Silence...

    For the span of a few moments, there was nothing but silence.  The dreaded nightmare of every living being on the face of Metarun stared into the wide eyes, of four of the brave people whom had risen up to risk their lives to save the planet.  Each one of those faces held a shock of horror… uncontrollable horror. 

    The clouds above were a tendril of fury; dark masses of muscled gray smashing into one another, squelching out the small bits of the sun’s rays that had remained.  The atmosphere changed from hope to despair.  Hope was lost on a monument so long regarded as a statement of peace.

    The cold winds that tore through the copper rock covered cliff, brought sound back to reality however.  Clothing ruffled in waves against chilled flesh, and weapons waved against the steel cold hands that held them.  The circumstance, forcing the heroes to retain what focus they could still have, however there was still that question on the tip of every one of their heads... “How did this happen?”

    Of course they all knew the answers.  It was after all explained to each of them by Fate… how five hundred years ago, he had sealed the powerful magician known as Darkseid into this very mountain, a stone tomb for a man whose heart was ash.

    There was a war 500 years ago.  Heroes from all over Metarun clashed with powerful warlords who sided with the mage Darkseid. They all as well hungered for power, to rule over all of Metarun.  The battle was a long one, and it was also one that took the lives of many lives with its passing.  And though the lives were given they were not done so in vain for without the help of the Society of Kingdoms, Fate would never have been able to seal Darkseid away for what everyone hoped was for eternity.

    It would not be so however.  For it was not so long ago, that the great necromancer, Desaaid, discovered the key of the Stone Heights—the mountain where Darkseid was imprisoned—and with it awoke the great warlords of Darkseid, and sent them into the divided Kingdoms of the land. They were to destroy the heroes who protected the lands, while he traveled to Keystone Towne to awaken the would-be dark god himself.

    Desaaid’s plans would not go unnoticed. Fate would intervene.  It was as the Warlords went to attack the kingdoms, Fate himself searched these Kingdoms for these heroes (as they battled the reanimated warlords) and pleaded to each to join him, to become a unified army and to stop the necromancer in their task.  Many would decline, like the Star Knight of Opal, the great Mage Orin of Atlantis, and many others.  However a few of them did agree.  They would call themselves The League of Kingdoms, and at this very moment, that powerful team of the greatest warriors of all the land, have failed.  The great Dark mage had reawakened.  And the greatest battle these lands had ever felt was about to continue…

    “Father.”  Orion spoke, as he stepped forward, and he could feel his throat being caught by his erratic heart. “You will fail.  Give up now, and we will give you a simple release. If not, history will definitely repeat itself.  Except this time, the last page will be more final.”

    Darkseid’s neck moved, the skull grinding onto the shoulders like granite over metal.  The Mage’s eyes glowed like red hot coals as he took in the delicate… almost Elfin features of his blond haired son.  “Do you not think I will hesitate to kill you, because you were bore of my own loins?”  A smile ripped across the rock like face of the reanimated lord.  Deep creases rose against his high cheek bones and beneath his eyes, as he continued to stare daggers of hate into the guise of his own son.  “You are of the flesh of a god.  You my son can stand with me.  Together we can let this valley run with the blood of those too foolish to stop us.  You have the power as do I.  It is your birthright.  And I can forgive you once.  You can join me; together we can bring Metarun to its knees.  The people will bow down and kiss our feet, for they will know true power.”

    “Father I…”  Orion attempted to get out, his eyes glazing with tears.

    “I can see it in your eyes; flesh of my former flesh… the idea excites you.  Even as your hands shake on the hilt of the Astroforce… formerly my very sword, take my hand… and turn on your former allies.  Their deaths will be but the first.”

    Orion took a gulp, his throat expanded as he tried to steady himself.  Like the others, true terror had risen inside him.  This monstrous grey faced being was not the man he visualized.  What had happened… it was as though his body was composed of the very mountain they stood upon.  “Father,” he said. “Father I cannot allow you to hurt my allies, nor any of the peoples of Metarun.  My birthright is not to have power at your side, and watch as innocent… brave men and women be slaughtered at your hands.  No, no…” he echoed for a moment his hands fisted in a cluster at the handle of the Astroforce blade, swung it upwards lining it vertically with his nose bridge.  “My birthright father is to end this power, to end you as a threat.”

    Darkseid looked on with an emotionless face as his son, leapt from his position in front of John the Steward, Prince Conn’r and Lady Dianna.  The young hero yelled in defiance, his throat being ripped sore. He rushed the twenty odd feet between his father and himself.

    The Dark Lord’s eyes crackled with energy. A high pitched squeal reverberated from his rock like skull, and with but a few steps between himself and his son he released the new deadly power his soul’s release had afforded him. 

    Twin arcs of volcanic intensity, veered from his sockets, darting in a solid trail of crimson.  A combined yell of “NOOO!” sounded off from the chorus of the remaining three heroes.  An emerald light flickered in front of Orion’s eyes moments before his body was pushed forcefully back.  The force felt like he had hit a solid wall, and his feet left the stony ground of the cave.  He was sure he heard a loud explosion that left his ears ringing. But all went black, before his perceptions caught up with him.

    Dianna, Conn’r and John also felt the force, even if it was significantly less powerful, the outcome was the same, as the explosion hit, all six feet left the floor and were pushed off the cliff of the mountain side.  Dark slate smoke mushroomed through the center of the cave, rocks and rubble rained down across his face and shoulders, and if his body was not composed of the same matter he surely would have come away with deep gashes and cuts.  But how things were the Dark lord stood silent, a smile continuing to unnaturally decorate his mouth.

LOK

The Valley of Ash

League of Kingdoms #3
October, Year Zero-a

 Transcribed by:
Jae “holy *@#% he actually finished it” Lizhini

ROLL CALL!
 


Lord Wayne
Gotham
 
Prince Conn'r
Star Citadel
 
Prince Kon-El
Metropolis
 
Lady Dianna
Thymscira
 
Jonn
The Red Marsh
 
John the Steward
The Lantern Legion
 

William
Clan Marvel
Constantine
Boulder Town
Koriand'r
Tamaran
Fate
 
Orion
 		  


Chapter One
Revisits of Death


The Valley
Outside of Keystone

    Lord Wayne stood silent, his large hands squeezing the reins of the ebony horse he sat on.  His blue eyes were ribbed with red veins, due to the corpses whom his army fought until ten minutes ago, when unexpectedly they all seemed to collapse.  The great Lord of Gotham, studied the great summit that stood some fifty yards away, he was waiting for something.

    THOOOM!!!

    Wayne’s sterile expression did not change, as the explosion’s sound reached his ears.  The great tactician, only watched with his head slightly tilted as the silver smoke flooded from the gate. He registered what seemed to be four small specks plummet over the distant cliff as well. However, he only saw them for a moment before the smoke swallowed them whole.  He was prepared for this eventuality.  They had failed, that explosion was the opening line in a declaration of war, for the revived nightmare of Metarun.  Wayne was prepared to do battle with Darkseid, but even he had no idea what they were up against.

    ~Darkseid has risen! ~ suddenly dwarfed all other thoughts that Lord Wayne had gorged inside his mind of minds.  The voice however was not his. It was a softer voice cracked with intensity and emotion. He knew the voice well, a voice he had trusted beyond many others in his lifetime, perhaps more so than his wife.  It was the voice of Barbara, The Oracle.  She had given truth to what he knew the moment he saw the great explosion.  “Yes, we have failed.” He spoke in a dry whisper, the warm air stinging his chapped lips.  And then of course the rain came.

    It was small at first. A few drops sounding off against his slate gray helm, and then more came gradually titter-tatting harder and quicker on his armor.  Thunder cracked, and lightening arcs moved in spider webs across the field he stood on.  It was all too strange. He could feel the magic in the air, and just as he took in data from the Enemy’s position and structure; he took the feelings and the sights into him memory as though he still believed he could somehow turn the tide… NO somehow they—THE LEAGUE OF KINGDOMS—could turn the tide and still claim victory.

    “No,” there it was that word of defiance again, this time behind him.  To his left he heard the soft clambering of a horse’s hooves.  Slowly the Lord of Gotham turned his thick neck to his left, his torso moving along with it.  The saddle let out a squeak as he moved, his eyes taking in one of his men-- who not to long ago, was his squire-- Sir Richard.  Like him, Richard faced much pain in his life, his parents murdered in cold blood, yet Richard was defiant with his words of hope, he didn’t just keep them inside.  For Wayne, Richard was an angel of hope, words that continued to drive him forward, let him endure amongst odds such as those he now faced.  Through Richard’s eyes he saw not only himself, but the vengeance that still needed to be dealt.

    “No, we have not failed,” Richard repeated himself, as he came to a stop across from the Lord.  His deep blue cape bounced in waves as his body sat back in the chestnut- toned saddle.  The boy’s eyes stared liked pools of the ocean into the much more haggard sockets of Wayne.  The boy’s voice caused pause in Wayne’s thoughts, as he looked over the delicate—almost childish features of his former squire, the soft down turned nose, the high cheekbones and smooth chin, all laid claim to youthful exuberance that Wayne never recalled in his own self.  “Where the opening battle may have been won by the enemies, no war has ever been claimed on that alone.  And today, we stand ready, to not win a single battle, but to win a war that holds the whole planet on in its grip.

    The Lord of Gotham nodded, a slight smile echoing over his lips.  The cold rain dripped down the tip of his own square nose, rivulets of moister trailing down his deeply tanned skin.  “You have taken the academic lessons to heart, I see,” Wayne spoke. “And here I thought it was only the physical ones you enjoyed.  But you are correct Sir Richard; a battle does not mean a war.  We have not failed, you are correct.  We have just lost, and losing is not the end of everything.  At least not just yet.”


Conn’r could not feel his face; even moments after the great force blew him off his feet.  His heart pounded hard inside his chest, threatening to bruise his ribs or worse.  The Prince took a deep breath, clearing his mind from the fear of dying, forced his thoughts instead to survival.  He snapped his arm over his shoulder fighting the currents that ripped over his body. He somersaulted towards the ground that would applaud his death.  Snatching a single arrow from his quiver he pulled it free.  His teeth sunk into his tongue as he tightened his hand around the shaft and pushed it forward, in an upward slant.

    The arrow head drove against the rocky mountain, as Conn’r pushed his all into the arrow, giving it force even as his body continued to plummet towards the ground.  The shaft vibrated as the arrowhead ran down the rocky mountain side.  His descent slowed as the arrow scraped and split rock, before it finally slipped into a hairline crack in the stone’s very wall.  The wooden shaft bounced as it took his weight.  However just as he had come to a stop, the blur of another body whizzed passed him down the summit.  With the speed of a trained elven warrior, he snapped his free hand outwards, interlocking the fingers of another body.

    Orion’s shoulder pulled hard at the new sudden force.  His body straightened involuntarily, as he came to a stop.  He swung there locked into the wisp-like hand of the Prince of the Wood Elves. His head craned up to meet the emerald eyes of the brave man, who somehow had plucked him from the very sky.  “T-thanks,” Orion muttered.

    “Don’t thank me human; grab a hold of the ledge, before the arrow breaks,” Conn’r said back to him, with the vulgar intensity of a legless goblin.

    Orion nodded his head, before he leaned toward the mountain side, wedging his fingers into the loose crevices of rock.

    “Conn’r?  Orion?  Is that you?”  The deep voice of John the Steward called what sounded like only a few feet away from where they now hung.

    “Yes, and is this you Sir John?”  Conn’r asked as he himself tried to get a foothold on the mountainside.

    “Aye, it is he and I as well Prince Conn’r.”  Lady Dianna’s voice sung through the dark clouds that cycled like mists around him.

    “How much further down are you?”  Conn’r yelled down the mountain side.

    “Only a few feet, I think,” John called up his voice guiding hope like a blessing of unicorns.

    “Good,” Conn’r said as he balanced himself between the footholds and the arrow imbedded in the mountain.  He retracted his hand from Orion and pressed his body against the cold wall.  “I think I might be able to get us all up.  Just hold on tight for a few moments.”

    “I don’t think I can hold much longer than just a few,” Dianna shouted back into the dark fogged area.

    “Okay, okay,” Conn’r sung as he plucked three of the green seeds from the yellow belt that was tightly fashioned to his waist.  The young would-be king closed his eyes tightly; his voice rumbled from the back of his throat, a chant of a beautiful elven tongue that all three heroes around him would have said defied imagination.  As his chant continued, his hand began to emit a pale green light.  Muscles of emerald gasses began to mushroom from his fist.  However their newly achieved vigor did not go unnoticed.

