wally's shoulder.

He glanced at her, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky. He squeezed her hand tenderly.

"Let me put him in his crib," Shayera whispered, lifting John off Bruce's lap. She tiptoed to the nursery. A few moments later, she carefully and quietly closed the door, not wanting to wake up the baby.

When she was done, Bruce spoke. "We have things to discuss," he said, suddenly all business.

Wally nodded. "Things can't go on like this. We need to expand the League again."

"Or, we need to find a way to restore…" Shayera began.

"We've been trying to do that for the past month and half," Zatana said. "I don't know what else we can do."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "We may have to expand," he said, nodding to Wally, "but before we do that, we need to understand what truly happened to Clark and Diana." He put up a hand at Zatana's objection. "Bringing them back is apparently beyond our power, but we still need to understand what happened, whatever it was. It can't be allowed to occur again. Someone is behind this. We find that someone."

"It's got to be a god," Wally said.

Zatana nodded. "Only a being with that kind of power would be able to take down either of those two."

Shayera reddened with anger. She hated gods. All of them. They were worthless as far she was concerned. Diana's especially. "It's probably one of the Greek ones," she said. "They're probably still pissed at Diana for killing Ares, and at us for threatening to kick their fucking asses."

"Do you kiss John with that mouth?" Wally asked, ingenuously. Shayera glared at him, and he smiled back at her all sweet innocence.

"Possible," Bruce conceded. He frowned when Wally snickered. "I mean about the Greek gods, jackass," he said. It was a possibility, but one he didn't think was likely. He waited until Wally had his giggles under control. It took a sharp smack to the back of his head from Shayera to do the trick.

Zatana rolled her eyes. There was that tightness.

Bruce continued. "There are only twelve or so gods left, but from what I've been able to ascertain, none of them have the skill or power necessary to do this."

"Someone new then," Wally mused, rubbing his chin. He shared Shayera's dislike of gods. Puffed up humans with more power than sense. The world was better off without them.

"Or someone old who's come back," Zatana said.

Bruce nodded. "Whoever it is, we're going to have to do some serious digging to find him or her."

"I'll go ahead and get started downloading some files on ancient gods and their myths," Shayera said, heading for the control room of Watchtower.

A slight whimper came from John's room, followed by a plaintive wail.

Bruce sighed. "Sounds like he's got a dirty diaper."

Wally suddenly stood. "Er. I think I'll go help Shayera." He buzzed out of the room before anyone could speak.

"Me too," Zatana said, hustling after Wally, who, by now, was long gone.

Bruce gaped at their hasty departure before a wry smile spread across his face. "Well, looks like it's just you and me, little guy." A louder cry. "I'm coming," Bruce called.

* * *

The brute grinned. He missed all but his two front teeth. It gave him an oddly childlike and dull smile, but there was nothing childlike in the heavy punches he could land.

The last one still had Kal-El struggling to breathe. So far, every time Kal tried to close with the brute – name of Colder, he'd been told – the muscle-bound oaf had nearly taken of the Kryptonian's head. If not for Kal's speed and reflexes, any one of those blows would have laid him out for sure.

Kal considered the fight thus far. Colder was slow but powerful. Kal was used to closing with an opponent and using his greater strength to take the enemy down and pound him.

That wouldn't work here.

Time to change tactics.

Kal leapt in, landing several hard jabs, straight to Colder's face. He feinted right, and hit Colder with a left, easily avoiding the counter-right. Two quick kicks to Colder's lead leg. Kal stuffed a laughable takedown attempt, landing a solid knee to Colder's head while in the clinch. Another series of jabs and kicks to the leg. Colder was already slowing further. The brute was even favoring his lead leg and switched stances to southpaw.

It didn't help him.

Kal waded in, landing heavier punches, pushing off when Colder tried to clinch. A heavy kick to the back of Colder's knee, had the brute land straight on his ass.

Kal jumped, landing a straight knee to Colder's head.

Eyes rolled up and Colder was laid out.

That was easy.

Kal sauntered to the door and left with five minutes left on the clock.

Too bad for Colder.

Later, back in his cell, Doom offered praise.

"Colder always was a dunce," Doom said. "It's not surprising you were able to defeat him so easily."

"Yeah, well, my ribs are going to be sore for awhile," Kal said, wincing as he tried to lift his arm above his shoulder.

"After your dismantling of Colder, the Mistress doesn't think you need any rest before your next trial. It begins soon. If I were you, I would eat your lunch as quickly as you can. Broke should be back soon."

Kal had a brief moment of surprise. He'd always had a week, or at least a few days to recover first.

He shrugged. He didn't make the rules here.

Kal dug into his meal.

He thought about the coming trial while gulping down his food. The next test was likely to involve flight. He tried to imagine what that might mean, but there were so many possible scenarios that he finally gave up in disgust. He'd learn what he had to do when it was time.

Just as he was finishing the last bite, a sour looking Broke opened the door. "Come," the small man said, not bothering to wait and see if Kal would follow.

They went the same route as always, down the same halls and in through the same door at the end.

Within, the rectangular room was unchanged, except for the addition of a rope hanging from the ceiling.

A creature, buzzing with six overlapping wings like that of an insect, hovered above the ground. Its eyes were multifaceted like that of a fly, and thick short hair covered its two arms and legs. Kal assumed it was a she since _she _had breasts.

"Good luck," Broke said with a sour grimace, obviously not meaning it.

"Climb the rope to the top for the exit," the creature said. She pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling before tossing him a watch.

This time he only had five minutes.

Kal jumped to the rope, but didn't bother climbing. The end of it hung slack, and looped on the ground for an additional fifteen or twenty feet. Kal took the rope and made a loop at the end of it. He twirled his makeshift lasso.

The creature had watched, simply observing what he was done. Once she saw, she lifted off the ground and flew out range.

Fine. As long as the creature maintained its distance, Kal would be able to climb without interference.

Kal wrapped his long, powerful legs around the rope and pulled himself up, making sure to have the loop ready at hand. It was awkward, but he managed.

The creature came close, but a shake of the lasso convinced her to retreat.

Finally, with the door only a few feet away, the creature had to try and stop him. She drew close; hovering and unsheathing a knife, apparently preparing to cut the rope.

A flick of Kal's wrist, and the lasso settled neatly around the creature's shoulders. A hard tug and the loop of rope tightened, trapping her wings.

No more flying.

Kal carried the weight of the creature for a moment, finally letting go when he needed both hands to open the trapdoor.

The creature plummeted to the ground, hitting with a thud. Kal pulled himself through the trapdoor, glancing down as the creature undid the rope.

Too late, and he still had a full minute left.

"I'm sure you are feeling quite full of yourself now," Doom said.

Kal shrugged. Thus far, he'd only done what he had to. Once he understood the nature of the challenge, spotting the weakness in the test was simplicity itself. That didn't mean he was enjoying himself, but he was grateful that he was still within the Prison and not in the cold, cruel embrace of the Croatoans.

"When's the final challenge?" Kal asked.

"Soon," Doom said. "And to win it you will need something more than yourself."

Kal paused. He had been about to wash off his face in the small sink in his cell. He wasn't sure where the fresh water came from, but he was thankful for it. "What do you mean?" he asked.

For the final challenge, you will need to find a quiet and still place. It is there that you may commune with God; in the center of your being."

Kal rocked back, slightly. "Didn't figure you for a religious type," he said, speaking to cover his own troubled thoughts. "Or that the notion of God would have penetrated this hellacious place."

"Stranger things have happened," Doom said. "By the way, I'm your next challenge. You cannot defeat me without His aid."

Kal paused. Was that true, or was Doom just trying to throw him off his game? He decided it didn't matter. "Why are you telling me this?"

Doom hesitated. "Because I want you to win," Doom said. "Remember what I said: only through Him can you know yourself."

Kal pondered Doom's words. It was true. He'd never been party to any overt religion, but that didn't mean he wasn't religious. He believed in a singular and loving God; a beautiful being and one worthy of worship.

How long had it been since he'd thought of his Lord? How long since he'd thought of service to others; of being the servant that he always considered himself? Servitude: had once been his highest ideal before all…all this happened.

Viewed from a distance of six weeks, it seemed so unbelievable now. How had he come to murder the woman he loved? The second part of his soul? The events from that wicked night blurred in his mind, and it was hard to recall them in their entirety. Unusual since he had an eidetic memory and was able to recall all events and emotions with perfect recall.

Possibly even stranger, where was his grief? He was so focused on surviving that he hadn't even given much thought to his loss.

Yet another mystery to what had happened.

At that moment, he even questioned his memory, but the cold harshness of his cell and the cruel reality of his situation convinced him otherwise.

He shook his head. What was done was done. He had to accept it.

Kal wondered, though. Would the Lord still accept a sinner like him? Would He even speak to Kal? Christians said there was no sin too great for God to forgive, but Kal wasn't sure that applied. Jesus had died for Humanity's sins, not Kryptonians.

Maybe what Kal had done was _truly _unforgiveable. If so, then what hope would there be for him?

Kal sighed. His thoughts were racing aimlessly when they should be still. He was still a believer, and it had been too long since he had prayed. What better thing to do than to pray for Diana's soul. It might even bring Kal some peace. Bring his heart to rest.

How long had that been?

Too long.

He stared at his reflection in the cheap and smoky mirror.

How could he have ended up here?

_ Lord, let me find my way back to your service_, he pleaded. Into the mirror he stared, preparing to further pray. He blinked and the words left him.

* * *

Diana of Themiscyra flew in low over the island of her birth. Her face, usually serene and beautiful, reflected her inner turmoil. She was anguished and more than that, she was furious.

She had made the mistake of telling Kal about Damien. She didn't desire the new Lantern, but he _was_ a handsome man and attractive in other ways. Any woman could see that. Simply acknowledging the truth about another's physical appearance wasn't a sin. At least that's how Diana viewed the world.

Apparently, her husband did not.

Kal had accused her of cheating on their marriage; of having intercourse with Silva. It was an outrageous accusation, one that filled Diana with disgust, but nothing she had said would change Kal's mind.

She'd left him in the sky, still railing away, unable to stand listening to his ridiculous charges for a minute longer.

He'd followed her from their apartment all the way to Themiscyra's borders, still shouting his disgusting suspicions.

Thank the gods he was unable to breach the island's magical defenses.

When had Kal-El turned into…a_ man _a secret part of her whispered. She turned aside the thought, but it wasn't as easy as it would have been a few weeks ago; when she was secure in Kal's underlying goodness.

Now…she didn't know what to think.

There was also the fact that she was her mother's daughter, and Hippolyta warned her incessantly that, in the end, all men were the same. Not a surprising attitude given the violence and violation her mother had endured violation – as had the entire Amazon nation – at the hands of Hercules and his men. It certainly had made it worse that the demi-god had been Hippolyta's great love.

Given that, it was understandable how little love her mother had for men.

It was a view that Diana did not share. Kal had seemed to be the most obvious answer that her mother was wrong in her outlook. Now, though, Diana couldn't wonder if her mother had been right.

Kal's behavior was utterly irrational and so unlike him.

Her mother entered Diana's chambers. She took one look at her daughter's face and her lips pursed in disapproval. "Tell me what happened," the queen commanded.

Diana glanced at her mother. She wasn't in the mood to have this conversation. Not now. "Nothing," she said, turning away. She slipped behind her paneled room divider and changed into a simple, white Grecian-style toga.

Hippolyta raised a questioning eyebrow. "Really," she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You seem to forget who I am. I am your mother. I have seen all your hurts."

Diana stepped out from behind the divider. "It's nothing," she said, forcing all stress and anxiety from her voice and face. "I had some time off and thought to visit Themiscyra. I'm simply tired." If she told the truth, she knew her mother would go on a rant about the evils of men. It wasn't a speech Diana cared to listen to right now. She had more distressing matters on her mind.

Such as what had gotten into Kal. It was like he was a different person.

Hippolyta carefully searched Diana's face. Finally, she either grew bored or was satisfied that nothing was amiss. The queen grunted in disgust. "Themiscyra is your home and, God willing, will always be open to you. Let me know when you are ready to speak of what truly troubles you."

Diana was about to take a book to hand – reading always took her mind off her troubles – but she replayed her mother's last words in her mind. The queen had said '_God willing_' not '_gods willing_'. Diana turned to the door from which her mother had exited, stunned and pensive.

Her mother's words…what did they mean? Had it simply been an innocent slip of the tongue? If so, her mother was lucky no one else had heard it, especially one of the gods. Had one of them done so, or learned of Hippolyta's blasphemy, they might have struck the queen down, right then and there.

In many ways, the gods of Themiscyra were cruel and capricious , but they had also been very charitable and kind – for the most part – to the Amazon nation.

For their generosity, thought, the gods did not simply frown upon the worship of other gods on Themiscyra; they forbade it. Certainly, their gods recognized that other gods existed, but thus far, none of them had proven to be the Greek pantheon's superior. The Universal God of humanity's monotheistic religions was something altogether different, though. The gods of Themiscyra denied His existence, but they were oddly defensive whenever His topic was ever even broached. In fact, rumor had it that the One God _did _exist, and that He was a power so far above the other gods that they might as well have been insects staring at the sun, unable to even comprehend His glory.

It was an odd and unsettling thought. Did her gods serve a greater power, Diana wondered.

She paused, stopping herself from pursuing that line of thought. It led to dangerous ground.

She scowled.

Just what she needed: another problem.

There was still the issue of Kal-El of Krypton. Only a few weeks back, she would have gladly told anyone willing to listen what an honor it was to be his bride. Over time, though, he'd changed. It hadn't been sudden, but it had been startling nonetheless.

When had he become so cruel and suspicious? In prior times, he had always been a generous and loving and kind soul. Not childlike. He understood the hardness and evil in the world, but he had always made a conscious decision to look for the best in people; to see them as they wished to be and not as they were.

It hadn't always worked out, but it was a good and lovely way to view the world.

Or at least it had been.

She glanced at the mirror hanging from her wardrobe. How ironic: her image in the mirror seemed to echo the warped nature of her life.

She leaned in closer. Odd. It was smoky whereas it was usually perfectly reflective.

Was there a stain?

She stepped closer, distracted by her thoughts. _How could this be happening? _Her reflection was dull and distorted. _What was happening to Kal? _She peered closer. _It almost felt like a…_She blinked and the thought left her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"It is time," Broke said, opening the door to Kal's cell. "Come." Once more the little man turned and left, not bothering to wait on the Kryptonian.

Kal got his feet and stretched. Screw Broke. He wasn't going to hop to it just because the little troll told him to. Instead, we went to the sink and splashed water on his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He ran wet fingers through his hair, bringing the long mane into a semblance of control. Six or seven weeks and his hair hung long. He swept it out of his eyes, pulling it back, wishing he had something to tie it with. At least he could see.

He stared at his reflection in the clear mirror. There was that lick of hair again; his forelock, Diana used to call it.

He smiled in remembrance. There had been a few familiarities that had built up between them over the years; ones that on private reflection had really been their way of saying 'I love you'. Simply things, like when Diana called him Kal – no one else did. Or when he sang for her and played guitar. Or even when he teased her by calling her Princess. Or how she always unconsciously swept the forelock from his eyes. Private matters.

The smile died. She was gone now. This morning, he would be facing another trial, and his mind should have been as clear as the mirror in front of him. Instead, he was troubled.

_How could he have killed her? Even if she had she been unfaithful, something he couldn't believe, he still couldn't imagine hurting her, much less killing her._

He frowned as he stared into the mirror. _Had it not been smoky yesterday?_

"Come on, Kryptonian," Broke said, breaking into his reverie. "You've spent enough time prettifying yourself."

Kal glanced at the little troll before looking back at the mirror. He only saw his own puzzled expression in the mirror. _What had he been thinking about? _He couldn't remember, so with a shrug he turned and walked out of his cell, following Broke.

Broke took him to a different room this time. "Your death awaits you in there, Kryptonian," the little man sneered.

Kal smirked. "Can't die in the Zone," he said.

Broke smirked right back. "There's dying and then there's _dying_. Whoever it is that you think you are, that person won't be coming out." With that, the troll opened the door and gestured Kal in.

Kal glanced inside before stepping foot within the confines of the room. What was Broke going on about anyway. He stared at the little man, and Broke stared back, an expectant grin on his face.

Kal shrugged. So be it. Let's get this over with.

He stepped through the doorway and into a room full of mirrors. His opponent waited to the side.

Kal crashed back against the closed door, shocked and full of sudden fear.

He prepared to die.

His opponent smiled mirthlessly, exposing a fanged mouth. The beast rolled his massive shoulders, muscles rippling under gray skin. Razor sharp shards of white bone sprouted from forearms, shoulders, and thighs. The genocidal monster of Krypton; the creature who had stood toe-to-toe with Kal when the Kryptonian had been at the peak of his power; the creature that had almost killed him stood no less than ten feet away.

Doomsday.

"You need not fear me, Kal-El of Krytpon," the beast said. Kal paused. That voice. It was familiar. The beast nodded. "Yes. I am Doom."

Kal eyed him warily not saying a word. He moved away from the wall. He'd need room to maneuver. The last place he wanted to be was pinned into a corner.

"Your penultimate trial begins soon," Doom said. Kal had difficulty believing that the voice he had heard all these weeks belonged to this monster. Doom hadn't exactly been a friend – Kal knew friendship didn't exist in the Zone – but the voice had been comforting if nothing else.

Now, though, Kal realized it had been an enemy he had been listening to all along. He continued to edge away from the beast.

"In the universe beyond the Zone, you have the powers of a god," Doomsday said. "Here, you have only your strength as a mortal Kryptonian. For me, though, I still retain all my strength and power, but I also gained a voice and mind," Doomsday explained. "It hasn't always been like that. In times past, when I was locked away in the Zone, I was as you once knew me."

"So, why are you different now?" Kal asked.

"During our battle, as we fought and bled, our blood mixed, and some of it must have gotten within me. I think it changed me. I have…" here Doomsday appeared embarrassed or contrite…"a conscience now. It limits me in some ways."

"Is that why Darkseid was able to defeat you?"

Doomsday nodded his massive head. "Yes. Beyond the Zone I still have minimal intellect. I am still an animal, but I was carried forward by my rage. It fueled me. When I faced Darkseid, I wasn't able to summon up that fury." He shuddered. "I discovered the inglorious sensation that is pain. I don't like it."

Kal frowned. He hadn't trusted Doom, and he sure wasn't about to trust _Doomsday_. There had to be something that the beast wasn't saying. "What happens now?"

"Now, you enter the hall of mirrors. You simply have to find your way out."

"And you try to take my head off the entire time," Kal said, sarcastically.

Doom shook his head again. "No. I simply stay where I stand, casting my reflection," he said. "This is not a test like the others. There is no physical striving. It is much more deadly than that. You need to maintain your self-integrity in this trial. Should you not, then who you are inside will die, and something new will be born."

Was that a look of hunger in the beast's eyes?

"How long do I have?"

"No time limit," Doomsday said. "You can start whenever you like."

Kal stared at the creature, trying to ferret out any hidden meaning or peril. He flicked a glance at the mirrors. In all of them were dual images: one of Doomsday and one of Kal. And somewhere in this room was a way out. He simply had to find it.

Right. Simple as that.

Something still struck him as being wrong about the whole scenario, but he had no way of knowing what it was.

Kal took a deep breath and prepared himself. Time to go.

He stepped forward, arms spread wide. He glanced back, but Doomsday simply stood still.

Kal edged forward, touching the mirrors. The hall confused him. Made him vertiginous He lost perspective, forgetting that the images were reflections and not really him.

He closed his eyes, trying to regain his balance. Regain his focus.

"I am Kal-El of Krypton," he said to himself. "Raised in Kansas by Jonathon and Martha Kent." He whispered the facts of his life over and over. He knew who he was. He knew who he wanted to be. I spike of guilt filled him.

A murderer was never something he'd imagined himself becoming.

"Deal with it later, Kent," he said to himself. "You've still got this trial to get through."

He opened his eyes. The light seemed to have dimmed. Either that or the mirrors were darker. His image and that of Doomsday blurred at the edge. _What the hell…_

Kal moved haltingly, taking small and careful steps forward. He whispered the truth about himself as he knew it. "Service. Servant. Love. Forgiveness," he said. The images of he and Doomsday grew apart.

Kal crept onward. _I am a servant of the Lord. I am a servant to those in need. I love Diana of Themiscyra with all my heart. I could never have murdered…_

The mirrors, clear and pure when he'd entered the room were now smoky and getting darker. Kal blinked and his thoughts scattered.

His image and that of Doomsday no longer blurred together at the margins. They merged, casting a shadowy indistinct form.

"Victory," Doomsday sighed, sounding happy. "You will have victory."

With that the creature's image fused with that of Kal's.

Kal blinked, staring at the now obsidian mirrors. He sensed himself falling, and closed his eyes waiting for the impact of the floor.

An instant later, he snapped his eyes open, finding himself still standing. The light was bright and white and the mirrors clean and pure, reflecting only one visage: his own. Of Doomsday, there was nothing.

_Now we are one, _Kal heard Doomsday's voice in his own mind.

Kal clutched his head. No! It couldn't be. He wasn't a monster.

_And you aren't._ That deep, gravelly voice was heard within his head. Doomsday's image in the now clear mirrors was gone.

Kal screamed, a sound of rage and frustration. This wasn't him. He was Kal-El of Krypton, not a genocidal monster.

_You are also Doomsday of Krypton_

Kal tore at his hair, as if that might expel the beast. He would not let this happen.

_It is not as you think, Kal-El. Calm yourself._

Kal's breathing slowed but remained harsh and labored. "Explain," he ordered, his voice guttural and angry. Kal reached for his Kryptonian essence and set his fear aside. His breathing slowed and became regular as his rational center overcame his horror. This was a curiosity and a mystery. Nothing more. "Explain what has happened," he said, his voice inflectionless and calm.

_You have my strength. You have your own as well. It will be enough to break free of the Zone. Listen. _Doomsday explained his plan.

"Proof," Kal said.

_Go outside and you will be able to lift Broke, even if the little man's feet are on the ground. Once you've gotten past him, go where I tell you. We need to escape the Prison first._

"The Croatoans?"

_They are not as much a menace as you fear. You are the first and only Kryptonian to make use of the changes your forebears inserted into their DNA when they warred with the Croatoans. They wished to make themselves like the Croatoans: beings of energy. They didn't succeed, but they did change themselves in ways that none of them foresaw or even knew. All except your father, of course. Somehow he did know. At any rate, you are the ultimate expression of that change._

"It is the reason why the sun of Earth gives me power," Kal guessed.

_Yes. You're able to directly convert energy to mass and mass to energy._

Kal nodded. "I can feed on the Croatoans."

_And restore your power._

"Where's the door?" Doomsday showed him, and Kal stepped to it, smashing it aside. At the same time, he set aside his Kryptonian rationality. He'd never liked being in that state.

Broke jumped when the door blew out into the hall. The troll had been leaning against the wall and turned, eyes widened in surprise when Kal emerged from the hall of mirrors. "How…" he managed.

Kal's fist slammed into Broke's face, lifting the little man off his feet and smashing him down the hall. Kal smiled. So, he did have Doomsday's strength. Good. "Where now?"

Doomsday directed him, and Kal soon blasted his way out of the Prison.

Odd that he never came across the Warden.

Once outside, Kal immediately sensed the howling maelstrom of the Croatoans, massed outside the Prison, waiting for him to be ejected from inside. They rushed at him. There would be no near-miraculous escape this time.

Kal smiled. Let them come. He understood what he had to do. Doomsday had explained it. He hated the idea of being merged with the monster, but right now, what choice did he have? He'd get rid of the creature somehow, but right now, that would have to take a back seat to getting out of the Zone.

The first Croatoan reached him, and Kal sensed rather than saw it. It lanced him with a bolt of lightning. The pain suffused Kal's being but his rage let him ignore it. Doomsday's doing?

_Within you, I still have my intellect, but I now also have access to my fury. Use it._

Another blast of lightning, but his one he was ready for. He allowed it flow into him, through him, powering him. Kal tore into the Croatoan, greedily sucking up the spilled energy as the creature sought to escape. Others arrived, casting bolts of electromagnetic energy.

Kal roared. The pain…it was too much.

_Use my rage!_

Kal let the fury of Doomsday wash over him. Soon, things like self-preservation and fear fell away. Only the need to kill and rend remained.

Kal accepted the strikes and blows from the Croatoans. He healed, but not quickly enough. He bled from a hundred wounds. Surrender didn't enter his mind. He would kill them all.

He took all the blows of his enemies. The energy the Croatoans threw at him should have rendered him unconscious and writhing in agony, but instead, it simply fueled Kal's lust for carnage.

The Kryptonian could take everything the Croatoans gave and then some. Keep it coming. It was only making him stronger.

He grasped a Croatoan, draining the creature dry. He grasped at more and more of them, dropping to a knee as even more bolts hurled into him. More wounds. More cuts. More bleeding.

Still, he healed. It was enough.

A net of energy fell over him, a lattice meant to excite all his nerve endings at once.

He screamed, but even then the pain wasn't more than he could bear. He'd felt worse three years back when he'd burned up in the sun. Ironically enough, it had been after his battle with Doomsday.

He tore at the webbing of energy, crying out as it flayed his skin. Blood dripped into the sand of the Zone, soaking it red.

Kal continued taking in all the energy. He already had Doomsday's strength, but now his own powers; that of flight and speed were coming back.

More Croatoans. More pain.

Kal continued fighting.

Soon, it was the Croatoans who were screaming bolts of ultraviolet radiation, howling beta particles of pain.

They couldn't touch him. He tore their energy fields, growing stronger by the second.

Kal-El was restored. The Croataons continued throwing beams of energy, but they no longer had an effect on him.

In his fists, Kal gripped a hundred Croatoans. According to Doomsday, he would need that many to fuel the rift he needed to create; the rip that would free him from the Zone.

It didn't matter where he opened the exit wound, but right now he wanted the glory of flight. He lifted into the no-sky, sucking energy from the Croatoans until they were nearly dry. He cast them aside.

_Remember. You'll have to be quick. If you fail, all your power and mine will be gone. The Croatoans will be on you instantly. They will have other means of defeating you._

"I'm ready," Kal said, grimly. With a roar, he unleashed all the pent up power he'd stolen from the Croatoans, straight from his eyes. The red heat flared against the edge of the Zone, marking out the matrix of the temporal prison, the Zone.

Kal poured on the energy. Slowly, he carved out a weak spot, ripping at the walls of the prison, slicing open a hole; widening it.

It opened like the iris of a lizard.

Just a little more.

A howling Croatoan slammed into him, clutching at him with claws of x-rays and gamma radiation, enough to have flattened cities.

Kal cried out in surprise. He almost lost his concentration, but kept his eyes on the slowly opening rift.

He pulled at the Croatoan, bleeding again from where it had torn into him. He sucked it dry and let it fall, howling to the ground.

He smiled.

It was done.

He darted to the opening.

Cutting in front of him, though, was another Croatoan. This one didn't seek to engage him, however. It sought escape.

Kal realized with horror that it would get out first. He piled on the speed, but with one last bolt, the Croatoan was out.

Kal flashed free of the Zone an instant later, just as the rip closed, almost snagging his foot.

_Not good._

"No kidding," Kal replied. "God help us all. A Croatoan is free of the Zone."

* * *

Kal-El flew to Earth. The rip had opened within the orbit of Earth's moon. An extremely unlucky break.

The Croataon's energy signature led straight to Kal's home world. Kal hoped he could still track the creature once it was on Earth.

He grimaced as he entered the atmosphere. The creature's trail was already becoming indistinct. He was losing it.

His teeth clenched and he pushed harder.

He went transonic.

A Prandtl–Glauert singularity formed around his waist, a shock collar.

Doomsday laughed in the background. _I love flying! _the monster shrieked.

"Shut up," Kal growled, annoyed.

Now he had two problems. One, getting the Croatoan back in the Zone. The creature would even be more powerful outside the Zone. Kal thought it likely that he would still have an edge over the Zone monster, but if he went head-to-head with the creature, Kal knew that a few cities might be leveled in the ensuing battle.

He had to come up with a different plan.

And, of course, two, he had to get rid of his unwanted hitchhiker.

It seemed both problems would take minor miracles to solve.

"Where's Miracle Max when you need him," he muttered.

_Who's Miracle Max?_

"Nevermind," Kal said, sadly. Diana would have gotten the reference.

He lost track of the Croataon. "Great. Now it gets even harder."

_Then you shouldn't have let it escape from the Zone in the first place._

"Shut up."

* * *

The first stop he made was at the Fortress. Before leaving, he'd buried his last link with Kryptonian heritage under a mile of ice and rock. Only someone with his heat vision could have melted a path to the front door.

He needed a chance to understand what had happened to the world while he'd been gone. Seven weeks in the Zone…time moved slowly in there. He did some rough calculations. About forty-five years for the rest of the universe.

He also needed to do research to figure out how to stop and capture the Croatoan.

In high Earth orbit, a microsatellite the size and shape of a leaf floated undetected. Kal had launched it before leaving for his self-imposed exile in the Zone. He wasn't sure why he'd done it since he'd never intended on coming back to Earth. Nevertheless, he'd done so.

It was a marvel of Kryptonian technology, and its purpose was to monitor all Earth transmissions.

What Kal learned filled him with sorrow.

The Justice League was no more. After Kal's departure for the Zone, the remaining members had fallen to squabbling. Bruce had been unable to maintain the organization.

J'onn had left for New Genesis, finding Earth not to be the home he'd dreamt of it becoming. Shayera had returned to Thanagar. Wally was dead. Strangely enough, he'd become a promoter of eating contests, even entering them himself. How could it be that one of Earth's greatest heroes had died, choking on a chicken wing while a bunch of drunk fools cheered on during an orgy of slovenliness, gluttony, and sloth.

It was a pathetic death. Wally deserved so much more.

Kal shook his head sadly.

Zatana and Dinah had become circus performing superstars, earning millions in the process.

Kal read that again, dumbfounded. What in the world could have happened?

Atom and Steel re-enlisted, carrying out black op missions for the US military all over the world. They had always been very dangerous, but now, they looked to have become killers.

Kal would have to do his best to avoid them. He didn't want to have to take them both on at the same time. He might end up having to kill them.

According to reports, Bruce had disappeared over a decade ago, although a spry, young fellow had taken on the mantle of Batman, keeping Gotham relatively safe.

Kal decided to leave well enough alone and not make contact with any of the old Leaguers.

He kept reading.

Lex still ran League Consulting, turning it into a multibillion dollar venture. It was one of the world's largest companies now. Kal looked into the corporation, looking for any evidence that it was anything other than legitimate and legal. After three hours of searching, he found nothing. No shady dealings that Kal could discern.

Of all his accomplishments, the redemption of Lex Luthor was perhaps his greatest. Kal was glad that Lex had stuck to the straight and narrow.

There were a new group of heroes, but as far as Kal could tell, they were more anarchists and anti-heroes than anything else. They did what they wished and if justice happened to get done, then good. Otherwise, they seemed little different than the criminals they purported to apprehend.

Politically, many changes had occurred, few of them good.

The southern Mexican states had declared independence, forming the new nation of Aztlan. China had disintegrated, spinning back into a number of warlord-ruled feudal states. Kal wasn't particularly surprised by that. India and Pakistan had had a devastating nuclear exchange. Six hundred million had died instantly. Pakistan was essentially uninhabitable now as was much of India. Even Afghanistan had been collaterally destroyed.

The Burmese military continued the rape of their people.

South and North Korea had been forcibly re-united, but only after the North had hit every large South Korean city with a nuclear weapon. An impoverished state had been reborn from the ashes.

The Arabs had finally achieved their aim and overrun Israel, killing every Jew they could get their hands on, but not before the Jewish state had unleashed its nuclear arsenal, killing two hundred million Arabs, their historical brethren. The only place left in the world where it was safe to be a Jew now was America; the Jews having been evicted from Europe in a second pogrom on that continent.

On and on, the news reeled on, relaying death and suffering as nations and tribes and peoples made savage war on one another, often for no good reason.

It was a bleak and desolate world that he had returned to, one filled with abject misery and poverty. Worse, there seemed little hope left that Humanity might find a brighter day.

Kal's heart was broken anew. It was almost as horrific as the night Diana had died. He sat, digesting the horror of it all.

_Not quite what you expected._

"No," Kal whispered.

_It is not unexpected to me. All those pent up hatreds were simply kept in check by you and the League. The rest of the habitable planets must have simply watched, mesmerized as Humanity ate itself._

"We did more than keep the hatreds in check," Kal said. "We offered Humanity hope. We gave them all an example for what we all could be. When the League fell apart, that sense of hope and purpose must have died as well."

_At least you don't have to worry about destroying any cities when you track down the Croatoan. There aren't that many left, and those that are still standing are probably used to rebuilding._

"A pretty grim reason to find optimism," Kal said.

_No. It's gallows humor. It's all I could think to come up with._

"Maybe that's the best anyone can come up in this world." Kal stood with a sigh. "We still have a mission, though."

_Find the Croatoan._

"And throw him back into the Zone."

* * *

Kal's search for the Croatoan led him to a bar, _The Iron Stallion. _A biker bar, the parking lot was full of Harleys. Few of them were true Harley's though. Many years back, Milwaukee had been ravaged when a battle broke out between one of the new so-called heroes and a member of the Five Hundred. The Harley-Davidson manufacturing plant had been destroyed_. _So, most of the bikes in the lot of the _Iron Stallion _were either knockoffs or over twenty years old.

Yet another reason to grieve.

Kal wore a chameleon shield, made to disguise his features and voice. Despite the passage of decades, Kal-El's face was still well known throughout the world. He walked in, looking like a typical biker. His colors proclaimed him a member of the League, a non-descript moniker of his true affiliation.

He was at this bar for information. The Croatoan had quickly moved up the ranks of organized crime. Why it was interested in the criminal element of Earth was a mystery to Kal, but this bar was where he might start to get some answers.

He approached a biker, lean and older and with a scruffy beard and long, greasy hair. The man had two others at the table with him, drinking and laughing. They all wore jackets, marking them as members of Sons of the Beast, just like everyone else in the bar. They were, of course, tattooed heavily.

"You Spite," Kal asked.

"Who's asking?" the scruffy biker asked, not bothering to look up.

"A man wanting to do business," Kal answered.

"Ain't a businessman," Spite laughed, taking a pull from his cigarette and exhaling in Kal's face.

Kal pretended to cough. "I hear different. I hear you can move things. Get things done."

Spite tilted his head and regarded Kal. "Maybe I can, and maybe I can't. What I ain't heard is who gave you my name."

"Pitch. You know him?"

Spite took another pull. "I know him. I don't know you, though, and he ain't called to tell me to expect to hear from you."

"Must have slipped his mind."

Spite smirked, nodding almost imperceptibly to his men. They stood, not bothering to hide their actions as they very deliberately pulled out pistols and aimed them at Kal. "Think so, huh? Well, here's what I think. I think you angled into the wrong bar, boy. I think you know some names and think you can pass of as legit." He leaned back. "But I ain't got to where I am by trusting those I don't know. You smell like a cop. You a cop?" he shouted the last and grinned as the bar quieted.

All eyes turned to the men at the table, especially to Kal. He felt their stares boring into the back of his skull.

Well, this hadn't gone the way he had planned.

_Kill the chicken and let the monkey watch. _Doomsday quoted an old Chinese aphorism.

"I don't want to kill anyone," Kal whispered, wondering how the Kryptonian beast knew something as esoteric as that saying.

Spite stood and pulled out a gun as well, aiming at Kal's head. "Don't worry, boy, you ain't killing anyone. You the one's gonna be killed. You should've pissed off when you had the chance."

