Opal City

The Enchantress was the first, except for the Wizard of course, and Faust but he was incoherent at that point.  Ultimate power had that effect at times.

It was proximity, as she had been in the Opal doing the Wizard’s bidding, one of the drawbacks of being a member of his Secret Society (of Super Villains).  Of course, one had to accept the little hardships that went hand in hand with the benefits: hospitalizations, insurance, even a retirement plan.  All drawn up and legalized by Zard’s bookkeeper, the Calculator.  Still, she hated being at the Wizard’s beck and call, at anyone’s for that matter.  If it were not for the free psyche counseling she would have told the man and his ‘society’ to go screw.

But Zard had needed her in the Opal as back up.  He needed to take down some two-bit fortune teller in the city while his reborn Injustice Society went on a snatch and grab to get Starman’s Cosmic Rod.  Why, she did not know nor care.  It was an easy enough job, plying a spell that the Wizard had taught her employing some totally weird otherworldly energy that she had never encountered before.  Where the Wizard had learned such things, again she did not care.  It worked and she learned a bit more in her own repertoire.  And besides it helped pay the bills.

This however, she had not expected.  Enchantress stared, squinting into the glaring white light, the swirling shades of twilight flashing around the silhouette of the naked, red haired man standing in the midst.  He was cast in shadows, backlit by the brilliance streaming from beyond, but still she seemed to sense a familiarity about him.  Not recognition, but something deep within, like a childhood friend that had moved away and been forgotten until a chance encounter years later, passing on a crowded street.

She could not explain it really, and there was no time.  She watched as the swirling that she had first taken for illusion in the glare started to coalesce and expand, seeping forward in dull gray and sparkling violet waves, colors in between that she could not describe or name.  They were ribbons at first, beautiful and dreadful all at once, easing out and almost wiggling.

Seeking…

The dim light swelled, expanding outward like a sudden wave, a tsunami borne on the shock of hidden force out of sight and mind.  It struck the Enchantress before she could move a gasp of surprise caught in her throat.  It was a gentle caress, the sweet touch of a lover that filled and thrilled her entire body at once, permeating every fiber of her being.  Her eyes glazed and she saw the old man, the Fiddler stagger, his hand ablaze as his violin glowed with that white, heavenly light.

Her lips parted as the gasp finally escaped, but no longer of surprise but ecstasy.  Her back arched as she went up on her toes, caught in the throes of the wildest orgasm to ever wrack her body.  She felt afire as the magicks crackled and burned, her skin itching and tingling alike.  Sexual excitement exploded within her, pushing outward, making her sweat with passion.  Her heart raced as her breathing came in short, panting gasps.  Her muscles strained as she reached out, grasping for more.

More…

It was June Moon who collapsed in a frustrated heap on the ground there in the streets of Opal City.  Her mind was awhirl as she watched through slitted lids the expanding glow of dim, sparkling light washing away like the tide, growing, spreading ever outward.

She had no idea where she was of course.  Such was the way when the Enchantress took possession of their shared, violated body.  And that was exactly how she felt – violated.  Raped, and spent, abused and abandoned.  She did not know where she was or what was happening, but she had been lost in the madness of her other self for so long that she now felt lost.

June Moon looked about to get her bearings, trying to stay awake though the effort was Herculean, she was just so tired.  There were others near, three men in tuxedoes standing about a naked man with fiery red hair.  There was an odd clarity in the scene, the four almost crystalline and transparent while the world about them seemed to mist and gray into a dull parody of existence.

And in the dull she saw others, costumed figures that she did not recognize.  Some were standing, but more were either on their knees or flat on their backs, all looking like they felt as exhausted as she.  Something had happened here – was happening here, and in a sudden spark of illumination, she knew.

It was the silence screaming volumes that awakened insight.  The voice was gone.  That constant incessant nagging shrill voice was still.  Dead calm and silent, the Enchantress had vanished.  The magic was gone…

And as sleep finally one out and her muscles gave way to the sheer weight of her body, June Moon’s lips quivered.  A thin smile flashed but just as swiftly vanished as the emptiness opened up and swallowed her whole.  There was a horror in the sudden, overwhelming silence that filled her soul, and oddly as she drifted away she started to weep.

