JLU 2001 Fanfiction

“They’re coming back.”

Alan Scott, Sentinel, the first and original Green Lantern of Earth glanced skyward out of habit, almost blushing as he remembered that there was no sky. Above there was only the cool gray of metal tile and the soft glow of florescent lighting that pulsed almost ominously throughout the vast hall of the JLA Meeting Room: The Hall of Justice!

The original Green Lantern held his hand up before him clenching a fist as he focused his will power on the glowing green ring adorning his finger, almost squinting his eyes, his gaze following the thin strand of pulsating verdant energy that arched up and away, vanishing in mid air. He felt his long cape flutter about his legs as the internal air of the Watchtower kicked in circulating the oxygen and keeping back the frigid chill of the near non-existent vacuum of space threatening just beyond the thick walls of the lunar base. He cocked his head slightly, listening for any word, any sound of his younger counterpart that was supposedly tied to the other end of the slender green lifeline. He had to admit that he had been getting worried- more worried he mentally corrected. It had been hours…

Hours since the Justice League of America had gathered in almost full force here in their Hall of Justice; some of the greatest, most powerful beings on the face of the planet. Wonder Woman, the daughter of Hippolyta the original amazon to bear that title who was a member of the JSA. The Atom, the Mighty Mite who inherited that name from another member of the Society, Al Pratt. Aquaman, Monarch of the Seven Seas and King of fabled Atlantis. Firestorm the Nuclear Man, potentially the most powerful of them all. The Red Tornado, yet another JSA member of old to shift teams, just like Dinah Laurel Lance, daughter of the original Black Canary. Zatanna, who was one of the world’s foremost magicians and in a league with Fate and maybe even the Spectre power-wise. J’onn J’onzz, Manhunter from Mars, Plastic Man, and of course the Dark Knight himself, the Batman. There was the Flash, Wally West, the third to hold the title of Fastest Man Alive, and Kyle Rayner, the Earth’s current Green Lantern, successor in an even longer line of proud heroes. And of course there was one other, perhaps the greatest of them all…

Superman!

It had been to save Superman’s life really that they had gathered here, planning to take the battle to their enemy in the far flung future, the very end of time itself if there really was such a thing. The Batman had surmised that somehow the Time Trapper had replaced the Man of Steel with a doppelganger from some pocket universe he had created and secreted away somehow during the Crisis. There had been some doubt in that, but whether the Batman’s theory was true or false the fact remained that the real Superman was missing, along with his once-media dubbed girlfriend, Lois Lane-Kent. Oddly, the Trapper had also kidnapped two more Kents, Jonathan and Martha, the parents of Superman’s friend Clark Kent who in turn worked at the Daily Planet in Metropolis and was married to Lois. Alan Scott’s mind drifted a moment as he considered that, wondering why the Batman had not made that connection. Or maybe he had…

“Alan!”

The man called Sentinel blinked to hear the voice of his old friend Jay Garrick calling to him. He looked up and around and saw the original Flash still standing alongside Max Mercury, another eld speedster, both of them staring at him in return, waiting. When the Batman had contacted the Justice Society of America- such as it was at the moment- he had asked in his way for the aid of not only Sentinel, but the original Flash and Doctor Fate as well. It had been Scott’s duty and privilege to keep tabs on his fellow members since the last time the Society had ‘retired’ with the deaths of the original Atom, Hourman and Doctor Midnight- God rest their souls. Scott understood the Batman’s plan for the most part, and contacting Jay Garrick had been no problem at all. Luckily Max Mercury had come along for the ride adding to the potential power of the Cosmic Treadmill, that creation of Barry Allen that would transport the members of the JLA into the future via the Speed Force. It would be Sentinel’s job to keep contact with the time bound team by linking his own power ring with that of Kyle Rayner. They all knew however that traveling through time, no matter the gathered might, was no easy task. The Batman had asked for Fate to assist as a buffer against ‘unwarranted contingency’ he had said. A good plan, but of all the Society, Doctor Fate had always been the most mysterious, if not slightly aloof and arrogant.

Back in the day contacting Fate meant a simple trip to Salem, Massachusetts and to Fate’s mystical tower to visit Kent Nelson and his wife Inza. Unfortunately, and like so many others, the title and powers of Fate had changed hands over the years and Scott had actually lost track of the current mage. He did not even know the latest man, though he had heard rumors and seen stories on television of his exploits around the world. He had been contemplating just how best to try to contact the new Doctor Fate when oddly, coincidentally… fatefully Fate appeared. ‘Sensing his need’ he had said. Scott had simply shrugged and nodded, ignoring the cold hollow ring of the man’s voice locked within the Helmet of Nabu. He had been doing this for half a century now, and he was used to it. Almost…

“I felt the ‘tug’, Jay,” Sentinel said trying to focus his power and will, listening for the ‘voice’ of Kyle Rayner coming over the lifeline. The surge in energy meant that- hopefully- the JLA had finished their mission and were on their way back through time. He had to be strong, creating a beacon to guide the current Green Lantern of Earth back again while Fate used his magicks to help buffer their trip. Jay and Max in turn would need to power up their end of the modified Cosmic Treadmill matching their own vibrational patterns to that of Wally West, the current Flash who was powering the other half of the machine. It amazed Alan Scott that the thing had actually worked, that Barry Allen- a college educated police scientist could have conceived and created such a device to actually break through the Time Barrier. It was incredible, and not for the first time Alan Scott wondered if there was more to the Speed Force than any of them suspected. “You and Max better get back into position,” Scott said as he probed the green tendril writhing out of his ring but knew that his words were lost on the two speedsters. They were already a blur on the platform, red and silver merging in a dazzling display of lightning.