He cocked his pistol.

Kal raised his hands in surrender and smiled. "Let's not be hasty, friends. You don't know me, and you don't want me for an enemy. After all, I might have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"What tricks?" the biker to the right growled.

"I might be a one of the Five Hundred," Kal suggested, still smiling.

Spite laughed. "Bullshit. Take his ass down, but don't kill him. I want to know who sent him before we dust him off."

Several things happened. First, a very large biker approached and cracked him across the chin with a brass-knuckled fist. Second, said biker broke his hand and howled in pain. Third, another biker slammed a wooden baseball bat across the back of Kal's head, splintering the bat into a dozen pieces. Fourth, Spite's tablemates unloaded their pistols into Kal. The entire bar witnessed the Kryptonian catch every bullet and drop them on the floor.

If it had been quiet before the gunshots, it was utterly silent now.

"You should have been more hospitable. Now it's going to cost you," Kal said in a deadly voice.

The entire bar jumped him.

It was then that Doomsday's fury almost took control. Kal drove down the anger, sealing it away. If he hadn't he would have killed every biker in the bar. As it was, he simply laid into them, knocking them all out in seconds.

_Aww. You should have listened to me. Killing a few is the only way to loosen up scraggly boy's lips._

"Let's not be too hasty now," Spite said, hands in the air, pistol on the table. "We can still make a deal here, hombre? C'mon now, let me buy you a…"

"Shut up," Kal said, speaking to Doomsday.

Spite interpreted it otherwise, and his jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

"Sit down," Kal offered, seating himself and gesturing to Spite's chair as well. The biker slid into his seat, fear written on his face.

"I didn't mean to mess with you, man," he said. "I had no idea you were Five Hundred."

Kal smiled wintrily, a smile devoid of all humor. "Word is, Spite, you're the biggest coke and meth dealer in south Florida. Where do you keep you supplies?"

Spite's jaw firmed. "I can't tell you that…"

"If you don't, I'll start cutting off pieces of you," Kal said. His eyes glowed, and he sliced Spite's pistol in half. "Talk if you want to live."

"It's all in the harbor. We've got a guy on the inside. Looks the other way when our shipments come in."

Kal nodded. "Good. Now tell me what you know about King Rudy."

Spite was about to speak, but he saw something that made him smirk. "Sorry, don't seem to remember a damn thing about him."

One of his men had woken up and fetched a submachine gun rifle. The man emptied the clip into Kal's face at point blank range, doing no damage at all.

Kal turned and melted the gun before knocking the man out once more.

After that, Spite turned out to be most co-operative.

When Kal had finished learning what he needed to know, he emptied the bar of all patrons and burned it to the ground. For good measure, he melted all the motorcycles as well. He felt bad about that. Some of them might have been vintage.

After that, he flew to the harbor, found the drugs and incinerated them as well.

Doomsday cheered. _I knew you could get him to talk. _

"On to King Rudy," Kal said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Find anything," Bruce asked.

Shayera shook her head 'no'. "Nothing," she said. They were in her rooms in Watchtower, and she had just put John down for his nap, so they spoke in hushed tones. "When's Wally coming?" she asked.

"He's finishing up his shift in command," Bruce said, glancing at the clock. "He's still got about a half-hour."

Shayera smiled. "Perfect," she said, taking Bruce by the hand. "Let's make use of the time. John's asleep." If her bold but languid gaze hadn't let Bruce know what she had in mind, the tell-tale sign of her involuntarily spread wings rustling softly certainly did.

In most instances, Bruce would have leapt at the opportunity, but this time he held back. "We can't," he said, sounding gruff. At the touch of her wings against his cheeks, his own form shimmered into that of a male Thanagarian; more expressive than words of his own feelings on the matter.

Shayera stepped closer, bringing a bare hand up to caress his face. "Why not?" she asked, reveling in how much she tempted him.

He swallowed hard, pushing back desire and lust and love. The hardest to hold off was love.

He loved Shayera.

His status as a parademon, and the power it gave him had allowed him the liberty to acknowledge his human emotions: his need to be loved and love in return; to allow himself to be weak; to put another person before his all-consuming need to see Gotham through her troubles. The irony of the situation never ceased to amaze him. He didn't know if he should laugh or scream about it: only when he became inhuman did he become more human.

He cupped Shayera's face and kissed her, a hungry kiss full of promise.

Shayera rose on her toes, wanting to feel him against her; melding herself against him; kissing him back, teeth almost clicking against his. Having him so near, in the form of a Thanagarian was indescribably arousing. She didn't love him, but why, then, did he set her on fire?

It was different then what she had with Hal, but that didn't mean that it wasn't almost as potent.

Bruce pushed her away. It was gentle but still a push. He shifted into Batman persona again, black-cowled armor with billowing cloak; bleak and all business. She hated it. Was part of her hesitancy with him due to his responsibilities as the Batman? She was afraid to love someone who would always choose another over her. She smiled wryly. How in the Winds of Perdition could she compete with a city?

Bruce saw her smile, and misinterpreted her expression, thinking it was one of frustrated desire. "We can do that later?" he said more than asked, unaware how inflectionless and commanding and unintentionally cruel his voice sounded as the Batman.

Shayera nodded and stepped away, trying to forgive him for his graceless and demanding question. She wasn't some whore, meant to spread her legs at his insistence. "We'll see," she said, her voice cold.

"I promise I'll make it up to you," he said.

"We'll see," she repeated, her voice still icy.

His eyes narrowed in hurt and speculation as he tried to understand the reason for the sudden coolness emanating from Shayera. He replayed his words, including the tone and realized why. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

Shayera brows arched, surprised by his sentiment. "Why would you apologize?" she asked.

"I hurt you. I shouldn't have said what I said the way I did."

Shayera nodded tightly. "No you shouldn't have," she agreed.

Bruce fumbled with his cloak, not sure how to say what he wanted to say. The words wouldn't come, so he decided on simple honesty. He prayed he wouldn't come off sounding like a needy idiot. "I've had many girlfriends," he began. Shayera's eyebrows rose. She waited patiently, but her arms crossed across her chest and her gaze flicked to her mace. Bruce cursed himself and rushed on. "What I mean to say is that I've had many girlfriends and some I may have even loved."

Now, her feet tapped and her face wore an expression of puzzled annoyance. "Is there a point to this braggadocio?" she asked.

Bruce licked dry lips and cleared his throat. "Umm. What I mean is that, I _might _have met women I could have loved, but I never let myself do so. Gotham always came first. When I was dying, back in the Zone, before Thistle saved me, I realized how much more I wanted from life than what I had allowed for myself." He frowned, trying to piece his thoughts together. At least Shayera wasn't eyeing her mace anymore. "Those of us who born with great power or who chose to live lives of responsibility to others are often called upon to make great sacrifices. I used to believe that included everything that makes me human. I don't anymore."

"What do you think, then?" Shayera asked, not sure what Bruce meant to tell her.

Bruce looked her in the eye. "Who protects the innocent from their protector? What if the protector can no longer be trusted because he's become inhuman in his pursuit of justice? Can he be trusted with their power then?"

Shayera frowned, still puzzled. "Are you worried about losing what makes you human because you're a parademon now?"

Bruce shook his head in negation. "I lost that even before I became a parademon," he said. "What I realized in the last moments of my life before Thistle came to me was something simpler: my mission had become so all encompassing that I couldn't relate to the worries and fears of normal people."

Shayera tilted her head, a birdlike movement that was a heritage of her partial avian ancestry. "What are you trying to say?"

"I lost perspective. How can I protect something I no longer understood or even respect? Eventually, I would have cut corners. I'd have made compromise after compromise because it was needed for the greater good. The ends would have justified the means. The way I was going would have only led to psychopathic behavior." He smiled wryly. "Dying might have been the best thing that ever happened to me. And, I just wanted you to know that Gotham doesn't have first claim to my heart anymore. That's all."

A fear or tightness she didn't even realize was present unclenched. He would stay, and she didn't have to fear losing him to his city. She smiled. His words, perhaps the clumsiest expression of love she'd ever heard, touched her. His face, usually cowled when he didn't want to let emotions touch him, was uncowled. It was endearingly vulnerable. She cupped his face tenderly.

She wished she believed in a God worthy or worship. If nothing else, it would have been nice to pray; pray that she learned to love this man.

She kissed Bruce; a soft, gentle kiss, not full of animal passion as before, but somehow even more passionate.

"Umm, I'd tell you guys to get a room, but you already have," Wally said, grinning insolently from the doorway.

Bruce held her a heartbeat longer, unwilling to be embarrassed at being seen kissing Shayera. Finally, he turned to Wally. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

Wally shrugged. "Heard of it. Forgot about it," he said. He sauntered in and opened Shayera's freezer, pulling out a tub of chocolate ice cream. He tucked into it. "Glad you two finally admitted your relationship," he said around a mouthful of ice cream.

Bruce froze. "What do you mean? You knew?"

Wally rolled his eyes. "Of course I knew. All the sneaking around; the furtive glances…the whole League knew. We've got bets on how long it'll take you to come out and everything."

Shayera turned to Wally, a studiously neutral gaze on her face. "A wager?" she asked pointedly.

Wally rolled his eyes. "Don't you take that tone with me," he said. "You're always in on these things when it's someone else's life, remember? Or do I have to remind you of Dinah and that circus dude with the tongue so long he could…"

"Ok. Nevermind," Shayera said, blushing furiously.

Wally chuckled. "Anyway, I think I've got something."

"What have you got?" Zatana asked standing at the doorway.

Wally smirked. "I've got four hundred dollars," he said. "I just caught these two making out."

"Aw, damn it. Another two months and I would have won."

"Ok, let's move it along. We've got more important things to do than gossip about my love life," Bruce said with a scowl.

"True. There really isn't much there to discuss anyway," the Flash mused.

"Wally," Bruce said in his most menacing voice, to which Wally stuck out his tongue.

Bruce glared, while Wally happily slurped up his chocolate ice cream. Finally, Bruce chuckled. "Ok. I give. Point made. I don't intimidate you," he said. "So, what did you learn?"

"A name. Tezcatlipoca: an Aztec god. I've already sent on what I've got to your pads," Wally said.

Bruce, Shayera, and Zatana pulled out their hand-held computers, scanning through Wally's report. Bruce was impressed. For the longest time, he had Wally pegged as being flighty and airheaded. If not for Clark's staunch defense, Bruce would have pressed to have the Flash dismissed from the League. A few years back, though, Bruce learned that under all that light-headed banter, Wally was quite canny and observant.

His report on this Tezcatlipoca was another case in point: the kid could really get the job done.

"Why him?" Zatana asked.

"I reviewed all the other gods of ancient mythologies, and none of the few who are still alive have the power to do what's been done," Wally explained. "The ones that could have pulled this off are either all confirmed dead or their mythologies were completely cluster f'd and made no sense. The only one whose death has never been confirmed is Tezcatlipoca. And get this, he's called the Smoking Mirror and often appears as a magician."

"I've always said it would take god-level power to do what's been done," Zatana mused.

"And their conditions haven't changed in the seven weeks since we found them," Shayera added.

Bruce nodded, thinking. "Yes, it makes even more sense when you add in a few other things. Remember that grey haze on their irises when we first found them?"

"The iris is the colored part, right?" Wally asked.

Bruce nodded.

"If it really is this Aztec god, then where is he?" Shayera asked, hefting her mace, ready to lay into whoever had hurt her friends.

"Apokolips," Bruce said.

Zatana was startled. Shayera almost dropped her mace in shock.

It shouldn't have surprised Bruce but it still did when he saw Wally nodding in understanding.

"How can you be so sure?" Zatana asked.

"Kalabak was said to have died a few years back, but now they say he's the new Lord of Apokolips, deposing Darkseid," Wally said. "This new Kalabak is probably Tezcatlipoca. He is supposed to be a wicked bad magician with unknown powers. He could easily take on Kalabak's form."

"Do you think what happened to Clark and Diana happened to Darkseid?" Shayera asked.

Bruce smiled. "Absolutely," he said. "This adds added impetus to what I wanted to do anyway. We're going to go visit an old friend we've never met before." He glanced at them. "Be ready to roll in fifteen. I want Dinah running point from Watchtower. Steel, Atom, and J'onn, wherever they are, recall them. We may need all of us to lay down the pain for where we're going next."

Wally smiled in anticipation and fist-pumped Shayera and Zatana. "I love it when he talks like that," he said.

Shayera grinned, caressing her mace. "Yeah. We're going to get to kick some evil asshole's ass."

Wally glanced at Hawkgirl, puzzled. "How can an asshole have an ass?"

Zatana punched Wally in the shoulder. "Shut up. You're ruining the moment."

* * *

Zeus spoke to Tezcatlipoca on the plane of the immortals; a shared reality that was only as real as the powers of the gods.

"All goes as planned?" Zeus asked.

"None know of my re-emergence," Tezcatlipoca said, his form that of a proud, handsome warrior with a painted black and yellow horizontal stripe across his face. "None know of my mastery." His voice and posture perfectly modulated subservience to the Lord of Olympus, convincing Zeus of the Aztec's sincerity and confidence. Zeus was no fool, but Tezcatlipoca knew he could…convince the Thunder god to make the correct decisions.

Zeus nodded. "Good. Then all is going as planned." He gave the Aztec god a measuring look. "What of the three trapped?"

Tezcatlipoca smiled, a conspiratorial and predatory grin. "They are mine. I am the Smoking Mirror. They are as I wish them to be." He leaned forward, holding the Thunder God's shoulder in a pose of perfectly mimicked empathy that he didn't feel. "I too share in your anger at Ares' death. No god should fall so to a mortal. He shall be avenged, Lord."

Zeus nodded, accepting the Aztec god's sympathy. "And when this is done, you will be satisfied with Apokolips?"

The Aztec, once known as the Lord of the Night Skies nodded, his form blurring becoming smoky and indistinct. "I have an entire world," he said. "It is even known as the war world. What need have I for more?" Tezcatlipoca's posture mimed disbelief that anyone could ask for anything more.

Zeus smiled thinly. "So Ares used to say about his fecund gifts," he said. "Strangely, they never were enough. He always sought more." The Lord of Olympus shrugged. "It is not surprising since he was the God of War."

"And you worry that as a war god myself, I too shall follow in Ares' footsteps?" Tezcatlipoca asked, shaking his head sadly; all a ploy to convince Zeus of his benign intent. "Fear not, Lord Zeus," the Smoking Mirror said. "I am not your son. With me, no doubt, you would not display the admirable and legendary patience you showed Ares. You would likely smite me with the thunderbolt at the first should I even _seem _to step out of line." He chuckled, the laugh of two old friends sharing a private and old joke, putting the Lord of Olympus at ease. "I have a great desire to live."

Zeus laughed with Tezcatlipoca, the tension easing out of him. Why couldn't he have birthed one like this Aztec god: smart, resourceful, cultured, and understanding of his place in the world? Instead, he'd spawned that fool Ares. He shook his head in sorrow. Fool though his son had been, still he had been _his_ son. And Ares had been a god of Olympus. His death could not go unpunished.

"The time grows nigh when they will trapped forever," Tezcatlipoca said, nodding confidently. "They are mine, Lord."

"Excellent," Zeus affirmed. "Keep to the plan then. Leave the three in their own private hells for all eternity. Do this and perhaps there will even be a place for you on Olympus." Zeus smiled and gave Tezcatlipoca a comradely slap on the shoulder. "Eh? How's that? Ruler of Apokolips and a member of our pantheon?"

The Aztec god blushed, feigning embarrassment that he didn't feel. "You flatter me, Lord. I am unworthy of so high an honor," he demured. "Only recently did you find my sarcophagus and awaken me. I owe you my life. That alone would have sufficed for me, but your generosity knew no bounds. You gifted me an entire world," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Now, you offer me a place by your side? A member of your family…it is too much, Lord." It was not enough. Not for Tezcatlipoca would had always striven for more. After Apokolips, Olympus. Then…the Aztec god would see. He hid a smile. The universe was so much more vast than he had realized when he entered his long sleep.

"You are worthy of such honors," Zeus intoned, gravely. "Bring us victory."

Tezcatlipoca stood ramrod straight, at military attendance. "I will, my Lord. Or I will die trying." He kept his derisive laughter to himself.

* * *

The Javelin cut through the air, entirely stealthed. Someone looking from the ground or sky would never have seen or heard its passage. It had no emissions and its chameleon camouflage hid its shape. Noise-cancelling speakers mounted outside the spaceplane emitted sound waves with the same amplitude but with an exactly inverted phase to that generated by the engines. Even radar or any other scanning technology of any known world wouldn't have found the ship.

The League reached their destination: a small igloo deep within the heart of Antarctica and over a thousand miles from any known research facilities on that most remote of continents. The igloo clung to the edge of a sheer mountain cliff, twelve thousand feet above the snow covered valley below, and surrounded by ice-mantled mountains on all sides; all part of the Transantarctic Mountains. It was strange to find an igloo is such a remote location. No human could have built it, especially since those known to build such dwellings – Eskimos – were found in the Arctic north, not the Antarctic south.

"Any sign that we've been spotted?" Bruce asked, leaning forward.

J'onn closed his eyes. "None. We are unobserved."

Bruce straightened, a grim smile on his face. "Good. Let's go meet our new friend," he said.

Wally chuckled.

Bruce glanced at him, a questioning look on his face.

"We're about to meet what you could say is the ultimate illegal alien," Wally said. "If we were back in America, the proper authority to handle this would be the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. I.C.E. for short."

J'onn smiled. "How apropos." He stood as well. "Let's go."

Zatana shivered. "It looks bloody cold out there," she said.

"It's only going to get colder as the sun sets," Shayera said, no hint of sympathy in her voice. She unlimbered her mace. "You think he'll fight?"

J'onn shook his head. "That is not his way. He's the spider in the shadows."

"Yeah, but those fuckers can really hurt if they bite you when you're not looking," Atom said.

"He ain't shitting," Steel said in agreement.

"Why do you two always curse like sailors when we're on a mission?" Zatana asked.

"We're military, ma'am," Atom said, as if that explained it all.

"Cut the chitchat," Bruce said, his voice edged. He had no patience for banter right now. "Wally take point. Atom and Steel, cover him."

Wally slapped open the airlock, lowering the gangplank. Atom and Steel took careful aim, standing on either side of the open door. They nodded and Wally blurred away, crouching low near the door to the igloo. He signed 'clear'. Bruce nodded and J'onn launched forward, turning translucent as he approached the ice dwelling. J'onn penetrated and cycled open a very modern looking metallic blast door.

"Go," Bruce hissed. Atom was gone almost before the word was out of Bruce's mouth, his hand ready to destroy anything that came at them. Steel and Shayera were right on his heels. "Zee, you've got babysitting duty on the Javelin," Bruce said. "Stay in contact with J'onn the entire time. Anything squirrely happens, you bug out. Got it?"

Zatana nodded, waiting until Bruce disembarked before slamming shut the airlock, the gangplank automatically retracting.

They clustered inside the igloo, Steel, the ex-marine, now took command. This was his forte: a covert assault. "Shayera, watch the backdoor. Wally and Atom, you're on point. Me and Bruce will cover you. We'll trade off until we make contact. J'onn, you've got our backs. Take it slow, Wally. Stay in line of sight." He nodded, readying them. "Go," he whispered.

They crept forward, leap-frogging over each other, carefully taking out surveillance equipment and making sure no alarm sounded. They edged deeper into the igloo and within the hollow center, a staircase plunged downward. They paused.

"J'onn, take point. Go down until you make contact. Do not, I repeat, do not engage," Steel whispered. "Got it."

J'onn nodded and dematerialized, flying down and through the stairs. His voice came to them in their minds. "All remaining surveillance eliminated. Only one lifeform present," he said. "It is him," he added a moment later.

"Let's go," Steel said. "Keep it quiet. I don't want him catching wind of us and bugging out."

They reached J'onn who was crouched next to a door leading to the command center.

A robed and wizened old man, or at least that's how he appeared, was hunched over a battery of monitor stations. His head was hairless, and his face wrinkled like a raisin. He turned, hearing them when they walked in. All of their weapons were pointed at his slender form. His eyes flashed malice. "The Master will not be pleased," he hissed.

"Nice to meet you too, Desaad," Bruce said, a cold smile on his face. "Where is your Lord, by the way?"

* * *

"It is said that you are a hard man," the Russian said. He was not a big man. In fact, other than being supremely fit, he seemed rather unremarkable. Except for his eyes. His dark eyes probed and evaluated everything with a cold, almost sharklike stare as he sat lazily behind a large desk. This was a man who was used to violence and killing. He was former Spetsnaz; a member of Mother Russia's special forces. Standing alongside him in the small, brightly lit room, wearing matching dark, gray suits and with semiautomatic rifles slung across their shoulders were two much bigger men; all much more imposing than the smaller Russian on first glance. Looking at the eyes of the Spetsnaz, though, it was easy to see who were the dogs and who the wolf.

"They say the same about you?" Kal replied, feigning nervousness as he glanced at the two large men, all as big or bigger than him.

Vladimir Somova smiled. "It is hearsay, no?" He stepped forward. "Hearsay is simply gossip, yes. You see show called _Firefly_?" Kal nodded, unsure where the Russian was going with this. "There is a man on that show. Serbian perhaps, name of Niska. He has saying about hearsay. You know what it is I mean?"

Kal nodded again. "There isn't a need for that," he said, chuckling nervously. "I've never been a fan of torture."

Somova's smile faded. "That is too bad because I am," he said. He nodded to his men, who stepped forward and held Kal's arms in what they probably thought to be a punishing grip. "I have heard that you are man not to be trifled with. I heard what you did to man named Spite." His ventures and mine seldom intersected but enough that you cause me some problems." He frowned. "I think you need to learn what it means to cross me. No more hearsay."

Kal struggled weakly in the grip of Somova's men. "Listen, whatever you've heard, it was probably overblown. Spite and I had a disagreement, that's all. One of his men got roughed up by mine. That's it."

Somova reached into the desk, pulling out a pair of heavy pliers and smiling. "Perhaps. But, again, that is hearsay. As you can guess by now, I do not like hearsay. I will know the solid truth. Like Niska." He grinned. "Do not worry. I will only pull off finger or two."

He nodded again, and the man on the right grasped Kal's right index finger and bent it back. It should have been enough to snap the tendons or break the bone. It did neither, and Somova observed with interest.

"You are flexible," he said. "That is good. Make pain more difficult to apply. More fun."

"All I need is a name," Kal said. "Just tell me where I can find King Rudy, and I'll walk out of here. No harm, no foul."  
Somova clucked in sorrow. "Too late for that. I told you were most aggressive in seeking me out. Brings me to the attention of those who should not look at what men such as I do. This is my country. This is my house. As we say in Russia, 'Never poke the bear or you will get the claws'."

He stepped forward, smiling smugly.

Kal relaxed in the hold of his captors. "Last chance," he offered. At Somova's chuckle, Kal straightened his arms and sent both of the men holding him flying into the walls. They crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Somova rocked back, stunned.

The Russian dropped the pliers and reached into his expensively tailored suit, pulling out a Varjag 0.40, taking dead aim, emptying the clip. His mouth dropped when Kal caught the bullets and dropped them one by one to the ground. Kal's eyes glowed red, and the pistol began melting. Somova dropped it, crying out in pain.

"You're right," Kal said. "Never poke the bear." He closed the distance between himself and the Russian in less than the blink of an eye, pinning Somova against the far wall. Kal's grip was an iron band around the Russian's neck. "You just didn't realize that I'm a bigger bear." His eyes glowed again. "Now tell me about King Rudy," he snarled in a deadly whisper.

The Spetsnaz was a tough man, but he crumbled quickly. He gave Kal a sick smile. "I'll tell you all you wish to know."

* * *

"You want this woman. She treat you right. Real tight inside," the Nigerian said, fingering the girl's hair. She looked to be all of thirteen.

Kal almost vomited in disgust. He'd always fought the high battles; the ones up in the sky, defending the world against global terrorists and criminals.

The dirt and ugly filth of the world were fights he didn't have the stomach for. It was too hard. Those battles were meant for those with an endless faith to keep working despite the horrors of everyday life for some many. Kal sometimes had that faith, but when he looked too closely, at situations like here in Nigeria with this slaver, he wasn't always so sure. His role was to protect those who were stronger than he.

Kal glanced around.

Twenty men stood watching. Hard men with hard eyes, fingering knives, guns, and necklaces made of human finger bones. These were men used to intimidation and violence. In his search for King Rudy, Kal had come across a number of such men.

They didn't impress him. Not simply because they couldn't touch him, but because they represented such a backward and self-destructive way of living and thinking. In the wild, they would be alpha wolves, but only until a group of ranchers came along and shot them dead. Kal looked forward to seeing them put down. He wouldn't have shed a tear if all such men were wiped clean off the face of the Earth. In fact, if he could, he would be happy to be the one to do the scrubbing.

_You can do so if you wish _Doomsday taunted in the recesses of his mind. The Kryptonian monster had been whispering similar sentiments the entire time he'd been linked to Kal; about two weeks now.

Kal didn't bother answering.

He watched the men mill about, drinking and laughing and acting dangerous, while scared young women, girls really, served them drinks and food. Occasionally, one of the men would draw a girl closer and whisper. She'd nod, and they'd go into a back room.

Sounds of pain and pleasure could be heard from the rooms beyond.

_End them_.

Kal's jaw clenched. "Shut up," he hissed.

The Nigerian sat up straight, apparently thinking that Kal was speaking to him. "You say what?" he asked. He gestured and all talk and motion ceased. It was going to be just like the _Iron Stallion _and Spite. "Fuck you, white man! You no tell me nothing to do. No one does in my place. I tell you when to speak. I think I cut out your tongue now. Never speak again."

Kal glanced around. The Nigerian's thugs and bullies – he no longer would compliment them by naming them as 'men' – had their weapons drawn, some grinning at the prospect of cutting him up.

_Kill 'em all. Who's going to know the difference?_

Who would? Wouldn't the world be a better place without them? This was no different than the war he had fought over Themiscyra. He'd killed then. In this country, who really would bring these men to justice? Who would save those men and women and children that these slavers were even now abusing and debasing?

Kal let Doomsday's rage sweep over him, but he kept it carefully leashed. He didn't want random destruction.

He wanted very selective death. He wanted these oh-so hard men with their oh-so hard eyes to understand the futility of facing him. He wanted to see their bravado break as he broke their necks.

Kal stood and very deliberately smiled at the Nigerian. He let them fire their guns; plunge their knives; even slash with swords. It did no good. Slowly and methodically, he swept through them. One by one, he administered a death every five seconds as he worked his way around the room, making sure that not one of them escaped; cutting them off when they ran for the exits.

A rictus of smile marred his face as he went about his business of butchery.

_Let them know fear for once_.

"Yes," Kal whispered in agreement.

The last one left was the Nigerian, now cowering in a corner.

Kal hauled him up and held him against the wall, squeezing the life from him, slowly and inch by inch. "Insect. I should pluck your wings," he said, examining the Nigerian as though looking for appendages to rip off.

"No. Please," the Nigerian begged. "I'll do whatever you tell me. Just don't kill me." The little thug had already wet and shat himself.

"Free all you've enslaved. Return them home, even if you have to do it by yourself," Kal demanded.

"Yes. Yes. I will. Anything you say," the Nigerian promised.

"Good. That's the correct attitude," Kal said with a smile. "Before that, though…tell me about King Rudy."

The Nigerian couldn't get the words out fast enough. When he was done, Kal dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

Finally, he had the Croatoan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

From the Pit, Darkseid arose, but not in triumph or glory. He came forth broken and sobbing, not caring who saw his weakness. Granny Goodness had kept her promise: she'd made him beg to couple with her. The horrible bitch – he startled and hurriedly glanced around, stupidly afraid that she might hear his thoughts…she couldn't, could she? – had strapped him to a machine meant to induce priapism of the most painful sort. Without release, his manhood would have turned cyanotic and then gangrenous. It would have been like a butter knife scraping away his privates.

Darkseid had witnessed the effects on others and it had never been pretty.

Coupling with Goodness…he shuddered at the horror of the experience, whimpering in remembrance.

All he wanted to do was crawl back to his room and pray for death. The lack of existence had to be better than what he was going through. Endless months of torment and tribulation. If he had been braver, he would have ended himself long ago. He was too much a coward to do so, however.

Into his mind came the call of the Master. Darkseid was required in the throne room. It needed cleaning. The first time the Lord had called for him in such a fashion, he'd displeased the Master and arrived late. Darkseid cringed, remembering the Master's anger. That's when the once-Lord of Apokolips had first been sent to Granny Goodness.

Darkseid picked up his heels and sprinted to the throne room. If he displeased the Master again…he didn't know if he could take another session with Goodness.

As it was, his mind was close to cracking. All it would take would be a small shove, and he would become a raving lunatic, good for nothing but to silently scream away his life. Of course, they would cut his tongue out first; the Master would not want to actually hear his annoying cries. At least that's how Darkseid had operated when he had ruled Apokolips. He was certain the Master would continue such a pragmatic practice.

After all, like father like son.

He arrived and one of the other servants silently handed him a rag and a bucket of water. Blood stained the floor. Darkseid had no idea whose blood it was or even if the victim was still alive. Judging by the chunky pieces of meat mixed in with the blood, probably not.

In the midst of his cleaning, the Master departed taking with him his general staff. The officers that led the Army of Apokolips, a few of whom had once gazed at him sympathetically when he had first fallen, now looked upon him with naked contempt. One went so far as to demand that Darkseid clean his boots…with his tongue.

Darkseid did so without complaint or a hint of refusal – the Master had glanced back upon hearing that command, a grim and expectant smile on his face.

After the staff left, Darkseid continued cleaning. As he was finishing, a castrated slave – one whom Darkseid had personally emasculated – came and mocked him.

"How you have fallen, worm," he said. "It fills my heart with gladness. When you are finished, perhaps you can lick clean my boots as well." The slave laughed derisively.

Darkseid ignored him. He didn't wish further punishment.

The slave continued mocking him, and Darkseid tried to ignore the abuse, but eventually, he could not. Not when the slave opened his pants and urinated on his once Master.

Then, Darkseid rose, his eyes flashing and looking once more like the dread and terrible Lord of Apokolips that he had once been. The slave tried to scream but only managed a squeak as Darkseid grabbed him by the throat. The sound of his neck snapping was like a gunshot in the dark and cavernous throne hall.

Darkseid's heart pounded like a trip hammer. Had anyone seen? If they had, the clutches of Goodness would be the best he could hope for. He had been instructed in no uncertain terms that he could not murder anyone, including the lowliest of slaves, under pain of death. He flicked his gaze throughout the silent and empty throne room. No one else was present.

Darkseid grabbed the dead slave. There was a chute nearby that led to an incinerator. He unceremoniously shoved the slave into the chute, watching to make sure the body slid all the way down and into the gaping maw of the incinerator deep and down below the palace.

Once the act was done, Darkseid glanced around again. Good. The hall was still empty. A bubble of joy and relief rose to the surface of his mind. He had done it. What had him almost dancing with happiness, though, was that he had defied the Lord and no one was the wiser. Even better, no one would ever be the wiser. Unexplained deaths and disappearances occurred all the time on Apokolips.

He replayed the act he had just committed. He licked his lips, luxuriating in the memory. It had felt so _good. _Murder. Oh, how he had missed it. He reveled in the deliciousness of his accomplishment. Nothing in life was as carnally satisfying as killing. Nothing. He'd become aroused while watching the life fly from the eyes of the slave, and he almost groaned from the ecstasy of it. Even the stench of Goodness on him couldn't lessen the pleasure. The power of taking all of a person: it was the most potent of sensations.

He chuckled to himself, realizing something else: confidence and pride, two emotions he had long set aside, had arisen once more within his beating heart. It had been too long since he'd felt his true power. Too long since he'd remembered that he had once been a power that even the mightiest in the Universe feared. He'd thought he'd lost it all. In fact, forgotten to a large extent that he even had it.

No more. He would regain what was his. Apokolips would be his, and, murder, it seemed, was the key.

He shook his head. How could he have been so blind? After all, hadn't that been how he'd achieved power in the first place? It should not have come as a surprise that murder was the means to his restoration.

Darkseid finished cleaning, almost humming with his sense of contentment.

Afterward, he went back to his room, careful to resume his by-now familiar pose of sullen sorrow and brokenness. It wouldn't do to have anyone notice the rebirth of his pride.

Plans were needed. He would need to kill quite a lot of slaves. He knew on an instinctual level that it would be in those deaths that he would recover the secret that he sensed was trapped within the recesses of his mind. Darkseid would rediscover the key to the Omega.

On arriving in his room, he stared out the window, determining who he would kill and when. By now, he was familiar with all the slaves and their duties having been one of them for so long. Who could he kill and not be implicated?

His mind had been scattered and cluttered prior to the murder but was now, once more, the deep, well-ordered engine that had fueled his rise to power. Confidence brimmed within him. Darkseid glanced at the meager room, scoffing at the smell and size. It had been meant to humiliate him and imbue a sense of helplessness within him. It had done so, but he would not allow it to do so any longer.

Soon, all would be his. Soon, the spawn would die. Soon, Granny Goodness would be dealt with. He paused in his recitation of those who had wronged him and how they would be punished. What of the general staff?

He considered their fate.

Finally, he shook his head. No. They would not be replaced. Why should they? They had been trained to deal harshly with weakness, and they had. He, Darkseid, had been the weakest of the weak and had deserved their contempt. In retrospect, had they dealt with him in any other fashion, he would have killed them all himself.

Even the general whose boots Darkseid had to lick would live. Darkseid reconsidered. Yes, he would live, but that one would also spend a year in the Pit.

His gaze fell to the smoky mirror hanging crookedly above the washbasin. What was it about that thing that filled him with…He blinked and the thought left him.

But not the pride. Or the decadent and lush feel of of murder.

He nodded. However long it took, he would regain what was his. Murder. How could he have forgotten its satisfying taste?

* * *

Kal stood atop Pikes Peak, overlooking the shattered Garden of the Gods. Colorado Springs lay in ruins.

_The Croatoan was relatively easy to defeat._

"Yes he was," Kal said.

_You were able to destroy him without the loss of a single human life; the thing you feared the most._

"Life is full of ironies."

_How unfortunate the state to which you have fallen. Even the reformed Justice League when they decided to take you on wasn't much of a challenge._

"No," Kal agreed. "They weren't."

_It's a shame Atom's death took place above a city. I don't even want to think how many died there today_.

Kal sighed, wishing he could rid himself of the nuisance that was Doomsday. The monster wouldn't shut up. He had an answer and comment about everything. Right now, Kal craved silence. He wanted to remember the fallen members of the League.

Once they had been like his brothers and sisters, but no longer. They were all dead.

Had Kal been able to convince them otherwise, he would never have had to go against them. They had left him no choice. After defeating the Croatoan, it had been Dinah and Zatana who had first realized that the whispers of his return were, in fact, true. They'd tracked him down, demanding answers, which he'd readily provided.

The decades, though sending them into late middle-age, hadn't dimmed their outrage or their anger. Diana's murder was unforgivable. In their eyes, he should have still been locked away in the Phantom Zone. Nothing he could say or do would convince them otherwise. They'd left, promising to keep a close watch on his actions.

His actions.

He laughed bitterly.

After killing the Nigerian and his henchman, Kal understood the true nature of power for possibly the first time. He also understood the true nature of responsibility as well. How could he stand by and let such thugs and petty tyrants as Spite and Somova or the Nigerian rule through terror, forcing good men and women to cower in fear?

He couldn't.