    “Pests, whom don’t know when they have lost.  Such creatures should know their places,” a voice called several hundred feet above them.  Orion’s head loomed upwards, his purest of blue eyes searching through the dense fog, even if he already knew who the new speaker was.  “This time however, you will all perish.” 

    Orion screamed as he saw two small coals of red cutting through the fog.  His body pushed away from the stone wall.  Conn’r’s concentration shattered as the scream sounded.  His head snapped above him.  Only for him to see, the two beams of volcanic intensity propelling towards him.  A momentary glance of his life slid through the young boy’s mind, as he knew there was no way for him to dodge the blast.

    The sound of a crackling spell put his mind back to the now, as a lemon colored ankh hovered over his head, the crimson blast caught in what appeared to be some sort of mystic net.  Taking a few breaths, he closed his eyes, and pushed off the mountain, after Orion, the beautiful chant starting up again.  As his body fell once again through the air three thick ivy vines shot from the fist that held the seeds.  The thick chords latched onto the mountain.  Turning his body in mid air, he let go of the vines as they shot further down the mountain side, green vines following them as they fell.

    John saw the green vines arch into three angles moments after Orion and Conn’r fell from the sky.  He smiled as he reached up and grabbed a hand hold on the vine.  “Dianna, looks like the Elven Prince came through.”

    Dianna reached out with her right hand, her body edging from the rock; her left hand was still firmly tightened around John’s boot.  As she finally got a hand hold on of the vines she let her other hand free, stretching her body out from her footholds to grab two forceful grasps.  “I had faith in his abilities.  I don’t believe I have ever seen man or Elf, quite like him.”

    “Well I think even the birds knew that, Dianna.”  John smiled a wide grin as he began to climb the vines and scale the mountain, with the help of the wood Elf’s makeshift rope.

    Dianna followed right behind him, and though a proud warrior who would never let another see her in such a way, she felt a warmth rush over her cheeks.  “I- I do not know what you mean,” the Princess said through tightly pressed teeth.


Only five hundred or so feet up from where the heroes clung to life amongst Prince Conn’r’s rope; a thick dust finally began to dissipate, exposing a large square shouldered man, covered in gray scale mail armor, his skull adorned with a mask of hammered gold.  “Your destiny was written the day you listened to your own thirst for power!” Fate spoke, his hoarse voice reverberating from inside the golden helm.

    “Oh no, with power, destiny may change.  Without it, you are just an old man, afraid to see the truth.”  Darkseid’s rock-like face slid into a savage grin, his eyes looked into his former teacher’s eyes.  “Arec Ton!” the newly arisen dark lord said, and a pinkish battleaxe, formed into his awaiting slate hands

    “You cannot change what is to be, by mere words,” Fate spoke. “Tem Rot!” he called out in a high pitched cry, and in his gauntlet covered hands a yellowish broadsword materialized.

    Darkseid didn’t need an invitation.  The moment his crimson eyes saw the sword materialize in his opponent’s hand he pushed his stocky form forward.  His two mitten-like hands squeezed hard on the large mystic battle axe, bringing it from above his head, down towards the aging warrior.  Fate leapt back with surprising agility, his sword cleft through the air coming upwards at an angle to meet the thick axe blade.  A thunderous clashing of mystic energies clapped, on contact.  Loose rocks and gravel slipped through the air, pushing outwards by the wave of energy.

    Fate pushed the large man with his arms and legs leaning into the force.  The dark lord fell a few steps back.  “You learned nothing from me,” Fate said between gritted teeth.  His left arm flung the sword through the air angling it across his face.  His right hand hung limply at his side.  “Your opponents must not see you coming.”

    “Oh they don’t,” Darkseid said with a smile, as he watched a large boulder lift from behind Fate.  The battle-mage stood perfectly still as he looked into his old student’s eyes.  The large boulder floated parallel to the magician’s head for a few moments.  The silence continued until with an amazing degree of mystic might, the large dwarf-sized boulder whizzed forward and jettisoned for the back of Fate’s head.

    The battle hardened warrior turned on the balls of his left foot, his body twisting in what could only be viewed as a human cyclone.  His left arm swung forward, the elbow straightening out as the sword angled into the air.  And with a simple snap of his wrist, the yellow energy blade sliced through the large rock.  The cleft sides of the boulder continued its path sliding across either side of Fate’s head. Then they crashed onto the cave’s chestnut toned ground.

    Fate registered the crunching of rock as Darkseid leapt towards him.  His head had just turned to view the moving creature of stone, as the blade caught the side of his head.  The force hitting the mystical helm lifted the warrior mage off his feet, throwing him like a rag doll onto the unforgiving ground.

    It was seldom that the warrior-mage; known as Fate; felt his years of life as a burden, but at that moment he felt it.  His muscles pained him as he pulled his head up from the ground, his thick biceps burning against his bones as he lifted himself.  As he turned his head, to look at Darkseid whom was still recovering from the swing he had brought only moments before, the gold helm crumbled from his face.

    Darkseid smiled a dark sinister grin.  The two coal-like eyes looked at the blood streaked face of his former teacher and lifted his axe to his shoulders.  Fate’s face looked almost foreign to the dark magician, gray ringlets of hair matted down the tired and wrinkled face.  Truly the only recognizable feature of the once proud man was the piercing blue eyes.  “You are the worn husk of a former great man!” Darkseid said, his voice booming loud enough to cause rocks to crumble from the walls.  “You are no match for me; you should have stayed in your castle, and wasted away.  This… this is almost funny.”

    Fate righted himself, as the dark magician spoke; his left hand pushed a heap of damp hair behind his pointed left ear.  “My life was sealed the moment you left the light.”  The mage spat, the yellow energy sword was once again brought up to its defensive position.  “I would not be here, if I did not have that obligation to Metarun.”

    “You truly are a relic,” Darkseid said.  Those red coals lodged into the face of granite began to radiate once more.  Fate knew what he was looking at and didn’t spend another moment standing still.  He pushed his aching body forward—charging the few ten feet of room between him and his opponent.

    Darkseid let out the twin beams of violent energy from his eye sockets.  Both deadly beams zeroed in on the charging form of Fate.  Fate let out a howl as he dropped to a roll.  The twin beams struck each in an intense display of power.  The blast shook the cave once more, forcing Darkseid to take a moment to regain his balance. 

    Even as the would-be-god took a moment to catch his balance, he saw the yellow gleam of the sword from the corner of his eye.  His body turned quickly, swinging his axe to his right.  The mystical weapons caught each other for a split second, before he leapt back withdrawing his sword from his right side and twisting to swing to left.

    Darkseid of course followed to catch the swinging of the sword.  It was however when the mystic weapons crackled upon their meeting this time that Darkseid heard a single word force its way out of the elderly man’s lips.  “Reis.”

    The word was not unknown to the man of granite.  And he was also not shocked as he saw the orange orb appear in the center of that ancient gauntlet.  Darkseid did however close his eyes as the mystical orb shot from the gauntlet’s palm and impacted his torso with a the light of a thousand suns.


    Darkseid tried to scream as the blast hit him dead in the center of his newly resurrected body, but the blast’s sound took over any other sound that would escape him, or anyone else.  His feet left the ground as soon as the blast hit, and he was quite sure a few seconds had passed, before his skull impacted the far most wall of the cave.  The rest of his body landed a few moments after that.


Near Stone Heights
Metropolis Fraction

    Prince Kal-El rode with his party silently, the scarlet cape catching gusts of wind and rippling over the backside of his mount.  He had stayed quiet, since the hordes they had been fighting had crumbled to dust.  He hadn’t said anything since he had given the order to march on.  The new comers of the army, Kori, Constantine, and William were a little mystified by the sudden order that the Prince had barked even before the swords were sheathed.  It however was how the Prince of Metropolis worked.  He advanced, until the enemy gave up or the field was won.  Of course the fight they now were going into was neither of these things.  It was the type of battle none of the heroes who marched knew anything about.  In all the League of Kingdoms, only Fate truly knew anything about the fight that would be.

    “They fight now,” announced the sounds of a rumble from behind Kal-El’s mount.  The crystal blue eyes of Metropolis’ finest turned to look onto the bearded face of the dwarf who rode behind him—sandwiched between Jimmy the Olsen, and the female warrior Zor-El the Caring.  “Right now the battle mage fights a fight of no honor, to give us but a head start.”

    “If the fight is noble, William there is always an honor,” the Tamaranian Princess chipped in, her orange body sliding in onto the other side of Kal-El’s mount.

    In the distance a blast echoed.  The sound of a powerful spell, which caused the mouth of the cave to ignite with light for the still of a second, and that second forced all eyes on the sight of the ongoing battle.  “He will die, this day and he knows it,” William said.  “The best we can hope for is that he will give us the time.”

    “He is correct,” the green Ogre spoke up from the ground, where he marched with the soldiers.  “The wise Magician Fate knew his destiny the moment he learned of the awakening.  He is ready to do what he must, and unfortunately it means to die… so that we can succeed.”

    “Hmmm…” the Prince said under his breath for no one’s ears but his own.
   

The stone figure shook his skull as he pulled himself from the floor.  Tiny pebbles fell from his body as he slowly stood up once more.  The movement of joints on his large body sounded more like the grinding of limestone on a dull blade.  “That truly packed a punch.  But this body is much more durable than I could have imagined.”  Slowly Darkseid strode forward, the mist giving way in spirals across the slate gray body.  “Oh, I already like this.”

    Fate however had stood very still from the moment he cast the spell, until now as the dark god had reemerged from what would have peeled the very flesh off any other being he could think of.  Though, Fate had wisdom even beyond his many centuries.  He knew that even a potent spell would do little to stop a creature such as what his former student had transformed into.  And with the few moments of lapse, he did prepare.  He was ready to end this battle, or die here.  Of course the future was already sealed.

    “Meas tie grawth” the aging mage croaked through a bloodstained beard.  Blue light radiated over the figure’s eyes, obfuscating his entire face with its fury.  At the very moment the yellow energy blade disappeared from his left hand, only to be replaced with blue veins rising from his fingers up his arms.  The mystical energy clapped like thunder, shaking rocks and rubble from the cave. 

    Fate’s body rushed forwards even before the copper rocks had finished landing on the abused ground.  His ancient feet propelled him quicker than a horse’s gallop due to the newest incantation he had summand.  To onlookers it seemed to be a blue blur, rushing towards the reawakened dark god.  Fate closed his eyes as he rushed, readying his lips for the next mystical assault.

    Darkseid had no idea what hit him as the blue blur rushed him in the blink of an eye.  This of course was followed by a powerful uppercut, catching his all too square chin.  The blow was strong enough, both by the reinforced hand, as well as the speed.  The attack caused his neck to pivot, and his feet to step back.

    Two more powerful blows rattled against Darkseid’s tough chest, causing hairline fractures in the granite skin.  The creature that was once a man howled in pain, as six more such strikes were delivered in rapid succession.  Each one now painting his body with the blood of his attacker—even mystic reinforcement allowed the hand to be damaged at such high speeds, attacking something as tough as granite rock.

    It was as the third round of attacks had landed; Darkseid reached out with his hand, as slow a motion as any other, and fished from the circling blur the meaty neck of his opponent.  The smooth flesh felt warm against his tougher and colder skin.  With no burden detected he skillfully lifted the now stationary battle mage to his own eyes.  The two opponents locked eyes for the span of a few numbing moments, the pain evident by the scowls of rage both faces evenly displayed.

    “Tedia—gltch!”  Fate’s incantation was paused by a tough constricting of the neck.  He had of course hoped to have done more damage before it had come to this.  But he had done the necessaries.  With that knowledge the old man looked up at his killer, once his student, and as things had once worked out, his friend.  There was silence now, no boasting from Darkseid, no guidance from Fate, just silence—as the man of granite’s eyes glowed once more.

    “Good-bye Sir Kenneth Nelson,” Darkseid whispered before the eyes released their devastating blows.  The beams impacted almost instantly, melting the very skin and muscles of the old man.  The explosion came just as sudden as well.  The cave’s interior shattered like glass sending rocks and debris into the darkened sky.  Stone Heights didn’t last much longer than that, as the floor the two mages stood on crumbled away from the sheer powerful force of the explosion.  The gigantic mountain, folded in on itself as rocks loosened their holds and separated from one another.

    Of course to those watching the sudden explosion all they would have registered would have been a large pinkish energy bubbling outward, and a large “BOOM” sending the once mountain scattering on all four sides of itself.  And this was exactly what the heroes who until moments ago; were clinging onto the mountain side had seen.