Alan Scott gnashed his teeth, gritting as his hand started to shake from the intense strain. The room was getting humid now, the result of Flash and Mercury running at indescribable speeds. They were quickly becoming a glowing glare as lightning flashed and thunder rolled incessantly, growing louder with every heartbeat. Sentinel strained to hold his entire arm steady now as he stared at the verdant line pulsing from his ring. He could feel Kyle far off and away on the other end doing likewise, his own will power almost overwhelming even across the eons-

“Arrgh!”

Alan Scott blinked, sweat running down his face and back as he glanced up at the sudden cry. He saw Fate hovering there, the glowing Ankh that was the symbol of his power, his Order magic pulsating and wavering as a black flame erupted about him. It made Alan’s eyes water to look into the darkling glare, but he had to see, had to watch as Doctor Fate writhed in the grip of… something- just what he did not know. The black flame was like a raging inferno about the mage, the Doctor writhing and screaming as whatever it was enveloped him, his Ankh flickering and darkening as though burned and covered in spots with soot-

“Fate!” Alan Scott yelled, trying to hold his focus. He could feel the queer energy now himself actually seeping into the Green Flame that was the power of his ring. It was as though whatever Fate was encountering was eating away at the magic. “Fate!”

Sentinel watched as Doctor Fate screamed again, his body curling into fetal position, then just as suddenly stretching to its limits, his being conforming to the image of the wavering Ankh- crucified. Alan felt a surge on his lifeline and concentrated again. He would not lose the League over this. No matter what was happening to Fate, he would hold his ground. He would bring his friends home-

Lightning crackled about him as thunder boomed, slamming into him like a physical force, a hammer staggering him back. Scott dropped to one knee his body aching as he barely held his concentration, his arms locked and vibrating from the forces assaulting him. He could barely see in the glare coming from Fate and the treadmill combined, the silvery-red blur of the two speedsters winking in and out of sight, the treadmill itself a liquid blob that seemed about to explode. Scott chanced a quick glance at Fate and saw that the Ankh was cracking, the darkling glow pulsing at whatever resistance he faced, overwhelming him.

Sentinel hissed through clenched teeth as he felt the magic within his power ring suddenly slipping away, siphoning off into the fires blazing about the magician. It seemed impossible, but whatever they had encountered was stronger than the Green Flame and Order magic combined. There was only one thing to do, and though Alan regretted it, he hoped that the JLA on the other end of his lifeline could deal with it-

“Fate!” he shouted, his voice sounding frail and weak in the fury of the magical storm. “Fate! Break off! Break contact!”

Alan Scott’s eyes went wide as he felt a huge surge in power, as though something had taken hold of the lifeline that he shared with Kyle Rayner and was pulling of its own accord. His hand jumped, his ring suddenly blazing as he felt his powers slipping from his grasp, out of his control. He had to do something-

Alan Scott focused, his will expanding to drive the ‘infection’ from his ring. Whatever it was was trying to take over, take control, but he would not let that happen. He stared at Fate, a shadowy silhouette writhing within the burning Ankh, his body convulsing and stretching and in agony. Sentinel sent a surge of power through the ring, a blast of cleansing energy that swelled along the lifeline, growing in intensity-

The room exploded- or seemed to at least. Alan Scott saw the platform of the treadmill rupture and break apart, pieces flying away as the vibrating bodies of Jay Garrick and Max Mercury were hurled off and away. He heard Fate’s scream a final time and saw the mage erupt, engulfed by the black fire, his Ankh shattering in a dazzling burst of sparkling energy. Doctor Fate seemed to waver himself for a moment, his body becoming transparent and immaterial as the fire coursed over him, burning away the raiment’s of his cloak and costume, stripping him bare and leaving a gangly charred body in its wake.

Alan Scott heard Kyle Rayner’s scream as the lifeline flared with the verdant energies of Oa and the Green Flame. He felt the unbridled power surging through time, the Speed Force sucking at the magic of his ring. His hand spasmed, jerked despite his best efforts to hold true and just for a moment he thought he saw the trembling image of the JLA riding the time-tossed Cosmic Treadmill…

And then they were gone!

Alan Scott screamed his denial as the lifeline was severed. Suddenly, abruptly the essence of Kyle Rayner simply ceased to be as though he had been wiped out of existence. His ring surged again and Alan used the sudden flare of power, groping blindly into the Time Stream to find his young friend once more.