For June Moon was finally free, free and so terribly alone…

Metropolis

Lex Luthor stood at the window of his cell, watching the queer flickering lights sparkling the breadth of the horizon.  His view of the city – HIS city was good, the spires rising in the distance across the bay, lights gleaming and making the skyline a true wonder to behold, his own LexCorp tower significantly looming over all.  But he could see beyond, as always, and that was good as well.

He thought at first that the strange, alluring glow was perhaps the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights.  Not an unusual occurrence, even so far south as Metropolis, but the conditions were not right; the weather, the magnetic field of the planet, the heavens and celestial bodies.  No, this was something different.  Something more.

And the glow seemed to grow and expand as he watched, enveloping all as far as his keen eyes could see, sweeping closer with every heartbeat.  The light flared occasionally, fountains of violet and azure shooting out and up from the swirling, pulsating gray.  It was like a fog moving in from the sea, or a wave better, the swell of the tide on the crest of an approaching storm.

He continued to watch, too fascinated to turn away, too curious to take precaution.  He expected at any moment to see that irritating streak of purple flash through the sky as the damnable Alien went to thwart whatever threat the soothing glow might become.  Several uninterrupted seconds passed however, broken only by the far away murmur of the obligatory guards stationed in the otherwise deserted wing of Blackgate Prison.  The rabble were becoming aroused apparently, and preparing to panic.

Luthor ignored them of course.  He was almost mesmerized as he watched the light finally touch the outskirts of the city.  There were sparks and flashes as it moved closer, washing through the streets and setting the buildings with a radiance that should have been blinding, but was in fact dull and listless.  Like a negative almost, washed of color, a Renaissance painting smeared into Cubism, slightly off center.

He saw the Metropolis Newstime building suddenly burst aflame in a bizarre white conflagration.  The entire building seemed to waver and fade within the crackling brilliance, the upper floors especially, light beaming from the windows into the gray.  And suddenly he knew.

Even as the gray seeped through his window, engulfing his body in a cool wave that both hurt and healed all at once, Lex Luthor knew what was happening.  He felt the light, the dull glow as it washed through him, an almost gentle thing that set his skin to tingling.  Were he a religious man, he would have imagined that something had just touched his soul.  It was the brilliant, analytical mind that won out over heart however, and as the wave receded, passing on he finally staggered and sat heavily on his cot.

“Zard,” he whispered, barely able to hear his own voice as the prison’s alarms screamed to life, echoing through the cold stone walls of the prison.

Luthor shivered, suddenly tired but curiosity kept him alert and he looked to the window again.  The dull light was fading as swiftly as it had arrived.  The Newstime building seemed none the worse for wear, but he knew that it was not the building that had been set ablaze, but the publisher within; the man.

Luthor smiled coldly as he considered the agony that Colin Thorton was no doubt experiencing.  If the Wizard was correct, and Luthor had no reason to doubt the Illusionist, then Thorton was suddenly caught in the grip of a devastating depression, his magic ripped from his being to be put to better use.  Oh it would return, eventually, but Zard needed it and if that glow was the beginning, then soon the world would be free of so many obstacles.

Luthor stood, suppressing a yawn before starting to undress.  He neatly folded his prison grays and set them, his shoes and undergarments on the side table.  He was tired suddenly, an after effect he knew.  Zard had warned them all that everyone would be touched and affected, some more so than others.  Which explained what had happened to the usually punctual Alien.  The Kryptonian was averse to magic.  Luthor on the opposite hand was beginning to fester a newfound respect for the obscure sciences.

He smiled again, finally laying down after taking care of his baser, nightly needs and drew the covers over him.  He would dream pleasant dreams that night, he knew.

Once the fools shut off the damned alarms…

Manhattan

Adam Blakewell sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide and adjusting in the strange dull shadows that seemed to be creeping through the spacious luxury of his sleeping chambers.  He was breathing hard, almost gasping for breath, which was strange as he did not need to breathe.  And he was shivering, actually sweating as hot flashes and chills battled for dominance within his body.  He felt cold.