He'd tried in his first incarnation to be a beacon of light, an inspiration, but it wasn't enough. How could he inspire a young girl sold into sexual bondage? How could he inspire her slaver? Evil men and women could be redeemed – Lex Luthor was proof of that – but while Kal gave such people a chance for redemption, their victims continued to suffer, unable to lead the lives that God had intended for them.

Of all the beings on the planet, Kal-El of Krypton was the one who could shift the balance of power and do something about it.

So, he had.

First was Burma. The Burmese military junta had raped and plundered that deprived country for decades. It was fitting that it was the first to feel his wrath. He felt no guilt as he burned their tanks and soldiers and their pitiful air force. He searched and destroyed the junta's leaders and commanders, giving them a much quicker death than they deserved. Next came the pirates that infested the margins of the nation, controlling the rivers of that swampy nation. They too had died. One week, and the nation of Burma was free.

Nature and politics abhors a vacuum and soon enough, new rulers arose there, and a constitution was written, overseen by Kal-El. His one imperative was simple: maintain justice. If the newly elected rulers failed to do so, Kal would be back to deal it out himself. And the only punishment he would mete would be of the capital kind.

Next came Darfur. After that, Tibet and the Uighers had been freed from their Han oppressors. Even after China had spun out, almost centrifugally, into independent warlord-run territories, the damn ChiComs in Beijing still ruled the Tibetan and Uigher homelands. They rulers in Beijing had even launched nukes at Tibet after it had been freed, an action that demanded a swift and punitive retribution.

The general staff headquarters of the People's Liberation Army in Beijing was a crater. Just to ensure that the stupid idiots got the message, Kal had leveled most of the government buildings in Beijing as well.

Kal visited the bickering provinces, letting the leaders of those territories know that he would be watching from now on. He drew a line in the sand. If the leaders wanted to live, they couldn't make war upon one another. Nor could they turn a blind eye to injustice and poverty within their provinces.

Kal wished that good governance quickly followed whenever he killed off those fools who profited from their power by subjugating the weak, but it didn't always happen.

_You need a firmer hand on the rest of the world; a crushing hand for the insects who challenge us._

Perhaps so, Kal mused as he soared skyward. He slowly flew south and west, thinking.

Humans were pests, always seeking the easy way around authority. If the leaders simply did as they were told: rule honestly and with the interests of those they served, then Kal wouldn't have had to kill so many of them.

Obviously, his work had drawn the attention of governments and other powers alike. Normal citizens in the so-called free nations of the world had denounced him. He was public enemy number one, which was fine as long as people did what they were told.

They hadn't, of course. Not yet. Doomsday was right in that Kal needed to show a stronger hand.

It had helped when the newest superheroes of the Five Hundred had challenged him. Some of these so-called heroes had thought to make a name for themselves by taking down Superman.

They'd stood no chance. They had almost been laughable, in fact. Especially the one calling himself, 'Psycho Dean of Mean'. What kind of lame name was that anyway? When the dunce had introduced himself, proclaiming his power as the 'power of meanness', Kal had almost laughed himself out of the sky. The Five Hundred of this time had absolutely no panache or élan. He'd almost allowed these new Five Hundreders to live simply to serve as a living object lesson to the others, but he hadn't, recalling an old adage his father used to tell him: _give an inch, give a mile_.

Eventually, the old League, his League had reformed, united with a simple purpose: take down Kal-El of Krytpon. Leading them was Bruce Wayne, newly risen as the Batman after spending all of the prior twenty years with a new persona, calling himself Nightwing. Parademons, it seemed, could theoretically live for centuries.

Kal shook his head, a sob rising within his chest. The death of his friends, especially at his hands, filled with him a deep grief, even if they had left him no other options. Bruce had been the last to die. Before Kal had extinguished him, his friend had asked him a simply question: _"You always said you were a servant, Clark. Who do you serve?"_

It was a question Kal couldn't answer. He was striding fearfully quickly on the road to tyranny. It wasn't a path he should follow. He knew it, but he also didn't know how else to bring the world to piece.

"How the hell did I end up here?" he asked no one in general.

_You murdered Diana._

Oh yes. That. The events of that night were hazy and indistinct. Try as he might, he could hardly recall any but the vaguest of details. It seemed he was forgetting…

Wait. That couldn't be right. He was Kryptonian. He never forgot anything.

He passed above the crystal blue, almost perfectly reflective surface of Lake Aspen. It looked odd just then, though; containing a smoky hue.

"Something's wrong."

He blinked and the thought left him…almost.

"Something's wrong," he repeated.

_Nothing's that a little carnage wouldn't fix._

He ignored the demon within. Something in this world was wrong.

* * *

Tezcatlipoca stood within the throne hall of Apokolips, wearing the form of a fool named Kalabak.

Kalabak was well remembered on the war world as being the worthless spawn of the dread Darkseid. How the once Master could have produced such an imbecile was a question laughed about and speculated upon throughout the living planets. Tezcatlipoca smiled to himself. Yes, Kalabak had been considered a great fool, but as a child of Darkseid, the spawn still held the last and best link to the throne of Apokolips with the war world's former Master disappeared. For that, Tezcatlipoca would have shaped himself as a eunuch.

Overcoming Kalabak's poor reputation had been difficult – the dumb brute apparently had nothing further on his mind than sodomy and rape, a rather coarse and simple method of control. Tezcatlipoca shrugged. After he proclaimed himself ruler, there had been great fear that the war world would become the whore world, with the new Master as the ultimate connoisseur of the unwilling flesh. _Or should that word have be 'con of the sewer'_, Tezcatlipoca mused, chuckling at his wordplay.

He shook his head. It didn't matter.

Nonstop raping hadn't happened, and an almost palpable sense of relief spilled off the populace and general staff of the Army at his competence.

Tezcatlipoca smiled. He should be competent. He was a war god, after all.

He frowned. Which is why a change in plans was in order. Ironically, he agreed with Darkseid in this regard: there was no such thing as retreat. He, Tezcatlipoca, the great god of the North, the Smoking Mirror was simply advancing in a different direction. Or perhaps realigning his forces in a different manner.

He grimaced. Apokolips was lost. That much he knew. Darkseid was about to break free of the prison he'd built for him. Once that happened, the former ruler – and soon to be present ruler of the war world – would come for blood.

Tezcatlipoca would have stood and fought it out had it just been the rock-faced ruler of Apokolips, but the Kryptonian was also showing disturbing signs of independence. He clucked. Taking on the two of them at once… though they might be enemies, in this instance of killing their jailor, they would find common ground. Enemy of my enemy and all.

He would have a temporary setback, but in the end, he would reclaim this throne. There were other means to achieve his end.

He had Zeus ready and able, but he doubted that card could be played just yet. Not with the Amazon so beloved by the females of the Greek pantheon. They would rebel against their natural Lord.

He scowled. And the Amazon had been impossibly hard to keep locked away. He'd had to reform her reflected world countless times. How did she keep seeing through the falsity of his inspired dream?

He sighed and glanced around. He had loved ruling this place. It was dark and grim, but oddly homey. He'd miss it.

With that, he shimmered and disappeared, leaving Apokolips without a despotic ruler for the first time in millennia.

* * *

Diana of Themiscyra cried as she approached the island of her birth. Every part of her ached. Kal's unreasoning jealousy had led to a physical confrontation, and Diana had not come out the victor.

She'd fled, but not before her husband had had his way with her, forcing himself. She was bruised all over. Everywhere but her face. Kal had said that he wanted to see her looking beautiful while he took her.

She shuddered at the memory.

Her mother had tried to warn her, but she hadn't listened; not wanting to believe that the man she loved could turn out to be like Heracles. She sobbed. Like mother like daughter it seemed.

How could she have missed it? Had Kal always been this evil?

She braked in mid-air, a frown marring the perfection of her face.

Kal wasn't evil. Something was wrong. She glanced at her vambraces, lost in thought and as though seeking insight within their cool, reflective surfaces.

Odd. Instead of a silvery sheen, they seemed to contain a smoky iridescence.

She frowned further.

Something was terribly wrong about the world as it stood. Kal wasn't evil. He wasn't a rapist. He wasn't physically abusive. And he wasn't psychopathically jealous.

She blinked.

She sat on her couch in Boston, staring out at the westering sun. Her heart was empty. Today, was the first anniversary of Kal's death. There would no coming back for him this time. Not after what Doomsday had done.

Kal's gambit of turning Doomsday loose on Apokolips had backfired in a big way. Darkseid had somehow subdued the creature and compelled the monster's obedience. The first task the Master of Apokolips had set for his new servant was the death of Kal.

The monster had succeeded. He had torn Kal into pieces.

Diana and the League had arrived in time to subdue Doomsday themselves, but not until after the creature had already killed Kal.

She reached for the end table, blindly searching for her new best friend. Where was Jack? She found Jimmy Beam instead. He'd do.

She took a long swig. It took about ten or fifteen fifths of hard liquor to really get her drunk, but she had the time. She had nothing else to do.

She glanced around her apartment, scoffing at the filth.

Kal would have been aghast. He'd always been a bit of a neat freak.

He'd have been especially appalled at how Diana had let herself go. Hard drinking, non-stop for a year had taken its toll on her body. Her face was ruddy, and her eyes bloodshot. Strong light hurt them since she was usually hungover in the morning. Her arms and legs, once toned and tanned and strong, were covered with a layer of jiggling fat. Worst was the definite bulge that arose over her middle. It wasn't a baby bump; not unless you counted getting knocked up by Jack or Jimmy as being pregnant. She had a beer gut. Even if she wanted to, there would be no way she could ever squeeze into her old Wonder Woman getup.

She blew out her lips. Who cared about being that slutty looking bitch, anyway? Always being judged.

_Oh, is that cellulite on Diana's thighs? Inquiring minds want to know._

Maintaining a perfect body was a pain in the ass. This was much more comfortable.

She belched and scratched herself, pausing in mid-scratch.

A screaming part of her was telling trying to say something. '_This isn't real_' it was yelling.

She chuckled. The hell it wasn't. She tipped back Jimmy and drank him dry, belching powerfully when she'd finished.

Woo! Now she was a bit tipsy. She grinned maniacally for a moment. Her thoughts eventually circled back to the reason for today's drunkenness.

A maudlin sob escaped her. Damn it. Why did Kal have to die?

She paused again. There was that nagging voice again. '_This isn't real_' it insisted.

Why wasn't this real? Screw the voice. She reached for and grabbed Jack. She brought the bottle to her lips but never drank.

This wasn't real.

Yes. None of this was real.

She looked at her surroundings. Even at her worst, she wouldn't have allowed herself to reach such a state.

She stood and she caught a look at herself in the mirrored-glass coffee table.

Disgusting. Something was definitely wrong here.

She stepped forward, but her attention was caught again by the mirrored coffee table again. _When had it become smoky_?

She blinked.

"Diana I have a surprise for you," Kal said, drawing her close to him.

She was confused. She almost remembered something.

He covered her eyes and led her to their living room.

"Now keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them," he cajoled. "Open."

He let his hands drop and she looked at where he directed her gaze.

Above the mantle was a painting of Themiscyra. The colors flowed and bled into one another, giving the island a surreal and luminous quality. It was beautiful.

"I love it," she almost heard herself say.

"On our wedding day, I flew around the island. I saw it from this angle and just knew it was special to you." He shrugged. "I put the final touches on it yesterday."

Diana laughed. "Kal, you have many talents, but when did you find the time to pick up painting."

He laughed with her. "I'm a very quick study, remember?" he said. "And it doesn't hurt that I can move like lightning."

"I suppose that would be an advantage," she said, smiling. She turned to him and pulled him into a hug. "I love it," she said, squeezing him. She loved that she could do that: squeeze him as hard as her strength would allow and without worry. "I love you."

"I love you, too Diana," he said. He bent slightly and kissed her.

She held on and opened her lips, tasting his tongue. Cinnamon from the morning's muffin. "Let's go…" She tugged, leading him to the bedroom, but he pulled back.

He almost growled in disappointed. "Love to," he said regretfully, "but Bruce and Selina should be here in a few minutes."

Her hands fell away from him, and her heart started beating fearfully. "Bruce and Selina?" she asked.

He laughed. "Don't tell me you forgot? They're coming over for brunch and afterwards, we're taking their kids and ours to the zoo? Remember, it was your idea."

Diana stepped back, a look of fright on her face.

"What is it, Diana?" Kal asked, looking scared now himself.

"When did Bruce and Selina get married?" she asked. The memories came to her in a rush, even as she asked the question. Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, had married seven years ago. Bruce had been cured of his parademon curse and restored to humanity.

He'd continued on as Batman for a few more years, but finally, he had let the light find him. He'd set aside his cape and his war, giving himself over to the chance to live a full life; one full of love. He had two children: a boy and a girl.

He'd become the father he'd always dreamed of being.

It wasn't real. None of this was real. She gasped and stepped back. "Stay away from me," she shouted as Kal moved to her, a look of genuine concern and fear on his face.

"Diana what is it?" he asked, in that heartbreakingly innocent and compassionate way of his. His sweetness had always entranced her. How could someone so powerful be so kind and loving?

This man, though…he wasn't her husband.

She stumbled away from him, into the bathroom and shut the door. It couldn't keep him out, but he would respect her privacy.

"Diana…" he called.

"I'll be fine. Just give me a second."

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. _What was going on here?_

She frowned, trying to clear the smoky film off the mirror. _Where had she seen that before?_

She blinked.

"Diana of Themiscyra, I thee wed," Kal said, his voice confident and strong.

She and Kal were renewing their wedding vows. Two hundred years of marriage, and the love she felt for him was just as passionate, if not more so, than when they first got married. They deserved this.

With their children, Jonathon, Kara, Jor, and Lyta, they'd finally defeated Darkseid.

It had been a hard fought battle; long and almost unwinnable at times, but finally they had prevailed, losing dear friends and loved ones along the way.

Her eyes welled as she remembered Bruce's sacrifice on Apokolips; the one that had allowed them to kill Darkseid, once and for all. Others had passed on as well, such as Wally and Atom and Zatana and Dinah and Steel; all felled by grim Father Time.

Now without the looming presence of Darkseid to threaten, she and Kal and the rest of the new League had been able to turn to the healing of their world. They'd brought together the leaders, the ones seen and unseen, and over time built a planet finally at peace with itself.

After thousands of years of conflict, Humanity no longer warred with itself.

She glanced around, seeing her sisters and loved ones. There sat her children, all beautiful in their own way and with their own wives and husbands and children. Her grandchildren.

The world they'd helped fashion was as beautiful a place as any in the sentient Universe. A place as lovely as Themiscyra at her finest where Humanity lived in a golden-age of peace.

And this, the renewal of their wedding vows, her and Kal's: it was their gift to one another.

Her mother stood proudly at her side.

It wasn't real. Diana knew it wasn't. She'd gone through this before. This time she was ready.

She looked around, trying to find a reflective surface. She couldn't find one. Where was something shiny when you needed it? She glanced down and almost slapped herself on the forehead.

Her vambraces. Yes. They would do. She smiled a shark's smile of anticipation. And they were smoky.

"By Zeus' codpiece, not this time," she hissed.

Diana blinked and sat up in her bed on Themiscyra.

Was it real?

She searched for the inner voice, the one that always knew when she was being lied to or lying to herself. It was quiet.

She was back, this time in the real world.

Black fury filled her. Someone was going to pay with their life for what they had done.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The midday sun shone through her windows, and Diana hopped out of bed. Where was Kal? He should have been there with her. She shrugged. He was probably doing his duties. After all, he couldn't set aside his responsibilities simply because she'd been unconscious.

Speaking of…how long had she been out. It must have been a lot more than just a few days judging by how thin her arms and legs had become. She grimaced. No matter, she'd get back what was lost soon enough. And after that or even beforehand, she'd pay back whoever had done this to her…with interest.

It was just then that she realized how famished she was. She also realized how much she was in need of a bath. Hunger warred with a desire for cleanliness – the taste of her mouth was awful and she could smell the dried and sour sweat that caused her white shift to cling to her body.

She decided food could wait a few minutes longer. She went to the bathroom and cleaned up, stripping off the shift and washing herself thoroughly. Much better. She was already starting to feel back to her normal self.

After that came a search for her clothes. Her uniform was neatly folded in the armoire. She quickly slipped into the armored skirt and rest of her clothes, sighin when she saw how loosely they hung on her, especially the vambraces.

A poke of her head out into the hall revealed that it was empty.

Mother was probably either in a conference or in her study. Diana argued with herself for a few seconds. Should she seek out the queen and let her know that her daughter was up and about? She equivocated, but finally decided against bothering her mother. The queen would learn soon enough of Diana's awakening.

Food first.

She went to the kitchen and startled the cook and her helpers.

"Princess," Cook said. "Thank the goddesses you're awake."

Cook Arianna had always been one of Diana's favorite people. When Diana had been young, it had often been the kitchen where Diana had hid when she wished to get out of her chores or training. Besides, watching Cook and the other kitchen staff turn meats and vegetables into _food _seemed like a kind of magic to the young Diana. She smiled at the thought. It still did seem magical given Diana's own spectacular lack of skill in the domestic goddess department.

"I'm absolutely famished," Diana said. "I'll take just about anything you've got."

Cook nodded. "I'll have something ready in a short order," she said, hustling to the cool box, pulling out food. "Does your mother know you're awake?" Diana shook her head 'no' and busied herself by piling food onto two plates. Cook's eyes widened at the sight. "You_ must _be hungry," Cook noted. She gestured to one her helpers who took off, no doubt to deliver the message of Diana's awakening to the queen.

"How long was I out?" Diana asked, after satisfying the immediacy of her hunger.

Cook looked trouble. "You were brought to Themiscyra seven weeks ago. It is said that you were in a similar state for a week or so prior to your arrival."

"Where's Kal?"

"Your husband is in Man's World," her mother said, striding imperiously into the kitchen. Her mother strode imperiously everywhere.

"I think I should be off somewhere…" Cook said, "…where the two of you aren't." She dragged the rest of her helpers out of the kitchen as well.

"And?" Diana prodded. Mother wasn't telling her something.

Hippolyta sighed. No doubt the fool child would fly off in moments, off to save that damn fool Kryptonian. How did the silly boy keep getting himself into these scrapes? "He's in a state similar to what you were in," she said. She sighed. There she went, standing straight up. Diana's mouth was open, no doubt about to demand where her husband could be found. Hippolyta silently congratulated herself. "His fortress," the queen said before Diana could ask.

Diana's mouth clicked shut. Kal was trapped in the same place she had just been. He was trapped in the nightmare of his dreams. A god must be involved to have kept them both under foot for so long. He needed her, and she almost rose into the sky, wanting to fly to him right then and there, but she didn't. She was still weak. She couldn't make such a long flight. Not yet. Maybe after a few more meals like this one, and ironically enough, some sleep.

She noticed her mother smiling slightly, and Diana eyed the queen, almost accusingly. The old spider had probably already worked out all of Diana's thoughts and presumed actions beforehand. She was probably standing there smugly congratulating herself on her cleverness. The old spider thought she knew so much. A moment later, Diana had to admit that the queen did, in fact, know quite a lot. "Thank you," Diana said after a pregnant pause.

"You're welcome, Diana," Hippolyta said, still with a slight smirk. "And it's lovely seeing you as well. I'm most grateful that the gods saw fit to restore you to health. Care to tell me what happened."

Diana reddened with embarrassment. "It's good to see you as well, Mother," she said. She told the queen of the strange dreams she had had, and the awful events in them. "And as you've no doubt deduced, I'll need to be going soon."

"As I expected," the queen said, nodding acknowledgement. "Your sister awaits word from you at the embassy. She can link you with the rest of your League."

"Thank you again," Diana said, humbly, her mind already racing with what she needed to do.

"I trust you'll stop by to visit for a more _upright_ visit when this affair is over," Hippolyta said.

"I'll do my best," Diana said, already distracted by what she knew likely awaited her. Kal came first. After that, they could hunt down whichever god had done this to them. Then came judgment. Of course, if the god in question was from Themiscyra's pantheon, what would she do? She shrugged and set that worry aside. After Kal was back, she could consider that problem.

The queen's eyes narrowed, not missing Diana's equivocal answer. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Diana sighed. "You've probably already figured out that a god is involved in this," she said. The queen nodded. "That god is going to pay."

The queen gasped. "You grow too prideful, child. The gods are not to be trifled with. They graced you with your gifts. Do you think they would create that which could destroy them? " Surely her daughter would not challenge the might of one of the Olympians. Of course, her daughter already had once. And had been victorious.

"I've already slain one," Diana said, grimly voicing her mother's thoughts. "What was done to me was a declaration of war. And I will respond in kind." Her voice had grown cold and unforgiving.

Hippolyta remembered those events from two years and more when Diana had defeated the god Ares. That day, her daughter had been an angel of death. The queen shivered, glad to have never truly felt Diana's fury. Hippolyta eyed Diana, praying for her safety. "Tread carefully, daughter," she said. "The gods have not forgiven what you did to Ares. Should you slay another of them, they may withdraw their protection from Themiscyra."

"I cannot make such assurances," Diana said. "Had it been only me that was attacked, perhaps I could have convinced the League to overlook the matter. By involving Kal, there is no way it will be forgiven or forgotten. They'll come for justice, especially Bruce."

The queen scoffed. "Without the Kryptonian, they are nothing," she said. Her son-in-law might be a pain in the ass, but as the True God was her witness, he was also likely the greatest power on the Earth, other than perhaps Zeus, and even then it was close run issue.

Diana shook her head. "You have much to learn about Man's World, Mother," she disagreed. "The League would probably lose to the Olympians without Kal, but it would not be as uneven a match as you seem to think."

The queen studied Diana's face, searching for false bravado. She found none. Braggadocio was not her daughter's way. "Then accept my love and a queen's advice: be cautious with whatever god has done this. To have held you and the Kryptonian down for so long speaks to great power but also a long plan. Your enemies may have made contingencies in case you escaped."

"My thoughts exactly," Diana said with a smile.

The queen brushed nonexistent dirt from her fine clothes. It was time to leave. "Now that I've assured myself you're fine, I need to get back to my meeting," Hippolyta said. At the doorway, she turned to her daughter. "Diana, say goodbye before you leave?" she asked, looking at he daughter only as a mother and not a queen. Once more, her daughter was heading into mortal danger. Would there ever be peace for the child?

"I will," Diana promised solemnly.

After she finished eating, Diana went to the small communications room and rang up the embassy. Of course, 'ringing up' wasn't quite what she did – she was using a magical device, after all – but she'd lived in Man's World long enough for such commonplace idioms to become a part of her lexicon.

Her sister, Donna, quickly answered. It took many minutes to satisfy Donna's curiosity and answer all of her questions about the dreams, but soon enough, her sister had her linked to Watchtower.

Steel was on duty. His face brightened immediately when he saw Diana on the viewscreen. It was impossible not to have a crush on the impossibly beautiful Amazon. Although, he was very careful to keep that bit of knowledge quite private – except from J'onn, who knew everything. "Princess, you're awake," he said, knowing how inane that sounded.

Diana smiled. "Yes, Steel. Just a few hours ago, in fact," she said. "There's much to discuss, and I don't want to repeat myself. I'll be leaving Themiscyra as soon as I'm able; probably in another day or so. Just let the others know that I'm fine. I'll meet them at the Fortress tomorrow evening."

Steel grinned, happy to see her hale and well again. "I'll let everyone know," he said. "It's been rough without you and Big Blue on the train."

Diana smiled. "Gods willing, we'll be back on board soon enough," she said. "See you soon."

"Take care, Diana," he said, still grinning.

Another four meals, eight hours of sleep – blessedly without dreams – and two hours of training with her Daskalos, Phillipus, and she was ready to leave. She hadn't regained her lost muscle, but that would come. Much of her strength was already back. She was ready to go. She said her 'goodbyes' to her mother and her sisters, but it was somewhat perfunctory.

Now that she was able, she wanted to get going. Kal needed her.

She lifted off of Themiscyra and broached the magical borders of the island. She rocketed upward, where the air was thin. She could pick up more speed in the higher elevations. Quickly, she was at mach 1. Mach 2. Mach 3. She was buffeted as she sliced through the air, chop throwing her around a bit. It didn't bother her or slow her down. She could take that and much more.

She watched carefully as she approached North America, gliding up the eastern seaboard. Baltimore and Boston flashed past. Soon, she came to the snowy Arctic north. The cold didn't touch her. She banked and slowed. She was nearing her destination. She spiraled lower.

There. She saw the Fortress rising from the ice and snow, looking to almost be a part of the landscape. She bled speed, coming to a gliding stop a few feet from the entrance to Kal's home.

"You made pretty good time for a slowpoke," Wally said as she walked in. "By the way, do you know where the thermostat is? You demigods might be immune to little things like freezing cold but us mere mortals don't like it so much."

Diana grinned. Standing in the entrance hall were Wally, Shayera, and Bruce. "It's good to see you too, Wally," she said, pulling a surprised Flash into her embrace.

Wally reddened and patted her back perfunctorily before stepping back. Once she'd lightened up a few years back…well, Steel wasn't the only one with a crush. Thank God Zatana overlooked that small flaw in his psyche. Of course, she wasn't one to talk given how she spoke about Big Blue.

Diana exchanged greetings with Bruce and Zatana. "What do you know?" she asked, suddenly all business.

Ah, yes. _This_ Diana, Wally could handle. "We think it's a god named Tezcatlipoca," the Flash said.

Diana's brow creased in uncertainty. "Who?" She'd never heard of him.

"Ancient Aztec war god," Wally said. "He's supposed to be the Lord of the North; the great tempter; master of dreams…"

"There are other gods who claim mastery of the dreamworld," Diana pointed out, interrupting Wally.

"Yes, but we considered all of them," he answered. "They're either all dead or their mythos made no sense. Our buddy, Tez, is the only one unaccounted for."

Diana frowned. "Any idea where he is?" she asked, almost hopefully.

Bruce didn't miss the clenching of her fists. "Soon as we find him, you'll be the first to know," he said.

"And the League will have your back when you take him on, sister," Shayera promised, fingering her mace. "This dumb jokers think they're so high and mighty."

Diana smiled, grimly. "I'll look forward to meeting him then."

"One other thing that made us think it's this Tezcatlipoca is that he's known as the Smoking Mirror…" Bruce broke off. "What is it?"

A smoky mirror? "Yes. It's this _god _is definitely the one," she said.

"What makes you so certain?" Bruce asked.

Diana explained her dreams and how they changed whenever she encountered a smoky-hued mirror.

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Good to know," he said.

"Where's Kal," Diana said. She hadn't forgotten about Tezcatlipoca, but vengeance could wait. There was a more pressing matter at hand.

"In his room," Bruce said. "You know the way I'm sure." He almost smirked.

That earned him a sharp jab in the ribs. "And she could probably say the same thing about me and Wayne Manor," Shayera said

Diana's eyes widened in momentary surprise as she glanced between Bruce and Shayera. Eventually, she shook her head and pressed past them. "About time you two came clean," she muttered. It was satisfying seeing Bruce's surprise and hearing Shayera and Wally's laughter.

Within his chambers, in the heart of the Fortress, Kal seemed to sleep. Diana stepped into the room, quietly. She walked softly, realizing with a smile how silly it was. He would thank her if her steps woke him.

He lay under his sheets and comforters, the iconic 'S' emblazoned on them. He'd once asked her if she wanted something different on the bedding; something symbolic of their union rather than his House alone. She'd declined. This was _his _Fortress; his last and only link to the world of his birth.

His color was pale and his cheeks sunken. He'd lost weight from his long sleep. His long, black hair lay about his head like a dark halo. He was still beautiful. Her Kal. She stepped closer and brushed back that oh-so annoying forelock of hair; the one that she loved to touch if only to touch him. She kissed him.

"I'm here, Kal," she whispered. "Fight him. You can do this," she urged. She slipped off her armored clothing and slipped into bed next to him, wanting to be next to him when he awoke. And he would awake. Of that she had no doubt.

Almost of its own accord, her arm went around his chest, and her head rested in the crook of his neck. "I'll wait till the stars fade, love."

* * *

Bruce was thrown into a cell that was already occupied.

"You two little Apokolips assholes can suck it together," Atom said contemptuously.

Behind him, Steel loomed, bristling with his heaviest armor and weapons. "Try anything, and I'll be more than happy to send your asses back to Apokolips in pieces," he growled.

Bruce spit at him. "Fuck you."

Instantly, Atom strode forward and backhanded him, knocking him into the far wall where he pinned him. "Say it again," Atom hissed, almost begging.

Steel tugged at Atom's arm. "Big Blue says not to kill him, remember? It's our asses if we do."

Atom squeezed tighter for a second longer, as though deciding whether to acquiesce to Steel's words. Finally, Atom unclenched his fist, landing a thudding knee into Bruce's midsection as he slid down the wall.

Desaad sat up from his bunk and watched all of this with interest. _The one known as Superman was alive. Interesting._

"The fuck you looking at, punkass bitch?" Steel demanded of Desaad as he and Atom exited. Their harsh laughter could be heard as they walked away.

Desaad wasn't sure what to make of the being in front of him. It looked, for all the world, like General Thistle. But that was impossible. Thistle was dead. The Master had told him so personally.

"Desaad, when I escape, I will be sure to tell the Lord how you betrayed him," the one who looked like Thistle hissed.

Desaad blinked and stepped back as his cellmate stood up, murder in his eyes. The parademon General, if that's who he was, bled from numerous cuts and his face was a mass of bruises. He'd been worked over quite thoroughly.

Which was quite confusing because while Desaad had been captured a week ago, thus far, no pain or torture of any kind had been applied to him. All the League had done was place him within a small cell in their Watchtower. They fed him thrice a day and even let him walk about in a carefully guarded room for an hour in the morning and another hour in the afternoon. He didn't know whether to laugh at their absurdly generous treatment or cry that such weaklings had been the ones to defy the Master's plans.

Did they know nothing of breaking a prisoner and making him talk?

Amateurs.

But then in came this one who looked like Thistle.

"You doubt who I am," the one said who looked like Thistle said. "I don't care. I don't need to convince a traitor of anything."

"You keep saying that," Desaad said, his voice a sibilant hiss. "Why?"

Thistle looked at him and scowled. "Look at you. Not a mark on you. Me…they've been working me over for a week. Nothing like what Goodness can do, but it's the best they could come up with, and it still hurts. Why wouldn't they treat you the same way unless you told them everything they wanted to know?"

Desaad considered the logic of his cellmate. It was sound. Should the Lord learn of Thistle's abuse and Desaad's lack thereof, the Master would come to the same conclusion as the General: Desaad had betrayed the Lord of Apokolips. The Pit would await him, and then a traitor's death.

Desaad smiled. All of this was predicated on if Thistle was really Thistle. More likely, this was simply an imposter meant to make the chamberlain drop his guard. A clever plan, but it wouldn't work.

Thistle smirked. "Test me," he challenged.

Desaad frowned. Long ago, the Master had given Desaad the ability to communicate with the parademons on a telepathic level. He couldn't control them, but he could speak to them.

_"Prove you are Thistle," he challenged, speaking to the other one's mind._

_ "Is this proof enough," Thistle's voice sounded in his mind._

Desaad felt his jaw drop. It couldn't be, but it was. Only a parademon could have heard his thoughts. Not even the so-called Martian Manhunter or any other telepath could have felt his words. The telepathic frequency the parademons used was one that was only available to those of Apokolips. The rest of the Universe found it to be too close to the brainwaves of the psychopathic.

"It is you," Desaad said, surprised and fearful. "I did not betray the Master."

Thistle smirked. "Save it traitor. The only way they could have found me is if someone close to the Master told them. The Master didn't, so it had to be you. Now, they want to know where the Master is. I suppose you know and have already told them?"

"No. I swear," Desaad, still finding it hard to believe that he was trapped in the same cell as a dead parademon General. "How is it that you're still alive, Thistle? I don't know what's going on. Several months back the Master fell into a slumber and could not be awoken. Since then, life has been…difficult."

Thistle sighed and sat heavily on the other bunk. "After the battle at Themiscyra, Darkseid found me. I was the only one who had managed to slow the League when they tore through our command on Apokolips. It turned out that Fallow betrayed us." Thistle scowled and spit.

"Fallow? I don't understand. Why?" Desaad said.

"Who can know the mind of a traitor," Thistle said in disgust. He glanced at Desaad. "Except perhaps another traitor."

Desaad stiffened in outrage.

"Save your feigned indignation," Thistle said. "Yes, Fallow betrayed us. He sent a command to open the headquarters so the League saboteurs could infiltrate and kill the staff back on Apokolips. I was the only one to survive and only then barely. Had I been a traitor, do you suppose the Master would have allowed me to live?" He shook his head. "No. I would even now be under the tender ministrations of Granny."

Desaad felt like the world was spinning out of control. Nothing Thistle said made sense, except it had to…he was sitting here wasn't he? The Lord wouldn't have allowed him to live, much less freedom had events not occurred as the General was saying. Desaad shook his head, growing more confused by the minute. "What happened next?" he asked, wanting desperately to understand what was going on.

_"The Master placed me within a…certain branch of the military_," _Thistle spoke mind-to-mind, apparently not wanting this information to get to the League, who, no doubt, had listening devices planted throughout the room._

_ "The secret police," Desaad guessed. "But, they answer to me."_

_ "The one you know of," Thistle said. "There is a deeper one that only answers to the Master."_

_ Desaad gasped. He had had his suspicions for decades that a more secret branch existed, but had never been able to confirm its existence. Until now. "Go on," he urged._

_ "The Master learned that the League had awoken an elder god of Earth; a being known as Tezcatlipoca. The Lord sent me here to learn what I could. I penetrated Earth's defenses." He snorted in disgust. "They are laughably lax on this planet. I was even able to place a detection device on Watchtower itself. What I learned was that the League had allied with this Tezcatlipoca. He apparently has powers over dreams," Thistle explained. "Their plan was to place the Master into a slumber from which he could not awake and allow this Tezcatlipoca, who is also a powerful magician, to take control of Apokolips, posing as Kalabak."_

_ Desaad nodded. It all made sense now. Of course. He'd known it had to be one with the power of a god who had laid the Master low. Now he had a name for this being. "No doubt, this elder god expected to kill the Master while he slept," Desaad said, still speaking mind-to-mind with Thistle. "It seems he and the League didn't count on my quick actions, though. I secured the Lord's body and swiftly departed Apokolips before this so-called god could carry out that aspect of his plan."_

_ Thistle studied him, saying nothing. "You were the one who absconded with the Master's body?" He shook with fury. "I suppose you thought you were doing the right thing," he said. "You fool! I had already procured the Master's cure. I was on my way to Apokolips when word of his disappearance reached me. The Lord charged me with finding that cure once he came to know of the League's intentions. It was so simply really: a blue-hued flower that grows along the slopes of one the mountains on Earth. I need only crush it and apply it to the Master's forehead and Tezcatlipoca's power would have been broken._

_ Desaad measured Thistle's words, a yawning hollow of fear opening in his stomach. If Thistle's words were true, and Desaad could find no reason to doubt them, they spelled doom for the chamberlain. Desaad spoke after carefully thinking through his options. "Can you escape?" he asked finally._

_ Thistle considered the situation. "Perhaps," he said, after minutes of thought. "Why? Think I'll take you with me?"_

_ Desaad shook his head. "No. But, I can tell you where the Master's body is located. Free him and together we will both be covered in glory."_

_ "Why don't I just wake him and tell him it was all my doing," Thistle said with a smirk._

_ Desaad grinned. "The Master would, no doubt, wonder why you hadn't simply awoken him on Apokolips rather than Earth. He would know there was a second hand involved. So, unless you wish to lie to the Lord…"_

_ Thistle's smirk left his face. "No," he said, quickly. No one lied to the Master. "It will be as you said. Where is our Lord."_

_ Desaad smiled to himself. He'd played this game of power and influence for so long. A neophyte like Thistle was not even a challenge. Desaad considered lying to the general, just to find out if Thistle was playing an even more devious game, but decided against it. What other place was there in the Universe for a parademon? Desaad spoke, telling Thistle where Darkseid's body was located._

_ Thistle nodded. "I will be sure to tell the Master of your role in his restoration." _He lay back in his bunk apparently asleep. "I need to rest now," he said, speaking aloud.