There was nothing there. Confusion, a rushing of energies swelling and falling away, memories flooding his very being, things that should never be, had never been. Chaos-

He saw Hal Jordan- Parallax lording over the universe his fingers adorned with the rings of the dozens of Green Lanterns he had slaughtered…

He saw Jordan again dressed in the garb of the Spectre crushing the Earth in his massive fist…

He saw the Martian Manhunter huge and cumbersome standing over the smoldering body of a little girl…

He saw Darkseid laughing as great gouts of fire erupted about him, the Earth a barren and blasted world devoid of life…

He saw a boy dressed in a tee shirt and blue jeans screaming as knives were plunged into his body. There was an owl taking wing…

He saw the JSA dead on the field of battle, Nazis and Japs alike stabbing bayonets into their prone, lifeless bodies…

Alan Scott screamed, power flaring from his ring and the world went away…

Sentinel shook his head trying to focus yet again. His finger burned as he tried to concentrate, to call up the Green Flame. There was nothing there, nothing to answer his call. He looked about the Hall of Justice and saw Jay and Max on their hands and knees, both trying to gather their wits and stand after the explosive force that had rocked the hall. Alan glanced up looking for Fate and gasped at what he saw-

“Hullo, Alan,” the thing said, hovering there above the carnage and wreckage. The treadmill was gone, broken and devastated by whatever force had intruded on their mission. The room itself was blasted and dark covered in soot, wrecked beyond repair. Alan Scott glanced at the shattered remains of his ring; his finger burned to the bone though oddly he felt no pain yet. It would come. He looked to Fate again, a wave of terror rippling through him.

The thing hovering their above them was glowing darkly, its body rippling with that black flame. It was naked; its body dark with charred soot and burned to an almost blackened state. The only thing it wore was the Helmet of Nabu, and that was scorched and twisted with a great dent in the side above the left temple. There was an odd light seeping from the slits where the eyes should have been. Scott swallowed, licking his lips-

“Fate?” he said, his voice cracking and the thing chuckled, the odd body rippling and convulsing as though it were trying to settle and take hold in reality somehow-

“Alan,” Scott heard Jay Garrick’s weak and strained voice as the speedster was suddenly at his side. “What-“ Sentinel waved his friend to silence as Fate laughed-

“Jay,” it said its voice cold and hollow as though seeping from the grave. “So good to see you again. It has been a long time.” The creature that had been Fate twisted, its body turning slightly to look at Max Mercury. “And Max as well. The gang’s all here, eh?”

“Who?” Jay Garrick said as he stared at the gangly creature hovering over them above the center of the room. Alan Scott winced as he felt the initial pain of his scarred and burned hand, his will already trying to recall the shards of the shattered ring under his command. He needed to pull it together. They needed to stop this freak of Fate and save the League and quickly-

“You wound me, Jay,” the Fate said, a dark and inverted Ankh appearing as it- he- wiggled his fingers, growing. “After all that we have been through together, I would have thought you might remember me.” The inverted, blackened Ankh expanded, a dark flame crackling about it as it started to glow. Scott felt his will slipping away.

“Who is that?” Max Mercury asked as he appeared at the side of his two friends. He was limping, blood flowing down his right leg from a wound on his thigh. “It’s not Doctor Fate-“

“No,” Alan Scott whispered, suddenly recognizing the voice he had heard just occasionally over the past five decades. No, it was not Fate- It was-

“Nabu…”

The creature reared its head back and laughed, then just as suddenly raised his hands. The black Ankh expanded until it engulfed them all and Alan Scott felt a cold fire burn through him, blazing through his very soul. He tried his best to rise, to fight the corrupting surge of magic that wracked his body but it was too much. He heard Jay and Max scream, saw their bodies convulsing as magic washed over them like some flood tide slamming them down. Max fell first, then Jay Garrick and Alan Scott felt the magic pummeling him, slamming him down as well, beating him to a pulp.

He tried to rise once more, but it was too much…

Too much…

He heard Fate laughing as the black fire raged over his helpless body, the darkness closing in…

The World's Greatest Superheroes.....

Twist of Fate Chapter one:
RED Square

JLA #25-
February, Year 3
by Curt Fernlund

Active Roster

Dr. Fate Hector Hall	The Flash Jay Gerrick	Max Mercury	Sentinel Alan Scott

Nabu sighed, staring at the three men he had once called friend now lying unconscious, scattered across the floor at his feet. Well, truly they had been Kent Nelson’s friends once upon a time. Nabu had been a Lord of Order then, and above such trivialities as friendship and caring, love. Nelson had been a good host, but he had had his frailties. His humanity had held him back.

Not so this new Fate. The body was solid, the boy’s soul uncorrupted by life and ready to adjust to any whim Nabu might desire. No family ties, no friends. No hope. It had been a simple matter to take control, the child had been so intent on pleasing the elders of the Justice Society, making them proud. He had left himself wide open and vulnerable, ripe for the plucking.

And Nabu had plucked, yes indeed.

But he was weak now. Weak and empty…

The trip through the Time Stream and Speed Force had been devastating even with the Justice League paving the way and taking the brunt of the journey’s turmoil. So nice of the Rayner boy to point the way and the Flash get to provide the energy to pierce that barrier that had held him in the desolate barren future for so long. Still it had been hard. Even with the backing of Chaos itself the traveling had drained him as he had simply tried to hold together and stay alive. But he had survived. He was alive. He was just so tired.