Prince Conn’r was of course the first one to sense the sudden build up of energy, the sheer force resonating from both Fate and Darkseid caused gooseflesh to rise against his skin.  He felt his heart quicken as he looked down to view the rest of team.  “Something big is com-“ He did not finish the words however before the side of the mountain shattered.  The wave of the intense blast pulled all four heroes from their hand holds and their safety.

    Conn’r’s light body gave no resistance to the massive wave of air and energy pushing him several hundred feet from the exploding mountain.  His body twisted and turned uncontrollably, for the span of several seconds, causing him to fear for the durability of limbs.

    Sir John however, though how weak his lantern was at this point found a lost reserve of strength as the very mountain exploded.  He thrust the emerald flickering box towards the coming rocks, and gritted his teeth, forcing all the will he could into the mystical flame.  And as he had hoped, a large screen of mystical energy formed in front of his eyes; blocking the very rocks as they dove towards his person.  Every blast however seemed to have a ferocity all its own. Not forcing him down, but rather across the sky.  The great knight expected he would die this day, but did not wish it to be in the wiles of Mother Nature herself.

    Princess Dianna had just looked up to hear the silken voice of Conn’r before the rocks shattered in front of her body.  Her heavily muscled arms were brought forward quicker than eye could blink.  The thick armored bracelets that enclosed her lithe wrists blocked the rocks in equal succession, with speed quick enough that barely any movement at all would have been registered by the naked eye.  The blast like with the others had no problem moving her body even as her arms continued to block the rocks.  It was only as the wave of energy finished its push, and she began to dove tail towards the ground did she hear her name.  The voice was not what she expected.  Not the silken voice she had hoped for, instead it was the rich basso, of the Emerald Knight.

    “Sir John” She called back, as the fierce grip of that ebony hand clasped her forearm.  The sudden change of weight at such speed caused her shoulder to almost pull from her socket.  If it was anyone less than the Amazon Princess, the knight would have been holding an arm unattached to a body.  Yet such as it was, she only grimaced at the pain as her head learned up finding the large caramel eyes thatched under a thick mane of hair.

    The knight’s body glided down, his right hand was above his head, holding onto the lantern that was the mark of his order, and that great green box glowed brightly, washing his face with strong light.  Of course the light itself had become thick and dense, like a bed sheet hanging above him gliding him down on the very winds.  Dianna couldn’t fight the large smile that tore over her mouth “I don’t know where this sudden burst of energy came from Princess, but I’m not complaining.”

    Even as the Knight and Princess glided down from the destroyed mountain on energy of the emerald lamp, a few hundred feet above them, the Prince of the Wood Elves stood perched on a gigantic leaf.  Without warning he launched out his arms. Steadying himself on the over sized vegetation, a blur or red and silver plummeted hard into his exposed forearms and hands.  “Ooof!”  The prince exhaled in a grunt, drawing the figure to his chest to rid some of the initial sting.

    The son of the dark mage, turned dark god rolled his head towards the Elf, “Two for two.”  Orion grinned, before finding the arms retracting, and his body hitting the floor of the large leaf.  For a moment he was afraid he’d tear through it.  But after a few moments, he realized that the green vehicle was more like tough leather, and quite a bit more durable than its smaller cousins.

    “Why the hell did you do that for?”  Orion asked as soon as he picked himself off the floor.  His short hair fluttered like a blond lake against his fair scalp.

    “We need to prepare ourselves.  These few minutes of respite, will definitely be short lived my friend.”


Several hundred Feet from the summit
The Gotham Faction...

    “HOLY BAT-TASTRAPHE!”  A voice seemed to call out from the booming explosions and the crumbling rock still some distance away.  Lord Wayne's thick neck craned his head across his shoulders; his eyes narrowing to two small scars on his face, his expression turning towards Sir Richard and the scowl spoke volumes.

    The former squire of the lord let a smile grace across his lips, in companion to a shrug of his shoulders.  “It wasn't me.  I grew out of that AGES ago,” he announced to all that would hear him. Which was not the sighing lord of Gotham who just as solemnly turned his gaze back to the thick fog, which had formed a barrier between their position and the mountain that hours earlier was one the greatest prison ever constructed.

    “We need to form a perimeter, to lobby defense.  We haven't the Intel so we'll need to assume the worst.”  The warrior, who was also a leader of a nation, gestured towards his wards Timothy and Richard.  “I need you two to move ahead of the strike zone.  Get in there and find out what’s going on, scout and report back.  Time is definitely not a facility we currently have.  If it truly is the worst we'll need you back here to mount an offensive should it come to that.”

    Sir Timothy's mouth gaped as he looked to Wayne.  It appeared that he had just swallowed his tongue.  “Yes my liege!”  He slowly formed his hand into a fist and smashed across his heart.

    “No heroics.  Find out what you can and return.”

    “Don't worry Bruce.  We will be needed back here when the real battles starts.”

    “The battle has already started, Dick-- and I need to guarantee both of you kids' safety.”  The Lord of Gotham whispered under his own breath, as he watched his two wards take off in heavy gallops, beyond the fog of war.



Chapter Two

Into the Fog


Metropolis Scouts...

    Neither the dwarven powerhouse, William of the Clan Marvel, nor the red-haired human scout, James the Olsen, knew what to expect after the initial explosions, which caused the very mountain to burst apart, but they both could feel the cold weight of fear strike their hearts unlike any other they had felt before.  And for two men who had seen as much violence and death as this duo had in their lifetimes, it spoke scores of the situation they bravely raced towards.

    The fog got thicker the closer to the former mountain, they made it to.  James even found it hard to make out his riding partner who was only a few strides in front of him.  The scout could feel the dirge of despair rising from his feet and quickly moving up his back.  He wondered how these collected heroes could stop a being that could level a mountain, who could murder the greatest magician the world had known.

    “Keep up boy!”  William called back to the trailing scout.  His eyes had narrowed under the steel helm that crowned his thick locks. The thick dirt in the ear caused his eyes to hurt, which was saying a lot for a dwarf, who was used to such atmospheres.  His eyes however gave him only a little more bit of vision than the human scout had, but that vision allowed him to notice the silhouettes a few kilometers ahead of him.  There were two he could make out and another two in the distance. He swore one couple was floating on a large feather.  He rationalized that the dust and debris must have been playing tricks on him.

    Olsen loosened his reins and spurred the horse on to a quicker pace, as he saw his companion slowing down to a trot.  “Is something up ahead?” he asked into the fog.  Tears ran down his face due to the thickness of the dirt in the air.  He could barely see as it was and the glazing only made it worse. 

    “Yes, there is someone here,” William called back as the figures began to form from the fog.  As his horse trotted even closer, a green light broke apart the remaining thickness of the air.  The very hairs stood on the back of the dwarf’s neck—a sensation more acute to pride and joy, not fear.  The warrior of the Clan Marvel let a smile spread across his face spreading out the long beard across his wide skull.  “Ho Sir John!  It truly is you!” he called into the fog.

    “Aye, William, my loyal friend!”  Sir John called out as the approaching riders began to be fully visible.  “It is I, safe and sound.”

    As the mighty Dwarf pulled on his rein slowing the horse to a stop, the grand smile never left his face.  His eyes however trailed to the rest of the group.  Immediately his eyes found the fair Princess Dianna first and stayed affixed to her for more than a few fleeting moments.  Prince Conn’r of course noticed the lecherous gaze of the mighty dwarf as he picked himself up from his haunches still under the large leaf he had created with his magicks.

    “You are all safe!”  Jimmy the Olsen exclaimed as his horse came to a stop in front of the group.  His jovial expression soon vanished from his face, as he saw the collected expression of dourness on each of the groups’ faces.

    “We have survived, out of pure luck,” Conn’r explained. “However we paid a heavy price.  The Magus has fallen with the very prison he constructed—and Darkseid is now free.”

    The noble’s words washed even the tough dwarf’s expression to a placid painting of shock.  He had expected to battle Darkseid this day, but he did not think that Fate would have truly fallen.  However in his mind—that of a warrior he could think only of the glorious battle that awaited him.  “Ah so then its true.  Fate has failed so that we can fight the glorious battle on his behalf!”

    Lady Dianna’s eyes narrowed toward William. Her expression a shadow of outrage—the crass comment catching her off guard, and feeding her own warrior nature.  “No battle is glorious, Dwarf.  Friends have died.  If any of us live, we will be haunted by what we see this day.  And you damn well best remember it.  There is no honor in the way of the warrior.  Only pain and heart ache.”

    John the Steward stepped in front of Dianna, his long arms waving wildly at both William and the Princess of Thymscira.  He turned his glowing green eyes towards the Dwarf first then slowly turned his gaze towards the warrior-Princess.  “We do not need to battle over ourselves.  Fate risked his life so we’d work as a team, and by the gods that is exactly what we will do.  William you will need to give up your steed.  Conn’r you will need to ride to Lord Wayne and his army, and tell him what has happened.  The rest of us will move to the Metropolis Army, and confer with Prince Kal-El.  We have to move fast.  We don’t know how long we have to ready what is left our forces, for the final battle.”

    “Aye.”  William of the Clan Marvel said in his guttural voice.  His armor plates scraped across one another as he slipped his leg over the saddle, and lowered his considerable girth to the hard ground below.  Conn’r took no time in striding towards the Dwarf to claim the horse.  As they crossed each other’s path, their eyes locked.  Everyone could feel the sparks of century old bigotry between the two heroes.  They stood there silent for a few moments, before the two warriors extended hands to one another.  The Elf pressed his slender hand into the meaty palm of the Dwarf.  “Good luck, Prince Conn’r,” William spoke in the lowest murmur anyone would believe he was capable of.

    “And to you, proud warrior of the Marvel.  Have safe passage,” the Elf spoke over his shoulder, as he mounted the strong steed.  The dexterous fingers of the Prince grabbed the reins tightly in his grasp and led the animal to the opposing direction.  The young archer felt the twang of duty gather in his throat as he spurred the horse, being swallowed by the still present fog.

    Dianna watched the youth travel, her head turned to the fog even moments after he had left.  John rested a hand on her shoulder and let a cool smile run across his lips.  “Don’t worry Princess, he’ll be safe.  I’d save your worry for when the Dark lord attacks.”

    “I’m not worried,” the warrior-princess spat at the knight.  Her head turned from him in a smug toss of raven locks.  “We should get going; Metropolis will need to be told.”

    “You are right,” John said drifting his eyes from the stubborn looks of the Princess, and instead turned abruptly to the red headed youth, James the Olsen.  “Kid, we are going to be taking the long way around, but you should head out in front of us.  Your liege should be told as soon as possible.”

    “Right!”  James almost shouted as he turned his horse around. “Be safe, on your journey,” he added before spurring his own horse, and like Conn’r disappearing into the thick fog.

    As the scout left the remaining four heroes in the wake of his exodus, all went quiet.  John stepped forward raising the uncanny lantern he carried like a weapon.  The emerald flame crackled back to its intense illumination, dissipating the heavy fog with its mystical light.  “We should move.”

    “Is it smart using that thing?”  Orion said finally looking at the Priest with a simple unrest.

    “Only a coward hides,” William bit in.

    “Look we don’t have time for this,” John spat at the both of them, as his very mind suddenly fell apart at the cold wind that suddenly brushed against the entire foursome.

    “Did anyone else feel that?”  Dianna asked, her hand lying on the hilt of the sword at her side.

    “He’s here,” Orion spoke.  “We have no where to go.”

    Each of the three heroes felt the sudden coldness chill their very bones, as the thick fog behind them began to gather in a single location.  The fog drew on itself into a darker, larger mass. Each one looked in horror as the grayish hulk began to form from the very debris.  They didn’t move from their location, frozen in fright for the moments it took for the rock like body to come together, the blue armor reforming over the reconstructing flesh—no they didn’t move until they saw the crimson sheen of his eyes, it was then that they all dove in opposite directions.

    From Darkseid’s eye sockets that same fire arc they had witnessed in the previous battle launched to where they were standing, causing the very ground to solder to black trails of ash and dust.  All four of the heroes were in mid air as it flew.  Each hero felt the intense strength of the blast that the dark lord had under his control.  They each landed hard on the ground, and scampered quickly to regain their heights.

    “So it looks like rats can learn,” Darkseid spoke, his voice booming through their ears like thunder.  “But rats too can die.  Are you ready…? Rats?”

    Sir John was the first one to stand at the ready.  The brave Knight of the Emerald Flame held himself high, his lantern shinning bright against the darkness.  His body held tight.  His chest thrust outwards, his eyes narrowed on the dark mage. “We stand ready, as humanity, like brave candles in the coming darkness!” his thick voice spoke, as he stepped forward, his hand reaching to the hilt of his sword, his shaking hand pulling the metal weapon from the sheath.