Thistle's eyes closed and he used a different part of his mind, contacted J'onn. _"I have it," Bruce said, relaying the co-ordinates to the Martian._

_ "Atom is in transit," J'onn responded_.

An hour went by before J'onn spoke again. _"We have him."_

_ "Good," Bruce said. "In two hours, have Atom and Steel come down here. Make sure they're loud and joking about getting to work me over again. Tell them to rough me up some in the cell. Let them know that I'll fight back, and that I'll get the better of them long enough to escape from the cell. They'll be trapped here with Desaad._

_ "Will do," J'onn said._

_ "And J'onn…tell Atom to pull his punches next time. I'm sore all over."_

Bruce smiled. No doubt Desaad had long ago labeled them degenerate and pathetic. In comparison to what occurred in the prisons of Apokolips, he was no doubt correct. Breaking a person's will through pain and torture was one way to get information. Another was to send in a mole and convince the captive that the mole could be trusted. Desaad would never have broken under pain, even if the League was into such barbarism –which they weren't – but he could be tricked. And that turned out to be the easier route.

A few hours later, Atom and Steel came in for their final role of playacting. All went well, and as Bruce charged out of the cell, he sent one final thought back to Desaad. _"The Master will reward you greatly for this."_

_ "Think not of me. Simply flee," Desaad urged._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Are you sure you're still a man for others, Clark," Lex asked. Lex was old now but still healthy and vigorous. They stood on the balcony of his penthouse apartment, which basically took up the top floor of the League Consulting corporate building he'd helped found and run.

Clark eyed him warily. "I have to believe that's still the case."

Lex gazed back at him. "You don't sound so sure, and from what you've done, it's hard to believe that's true."

Clark snorted. "Are you actually judging me? You, Lex Luthor? You have plenty of blood on your own hands."

Lex nodded, not looking disturbed at all. "I accepted my sins long ago, Clark. It was you who allowed me to see them. Whatever I've done…" he shrugged. "All of that is between me and the big guy upstairs."

Clark smirked. "So, you're a believer now?"

Lex smiled. "Consider it a life lesson learned at a late date." Clark felt Lex's gaze press against him. He turned to face his old friend – old in many ways now, Clark thought sadly. "Why are you really here, Clark?" Lex asked.

Clark turned away, not sure of how to answer. How to explain the turmoil he'd been going through. The guilt over battling the League, and worse, killing them…it was like a stone of acid in his heart, eating away at him. He had killed the love of his life. He had acted in a murderous and despotic way. He hated who he had become.

Lex stepped next to him and they stood together, leaning on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the twilight of Metropolis. "You need to know if there is still a chance of redemption," Lex said, softly.

Clark flicked him a glance, surprised.

Lex smiled. "It doesn't take much to know that, Clark. All the times you went on about giving of oneself to those in need; of being a servant…it was always about redemption. But in times past, your actions matched your words: you acted as a servant. Now, you have not been. You need to find your way back to who you know you should and can be."

Clark gazed out over the Metropolis skyline, seeing nothing. "Is it possible?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

Lex squeezed his shoulder. "I'm living proof of it," he said.

"I've done much worse than you ever could, Lex," Clark said.

Lex nodded. "Yes you have. But if what we were taught in Sunday school is right, there's still hope for forgiveness."

They watched the sun set in silence.

* * *

"What do we do with old rock face now that we have him?" Steel asked.

"He's too dangerous to leave on Earth," Wally said.

The League, minus J'onn and Atom, who were on Earth guarding Darkseid'd body, were in the conference room, discussing future plans, starting with what to do with Darkseid's body.

Bruce nodded. "If he awakens, even with Diana back, our chances against him are minimal."

Shayera frowned. "Toss him in the Zone," she said. "It's the easiest solution."

Dinah smiled. "Always did love the direct approach," she said.

"And we should throw that little suck-up, Desaad in with him while we're at it," Steel muttered. "Goddamn asshole tried to do his whole Jedi mind-trick schtick on me. Tried to con me into letting him go."

Wally grinned. "Good thing you were resistant," he said. "Although," he mused, "doesn't the Jedi mind-trick only work on those with a mind?"

Dinah and Zatana snorted and held back a laugh, while Steel flipped Wally the bird.

Bruce smiled. "Zee, contact J'onn. Let him know that we're coming down to pick up Darkseid."

"Why not just teleport him up here?" Dinah asked.

Wally chuckled. "Old Bats wouldn't want Darkseid to spend even a second on Watchtower, unconscious or not," Wally said. "I'm pretty sure it would make him itch all over."

Bruce shrugged. "Pretty much."

"When should I tell them to expect your arrival?" Zatana asked. At Bruce's expectant smile, her own eyebrows went up. "Now?" she asked in surprise.

"No time like the present," Wally said.

* * *

Kal pressed the iron tines of the rake deeper into the dirt, turning it over and dragging out weeds and dead leaves. He stood on a hillside, dressed in a plain, brown robe. Unlike the other monks, his hair was long and tied back in a ponytail rather than a tonsure.

It had been five months since Kal had defeated and destroyed the League. Two months since he'd met with Lex Luthor. Two months where Kal searched his soul, trying to come to grips with who he really was. Bruce's final question and Lex's first one, asking who Kal served had resonated within him, forcing him to think about who he wished to be. He had been travelling a path that led to a dark and ugly place; a place where he didn't want to go.

Becoming a tyrant, along the lines of a Darkseid, was utterly inimical to how he'd been raised and how he had always thought of himself. And that was exactly who he had been becoming since he'd come back to Earth. He'd taken the easy route after defeating the Croatoan; commanding others and ruling them; telling people how they should live and behave. Who was he to make such demands?

Certainly, he'd made some changes that had helped millions of people, such as in Burma and Tibet, but that was where the true seduction lay: he could always justify what he did as being for the greater good. It was poisonous. Even if he could perfectly know the results of his actions – and he couldn't – at what point did his demands simply subjugate the world to slavery? In Kal's perfect world, everyone would behave in a moral fashion, and there would be no need for superheroes. But if such behavior was forced could it really be said to be moral? Would not such a world be amoral instead?

Kal wasn't sure. He wasn't that wise. No one was. What he did know, however, was that he had to return to who he had once been. He needed to find the redemption that Lex promised was still available to even a fallen sinner like Kal.

He hadn't set aside his desires for what the world should be like – he would always strive to improve the lives of others – but, he understood that while he could help millions immediately, he couldn't control himself enough to stop there. One easy step would lead to another, which would lead to another, which would lead eventually, to that dark place he wanted to avoid.

For the good of the world, but mostly for the good of his soul, he couldn't go on like that.

He decided to lock himself away from the rest of Humanity for awhile; long enough to get his head and soul right with the true God.

After deciding on this, his initial destination was a mission in India serving the destitute and perennially poor of that nation. Historically, Christianity had grown by fits and spurts within the subcontinent but recently, the religion had been gathering many new followers ever since the nuclear war between it and Pakistan. One of the places of growth happened to be Madras, the new capital of India. Of all the major cities in India, this once unassuming oceanside city was the only one generally left unaffected since the nuclear exchange. That didn't mean it was _unaffected_; it was simply _less _affected.

As the new capital and now home to all the graft that made Indian bureaucracy the most byzantine and, perhaps, most corrupt in the world, Madras had a necklace of grime and poverty stretching ten miles in all directions from the old city center; much as Mumbai and Delhi had once been similarly been garlanded. It was home to thirty million souls, and when Kal had first seen it, his heart had quailed. What hope could anyone bring to such a place?

Kal went to the mission, a place run by Bishop Paul Durga, an Episcopalian. Straight away, he was put to work; cleaning clothes for workers, sweeping buildings; helping with construction; caring for the sick in their hospital beds. Throughout this, Kal could have done all the construction work planned out for the next year within a day. He didn't, though. He had made a vow that he would hold himself to strictly human limits.

After all, doing everything for everyone, how was that any different than forcing someone to do as they were told? In both cases, the opportunity to do what was right was taken away.

In the twenty year history of Mission Masiha mem Bapatisma, Bishop Durga had started with a plot of land, holding services in a tent. From that, he'd inspired his parishioners to build dormitories for the homeless members of their parish, rather than a church. Growth came quickly under the Bishop's tireless leadership, and more land was purchased. An actual church had been built fifteen years ago, along with more dormitories, an orphanage, a school, and recently, a hospital and hospice house. Plans were underway to expand the church and hospital and add a nursing school. The Bishop had even had time to train and send five others to seminary. After their graduation, they had returned to the Mission, taking their ordination as rectors under his guidance. One was even a woman.

Kal had no idea where the Bishop found the energy to do all that was required. He didn't understand how the Bishop could believe that he could make a difference. After all, beyond the oasis of Mission Masiha lay a seething cauldron of the worst kind of poverty; the kind that had shackled the subcontinent for centuries. How could the Bishop believe that he could overcome that?

Kal received his answer when he was called to the Bishop's modest two room residence. The Bishop was married, and he and his wife raised their two children from that small house. Prior to the evening's meal, he had interviewed briefly with the Bishop's secretary, but beyond a few perfunctory words, this was the first time Kal actually had a conversation with the Bishop.

When he asked the Bishop how he never despaired, Kal received an answer that shouldn't have surprised him.

"Clark, I do what I can because of the hand of the Lord," the Bishop said with a smile. "It is not me. I am simply His vessel. The Bible tells us that those with faith can move a mountain. But the corollary of that is those with great faith must be responsible with its use."

"And you never flag in your faith?" Kal asked, stupefied.

"Of course I do, but then there are others who are many of us to carry the burden. Even if one of us should falter, the rest of us can carry on, and return our fallen brother and sister back to the light."

It wasn't a revelation, per se, but to Kal it was a reminder of what he had once known and believed. "I fear I am fallen far," Kal said.

"I will pray for you then, brother. As you should pray for yourself. Let the Lord into your heart. He is always waiting."

Kal stayed at the mission for a total of six weeks. In the end, he had to leave. He simply lacked the Bishop's courage to continue on in the face of such an unspeakably hard task; so much harder than anything he, or the League entire had ever attempted. It was good that there were men and women, such as the Bishop, who were able to face that burden with unflagging courage.

After leaving the mission, Kal decided to join a monastery.

Of course, it hadn't been quite as simple as that. Kal was famous, and the Abbot and the rest of the brothers immediately recognized the one known as Superman. Kal had to explain why he wished to join their monastery. He had to make them understand what he sought; how he wished to change. The brothers needed to know that turning himself in to the authorities would do him and everyone else no good. After all, no jail could hold Kal. Not even the Phantom Zone. If he stayed in prison, it would have been on a strictly voluntary basis, and rather than finding his way back to the path of the righteous, he would have been locked away in a spiritual wasteland, surrounded by the thugs and brutes of the United States Prison System.

After prayerful consideration, the Abbot had eventually agreed to Kal's request, and now the man once known as Superman and Clark Kent was known as Brother Kal.

He sighed as he continued raking the weeds and debris from the monastery's vegetable gardens. If only Diana could have seen him now. She'd always said that his greatest wish was to go back to being a farmer.

He smiled in memory. She knew him so well, but in this small thing, she wasn't quite right. He didn't want to be a farmer. He wanted to be a shepherd. He wanted to follow in the discipleship of the greatest and most humble of Humanity's servants. All of them had been shepherds in one way or another.

The smile disappeared.

If only she could she him now.

_But she can't see you ever again seeing as how you murdered her._

During the month he'd been with the monks of the Abbey of St. Francis the voice of Doomsday had gone quiescent. Kal had almost hoped that the Kryptonian beast had been purged from him but apparently not. Too bad.

He bent to his task and ignored the creature's last statement.

_You can't ignore me forever, Kal._

Kal paused in his work. "How is it that you can hear my thoughts sometimes and other times, I have to talk aloud to you?" he asked.

_I've always been able to understand you when you simply spoke within the depths of your mind. It was your decision to vocalize your sentiments._

Kal's head tilted in confusion. "You sound different," he said, trying to pinpoint what was bothering him. There was something odd about Doomsday. It went beyond the difference in his voice. It went to his words choices; the way he spoke. He wasn't the same. "You sound…more intelligent."

_I'm not sure whether to be offended or not. _Doomsday sounded like he was having a snit. _I am the same as you saw me in the Zone._

The Zone. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Kal went back to hoeing. He remembered his flight from the Croatoans and the first challenge with Broke. He remembered the beating he received from Broke. He remembered fighting the woman who was very fast. What was her name?

_Crow._ Doomsday supplied.

"Thank you," Kal said, distracted. He should never have forgotten her name to begin with.

From the abbey came the tolling of an iron bell.

"Brother Kal, it is time for prayers," Brother Simon said, calling from the other end of the garden.

Kal nodded acknowledgment and walked in silence with the other monk, putting away his tools in the shed. He walked to the chapel, filing in with the other monks, also called in from their tasks. All of the monks silently found a place in a pew.

Without any specific sign, they raised their voices in song and prayer, Kal's sweet tenor joining in.

_Ille amor almus artifex  
Terrae, marisque et siderum,  
Errata patrum miserans,  
Et nostra rumpens vincula._

_Non corde discedat tuo  
Vis illa amoris inclyti:  
Hoc fonte gentes hauriant  
Remissionis gratiam._

_Percussum ad hoc est lancea,  
Passumque ad hoc est vulnera,  
Ut nos lavaret sordibus  
Unda fluente et sanguine_

The song carried him, lifting him upward; more than flight, his spirit soared, on the wings of a Presence. It was the Divine. The gentle hand of the Lord touched him. _The peace of the Lord be always with you_. Long ago sentiments from his childhood during the few times he went to church.

He bowed his head, singing and praising the Lord. He sang of his love of God, wanting to weep that the Lord might still consider such a fallen vessel worthy of love. He glanced up, gazing at the stained glass window behind the altar, the one of Jesus on the cross. The gaze of the shepherd seemed to touch Kal's soul.

Peace settled over Kal-El like a cloak sheltering him from the stormy rain.

A single tear slid down his cheek, and the guilt lifted from him.

_Beloved son, know that I love you. Remain steadfast in your love of my blessed Daughter._

The words came from beyond him, from beyond Doomsday. Despite all that Kal had done wrong, the Lord still loved him.

Again, his gaze was drawn to the shepherd on the cross, and the window almost took on the appearance of a smoky mirror, but when Kal blinked the illusion was gone, and instead, bright sunlight poured through, bathing Kal in light and warmth. One more blink and he awoke within the Fortress.

Beside him rested someone he would know even if blind. She was pressed close to him, her arm thrown over his shoulder as if to protect. Her heart, so pure and beautiful, beat a steady rhythm, a sound to call him home. She regarded him, a serious expression on her face. Her lovely blue eyes met his cerulean ones.

"Welcome home, Kal," Diana said, softly.

Silently, he pulled her close. Holding her was like being held by an angel.

After what seemed like an eternity but was far too short, Diana pulled back and brushed back his forelock. "How horrible was it?" she asked in concern.

He grimaced, a scowl of hurt and sorrow passing over his face. "How did you know?"

"I went through the same thing. I only woke up a few days ago." She kissed his lips. "Tell me," she said. "You need to speak about it."

"You first," Kal said, wanting to put off the full remembrance as long as possible.

Diana shook her head. "It was a nightmare; a dream like any other. The memory of it fades and is almost gone." She studied his face. He tried to keep the pain from showing. Her brave Kal. She kissed him again, aching for him. One of his greatest gifts and one of his greatest curses was his perfect memory. Whatever came with him into the real world from the dream one would stay with him forever.

Kal frowned. "You sure you want to hear it?"

She nodded, love and patience in her eyes.

"I murdered you." With halting words, he told the story of his nightmare.

When he was done, she drew him into the folds of her embrace, holding him and lending him strength. "You could never do that. You could never hurt me that way," she said. She pulled away slightly, just far enough to see his eyes and stroke his face. "That's how I knew that my dreams were lies. In every one of them, you were ravenously jealous and cruel. That is _not _the man I love and who I know loves me." She smiled slightly. "Although in the last one…" she sighed. "It was sweet."

"What was it?"

"We had been married for centuries," Diana said, remembering the final dream. "Darkseid was defeated, and Humanity had finally reached for the heavens, becoming the beautiful people we're capable of being. We had three children and some grandchildren." She spoke wistfully.

"Can we have children," Kal asked her softly, cupping her face.

She held his hand against her cheek. "Who knows? God willing, we may. I want to."

Kal's eyebrows pulled down into a puzzled frown. "Don't you mean 'gods willing'?"

Diana smiled. When had she stopped honoring the gods as being worthy of worship? Had it been when she slew Ares? She realized it had been far longer than that. It had been when Kal had come into her life. He was a man with the power of a god, and yet, he never sought dominion – his nightmare notwithstanding. A servant was how he viewed himself. She smiled at the thought: her Kal, a servant? Only the greatest of masters should hold such a man in servitude. In her studies, the only being she had found that would have been worthy of such would have been a loving God.

In a fallen Universe, she wasn't sure 'God' as she had just described actually existed.

Kal smiled at her silence. "Don't let any of the Olympians know your change of heart," he said.

"I'm sure they suspect," she replied. "I'm told that they have a new honorific for me: the godsbane."

Kal nodded. "I like it. Makes sense."

"So, how was that you broke free?" Diana asked, not wanting to talk about the gods. It was a topic that filled her with mixed emotions. "My ability to always know the truth was a large part of the reason that I couldn't be held in the lies of the dreams. What was it for you?"

Kal smiled, his eyes growing distant. "I followed a very wise man's advice: I prayed to the Lord," he said. He explained about the Bishop Durga of his dream. "Despite all I had thought I had done, the Lord still accepted my service. He said I was still worthy of His love. He still loved me." Kal's face took on a glow of profound disbelief and splendor. He swallowed heavily. "I know it was a dream, but I swear his Presence touched me. I've never felt anything like that. It was peace and love and His light filled me …" He shook his head. "For a moment, I reflected His glory."

"Does he truly speak to you? Did He tell you that you were dreaming?" Diana asked, wistfully and in awe. The true God…what was His voice like? What of His touch? Judging by Kal's expression, it was truly sublime. A niggling worm of doubt arose, wondering if perhaps Kal's dream included the illusion of a loving God speaking to him.

"He spoke to me, possibly for the first time in my life with words, but He didn't tell me I was dreaming. It was His light that burned away all illusions." He held Diana's gaze. "I don't know the truth like you do, but I do know when I am in the presence of Majesty. This came from beyond me. Of that I am certain." A look of longing filled Kal's face. "I would give away all that I am to stay in His Presence."

Diana sighed. It sounded so beautiful. Would she ever feel His glory like that? She hoped it would be so. "Do you suppose He will ever answer me if I prayed?" she asked, a catch in her throat.

Kal smiled. "I'm sure of it. One of things He said to me was that I should remain steadfast in my love of you, his beloved Daughter."

Diana studied him, seeking out the truth of his words. Kal believed everything he had just said. She trusted her husband. If he had had contact with the Divinity, then such a being must truly exist. Tears welled in her eyes. "When you pray again, thank Him, from me, for restoring you," she said, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears.

"Tell him yourself," Kal replied, taking his wife into his arms once more. How could he have _ever _believed that he could harm this woman? He thought his heart might burst from the love he felt for her just then. He inhaled the sweet orchid fragrance that was her natural scent, and he kissed her hair, her face, her lips. He kissed away her tears. "I love you," he said. "And He loves you as well."

Diana smiled. "I guess I'll need to learn to pray," she said.

Kal smiled back. "It's not a skill to learn," he said. "Have faith." He held her, gently rocking her and surprised by her reaction. He had always known her as a woman of uncompromising standards to truth and justice and peace. Who knew she ached for a deeper connection to the Lord?

He inhaled deeply. "Not to ruin the moment, but I think I'd like a shower," he said. "I'm not sure how long I've been out, but…"

"A little over eight weeks," Diana supplied.

"I need to wash off."

Diana smiled coquettishly. "Mind if I watch." Were such impure thoughts acceptable to the Divine? She didn't know, but she also didn't care just then. Her husband was a very handsome man…especially unclothed, and it had been far too long since she had seen him in that state.

Kal looked at her from beneath hooded lids. "Just don't touch. I'm still trying to sort things out," he said. The memories from his dream were like claws on his mind. He had to organize them and come to grips with them. To him, the horrible sight of Diana's bloody corpse was almost as vivid as the lovely, living woman he held in his arms. All that he had done in the dream world: the murders; the despotism; all of those things he could have easily done in the real world. It was a lesson he had always understood, but perhaps never so forcefully as now.

Diana sighed, disappointed but understanding what he was saying. He had significant issues to deal with first. "No touching," she agreed.

* * *

Diana kept to her promise – she didn't touch Kal while he showered – but that didn't mean that she couldn't observe, and also, unobtrusively leer. While he stood under the water, the spray bouncing off his glistening skin and his smooth muscles, she watched him move. She liked seeing the slide of his muscles under skin. He'd lost weight, but it didn't detract from his attractiveness. He was still her beautiful Kal. Truthfully, it wasn't his physical appearance alone that had won her heart; it was his heart and soul as well.

He rinsed the soap from his hair, his muscles bunching in his arms and shoulders.

Diana found her breathing coming shorter and her heart beating a little faster. Her gaze darted about, moving all over his body, almost predatorily. She took a shuddering breath. His looks sure didn't hurt, though.

Kal was dimly aware of Diana's reaction to his nudity, but his focus was elsewhere and inward. He dredged all his memories from the time in the dream. Thankfully, when dreaming, Kryptonians did _not _have a perfect memory. Many of the incidences and occurrences in the nightmare world had faded or were gone altogether. The ones that remained, Kal organized and delved into, letting the pain of them wash through him.

Once he had them within his control, and they no longer threatened to overcome his control, he set them aside, forcing them into a place in his mind where he would only have to acknowledge them under the almost emotionless rationality of his true Kryptonian persona. For a human, it may have taken years of therapy and medications to overcome a similar experience. For Kal, it took minutes.

He recognized that it would have taken far longer if not for the fact that in the dream, the Lord's peace had touched Kal's soul, forgiving him of the worst of his actions.

With a sigh of contentment, Kal set aside the dreams and their terrible memories. He was done.

He heard Diana's heartbeat pick up; heard her sigh of desire, and he hid a smile. His wife was beautiful, and she knew it. She also knew what the sight of her did to him. It seemed that maybe he had something like the same effect on her.

He found that hard to believe.

They'd once spent a day in the fall in the Alps, in a small valley with a small mountain lake. It was It was high in the mountains and was frozen eight months out of the year; too high and too remote for anyone else to use.

Diana had chosen to go swimming. She wore the barest of bikinis, and the sight of her had taken Kal's breath away.

Her strong arms had glistened under the sun, a peak of her breasts visible in the barely-there bikini whenever she turned over to stroke. When she reached the far end, she had stood in a ray of sunlight and turned to face it, straight on at Kal. She'd stretched her arms up high, welcoming the warmth and the light, every curve of her body highlighted. She swam back to him, and when the water grew too shallow, she approached, a sensual sway to her hips. When she noticed his slightly agape mouth, she had smiled, and asked for a towel. She dried herself off, almost languidly wrapping herself.

It might have been the most intoxicatingly sexy thing Kal had ever seen.

Kal had no idea when she did it, but she had removed the bikini, letting it float free.

She'd walked back out into the lake, turning slightly when the water washed at the towel. Just then, she adjusted the towel, giving Kal a very brief glance of her long thighs and firm breasts and glorious body. She'd smiled invitingly. "Catch me if you can," she had challenged, floating skyward and letting the towel fall behind.

The chase had almost been as pleasurable as what came next…

Diana's bell-like laugh of amusement brought him back to the here and now.

Kal glanced down and realized he'd gotten a little carried away with his memory of lust and love.

"Are you sure you don't want any touching?" Diana asked, smiling playfully. "Because your mouth said 'no', but your body is most definitely saying 'yes'."

Kal flushed. He actually wasn't sure. He had just awoken from the most terrible of nightmares. Shouldn't he wait? "Maybe later," he said, hurriedly finishing his shower. He stepped out onto the cool tiles.

Diana tossed him a towel and after he dried off, she stepped behind him and slid a robe over his shoulders. Her hands gently stroked his chest and his abdomen. "Just making sure you're all dry," she said. Her hands lingered, feeling the downy hair on his lower abdomen. Further down she went. "I could help with that," she offered, taking him in her hand. Her voice was throaty and full of her own need.

Kal was a Kryptonian, full of cool logic if he so chose, but not now. Diana had already stepped free of her shift. He couldn't deny her. Nor did he want to.

Afterward, they lay in tangled sheets and with tangled limbs. Diana rested her head on Kal's chest, her fingers slowly running through his hair. She would have been content to just lie with him and listen to his heart. It beat steadily, much like the man, she thought. He never ran out of energy, she realized. Not once in all the things she'd seen him do had she seen him limp with exhaustion. She wondered what it would take to get him to that state. She smiled as a delicious thought worked its way through her mind.

"What are you smiling about?" Kal asked.

"Your birthday present," Diana said. She was half-tempted to give in to her curiosity and see if she could wear him out. She inwardly sighed. Work called, though. "You never asked who it was," Diana said.

"I figured you'd tell me eventually," Kal said, lifting his head up a little so he could see Diana's face.

"It's a god named Tezcatlipoca. Aztec Lord of Dreams. Called the Smoking Mirror." Now, it was her turn to lift her head and gaze at her husband. "Did you ever see something like that when you were in the dream?"

Kal grimaced. "A few times. Whenever I came close to disbelieving the reality of the nightmare, a mirrored object would turn smoky in color, and the thoughts would disappear."

"It must have been the god keeping you trapped within."

"And we don't know where he is right now," Kal guessed. "Otherwise, he'd have eaten a mouthful of your fists."

"No, but we do know where Darkseid is," Diana replied.

Kal frowned. "What does he have to do with it?"

"It appears he was caught by the Aztec as well."

Kal smiled. Served the dark Lord of Apokolips right. He hoped Darkseid would rot forever in some fetid dream. He immediately knew how unlikely that was. "Where is old rock face?"

"Earth," Diana answered. Kal's nipples were the most interesting shade of brown. She flicked a tongue out.

"Diana," Kal said, almost in a pleading growl. "We've got work to do."

"Yes we do," she said, her hand moving slowly lower, teasing him. "But it occurs to me: I've never seen you sweat."

"What?"  
"What would it take to make you sweat?"

Kal smiled. "Less than you realize."

"I'll settle for a light sheen."

A few hours later, Kal sat in the kitchen, almost restored. Not because of the time with Diana – one day, that woman would wear him out – but because he'd spent time in the yellow sun chamber. He was already visibly stronger and more fit. "Let's call in," Kal suggested.

Diana gasped. "_They're_ calling us. J'onn and Atom expect to die. They need all of us immediately."

"Where?"

Diana told him the co-ordinates, and Kal was gone before the final syllable was out of her mouth.

"I hate when he does that," she muttered, lifting off and travelling at her fastest speed, a more pedestrian mach 3.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Darkseid watched from his crouched position on the floor as the spawn met with his Army staff. The once and future Master of Apokolips kept his head bent as the present but soon to be former holder of that title droned on. No doubt the fool felt secure that no one could dare challenge his rule. Who could? Darkseid was a bitter and broken and empty vessel. All knew that. Based on Darkseid's place in the lowest of the low, he'd learned that rumors of his downfall had long ago lost their ability to titillate. It was accepted fact, and if Darkseid was unable, then who would dare test Kalabak?

In the three months since Darkseid had first murdered again – oh, how he had missed that ultimate measure of power – he'd learned something very important: this world he lived in was not real. The smoke-colored mirror, it had appeared thrice in that time. On the first two occasions, it had nearly erased Darkseid's desire to question; his desire to understand how he had arrived at such a fallen state. The third time, however, the mirror had managed nothing. Darkseid understood what it was.

He knew the puppeteer handling the strings in this play. It was a vivid dream in Darkseid's mind run by that fool god Tezcatlipoca. Darkseid had made an extensive study of all so-called gods in the Universe. Tezcatlipoca had disappeared sometime after Darkseid's run. The expectation was that he had been expired somewhere, but clearly that was faulty information. He was known as the Smoking Mirror and the Master of Dreams.

Someone must have resuscitated the sometime war god and unleashed his powers on Darkseid. That someone would eventually pay.

Darkseid smiled grimly. He could have broken free of his imprisoning nightmare the moment he understood what was happening, but he chose not to. This was Tezcatlipoca's greatest strength: the induction of nightmares. Darkseid bowed to no one and he ran from no challenge.

No. In this world and on all others, Darkseid would rule. It was his driving motivation and the only reason for his existence: to dominate all as he chose.

Let Tezcatlipoca fear because Darkseid would see this dream through to the end. He would kill or destroy anything that braved him, even if that confrontation took place in as private a place as his nightmares.

Darkseid would not allow Tezcatlipoca to drive him away from what was the Master's. Darkseid smiled, a terrible and ugly grimace promising pain.

When this was over, there would be a reckoning.

So, Darkseid maintained the figment that he was broken. It was necessary…for now. He had even allowed himself to be sent to Granny Goodness one more time, mating with her once more. It was no less hideous the second time, but if that was the price to have ultimate victory, then so be it.

Darkseid's ravenous hunger for domination could carry him through any calamity. And, of course, there was the delicate taste of aroma of murder to give spice to his life.

Darkseid had actually made of study of murder. In his long life, he'd determined that there were, in fact, but twelve forms of murder. All else flowed from these. Thus far, he'd killed eleven slaves; each murder taking a slightly different form: poison, electrocution; decapitation; evisceration; starvation (that one had been difficult to arrange); crush injuries (Darkseid had thrown a slave off the building); strangulation; drowning; freezing; burning; and, of course, snapping of the neck (his personal favorite).

For the next victim, he had something else in mind: exsanguination. It would be delicious. He almost licked his lips in anticipation. What would make the act even sweeter was the victim: Granny Goodness herself.

Finally, the spawn's meeting was complete, and the proud fool sauntered by, trailed by his toadying generals. One of them aimed a wad of spittle, hitting Darkseid square on the forehead.

Darkseid hid a grin. Perfect. He stood, scowling furiously.

It was enough to draw the attention of the spawn. Kalabak turned to Darkseid, a look of dispassionate interest on his face. "It seems you still have some modicum of pride within you," Kalabak said. "To the Pit then."

Darkseid's face fell, as though in horror and fear, but he immediately acquiesced. All was going according to plan. As it should.

He made his way to the Pit, the hollowed out area under the Palace where dank and fetid cells housed those who had offended the Master. Within those rooms, unspeakable horrors took place on a daily basis. Lording over it all was Granny Goodness. Name the torture, and the wicked bitch had mastered it.

Darkseid sweated as he stood outside the entrance to the Pit, a large, unadorned wooden door hung on thick, black hinges. He used the knocker, hammering out an irregular, seemingly frightened staccato rhythm that quickly drew the guards.

They smirked and openly laughed when they saw him. "Back so soon, worm?" one of them asked.

"Goodness told us how you cried like a baby when the two of you mated," the other said with a bark of laughter. "The other prisoners will thank you. We won't have to choose which one of them will have the pleasure of servicing her tonight."

Darkseid maintained his silence. He forced himself to shiver as though in fear.

Soon, the guards had him outside of Goodness' chambers. Her eyes lit with anticipation when she saw him. "Leave us," she ordered the guards. "Come, lover," she said, taking Darkseid's limp hand in her own sweaty and meaty one as though they truly were in love.

She led him to a bedroom and ordered him to lie upon it.

"No," he said.

She had already turned away, preparing the machine that induced priapism. At his word of negation, she whipped around, a look of disbelief on her face. She snarled and pulled forth a whip. "So, defiance still swirls in your maggot-ridden carcass. I'll whip it out of you. You'll beg to…" Further words died in her throat.

"I think not, Goodness," Darkseid rumbled. She recognized his pose; he could see it in her eyes. All on Apokolips knew the pose he struck just then: feet spread wide and anchored to the earth, a sardonic grin on his face; and his arms tucked behind his back, hands clasped in one another. This was the posture of the Lord of Apokolips.

"Impossible," she hissed. "You're powers have been stripped.

"In this, as in many things, you are mistaken," Darkseid said. He moved with stunning speed, slamming Goodness down on the bed. He hammered a fist into the side of her head, knocking her unconscious. He leered over the unconscious form of his one-time torturer. "And now Goodness, you will service me, but in a manner that, I'm afraid, will bring you little pleasure." Quickly, he placed her within the manacles on the bed; arms and legs shackled.

He sat on a chair by the side of the bed and studied her, waiting for her to awaken. Where should he cut her? He chuckled. Why not? It would be delicious irony.

When Goodness awoke, she immediately struggled within the confines of her shackles. "Release me," she hissed. "You will pay for this."

"And you will be dead, my dear," Darkseid said in a conversational tone. "I understand hell is quite warm this time of year."

Finally, for the first time he could ever recall, he saw real fear in Goodness' eyes. She licked her lips. "There is no need for this. From now on, whenever you are sent down here, I will tell the Master that I tortured you without actually doing so. He will believe me."

Darkseid stood and paced, as though considering her offer. "A most tempting offer," he said. "However, I find that there is a single, but extremely large error in your thinking," Darkseid replied. "Though I seem to have fallen low, I am still the Master of Apokolips. It is as it always will be. So, if you lie to the Master, you lie to me." He shook his head as though in sorrow. "As you know, I react very poorly to falsity."

Goodness threw herself against her manacles once more. "Please. I only did as instructed. It is no different than when you ruled," she begged.

"I still rule," Darkseid reminded her. "The spawn and your true master, Tezcatlipoca, will both learn that soon enough."

Goodness' eyes widened in confusion and her mouth gaped.

Darkseid had his fill of her voice. He gagged her. He pulled forth one of the many knives she had secreted on her person and hacked off her clothes. He cut, a simple nick, two inches or so deep and two long, just above her labial folds.

He watched as her blood spilled and pooled between her grotesque thighs. The life slowly bled from her. He knew the moment she was dead, even without looking at her glassy eyes. He felt the final locks in his mind fall apart.

The power of the Omega was his once more. Even in this dreamscape of Tezcatlipoca's, Darkseid would not be denied. He was the Master of all he touched.

He stood and tossed aside the knife he hadn't realized he was still holding. He exploded through door after door, using brute force alone. When the guards came running, trying to discover the cause of the commotion, Darkseid threw them through several walls. One of the guards was unlucky enough to land in a cell with an unchained prisoner at which point, said guard was eaten.

It was an amusing death, and Darkseid watched for a moment, chuckling softly.

At the entrance to the Pit, Darkseid used the Omega Beams, blasting aside the door.

Kalabak would have sensed the Beams. Let the fool know that the true Master was coming for him.

As Darkseid rose up through higher levels, the red glow from his eyes convinced all who came to stop him to stand aside.

Into the throne hall, he came. Kalabak stood quickly, his face filled with alarm when Darkseid strode through the doors.

"Your presence is not required, slave," Kalabak growled.

Darkseid laughed. "Spawn, even in a dream you are a fool. You should have ended me when you first had the chance."