Impossible.  Inconceivable.  He was above such mundane things as pain and temperature.  It was almost as though he were getting ill, coming down with influenza or touched by a common cold.  All totally impossible.

“Adam?”

Blakewell turned at the soft, sleepy voice glancing at the woman that shared his bed.  She was dark-skinned and lovely just coming awake, her eyes dreamy and milky white as she smiled seductively.  Well worth the price for the simple companionship that she had provided that night, though her baser talents were not needed thanks to Dinah Lance.

“I had a dream,” she said, and Adam felt her hand drift automatically across his chest, her long scarlet nails scratching as her fingers wriggled playfully down his belly to between his legs.

Blakewell’s eyes snapped wide, and in a flash he tore the bedsheets away, staring at his groin, the woman’s hand kneading methodically and sending an old, missed sensation rippling through his once impotent body.  Dinah Laurel Lance had cut him months ago making him a mockery of the man that he had been with a magical blade ensorcelled by that witch, Zatanna.  He had been half a man, sexually at least because of those women, but now…

He was whole once again.  How?

Blakewell stared as the woman moved between his legs. He felt the warmth of her tongue as she licked about his manhood, felt her teeth scraping as she nibbled, trying too successfully to excite him.  Felt her bite…

“No,” he gasped, suddenly understanding, then –

Shazam!

The room exploded as lightning pierced the ceiling, crashing down and setting the bed to a blazing, crackling conflagration.  He felt the woman’s body tense as the magical lightning turned her to ash, caught in the fury of the old spell rekindled.  Adam did not care.

He felt the world change as his body swelled with the magic once more.  Adam Blakewell, once Teth-Adam was gone again, replaced by Khem-Adam; Black Adam.  And it was only then that he heard the scream.

Black Adam stood, looking to the heavens through the gaping hole as the magical lightning bolt had shattered the roof of his Pyramid Club and set the building afire.  The sky was leaden with thick and heavy clouds, and he felt the rain washing down his naked skin.  He ignored that however, watching as a swirling dull lavender light was swept up and along, receding with the lightning.

Despite his alienation with the Old Wizard, there remained an inseparable bond to the source and those many others that had been touched, however briefly as well.  He knew that somewhere, young Batson, lame Frederick and sweet Mary were all feeling the change.  Hearing the screams of the Old Wizard, Shazam as Zard’s schemes came to fruition.

And there was laughter as well, hauntingly familiar.

Khem-Adam smiled and soared up and through the hole, heading towards the west and the darkness beyond…

Salem

Hector Hall raised his hands automatically, his fingers flickering through a series of almost impossible positions before finally locking into place.  Twin golden globes of light encompassed his hands, the Ankh symbol shimmering within the dazzling display as ancient words escaped his lips.

A sheer wall of translucent amber appeared, covering the steep and warped sides of his chamber.  Instantly he felt the room close, the air stifling and the sound going dead.  And still the dull seeped through.

Violet tendrils of shadow continued to ooze through the cracks in between the huge stone blocks that composed the outer shell of Fate’s Tower and sanctum.  Hector Hall licked his lips, his eyes darting to the shining helm set upon the pedestal at his bedside.  It was impossible that the dull light could get through the tower’s imbedded mystical shields.  The Lords of Order had set them in place themselves when the tower had first risen eons past.  Nothing short of their own might, Chaos itself could penetrate.

Ignoring the hazard, Hector Hall reached out and snatched up the gleaming helm of Doctor Fate, and without hesitation or thought to his own safety or sanity, he donned the mystical helmet.  He had powers there within the tower, but if something tested the will and might of Order, Hall knew that he would need his all.

Too late, boy…

“Nabu,” he whispered.  Too late indeed, and too little as well.

Hector Hall screamed as the maniacal laughter echoed through the corridors of his mind.  He felt his body lurch, tensing as the pit opened before him and the darkness swelled.  He fell, sucked into the gaping maw, the old madness overwhelming his soul again and dragging him down…

San Francisco

Zatanna Zatara dropped to her knees as exhaustion washed over her.  She felt empty and hollow save for her throat, which was raw from screaming spells.  She was drained.