True, the fires of Fate had brought him back, and as an added pleasure the green flame that Alan Scott had been so proud of over the years had made him whole. Even the dribbles and drabs of the Speed Force’s magic that he had sucked away from the two feeble speedsters had been a blessing, but it was not enough. The boy and the green flame had recreated him in his image, but his powers were wane. Chaos was there, but so far away. He needed more if he was to survive and continue. He craved more…

Nabu reached out, his mind flowing free on the tails of magical wind. The essence flowed forth, rolling through the sterile walls of the Watchtower, just in case. He remembered his past- barely a blur, a blink, but he recalled that heroes no matter the Age kept momentos. If there was anything within the confines of the Justice League’s stronghold with the slightest inkling of magical force, he would find it.

“The Moon,” he smirked. “With every incarnation they distance themselves more.”

There were traces of Zatanna’s magicks still lingering in the air, which he took, backwards as it was.

He emptied a many-faceted crystal, dormant for years.

There was a book, the efforts of Faust. Crumbs…

“Eh?”

There was someone, a shadow. He heard the clack of heels, soft footfalls receding into the distance. No magic, but…

Gone.

Empty. The Watchtower was hollow and blind. No doubt in reverence to the Kryptonian. It would not do at all to have any deadly magic lying about to harm the Man of Tomorrow. Nabu sighed. He would have to move on, find sustenance elsewhere.

Earth…
Russian Defense Command
Mission Control Center
Moscow:

Rajas blinked, his gaze quickly sliding over the monitor array as the low, faint rumbling subsided. He could hear the worried raised voices of those others in the Control Center beyond the screen; the wall erected to save their poor psyches from the horror of him. The lights had dimmed, the red of emergency lighting washing throughout the complex. Claxons blared in staccato, a code as to the severity of the emergency. Rajas listened.

“Earthquake?” he said, the long trail of ash falling from his dead cigarette butt and onto his chest. The butt itself hung, stuck to his lower lip by dried saliva, at least until he spat it away to join the dozens of others piling up on the floor at the base of his chair. He ignored it, his eyes shifting from screen to screen trying to determine what had awakened him, what was happening.

He had been dozing, a pause in the training session occurring elsewhere in the complex, farther down. He himself was over a kilometer beneath the streets of Moscow, surrounded by reinforced metal and yards of bedrock in one of the most stable zones on the planet, well away from any tectonic plates. The RDC was perhaps the safest place on the planet, well defended against any disaster be it natural or manmade. There were far too many things that the Russian government, the Federation as well as the KGB- which did not exist- did not want lost in some freak accident-

Like Chernobyl…

Hitler’s brain, Stalin’s true body kept on ice, spoils of so many wars; art and gold, jewelry and artifacts. He had seen them on his monitors, a simple matter of concentration, shifting his gaze and focusing his Meta to infiltrate those things that he was not meant to see, things that others were meant to forget. Buried in the dirt, in the rock, the most massive time capsule ever envisioned, locked away for that day when the Union might rise again.

In the dreams of generals long dead and forgotten.

Rajas shifted his gaze again, his eyes touching each monitor lightly, moving on. All over the complex there was panic. Scientists frantically tried to save and salvage their projects and files. Computers were cycling information in terra bytes, blast doors sealing in terror. Soldiers surged through the halls, buttons sparkling and guns held high. It was snowing on the surface, temperatures plunging as a bitter wind whipped through the Kremlin. Light flared, a black flame raging in the distance-

“Rajas!”

His eyes flickered, scanning the screens until he saw Leonid, Red Star blurring into focus. Rajas could see his eyes wide behind his red goggles, wide with wonder and questions, but no fear.

“Rajas! What is happening? We’re blind here.”

“Cigarette…” Rajas said, leaning forward as a waldo slipped from its compartment in the circuit board before him, a smoldering Marlboro held gingerly between metallic pincers. Rajas let the butt slide between his lips, taking a long, deep drag from the contraband before easing back into the contours of his chair. He fidgeted in the straps that held his numb, dying body fast and upright. He sucked air from the tubes running up into his nostrils, tried to clear his throat as the suction tube in his mouth cleared the excess saliva away. His eyes stung in the wavering clouds of blue smoke as he scanned the monitors, ignoring his field commander’s battery of questions.

The ‘Cube’ had been shut down at the first sign of trouble; all the little robots and holograms that his allies fought alongside his RC Robot Rocket Red vanishing as the base went to Emergency Status ‘Red’. Red Star was bathed in red light. So too oddly was Red Square up above.

Rajas watched as lightning flared. He heard screams as his monitor flickered, then shifted to snow. Another, and a third went black. His eyes flitted about, finally straying to a live feed from a helicopter. His eyes widened…

There was a naked man in a golden helmet spitting black flame from his fingertips. Buildings were falling as he watched, the people running frantically to and fro as was their want. Moscow was in flames! The Earth shook…

“Rajas! Answer me, damn you! What is-“

Someone screamed as the floor in the other room beyond the wall cracked and gave way. Rajas glanced up as a fissure opened in the ceiling. There was a feeling of impending doom overhead, a Sword of Damocles, as though at any moment the tons of bedrock might come crashing down. Black flame oozed from the crack in the ceiling, burning stone and twisting metal and plastic.

“Leonid,” Rajas said taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Comrades, I believe we have a breach…”

***

Fate Descendent…

Snow was falling wet and icy cold, but it was as nothing to one who had just braved the empty void of space. The winds howled, the dark, roiling clouds an annoyance, nothing more. He ignored the storm.