"A mistake I will rectify shortly." The spawn's eyes glowed red and from them shot forth the Omega Beams.

Darkseid did nothing to stop them, accepting them as they slammed into him. A grimace of pain crossed his face but nothing more. His own eyes glowed red.

"Impossible," Kalabak said, fear crossing his face.

"The Omega faithfully serve but one living master at a time." With that, the Omega Beams shot forward from Darkseid's eyes, encasing the spawn. Kalabak's dwindling scream echoed in the chamber long after his body was devoured. "And as it was in the beginning and shall be forever more, know that I am the Lord and Master here," he said to an empty chamber.

The generals bowed in obeisance.

Darkseid blinked and awoke in a chamber of ice. Standing alongside his prone form were two he knew.

Enemies.

Darkseid stood, hiding the weakness he felt. He must have been within the nightmare world for far longer than he realized.

J'onn and Atom jumped back and prepared themselves.

"Oh, shit," Atom said.

J'onn was already calling in backup.

"Bow now, and your deaths will be swift," Darkseid rumbled. "Otherwise, I will ensure your torture for a century where you will die on your knees in the Pit."

Atom glanced at J'onn, and then back at Darkseid, studying the Lord of Apokolips. He scowled, unimpressed. "Aww, fuck you." Atom opened up with everything he had.

* * *

All five of the Leaguers present at Watchtower snapped to to attention when J'onn's cry for help came to them. The message was simple: _Darkseid is awake_

"Oh shit," Dinah whispered. "We're fucked."

"Can that shit," Shayera snapped. "We can take him."

"Hell yeah!" Steel shouted, fist-punching Hawkgirl.

"Get to the teleporter," Bruce ordered. "Now."

Wally was gone, blurring out of the room. By the time the other members of the League arrived at the control station, he had the teleporter prepped and ready.

Shayera turned to the others. "Remember your spacing," she warned. "If we bunch up, that's when his job's easier and he can nail us hard. Maintain your distance, but make sure you're close enough to give support." She turned to Bruce. "Who stays?"

He gave Dinah a look of regret. "You're sitting this one out, kid."

Dinah's jaw firmed into stubbornness. "Godammit. I got left behind the last time Darkseid was here," she complained. "Let someone else take babysitting duty."

"You're on the rotation for emergencies," Bruce said. "It's my call to override the schedule, and I'm not gonna."

Dinah frowned and looked away. "Fine. I'll hang out up here and look after the little creep. Dickhead Desaad."

"Sucks that Lantern is off-world," Wally remarked.

"We could use Zee also," Shayera said.

"You fight with the army you got," Steel replied.

"Time to roll." Bruce shifted into his Batman form. "Dinah?"

"Got it," Dinah said, momentarily coming out of her funk as she headed to the teleporter controls. "I'll bring Zatana up station after I transport you off." She glanced at the League. "Kick his rock-faced ass, boys."

"Do our best," Wally said.

"Time to rumble," Steel said, grabbing a few last pieces of gear and strapping them on.

"Get us there," Bruce ordered.

Dinah nodded and activated the teleporter.

They were gone.

The League materialized, just in time to see Atom go sailing end over and crash into a glacier two miles away. Closely following him went J'onn, in a similar uncoordinated flight.

Pulling himself up from a pit and dusting his hands off came Darkseid. "So, the rest of the weaklings decided to show up. Your fates were sealed the moment you dared raise arms against me. Know that I am the Lord of Apokolips. Know that I am the bringer of pain. I will rip the flesh…Argh!"

Shayera grimaced. She pulled her mace back to the ready position. "Dumbass and his speechifying," she muttered, flicking her wings and waiting for Darkseid's counterstrike.

Darkseid's eyes narrowed on Shayera. He feinted toward her, and instead charged Bruce.

Wally sped forward, an d whipped his leg around in a red blur, straight at Darkseid's ankles. Down went the Lord of Apokolips, grinding a furrow into the snow.

Steel launched upward and sped down, feet aimed straight at Darkseid's head. The Master rolled out of the way, and his leg whipped forward, cracking into Steel's armor, right behind the knees. Steel went down in a heap, face first.

Almost as quick as Flash, Darkseid rolled with his kick and leapt to his feet. He landed a hard stomp the back of Steel's armor, directly between the shoulder blades, plowing the Leaguer fifteen feet into the ice.

J'onn was back in it. He didn't bother trying to get into the mind of the beast of Apokolips. Within Darkseid simply lay a cold rational madness, unamenable to anything approaching empathy. The Manhunter flew in hard and fast, slamming into Darkseid, driving him away from the fallen Steel.

By then Atom was back in the game. He pulled Steel out. "Alright, bud?"

Steel nodded grimly. "We got some work to do," he said. "Light him up. Plasma."

Atom grinned. "I like the way you're thinking."

They lifted off. "Spacing!" Shayera yelled into their earbuds. Atom and Steel gave each other embarrassed grins, before quickly moving apart. "Damn amateurs," they heard her mutter.

Darkseid had just punching his way out of the small mountain of ice J'onn had thrown him into. He was no longer amused. These insects would pay for their insolence. Especially as they didn't have the Kryptonian to cover their glaring weaknesses.

Atom unleashed the lightning; recurring forked tines of plasma discharge at over 20,000 amperes, 50 million volts, and 28,000 degrees. It was enough to level several city blocks or a small mountain. After Atom's barrage, Steel cut loose with one of his own. He emptied both barrels of his railguns, sending slugs racing into Darkseid at over ten times the speed of sound. Following that, before the dust and snow and ice had settled, he sent out waves of missiles and lances of lasers. All told, the two Leaguers carved out a crater almost a quarter mile deep and a half mile wide.

Standing in the center, unfazed and with hands clasped behind his back was Darkseid. He smirked. Was that all they could muster? He would rip the skin from their flesh. With a chuckle, he leapt toward Atom, who easily dodged. Wally had no chance, shielded as he'd been by Atom's body.

He hadn't minded Shayera's admonition: watch the spacing.

He went down as Darkseid hammered him with a heavy punch. Darkseid picked Wally up by the neck, his hand squeezing, preparing to snap the insolent pest's neck.

Bruce arrived. He put everything he had into chopping at Darkseid's wrist, forcing him to let go of Wally. Bruce smiled. "Come on, scary. Let's dance."

Darkseid smiled back, a look of anticipation on his face. "My pleasure, mortal. Dance well and perhaps I will have sympathy for you. I'll kill you here rather than in the Pit."

"Talk's cheap."

Darkseid came forward, closing the distance.

He came forward as Darkseid bullrushed Bruce, attempting to grab Batman and bruise him into the ice. With every dart forward of the Master, Batman was always just a little too quick, dodging out of the way each time. Bruce smiled as he saw J'onn circle behind. Batman hit Darkseid with stun grenades and plasma grenades. Bruce knew they were mere irritants, but nevertheless, they did their job.

Darksied remained distracted, never seeing J'onn swoop in until the Manhunter had bounced his fist off the Master's rock-like cranium, kn him ass-over-end, straight toward Shayera.

Hawkgirl swung hard. Her mace connected with Darkseid's head with the tolling and reverberation of a deep bell. Darkseid flew through the air, straight at J'onn.

This time the Lord of Apokolips was ready, grabbing hold of the Manhunter's arm and flinging him straight to the ground. Before J'onn could recover, Darkseid landed and a single punch and laid out J'onn.

Enough! The pests had denied him long enough. Darkseid, watched as Steel flew in low. Before the fool could let loose his lightning, the Master leapt, landing a knee to the mortal's head and grabbing his metal armor. The Lord of Apokolips flung Steel to stillness directly next to the Martian.

In came the silver-garbed one and the winged woman. They seemed more likely to be vigorous. Darkseid smiled to himself. These humans were known to have great concern for their women. Let the one with wings be the first to taste his wrath.

He ignored Atom and went after Shayera. She swung and connected with her mace, but Darkseid had been ready. The mace hit his forehead, but other than rocking him back momentarily, it did no visible damage.

The Master closed within the circle of her swing and tore the mace from her grip, smashing the handle straight into her face. Her eyes rolled and she went stiff.

"NO!" the one dressed as a bat cried out.

Bruce rushed forward, all thought but to save Shayera gone from his mind. Batman fouled Atom's approach, and Atom growled as he pulled up out of his attack dive, unable to get off a clean shot.

Darkseid grinned. The Manhunter, the Speedster, the armored one, and the winged woman were out of the fight. Only these two were left. The odds were in the Lord's favor. As they had been even at the beginning of this battle. Such was life: fortune favored the ruthless.

Darkseid prepared to dole out punishment. He had reconsidered:none of them deserved to die here. He would make an example of them in the Pit.

* * *

Kal flew high, finally able to view the battle from fifty miles out. He was at over mach 20 and closing fast, but even then he might be too late. It was down to Bruce and Atom against Darkseid. Kal could only watch helplessly as his friends fought against the Lord of Apokolips. From this distance, even his heat vision would have been of limited use; the most he could do would be to pop a bag of popcorn.

He frowned grimly and waited until he was in range. He closed the distance in 11 seconds; an agony of time. Once in range, he didn't bother with the chivalric code; he didn't announce his presence or call forth his opponent so that they could battle nobly and fairly. He simply opened up, spiraling and twisting keeping Darkseid focused within the focus of his heat vision for the two seconds until he landed before the grim Master.

Even then, he didn't let up. He didn't need to be fair to this monster; this wasn't some pay-per-view fighting event. This was war. And in this case, Kal would hold nothing back.

He kept Darkseid pinned under the pain of his heat vision.

The Kryptonian had arrived. Darkseid grasped a small mountain of ice and threw it at his hated foe. It had been this man who had been the cause of his humiliation, not once, but twice. It was utterly unacceptable that Darkseid might be forced to separate from another battle with this one.

The mountain of ice came back at him in shards and crystals and powdered snow. Behind it came the Kryptonian, looking as grim as death, eyes glowing red.

Darkseid had seen that look before. Not in the eyes of this one, but in others, especially himself: it was the look of one prepared to kill.

Darkseid unleashed his Omega Beams. It hadn't brought the Master victory two years prior when last he had fought with the Kryptonian, but perhaps it would be enough to slow him down.

His plan had been anticipated.

Interposed between Darkseid and his foe stood the woman, the one known as Diana. She held her vambraces before her, struggling to throw back the power of the Omega and protected the Kryptonian.

She was successful, and Darkseid grimaced as the power of the Omega flared and burned out. The woman dropped, and from behind a woman's skirts, the so-called Superman ignited part of Darkseid's rock armor with the cursed heat vision.'

Darkseid roared as the one in silver-garbed arrived, lighting into him the lightning once more. The agony from the heat and electricity ended for the barest of instants, replaced by the pain of a fist smashing into his face. The Kryptonian had knocked out several of his teeth. Again.

Darkseid spit them out and leapt backward, activating a boomtube. The Master of Apokolips knew fear for the first time in millennia. This was a battle lost. Right now, all Darkseid wanted was escape.

The League did not make it easy, but eventually Darkseid was able to enter the tube and escape from the cursed world named Earth.

He would be back. Vengeance would be his. He promised it.

* * *

Bruce smiled at Kal. "Good to see back on your feet, Kent," he said.

Shayera landed heavily; an ungracious entrance for a gracious lady. "Good thing you got here when you did. Rock face was starting to handle us pretty good."

Steel and Wally and J'onn had also recovered by then and hugged Kal.

"We kicked rock-face's ass," Steel whooped, fist-thumping anyone he could. "Alright, mostly it was Big Blue, but fuck it, we were part of the fight."

"Fucking A," Atom said. "You hear how he screamed like a little bitch…" At Shayera and Diana's glares, he quickly changed tacks. "I mean, screamed like a little girl…I mean like a baby when we lit into him?" He tried to smile winningly at the two female Leaguers, but it came off as sickly.

They still looked annoyed.

"I think a good woman could really help improve your disposition," Shayera said to Atom, a considering look on her face.

Atom looked even sicker. Great. When would he learn to think before he spoke? Thank god Shayera had turned away from him, focusing on Supes instead. He owed the big dude another huge thanks.

"Were you trapped in a nightmare also?" Shayera asked.

Kal nodded and glanced at Diana. "It was the worst thing I could imagine," he said.

"What was it," Wally asked, wincing a moment after the words left his mouth. "Sorry about how insensitive that sounded," he said.

Kal shrugged. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "But, if you don't mind, I really don't want to talk about it. Ever. Just bring me up to speed on everything that's been going on.

Wally grinned. "Well, if it's speed you want, you've come to the right man.

Kal smiled. "Talk fast."

Wally spoke as quickly as he could, his voice beoming a monotone buzz. "Got all that?"

"In one," Kal replied.

Diana shook her head in disgust.

"What?" Kal asked, sounding completely guiless.

Diana turned away. "Have Dinah or Zee teleport us up," she said to J'onn. Kal winked at Wally from behind her back. "And I know what you're doing, Kal," she said a moment later, wiping the smile off his face. She turned to Wally and Steel and Atom. "And since you manly men are so manly, you wouldn't mind cleaning up this mess, would you?" she asked, gesturing around her to the carved and cratered and smashed up ice and glaciers. She glared at Kal, who was doing his best to look studiously innocent. "Show off," she muttered just as the teleport beam activated.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"What do we do now?" Shayera asked once they were back in Watchtower.

The viewscreen in the conference room was dialed in on Atom, Steel, and Flash as they did their best to smooth over the marred and blasted Arctic ice. They worked quickly and efficiently. Steel piled chunks of ice into the pockmarked pits while Flash used speed and friction to soften it to water; letting it fill the hole like a filling. Atom did much the same thing as Wally but used a microwave beam instead. They looked like they would be done in a few hours.

Bruce rubbed a chin. It was good to have Clark and Diana back. Those two were heavy hitters, and their presence would help turn the tide in some of the messes the Five Hundred were busy stirring up. Also, the League had never taken a vote to replace Clark as their leader. Bruce had handled most of those duties, but he was more than glad to give that responsibility back to Kent. When Dinah and Zatana turned to him in expectation, he simply shrugged and nodded to Clark.

Kal unconsciously mimicked Bruce and rubbed his chin. He was still processing everything he'd been told a few minutes earlier by Wally. "What do you think?" he asked Bruce. Likely Wayne already had ideas of what they should be doing.

"First thing is we deal with Desaad," he said.

"Send him back to Apokolips," Dinah said with a smirk. "Imagine how ticked ol' rockface will be when he finds out who betrayed his location."

Zatana grinned. "Would serve the pervert right. What he said about my outfit and what he wanted to do to me was disgusting," she said with a shudder. "Let Darkseid kill him or torture him. It's all the same to me."

"No," Diana said. "If we want him dead, we should do it ourselves, but it shouldn't be for vengeance." She stared Zatana in the eyes. "We don't need someone else to do our dirty work. If Desaad is to be put down, let it be through an agency that can give him an impartial trial first."

Dinah frowned. "That's all fine for pie-in-the-sky foolosophy, but this is the real world…" She winced when she realized what she had just said. "Sorry," she muttered.

Diana gave a tight-lipped smile. "Not a problem," she replied. "And in the _real _world, even the worst criminals are given a trial first."

Kal nodded. "I agree with Diana," he said, immediately noticing Dinah's eyeroll. He usually agreed with Diana, but it wasn't just because she was his wife. She made sense. However, he'd come to understand that some members felt he might be showing Diana favoritism. Such suspicions needed to be confronted and any problems aired. They had already started compromising the League's cohesion even before Kal's long somnolence in Tezcatlipoca's nightmare. Apparently it was still going on.

Time to lance that particular boil.

"Let's put it all out on the table," he said, holding Dinah's gaze. "Say what you mean to say."

Canary shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at being stared at by Superman. It felt a lot like what she imagined a small fish might feel when eyed by a shark. Big Blue wasn't a ravenous monster, but shit, c'mon, the dude was just a small step down from divinity. The man had stared down Zeus, and while she hadn't been there, Wally had assured her that Zeus had been afraid. Who would want to be on the bad side of that kind of power? And right now, he looked pissed. At her. She _really _needed to learn to keep her mouth, and in this case, her facial expressions shut. She took a deep breath. "I didn't _say_ anything," she began. "It's only that you and Diana always seem to have one another's back."

Shayera quirked a smile. "They are married, Canary," she began. "It only makes sense."

Dinah frowned, her expression turning mulish. "That's not what I meant," she began. "It's just seems like whenever there's League business, they always take the same side."

"We approach matters in a similar way," Kal said. "It doesn't mean that there's some kind of conspiracy going on."

Zatana shrugged. "Conspiracies aren't what Dinah means, either," she interjected. "What we want to know is this: when Diana says something, here," she gestured around her. "In Watchtower, how do you take her words? As the leader of the League, or as her husband?"

Kal leaned back. Nothing he'd heard so far had surprised him. He also knew that nothing he said would satisfy the two women who faced him with expectant expressions. "Who else feels this way? Bruce?" A shake of the head. "J'onn?"

"I trust you," Manhunter answered.

"Who else then?"

"Atom," Dinah said, reluctantly. "And Steel might but he's…" She shook her head. "He has hero worship when it comes to you two."

"So, it's the members who know me the least well then," Kal said. He looked Dinah in the eye. She was the key to this. "There isn't an answer I can give you that will make you happy. The truth isn't so simple as what you and Zee seem to suspect. I am leader of the League, and I trust all of you and your judgment." He held up a hand. "However, there are those I've worked with longer, and I understand their motivations and fears better than I do others. Naturally, I'm going to listen to them a little more closely."

Zatana snorted. "Like your wife."

Kal nodded. "Yes. But if either of you were paying more attention, you'd see that there are others who I tend to listen to just as much, if not moreso."

"Who?" Dinah challenged. "Because as sure as shit stinks, I can't figure it out. You, Zee?"

Zatana shook her head in negation.

Kal snorted. "Enough. Your fears are going to tear us apart. I won't coddle you or say what you want me to," he said, heat entering his voice. "You've made your concerns known, and now I'm going to give you a challenge: listen to what happens in the meetings and try to actually understand what is going on. It isn't as simple as Diana and I agreeing and over-ruling the judgment of everyone else."

"Why not just tell us?" Canary shot back.

"Because then you wouldn't learn a thing," Kal shot back, leaning forward. "Nor would you necessarily believe me." He smirked. "I'll give you a hint, though." He flicked a glance at Bruce. "Where do you think I would want to send Desaad?"

"New Genesis," Bruce answered without hesitation.

"Why?"  
"It's the only planet that you know can give him a fair trial."

"And?"

"It's the only planet where Darkseid can't steal him back," J'onn said, answering for Bruce.

"Is Lex up to speed on what's been going on?" Kal asked. The whole time, he held Dinah's gaze in a challenging stare.

"Yes," Bruce answered.

"You asked his opinion?"

"Actually, Dinah made that call," Bruce answered.

"And he also advised New Genesis, didn't he?" Kal said, more than asked.

Dinah simply nodded.

Bruce smiled. "I think you've made your point, Clark," he said. "And I'm pretty sure, they," he gestured to Dinah and Zatana, who had sunk low into their seats and looked abashed, "have probably figured out what you were getting at."

"What have you learned?" Kal asked Dinah, a more gentle note entering his voice.

Dinah couldn't help but wonder why he kept picking on her. After all, Zatana had thought the same thing. She glanced at her friend who was busy blinking back unshed tears. Zee had a soft spot when it came to being dressed down. Clark shouldn't have made her cry. Dinah's eyes narrowed and she realized something else. Clark couldn't afford to allow them to be weak. She smiled ruefully. A leader's job sucked. So, why was he picking on her? Was he trying to break her? Screw it. Dinah looked into Kal's eyes, showing defiance and steel. "You want more than vengeance," she said. "You want justice. And the only place sure to give Desaad the justice he deserves is New Genesis."

Kal smiled. "Exactly," he said. He settled back in his chair. "There is one other reason." He grinned maliciously.

Bruce chuckled. "You're starting to pick up some _very _bad habits, Kent."

Dinah glanced between the two of them, trying to understand what they were saying without saying. She was happy to see that Zee looked just as confused. Diana smiled smugly. How in the world could she look hot doing that? Dinah shook her head in irritation. Unfair.

J'onn barked in sudden laughter as realization hit him. "Very bad," he agreed.

Shayera nodded gravely. "Yes, very bad."

Dinah frowned and concentrated on what the quintet were chuckling about. She poured over the words and what it meant for Desaad to go to New Genesis. What did that mean? Why would it make the others so happy? She smiled in understanding. "You're going to let Darkseid know that Desaad betrayed him. Darkseid will wonder what else Desaad might betray and tell Highfather. That'll have old rock face so worried that he won't look to cause trouble on Earth for a _very _long time. After all, Desaad probably knows everything there is to know about Apokolip's defenses. If Darkseid attacks us, New Gen might use that distraction to destroy Apokolips."

"Right in one," Kal said, feeling like a proud parent. His little girl was growing up so fast. He and the other original members shared a momentary glance of pride. They had all independently come to the conclusion that the foul-mouthed Canary was a natural leader. She might even have what it takes to become the next_ Leader _of the League if something happened to the original trinity founding members. She needed to learn to _think _like a leader first. She didn't know it, but she was getting training in that arena.

"There is one other thing that Kal has not mentioned," Diana said. "Were we to send Desaad home to Apokolips, he would certainly face torture. I object to that, but that wasn't my only reason for arguing against sending him back. Darkseid is no fool. Mistakes in judgment happen. It wasn't incompetence or a coward's heart that caused Desaad's betrayal. It was deception, something anyone can fall for." She shrugged. "In actuality, what Desaad managed by fleeing with his Master's body and keeping him safe will probably count for much. Desaad will be tortured, but likely only for a short time. After that, he will then regain his former perch at his Master's side, advising him. By sending him to New Genesis, we take away our enemy's most trusted advisor and deprive him of one of his greatest assets."

Dinah grinned in admiration, glancing at the older members. "You guys are sneaky."

Diana nodded acknowledgment. "My mother will be pleased that you think so," she said.

"What happens after we get rid of the perv?" Zatana piped up.

Shayera grimaced. "Then we have to deal with the one who started this whole mess."

"The so-called god named Tezcatlipoca," Kal said, grimly. "Do we have any word on where he might be?"

"No, but there was something odd that happened shortly after you awoke," J'onn said. "Someone activated the key to the Phantom Zone."

Kal frowned. "We're supposed to be the only ones with access to the Zone. Who else could have it?"

J'onn shrugged. "Unknown, although the origination point was within the star system of Apokolips."

"Tezcatlipoca," Bruce said, almost in a hiss.

Diana was puzzled. "What would he think to gain by trapping himself in the Zone?"

J'onn chuckled dryly. "I imagine escape was his main motivation," he said. "He has three very powerful individuals who are extremely unhappy with him. It is likely the only place within the Universe he thought he might be safe would be within the confines of the temporal prison."

"That still doesn't answer how he learned the combination to the key," Bruce said with a frown.

Kal sighed. "He probably got it from me during my nightmare," he said. "Another time," he said to their quizzical expressions.

"He had help," Shayera said. "The Aztec. I've been thinking about it, and from what Wally found, this guy was locked away in some kind of stasis chamber for the past seven hundred years or so. Someone let him out. Had to be another god."

Bruce nodded. "Other than Isis, the only one powerful enough to break the seals of one of those stasis chambers is Zeus."

"I'm confused about that," Dinah said. "What are these chambers and why would these so-called gods lock themselves like that?"

"I can answer the first question," Diana said. "Something happened amongst the gods several thousand years ago. Prior to that time, they had always existed in uneasy peace with one another; the different pantheons steering clear of each other. That all changed and for reasons that aren't clear, they fell to fighting. We haven't ever learned why, but when sanity was restored, many of the gods had died. Those still alive begged Hephaestus to make these chambers so that they could take themselves away from the world. He made them utterly impregnable to all but the most powerful of the gods, such as Zeus and Odin and Isis. Odin, of course, died centuries ago when the Fenrir finally broke free and killed him."

"How many of these chambers were made?" J'onn asked.

"Six," Diana answered. "Only six were made before Hephaestus was killed."

"I think I know why they started fighting," Zatana said. "It might have something to do with an ancient prophecy," she began. "Wally found it when we were looking for whoever did what was done to Diana and Clark." She glanced at her computer pad. "It's vague, but it warns the gods that the barren child of the gods, hidden from the world will step in to the light. She will consume the son and bear it fruit."

They all waited for Zatana to say more but nothing more was forthcoming.

"What the hell kind of goofy shit is that?" Dinah asked with a scowl. "Crazy words like that, and the wusses threw in the towel?"

Shayera snorted in disgust. "Gods are weak and worthless."

Diana frowned. "The gods of Olympus have been a blessing to my people," she disagreed. "Without them, there would be no Themiscyra. I would not be."

"So, they managed to do one thing right," Shayera said. "It doesn't absolve them of everything else they're reputed to have done. The birthing of Ares, for instance, almost negates their help in creating you."

Diana sighed. Why did Shayera always have to bring up her anger at gods? Diana opened her mouth, about to answer angrily, but decided at the last moment to let it be. She and Hawkgirl had had enough arguments about the divine to last a lifetime. Besides which, Diana was finding herself uncomfortably close to thinking of the gods in much the same way as Shayera. It certainly wasn't as intense as what Hawkgirl felt, but Diana wasn't their devoted servant any longer, either. It was only long-standing loyalty that still caused her to want to defend them against Shayera's accusations.

She shook her head. Let the gods defend themselves.

Diana smiled ruefully. "Please allow that I feel slightly differently about them than you. I shall always be grateful for my existence."

Shayera gave her a surprised look, before nodding acknowledgment.

"Zeus," Kal mused. "You think he's still mad that we killed Ares."

Bruce nodded. "Makes sense. And like I said before, only Zeus had the kind of power needed to break a stasis lock."

"Then we'll have to pay a visit to the Lord of Olympus," Kal said.

* * *

"You're a fool. I hope you realize that," Hera said as she entered her quarters.

Her husband, Zeus, the powerful and rightfully feared god of thunder, stood outside on the portico and gazed unseeing over a slumbering Olympus. There, the favored few of ancient Greece lived on in an eternal summer, protected and coddled from the ravages of time and death. But also from growth and achievement.

He had once laid claim to a far greater realm, but now this single city, this heavenly abode was all that remained of his domain and dominion. How had he fallen so far? He sensed his wife's approach, but didn't bother to respond to her statement.

It was something he'd heard from her many times before over the centuries.

She came and stood silently next to him, close enough that their arms brushed.

He glanced at her briefly before looking away. All the infidelities; the heartbreak; his callous decisions; his millennia long struggle against the inevitable: it had brought them all to this point. His world was crumbling, but the question that loomed largest was more personal: had he ever brought his wife happiness?

He considered the notion. Minutes passed, but eventually, he nodded to himself. Their years together, though difficult on many occasions, hadn't been devoid of pleasure and love. Many had been the time when they laughed and shouted in joy and splendor.

Back, long ago, after he had first knelt before that strange and large crystal – almost a boulder, really – and had arisen, changed and transformed from mere cave dwelling mortal to immortal god of thunder; when he had travelled the land, seeding it wide and far, he had found Hera, living in the northern wastes, wasting away. In age, she had been a woman, but in appearance, she looked to be a scraggly boy, slim hipped and flat-chested. She had her beautiful raven hair, but little else to recommend her. Even her features had, at best, been plain, though some might argue that she had actually been homely.

But her smile had entranced him. He never understood why, but even now, millennia later, seeing it, he found, brought joy to his heart. And when she had first spoken to him, a young Zeus could have sworn he heard a choir singing. Or music at any rate since truthfully choirs had not yet been invented yet. Hera had come before them, so rightfully, a choir sounding like Hera speaking. And of course, there had been her mind; so witty and bright.

She wasn't comely, but then Zeus had never been one overly burdened with scruples nor was he overly particular. He bedded whoever came his way. They only had to be willing, and Hera had been willing. Most willing. He smiled in remembrance. All that pent up passion, and no man to quench it. So, he had taken her, and promptly left her, expecting to forget Hera as he had already forgotten the dozens of women he had already seeded in his travels.

But, there had been something about her that he had been unable to forget; a singular presence that made all other women, no matter how fair, seem dull and empty in comparison.

So, Zeus went back to her, again and again, until the day dawned when he realized he loved her. And because he loved her, he took her with him to the crystal, lying hidden and still in a cave in the sea. Only with his help was she able to reach it. She stood before it much as he had and was transformed.

The next morning, she walked free of the sea, no longer the plain, or even ugly women she had been, but as proud Hera, queen of the gods. The waters had streamed off of her, and her clothes had clung to her full and beautiful body.

He still remembered how glorious she had looked coming forth, the sun highlighting her from behind, caressing every lush curve. Her change had made her into the object of both a man and god's most carnal desires.

It took five straight days of lovemaking to slake Zeus' overwhelming lust for her.

Over the years, many women had shared Zeus' bed, but always he came back to Hera. None could compare with her splendor. He wasn't so priggish or foolish as to believe that Hera hadn't herself taken lovers in the long years of their marriage. But then again, she too had always come back to Zeus.

They had endured as husband and wife. They had been the rock and mortar upon which Olympus had been built. It had been her genius and cunning and his forcefulness and power that had inspired the ancient Greeks to raise temples in their honor, and in the honor of those the king and queen chose to bring to godhood as well.

They created a pantheon that all the other pantheons dared not challenge.

Without the crystal, none of it would have been possible.

Eventually, though, as all things must, the crystal was destroyed, cracking shortly after Hephaestus had been brought before it. Hephaestus had been granted all of his powers as a god, but the lame boy had never become beautiful like the other members of the pantheon, to his eternal shame and torment.

Still, Zeus and Hera had done well. Had the gods of their pantheon not been strong and powerful? If they had not been overly wise, what of it? Wisdom and intellect were over-rated. In the wars of the ancient world, a strong arm counted for more.

And so, Zeus and Hera, while they might have raged against one time and time again, in the moments that counted, they stood back-to-back and fought off all comers and enemies.

It seemed idyllic until the one called Christ died. It was shortly thereafter that all became madness.

The thought of the Lamb brought a frown of disgust to Zeus' proud brow. What a fool he had been.

"What troubles you now," Hera asked, her voice still eliciting a thrill deep inside Zeus' heart. "You think of times past, I would venture. Always the past," she said. "Always when most troubled, you think of Him. Of what He represents."

"Yes," Zeus said. "He came to Olympus after He had risen from death, do you remember? He offered me salvation." Zeus smacked the railing in anger. "What a fool!"

Hera kept her silence. She knew how brittle her husband's pride could be. He was the first of all gods – despite what Greek myths proclaimed about the titans, there had been no such creatures – and he had long grown inured to the idea of his divine supremacy. The possibility that he stood below another sat very poorly within him. It would be a cold day in the truest Hell before Zeus ever bent knee to another god, no matter how exalted that being claimed to be.

Yes, Hera understood her husband all too well. He was the last of the pantheon kings – Isis didn't count being a woman. Hera hid a smirk at the thought. Even now, in this day and age, her husband never failed to amuse her with his quaint notions. Regardless, he was the last of a very rare and powerful breed, amongst the most powerful beings that had ever walked the Earth.

Although there were now those who challenged that claim.

Others had come forth; changed by the green crystals the Kryptonian had brought with him from his dying world, somewhat like the original gods had been transformed by those other crystals. Humans walked, not yet raised to godhood, but who nevertheless, had powers that rivaled that of the few remaining gods.

And one in particular who might exceed them all.

Beyond that, though, Hera knew of another who had once walked the halls of Olympus; one whose power had been such that even his homicidal crime against the gods had, to this day, gone unpunished. It was not the Christ, though. It was another. This man had a power that far outstripped that of any known god.

A beautiful seeming man named Lucius the Fair.

He had visited Olympus shortly after the Christ. The goddesses had been atwitter at his arrival. Lucius was even more handsome than Paris, but he ignored them all, even Aphrodite in her brazen nakedness. Instead, Lucius had gone after the one goddess no one had ever thought would succumb to a man's lustful entreaties: Artemis. Lucius had succeeded where all others had failed, deflowering the proud virgin goddess upon the altar and within the very temple given over to her purity.

He had then quickly seduced and slept with every other goddess, including Hera. Her face burned as she remembered their embrace. Only Zeus had ever been able to touch her like that.

Olympus had been thrown into upheaval as the goddesses began fighting for the right to bed the man.

Her husband had called forth all the gods to attend to him and had demanded the presence of the man, Lucius, as well.

It was then that the madness of the gods had begun. Lucius made an offer. He had commanded that all the gods in the world should bow before him in obeisance, and in return, Lucius would save them from their doom. Lucius had proferred a prophecy: _she will spring forth from the lineage of the gods, and though she be barren, she will bring an end to all gods once she bears the fruit of the last son. _He claimed the ability to protect them from the agent of the prophecy.

Zeus had scoffed upon hearing Lucius' words. Her husband had laid hands on the man, preparing to throw him off Mount Olympus, but Lucius would have none of it. He had disdainfully slapped aside Zeus' hands and shoved him to the ground. It was shocking display of power. Lucius wasn't finished, though. Before anyone could prevent it, he had killed Artemis, slicing her throat with just a jagged fingernail.

With that, he had laughed in their faces and disappeared. His last words still rang in Hera's mind: _The true Heaven, whence I was the first, is greater in glory than anything thy puny minds can conceive. As am I. As is the lamb. _

They never saw him again, but it was his words and his actions that began the madness when pantheon began warring with pantheon.

So, yes, while Hera understood her husband's pride in being, perhaps first and last of his kind, she knew he was a fool. Greater powers than his existed in the Universe.

She had known it the moment the Christ and then Lucius the Fair had walked beneath the marbled columns and halls of Olympus.

It might even be that the Aztec surpassed Zeus. Certainly not in raw power, but in cunning, there were few that were fiercer. And her husband had allied with Tezcatlipoca. Zeus thought she didn't know of it, but very few things slipped past her.

The Aztec was a god who spoke in such a way that all believed him to be saying exactly what they to hear, and more importantly, believe. He was called the Smoky Mirror because he could almost perfectly reflect what a person wished him to be, simply with his words and his posture.

None of it was real. He was the greatest liar ever birthed.

Now, she had to convince her proud and overly stubborn husband to see reason. Alliance with the Aztec would lead to ruin.

"In what way am I a fool on this occasion," Zeus asked finally, turning to his wife. He knew what she would even before she said it.

"The Aztec," she replied.

He silently congratulated himself on his powers of deduction. "Yes," he said.

"What will you do when he comes against us?"

"Why would he?"

She shook her head in disbelief, a slight smirk on her face. All that power Zeus had, but very little cunning. "Why would he not?" she asked. "He made common cause with you in order to overthrow our rule," she said.

Zeus smiled smugly. "I found him to be far less treacherous than Ares."

Hera glanced at Zeus. "Truly? Do you not know of his reputation? Of his abilities to convince one and all of his sincerity. That is his true power: the ability to make any lie seem real."

"I am not so great a dunce as you would believe," Zeus said in a patronizing tone. "He knew what would happen if he had gone against my wishes."

Hera rolled her eyes. "You are so smug in your power," she said. "The lightning is simply a type of power. It is not the _ultimate _power. You left Tezcatlipoca to rule on Apokolips for several months. Even worse, you allowed him to trap Darkseid within one of the Aztec's nightmares. Did you not think that perhaps Tezcatlipoca could learn the power of the Omega in such a situation?"

Zeus nodded, almost as though he expected, or even desired such an outcome.