    However, before John could make his attack on the resurrected lord, a loud guttural cry came from behind him.  The knight twisted his neck, in a plight of speed, as the dwarven warrior William pushed his feet across the thick marshlands.  The great axe he held as maternal as any child was positioned above his head held by his thick arms, tensed at the elbows.  Spit was launched from his mouth as he roared his battle cry, the braids of his thick beard being drawn back over his stout shoulders.

    As John watched transfixed by the sudden spirit his friend had been thrown into, he could not utter the words he held in his mouth.  The Dwarf leapt from the soft ground, and swung the great axe at the body of Darkseid.  All that could be done was to shield himself from the sudden grasses and mud that were flung, like rain as the axe met a sudden conjured energy sword.

    William hung in the very air for what felt like minutes, as the axe called “Shazam” impacted the mystical energy collected into a sword.  The collision sounded like a thunder crash, the sonic cries causing the hardened warriors’ ears to ring, and vibrating the axe in his grip.  Even with the dwarven might and the finest axe to be crafted in recent memory, the attack repelled the Dwarf intensely, from the location of impact.  Both Dianna and John had not cleared their eyes from the barrage of mud and grasses to see their friend and ally, be thrown to the ground like an unwanted gnat.  Nor did they see the masterwork axe head being thrown from its handle and fall to the darkened ground like litter.

    John, still with the sword in his hand, finally clearing his eyes looked to see the unmoving Dwarf.  Reflection of despair was drawn across his Nubian features.  The caramel eyes narrowed as the long sword drawn pointed at the dark one, his left hand pushed the green lantern as though it was in the position of a shield.  He walked forward, easing his feet, and ridding the anger he felt by the falling of his friend.  The Knight reminded himself that dwarves had considerable constitution, even more numeral than their fearlessness.  His head craned upwards as he looked at the towering hulk of Darkseid.  He said not a word as he stepped into the creature’s reach swinging the long sword towards the stony stomach.

    Darkseid's energy sword curved downwards to meet the long sword.  The clash of the weapons felt like a storm wind, causing the Emerald Knight to spin into the air, before he regained his pose.  As he landed in the soft earth he spun his body around, the opposite direction sending another swing of his weapon at the body of the mage.

    “This is pointless!”  Darkseid shouted as their blades met a second time.  The knight growled as he rasped at the force, his teeth grinding at the strength of the resurrected god.  The energy crackled across his sword, like tendrils of violet lightening.  “You do realize this is futile,” the dark mage spoke a second time his voice as calm as a morning's breeze.

    “It's not pointless...”  Sir John spat his knuckles whitened by the grip on the sword.  He lifted his head up from where the weapons were placed, his body locked in place by the superior strength of the undead.  “It’s not pointless if you don't understand the tactics... it just seems like that.”

    Darkseid’s spacious cranium veered downwards, the slits in the stony face taking in the dark skinned knight's visage, as one would take in a painting.  His sword was still in place, towering over the knight's own weapon.  “You would think your primitive mind has vexed the one whom your people will soon beg to worship?  One who can cast the heavens from the sky?”  A low growl slipped from the risen abrasions which formed his lips.

    The knight scantly had time to see the large foot swing up from the ground, and striking his chest.  The metal of his armor whined as the heel battered the warrior’s shielding.  The force of the attack was jarring, bowing the knight's back painfully.  A moan was ushered from his lips as the air was forced from his body, his hands opened up out of reflex sending the sword clattering to the ground, moments before he himself impacted the mossy terrain.  His own collision came with the crunching of his ribs, and backbone, his body curling into a broken heap.  It was the copper taste of his own blood, which greeted the brave warrior before his eyes closed.

    “The queen of the rats; she is always the last and always the toughest,” Darkseid mused as the sound of grating rock, followed the craning of his neck.  He watched with something of humor painted across his expression as he watched girl's sorrowful eyes turn to that of aggression.  “I wonder if the same is said of Princesses.”

“I suppose you will find out!”  Lady Dianna spat, the raven tresses curled down her scorned face, as she looked back at the dark mage not in horror but in anger. If those deep blue orbs set into her skull said anything at this moment, it was anger... the kind of anger that makes murders.  Her right hand slid quickly to her hip, the long meaty fingers encircling the golden hilted sword she wore fashioned to her hip.  “Though, you will regret this.  For the first time since I've been in the world of men I will not need to hold back.”

    “Then don't, dear Princess, and please make this fun.”  Darkseid's fabricated lips drew up across the granite flesh of his skull, enduing an almost smile like quality.  “I want to have a victory I'm at least semi-proud of.”  His body finally stepped forward, his rock created form shifting slowly.  The sword he held in his hand crackled wearily from where it stood, at his side.

    “HIII-YAH!” the Princess barked, not pausing a moment to think of her outcome.  Her slender hand gripped the hilt as she brought the sword down, with all the force she could muster.  The very golden hilt shook and gravitated as her might came down onto the energy sword.  Sparks of light danced between the two combatants.  Dianna withdrew her sword in a simple gracious spin, her raven mane sputtering like a darkened fire as she brought the massive sword about face. The long sword angled just slightly from one shoulder to the other.  She had strength in righteous anger... and she definitely had ever the right to hate, to want to see this insane mage to die…to die by her side. 

    “Definitely better than your peers, Princess.  Perhaps you should join as my queen,” Darkseid asked, his baritone voice grinding through her ears.  He took another step towards the warrior Princess, and the arm, which had been bonded to the mystical sword he had summoned shot out.  The trail of the light was the only indication that he had moved at all.  His action was so quick that if anyone would have blinked in that instant, the motion would have been lost.  If Princess Dianna hadn't honed her own natural reflexes to that of a warrior she herself would be dead.  However the great sword she held came down, the moment that flicker of light caught her eyes, the two swords catching each other a second time.  The Princess leapt back separating the swords, only a scant few seconds of the embrace.

    By all means, the Princess should have been an easy battle for Darkseid.  He had after all taken out both William and John in short order.  But here was this woman... who looked no different from any beautiful maiden he remembered in his life… Somehow she was gaining the fortitude to take each strike as though he was just a regular man using a regular weapon. But fall this woman must.  She was after all separating him from his foolish son.

    “HIII-YAH!” the Princess of the kingdom known as Thmyscira called out as she swung her sword once more towards the body of the recently risen mage.  Darkseid again stepped forward his energy sword, catching the long sword wielded by the Princess.  A grimace of pain fell across her faintly pink lips.  She knew she couldn't keep this up... yet how could she possibly win?


Several hundred feet from the summit
The Gotham Faction...

    “Hail!  Who goes there!” one of the guarding soldiers called out from the torrent of rain and fog.  There was no answer for the spell of moments, only the slow clicking of horse hooves on the wet ground.  The soldier reached for the hilt of his sword, the meaty gloves letting out a squeak of leather as he slowly encircled the weapon's handle.  The form before them slowly advanced; a rider of a thin physique, more and more came into view as the fog's blanket slid past the enigmatic body.

    “Still your sword,” Lord Wayne spoke, as the emerald eyes came into view.  The voice of the Lord of Gotham was as thick as honey, worn from the hours spent waiting.  “Elf it is you, is it not?”

    “It is, Lord Wayne,” the figure called, as weak as the leaf he had conjured only a short span of time ago.  “I am to lead you to... to where Darkseid is now attacking.  Ready your men.”

    “I saw the mark of battle but a few moments ago, and we were preparing to leave.”

    “Where should we be?”  Dick asked as he appeared from the fog, closely followed by Timothy. 

    The non-sovereign figure head of the Kingdom of Gotham raised his head square to his shoulders.  “We should do this in the rights.  Tell me Prince, has Metropolis as well been notified?”

    The young Elf looked towards the western sky, his face being lit by the coming and goings of lightening arcs.  “I believe the scout, James would have returned to his people to admit the location, just as I and your squires have.”

    “Squire and knight,” Sir Richard spoke in a grave like tone.  His deep set eyes staring daggers into the back of the Prince.

    “My apologies, Sir Richard.  I had not known,” Conn'r replied his head swinging back only with the briefest of smiles.  He quickly however turned back to the gaze of Wayne.  “That look, Lord Wayne.  You have a plan, or am I mistaken?”

    Wayne adjusted himself in the saddle, his expression showing the creases against the battle warn pallor.  “It is not so much a stratagem as a where to put our units.  For the most part the numbers of Metropolis will probably be used for the head on assault.  The Prince Kal is rather well known for the head on approach.  We then by necessity should be working from the round about arenas.  The shadows after all, is what the armies of Gotham are best known for.”

    The Elf looked on to the formulating leader of Gotham, like he was hanging on ever word, and in fact he truly was.  It was no secret to anyone that Lord Wayne was a strategic genius.  There was not a single mind, which effectively knew the science like the man who was speaking to him now.  Conn'r knew from the first word that fell from the man's grim lips, that not only did he know every possible outcome, but if there was a chance at winning, against this god-like foe... that this human... this Lord Wayne of Gotham, was surely the only who'd find it. 

    “I have heard such, so tell us your plan, fair lord,” Conn'r spoke in velvet tact, his words falling from his lips in but the most elegant manner, so many years of proper upbringing brought about this in the form of flattery.

    “First we will need to form a perimeter around the battle in question.  I am sure that those who are now squaring off against Darkseid are giving their lives so that we can have but a little tactical advantage and able to keep him confined within a sector.  I will need you to show me where that area is Conn'r.”

    The Elf stayed silent on his mount only shifting ever so slight to receive a worn battle map from a foot soldier that now stood silently to his right side.  The Elf surveyed the foreign map design ever closely, his Elf-kind eyes looking at the lines of the mountains and watched the sweeps of color and thatches that indicated waters, and valleys.  It was after the short silence of voice that with a brush he finally isolated the area where the risen Mage had taken to… in a battle that would cost his friends their lives. 

    As soon as the map was marked, the same foot soldier rolled the weather beaten map into a cylinder and strode back to the side of Wayne, whereupon he presented the marked map to the Lord.  He drew that cylinder into his own grasp, carefully unraveling the map.  For what felt like the span of several minutes the lord kept the rest of the army in wait, everyone waiting to see what the plan of attack would be.  They were not used to such input, as usually the Lord knew everything even before the scouts would return.  But this information was taken into account, as though he had not been aware, or his estimation from where the battle was had been flawed. 

    Finally, he drew up from the map, rolling it back into its original cylindrical shape, and raised his head upward to greet not the Prince but everyone in his party.  “We will separate into four flanks.  All of the archers will be lead by Prince Conn'r, along with the magician Constantine and he will lead them towards the foot of the mountain, on the eastern side.  Sir Timothy, you will take the third division of footmen to the western side.  Be careful to stay out the engagement perimeter, until you hear my mark.  Sir Richard, you will be taking the 2nd and 4th and will be running in a 90 degree angle across the western slopes.  You will wait to engage, as you will be leading the largest supply of soldiers, and I want the true number to remain hidden at first contact, so it will be vital that you stay hidden until the remaining1st division, led by me makes the initial attack.  Now Conn'r I am not sure how quickly the Metropolis army will move in or if they have any strategy, so I will need you to work secondly as a scout, flying a sure arrow to let me know of the course of the battle previous to our joining fray.”

    The Elf nodded surely and let a smile of awe paint across his face.  “Yes sir... and it is true what they say of your genius.  I don't think anyone would have thought of much else against such odds.”

    “Don't flatter me until Metarun is saved. For now just fight to your best ability-- just as your father would have done.”


Near Stone Heights
Metropolis Fraction

    It appeared that the Prince Kal-El knew James' arrival before even he himself did, the rest of the army parting a slender scar, like a great ocean rising up to expose a soiled bed of earth.  The powerful son of Metropolis urged his steed forward his muscular hands gripping the leather reins as though it was the hilt of his sword.  The white stallion, dove through the trail opened up by his men, the dark curls of his hair sliding back and forth across his deeply tanned face like a breeze of lilies.  The soldiers watched questioning as the heir to their city was devoured in the thick musk of the fog, his body forming into a shadow, then flickering from sight all together.

    “Sir James you have returned!” the Prince spoke as jovial as he could muster, into the thick airs.  One of his large hands swatted the boys’ shoulder with enough force to give him fear he would fall from his saddle.  The young boy turned his head outwards into the mist that surrounded him yet he was lucky enough to see the mane of his horse. 

    “My Prince?” he questioned, hoping against hope that his ears hadn't began to deceive him.  His answer was given, not by mere words but that same large hand grabbing onto one side of his reins directing him in a southern slant.  He waited patiently in his saddle as he was lead through the ripples of the thick fog.  The silvering mists taking hues of orange, and sun pinks as he was taken just a minute measure of feat, wherein the fog dispirited and the camp of the Metropolis fraction came into focus.  The great lanterns and fires were all that kept the great fogs at bay; the swirling fog surrounding them in a virtual prison of thick swirling gas.