Dropping, swiftly now he saw the lights of the city below. Moscow he thought, he had been there before- ages before with his allies once, his then love. The city had grown since that time as best he could recall. Lights flickered, twinkling on, off, more lights than he might have imagined given his memories. Things had changed over the years here, just as they would over the eons later. Nothing of import of course. The petty squabblings and drives for land and power that spurred the chattel to imagined greatness. Delusions of grandeur they had called it, mankind on the rise.

It meant nothing of course, not in the eternal struggle. Chaos and Order waged endlessly for eternity and beyond the infinite, ignoring the lesser struggles of humanity in all its variants, wherever they might be; Thanagar and Rann, Daxam, Earth. It was all meaningless to the gods, pieces on the cosmic checkerboard, only the occasional king worth mentioning.

Thus was Fate. Knight and King, Lord of Order no more.

He had seen the light, just as he now saw the creations of mankind rising up to greet him in a myriad of sparkling glow. Moscow with its spiraling minarets and vast coliseums, archaic structures and powerful statues reaching for the stars. Clutter, a Chaos of sorts, yet an ordered diversity, which he found ugly, grating. He would remake this all when he was done, but for now…

For now the world was an eye sore, a blight and scar to be healed, eventually wiped away. Mankind’s order was a cracked and twisted version of the pure that he remembered, and had forsaken for the greater, original truth. That which came before, before all and would swallow whatever might remain in the end once again.

He would prepare the way.

Fate saw the soldiers, ants dressed against the frigid cold running frantically, blindly forward amidst their weapons of mass control. New light, glowing, burning wasps buzzing by, splattering on his being, melting and falling back those that came too close to the sun. An explosion and blessed Chaos erupted about him. There was pain and motion, brief blinding light. It was beautiful. They did have potential.

But he was weak and needed sustenance to fulfill the glory and the dream. Chaos was a harsh mistress, bleeding her favored son, always demanding more. Fate would not deny.

He looked out, his hands and arms spread wide as the misguided children aimed their toys at him. He saw their fires burning brightly, their life’s blood boiling as they focused their energies on him. He waved his arms with a smile hidden behind tarnished gold and char. Once he had nurtured them, ages agone and a world away. It warmed what was left of his Host’s heart to see that just a few had listened, his teachings not lost on deaf ears.

He produced the Ankh, black and twisted, broken, the fire of the ages washing over it. He heard the cumulative gasp of awe drifting up as he himself drifted closer, down. He saw the panic in their eyes as their efforts were ignored, dismissed. He could taste the fear, and even recognition in a paltry handful. Good, they would know their deliverer, their savior.

Nabu waved his hands, the simplest of gestures and the world cracked. A gout of fire, black flames spewed from the streets sending the chattel to stampede. Buildings swayed and crumbled as the earth heaved, life fires winking out as the monuments fell. The children dropped their toys and bangles and ran, crying for their lives. Lightning rained down flashing, crashing, and the incessant boom of thunder like a mighty hammer smashing on a drum. The wind wailed, screaming, drowning out the cries of the children. Panic rose like a wave. Chaos, glorious…

He descended the crack, the rift he had caused dropping through the granite of the Earth. Stone shifted, shattering to his brush, his fingers touching lightly in passing. He burst through to the chamber beneath, a vast and glorious hall jammed with the treasures of man’s ingenuity. It was the computer age it seemed, and here in Erebus as in Olympus before man did strive to reach the gods.

Here was authority, Order unbound. He recalled the remnants of the people, Communism, that red plague that once threatened to quell Chaos completely. The room burned with the fiery glow of Hades itself, red and warm, crimson. The shrill cry of an angry metallic beast blared, echoing through the halls and tunnels. The children were all dressed in costume, awash in the red in their white coats and drab uniforms pristine, neat and pretty. There was a look of terror in most, anger and rage in some, and in one determination.

Nabu gestured and that one fried, the fires of Chaos engulfing him. His skeleton crumbled as Fate moved on, casting destiny in passing, one by one. He could feel the call yet beyond and below, that craving within that had brought him here. There was power hidden, sheltered from most but not he. Salivating he faded through the floor…
“He’s coming,” Rajas said, the monitors winking out one by one as the mage passed them by. He left fire and death in his wake, chaos, yet that made no sense. Dimitri’s files, those that he had deigned share before he went rogue had said in beaming praise that Doctor Fate was one of the heroes. Both a member of the JLA, Fate had been a champion of justice from the time of the Great War fighting alongside the Justice Society. He had been a hero. What did he want?

“Who’s coming, Rajas?” Red Star shouted, stepping before the Rocket Red’s main camera. His face was twisted red with rage in the ambient glow of the emergency lighting. His breathing seemed labored with his exertion, a glance at the robot’s internal environmental register showing that the oxygen content in the lower halls were already failing. Fate’s black flames were eating away at the canned air, the smoke choking the exhaust and ventilation. Leonid was of course the only one in danger of suffocation. “We’re blind here!”

He saw Mysta behind, her form sparkling queerly in the dominant light, almost fading in and out of existence. She was beautiful, a being of pure energy kept whole by the shining silver mask she wore. Rajas licked his lips, tried to look away as his attention wandered.