She looked up, watching through the wide bay doors of her apartment as the wave of dull light receded towards the west, expanding as it went and sucking the very essence of magic from the air.  She had been caught totally unprepared, simply relaxing before bed, sipping herbal tea and watching Letterman.  As the wave washed over her she started speaking her backwards spells hoping to counter the dim, but nothing seemed to slow the tide that started to drag her magic from her very being.

Zatanna shivered, suddenly cold as the void and hollow echoed within her.  She crossed her arms, folding them over her breasts as she hugged herself, rocking forward on her knees.  She started to cry.

“J’onn,” she said, her voice rasping.

The silence that followed was deafening…

Themyscira

Archon Phillipus staggered as the dim washed over the island.  She would have fallen but for the spear now clutched in her sweating palms, the haft driven into the dirt to support her suddenly tired legs.  She glanced up and about, noticing that everyone seemed afflicted, Amazons all left breathless and weakened by whatever the strange dark lights had been.

But what?  And so soon after the invasion.  The island was still in ruin from America’s attempted coup, and though an uneasy alliance had followed, there was still tension and distrust.  And with the queen, Diana away founding relationships with Man’s World, who might explain this strange new riddle?

Phillipus raised her head, her gaze sweeping higher as she looked towards the old temple.  She bit her lip, her brows knitting as she stared, as though trying to pierce the great and ancient stone to see the glory of Olympus beyond.  Not for the first time did she question her queen’s decision that the Amazons turn their backs on the Gods of Olympus.

Was this their revenge?  Some harbinger of yet more disaster to come?

Or was it something more…

Capetown

Dominic Mndawe screamed as the creature’s claws swept through his skin.  He staggered backwards, his body overwhelmed with a sudden exhaustion as one hand clutched at the empty air for support, the other slapping the ragged wound in his side.  He felt bone against his blood-slicked fingers, the warmth of his life’s liquids seeping forth.  He fell.

His breath was wet and gurgling as he gasped, his eyes wide, watching as the fused animal that he created paced and considered his potential as threat or sudden prey.  He was too weak to move as he watched the thing, the strong limbs of the leopard scratching the damp earth as it stalked forward, the slick, dark skin of the black mamba glistening in the dim.

“Back!” Mndawe hissed, gritting his teeth as blood boiled from his mouth.  The creature that he had created through the magicks of the helmet ignored his command.  The magic had fled steps ahead of life it seemed.

Freedom Beast had failed it seemed, his fading sight tunneling, watching as the poachers staggered off into the brush.  They appeared weak as well, but safe and free to continue their lustful and greedy ways.  He had failed Africa, and Maxwell as well it seemed.

Or perhaps B’Wana Beast had failed him.

Dominic Mndawe would never know, sadly, as the creature’s elongated neck shot forward, huge fangs sinking into his bare throat with ease, powerful jaws locking down.  He felt the slight burn as the snake venom flowed forth, bloating his body.

Then he died…

Elsewhere

In Athens, Aristedes Demetrios prayed outloud to the Gods to give him strength as he clutched at the crumbling stone of the roof’s edge.  In his mind however he cursed them, wondering why they had taken back the strength of the Argonauts even as he had leapt to the far away roof, ten stories high.  On his back, the once golden fleece weighed heavily, now simply a rotting and decayed carcass…

In Jerusalem, Ramban stared at the powerless staff in his hands, wondering not unlike Demetrios why the Gods chose to abandon him…

In Fawcette City, Stanley Printwhistle kept shouting the name, Ibac, over and over even as the police slapped the handcuffs to his wrists and slammed him face first into the hood of the cruiser…

In Dublin, with his powers gone Liam McHugh dug through the depths of his cluttered closet, cursing until he found the old lantern.  It was dusty from disuse and heavy, and tired as he was he could barely lift it, but he did, actually shaking the thing in desperation before finally collapsing in exhaustion and defeat…

In Gotham, Alan Scott stared at his withered hands, the tiniest glow of emerald flame licking and dancing across his skin.  He had almost died, but for his will power, the strength of his soul grasping at the fire of the Star Heart that was as much a part of him as his own flesh and blood and mind.  Still he staggered, his face gaunt and wrinkled as he glanced to the mirror, wondering what was happening now…