    Sir James watched with wide eyes as the countless troops came into view, their bodies still pulled apart to form that trail that the Prince had taken only moments ago.  The orange aura of the fires and lanterns put a sun kissed tone to the entire display heating up the war torn expressions of his peers and friends, to an almost upbeat mentality.  However that beatific emotion ended the moment the Prince pulled past him; the almost too perfect face, as though it had been chiseled from rock, had cuts gashed into his high cheek bones, his eyes and chin purpled from bruises... his cape tattered and wrecked.  How could that man look onto him with such innocent blue eyes? How did he craft that smile with those perfect white teeth?  How could he be a warrior?

    “Welcome back, Sir James,” Kal-El spoke his head turning to meet his long time friend's.  “Now what news have you, and where is William?”

    “William elected to stay with the others, giving his horse to the Elven Prince so that he could warn Lord Wayne as now I warn you.”

    “I see,” the voice of the proud Prince spoke, shifting to that of a brooding spinster.  “So then it’s true, Fate is dead, and Darkseid has...”

    “Yes, I do believe William, along with the others are now battling with the Dark Lord.  But I left before hand.”

    “It makes sense.  That way we know exactly where he is, so we can rush in and overthrow him with sheer numbers.  Everyone prepare to march, we are going to end this once and for all.”

    “But sir...” Sir James tried to say, but his voice was drowned out by the shuffling of armors and footsteps.  The battle was soon to be upon them, and the young scout knew he was not ready to see what would be coming for him.


   
Chapter Three
When First Shot Struck

    Darkseid let a smile run across his graphite features, as his energy sword clashed again with the metal weapon the Amazon Princess held.  With every strike she felt her very bones rattle.  She felt that she would die this day… but if she just gave Lord Wayne and the Metropolis Prince time to get their forces out there, gave the League enough time to gather… then she would have done her duty.  She could die knowing that she did not do so in vain.  She twisted her body around once more, her sword leaving the energy one in a loud scrape.  She let her wrist go limp as she twirled the magnificent sword through the air once more.

    “This is pointless; you cannot stand to fight any longer,” Darkseid spat lashing his sword out again through the darkened air.  With his untold strength, the blade met her shield.  The fierce attack, took her off her feet, slamming her back onto the cold ground.  “See what I mean… you could rule with me you know?” the mage spoke, his voice sounding more and more like the scratching of rock against a stone wall.  He slowly stepped towards her fallen form, the energy sword sliding down to rest inches above her outstretched neck.  Beads of sweat formed where the heat of the sword was felt against her skin.  “You could be the second most powerful force in all of Metarun.  You could be my queen.”

    “N…Never you scum.  I’d rather die a thousand deaths!” the Princess spat at him.

    “That could be arranged.” He smiled, the sword pressing firmly against her neck. 

    “DIANNA NO!” a loud voice called out from beyond both of the combatants.  Darkseid turned to look up for the sound, only to catch an emerald green light buzz towards his person.  The very light, smashed into the Mage’s face, with the tangibility of a brick.  His neck cracked against the strain, and he had to move his foot to retain balance.

    There were only a few seconds of silence, as the would-be god turned his head, the rocks that composed his neck sliding and locking back in place.  During this span of moments, the Emerald Knight, Sir John had emerged from the fog once more, the uncanny lantern he carried illuminating the thin vapors of the fog in a green glow.

    The dark lord’s eyes began to glow like embers once more, both eye sockets engorged with the terrific energy.  John stopped where he was walking as he saw the build up of power.  His caramel eyes grew wide as he saw the pure energy that was being summoned in the face of Darkseid.  The knight felt all the bravery in his bones melt away in that very instant, his body leaping to the side, as the twin crimson bands of pure energy pulsated from the dreadful eye sockets.

    The blasts narrowly missed the leaping John, singeing the backs of his legs as he dove to the ground.  He let out a groan as his chest hit the ground. His left arm met the ground, secondly with a brutal force, causing his grip to loosen from the lantern, the weapon rolling several feet away.  Darkseid turned his gaze away from the weakened knight, and back towards the Amazon Princess who had pulled herself to her knees.  Her white knuckled hands gripped the sword like a walking stick.

    “I was wrong.  Not rats, cockroaches,” Darkseid growled underneath his lips.  He swung the energy sword across his shoulders, the fierce energy creating a spiraling trail before it evaporated into nothingness.   His next motion was quicker, as he brought his foot forward slamming into the chest of the Princess. 

    Dianna doubled over, her nose hitting the soil as she took in wheezing breaths.  “You can torture us, you can maim us… you can kill us… but you won’t win this day.”

    “My dear… look around,” Darkseid sang, “I already ha— uh!”  The monologue cut short as a green arrow, repelled off the rocky skull.  The Mage veered his head once again, his eyes glowing with the terrific energy, trying to find the source of the latest disruption.  Dianna however had only to take one look at the projectile and she knew.  The Calvary had started to arrive.

    The single arrow was soon met with more, the emerald arrows only being one of many following a torrent of missiles battering off the tough body of the resurrected Darkseid.  His body turned slowly his head following the arc of the missiles, the glowing eyes humming with newly found energies.  “Flee, and scurry fools!” he shouted as eyes let loose yet another attack, the twin arcs blowing an out cropping of trees and foliage to cinders.  “None of you have even the inkling of a chance; your weapons are powerless against me!”


Prince Conn’r had seen the attack of Darkseid before, and it was he whose eyes registered the deadly arcs racing towards them.  “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” he shouted his arms wind milling towards the other archers.  It was as the humming of the energy reached his ears, even amongst the rabble of soldiers leaping out of the way, that he himself forgot that he was standing right in the beam’s trajectory. 

    “Ari tad Reghm!” a voice called from behind him, a mere heart beat before the blasts bit through the outcropping of trees.  The Prince of the Wood Elves froze in place, as a bluish orb engulfed his senses, protecting him from the onslaught of the trees being uprooted and split in twain.  The ground rumbled under him, and his fellow archers fell some hit by the falling debris others diving to the ground as to protect their mortal bodies.  Conn’r however could not move frozen by the sight of the massive destruction.  Magicks the like he had never before seen.

    It was moments after the last rocks and limbs fell to the earth, and the magical shield dissolved around him, that he finally managed motor functions.  His head turned to the shorter man behind him.  The scruffy Hedge Mage, with the frightening blue eyes, that had seen much more than the Prince ever would.  “Thank you,” was all the Elf could manage, his eyes staring holes into the blond human.

    “Well don’t get used to it,” Constantine told him, “It was more of a test anyways.  I had no idea if that spell would do anything, against his chaotic magicks.  But now I think my idea might just work out.”

    “Your idea?” the Prince asked his eyes finally dropping from the Hedge Mage’s piercing gaze, instead turning his attention to the surviving archers who were now picking themselves from the ground.

    “Yeah, if you want to give it a go.” Constantine smiled, his yellowed teeth glinting somehow against the dreary fog.”

    “Well perhaps you better explain it to me quickly.” 
   
    “Right, well it’s simple enough, basically using your alls arrows in the same way I used the shield, to pierce the chaotic emissions that the rock bastard is emitting.”

    “Well sounds logical enough,” Conn’r said, though he had been trained in the use of natural magicks, much of the world’s magicks went over his head.  He walked past Constantine in a rush; moments after his words fell from his lips.  He wasn’t sure how many of his archers remained, six of them had now stood up in a crowd, and others were lying strewn.  Many looked lifeless.

    Constantine was right behind him; his bad posture was quite noticeable next to the much taller Elf.  “So I know this is a bad situation, mates, but we can’t be pulling the pin just yet.  But time is not on our side,” he spoke his eyes shifting to the archers.  “Dump your quivers, you too Prince.  I need to make contact with them for this to work.”  The archers turned their gaze to the Elf, who simply nodded, slipping out of his own quiver and dumping them to the raw earth.  In unison the others did likewise, creating a pile of shafts in front of the Hedge Mage.

    Constantine looked at the pile of arrows and slowly bent down to the broken ground, his knees chilling as they met the cold ground.  Slowly he pushed the hems of his tunic up to his elbows, and closed his eyes.  “Ata ati ati  node. Ata ati ati  node.    Ata ati ati  node.    Ata ati ati node…” he began to chant, his palms resting on the pile of arrows.  The archers all watched as the Hedge Mage’s hands began to glow a steel blue color.  The hum of the energy causing goose bumps to rise on the neck of Conn’r.  He could feel the outpouring of energy into the very shafts.  To Conn’r it felt like an eternity before Constantine finally opened his eyes and backed his hands from the arrows.  His voice however continued to chant the same words over and over again.

    “Gather up your arrows,” Conn’r addressed the others, his own body was sinking down to the pile of now glowing arrows, gathering up his own emerald shafts.  He couldn’t help but wonder how the others were doing, if Dianna was safe.  It’d only been a few minutes since the blast; however it felt to him that all the time in the world had elapsed.  He was ready to end this; he hoped that The Gotham Army was to be there soon.  He couldn’t do this alone.

   
Lord Wayne felt terror in his heart as he ran across the fog drenched valley that led to where only a short a time ago, Stone Heights had loomed.  Most people who knew him thought that he never was felt afraid, fear, or terror—but at this moment it was evident that if he felt anything at this moment it was in fact terror.  Even with all the confidence in his own skills on the battlefield, he knew he needed everyone that had come.  Fate was right.  The League of Kingdoms was needed.  No one man—no one army had a chance in defeating a creature who could so easily defeat the greatest Mage to have ever lived.  This in itself shook him to his very bones.

    Mere moments ago, as his horse beat holes into the frozen soil, he saw the fog dissipate for the span of moments as a fiery trail illuminated the valley, and he watched its course exploding into some of the trees that circled the entire valley.  He felt a tinge in his gut, as he knew that his archers had assumed position there.  He hoped that they had survived.  Why did they open the attack so soon before he arrived?  Partly the Dark Knight resented his choice to have an Elf lead his men.   If the Hedge Mage had perished in the explosion, would they have any way to put an end to Darkseid?

    As his flank of men continued to March and ride toward their destination, the very fog began to thin, silhouettes formed around him.  He could make out three bodies strewn around the flat clearing, only one robust shape standing up, apparently taunting the fallen.  “Prepare yourselves!”  Wayne spat from his helmet, his rough voice sounding more like a raw bark, as he reached to the hilt of his sword drawing it from its scabbard.

    His announcing cries did not fall on deaf ears.  As the fleet of soldiers broke through the grey tendrils of fog, the risen mage had turned his attention from the scattered heroes on the ground. His eyes once again gave of the supernatural glow, as the crimson arcs fired directly into the coming army.  Wayne only gasped as he saw the hissing lines of energy streaming like missiles towards his people.  There was nothing that could be done. 

    Wayne leaped from his saddle as the lethal energies neared his person.  The omega beams catching a wave of bodies and animals decimating the mortal forms into soot, before his and the eyes of the few lucky soldiers that were out of the range of the narrow blast.  The smell of the roasted dead filled the nostrils of the lucky survivors.  Wayne buried his head in the mud, as he laid there on the ground, his left fist gripping his sword with anger and fear.  What he just saw... bodies reduced to ash.  He had never seen anything like it, and the smell was everywhere.  It was only the masculine cry that was delivered a few breaths later that returned the great Dark Knight to his senses.

    “NO!” was the cry, delivered by the Prince of Metropolis, as his large white horse broke in front of the rest of his coming forces.  The square jawed soldier held his sword at high, as the entire army slid into cogency with the remaining Gotham army.  Kal-El did not stop his riding however, unlike the rest of the army as they met up with the Gotham forces.  Instead he ran full tilt, blowing through the fog, his dark hair waving like a flag against his brow.

    Darkseid drew his energy sword upwards as the Prince rushed towards him.  The stone face, forming a grin, as his dark sockets met the icy blue eyes of the determined soldier.  He knew that the peoples were to be determined and he waited every hero they could throw at him.  All of them would fall.

    Kal-El grimaced as he saw the flickering of the mystic blade pointed at his own person.  The Prince did not stop his horse as he neared the Mage however.  Instead he vaulted off his saddle, sliding his second hand onto the sword's handle.  The large Prince seemed to almost be flying in the air, as he swung his sword down hard at Darkseid's own weapon.  As the two blades struck, pink arcs of energy sparked around the two of them.  Surprisingly the strength of this Prince's leap must have seemed a bit more powerful that the Mage had counted on.  The very strike made him slide a few steps back as the two blades met.