Bjorn was there as well standing tall and arrogant, his body heaving in masculine masochism. His hammer and sickle seemed to churn in his twin grip, both fists grinding on the hafts of each weapon. Was he nervous, or anxious? The man was a fool, conceited in his power yet ignorant and lost, a man of another time. He turned, his long, braided hair blazing, swirling in the garish light.

“Does it truly matter, Comrade?” his gravelly voice rumbled, his steely eyes crackling with fire. “We shall overcome. There are none to stand before our might… now.”

Rajas had to chuckle, his laugh turning into a hacking cough as bile rose in his throat. He clearly remembered the Amazonian Princess, Wonder Woman, beating the glory of Russia easily months ago-

The egg?

Was that what Fate was after?

“Rajas?”

Rajas looked up through teary eyes, the suction tube pulling at the corner of his chapped lips as it slurped away the spittle building in his mouth and throat. He stared at the breasts that seemed to swell in his sight, blinking away and angling his gaze to look into the face of Valentina. The smiling, comforting, beautiful face. She seemed distraught, and just for a moment Rajas had forgotten what had happened.

“Are you well?” she asked, bending closer as she checked the tubes and IVs, the electrodes that were forever connected to his body. He felt her bosom brush his skin, a tingle rushing through his body as her soft fingers tightened the straps that held him upright and in place. She stood back, nodding, a cool smile on her lips, assured that he would live to serve awhile longer.

“Cig… cigarette…” he coughed, straining forward. He could hear the waldo cycling, trying to spring forth and comply but there was something wrong with the mechanism. He coughed again.

He smelled the smoke- menthol –and glanced up to see Valentina lighting two cigarettes, her full red lips curled about the butts as she puffed them to life. She smiled as she waved the match away, casting it to the floor and held a cigarette to Rajas’ parched lips. Like a mother feeding her babe he opened wide and accepted the offering, his mind spinning to taste his addiction, stirring with anticipation…

“Fate,” he whispered and Valentina smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. Why was it so hard to concentrate?

“Fate?” Red Star asked.

“He’s going to the Vault,” Rajas added, “back to the egg…”
Nabu gestured and the thick, metal door melted away. It was rather anti-climatic he supposed, but there was no one near to appreciate his efforts anyway. He drifted forward through the portal and into the wide hallway beyond, washed in red, glowing. He paused, wrong.

There was someone after all…

It appeared a big humanoid to his sight, but oddly it did not seem to actually be there. It was strange, an oddity as though the form were straddling dimensions somehow. It was big, burly looking like the western Metas; the aliens and the Atlantean, the bat. It held power in its grasp as well, crackling with energies from beyond- an appetizer to the craving beyond the far door.

“Stand fast abortion,” it squeaked, baring yellow teeth with a snarl. “Leave this place or suffer my wrath, the wrath of the People!”

“Bjorn!” another shouted, running forward. He was familiar dressed in greens, a huge red star emblazoned on his chest. Starfire? No, Red Star.

“Fall back! We have to face him together!”

The little man had the right of it, hopeless as their cause truly was. Nabu laughed but gave them that much credit. There would be others, but once beyond the door, once fed none would stand before him long.

He saw another familiar face? Armored, gigantic looking red and pink in the blazing light, he remembered this one from Nelson’s final months. Red Rocket? Rocket Red, though this version was a robot, mechanical, a walking box of Order and clockwork precision waiting to be dismantled. Nabu raised a hand, pointing-

“Arrgh!”

Light! Blinding white light pure and clean washed over him, burning him, cleansing. Nabu staggered, the voice of the Host screaming in his mind, pulling on the shackles and chains that held him fast to will. Blinking, Nabu shouted within, his voice echoing in the helm, stilling the shrill cries of the boy. Suffocating him, pushing him back and down. He focused, bliss in the silence, Chaos clamoring about him.

It was a girl, star light burning bright. Her body was pure energy wavering in the red, a silver mask gleaming and shining. There was radiation, the errant fires of creation boiling within her form barely contained by her will. The lightness of her being was unbearable, Order pure and simple, its basest form. Here was the future and the past all rolled into the slim form of a child, blind to the dangers of her own reality, reveling in the very act of this life she bore. Ripe and barren, ready to be plucked. The others would wait, or, even better…
“I hurt him!”

“Pour it on!” Red Star shouted, his own star fire blazing forth uselessly. Mysta was ecstatic, flying recklessly about the hallway as she unleashed her light into the thing that Rajas had called Fate. Red Star remembered Doctor Fate from the Crisis, from a brief confusing time aboard the Monitor’s ship. This… thing might wear Fate’s helmet, but it was definitely not the hero he remembered.

They had to attack the creature together. He could sense it, sense the power radiating off of the dark, gangly form. As always however, Bjorn had his own agenda, his own war plan and would not listen. Rajas was miles away both figuratively and literally, his Rocket Red armor standing almost frozen as the controller did whatever he did from the safety of the Command Center. He had never actually met the man, and had only learned some months ago that the Rocket Red that had been placed in their group- Red Square- was simply a remote controlled robot. It had infuriated him of course, the secrets that had been kept from him. One would think he would have grown used to the betrayal by now.