Hera frowned, not sure what her husband was thinking. It was troubling. Usually, he was as easy to read as a still pond. She shook her head. Regardless, the fool had stepped in it this time. She wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet. "You compounded your stupidity by allowing the Aztec to trap Diana and the Kryptonian as well. Diana may be…assuaged, but the Kryptonian will not. How will you answer his complaint? He will not be turned aside," she said. "And do not speak to me of your power. We both know the Kryptonian is a rival." She shrugged. "Besides the lightning is not the most powerful weapon in the Universe. Do you not remember how little damage it did to Lucius, or how utterly ineffectual it was against the lamb?"

Zeus scowled. "That man's name is never to be spoken in my presence," he said.

Hera nodded dismissively, not sure if Zeus meant Lucius or the Lamb. "Certainly, great Lord, but you should consider your options and plan for the worst," she said. "You may have spent the past days brooding over your lost opportunity at vengeance, but the world goes on. The Aztec likely opened the doorway to the Prison; the place where She is held."

Zeus' eyes showed fear. For the first time since Lucius, he showed true fear.

"Ah, so you finally understand," Hera said.

Yes, Zeus understood. He understood far more than his wife gave him credit for. He had never expected the fool Aztec to make such a desperate move. The Warden was fearful. None knew the extent of her power. Zeus finally sighed in infinite sorrow. "We have already lived too long," he said, softly. "I had hoped that this one last act; vengeance for Ares, and we might set aside the burden of life."

Hera glanced at her husband in surprised speculation. Her eyes widened in shocked realization. "You meant for the Aztec to overthrow you," she guessed, unsettled at the revelation.

"Yes," Zeus admitted. "Two can play the game of lies." He shrugged. "I allowed Tezcatlipoca to believe that I had fallen for his lies. In truth, he fell for mine." He shook his head sadly. "If only Ares had even had a modicum of the Aztec's guile. Just think what we could have accomplished."

Hera was too struck by her husband's fatalistic attitude to pay much mind to his words regarding Ares. "What else did you plan?" she demanded, "How long have you felt this way?" she demanded, suddenly realizing how little she might actually know her husband.

"Centuries," he said. "I enjoyed watching mortal man develop in such astonishing and unexpected ways. They put all our puissance and majesty to shame."

Hera rubbed her arms, unsettled and almost feeling vertiginous. "This is most unlike you," Hera noted, sick with the abrupt knowledge that the god she had married more than four millennia prior was suddenly a stranger. "What are you hiding?"

"As I said, we have lived too long," Zeus replied. He gestured to Olympus. "Look upon

our fair city," he said. "It has not changed in eons. It has not grown and become more than what we imagined it to be upon its founding." He shook his head in sorrow. "It is a terrible curse we have given to those who live there."

"They have peace," Hera argued. "They live lives of good fortune."

"Yes. Peace. And yet, what is the worth of this flaccid peace we have given them if they can never grow to become more than they already are. They are frozen. It is a lingering death."

Hera nodded, surprised again at Zeus' insight. "I've felt much the same about Themiscyra," she finally admitted. "I do not think they worship us any longer. At least not as they once did," she said, an undercurrent of bitterness in her voice. "Are we not their gods?"

"Yes," Zeus said, softly. "But it seems the true _God _has a much more expansive reach."

Hera snapped a look at him. "The true God? What are you speaking about?" she asked. "You have never been one to believe that another might overarch you. You're speaking foolishness. What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"Many things," Zeus replied. "I had hoped that Tezcatlipoca would gain the Omega. He would then have the lightning when I gave it to him." At Hera's hiss of shocked disbelief, he chuckled. "I am still furious at the death of Ares, but I am no fool. I wanted to punish your Diana and the Kryptonian, possibly kill them, but I did not want to leave the world undefended against the might of those such as Darkseid." He nodded. "I knew that the rock-faced devil would break free of the Aztec's nightmare, and when he did, if Kal-El and Diana were trapped or dead, I wanted the world to have a protector."

"The Aztec?" Hera asked in disbelief.

"He is cunning and ruthless and a god of war. Just what the world would need should it be deprived of Diana and the Kryptonian."

"Why not you?" Hera asked, feeling as though she were swimming in treacherous and uncertain waters. When had her husband's mind changed so? She would have never conceived that he could have thought in such far reaching terms.

Zeus sighed heavily. "I am tired of this unchanging life," he said. "It had to be him. He still has the vigor for it."

"And yet, Tezcatlipoca may have acted in a way that you have not anticipated," Hera said. "What will you do about him?" She was still in a state of shock. Who would have guessed such deep thoughts swam in her husband's mind? Four thousand years of marriage, and still, he could surprise her.

"What can I do?" Zeus asked. "If he brings forth the Warden, then we are all doomed."

"Ask Diana's friends for help."

"I suppose that is best," Zeus agreed.

Hera smirked. "Who would have predicted that our last hope for salvation lay in the hands of mortals?" she asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

"Our salvation came two thousand years ago. We were simply too stupid and proud to recognize it at the time," Zeus answered. "When I spoke earlier of fools and the Lamb, I was speaking of myself. I should have accepted him then."

"As you say," Hera replied, still in disbelief. Was this how mortals felt when the ground was taken out from under them?

Zeus turned to her. "Contact Diana. Feel her out," he commanded. "Agree to any demands she makes."

"As you wish, my husband," Hera said, bowing and taking her leave.

After she left, Zeus stood in silence and gazed at the night sky. "What will you have of me, my Lord?" Zeus murmured.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

A century. One hundred years. Thirty-six thousand five hundred days. Eight hundred and seventy-six thousand six hundred hours. A long stretch of time by any standards, including that of an immortal.

It was how long Tezcatlipoca spent within the Phantom Zone before he was ready to emerge. Time moved differently in the Zone. Sometimes more quickly and sometimes more slowly. This time, it moved more quickly.

Tezcatlipoca shuffled along in the shadow of his Mistress, the Warden. When he had first come to the Zone, it had looked much like what he had seen from the nightmare of Kal-El. No doubt the Kryptonian had been able to so perfectly visualize the dread and blasted landscape of the prison due to the writings and images of his ancestors.

That ancient race had well known what lived or lingered within the Zone. The Kryptonians hadn't created the place, but they had been the first to learn of its existence. After entering the Zone, they quickly came to learn of the Croatoans and the Warden, the fearful denizens of that hellish place. The Croatoans had offered a challenge, but the technology of the Kryptonians had been up to the task. They couldn't contain or control the Croatoans, but they could defeat them or at least achieve a rough stalemate.

The Warden, however, was another matter. She was the Illuminated Darkenss, and the Kryptonians should have understood not to trifle with Her. After all, the Croatoans gave Her fortress a very wide berth. In fact the few times the Kryptonians had captured a Croatoan, it had trembled in fear when questioned about Her. The Kryptonians had always been an overly proud people, though. They couldn't imagine anything in the Universe that they couldn't conquer.

She had viciously and brutally disabused them of their arrogance. It took but an hour of torture.

The one encounter between the Kryptonians and the Warden had begun with the former marching on the latter's fortress and demanding entrance. Her answer had left all but a single member of the one thousand strong Kryptonian expeditionary force standing frozen on the hard ground as they lifted their faces to the sky and screamed out their life; their skin gangrened and falling from their bones in wet and dead clumps.

The one who had lived had been left alive on purpose. Someone had to take back word of what had happened. He stood helplessly and watched his fellows die before him. After all his men had finally been killed, in less than a blink, he had found himself back on Scylona, the capital of Krypton.

She had transported him there, without need for a temporal key to open a portal out of the Zone. He had told all who would listen of the horror he had witnessed. He had even remarked upon his great luck to not be amongst those who died. At that point, the Warden had driven home the rusty nail of his punishment by driving him utterly mad. He had shouted away his remaining years, further cursed with a great and lengthy life.

Tezcatlipoca had learned all of this during his time with the Mistress. He had come to Zone, not to make an alliance – She allied with no one – but to offer service. She could have either annihilated him on the spot, or She could have accepted his servitude.

As far as Tezcatlipoca was concerned, better to serve the Darkness than to live and die in the light. And that would have been his fate given what Darkseid and the Kryptonian were likely to do to him. Besides which, was She not also called the Night Hag? Who better for the Obsidian Mirror, the Lord of Dreams to serve than the one who was the ultimate inspiration of nightmares?

Tezcatlipoca smiled as he thought of the oddity of life. Kal-El likely wanted to kill him, and if not for the Kryptonian, Tezcatlipoca would probably already be dead. Instead, Tezcatlipoca lived, and it had all been thanks to the Kryptonian. It was from within Kal-El's nightmare that Tezcatlipoca had first come upon the kernel of an idea that had led him to the Zone. Strange, that the Aztec's pseudo-salvation came from one who wished him harm.

Certainly, the Warden would likely have blasted him into atoms – after first dealing out the appropriate torture, of course – if not for the offer Tezcatlipoca had made: freedom from the Zone.

She was an ancient and puissant power, older than anything Tezcatlipoca had ever encountered, and in all that time, She had forever been locked away within the Zone, unable to exit the temporal prison. It wasn't because She lacked the temporal key, either. Clearly that wasn't the case given what She had done to the single Kryptonian She had left alive and shifted to Scylona to bear witness to Her power. She had even touched the Kryptonian from across the great and wide void that separated the Zone from the rest of the Universe.

It was something else.

The Warden, the Illuminated Darkness, was much like the Croatoans, Her children: She was sentient energy. But She could only live within the confines of the Zone. In the rest of the Universe, she couldn't hold together her cohesion. She would fly apart, Her essence shredded into photons and waves of energy, lost in the limitless reaches of space. The Universe was death for Her.

Until now.

Kal-El's dream had been the key. In his dreamscape, the Kryptonian had imagined using the power of the Croatoans, themselves, to fuel his escape. In essence, Kal-El had thought to store the energy of a Croatoan within his body.

What if the same could be done for the Warden?

Tezcatlipoca had long pondered the idea. He had put the scientists of Apokolips to work on the premise of trapping the sentient energy of a Croatoan in a field that would sustain them. He then told them to increase the field strength by a factor of a thousand. A few days prior to knowing that he had failed with all three that he had trapped in nightmares, the scientists brought him success.

Tezcatlipoca now had a means by which the Warden could escape the Zone.

Should he do so, though? That was the question. He had considered all other avenues and finally decided he had no reason not to serve Her.

Death or life? Not a hard choice for the Aztec, even if the life would be one of servitude to the Illuminated Darkness.

He shrugged. Fatalism. The die was cast. It was too late for regrets now.

It had taken some effort, but after the theory had been proven, he had funded and promoted the production of a tachyon-emitting suit –a TES – and had it linked to a built-in computer system that would be able to instantly and constantly remodulate the tachyon field based upon the input parameters of the suit itself.

Crash production over three days had allowed him to leave Apokolips with a functioning TES. And bring it to the Warden.

Once in the Zone, he had used the computer over the past one hundred years to closely study the waves and patterns that made up the Warden's sentience, patiently waiting until he was certain that he had Her energy signature down.

It was time. Soundlessly, he handed the suit to her.

The Warden, ancient beyond reckoning, was not a being of gross physical construction. Truthfully, the idea of flesh disgusted Her. So wet and full of moist, grotesque fluids. How did the mortals stand such filth? It was yet another reason to bring this corrupt and decadent Universe to heel.

She was not like her pale and sniveling brother, Lucius. He wanted the Universe to love and worship Him. She had no desires for such. Darkseid was another with grand visions. He wished the Universe to be as Apokolips: a cold, joyless place given over to fear of the Master and shaped in his obdurate image. She could almost respect that, but Darkseid was just as much a creature of the flesh as all else who existed. He was unwilling to make the final leap to what was truly needed.

If She had a head, the Warden would have shaken it. No. Domination, either through fear or worship inspired not the Illuminated Darkness. What foolishness? To have such gaudy theatrics thrown at Her as though it were a prize? Folly indeed, but worse considering the source of those emotions: the filthy fleshlings.

She wanted nothing from them but their deaths. Ultimately, Her desires would lead to a type of purity. She wanted to bring an end to the Universe itself. Bring an end to her Father's repugnant experiment. Return all to as it once was: a still and silent emptiness.

And the foolish godling standing behind her had been the key.

Lucius chose to rule in Hell. The Warden had chosen Rikta – the Empty. Within its confines, She could be almost as She had once been: a being of celestial majesty and beauty; without flesh or form, but pure intellect. In this deeply flawed Universe, it was the closest one such as Her could be to Her original state. There were those, once Her brothers and sisters, who _could _be in their Heavenly selves in the Universe, but that was only through the grace of their Father.

The Warden had long ago lost her grace. How long had been since Lucius had convinced Her to rebel? Too long to remember, but She could still recall the moment when it occurred. Lucius had come to Her, His sister and mate, with sweet words of reason, but truthfully She had not needed them. Once She had learned of the Lamb, of the flesh, the idea of rebellion had already taken root in Her mind. Lucius' imploring sentiments had simply allowed Her to reach a decision; one She had never regretted in the eternal years of Her existence. Could She do so, the Warden would have rebelled even yet again.

All because of the Lamb. Had She teeth, She would have gnashed them. Why the Lamb? Why take fleshly form? Disgusting and revolting. Her Father loved an abomination and worse had made of Himself one. He reveled in it.

It was shameful. From that shame had had arisen Her anger. From anger came hatred.

This was ultimately Father's fault. Had He not created such a filthy place as this fleshly Universe, all would have been as it always had been. She would still be His second, standing with her husband and brother, in worshipful service to their Father.

Why had He chosen the meat-suits over the angels?

Even now, so many millennia and eons later, the memory still brought Her pain. Why couldn't Father have loved Her more?

She shuddered, or at least her energy fields shuddered. She disdainfully inspected the suit built by the godling – she smirked at the conceit; he was no more an equal to Father as a fleshling would be to the Warden. Truthfully, he was as far below Her as one of his so-called followers were below him.

But, he had served Her well. The suit, though tawdry and of the flesh, would allow Her to emerge from Rikta. With the suit, she would be able to maintain Herself in the Universe at large and act with impunity. At last, She could teach these meat-suited marionettes the truth of their existence: their worlds should have never been. She would be the ones to pull the strings.

The fleshlings and the Universe would be less than nothing.

It was time.

She donned the TES, squeezing Her immensity within its constricting confines. She struggled, swearing as She was unable to fold Herself tightly enough to be bound within the suit. Again and again, She tried, failing each time. She grew angry, growling her frustration as She bent to the task at hand. It wasn't working.

She screamed, a roar of pure rage. The fool Aztec! He had misjudged. She could no more enclose Herself within the suit than a sun could within a planet. She turned and glared at Tezcatlipoca. She was prepared to end him, permanently and painfully when She became aware of an opportunity.

She studied the Aztec closely before finding satisfaction. Yes, he would do.

If he wore the suit, the combination of his so-called godly flesh and the TES would be more than ample to contain Her fallen majesty.

The Warden held out the suit, flashing a command to Tezcatlipoca. He froze, aware of what disobedience would bring. What She was commanding was essentially his death, however. She would live within his body, and that which made him Tezcatlipoca would either die or exist as a spectator to Her rule.

For the first time, he realized his folly. He should have gone back to the sarcophagus, the one from which Zeus had awoken him. Better to be safe and asleep than dead. He cursed his ambition. It had always lead him to foolishness, none more so than now.

The Warden flashed Her command once more.

He flinched but slowly pulled on the TES. He could see no other alternative. Once he was encased in its wiry embrace, the Warden stepped forward and entered him.

Tezcatlipoca screamed as his consciousness was invaded by a being that saw him as less than an insect; a creature without mercy; one who had once held such power and grace that the words themselves weren't adequate to describe it. She was Lilith, the Illuminated Darkness. She saw Herself as holy, but was far from it. Morality flowed from the Creator. That was a fact that Tezcatlipoca had learned many years earlier, and this creature was in direct rebellion to the Father. Such a state was, by its very definition, evil.

He shuddered as She regarded him, dispassionately. Every touch of Her mind to his was revolting.

_*You disgust me* _She said. _*Sleep and bother me no more_*

With that, Tezcatlipoca, the Aztec god of war; the Obsidian Mirror; the Lord of the North Wind, the Master of Dreams, found himself lost in a nightmare world of Her making.

She was the Night Hag.

She smiled at the silence within Her. The Aztec was lost and would never be found.

Good.

She stetched Her consciousness, filling every cell and molecule of Tezcatlipoca's body. It would do. The suit was maintaining Her energy fields.

Finally. She stepped forth, exiting Her fortress, if moving from one location to another with a thought could be called walking.

The Croatoans fled.

Let them. In the end, the last thing She would destroy would be Rikta itself. Her mewling children, so disappointing in their weakness, would know terror in their last few moments.

She had no sympathy for them.

She ripped open a hole in the fields of energy that made up Rikta.

Here came the first and possibly final test if She and the Aztec had miscalculated. She inhaled deeply, immediately disgusted by Her fleshly reaction.

She leapt to the opening in the sky.

Once through, She paused immediately and waited to see what would happen.

She laughed. She lived. It had worked. It would work.

The Universe, so grotesque, would be ended. Her long exile would be ended. All would be restored.

With a grim smile, she closed the breach leading to Ritka and decided to kill all the remaining so-called gods of the Aztecs world.

A fitting first step to the eventual annihilation of the Universe. The fleshlings would fear Her.

They would know her as the Corrosive.

* * *

It had taken weeks to accomplish, but Apokolips was tamed once more. The time his world had gone without her tyrant king had nearly led to anarchy. Rule had only been restored when Darkseid had exited the palace, parademon legions at his side and decimated all who quarreled for freedom or some such inanity.

Every person in such districts that had arisen against his returned rule had been rounded up. Darkseid began killing one person out of every ten until the fomenters of the rebellion were shoved forward. Immediate execution of those individuals quickly dissuaded all the others to stifle themselves and return to whatever occupation they held.

The rebellion was ended. All was returning to as it should be.

All except Desaad.

Darkseid frowned as he gave thought to his chamberlain. Betrayal from that quarter had been completely unexpected. He was still trying to understand what signs he might have missed. What could he have done differently? More importantly, what secrets was Desaad whispering to All-Father? Any future contact and conflict between Apokolips and New Genesis would have to be carefully studied beforehand. The imbecile pacifists were already skilled at war, and with Desaad's knowledge, they might have an unbeatable advantage.

Darkseid had already ordered a top-down review of all military procedures, from code phrases of spies to the organization and disposition of the legions. Command structure; parademon training and control; composition and specs of all warships – all of it would have to change. It would be the work of years, but it was necessary.

Yet another reason to find the Aztec and send him to the Pit. How long would a god be able to resist Goodness, Darkseid wondered.

The Master stiffened. He felt a ripple in the fabric of the Universe. He didn't know what it meant, but it filled him with unquiet.

A moment later, understanding came to him: the Phantom Zone had been breached. He hissed, an unaccustomed sound of fear, of which he was grateful none of his subjects were present to witness. Something of immense power had emerged.

Just then, a parademon general, Denigrate, hustled into the throne room. He bowed and waited for the Master's acknowledgment so he could deliver his message.

"What has occurred?" Darkseid asked.

The general straightened. "A breach has been ripped in the Phantom Zone," Denigrate said. "The breach is thought to have come from within the Zone itself."

His words confirmed Darkseid's impressions. The Master simply nodded. He frowned and considered the words of his general.

Denigrate cleared his throat. "There is more, Master," he said. "An energy field, all of interlocking tachyon fields emerged from the Zone. It looked as though it were arranged in a distinct pattern, like that of a well-ordered mind."

"A Croatoan?" Darkseid asked, hating the almost hopeful tone in his voice. He already knew the answer even before Denigrate spoke. It was Her.

"We don't believe so," Denigrate said. "The energy levels in the tachyon fields exceeded our ability to measure. We think it may be the Warden."

Darkseid sat down heavily. Not all wars or battles were won with brute force. In fact, very few. It was all decided on will and cunning. An enemy that was more powerful could still be defeated.

Darkseid wasn't sure if that applied to the Warden. Her power was a mystery, but rumor intimated that the Warden's power was as far above Darkseid's as the Master's was above the lowliest of his subjects.

Likely, that was simple exaggeration, but Darkseid hadn't maintained his rule by being foolhardy and reckless. He needed to know his opponent; understand just how powerful She really was. Unfortunately, knowledge – the most desirable of all coin – was scarce when it came to the Warden. In this matter, Darkseid was impoverished.

He needed to go to find the Warden and judge Her for himself. Was She truly so powerful that She couldn't be beguiled into loss, or tripped up by Her own power?

He didn't know, but it was important to find out. His rule depended on it.

"Arrange for a holocaust cloak," Darkseid ordered. "I will bring Her to her knees," he said, lying to Denigrate. The parademon visibly brightened.

"It will be ready forthwith," Denigrate said, bowing low.

Darkseid smirked.

Let the general spread word that the Lord feared no one, even a being whose power couldn't be measured, even if it wasn't true. Never show weakness in front of the troops. It was a lesson that had served Darkseid well over the years.

Darkseid pondered his next move. Of course, the Lord had no intention of testing the Warden. He would simply observe Her and decide what could be done. Hence, the holocaust cloak. Before approaching Her, he needed a better guage of her strength. If She was too powerful to directly defeat, then it might be that Darkseid would have to swallow his pride and find a way to assuage Her; reach an accomodation. He could bury Her later, once he'd determined her weaknesses.

Right now, the Master could not afford another powerful enemy.

* * *

Zeus stood up straight within the vaulted throne hall of Olympus. A gasp left his mouth and his face held a look of fear. "She comes," he whispered.

The remaining gods of Olympus gazed at their Lord in varying degrees of alarm and speculation. What could possibly cause Zeus, their father and most powerful of the gods to show fear?

Zeus turned to the remaining Olympians: Athena, Apollo, Hera, and Aphrodite. "The Aztec, Tezcatlipoca has found a way to free the Warden."

That got through to them.

Zeus was still in shock. When he had mentioned the possibility to Hera, he had said it almost in jest. He had never expected the Aztec to actually attempt, much less carry through such a fantastically impossible strategy. What could Tezcatlipoca have been thinking? The Warden was a power of which very little was known. Her few interactions with the outside Universe had convinced all, mortals and gods alike, to step carefully around Her. Especially the gods. They, more than most, could sense Her power, and they had no desire to see Her unleashed.

Now, Tezcatlipoca had accomplished the unthinkable. She was free.

Zeus had sensed the tear in the fabric of the Universe when She broke free. He sensed the ripping apart of the walls that separated the realm of the tachyon prison from that of the rest of the Universe, but he had no idea what it meant.

She had emerged from that hole. He could sense Her movement through the space of Sol's system. She was out past Neptune but heading to Earth and taking Her time. At her present speed, She would arrive within the week.

Something immense brushed his mind. _*I come to slay thee and thine, godling," _the voice spoke_. _Zeus shivered in fear. He'd only once before felt such unmasked power. Lucius. That one had been beautiful but needy for approval and worship. This one, though, she was all cold malevolence; harsher than the bleakness of the space through which she was travelling.

She wanted nothing of them but their ending.

He shuddered one last time as the Warden snapped apart the connection between their minds. "Contact all the remaining gods of Earth," Zeus pronounced to Apollo. "Many may know of the disruption of the Zone, but they may not know what it means. The Warden has broken her bonds. She is free and is coming to us. She contacted me just now, over the far distance between Olympus and Neptune." He nodded grimly. "She promises war. All the gods will be needed in this battle," he said.

"She is so powerful?" Athena asked, unsure whether to believe in her father's fear.

"When she touched me, it was like nothing I've felt since Lucius threw me down."

Athena blinked, startled. Lucius. He had been the lover of all the goddesses, and she hadn't been an exception. The man had held a power like no other, almost beyond imagining.

And Zeus claimed one was coming with a similar potency. One bringing war. She wondered – and doubted – whether even all the remaining gods would be enough to defeat such a one.

Since Hermes' death, it had fallen to Apollo to become the messenger of the gods, a role he detested but did with minimal agitation.

Apollo stood and bowed before taking his leave.

Hera stood. "We should ask Diana and her friends for their help as well."

"See to it," Zeus ordered.

He surveyed the remaining gods of Olympus. So sad, and so few. Once there had been many more. This might be the last ride of the gods. Would anyone weep at their passing?

* * *

Diana lay on a chaise lounge with eyes closed and hidden behind large, dark sunglasses; basking in the warmth of the sun. She peaked at her husband, lying nearby on a similar chaise.

What was it about his naked torso that so entranced her? He was broad and thick through the chest, but somehow still retained a sense of lean and coiled and fluid movement. Maybe it was his abdominal region. She definitely liked the way his muscles rippled and slid over his stomach. Or maybe it was lower than that. His swim trunks – black and baggy – were worn a bit low, revealing the arch of muscle over his hips. She wondered…just about a bit lower, and even more…interesting anatomy would be revealed.

She sighed. Why had she so foolishly turned him down this morning? She recalled it was something about wanting to make a point. She wanted him to respect her mind as much as he desired her body.

What an idiot she was sometimes. Of course Kal respected her mind. It was why she loved him so much. Most men couldn't lift their gaze away from her legs, or bottom, or breasts, but Kal always looked her in the eyes.

Although, Diana didn't mind at all when he looked at other regions.

It all seemed so silly in hindsight. She savored another glance. She sighed. She must have been watching too much Oprah.

After all, simply desiring his body was how she was thinking about him right now.

She almost groaned. He had such a beautiful body. She schooled her face to stillness as she thought furiously about how to walk back the words she had spoken to him this morning: _you'll have to be more than simply lustful to prove your love._

Idiot!

How could she get out of that stupid statement without sounding needy? Diana flicked another glance at her husband. Right now, she wanted nothing more than for Kal to show his lust.

Kal hid a smile and kept his eyes closed.

Something was going on in his wife's lovely mind, and he doubted it had anything to do with high and noble aspirations. This morning she had greeted his desire with a frown of discontent. "We're creatures of flesh, but it need not limit who we are or our creativity," she had said.

He understood the sentiment, but with Diana – he glanced at her – half the time, all he could think about _was _her luscious flesh.

She lay on her lounge chair, wearing a blue bikini top, from which hung a sheer white fabric that did nothing to hide her taut abdomen so much as accentuate it. Around her hips, she wore a white wrap that hugged her long curves and hung open along the side, revealing a very tempting expanse of thigh.

He had noticed when she had cracked an eye and gave him a very thorough once over. He had also noticed when she did it the second and third times as well. He said nothing, though. He didn't have to. While her features gave nothing away, her breathing did. So did the acceleration of her heart whenever she looked at him. As did the slight the flush to her face. No one else would have noticed it but him.

He waited, immersing himself in his Kryptonian rationality – without it, she would no doubt have deduced his less than righteous sentiments. His trunks weren't that baggy.

Diana sighed. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?"

"Ask what?" Kal's voice was smooth and innocent.

"You've heard my heart and my breathing. I'm sure you've seen me look at you. And, of course, there is the flush that only you can see."

Kal opened his eyes and glanced at Diana. She had rolled over and had her head propped on a crooked arm. He barely kept hold off his coolness. Her breasts looked ready to tumble free of the bikini. More leg was showing as the fabric of her wrap pooled enticingly where her legs came together. He swallowed. "Why, umm, yes. Now that you mention it, I did notice…"

His voice trailed off as Diana stood. She discarded the wrap in a smooth motion and took the short step to his chaise. She straddled him and somehow managed to rid him off his shorts as well as her own bikini top. He found his hands suddenly full of her soft breasts. She kissed him hard, taking his breath away as her tongue teased him. She sat up with a challenging smile. "Now, I believe I mentioned something about creativity and the flesh. Show my how creative you can be, Kal-El," she purred.

He grinned. "As you command," he replied, pulling her back into his arms.

Kal heard a distant ringing. No! Not now. He leaned back from her with a frustrated sigh. "Take a raincheck?" he asked. Diana looked at him with confusion. "We're being paged by Watchtower."

Diana blinked, still not understanding until his words finally penetrated the haze of her desire. "Hades and fornication! This better be important," she growled, swinging off of Kal.

Kal completely agreed with her sentiment. It could have been such a _wonderful_ afternoon.

He sighed again as he stood and looked for his shorts. Oh. There they were. Diana had flung them a half-mile into the ocean in her haste to get them off of him. She'd _really _wanted him naked. He watched for a moment as they went floating away on the tide. He shook his head in pleased bemusement.

Time to go get them.

A quick dash, and he was clothed once more. When he returned to the beach, Diana was still getting dressed. He alighted almost directly behind her, just as she was bending over to pick up her wrap. He cursed. Whatever Watchtower needed, it had better be _very _important.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"We've received a request from Themiscyra," Bruce said to a packed meeting room on Watchtower. All League members except for Lantern were present. "Diana's mother, Queen Hippolyta, indicates that the gods themselves have requested our presence on Olympus."

"Requested?" Shayera said derisively. "Don't you mean demanded?"

"No," Bruce replied. "According to the queen, they most definitely requested our presence. She even went so far as to say begged."

Diana's gaze sharpened. Beg? The gods never begged. Something quite terrifying must have occurred to account for such an action. "Did the queen indicate what this is about?"

Bruce glanced around. "No. According to her, everything would be explained upon our arrival to Olympus. But she did say that she had never seen a god or goddess in such a state. She said that Lord Apollo almost seemed afraid. She also indicated that his next stop would be to call upon the Egyptian deities."

Silence filled the room as the League digested Batman's words.

"What could be so bad to agitate the gods so?" J'onn asked, perplexed.

"I don't know," Wally replied, "but I'd really rather not find out."

"It's our job, Flash," Shayera reminded him. "You know, help those in need."

"They're gods, Shay," Wally said. "They shouldn't need our help being divine and all." He shrugged. "Besides, tell me again why helping those clowns is in our best interests."

Kal stood. "Look. I know there's little love lost between us and the Olympians, but this sounds as though it may be serious enough to affect us all. I think we should go."

Dinah nodded. "Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be some rogue god out there that just needs a proper ass-kicking."

Atom grinned. "Hell-to-the-yeah."

Steel was strangely serious. "I don't think it's going to be as easy as that," he said, disagreeing for once with Atom. "Darkseid was tough enough, and we were getting handled until Big Blue showed up." He nodded to Supes. "Those Olympians may be assholes, but they aren't weak. If something's got them running scared, I think we should get a serious game plan together first before we start celebrating about kicking ass."

Steel's somber words wiped the smile from Atom's face.

"Who's got Watchtower babysittingn duty?" Zatana asked, her jaw thrust out aggressively.

"No one," Bruce said. "The request was for every one of us, even any friends we can scrounge up."

Dinah grinned. "Finally. I get to get in one some of the action."

"Should we take a formal vote?" Kal asked.

J'onn shook his head 'no'. "They're all saying 'yes' with their minds."

Just then, Lantern walked in.

Dinah sat up a little straighter. To Kal's ears, he heard her whistle softly in admiration and almost purr.

Kal hid his smile.

The new Lantern, on the job for the past six months, was Damien Silva. Kal remembered that in his nightmare scenario, he had made up a new Lantern, one named Chael Maia. Odd. He probably should have understood, then and there, that he was in a dream world, but somehow it had never penetrated.

Silva was a handsome and elegant man originally from the Lowcountry near Charleston, his name was an odd mixture of his Gullah and Brazilian heritage. Prior to becoming the Lantern, he had been a Harrier jumpjet pilot with the United States Marines Corp. He still proudly displayed his bulldog tattoos on both shoulders.

He and Atom and Steel had a friendly, and sometimes not-so-friendly rivalry since all three had served in different branches of the US military. It never became much more than semi-serious banter, though, since Damien was so easy-going and likeable; much like his predecessor, Hal Jordan.

And given the way Dinah was gazing at him like a hungry kitten looking at a bowl of milk, he probably also had no problems with the ladies. Again, like Hal.

Diana caught Kal's questioning glance. They had both had somewhat similar nightmares in their dreams about the Green Lantern, even if Kal's version had the wrong name. She smiled and threw a look of mock lust toward the Lantern.

Kal grinned as Diana winked at him.

Shayera looked upon Lantern with a speculative gaze. She hadn't yet warmed up to Silva, which was understandable. It was likely that seeing Damien in his Lantern uniform brought back painful memories for her.

Wally spoke up. "Well, if it's decided, let's get moving then."

"What's decided?" Silva asked.

"Can someone get Lantern up to speed?" Kal asked, looking directly at Dinah.

With a happy grin, she leapt up. "I will," she volunteered.

* * *

Zeus looked upon the assembled gods of Earth. They stood alone and separate in islands of stony silence within the massive throne hall of Olympus. They needed to be dominated. They needed to be controlled or all was lost. In this, there could be but one uncontested leader, and it couldn't be Zeus.

His time was past. Another would have to be pressed forward, and though it pained him to admit it, the choice had to be Kal-El. He was the only one with the power of a god but with the trust of the mortals.

From what he had learned of the Kryptonian, it was unlikely that he would take control of the situation without some extra help. He'd need to be forced to action.

An example would need to be made.

He smiled to himself. He even had an idea of how it could come about. And the best part was that he wouldn't have to do a single thing to start the process rolling.

He studied those before him.

There was Isis, the dark-skinned lady of light and magic. Near her, but not too close, were the remaining members of the Egyptian pantheon: Apophis, Set, and Horus. Theirs was the largest remaining pantheon other than the Olympians.

Standing alone on the far side of the chamber was Vali, the Norse warrior god. Massive and thick, he stood as though rooted to the ground with an intent and challenging expression on his face. He held Mjolnir – hammer end pointed down – in a mailed fist, a bequeathing from his long-dead brother, Thor.

Standing behind the Egyptians, stood the Ishtar, the Babylonian goddess of war and love. She glanced at Vali, an appreciative gleam in her eyes. To Isis and Horus, she smiled in acknowledgment. Apophis and Set earned nothing but her scorn. Understandable as the dark gods were untrustworthy and not known for their friendly or trustworthy dispositions.

Supai, Incan god of death stared implacably at his fellow gods and goddesses. From him arose the stench of putrefaction. No one stood nearby.

Zeus grimaced and couldn't help but wonder why the Incan couldn't have done something about his stink before coming to Olympus. The smell was starting to float throughout the chamber.

Of the Greeks, they sat upon their throne-like seats within the cavernous hall. Typically, they feigned boredom, but today was a day unlike any other. Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hera sat forward, glancing throughout the hall. Over the millennia, even before the madness that took so many of the gods and goddesses, the various pantheons had had little to do with one another. This was first time since that bleak period that they had all assembled together under one roof.

Zeus turned back to the hall, his gaze coming to rest upon the knot of individuals in the center of the hall. There stood the League. Kal-El, Diana, the Batman, the Flash, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Atom, Steel, Black Cat, and Zatana.

To them, the other gods threw questioning and speculative glances full of condescension and derision.

Zeus hid a smile.

No doubt, the others found the presence of the mortals to be amusing. After all, what could these so-called superheroes bring to the table? The others likely thought it was nothing. To them, it was laughable that they would even seek to help their betters. It was much like a child helping a father to build a house: the young one was good for nothing but to hand up the tools.

Some though, eyed the Kryptonian, almost in challenge. No doubt, they wondered if they could take Kal-El. Zeus knew that they could not. Zeus himself would have struggled against Diana's husband. It would have been a close fought battle, and if he was honest with himself, Zeus wasn't certain who have been would victorious. If he, Zeus, first of the gods and certainly the most powerful of the remaining deities wasn't certain of victory, than likely, none of the others stood a chance either.

"We came because you called us," Isis said. "You son indicated your belief that the Warden has been freed."

"It is not a belief," Zeus said. "It is a fact."

"How can you be so certain," Supai hissed.

"She spoke to me. From beyond Neptune, She reached my mind with Hers and told me Her plan." Zeus paused a moment. "She means to destroy us all."