    Darkseid dropped his blade moments after the initial clash spinning the energy weapon across his hips, his feet spinning across the broken ground.  Kal-El felt the sword go, as well and swung his sword forward, tilting his blade into a diagonal, for a parry.  The mage brought the fearsome blade towards the Prince's shoulder.  Kal-El spun his body his large broadsword hammering down on the powerful blade, the metal of the sword vibrating in the boy's hand as he felt the powerful magic attack his sword once again.

    With a powerful push the reanimated mage sent the strong Prince stumbling a few steps back.  The energy sword circled in the air a few times before, the mage resumed his offensive position.  Kal-El watched the dreadful display he himself securing the grip he had on his own sword.  The look of death, icing over the once thought innocent blue eyes.  “Interesting...”  The mage grinned, as he took the step between the prospective swords’ reaches.  The Prince said not a word instead swung his sword at the Mage.  The Mage brought his sword low, in inhuman speeds catching the steel blade with his energy one yet again.  The same energy pulsed; it took all Kal-El’s fortitude to not lose his footing.  The mystical energies, he decided he did not like.  Every strike caused him to be innerved. Each strike caused the goose flesh to rise on his skin.  Every time his sword met Darkseid’s, he could feel his constitution crack; like the crumbling of bricks at a fortress gate.

    The Mage forced him back once again, twirling his energy sword with a superb skill, and then lunged back at the Prince.  The Prince saw this action and moved to, swinging his sword to meet the pulsing energy sword. The two warriors went at it toe to toe, with increasingly devastating parries screaming pink sparks across the landscape with every attack.


Chapter Four
Ushers of Insurgence
     

    The pausing of harm, by way of Prince Kal-El did not go unnoticed by Lord Wayne, who had picked himself from the ground, shaking the mud and debris from his armors.  He looked out amongst the landscape, before turning to the unified front of the Gotham and Metropolis forces.  “Everyone gear up.  I know there’s a lot of shake that’s been going on, but we need to move for your friends and loved ones.”  As his uncharacteristic pep talk passed from the dried lips, a sound of cheers were shouted from the soldiers, as they turned from their huddle to ready their weapons and prepare for the march.

    ~Barbara are you there? ~ The Lord of Gotham asked as he walked a distance away from the soldiers.  He did not need any of the soldiers to pick up the residual effects of Telepathic communication.

    ~Always Bruce. ~ came the voice back into his mind.

    ~I need Sir Richard and Sir Timothy to move in.~

    ~With all due respect, Bruce… Sir Timothy as well?  But he’s just a child.~

    ~I’m aware, Barbara.~

    ~They will be told, ~ Barbara spoke, only seconds before the landscape of two linked minds closed restricting the Dark Knight’s mind back into the mold he was use to, calculated and confident.  His head turned with his shoulders as he looked at the army behind him. 

    Removing his sword once more from his scabbard, he held the dangerous weapon high above his head.  “MOVE!” he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear.  From that point he lunged forward into a sprint.  His ears let him know the cavalry and foot soldiers were behind him.  He had hoped that Timothy and Richard could have been saved from the causalities of this battle.  But by what he had seen, it was not an option.  He needed every able bodied man.  He would mourn his friends once the battle was over… like he had always done… He’d mourn every day for the rest of his life.


The message was sent to both factions of the Gotham forces, moments after Wayne felt his mind settle back into his own head.  Secular cries of advancement was thrown out of youthful jaws, as two sweeps of soldiers came swarming from beyond the valley, where The Prince and the Mage had engaged in peerless combat.  The sounds of the clashing of weapons were easily dwarfed out by the sounds of metal boots and hooves stampeding against the soft earth.  Likewise the charge led by the horseless, Lord of Gotham only added to the chaotic clustering of soldiers veering on course with the battle that was playing out with the strength and brutality unmatched in this era of Metarun.

    On the ridge to the east of the chaos, Prince Conn'r of the Wood Elves, along with the Hedge Mage Constantine and the score of remaining Gotham archers watched as the entire valley washed with men.  Conn’r’s eyes turned to look to the meditating Hedge Mage. He watched for only a moment as he crouched down into position.  His heart of hearts thumped in his chest.  The magic he felt all around him, not just the meditative chant being spoken by Constantine but also the spells that Darkseid had been inhibiting caused his senses to go into a state of confusion.  He drew his arrow back, trying to quiet out his mind.  He couldn't mess this up.  His ears took in the tensing of the bow strings behind him, as he took a deep breath.  He let his arrow head scan the area of the large undead form.  He could feel it much better than he could see in the fog.  He closed his eyes as he released the arrow.  The other archers followed suit.  The bluish glow of the arrows swam across the terrain like a singular colored rainbow. 

    The Arrows landed like fireflies impacting against the body of Darkseid.  His body froze as the first shot hit him; this was followed by a dozen more of the enchanted arrows.  Each arrow, which struck gave off a devastating blast, enough energy for even the definite Prince of Metropolis to take a step back and shield his eyes from the coming barrage of missiles.  Each blast lit the Prince’s face, with a blue flicker of light.  However it was nothing to what it was doing to the undead mage.

    Darkseid’s screams came to everyone’s ears as the arrows struck his body, sending torrents of fire from his chest to his finger tips.  The searing pain easily extinguished the energy sword he wore. It also pushed him back and left him open to attack from the coming soldiers who thundered to the valley.

    For a moment, The League of Kingdoms felt a swell of pride at the ensuing victory.  The pride was devastated with a single word ushered from the mage’s lips.  “Enough.”

    The powerful words stopped everything.  A red halo of energy shot from the very ground around Kal-El and Darkseid.  The mystic energies shot outwards, causing the very ground to break apart and spring upwards.  The shockwave uprooted trees and the wet earth, smashing insane force at the coming forces, sending the entire brigades from the ground with its destructive force. 

    Kal El watched to bear witness to the blast, as his own soldiers, along with the legions of Gotham were flung like rag dolls in a raging storm.  He watched with the ice cold eyes as his friends and country men slammed hard into the shattered earth, watching as they broke like rag dolls on impact.  He watched silently as he saw a red haired youth being swept from his saddle his torso being separated from his hips.  He watched as his best friend Sir James was massacred.  He would not shed a tear.  “The deepest sorrow a man feels, has the driest of tears.”

    Instead Prince Kal-El of Metropolis tightened the grip on his sword’s handle and lunged at the grinning Mage.  “THIS ENDS NOW!” he growled, with enough killing intent to level the mountains that surrounded him.  Darkseid let the glint of a smile wash over his face, as the Prince stampeded towards him.  The energy blade moved upward glowing brighter than ever before to meet the blade of Kal-El.  It appeared the energies that Darkseid had accumulated had no end.  Even with the soot black wounds from the arrows decorating the gray form, he still moved on ready to battle everyone on the planet if it was needed.

    As the two blades met again, the feedback was massive.  The red hue of energy eclipsed both fighters.  The Prince could feel his very bones buckle as the blast slammed into his person.  However despite the pain and force, the Prince did not give an inch.  He whirled his own gigantic sword around his hip, swinging hard at the Mage once again.  His blade only met the energy blade once more, inducing more energy from the mystic weapon, and more pain to his body. 

    “Why do you try?  It is impossible,” Darkseid spoke between parries, the dark slits staring at the battered Prince, who’s once perfect skin was now blackened and bruised.

    “I do not try.  I succeed!”  Kal-El spat back at the Mage, spittle of blood and phlegm escaping his lips as he stepped forward to clash the blades again.

    “But what is it you succeed in?”  Darkseid asked as he moved to parry the blow aimed at his stomach.  The red ghost of mystical energy eclipsed their forms again, followed by the wet thuds of the force impacting human flesh, “Your very own death?”

    “If that is what it takes… I will gladly die!” the Prince of Metropolis spoke, as the glow dissipated.  The metal armor which situated across his chest fell away in blackened ash, exposing the deeply bruised and cut chest, of the hero.


Sir Richard looked down at the boy clumped on the floor.  He felt the cold hands, which until moments ago were tightly clamped in his hands.  The young boy’s raven hair had been pushed over his forehead, his own blood and mud matted his mane to his wet skin.  His armor had been ripped and shredded by the initial blasts of rock.  When the boy landed his ribs had splintered inwards rupturing his internal organs.  Richard just held the boy, Sir Timothy, as his breathing became shallow.  He was one of the scores of men who had instantly been given release from life in a single display of might. 

    “There’s nothing you can do, Dick.”  The deep voice came from behind him.

    The knight turned his head around, his warm tears glistening down his cheeks like gold.  “You wouldn’t understand,” the boy said, his eyes looking at the silhouette of his mentor, who despite the tangle of ripped clothing, blood and soot—had the same piercing eyes, and stiff stance.

    “That doesn’t change the fact we have still have a job to do,” Bruce Wayne spoke taking steps to divide the distance between the two warriors.  “Kal-El can’t last much longer.”

    Gently Richard the Grayson slipped the boy’s body from his lap.  Slowly he raised the joints in his knees and his back cracked from strain.  The young knight’s face rose from the shadows, yellowed illumination trudging through the inky abyss, exposing, and his marred flesh.  His large eyes were now swollen slits, and his lips and chin were covered with the coagulated blood of his own injuries. 

    “We’ll see him soon, Dick,” Lord Wayne told his most favored student as he walked past the standing youth, not meeting his eyes as he strode.  Richard slowly unsheathed his sword gripping the weapon with both his hands.  He said not a word as he began to walk slowly at first, after Lord Wayne. 

    “Some of us sooner than others,” the young knight said to no one’s ears at all.


Prince Conn'r stood silently through what remained of the woods.  His eyes watched solemnly as the battle between Prince Kal-El and the Mage known as Darkseid continued.  His deep green eyes however traced not to the battle at hand, but to the ground around it.  The blast blew out from the center of the clearing, where Orion, Sir John, William, and Diana had been only scant minutes before, but now those bodies were gone.  He could only wonder if they had been blown back crushed by the force of the Mage's deadly strike or if some work of the gods had protected them.  A scant few of the archers he had enlisted still remained, even despite his nature magicks along with Constantine's own magicks, creating something of a barrier, not everyone was safe.  More bodies lay on his shoulders.  Yet despite it all, despite all the death around him, his mind could not come away past the mortal situation of the Amazon Princess.  It bothered him that he'd not get to say goodbye to her if that was how the card of Fate had been dealt.

    “No rights in kneading stale bread mate,” Constantine said behind the Elf.  His haggard voice sounded more like breath than words.  “What is done is done, but what isn't done, well that’s what we should be worrying about.  Ain’t no bloody way that bastard Kal is gonna keep up the fight; we have to find another tactic.  And we ain’t got the men to make any use of the arrows, enchanted or other.”

    The rightful heir to the Star Citadel turned his head from where he was watching.  The gorgeous features turned all expressions towards the disheveled magician, the green eyes locked into the human's own blue.  “What do you suggest, Mage?” the boy asked.  He did not ask bitterly, nor with contempt, he had only just met the strange human, but already he learnt that the man did not talk without thinking, even if it sounded the other way around.  The Mage knew something that would turn the tide, or at least thought would.  There were no positives when dealing with this arcane creature known as Darkseid.

    “Aye, what I suggest is that we follow that tinge.” 

    “Tinge?” Conn'r asked his eyebrows lifting.

    “Don't tell me you can't bloody feel that from the rubble, of the ole mountain?”

    Conn'r turned his body towards the debris he had all but forgotten about.  His eyes widened as the thick energy like molasses rolled over his body.  His very thoughts slowed once he noticed its presence.  A magic the like he'd had ever felt.  “Why did I not...”

    “Oh you have a lot to learn about all this rubbish, lad.  Let me just say some magic cannot be found unless you look.  Case-in-point the final gift our prestigious Benefactor gave to us,” Constantine spoke, tapping the Elf's shoulder.  He walked past Conn'r his eyes looking to the destroyed mountain.  “Let’s be off then.  I'm sure whatever is hiding itself might be our ace in the hole.”

        Conn'r nodded and began to push forward; the few archers too began to follow in step after the duo, when a voice called out that made everyone freeze in place.  “I think it might be best if I come too.”

    Conn'r’s head whisked around, his body spinning where he was standing, his very face freezing in an expression of shock as he caught sight of the boy who stood just beyond the tangle of destroyed lumber.  The straw like hair matted unmoving across the porcelain forehead.   Then a young human stepped free, the eyes that glowed like stars stared into the Elven Prince's.  The battered armor scaled across its pieces, as he tried to make himself known.  “Orion!”  Conn'r exclaimed in shock, only to cover his mouth moments later.  “You fair still, and what of Dianna?”