Red Star grimaced as Mysta lashed out again, the brilliance of her blast setting the room ablaze for a split second, burning his sight. Spots danced in his vision as Fate was staggered again, and now Bjorn was charging forward, his weapons spinning for the assault. Maybe they did have a chance after all-

Bjorn shouted something profound in the old language that Red Star could barely hear let alone understand, but the meaning was clear. Mighty arms arched, muscles bulging as the self-proclaimed Warrior of the People swung his hammer, his sickle slicing across, ready to rip through Fate’s flesh. Fate shifted.

Caught the hammer in mid-swing without the slightest strain or flinch. Caught the sickle by the point, unscathed. Stopped Bjorn’s momentum without effort. The warrior blinked-

“Your strength is in your faith, shade, your power in memories of legends barely remembered. The time of your kind is finished here anachronism. Go, join your brethren…”

Fate closed his fists. The sickle shattered, the hammer crumbled to dust. Bjorn screamed, his mouth gaping, his voice growing hoarse, raw, fading away…

He was gone.

Fate wiped the dust from his hands as he glanced about the room, his gaze finally settling on the girl. Red Star leapt to the fore, his fists hammering uselessly on the monstrosity's flesh. It was like pummeling stone. His gloves ripped and his knuckles bled, but he continued, his muscles screaming in agony as Fate ignored him.

“Join me child,” he said, his voice hollow and cold as he gestured to Mysta. Red Star saw the black glow of the broken Ankh as it shifted, blazing before the girl. Fire erupted, licking out and crackling as she shifted back-

“Red Star!”

Leonid could hear the terror in her voice, beat all the harder, heard his bones shattering in his hands. He ignored the pain. “Rajas! Help us damn you!”

Energy blazed overhead as a high-pitched whine cut through the sound of the emergency claxons. Red Star felt a dampness welling in his ear, from his nose, his teeth grinding, vibrating. Sonics.

Fate gestured, his backhand swatting Red Star away inadvertently, tumbling down the hall to smash into the door. Rocket Red stood poised, his massive arms extended, his hands lost in the glow of his sonic blasters. The armor was shaking with the effort of trying to contain such unbridled, unrestrained energy, sound made solid force, energy to matter almost. The mage did not seem disturbed or impressed in the least.

The black flame issued forth from the inverted Ankh again, whipping licks looking like tendrils as they enveloped the Rocket Red armor. Crackling in his blood-clotted ear Red Star could barely hear Rajas screaming to be disconnected from his machines, sensing what was going to happen. Red Star saw it coming as well and only just raised his arm, the energy shield that High Command had bestowed upon him swelling to life.

Rocket Red exploded in a shower of electrical sparks and rending metal, parts flying like hail, battering the hall. The energies that powered the suit went wild and Red Star was pushed back into the thick door of the vault by the force of the explosion, the uncontained power unleashed. Something ripped through his leg and he screamed.

Red Star squinted through the tears, staring at his leg bloody and numb. The shield had overloaded, shorted and he desperately tugged at the containment glove, feeling the burn. He was deaf, even the claxons just a muted whine in the back of his ear. His head was pounding and he tasted bitter iron in his mouth where his jagged teeth had ripped into his tongue and cheek. He was shattered, but for all his agony the Rocket Red was worse. Like the Scarecrow of Oz he lay scattered about the hall, the wreckage of the armor barely recognizable, strewn about in chaotic harmony with Fate reveling in the midst of it all.

He pointed at Red Star with one hand, the other raised high and out. Leonid saw Mysta trapped within the image of the Ankh, her own glowing white fading to gray, darkening as the black flame ate away at her beautiful perfection. Corrupting her, charring her body and soul, beating on the translucent walls of her magical prison. Red Star watched helplessly as the black crept down her legs, oozing across her body, smothering her. Snuffing her glow like a candle, burnt and spent. It took some time and Fate, either satisfied or bored stepped forward.
Nabu stared at the little broken man at his feet. He had forgotten just how heroic these children could be in this age, his own was so despondent and hopeless. It was the age of the Superman after all, and even in the dawning he recalled the grandeur of Khufu and Teth-Adam. He recalled the glory of those days gone by, the Order of his then life, the dreams they had shared. He remembered home.

He waited until the girl ceased her struggles. She was strong, that one, her power great and her will as pure and vibrant as the light of her being. He was stronger however. In this day and age Chaos reigned. It was a simple matter of replenishing his strength, all there for the taking. The craving beyond the door-

Nabu blinked to feel the man’s fist wrap about his ankle, still struggling to the last. Brave indeed, a true hero. A fool.

Blood drooled from the man’s mouth. His leg spat blood as well and lay beneath him in a twisted angle. His left arm smoldered, the skin burned away. There was a fire in his eyes though that gave Nabu pause.

“You will live,” Nabu said, his fingers wriggling and causing the little hero to writhe, his bones shattering in joyous cacophony. He loosed his grip, spitting blood as he spasmed, curling against the agony, seeking the comfort of the womb no doubt, somewhere in the back of his little monkey mind. Nabu kicked him aside and contemplated the door before him.

He raised his hand and pointed, his finger pressing to the cool metal. He pushed, black sparks flying from his fingertip and watched amused as the door buckled and tipped. It smashed down with a resounding clang within the room beyond.