Supai grinned. "My kind of woman," he said.

"You would not be spared," Zeus said.

"I fear nothing."

The massive Vali turned to the Incan, a look of scorn on his face. "You should," he said. "By brother, Loki, was once touched by Her. It was what drove him mad."

Supai sneered. "You fools. I am not afraid of death. If She is as powerful as you claim, then perhaps I should ally with _Her_. After all, it seems both of us enjoy killing."

Apophis smiled. "Set and I think the Incan makes a point." He pointedly stepped away from the other Egyptians and made his way to Supai. "Will you join us?" he asked the Egyptian god of chaos.

Set seemed to consider for a moment, but judging by the smirk on his face, everyone knew it was a sham. Finally, he nodded before glancing at a shocked Isis. "My sweet sister, have you not understood the essence of who I am after all this time? I am betrayal. You should have known that, especially after I dismembered your husband, Osiris?" He flashed a vicious grin at a suddenly grim and furious Horus. "Careful, nephew. We agreed to a vow of peace upon entering these chambers."

"We didn't," Shayera said, tapping her mace.

"I think you asshats know what this is," Wally said, drawing forth the sword of Ares.

From the Olympians came a hiss of anger.

Supai, Set, and Apophis simply eyed the League derisively.

"We came here at the invitation of Zeus," Kal said, ignoring the furious glares thrown their way by the Olympians. "There's little love lost between the League and Olympus, but in this we are in agreement. My ancestors first made contact with the Warden many eons ago. She had a power like nothing any of them had ever encountered or expected to encounter. If She has broken free and is coming against Earth, then we have no choice but to fight Her."

"I've heard of your strength and prowess, Kryptonian," Set said. "I am not impressed."

Zeus watched the situation avidly. All was occurring as he had guessed it would. When the moment came, he would have to ensure that it continued as he desired. His moment would come.

Kal glanced at the trio of Supai, Set, and Apophis. "If you seek to ally with the Warden, it would be a terrible mistake."

Vali nodded in agreement. "We stand together or we fall separately," he intoned, his voice deep and gravelly.

"A mistake possibly for you, mortal," Apophis said. "We are gods. We do not yield to the will of anyone. Do not think to offer advice to us. We stand above you as you do a worm. You should be on your knees before us, begging for our mercy."

"Make your choice," Zeus commanded. Push the fools, and they would break as he wished. "Stand with us or join Her and die."

Supai laughed mockingly. "We are secured by your peace," he said. "The only ones who aren't are these pathetic mortals you brought before us." He eyed the League with a derisive smile. "My, but what colorful costumes you wear. Truly, a most motley raiment for a motley array of fools."

"Your answer," Zeus demanded.

"Oppose," Supai answered. "Why should we bleed and fight in a war against a being that is the Sister of our heart? If She destroys this world, what of it? What has Humanity given to us lately? Where is our worship? Our virgin sacrifices?"

"Oppose," echoed Set and Apophis.

Zeus sat back. So be it. It was now in the League's hand and Kal-El's. Let's see how he handled it. "The deities here will keep the peace," he said. "You are free to leave."

Kal thought furiously. Zeus had planned this. He wanted the League to fight those three. He glared at the Olympian. "We won't do your dirty work," Kal growled to Zeus.

"No one is asking you to," Zeus replied. "But consider, defeating the Warden will be hard enough even with all of us. Stopping Her while also facing these three. Impossible."

"You think these mortals can keep us from leaving," Apophis asked in amazement. He barked mocking laughter.

"We'll stop you if need be," Kal replied. "Like Shayera said, we didn't agree to any peace." He glanced at the three dark gods. "It doesn't have to be that way, though. We need your help," he pleaded. "Stay and help. There's no reason for us to fight."

Supai didn't bother responding. His disdainful smirk was answer enough.

"We do not make peace with the weak. We destroy them," Apophis said.

Kal sighed. "What do we need to do to gain your help?" he asked.

"Be my slave for all eternity," Apophis pronounced with a contemptuous sneer.

Diana growled and took a step toward the Egyptian.

J'onn held her back. "This is for Superman to handle," he said. "Zeus tests us. He wants to demonstrate something. It is hard to read him, but I believe he wants Clark to show strength. If your husband doesn't do whatever is necessary to contain the damage, there will be no one strong enough, who we also trust, who will be able to lead us all into battle."

Diana nodded, shrugging off J'onn's hands. "And if Kal doesn't demonstrate strength, all the gods here, if we survive the Warden, will always see him as ultimately weak. They'll come after him given how he has thwarted some of them in the past." Her eyes burned with the need to help Kal. Make the right choice, she pleaded silently. Show them your strength.

Kal studied the three dark gods. He hated being in this situation. This was a test of leadership. Zeus was pushing this on him for reasons Kal couldn't understand. It seemed in direct opposition to what he knew about the Lord of Olympus. Zeus was known for his desire to dominate and control; not push leadership and glory upon a rival. For the life of him, though, he couldn't figure a way out of the situation.

"Last chance," Kal offered, feeling sick at heart. He knew what they would say. He also knew what the League would have to do.

"Take your offer and shove it where Ra's rays don't shine," Set pronounced.

Kal's head drooped. He almost wept. Curse the fools! Why couldn't they, for once, have listened to reason? Because they were arrogant immortal humans given godlike powers. They would never see things in the light of humility.

So be it.

His head rose, and a look of bleak determination filled his features. He transmitted his orders to J'onn, who passed them on.

They were ready.

Kal nodded to Wally who took off in a blur, the sword of Ares already unsheathed. Supai's head separated from his neck, a look of amazed disbelief on his face. Atom flew in low and fast, hard on Wally's heels and threw up an aurora of blazing plasma and fire, blinding Set. Coming in behind the light was Shayera, swinging hard before the confused and blinded god could raise his arms in protection. A ringing peal filled the room as Shayera hammered Set and knocked him off his feet. Shayera stood astride the fallen god and brought her mace down, full force upon Set's unprotected head. Apophis moved to help but was driven back by Lantern and Atom.

Set blocked Shayera's next blow and staggered to his feet. Her next blow had even less effect, and Set grabbed at her mace, his eyes filled with the need to murder.

Kal swept forward and stood before Set, blocking punches and kicks before unleashing a looping right hook, catching an angry Set flush in the temple, knocking the god down. Set struggled to rise, but fell over, dizzy from Superman's blow.

Kal-E rolled him over on his back and straddled Set over the chest. "The offer is still good," Kal said.

Set spat in response.

Kal wiped the spittle from his chin. "You should have accepted," he said, coldly. Kal's eyes glowed red and his heat vision shot out, lancing Set in the eyes, bubbling them to steam, and burning through to the floor beneath. The god screamed hard and sharp before falling silent.

Apophis stared at the fallen and dead gods in shock. It had taken less than ten seconds for the League to kill two gods. He held his hands up in surrender. "It seems I misjudged," he said. "You are not weak at all. You are quite strong." His face held a sickly smile. "Please allow me to help you in whatever way I can."

Kal gave him a half-smile of mild disgust. "Of course."

Vali nodded approval and Horus gave them a tight-lipped smile of gratitude. It couldn't have been easy living in such close proximity to the god who had murdered his father.

Kal surveyed the damage and death in dissatisfaction and sorrow. It didn't have to go down like this. It shouldn't have.

Diana took his hand. "You did what needed to be done," she said, squeezing her husband's hand and offering him comfort.

"Yeah," he said with a tired sigh.

"I know that wasn't easy to order, Clark," Bruce said. "But it was the right thing to do."

"I hate killing," Wally whispered, coming to stand next to them. Zatana took him in her arms. He looked heartbroken.

"Killing's easy," Atom countered. "It's the living afterward that's such a bitch."

"True dat," Silva replied.

Kal and Wally took in their warmth and encouragement as the League huddled silently for a moment. It didn't absolve Kal of the guilt at what he'd just done and ordered done, but it helped. He shook aside their comforting pats and touches, nodding his appreciation. "We have work to do," he said to the rest of the assembled gods.

They'd just witnessed the League in action. Condescending glances and looks of amusement had fled from their faces. They listened closely as Kal-El and the other League members outlined a strategy.

Even the Olympians stood close, listening intently.

All but Zeus. He stood in the background and took it all in. The Kryptonian was now the leader of all the gods in this battle. There was no way to dislodge him.

Good.

He caught Hera's questioning glance. He nodded, and she smiled tightly in understanding. The burden of leadership had grown hard and tiresome. Let someone else carry it for once.

* * *

"Are you ok," Diana asked.

Kal stood on the balcony and looked down at the city below. He turned to her. "Why do you think he did it?"

She shook her head. "He's grown strange in the past few years, ever since Ares died."

"You think he was the one who broke Tezcatlipoca free?"

She nodded. "He did, but I get the sense that he didn't expect the Warden to become a part of this."

Kal snorted. "What he did or didn't expect doesn't matter. It's what happened."

"You never answered my question," Diana said, coming to stand behind him and resting her chin on his shoulder.

He leaned his head against hers. "I'm fine. I just don't like killing, and I hate ordering someone else to kill."

"I know," Diana whispered. "The first time you took a life also involved the Olympians," she said. "You must hate them for what they've forced you to do."

Kal considered her words. What she said was true: he did hate the Olympians; or at least a part of him did. It wasn't as simply as that, however. He could also understand a father's need for vengeance. He could also appreciate that without the Olympians, the amazing woman standing next to him would never have been. That alone warranted gratitude. He explained his thoughts and feelings.

Diana smiled. "You're conflicted then," she said, nodding. "Imagine how I feel then; knowing that my creation and powers stem solely from them. They have been the gods and goddesses of Themiscyra, and yet, I do not worship them anymore."

Kal glanced at her. "What are you saying?" he asked. "Have you no faith at all then?"

Diana lifted her chin off his shoulder and looked him in the eye. "No. Not at all. It's just…" she shrugged. I need something more worthy of my worship," she said. She tilted her head. "Do you know of any prayers I might say tonight? It would help."

Kal smiled. "I'll tell you my favorite one."

After he spoke, Diana smiled. "I like that," she said, contentedly. They stood in silence, watching the sun set over a timeless and quiet hour.

* * *

"I wish we didn't have to bring John," Shayera said.

Bruce nodded. "I know." He came to stand behind Hawkgirl, looking over her shoulder at the small bundle she held in her arms. He smiled at the little boy he thought of as his son. "There was no one to watch him on such short notice, though."

Shayera held John, looking into his beautiful, emerald green eyes. She watched, mesmerized as he glanced around. What was he thinking? His stubby arms and legs waved madly for a moment before he settled down, cooing his pleasure at something only he knew. He gripped his blanket in a soft, small hand, pulling it to his mouth and gumming it. John smiled and gurgled, dimples forming on both cheeks.

He had his father's smile, she noted fondly. She glanced at Bruce. "These Amazonian sisters of Diana, do you think they'll be able to handle him?"

"He's just a baby," Bruce said. "What can go wrong?"

Shayera shook her head. "You had to ask."

* * *

"Something is wrong with the child," Aristomache said, holding John away from her. She and Artemis had been asked by the Princess herself to help care for the child while the baby's mother, Shayera, fought for the life of Earth. How could Aristomache say 'no' to that?

Artemis came near. She held her nose in the air and sniffed. "I believe in Mansworld, it is called making boom-boom." She was very proud of her knowledge of common slang usage. Two years in the Embassy and exposure to the riot of thought and color and sounds and music and art and plays had taught the flame-haired Amazon much. Most importantly, Artemis had come to see how much Mansworld, and in particular, _men _had to offer to those from Themiscyra. Not that she had any intention of marrying or wanting men on the Amazonian island, but still, they weren't the wild, devilish beasts Artemis had always assumed they were. An amazing feat of acceptance for the one-time hardcore member of the Gorgon, the household guard of the queen herself.

"What is this boom-boom?" Aristomache asked, dreading but already understanding the likely answer.

Artemis smirked. "His bowels have loosened. A common defect amongst babies."

"You will clean him?" Aristomache asked, almost hopefully.

Artemis shook her head and backed away. "No. I think not. You were the first to ascertain that a problem existed. You should correct the issue yourself."

Aristomache looked to Artemis a moment longer before turning back to John, whose face was red from crying. "Do not cry, child," Aristomache said. "I will care for you." She turned back to Artemis. "Instruct me."

Artemis fetched the diaper bag Hawkgirl and the one called Batman had left. "It is like this," she said, talking Aristomache through the messy and smelly act of changing a diaper.

Aristomache soon had a fresh diaper in place and quickly re-did the child's clothes. How cleverly the garment fit together she noted. "What do we do now with the dirty one?" she asked, not touching the befouled piece of fabric and absorbent material.

"I have no idea," Aretemis said.

"Well, you get to figure it out," Aristomache proclaimed. "I cleaned him up after all." With that, the once Ashanti tribeswoman picked up the small man-child and examined him.

She dimly heard Artemis small growl of annoyance, but she ignored it.

Aristomache enjoyed the contrast of her almost blue hued dark skin against the palor of the child's. Aristomache had become an Amazon five hundred years earlier when the slaver ship in which she had been chained had crashed upon Themiscyra's shores. In all that time, she had never before seen a baby.

She was lost looking into the child's eyes. He had the loveliest green eyes, like emeralds. She liked his smile and his sweet gurgling laughter filled her with happiness.

He shivered, and Aristomache realized with a start that he might be cold. She searched in the diaper bag and pulled out a small blanket with a triumphant flourish. She quickly wrapped the child.

John was his name. Best to think of him that way. Child was so impersonal.

"Well, John, you are the sweetest little creature I've ever seen," Aristomache said, her voice automatically falling into a high-pitched, soothing tone. "I think you might be the loveliest baby ever."

Artemis returned. "Found a midden heap," she said. "Next time, I'll change him, and you bury the garbage."

Aristomache absently nodded, enjoying holding a baby too much to pay much attention.

Artemis stepped closer, standing next to the darker Amazon and peering over her arms. "He is quite adorable, isn't he?" she asked.

"Yes he is," Aristomache answered.

Artemis looked at her sharply. "You sound oddly needy," she noted.

Aristomache looked her in the eye. "I am told that in Mansworld, they have a means of allowing a woman to conceive without the touch of a man," she said. "I find my thoughts drifting in that direction more and more often."

"I was not aware of this," Artemis replied, a frown on her face.

"Since I first met the League, I've come to wonder how much of Themiscyra's peace has held us back. Our queen gave up her immortality and spoke on this very same topic when the League last visited our island. And now that we have been tasked to care for John, more questions have arisen." She turned to look back to the infant. "I remember enough of my previous life to understand that a child is a blessing." She looked back to Artemis. "I want to be blessed."

Artemis nodded. "As do I, my love," she said, kissing the top of Aristomache's head.

Aristomache grinned. "Will you look at those eyes? I would swear it is the same color as the ring his father wore."

"You knew his father?" Artemis asked.

"I avenged his father," Aristomache corrected. "Hal Jordan fought with all that he had. He gave everything, including his life, to protect his mate, Shayera."

"Men are not all as we thought," Artemis said, softly.

"No,' Aristomache agreed.

Artemis looked upon John's emerald green eyes. Her brow pinched in a frown. "Why, I believe you may be right. His eyes look much the same color as the ring on their new Lantern."

"How interesting," Aristomache said.

"Fortuitous," Artemis agreed. "Likely means nothing."

John yawned.

"I believe he wants to sleep," Aristomache said. Carefully and quietly, she took him to the small room where a small crib had been placed. She laid a tired John Jordan in his bed and covered him with a soft blanket.

He yawned again, and she couldn't help it. She smiled and bent and kissed him. It was her first kiss with a male of the species. She remembered Hawkgirl's admonition to turn on thing called a baby monitor. A few seconds of fumbling, and she had it on.

She tip-toed out, and she and Artemis shared a congratulatory smile.

"Not hard at all," Artemis said, turning on the outside monitor.

"And Diana was worried something might go wrong," Aristomache scoffed.

From the monitor, they heard little John Jordan cry for a few seconds. The sound of a tinkling lullaby could be heard, and John sighed in contentment.

Aristomache and Artemis shared a look of bemusement.

"What is that sound?" Aristomache asked.

"I have no idea," Artemis answered. "It sounds like a mobile: a baby's toy used to settle them down to sleep."

"Do we have one of those?"

"No."

They shared a brief look of horrified concern.

Quickly, they hustled back to John's room and slowly opened the door, peaking inside.

Floating above a sleeping John Jordan, a glowing green mobile floated freely, supported by nothing but air. It was the same color as one of the many items his father had used to fashion with his Lantern ring. As it slowly turned, a tinkling lullaby came from it.

Aristomache blinked in surprise. "Well…that's unexpected."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Tezcatlipoca rotted within his own flesh. Ever since he had allowed Her access to his body, he found himself a prisoner in his own skin. It had amused the Warden to banish him to nightmare worlds. It seemed a just punishment for one who had used that very same method on so many of his enemies. Occasionally, however, She would allow him to surface. It wasn't because of kindness, though. It was because it allowed Her to mock his stupidity and helplessness.

During those brief times when she allowed his to rise, he learned something of Her. It wasn't much, but it was more than anyone else had every known.

He knew Her true name: Lilith, the Illuminated Darkness. She was the second born of the angels and both sister and wife to Lucius, or as the world knew him now, Lucifer. She had rebelled against God when the Universe had first come into being. The reason for doing so was something Tezcatlipoca wasn't able to learn, but it had something to do with the flesh and blood: both disgusted her.

She meant to destroy all of Creation. It was Her goal, and Tezcatlipoca wasn't sure if there was anyone who had the power to stop Her. She was certain that none of the gods of Earth would likely be able to stand against Her. Even two thousand years ago, at the height of their power and glory, even had they combined all their power, She was confident they would have still failed.

She would decimate and kill them all.

Tezcatlipoca wasn't sure if Her surety in Her power was due to delusion or truth, but even if it was based on fact, he had discovered a secret the Warden thought hidden. He had learned it on his last surfacing. He had discovered the nature of the one who could defeat Lilith.

All was not lost if Tezcatlipoca simply had the courage to act. He had to do so in spite of the cruelty that would surely be visited upon him for his actions.

In a life spent upon war, betrayal, torture, and cruelty, Tezcatlipoca, the Obsidian Mirror, finally learned the meaning of self-sacrifice. He learned of service to others.

His decision made, he spent the brief time, measured in minutes, when he next rose to send out his call to the one who might be able to prevail against the Warden. His courage held, and he hoped that his message got through.

Almost immediately, the Warden learned what he had done. Her punishment was worse than anything he had yet experienced or even conceived of experiencing.

Tezcatlipoca was swept away on a tide of howling torment. Even a god's mind should have snapped under the withering torture he received, but Lilith was a mistress of pain. She put Granny Goodness to shame. Tezcatlipoca maintained his sanity throughout the seeming years of his torture.

In the midst of his pain, Tezcatlipoca learned to pray. He longed for the peace of silence.

* * *

Lilith stood on the moon of the world the meatsuits called Earth. She examined the planet, unimpressed by any aspect of it. To the fleshlings, it was beautiful with its rich blue hue and greens and arid saffron and brown. Fluffy white clouds hid the spread over much of the continent called Africa.

Her lips curled. Revolting and filthy place.

Down there would be the beginning of the end. She was determined it would be so. After all, was it not here, on Earth, that the greatest abomination had taken place? It was here that Her Father had been made flesh.

Therefore, it only made sense that it would be this world that would be the first to die.

A smile formed upon Her face. Even better, the arrogant little godlings who still claimed divinity were congregated within their 'heavenly' realm. These gods and goddesses were meatsuits just like all the rest of their kind. Their limited pink and fleshy brains couldn't even come close to imagining the true glory that was Heaven.

She nodded, satisfied. Yes. That would be where she would start: kill the so-called immortals and then torture the world to ashes.

Tezcatlipoca had managed to warn the one who might conceivably stop Her. How odd that Her little meatsuited marionette could have proven so courageous. Regardless, his actions did not cause Lilith a moment of pause. She was not afraid. Based on what the Aztec knew of the individual, there would be no hope of salvation along that front.

Faith was required, and this one didn't have it.

She sent out a thought to those waiting below.

*_Prepare for thy deaths. I come. And soon.*_

* * *

"What happened?" Shayera asked. She held John, rocking him gently as he looked about, content and curious.

Aristomache explained about the floating, green mobile that she and Artemis had seen over John's crib last night.

Bruce rubbed his head. "Do you think Lantern could have done that?"

Shayera shrugged. "I suppose, but why would he?"

Bruce shook his head. "Have no idea. We can ask him about it later."

"Ask me what," Lantern asked in his mellifluous voice.

"Did you put a floating mobile over John's crib last night with your ring?" Bruce asked.

"What? You mean like those things to keep baby's quiet? With my ring?" Lantern frowned, puzzled. "Why would I do that?"

"That's what we were wondering," Shayera said in exasperation.

"Well, no. Why?"

Aristomache explained what she and Artemis had seen last night.

"Have no idea what you're talking about," he said, turning to to Shayera. "I just came to kiss John's head," he said. He smiled in embarrassment. "My mom always told me that kissing a baby's head brings you good luck. I carry around a picture of my sister from when she was about John's age. I'd always kiss it before taking off when I was a fighter jock." He shrugged. "I figured John probably had more good luck than a picture." He looked Shayera in the eye. "Do you mind?"

She shook her head 'no'.

Silva bent and kissed John on the crown of his head. He stood with a puzzled and troubled expression. "What the hell did Jordan do?"

"What do you mean?" Shayera asked, instantly suspicious.

"You say there was a green mobile over his crib last night? And that it looked like something from a Lantern ring?" At Aristomache's nod of 'yes', Silva continued. "I think he did it," he said, nodding to John.

"John did it?" Bruce asked, his voice flat with disbelief.

Silva nodded. "The Guardians are going to be in an uproar when they find out." He glanced at Bruce and Shayera. "John's linked to the main power battery on Oa. If there's such a thing as a natural Lantern, he's it. He doesn't need a ring to connect to the battery."

Bruce cursed softly. "Raising him just got a lot more complicated."

"I have to report this," Silva said, almost apologetically.

"The Guardians can't have him," Shayera said, uncompromising steel and venom in her voice.

"I'll resign before helping them do so," Silva promised.

Any further words and discussion were cut off as Kal began to speak. He stood before the assembled figures of myth and legend along with the members of the League itself. "Zeus tells me that She will be here any moment now," he said. "We've worked out a plan of attack, but like they say…"

"No plan survives first contact with the enemy," Vali offered.

"Yes," Kal said, nodding to the Norse god. "You know where you'll be positioned. Pair up with your team right now. I've a feeling that we're going to need to get airborne pretty soon.

"A moment Kal-El," Athena said. "I need to bless the members of your League who wear the sandals of Hermes. Their knowledge of flight is lost every day." The goddess went to Wally, Dinah, and Zatana; the only members present who did not have the natural ability to fly.

After Athena was finished, Kal nodded. "Let's roll."

They took to the skies.

* * *

Diana yawned. She hadn't slept well last night. An odd dream had awoken her. She had trouble recalling all but the vaguest notions of it. Something about praying. Since going to Mansworld, she had lost faith in her own gods. They weren't really gods; just superpowered humans. They weren't worthy of her worship.

That said, she wasn't ready to elevate any other being to a position of worthy divinity. The God of love and forgiveness and peace had much to recommend, but…was worship really necessary? What was the point? Couldn't a life of living morally be enough?

She shook of the philosophical distractions. She had a job to do.

Diana flew in a group with Isis, Horus, Apollo, and Apophis. Their formation was the bottom of the z-axis. Above and to right, flew Lantern, Bruce, Flash, and Shayera. To the left and above were J'onn, Atom, Steel, Zatana, and Dinah. Athena, Hera, Aphrodite and Isthar flew in the upper part of the z-axis.

Diana smirked at how similar Aphrodite and Isthar appeared. Both were lush and beautiful beyond mortal description. Yesterday, upon their first meeting, they had eyed one another, judging the other goddess and, no doubt, seeking a flaw in their rival's appearance. Of course, none existed and after a smug sniff of dismissal, they had spent the rest of the day studiously ignoring the other goddess.

Now, they had to fight together.

Diana searched ahead and saw the figures of those in the van: Kal, Zeus, and Vali.

"I hope She shows up soon," Apophis said. "I'm already bored."

"Silence," Isis hissed.

Almost immediately after Isis spoke, a tremble in the air had all of them moved to alertness. Diana loosened her sword in its scabbard. She was coming. She could sense it.

With a roar like a hurricane trapped in a bottle, She swept into the realm of Olympus. The Warden, the Illuminated Darkness made her presence known with a discordant shriek, like the sound of breaking metal and grinding stone. "You will all be swept away to less than atoms," She cried out.

All of them knew a moment of surprise at seeing Tezcatlipoca facing them.

*_She has consumed the Aztec_* J'onn sent to all of them. *_It is Her.*_

Diana saw Kal race away from the Warden, Vali in tow. She understood his plan even as Ishtar screamed at them: "Cowards!" she shrieked.

"Forward!" Zeus shouted. He aimed a thunderbolt. It shattered against Her chest, throwing Her back.

Atom let loose with his own lightning, while Steel leveled heavy thunder. From Lantern came a hammer, blasting the Warden on the crown of Her head. The smell of actinic lightning drifted on the wind.

"Pour it on," Atom shouted.

"Bust her up!" Steel encouraged, unleashing the cobra rounds from his twin rail guns. They could have sunk a battleship.

The Warden was hurled back, but came through it with a laugh. "Your pathetic powers are as nothing."

Seconds later, Kal came back at 20 miles a second. He moved too fast for anyone but Wally to truly follow. He flung Vali at the Warden; Mjolnir clenched in his mailed fist. The hammer was aimed straight at Her heart. He flung Mjolnir. The hammer screamed through the air like a banshee. With the sound of a mountain being blasted to rubble, Mjolnir smashed Her in the face, bloodying Her.

"Hell yeah!" Steel shouted.

Diana was heartened. They could hurt Her.

"Watch the goddamn spacing." Diana couldn't tell who it was who shouted. Probably Shayera

Horus fired arrows. They concussed Her torso and body and face. These were the Armageddon arrows. They exploded with the power of low-level nuclear weapons. A deep, echoing rumble rolled through the sky. The Warden shook and twisted under their impact. For a moment, She seemed to lose flight, dipping precipitously.

"Get after Her," Apophis screamed.

When the smoke cleared, She raced forward, a look of fury on Her face. She snarled just in time to catch another hammer strike from Lantern, tolling Her head like a struck bell. Atom hit her, working with Zeus as both their blasts hit her, metronomically, in the same spot, again and again. Flash raced forward; back and forth, too quickly for Her to see or dodge. The sword of Ares lashed out, striking with each pass.

They were the blows of a gnat against an elephant.

"Keep it up," Kal ordered, unleashing his heat vision in a long, blistering run.

From Athena came arrow after arrow, each one released before the one prior had found its mark. She didn't miss even once. The goddess held the bow and inexhaustible quiver of her deceased sister, Artemis. One hundred arrows in less than five seconds ripped into the Warden.

She didn't so much as flinch.

The Warden smirked.

"Attack!" Isis urged. Diana followed as the Egyptian and Apollo rushed the Warden, swords raised.

Diana's blade clanged off Her forearm as though it had struck one of her own vambraces. Isis and Apollo were more successful, getting inside her guard. Their blades crashed into Her neck. Even then, though, not even a scratch could be seen.

The Warden lashed out, Her arms and nails growing incredibly long.

Isis screamed, her throat torn open. Blood streamed from her neck as she crashed into a building below.

Another sweep crushed into Apollo's chest. "Light, no," he cried out.

"Mother!" Horus shouted, streaking downward to Isis.

"Fall back!" Kal shouted. "Vali, Zeus: to me!"

Horus clutched the still and dead form of his mother, Isis. He sobbed but once. When he arose, his face was filled with fury and determination. "Death take you, bitch of hell!"

Diana flew from the Warden just as Zatana arrived and shrouded the Warden's vision. Canary slipped a garrote around Her neck, tying it off.

Diana bit her lip in fear. Those two shouldn't even be in this fight. This was a clash of gods. Their bravery…Diana gasped. "No!"

J'onn had materialized in front of the Warden before dematerializing and slipping behind Her. He had grabbed the garrote and had flung Her away, hoping to snap Her neck.

Instead, he had thrown Her directly in line with Dinah. Canary still had her back to the Warden. She never saw as She raced closer. Dinah turned at the last second, but was unable to avoid the crushing blow from the Warden.

Canary crumpled and fell from the sky, lying still and unmoving a short distance from Isis.

J'onn's wore a look of horror.

"Kick her ass!" Steel screamed. He raced forward and punched with everything he had. He accomplished nothing. A second later, he was flung away by a negligent slap, his chest armor dented. The Warden gave chase.

"Come and get some!" Atom shouted. He hit the Warden with a focused plasma beam. His distraction worked. The Warden turned and glared at him. She raced forward. "Oh, shit!"

Just then, Kal and Zeus and Vali flew in triangle formation, smashing into the Warden. She absorbed another ringing blow from Mjolnir. Kal's heavy hands, a sound like steel blasting into an even more obdurate material, didn't so much as cause Her to blink. She backhanded Zeus, almost contemptuously, sending him flying off before flinging Kal away as well. She grabbed Vali by the throat, Her arm and hand growing unnaturally long again.

Bruce and Shayera arrived. Bruce lit into the Warden, and Vali used the momentary diversion to escape.

Shayera brought her mace down, with all her force and power, directly on the Warden's forehead.

She blinked. "Insolent fool," Diana heard the Warden scream. "You stink of new motherhood." The Warden shimmered and _stretched_ outward before snapping back to her normal size.

_Something _like a million tiny shards of glass streamed off of Her.

Shayera screamed in agony. She was cut with a thousand blades, bleeding from each one. Her wings were in tatters, and she clutched at her stomach.

"Shayera!" Bruce screamed, following her down. He reached but was unable to catch Hawkgirl as she crashed heavily into the cobbled streets of Olympus.

Coming to rest a pace away was her mace. Her hands stretched for it.

Bruce landed. She was so torn up. He was sickened. He'd seen death enough to know what was going to happen.

"Take the mace," she urged in a broken whisper, coughing up blood. "Protect John. I love you, John. I love you, Bru…" With that, she spoke no more. Shayera's eyes stared to the heavens, glassy and without sight.

Bruce keened over her, heartbroken in a way he hadn't been since his parents had died. Even Alfred's murder hadn't affected him so. He allowed himself ten seconds to grieve. After that, he cut off all feeling and emotion. Work awaited. He stood and tightened his grip on her mace.

The bitch would pay.

Diana couldn't believe it. Five minutes into the battle and already three of their members were dead. She wanted to cry for Shayera and Dinah, but sorrow would have to wait.

A battle was still being waged.

* * *

Darkseid observed the conflagration with keen interest. He remained hidden in his holocaust cloak, secure in his safety. He watched as the gods and goddesses of Earth desperately threw themselves against the Warden. Each attack was hurled back. Even the Kryptonian seemed unable to do much damage.

Interesting.

It seemed the legends and myths did not lie: the Warden was a power unlike any other. She might have worn the body of Tezcatlipoca, but Darkseid wasn't fooled. She must have overtaken that fool Aztec's body.

It was immaterial. The important point was that She was not simply holding her own against the massed might of Earth's gods and greatest heroes; she was defeating them. And handily.

He doubted any other being even came close to rivaling the Warden's power, but then again, brute force was not always necessary. Eventually, he, Darkseid, would have to face the Warden. It was then that he would be put to his greatest test. He was confident he could win. Over the centuries, he had forged himself into an engine of focused will to power. His will had been indomitable. Against the Warden, he would not go at Her directly. Death lay along that avenue. Witness the fools who had employed exactly that same tactic.

Against the Warden, he would have to use intellectual judo. He would have to find a way to use Her own power against Her.

The Master felt a thrill.

She would likely do away with some of his greatest enemies. What a glorious day, especially since he would be witness to their demise. The only thing that could made it sweeter would be if it were he, himself, eradicating his pestilential enemies.

Ah, well. Can't have everything. He smiled humorously. The death of those who had denied him, not once or twice, but thrice, would have to do.

And after the Warden had disposed of these fools, She would likely be weakened. The battle here would likely have taken much out of Her. And after She was tired out…he chuckled. Then She would learn what it meant to face the Master of Apokolips.

A pause in the battle, and the Warden seemed to sniff the air. What was she doing? Darkseid frowned as the Warden's head turned. Her eyes flitted about as though searching. Her gaze eventually came to rest , looking directly at the Lord of Apokolips.

A shiver of fear trailed down his spine at Her heartless gaze. Well he understood that look, having mastered it himself many years before. It was the promise of death. It was the look of one intent on murder with knowledge that the victim could do nothing to save himself.

*_Little demon, do you truly understand the nature of Evil?* _She spoke directly to his mind.

Impossible. A holocaust cloak hid the wearer from any and all means to discernment, both physical and magical. She couldn't know of his presence.

*_Yes, Darkseid, it is to you whom I speak.* _She whispered in a soft tone; a voice promising swift and deadly justice. *_You desire domination of all life. I seek the death of the Universe. Understand, meatsuit, we share nothing in common_. _We will never make alliance._* She paused. *_I will tell you this: it will be your world of Apokolips that I will atomize last. Know this as I reduce the Universe to emptiness, to less than particle. It will be you who will be the last of the meatsuits to die._* She laughed. *_Witness all that happens here to your heart's content. It is my promise to you of what will eventually befall you_.*

She touched his mind, more intimately than anyone had ever done. Within Her consciousness, he beheld all that She intended. He understood the folly of opposing Her: it was pointless. She was too powerful. The final vision was one that was almost as real as the nightmare world of Tezcatlipoca. The pain of it – why did She hate him so? – was almost unbearable.

Darkseid screamed and fled.

* * *

The battle raged on.

Lantern, Atom, and Steel flew, cornering her, each cutting loose with everything they had. Zeus joined them.

Diana urged the fire to do something. Anything. Please. Let them stop Her.

She sensed a fast moving object coming in from the north. Kal. He blazed past, his shock collar billowing around him. He didn't slow at all as he approached the Warden, blasting Her with everything he had.

He rocketed past her as She rocked back, rubbing her jaw.

Kal came to a stop, near Diana. He clutched at his hand. "She broke my hand," he said in disbelief.

"Apollo," Diana called out as she flew to her husband. They huddled close, waiting for the god of healing.

Diana glanced back to the fight.

The Warden was speaking but was too far away to be understood. Diana saw Her smirk. A second later, lightning shot forth from her fingertips.

A bolt hit Steel, shorting out his systems. His scream could be heard over the rumbling thunder. Steel hung suspended in the air for a moment, before She grabbed him by the helmet, crushing his head. She let him drop to the ground far below.

A kind of smoke billowed out of Her mouth and nostrils.

A thick fog of it enveloped the goddesses Hera and Athena. Diana couldn't see what was happening, but she heard her patrons scream.

"They're tearing their faces off," Kal said, horrified. He turned away with a shudder. "They've driven their swords into each other's chests."

Diana bowed her head in sorrow. She hadn't prayed to her gods in months, or possibly years, but these two – Hera and Athena – had made possible so many of the good things in her life. She mourned their passing.

"I cannot heal his hand," Apollo said.

Diana started. She hadn't heard the god approach, so caught up had she been with the death of the goddesses.

The god of healing still clutched his side and flecks of blood coated his lips.

"Get away from the fog!" Bruce yelled, back in the fight.

J'onn was too slow. An eddy of smoke caught him, and his mind collapsed. His mental shriek overwhelmed Zatana. She went catatonic and fell to the Earth. She hit hard and didn't arise.