    “I do not know what has become of the others.  I was blown from the field, with the strike, and landed a few meters south of here.  It is lucky I found you.”

    “I see,” Conn'r said with a nod.  “If you are coming we should go.”

    “Yes,” Orion spoke, “if we do not hurry the battle will surely draw to a most frightful end.”

    No words needed to pass amongst the archer, the Mage, or the son of Darkseid.  Instead they simply gave a look of understanding amongst themselves and started out once again under the leadership of Constantine.  The trio, as well as the small group of archers who walked with them, had no idea what the crag filled nightmare would show them.  But what ever it was to bare, it would be better than to wait for all their friends to be decimated.  Despite the demeanors of each, not one was absolved from the growing sensation of fear.  Yet they walked over the soft earth, decimated with litters of twig and root, each one as silent as graves along the trail.


Sir John could only feel numbness below the waist.  He kept his eyes closed as his head lay on the brawny shoulder of the Dwarf, known as William.  He could feel the unsteady limp the warrior had, as he walked.  If he had it in him he would have told the Dwarf to stop, to put him down.  Unfortunately for the Knight he was using all his strength to stay awake, and keep a hand planted on his emerald lantern.   It was hard on his pride to know he had been caught in the torrent like he had, the heavy winds mangling his legs into unusable heaps.  But Dianna and William were both with him, they had both survived... and Orion... he knew that the kid was somehow alive as well.

    “How far away do ye think we are from the battle?”  William asked turning his massive head from the trail of broke trees to the Princess, who despite the coating of purple bruises and crimson wounds, still made his heart clinch up in chest from her devastating beauty.

    “I think I can see something up ahead.  It’s hard to say at this point,” she spoke, “but I still think you should turn around William.  You are too injured to fight... and I'm not sure how long John has.  He could be dying.”

    “I think that everything relies on all of us being there.  I don't know how the whole prophesy thing works.  But I don't see any wisdom in running.  If I'm to die I'd rather do it fighting,” William spat looking down at the armored man whose legs hung from his hips like two slag of meat, bones exposing from the dark skin.  He knew that the knight was in pain.  Even more pain that he was, despite the constant throbbing he felt from trying to walk.  All three of the warriors had been injured beyond what was required to continue fighting.  But this battle was not a regular battle.  And the trio of warriors, were not average soldiers.  They understood what was at stake.  And they could not sit back and not take on what was coming.  The very world hung in the balance, and Dianna and William increased the speed of their strides.


The energy that was thrown throughout the night sky sizzled on the skins of every shoulder, from the smallest foot soldier to the chosen heroes of the alleged “League of Kingdoms”.  Many had died, already more than any of them of them wished to count.  Princess Koriand'r was amongst those who rode with the Metropolis army.  She heard the words that Darkseid shouted, which decimated the landscape.  The uncanny energies he summoned, which tore friends from horses, and tossed large trees into the air.  She herself was unharmed by the magical display.  For it was J'onn of the Marshes that stood beside her, his large green hand encased in hers, and together they watched as the world ignored them.  She could have sworn she saw the dancing lights of Faeries going on as the world exploded, small pint sized people with wings creating a magical web of energy around them.  But all she truly knew was that she and a few others managed to stay their ground, as most of the soldiers who were ready to fight were blown away with the massive torrent of energies.  Some of those who were caught by the energies had returned some limping, and many crawling.  At this point she hoped that those injured would stay down.  For she knew what was to happen here on out, and it had nothing to do with the armies of Gotham and Metropolis.  But it had everything to do with J'onn and herself.

    “We should not stand here,” J'onn spoke, in his low hum of a growl.  “Kal-El will not last long.”

    The orange skinned Princess nodded to her friend who stood at her side on foot.  Neither of them had to usher another word.  Instead, Kory lashed out with her reins and urged her horse forwards into a gallop, only turning her head to make sure that the green giant was making his own march behind her.  The two of them took off at the speeds in differing speeds, making their respective ways through the remaining soldiers.  Many of the soldiers were unsure if the uncanny duo was leading them to a march, or if they were only going to fight as great warriors. 

    At first only a few traveled with the twosome to bring the fight back to Darkseid.  However, it was when a second duo of soldiers walked past the still debating mixture of the land's armies that the rest pulled their selves together.  The still unbroken forms of the Dark Knight and his former squire walked stead fast, through the plague of soft moss, and broken ground, both bodies tangled in the fog in enough to rid their own bruises and wounds.  To the remaining soldiers they saw the duo as they passed into the battlefield, the promise of victory in the constant head lifted past the brawny soldiers.  Where Kal-El was undeniably the mightiest warrior in all of Metarun, they also knew that Lord Wayne was the most skilled warrior of the lands.  And together the two of them could not lose.  And they... all the soldiers… followed, breaking off into the fight once more.  The final lap in the greatest battle the planet had just begun, and even with the significant losses, no one was ready to give up.


Chapter 5
Do not forfeit my honor

    Prince Kal-El felt every bone grind as he continued to swing his sword, pelting blow after blow at the undead Mage.  He felt every wound burn as his body perspired; his swings and parries never faulting.  He let out a roar of defiance as he tried against all else to continue his battle.  But unfortunately, despite his spectacular strength, and his endurance beyond that of anyone to ever live, he felt his body crumbling.  It was also quite evident that Darkseid knew it.

    The Mage only smiled as each strike got weaker, each blow seemed less and less guided.  He saw the fatigue in the Knight's eyes like an icy-blue flame flickering in the wind.  He extinguished his energy sword yet again, as another cumbersome blow sliced the very air around him.  A single gauntlet covered hand, pushed forward to the blade.  The Mage caught the coming blade with that hand and tightened his grip on the gleaming metal.  Kal-El felt the sudden pressure from the blade as his strike stopped short, felt as the very blade's weight doubled, pushing his considerable girth downwards.  The Prince let out a sigh, as the weight crumpled his torso, forcing his knees to fall to the earth in sick mud covered splatters.  His arms stretched out painfully over his head. He looked up to meet the gaze of his would be killer.  Prince Kal-El looked on in silence.  Darkseid paid him that respect, as he continued to force the blade down, angling the large sword to fall across his neck.  The blade slowly fell closer... the strength of the two men causing the very suspense of death, drawing closer that much more dramatic to both combatants.

    Just then as it looked like the Prince of Metropolis had swung his last sword, a silvery glint streamed across his vision, ending in a sickening thud.  The grip of Darkseid subsided... allowing the Prince to look up, only to see the leather handle of throwing knife sticking from the neck of his adversary.  An eerie red glow funneled from where the knife had hit, those undead hands clawing at the handle to pull it from his body.  It was only then that the Prince registered the horse hooves, and footfalls coursing behind him.

    Even as the Dark Mage wrapped a stony hand around the handle of the knife that the parading army came into view.  The soldiers were not numerous, only but a score of a dozen or so, but being lead by Lord Wayne, and Sir Richard they seemed to rally charging into the fray, with a new found exuberance.  The large green Ogre J’onn stood side by side with the beautiful Princess Koriand’r, their figures a swashed in the myriad of bodies.  The soldiers raced to the body of the Mage without any hesitation.  The men and women of the unified phalanx delivered blades to the stony skin of the Mage.  Each warrior and each spirit pushed onwards, screaming in devotion and with their very spirits.  The force of the collective blades sent the Mage tumbling on his feet, each series of blasts catching him off guard.  However for the moment, it seemed the Mage was more concerned with the fumbling grasp of the handle sticking from his throat than he was the attack on his person.

    The Prince of Metropolis stayed on his knees in the mud as he watched the soldiers blanketing the Mage; his eyes squinted from the sweat and blood, trying to keep an eye on Darkseid.  However he couldn't help but feel the swell of pride over the rag tag group of warriors once again rallying strength he himself had yet witnessed.  It was the sudden thunderous rumble that shook the very ground that made that smile fade.  A great light darted from the center of the battlefield, sending many of their soldiers tumbling backwards, some as close as a foot away from where he sat.  In the center where few soldiers clung on, the Mage had pulled the blade from his throat.

    “I applaud your endurance, soldiers of Metarun,” the dark god spoke, his left hand clinched around the shimmering blade which reeked of his cold blood, veins of green and black sludge running across its length.  “But you do not understand.  You have no chance.” 

    “NO!”  J'onn the Ogre yelled as he lunged at Darkseid.  The creature’s deep green fist swung surely through the open face, his arm's muscles stiff and thick as the knuckles impacted the chin of the corpse.  The blast was intense, a bone shattering connection, which caused the Mage's entire body to be lifted from the ground, and pushed several feet into the air, only to land in a painful thud.

    The shouts of congratulations ruffled over the soldiers, and even Lord Wayne threw up his sword showing the giant his pride.  However the short victory was gone in the next moment as Darkseid pushed his body upright climbing from the soft mush, which was the ground.  A flicker of energy exposed from his eyes, like orange coals stuck where his eyes once were.  “Definitely rodents.”  He growled mostly to himself as he turned to view the soldiers who charged his station the moment he stood. 

    His body moved quicker than one would assume.  His left arm came forward smashing a fist into one soldier's helmet, his back bowed ever so slightly to evade the strike from the knight of Gotham City, and still he used his right arm to parry a chopping slash from the Elf woman from Tamaran.  The bodies of the soldiers fell apart in mere seconds, the reanimated Mage seeming to almost walk through their line.  Then as he viewed the Ogre who ran at a slower pace near the back, he let loose the twin beams from his eyes.

    “J'ONN!” the turning Koriand'r screamed as she saw the amazing beams impact her friend and companion.  And as silent as death, the Ogre turned his head to view the beautiful orange skinned Elven Princess, as the two beams hit him squarely in his chest.

    It was an agonizing moment in time for J'onn of the Marshes as the twin beams drilled two fist sized holes through his upper torso.  The sizzling of meat caught his nose almost instantly followed by the white pain of his inner organs being caught by the onslaught, as the beams passed through him.  He stood on his feet motionless for a moment, the fell to the ground, collapsing almost instantly. 

    “YOU DIE!” the Princess screamed lunging into the Mage.  The Mage only turned to her as she charged at him.  He moved his body slightly to block the sword swipe that came towards where his shoulder had been.  With a second action, he slammed a fist into her chest, sending her wheeling through the air, and falling with a thud.

    It was as the warrior-Princess was tossed to the side like a rag doll that more of the army came back at him again.  Wayne being the first thrust the Sword of Plagues in the front of him.  Darkseid saw the man and as he did with many of the other soldiers swung his arm forward to attack the attacker.  Wayne however spun on his heels his body veering to the left, dodging the arm.  With his teeth clamped tight he swung the sword hard leveling the massive blade to the Mage's stomach.

    The blade slid through the thick skin, bits of rock crumbling away from the body.  Using the momentum he had received from his dodge, as well as the tight wedge the attack had created into the body, Lord Wayne tossed his body forward, using the sword's handle as leverage.  He kept a tight hold on the handle as his legs went up, his arms locking into place.  The metal boots lashed through the air, as he sprung his body upside down-- a virtual handstand.  The tips of the boots slammed hard into the already damaged throat of the creature.  The impact-- which had been combined with the knife wound, as the powerful punch of the Ogre, separated the head from the shoulders.

    “Holee...” Richard said as he saw the head go flying into the air. The body however, didn't collapse.  Instead it stood there a moment, realizing what had just happened, as though it had not registered it just completely lost its head.

    During the confusion Lord Wayne pulled the Sword of Plagues from the stony body, sputtering rocks from its form.  It was this very action, which caused the neck to crane independently towards the body of the Dark Knight.  Without warning the large hand of the now headless Darkseid swung downward impacting the Lord of Gotham with enough force to send him flying, his helmet separating from his skull.  His body landed in a hard thud, the sword escaping his grasp and landing a hand reach away from the Wayne.

    “Is that even possible?” Richard spoke, as he pushed his own body forward, the ebony bladed sword he carried coming close to the headless body with a quick slash.  The headless Darkseid, however, easily dodged the would-be blow, with a simple movement of his back.  The right hand snapped forward; the massive fist impacting the boy's chest squarely, taking him off his feet.

    “It is possible,” said the same gravel-ridden voice Darkseid had possessed, booming from the distance.

    “Head or no head...”  Wayne spat as he pulled himself from the ground, his fingers encircling around the handle of the sword.  “He falls... and he falls again and again... until he is dust.”


The former site of Stone Heights

    “It’s not far.  Me head feels 'bout ready to explode,” the Hedge Mage Constantine spoke, as he led the small band of archers, a Prince and the son of Darkseid to the large rubble mound, which once had been the prison of the foe that their allies and friends now fought.