Lights flickered as Nabu stepped inside, scanning the red-hued Vault. There were things here, stolen treasures of history though most were of some human sentimental value more than artifacts of power. A sword, a lock of hair, a fetus embalmed in a jar, a child’s sled- all meaningless to him. There was a starship of sorts suspended from the ceiling, or what was left of it at any rate. It had been largely dismantled, the inner workings gutted, most of the outer plating removed for study and reproduction no doubt. It was egg-shaped, cracked and useless, smelling of horror and brimstone untold.

And there was the spear.

Nabu hefted the thing, looking it over. It was a simple tool really, a wooden shaft with an iron head that was bent and chipped. There was the slightest trace of blood crusting on the tip however and therein lay the power. This was what he craved, he could taste it, hear it, its siren-call reaching the moon itself.

“The Spear of Destiny,” the girl’s voice wavered at his side, cold and dark. Nabu looked to her, his body responding to the newfound beauty of her being. The pure white had turned black, the silver mask charred and tarnished as his own golden helm. Chaos raged in her body and soul. She was hers, the first of his servants. There would be others before he was through.

“Yes…” he hissed and the black flame erupted from his fists. He felt the energies of the spear that had pierced the Christ rage in his grip, the Order of the Silver City writhing, the blood of the savior sizzling as the spear burned. He felt the magic, the slice of every soul corrupted by the archaic weapon; the Roman soldier, the messiah, Hitler and the JSA. He felt himself- Nelson. He felt…

Nothing.

It was over. So soon. Nabu stared at the spear in his hand, drained and worthless, useless. A pointed stick. He cast it aside.

Nabu turned to the girl. “Time to go, child.”

Mysta looked to her savior, then glanced at Red Star shattered and broken, edging into the room an inch at a time, still struggling on. It was done.

“Yes. Time to go…”
Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok stared at the pathetic creature before her. She watched, waiting for any sign, not of life but of cognizance. She knew he could not die, his mind and Meta would not let him. There was the chance that his mind might desert him however, thus leaving him useless to the High Command, and her.

She glanced about the chamber. Chaos reigned in the Command Center but the military was bringing everything under control, slow but sure. The fires were being fought. The injured were being tended to. Thankfully someone had silenced the damnable alarm, though the red glow of the emergency lighting still cast the huge room in an eerie glow. Like Hell…

Vostok pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack in the pocket of her lab coat, lighting it with a match. She blew smoke at the crippled and broken form of Rajas strapped to the chair before her. He did not move.

She had tried her best to quickly unplug him from his connection to the Rocket Red armor-slash-robot, but apparently she had been too slow. Rajas had screamed, bloody spittle flying from his mouth as his eyes had rolled into his head and sparks danced over his naked, swollen form. It had been the most movement she had seen from the man in the weeks since she had been assigned to him.

She suspected that the shock of whatever had happened in the Vault, whatever had happened to Red Square had forced his mind to shut down. He might be in a coma- the signs were there. Still, he was needed. Preliminary reports from the ‘RED-OPS’ team suggested that both Mysta and Bjorn were gone. The Rocket Red robot had been demolished and Kovar’s body shattered and broken. How the man was still alive and conscious was a mystery, but he was in agony they said, senseless.

She considered Rajas again, looking down on him. Blood trickled from his ears and mouth, from pinpoints where she had ripped out the IVs. His tongue lolled from his lips, his bald and crusty head hanging limply at an odd angle. She rolled the butt of her cigarette between her fingertips, blue smoke curling up and away. He was needed, and her feminine charms had so far done little to bring him around. She hated being forced to dress for his pleasure; the tight, revealing shirt, the short skirt and heels to accentuate her legs. It was degrading, more so to see his response. Still…

She leaned in, spinning the cigarette about, turning the burning tip to point it between his legs. Valentina Vostok bit down on her lip as she pressed, expecting to hear the raspy scream she knew so well. She smelled his smoldering flesh, heard the sizzle as she twisted the tip in. Nothing-

She yelped as Rajas’ eyes popped open wide suddenly. Red-rimmed eyes stared at her, through her then shifted skyward. She staggered back, the cigarette smoldering in his lap, forgotten as she followed his gaze. There was nothing there-

“Vengeance?” he asked, his voice a hoarse croak, a barely audible whisper. He was speaking to someone, some vision, an image of mind or memory.

“Rajas?” she asked, but he ignored her, a smile cracking his dry lips drawing blood.

“Of course. Anything…” he gasped, his body shifting, spasming in the restraints. “Anything for you…”

He stared at her, the hideous rictus of his smile lessening only slightly. There was a light burning in his eyes, clarity of being.

“Thank you…” he said and his head lolled to the side. The built in sensors of his chair erupted, whining alarms signaling that Rajas’ life signs had failed at last. Impossible!

Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok leaned in, checking for a pulse. She pulled his head back, forced his eyelids open. His eyes stared at her blankly. No breath. No heart beat. No pulse…

Rajas was dead…

She was dead…

Somewhere in the distance something collapsed. She heard a shouting voice. Someone was crying…

To be Continued…
Next Issue: Nabu’s quest for power continues as he leaves Russia following the next greatest source of magical might. His journey takes him to San Francisco and a little hot spot called Bewitched where he runs afoul of some of the nastiest critters this side of Fairie, along with a little group called…

The Secret Society of Super-Villains!

Be there or he might just come for you.

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