Diana darted forward, not sure what to do, but wanting to help J'onn.

The Manhunter turned to her, his eyes filled with anguish. "Kill me," he begged. "She will use me as a weapon."

Ishtar flew to Diana's side. "We cannot allow Her to control him."

"Kill me," J'onn begged again. He began to shake and tremble. He screamed once and was then silent. He stared at Diana, eyes flat and dark and empty like a shark.

Her friend was gone.

He rushed her.

Ishtar stepped forward and swung her sword in a glittering arc, decapitating J'onn.

* * *

"They're losing," Aristomache whispered in horror. "How could the gods lose?"

Artemis gazed skyward, fear and loathing etched on her face. "I don't know," she replied.

"Surely this Warden cannot defeat them all."

"She appears to be doing exactly that," Artemis said.

"How can this be?"

Artemis didn't answer. She had no answers to give.

They stood in silence as the Warden killed those opposing Her. The greatest and most powerful beings in Earth's history were no match for Her.

"We shouldn't be here," Aristomache said.

Artemis nodded. "I think you're right, love. This is a battle for those greater than us."

"It is one for those greater than our gods," Aristomache whispered.

"We should leave."

Aristomache nodded agreement. "I'll grab John. We'll go back to Themiscyra."

"Will the island be safe?" Artemis asked.

"I don't know," Aristomache said. "But this place certainly isn't."

"We may simply be delaying the inevitable."

"Maybe so, but we don't know that," Aristomache said. "We promised Shayera to care for her son. We can't let him die here. Not when we have a chance to get him to safety."

Artemis nodded. "Let's go. Just grab him, and we'll leave."

Aristomache hustled to John's room. She smiled at seeing him sleeping. All that thunder and lightning and sound and fury, and he slept through it all. A small smile twitched at his lips. His green mobile twinkled a happy melody.

Ah, the innocence of youth.

She carefully picked him up, swaddling him in a heavy and warm blanket. He didn't wake up. Good.

She turned to leave and a heavy rumble shook the building.

It had been like that throughout the battle. She paused. This one was different, though. It sounded closer. A scream roared and something slammed into the palace of Olympus. She opened the door and quickly shut it. The palace beyond John's room had been flattened. Everything out there was rubble. She grabbed blankets and stuffed them in every crack of the door, trying keep the dust out.

John woke up and cried.

Arisomache rocked him gently, crying herself.

Artemis had been out there.

* * *

The Warden sifted through the minds of her enemies. She couldn't attach fingers to any of them. Except…she studied more closely. Yes, this one. He would do nicely.

She smiled.

Her father had not made his meatsuited puppets of very stern material. They were all too easy to defeat. Even the so-called gods.

However, when measured against most fleshlings, they had enough power to be dangerous. This one for instance.

Time to put one of these meatsuits to Her own use.

* * *

*_Serve me* _a voice whispered within the mind of Apophis. He denied the voice once, twice, and thrice. On the fourth occasion, he bowed. He knew who it was that spoke to him. He even knew Her intentions.

What of it? They were all going to die anyway. She was taking them apart. Their most powerful blows had been less than an ant's attack. It was hopeless.

She offered him a quick death.

He took it and allowed Her to consume his mind. Horus was nearby and saw Apophis stiffen. He turned to his fellow Egyptian and watched as his eyes transformed. They became dead and empty, and yet somehow promised a dark death. Horus shuddered in fear, but gathered his courage.

His mother would be avenged, even if all Horus could do was kill this avatar.

Horus struck first, taking Apophis within the heart.

Horus bowed his head in sorrow as the Egyptian god of chaos and serpents plummeted to the ground.

Diana flew at Horus. She didn't know what had happened except that Horus had killed Apophis. Her sword was at the ready.

Horus held his hands up. "She took him," he said. "I had to."

Diana pulled up and stayed her blade. "She's destroying all of us," she whispered. "Is there nothing the immortals can do?"

"Apparently, we can die," Horus said, grimly.

The sound of rocks shattering drew their eyes back to the Warden. Vali had clocked her once more with Mjolnir.

It had been ineffectual.

* * *

Lilith, the Illuminated Darkness, allowed her enemies to regroup. Thus far, their pitiful efforts had simply served to amuse Her more than anything else. Their desperation and fear was building. The hopelessness was like the finest wine.

Yes, these wretched meatsuited abominations should be hopeless. They should have never been; their existence was a poisonous stab in the heart. They had overthrown and overtaken the angels in the eyes of the Father. It was unforgivable.

As She studied them, Her gaze fell upon one. She frowned. She did not like the stench coming off that one. It smelled of the firstborn of the flesh of this world. Like orchids and providence.

The Warden would take care of that one first.

* * *

"We are helpless before Her," Zeus said. "The Olmypians are almost no more."

"I get the sense She's not even trying all that hard," Bruce said.

"She's not," Kal agreed.

"Then what's the plan," Wally asked, looking tired. He'd been making mad dashes, back and forth, hacking at the Warden's unyielding skin. If Supes was the Man of Steel, what did that make the Warden? The Titan of Titanium?

"No plan," Kal said.

"What do you mean 'no plan'?" Atom asked with the frown. "That bitch killed Steel. As sure as shit stinks, she's going to pay for it."

Lantern sighed. "I agree with Atom."

Vali rolled his shoulders, loosening them. "I think you misunderstand Kal-El. There is no plan because he expects us to go down fighting."

Lantern, Atom, and Wally stared at Kal in shocked disbelief.

"Isn't there anything you can…" Wally began.

Kal shook his head wearily. "I've blasted Her with everything I've got. The only thing I have to show for it is a broken hand. We fight because there is no other option. We fight because we must. But defeating Her may no longer be in the cards."

Zeus nodded. "So be it."

After a shocked moment, acceptance came from the rest. "So be it," they murmured.

Kal raised a clenched fist, drawing their attention. "If this is to be the last flight and fight of the League, let those who come after sing of it with awe. We give our all!"

"We fight for our honor. For our destiny. For our lives!" Bruce shouted.

A fire came to Diana's eyes. "We will yield Her nothing. Give Her nothing. Even to the end, should we die, spit at the last straight in Her eyes."

"Fuck yeah! No surrender. No quit," Atom roared. "You hear me, Steel? I'm coming brother. Valhalla awaits."

Vali smiled. "For all of us, yes it does." He gazed at the heavens. "Hear me Thor, Odin: prepare the feast," he bellowed. "Great warriors come to the hall of the heroes."

"Fly and give Her hell," Kal cried.

They took off. Diana slipped in beside Kal. If she was to die, let it be by his side.

His heat vision was on the entire time of their flight. From fifteen feet away, Diana could feel the heat from it. Had she been human, she would have roasted in an instant. As it was, it should have been powerful enough to punch through a mountain.

The Warden absorbed it without so much as a whiff of smoke coming off of Her.

Diana was ready. She swung her sword, landing a blow heavy enough to cave in a building.

The Warden took the blow on a raised forearm. She kicked Kal in the gut and sent him hurtling away. The same raised elbow cracked Diana across the face. A fist slammed in from the other side.

Diana felt her cheek and jaw give way. She spat out teeth. A kick to the ribs and another blow to her head and Diana's last vision was of the onrushing ground. She leveled three buildings when she crashed.

Vali streaked in behind the two Leaguers, Mjolnir held forward. He swung, and She caught his arm at the wrist. With Her other hand, She pulled his hammer free and smashed him in the head, burying Mjolnir four inches deep.

Vali fell with a cry.

The Warden watched his descent with a smile before dropping the hammer, letting it slip from Her grasp.

Mjolnir fell to the ground, directly next to Diana's unmoving hand, briefly standing on end before tipping over and falling.

Kal watched as those he loved fought and died against the Warden. Diana was down, but Kal knew she lived. He could hear her heartbeat, firm and strong despite the damage done to her.

He clutched at the right side of his chest. The Warden had broken half his ribs. Other than his fight with Doomsday, he'd never taken such punishment. And even against the Kryptonian monster, Kal had at least given as much as he'd taken.

With the Warden, he might as well have been punching air for all the damage he'd done.

His heart clenched as the Warden deflected one of Zeus' thunderbolts straight into Atom.

"Get clear!" Atom shouted, taking off straight up. His suit was punctured.

All the others took off in every direction, but Ishtar was too slow. She was caught up in the blast. Kal saw her body take on the appearance of an x-ray, bones visible, before her body burned to ashes.

Kal waited a moment, needing the time to heal a little more. He urged the others to wait on him, but they didn't.

Brave fools.

* * *

Aristomache had managed to make her way out of the blasted and ruined palace that had once been home to her gods. She escaped with John, who was quiet now as he seemed to study her face.

Artemis was dead. That single thought almost brought a sob to Aristomache's throat, but she held in the pain. She could cry later.

Right now, she needed to escape this heavenly city that was a deathtrap. She had promised Shayera to care for her son, and truthfully, even if she hadn't, she would have done it anyway.

She had been raised to distrust all men; to fear them, in fact.

John was different, though. He was just a baby, but it wasn't just that. Aristomache sensed there was some higher purpose to the little one's life. He was destined for something. She didn't know what it was, but an idea had lodged in her brain. She felt that he had been touched by something holy.

It was a presence she hadn't felt even when standing before the assembled gods of Olympus.

Whatever had touched John was greater.

Perhaps he would play a role in stopping the she-demon that was destroying all who she had though could not be destroyed.

She glanced skyward and quickly looked away. The light, brighter than the sun from the death of the one called Atom had dissipated, but the sky still carried an odd look to it. It almost looked burnt.

Aristomache stumbled. It was an arm.

Many of Olympus had already been killed. Very few walked the streets. Many lay trapped in collapsed buildings or crushed under wreckage and rubble. Some had made it into the streets only to be killed by the blowback from Atom's death.

It had been dumb luck that had saved Aristomache and John…or maybe providence. She had just been about to step out of the window of his room when she had glanced down at him. He had blinked. It looked for all the world like he had been telling her to duck.

So, she did, and the explosion from Atom's death didn't harm her, shielded as she was by John's crib and the crumbled buildings pressed up near the window.

She came upon a hollowed out area of Olympus. Here, most of the buildings were flattened. She came upon a form in the ruins, wearing an armored skirt of blue with stars.

Diana!

Aristomache rushed forward upon seeing Diana's hand move. She knelt next to the Princess, careful not to jostle John.

Diana's eyes were open. Aristomache gasped. Instead of Diana's proud and legendary beauty, her face was ruined. On one side, it looked almost cave in, with her eye swollen shut and blue. Her jaw hung wrong as well. She looked to be reaching for something.

Aristomache glanced and saw the hammer, Mjolnir, just out of Diana's reach. The younger Amazon reached for the hammer, but try as she might, she couldn't lift it. Aristomache shrugged. If the mountain will not come to Muhammed…

Aristomache lifted Diana's hand and placed it upon the handle of Mjolnir.

Diana smiled, feeling the magic of the hammer soothe her pain. "Thank you," she said to Aristomache, only now noticing the small bundle the other Amazon was carrying. John. "Flee with him," Diana instructed. "Keep him safe."

Aristomache nodded and rose to her knees. She fled without a backward glance.

* * *

Diana healed slowly. A lung was punctured and it felt like half the bones of her face were broken. She knew she had at least two, maybe three, skull fractures. She watched the battle as it still raged on overhead.

Strangely, her hearing was better than she could ever recall. She heard her friends and allies as they yelled and screamed, exhorting one another. She could even see them as clear as if they stood across though street even though they should have been tiny and faint with distance. She saw the fear and anger and desperation etched on their faces.

Within her mind, she urged them on, all the while knowing it was hopeless.

It was then that she remembered Kal's prayer, the one he taught her from the night before. She also remembered her strange dream. Diana of Themiscyra, for the first time in two millennia, prayed to the true Lady.

Om.

"Lay into the bitch, Lantern…" Wally and Silva arrived at the Warden simultaneously. They died simultaneously. Lantern had slid a green dagger into her flesh. The Warden had simply smiled and caught him by the wrist, cutting off his hand with his own knife. Lantern managed to slip free but lost control of his flight. While Wally tried to save Silva, the Warden caught them both within a razored wind, cutting their bodies into bloody hunks of flesh.

Om.

Diana wept for their loss. Tears slid down her face. So many would die. So many had already died.

Bhur bhuvah svaha.

_(Divine Mother_

_Giver of life, remover of pain and suffering, and bestower of happiness)_

Aphrodite, so ill-equipped for battle came forward, the sword held awkwardly in her hands. She died, decapitated by her own sword.

More tears. Aphrodite should never have had to fight.

Horus and Apollo were the next to try Her. Apollo still struggled with his previous injury, clutching his side.

"Fly with my brother," Horus urged. "Let our last moments be of brave glory."

The Warden blocked their swords. She blocked Horus' blade, and She spun. Apollo stood no chance. Her hand like a dagger, sliced into his neck, nearly decapitating him. He gasped his last breath and plunged to the ground far below. Horus hacked Her neck, but She reached out, impossibly fast and strong and held him briefly by the neck. He spat at Her, straight in Her eyes. She crushed his throat, almost carelessly.

Tat savitur varenyam

_(You who created the universe, I come to you)_

"For Shayera!"

Bruce shouted, smashing Hawkgirl's mace across the back of the Warden's head. He ducked, but was too slow. Her knifelike talons ripped his chest open, past the bone and into the heart.

Zeus attacked with all that he had. "Though I die, know that I die without fear," he shouted.

It was not enough.

She absorbed his lightning and gave him chase when he broke away. She grabbed him, a horsecollar tackle, bringing into her clutches. She snapped his back across her knee and held him by the nape of his neck. "See your works and worlds fall into rubble and ruin," She gloated. "It will be even less, unmemorable, when I am done." She snapped his neck.

Bhargo devasya dhimahi.

_(Forgiver of sins, the light of all life, let Your love come to me)_

Kal was moving slow. He had taken some punishing blows from her. He was the last of them.

Diana sent all of her strength and love to him.

Kal flew, straight and unerring. "I love you, Diana," he whispered, not knowing she could hear him.

"I love you, too," Diana said back. She watched her husband fight his last battle. He would be dead soon.

He circled the Warden and glanced down at Diana. He nodded, winking and smiling.

"I will always love you," Diana whispered. Tears streamed down her face.

"And I you."

The time for words was ended.

Kal-El used every tool in his arsenal: his heat vision, his speed, his strength, his invulnerability. He used every trick he knew, every skill he had learned. He hit the Warden hard enough to have levelled Mt. Everest.

It wasn't enough. Not nearly so.

One pass, he came too close, and She clawed at him, shredding his armor, Her nails caught and pulled him closer.

She leered at him, and he closed his eyes.

"Blessed be His name, now and forever," he whispered.

She ripped out his heart.

It was over.

Diana screamed in heartbroken pain. She sobbed in anguish.

The Warden landed next to her. Diana glanced up and saw no pity and no remorse. So be it. The League died with her then.

dhiyo yo nah prachodayat.

_(And guide my soul on the path of light)_

Diana finished the Gayatri Mantra, the one prayer she knew might rise to the Lady, the one true God. She whispered one last sentiment before the Warden could kill her. "Into your loving hands do I commend my spirit, my Lord."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Diana closed her eyes. She saw a distant light, warm and inviting and loving coming nearer. Eventually, the light resolved into the form of a lion, glorious and powerful and larger than any she had ever seen. The lion paced closer and looked her in the eyes the entire while.

Diana was held spellbound.

"Child of truth, your time upon the Earth is not yet done," the lion spoke, his voice deep and rich.

"Who are you?" Diana managed to ask, befuddled and confused, by the peace emanating from the lion. Hadn't she just been about to die? Why did the battle with Warden seem so unimportant now?

The lion smiled, a quirking upward of his mouth. "Look within your heart; in that still place at the center, where your love is deepest, there you will find Me."

Diana nodded her head, understanding who she saw. "Yes, Lord."

"I will send to you an Avatar; one who you know."

"The Warden has killed me, Lord," Diana explained. "How shall I return?"

The lion growled. "She has not killed you yet," he said. "I will not allow it. Her fallen state has rendered Her capable of much evil, but it is not irreparable." He smiled again. "Go now, and know that I love you, and with you, I am well-pleased."

The lion didn't move, but Diana felt herself thrust away. She wanted to cry. With every passing second, the lion grew more and more distant; His light and love becoming more indistinct.

Almost bereft by the loss of His warmth and love, Diana nearly sobbed, but His words came to her. "I am never lost to you, child," he said. "Look within yourself, and you will find Me."

Diana calmed herself and looked within as the lion had directed. She smiled. The love of the lion was there, warm and joyous.

With a snap, she was back in her body, gazing up at the Warden, whose face had taken on a furious cast.

"You called Him," She shrieked. "No. You can't have. You lack the faith," She raged.

The air shimmered, and standing before the Warden was a familiar figure. He glowed ethereally, green and washed away of all impurities. Washed away of all sins. He turned to look at Diana, a smile on his face. "Hello, Princess," Hal Jordan said.

Diana smiled. "Hello, Hal," she replied.

He bent to her side, ignoring the Warden. "Let me help you there," he said, placing a hand on Diana's forehead.

A warmth spread outward from his hand, touching ever fiber of her being, healing her. She took a deep breath, one without pain as her lung re-inflated. The broken bones of her face shifted and her features were restored. New teeth to replace those knocked out grew in the space of a blink.

She stood, without pain or fear. "Hal? How is this possible?" Diana asked, astonished and awed. "You died. Who are you?" She wanted to pull Hal into a hug but confusion and reticence held her back.

Hal smiled. "You will learn all you need to momentarily," he said as he turned to look upon the Warden. She faced them with a look of anguish and hatred. "Hello, Lilith. Your Father sends His love. As always, He calls you back to your true purpose. Will you oppose His will in this world?"

The Warden glared murder. "You have the upper hand, Avatar of the Lord," She spat. "I will not oppose you. It is fruitless."

"Finally, you show wisdom," Hal said, with a slight smile.

Lilith stood silent, shaking in Her anger. "Smile at my humbling, Avatar, but does not your writ not require that you heal and restore all who ask it of you? What of me, then?" the Warden hissed. "Do you not have a means to heal my flaws?"

Hal smiled sadly. "Healing has always been available to you, Lilith," he said. "All you need do is ask forgiveness and return to the service of He who made us."

The Warden sneered. "Lucius had an answer for that," She said.

"Yes he did," Hal replied. "And it has brought Him little joy, I think."

"But it has brought Him satisfaction."

"So He proclaims to all who will listen," Hal said. After a pause, he added, "He deceives himself. Since His fall, always was He known as the Liar, but it is to Himself that He lies the most." Lilith didn't answer. She crossed her arms and stared defiance. Hal frowned in sorrow. "Then you will have to return to that from which you came. You will be trapped once more in Rikta."

She smirked. "But now I know there is a way to escape."

"That particular key will only avail you but this once," Hal warned.

The Warden stared at Hal, a flat and angry look on Her face. "So be it," she replied. "Be done with it then."

Hal nodded. "Before I do so, let me ask you a question: is Rikta so much more beautiful than Heaven?"

The Warden grimaced. "You know it is not," she said. "But better to be banished there than to see the meatsuits cavorting within our Father's abode."

"Are we so grotesque to you then?" asked Hal.

"It is the reason why I rebelled," the Warden answered as though speaking to a simpleton.

"Look, then, upon my true form and ponder thy folly," Hal said, his voice strong and resonant. He had never spoken with such power. He shimmered and began to glow more brightly, too bright to look upon.

Diana shielded her eyes from his shining form. He was like the sun at noon: too bright to look upon, but with the burning beauty of the ages.

The Warden screamed. The Avatar's brilliance was blinding. He was pure soul, more glorious than even Lucius at His finest. She collapsed on the ground, lost and lorn.

Hal knelt next to Lilith. "You could never see the beauty of this world. It is here, within this place, that our Father has placed the soul. It is a work of art. Return to His service."

She shook Her head, 'no'. "Why couldn't He have made us, the angels, as beautiful?" She asked, sounding for all the world to Diana like a lost child.

There is a greater purpose than you or any of us know of His design," Hal said. "If you return to Heaven, perhaps you can ask it of Him."

Lilith considered his words. She was the second angel born in Heaven, and the first demon as well; the first angel corrupted by Her brother. She had lived too long, nurturing Her anger and hatred. Letting it go was not as easy so the Avatar suggested. Seeing the Avatar's beauty reignited Her fury at Her betrayal. She reached for Her simmering anger, feeding it until it boiled within Her. Her father had broken faith with all of them. It should be the angels who glowed like Heaven's glory, not the souls trapped in meatsuits. Lucius had been right to rebel. She stood and sneered. "Know this Avatar of the Lord, I would rather rot and be emptied of all then to serve again, knowing that the beauty of the soul was denied to us, His first creations.

"Would you like to be a soul?"

It was such a simple question, innocuous even, but it rocked Lilith to her core. She moved away from the Avatar, disconcerted by His question. Was such a thing possible? It had to be if the Avatar was proposing such. She longed to say yes; She longed to be restored to Her former state, and perhaps to one even more elevated, but She couldn't. The hate and anger had carved deep channels in Her heart. The most She could summon was a parrying question. "You know His plan then?"

Hal shrugged. "Only the Lord understands His will. We have faith in His grace."

"What of Lucius?"

"The same offer was made to Him."

Lilith's anger ebbed but did not entirely flow away. "I will think on it," She said finally.

"As you wish." Hal signed the cross on Her forehead.

A grey and white-streaked cloud of soot ejected from the body of Tezcatlipoca. It spiraled out of every one of his orifices, gathering together above the Aztec's body. It spun, faster and faster, dwindling as it did so; evaporating and disappearing into nothingness.

When it was gone entirely, Tezcatlipoca fell to the ground and wept.

Diana had an idea as to whom Hal represented, but still seeing him, hale and well, it was unnerving. With a sorrowful cry – one she held back from turning into a sob – she imagined Shayera's reaction to seeing Hal so. It would never happen. Hawkgirl was dead.

Diana turned to Tezcatlipoca, the one who was responsible for so much of her pain and misery. Because of him, so many of those she loved were dead. Because of the Aztec, Kal-El, the man she had thought to spend her life with was dead. Kal had been the best of them, and now he lay dead, his body ruined. All of these loved ones…gone from her life entirely. All because of the arrogance and burning ambition of this so-called god. Her anger grew. She wanted to tear his head off.

Hal stood between Diana and her prey. She made to move around the Lantern.

"I am no longer the Lantern, Diana," Hal said.

Diana startled. She hadn't spoken.

Hal smiled. "In this time and place, I am the Avatar of the Lord. I have a few more gifts than before," he said, tapping the side of his head. "I know of the loss you suffered," Hal said. "Please try and set your anger aside. All is not as it appears."

Diana pulled rein on her temper and stepped back. She wasn't entirely successful. Her hands still hung in rigid fists at her side.

Hal turned to the sobbing Aztec. He knelt by Tezcatlipoca's side. "You're prayers were heard, brother. Understand that He still loves you," he said. "Will you in turn listen to His voice?"

Tezcatlipoca wiped at his face. "I don't know," he said after a pregnant pause. "I can't think right now. The pain She put me through…"

_His_ pain. Diana's anger flared once more, white-hot and blazing. Zeus' nuts! She would teach this goat of pain.

Hal stood and touched her shoulder. "Let it slide away," he pleaded. "It was his voice that you heard in your dream; the one that told you to pray."

Diana looked Hal in the face. Even if it had been Tezcatlipoca's warning that had saved her, it didn't absolve the Aztec of everything else he had done. What he had done to Kal and all the others she loved. Diana wasn't ready to forgive. She didn't want to let the anger go. She wanted to beat the life from the Aztec. Then she wanted to do it again. And again. And again. And again until she couldn't lift her arms. And once her arms were rested, she wanted to begin on it once more.

Tezcatlipoca watched the being in green, the one who glowed with all that was holy confront the Amazon. He was once called Hal Jordan, friend to the Amazon. Now, he was the Avatar of the Lord. It was he, the Avatar, who stood between Tezcatlipoca and a painful death at the hands of Diana of Themiscyra.

Tezcatlipoca had long since grown inured to pain. The Warden had been very inventive in her nightmare worlds. In every one, he had suffered in ways he had never even believed could be inflicted on another. Death, though…now _that _held real fear for the Aztec. His soul? What would happen to it? What if the death meant returning to the clutches of the Warden? Or Her brother, Lucius? What if it meant the absence of grace. Of the Lord?

He would do anything to prevent any of those possibilities.

"What do I need to do?" Tezcatlipoca asked, his voice strangely dignified.

Hal glanced at him with a smile. "Set aside your immortality and power. Search you soul. Find true humility. Find the meaning of service as it applies to you. Ask forgiveness of the Lord for the sins you know and the ones you don't."

Tezcatlipoca stared into the eyes of holiness. Could he do all that the Avatar demanded? He didn't know, but he would do his best. "As the Lord wills," he said with a bow.

"Go then," Hal said. "And sin no more."

Tezcatlipoca bowed. "His will be done," he said. From his form, a shimmering curtain of yellow light streamed from his mouth and eyes, disappearing into the air around him. When it was ended, Tezcatlipoca seemed smaller and shrunken.

Diana realized the Aztec was no longer a god. He was so very normal looking now. No longer immortal. He was simply a man.

"Could you send me to Chiapas," Tezcatlipoca asked Hal in a hesitant voice.

Hal smiled gently. "Of course, brother," he said. A small gesture, and Tezcatlipoca was gone.

Hal stared at where the Aztec had been standing before shaking his head and turning to Diana.

"What happens now?" Diana asked. The full enormity of all that had occurred was starting to sink in. The Warden had been defeated, whoever She was. She had been an angel – that much was obvious – but one who had rebelled against God. Her brother Lucius must have been Lucifer. Hal had named Her Lilith. Diana dimly recalled stories of that one, but couldn't remember much other than the most vague recollections. So, yes, they had defeated Her, but at such a hideous cost. Pyrrhic didn't come close to describing her losses.

Hal smiled at her question. "The Lord has allowed me to perform a miracle," he said. "Witness His glory." He opened his arms wide, as though to encompass the ruined city of Olympus. "They will choose."

Diana stared. The air warped for an endless second around Hal, raising the dust of the ruined city.

She blinked.

The city was made whole. Citizens walked her streets; people who had once been trapped and dead under the rubble of the battle. People who were dazed. Most looked to be in tears.

Kal-El flew above the restored city, aching from his loss. The memory of Heaven was, thankfully, already fading from his memory. It would have been too painful to see the world as it was with the memory of what awaited him on the other side always taunting him.

He landed next to Diana. With a glad cry, she rushed to him and threw her arms around him. He pulled her into his embrace, burying his face in the deep glory of her lustrous, dark hair.

Diana cried. "I saw you die," she said, holding his face and not wanting to ever let him go. She touched him, held him, terrified that this was another nightmare, that it wasn't real.

"I'm real," Kal said, somehow understanding her unspoken thoughts. "I won't fade away."

"But how?" Diana cried.

Hal smiled. "By the power of He who made us," he said. "He did tell me I was allowed to perform a miracle in His name," he added with a shrug.

Diana turned to Kal. "Do you remember what it was like?" she asked, not wanting to add the words 'when you were dead'.

Kal smiled sadly and shook his head. "The Lord wouldn't be so cruel as to have me carry such a painful loss," he said with a sigh. "I know where I was, but the memory of it is gone; the only memory that I've ever had that I can safely forget."

"So, you can't remember anything about it?"

Kal closed his eyes, trying to recapture even a brief portion of what he had experienced. "It was peace, Diana," he said at last. "But, I didn't want to stay. I couldn't; not when I was offered a chance to return to you. My work here is not yet done."

"You gave up Heaven for me?" Diana asked in wonder, cupping his face. Tears leaked from her eyes. Why had she been so blessed to have earned such love and devotion? "I love you, Kal-El," she whispered, pulling him to her, kissing him softly.

Kal held her, as tightly as though her life might slip through his fingers and somehow as gently as though she were a fragile dove. He held her life and love and heart in his hands, just as she held his.

"The others, those who so chose, will be here soon as well," Hal said, interrupting their embrace.

Kal smiled and stepped away from Diana. "You're looking remarkably well for a dead man," he said, hugging the one-time Lantern.

"Becoming an Avatar does that for you," Hal said with a grin. "I think everyone will want to try in one day." At Kal's quizzical look, he explained what had happened.

"Diana! Clark!" It was Wally. He blurred and stood before them an instant later, laughing as they hugged. Soon, the others arrived. First, Lantern, followed by Zatana. Then Bruce and Dinah. Next, J'onn. Finally, Shayera.

They embraced.

In a day of horrors and death, this was a moment of light and life.

"Where's Steel and Atom," Wally asked, looking around.

Hal had hung in the back, allowing his friends to reacquaint with one another. Now, he stepped forward. "They chose to remain in Heaven," he said.

Shayera glanced his way. She almost fell back in surprise. Realizing he wasn't a figment of her imagination, she walked to him, uncertainty in her every step. Slowly, she stepped forward and into his embrace, crying softly. "Why did you have to leave?" she asked.

"It was my time, Shay," he said softly. "Even now, I cannot stay."

"Why?" Shayera demanded. "He brought all of us back. Why not you?"

"The miracle was for the sake of the Daughter of the Lord," Hal replied. "It was not meant for me."

"I don't want you dead," Shayera said, holding back a sob.

"I'm not," Hal said. "Has your own death not taught you the truth of what comes after?"

She nodded, not trusting herself with words. She'd mocked gods and the idea of God her entire life. She'd hated the idea of an eternal being lording over Creation, demanding prayers and worship. She found the idea of such a being utterly distasteful. Kal had always muttered and nattered about the Lord only wanting to offer love and service. She'd never believed him, but he'd been right all along. It was humbling.

Dipping down from the clouds came Horus, Aphrodite, Apollo, Ishtar, Vali, and Athena. They settled to the ground and bowed deeply before Hal, remaining silent as they each tried to make sense of their miraculous recovery.

"Where are the rest of the gods?" J'onn asked.

"With the Lord," Hal replied. "Like Atom and Steel, they chose to remain in Heaven." The Avatar stepped back from Shayera. He looked around. "There is another who I wish to see," he said.

From around a corner, peeked Aristomache and Artemis. Hal gestured, and they walked to the assembled League and the glowing green Avatar.

With a glad cry, Shayera rushed forward and gathered John in her arms. Bruce was but a pace behind her.

Aristomache stood before Hal, looking like a penitent traveller. "May I know the name of the god who brought Artemis back to life?" she asked, staring at the ground.

Hal frowned. "I am not a god," he said, looking perturbed.

Aristomache bowed low. "Forgive me, Lord," she said.

Artemis poked her hard. "He isn't that either," she said. "He is connected to the one true God, but he is not a god or Lord in his own right."

"How can you be so sure?" Aristomache blurted, glancing at Artemis.

"I was dead," Artemis reminded her, poking her once more in the ribs. "The dead know these kind of truths."

Aristomache smiled.

"May I see my son?" Hal asked as Shayera and Bruce approached. His voice held an endless depth of longing.

Aristomache glanced at his face and gasped. "It is _you!_" she exclaimed. "I saw you die."

Hal grinned. "I did die," he replied. He explained all that had happened following the battle, including his role in their resuscitations. When he finished, he turned to Shayera. "May I?" he asked, taking little John Jordan and cradling him. He stared into John's emerald green eyes. "He is beautiful," he said, glancing up at Shayera and Bruce. "Thank you, Bruce, for being such a loving father to him." A single tear leaked out. He looked back at his son. "How I wish I could have been there for you, little one," he whispered.

"It's been my pleasure," Bruce replied, glad to see Hal, even in this state, but also troubled.

Hal gestured to him. "Walk with me a little ways, brother," he said. He handed John back to Shayera. When the two of them were out of earshot, Hal turned to Bruce. "She loves you," Hal whispered.

"But you will always be her true love," Bruce replied.

"Don't let jealousy for what may not be true eat what you've made for yourself," Hal warned. "Loving and being loved isn't a competition or war. It is generosity and gratitude. Remember that."

Bruce nodded and smiled. "Who am I to argue with an Avatar of the Lord?"

Hal laughed. "Finally, you allow another to help guide you," he said. "Life is so full of irony. Who would have thought that transforming into a parademon would be the catalyst for your becoming human? It is good to see you smile."

"It's good to smile," Bruce said, pulling Hal into an embrace. "It is _good _to see you, Jordan."

They rejoined the others.

Hal embraced all of them. "Green looks good on you," he said to Silva.

Silva grinned. "Not as good as it did on you. Does on you," he amended.

"What of us?" Apollo asked, gesturing to his fellow gods and goddesses.

Hal looked to his son. "His voice shall call you from the desert. Choose then your immortality or Heaven."

It wasn't much of an answer, Diana thought. She felt the flick of Hal's glance.

"And serve She who comes after," Hal said. He bent and kissed John on the head. "Love you always, John," he said. One final embrace and he was gone.

To Diana, the world was quieter and yet somehow also louder with Hal's passing. It was definitely duller and sadder as well. She held back the tears and shook off her morose thoughts as Kal hugged her once more.

"Let's go home," he urged.

* * *

Diana found breakfast unsettling. She and Kal were visiting his family in Smallville. She'd hoped it wouldn't happen in front of Mr. and Mrs. Kent, but for whatever reason, she'd found that just about every morning for the past month, she'd get nauseated. Most days, she vomited as well. This morning had, unfortunately been no different.

She'd never been sick before, so she wasn't sure what to think of what was going on now. Perhaps it had something to do with nearly dying and being in the Hal's presence. If that was the case, why wasn't Kal sick as well? Or any of the other League members.

She stood in the bathroom, taking deep breaths and trying to induce her stomach to good behavior. _In and out. That's right. Keep breakfast down_, she silently told herself.

Whatever was going on, it was very unsettling. Not to mention disgusting.

Oh no! She rushed to the toilet and bent, heaving her scrambled eggs and toast. Finally, the vomiting ended, and with a groan, she stood and rinsed out her mouth. She brushed her teeth as well and wiped at her mouth.

This had to stop. Enough. Perhaps she should make a trip to Themiscyra and consult with Epione, chief healer of the Amazons.

Kal walked into the bathroom, checking up on Diana. He opened his mouth to ask how she was doing, when he heard something he'd never expected to hear. He rocked back in shock. "Diana is there something you need to tell me?" he asked.

Diana glared at him, somehow transferring her anger at her nauseated state to his unchanged vigor and health. "No, other than the fact that I watched the lovely breakfast your mother made come back up the wrong way."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, not looking sorry at all. "Are you sure there isn't anything else you want to tell me?"

She shook her head. "No. I just told you that." Ill-health was making her grouchy. How did normal humans put up this? Getting sick all the time for all sorts of reasons. It was intolerable.

There are five heartbeats in this house," Kal said in a conversation tone as he leaned against the doorway.

"Who's visiting?" Diana asked in an irritated growl. She was in no mood for any of Kal's cryptic clues. She grimaced. She would have to have sharp words with Bruce. He was becoming an entirely unacceptably bad influence on her husband.

"No one," Kal replied, looking entirely too cheerful. "Not for another seven months or so," he said, grinning.

Diana swore softly. "Kal, make sense. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I hear three heartbeats in this bathroom."

Diana looked at him confused and irritated. "Kal, there's just the two of us in here. Are you saying some invisible gnome is standing with…" She trailed off. Why was he staring so intently at her abdomen? She glanced down, frowning momentarily before sudden realization hit her. She snapped her gaze to his face. "It can't be. Am I?"

He grinned and nodded.

With a glad shout, she threw herself in his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.

"I think it's a girl," Kal said.


End file.

DC Elseworlds, Romance, Supernatural