    “Do we even know what we’re looking for, Mage?” Conn'r asked his stride side by side with Orion, who continued to look down at his feet as they bared witness to remnants of the great mountain... and the grave of Fate.

    “Oi, I’ll know when I see it,” Constantine spoke back to his companions. His left hand swiped the fluttered blond bangs from his eyes.   The group of travelers did not utter another word as they traveled across the broken rock littered ground; each footfall like a distinct crunch.

    “Here,” the mage called, after some time of their journey.  He did not wait for the others to join him before he sunk to his knees, plunging his fingers into the rock covered ground, digging into the rubble.  His fingers throbbed and grew numb as he pushed more of the crag formed rock from its home.  His motions were quick and hurried—everything was silent but his heart as he dug. 

    Finally he stopped pulling two slender wisps of metal from the stony depths.  The first was a long piece of forged metal in the shape of a shaft, the second a rectangular slice of the same metal with the middle missing.  The rusted metal debris seemed to be ancient pieces of metal that despite the wear and age, held no real promise.  Yet the Hedge Mage looked down at the small pieces of metal with all the dedication he could muster.

    “Did we travel all this way for rubbish?” Conn’r asked, his eyes squinting at the pieces of spent metal in the man’s hands.

    “Just wait,” Constantine spoke; free of the Cornish voice he usually fed those around him.  The voice he chose now was free of satire, and instead completely focused on what was needed of him.  Tightly, the Hedge Mage’s eyes came closed.  He drew his head down, into a bow, and with a whisper coming to his lips the energies of this former prison began to be drawn from the very rocks, and earth.


“Do not fall back!”  Lord Wayne cried out, as the heat of the Dark God’s latest attack sheared across his face.  He gripped his sword and flung himself ahead of the others.  Every time Darkseid attacked, more of the soldiers fell.  Even now at his feet, lay the bodies of more friends that he’d have expected to loose.  He only prayed that they all were not dead.  Even now he couldn’t think about saying goodbye… he needed to focus on having a planet to bury them in.

    The Sword of Plagues caught the intense force of the headless creature’s energy sword.  The Lord of Gotham easily felt the energy that occurred between the two blades.  As his body was forced back, his protégé, Richard leapt in and went for a strike.  The boy’s own martial skill showed off his intense training as his blade met the chest of the headless creature taking it off its legs and crashing onto the ground.

    The soldiers took the moment to regroup, as second moment of respite blessed itself upon them.  The entire army that had been brought forward were now tired, each one panting and finding it hard to move tired over exerted muscles.  “I don’t think it can see without its head,” Richard spoke as Lord Wayne stood up from where he was flung.

    “Yes, but its still not doing us much good.  He’s still not having many problems taking our attacks,” Wayne answered.

    Even as the two Gotham soldiers spoke of their adversary, it had pulled its body from the ground.  Its form turned from where the soldiers had been standing in a slow calculating motion.  And with clumsy steps walked towards where its head had been cast.   The soldiers began to run after the animated corpse’s pursuit.  Swords and weapons hiked out in front of their collective charges, trying in vain to catch up to the creature’s target.

    “NO!”  Wayne called out before any of the others, as the decaying hands circled over the disembodied skull.  He like the rest of the soldiers watched in fear and in curiosity as the corpse hung the skull over the stump of a neck, and small meaty tentacles rose from the fowl brown flesh, to meet the surface of the skull. 

    The process of reattaching the muscle functions, optic and audio sensory as well as reestablishing the brain to the central system… took all of a few seconds.  By the time the soldiers had reached the corpse, he had already swung his body to face them… his eyes glowing once again.  Wayne knew there was no way for them to bypass this attack.  Then he felt a bizarre buzzing in his very bones, a build up magical energy, which formed an emerald orb in front of his line of sight.  However it was the very words that were spoken that made him feel like his heart was going to burst.

“IN DARKEST DAY, IN BLACKEST NIGHT NO EVIL SHALL ESCAPE MY SIGHT…” he didn’t need to turn to see the bodies of Princess Dianna, William the Dwarf and the Emerald Knight John running towards him.  He already knew.


The small group of archers, Conn'r and Orion huddled around the unkempt Hedge Mage.  The area around them was gray and desolate; chunks of rubble and raw earth were the only elements any of them could make out.  Though, all the collective eyes were on Constantine.  In his outstretched hands he held the small slender shards of blackened metal.  His knees were buried across the sharp crags of broken stone, as he sat with his eyes tightly closed, his chapped lips whispering arcane tongues, long forgotten by most on Metarun.  The queer colored energies bubbled from his hands creating bluish outlines against the key, as he channeled the mystical energies that surrounded this place.  This in essence was what a hedge mage did.  They gathered free energy channeling it with a focus into their bodies and expelled it usually into a single target or form.  In this case, Constantine was funneling as much of the energy he could into the mystic key... the same key that Desaaid had brought from lands of Lord Lazarus, to open up the Tomb that Darkseid was imprisoned in.

    Slowly as the mystical energies glowed brighter, eclipsing the Hedge Mage's hands, the very pieces of the artifact slowly came together.  Though no one could truly see the spell at work, the pieces of the broken key fell against one another, the mystical metals forming new bonds, recasting itself into the shape of the key created all those years before.  Everyone but Constantine stayed silent, even after he opened his eyes, and the glow slowly faded to just a flicker, until finally leaving a large key lying between his two hands.  “It is done,” he spoke, finally, his voice low and quiet.  He took a few deep breaths as he rose to his feet.

    “What is that?” Conn'r asked finally as the Mage turned his unshaven face to meet the eyes of the group.

    “It’s the Key!” Orion blurted out, having been the only one of the collective to have seen it.  And he remembered it well, that key cost him some very dear friends.  He was looking at a reminder of just what this battle meant.  It would not just be a few important people to him.  No this time it would be every living thing.

    “Aye, it’s the Key.  The one that was used to keep Darkseid locked up in Stone Heights.”  The Mage drew his dusty cloak open across his tawny shoulders.  “And it’s a bloody magnet for all the energy of the mountain and that includes the energy that the bastard Darkseid absorbed, when Desaaid awoke him.  If we can get it near enough to him, I'm pretty sure that it will siphon anything Darkseid has drawn from the chaos magicks of Fate and of Desaaid.”

    “I could fit it onto a shaft,” Conn'r offered, “But I'm unsure how precise it would be.  If my father was still alive, he was always good at firing obscure arrows.”

    “No,” a single voice called from behind them.  In a ruffle of armors and leather, the entire group turned their heads in unison.  Every eye was searching the heaps of broken stones.  They stared in silence for a few moments, searching for the interrupting voice.  Finally reluctantly a small red headed skull rose up from one of the stone mounds.  This was followed by a wispy neck, small ball like shoulders and a thin frame, covered by a crimson and yellow tunic.  But what really what made the small Halfling noticeable was the mar of freckles that ran horizontally across spreading from the bridge of his nose.  “I-I can do it.”

    There was a collective sigh of misunderstanding between the gathered group, before the small man leaped from the mound, and suddenly flickered out of view.  A few blinks passed over the archers, Prince, and Orion, when a wind mysteriously blew hair across scalps, and ruffled tunics, only to end with the small Halfling stopping in front of the Mage, his pint sized hands folded outwards.  “I'm not very brave... that for sure.  And you'll all have to forgive me of that.  But I can do this.  My uncle Bareth helped the first time and gave his life to stop Darkseid.  And I know it’s my turn to do the same thing.”
       
    The chorus of adventurers was quiet as the small impish looking man-child looked up at the stalky Hedge Mage, the clear blue eyes of the Halfling, looking into the muddy blues of the Hedge Mage.  It took a few moments of intense staring before Constantine pushed his hands forward, slowly dumping the large key into the pudgy fingers of the Halfling known as Walleth, the scared, would be hero who ran from the group once before.  “Aye, Walleth… you do your people proud.  But listen this is it.  You ‘aft to do it, you are our hope.  If you fail you take all of Metarun, to the brimstone.  Are you sure you can do it?  No one will think ill of you if you cannot.”

    “I know what it means,” the quick bodied Halfling spoke, his head nodding, splashing the muddy brown tresses across his face, “and I will do it.  The rest of you heroes have fought hard.  For the honor of my blood, I have no choice.  It’s my destiny, Hedge Mage… thank you.”

    Constantine did not get a chance to wish the Halfling good luck.  No—instead Walleth turned his body around, and flickered out of sight, with his people’s uncanny ability of speed… and his family’s true birthright as messengers… the Fleetfooted.


Bodies decorated the broken ground, like rubbish, only the very mightiest of warriors still stood strong, covered in an emerald shield.  “The Oan magic is weak if you do not have the will to focus!”  Darkseid screamed as he strode forward, the blood red energy sword conjuring to his left hand.  With a great force, he swung it down on the force field.  The very magic energy crackling and snapping as a splinter of red energy rode across the perimeter of the energy dome.  The blood red scar spread before igniting shattering the energy, as simply as he had cut down many of the warriors.

    The heroes who were gathered inside: Lord Wayne, Prince Kal-El, Princess Koriand’r, William of the Clan Marvel, Princess Dianna, Sir John of the Emerald Knights and Sir Richard… felt as though their bodies had shattered bone by bone as the explosion reverberated their bodies.  Teeth were clinched, feet heavily planted, fists tightened, as each one resisted the great and furious spell.  It was amazing as the spell blew over them that they stood there, despite the toll one each ones body.  Darkseid stared back at them, with his icy cold stare, his eyes once again bubbling with the terrific energy of the Omega Effect.

    But a second wind blew across the Warfield.  One that caught everyone off guard.

    Like a flicker of paper, the small Halfling Walleth came into view, charging right in front of the League of Kingdoms.  He had slowed down his running.  He jumped.   His entire body took from the broken ground of the valley; his hands stretched forward, the great key, hung steadfast in the twin fat hands.  The next moment, seemed like slow motion.  Walleth’s body angled upwards, clearing the five feet difference to the neck of Darkseid, the neck that still receded the same hole that Koriand’r’s knife had created not long ago.

    Walleth wanted to close his eyes as he saw the energy blast from the Death Mage’s eyes exfoliating from his sockets.  He knew that he would not survive, even as he stretched his body to his limits, pushing the key into the hole in Darkseid’s neck.  The key slid in… with sick suction sound, rotting flesh sliding between the teeth and metal of the ancient artifact.

    As soon as the key met the body of Darkseid, the great blast slammed from his eyes.  His very skin instantly liquefied, reducing his body to bones.  He fell into a pile of burnt cinders.

    Then Darkseid fell to his knees.  The same omega energy began to race like scars across his face, bleeding outward, like traces of molten lava from a volcano.  Then his entire head broke apart flinging the rock like face he wore across the valley. 

    The smoldering stump and torso stood there for a few moments, before it crumbled to dust.  Wind taking the ashes through the very lands of the world he desperately wanted to rule.

    “Damn…” the Emerald Knight finally said.


Epilogue
The Healing of a Great Land


    The Casualties were great, more so than anyone would have ever imagined.  The loss of the Marshian Man Hunter, J’onn, the Halfling Walleth, the young squire Timothy, and so many others was cause for a week of mourning throughout all the kingdoms of the great land.  There was also the talk of where Sir John would go as his injuries caused him to be unable to march as an Emerald Knight.  But there were also times for celebration in the month to follow, as Prince Conn’r took Princess Dianna as his bride, and together they walked a path to unite humankind and Elf kind.  It was a path that sent them, along with many others of the League of Kingdoms on many adventures. 

But those are stories for another time...


AFTERWORD

    So two years in the making, and quite a wait to finally read the end.   I hope you all enjoyed the conclusion as much as I did writing it.  It was definitely an experience.  This has been the longest thing I’ve ever written, and I am very proud of what the rest of the JLU2001 staff, and I accomplished.   This story, I believe is like nothing else ever done in fan fiction, and I couldn’t be more proud what everyone involved turned my idea into it.  It truly was amazing.

    I have so many people I want to thank.  First off Curt Fernlund for giving the green light on this project, even knowing it would be a heck of a lot of work.  There was a lot of initial planning just between the two of us.  And also thank you to all the outstanding writers who wrote pieces of the story: Steve Crosby, Curt Fernlund, and Matt Hrubey.  All of you were just amazing, and really made the project take a life of its own, fleshing out all these amazing characters.  The creativity that was brought to the table… well lets just say I was very impressed.

    So thank you everyone for reading and waiting for the conclusion.  It was a labor, but one that I feel was just about the same amount of love.

-Jae Lizhini
12.2006

Story © 2007 Jae Lizhini and may not be reproduced without permission.