In Liverpool, John Constantine hawked blood and spat as he wretched into the cloudy waters of the Mersey.  His chest suddenly hurt as the hacking cough rolled through his lungs and he found it near impossible to catch his breath.  “B-bloody… ‘ell,” he cursed when he finally could, his hand shaking but dipping into his filthy trench coat pocket and pulling free a fag from the crumpled pack of Silk Cuts perpetually within.  He sparked and sucked and started hacking again…

In Providence, Klarion hugged the limp and listless tabby cat in his arms and started to cry just like a real boy might at the loss of his pet…

On Aeaea, Circe backed against the wall, watching in sudden terror as the swine reverted to the men that she had transformed over the ages, blood in their eyes and vengeance in their hearts…

In Beograd, Madame Xanadu watched in growing horror as the trinkets and baubles, and worse, all the bottles, jars, and containers in her traveling shop began to shatter and explode.  The wave of dim had passed and left chaos and confusion in its wake, freeing whatever remained of its fetters.  Dark things rose from the debris, and evil filled the room as though alive.  In the end, all she could do was run…

Everywhere

No one was safe.

The wave of dim light spread, engulfing the world in its inexorable rush.  It touched all and everyone in one way or another.  From Meta to Magical to Mundane, none were spared.

It was just a feeling in most.  A momentary weakness as the queer light washed through their being.  Something primordial sparked in the forgotten corners of the mind’s eye, a light kindled then just as abruptly snuffed.

It was magic, that remembrance of Atlantis that remains in all, or the fond memories of Shangri La and Shamballah.  That time of legends, when dragons darkened the skies in a fiery rage and creatures of Fey lurked in every shadow.  The glory of the Elfin lands and a League of Kingdoms united against the darkness.

Some died.

Others slept through the wave, blissfully ignorant as their souls were touched and raped and split.

And those that knew, those that were aware and awake shivered in terror as the emptiness engulfed them.  They felt the hollow and wept, or screamed or cursed or cried as their attitude demanded.  There was nothing else to do.  Nothing…

In Quarac the gunfire ceased, replaced by the moans of the wounded and the lamenting of those that had lost their loved ones…

In Coast City the emerald flame flickered and died…

In London the Salvation Army stopped and looked skyward in confusion…

In Bismarck a little girl gasped for breath and strained at her bonds as the smelly, sweaty man that had held her for thirteen days clutched at his chest and collapsed upon her…

In New Orleans a crowd of people stood and stared as a house caught fire and burned to the ground…

And so on…

And so forth…

And Beyond

Nod

Daniel stared into the crystal, watching as the mists swirled and swelled, shifting at his barest touch.  The glass was cold and smooth.  There was an absence, a void that he could neither contain nor fill.  His realm dwindled and there was nothing that he could do.

He heard Abel scream, his death cry echoing throughout the Dreaming.

Matthew fluttered past an open window, black feathers ablaze and smoke trailing in his wake.

Eve would eat well tonight.

Skartaris

Jennifer Morgan screamed as the magic fled.

Her hands trembled as she mouthed useless spells, words that had no meaning and no potency.  The dim receded, and she knew that the world would never be the same.

Deimos would rise again, and her father would be beset by that old corruption that was Atlantis’ glory, twisted by the priest and made real and dark, blackened by the reality of underearth.

Where was peace?

Gemworld

Amy Winston gasped, feeling the drain as the magic went away.

The very ground rumbled and quaked beneath her feet as Gemworld trembled, the crystalline spires cracking and shattering, collapsing at the loss.

She stared silently, her mouth open as she wondered what was happening, and more, what to do…

Atlantis

Garth gagged as water filled his lungs.  He could not gain breath as the sparkling, wavering lavender passed.  He struggled, writhing, watching as bodies spasmed and started to drift.

He was drowning…

He saw Dolphin, her smooth skin darkening, shading in tints of deepening blue.  Her beautiful silver hair aswirl about her face.

“Arthur,” he croaked, gasping for air, tasting the bitter salt for the first time.

Panic swelled, and then life returned.

To him at least…

The Green

Abigail Arcane-Holland knelt in the soft, damp grass and wept.  Her hands held the mold that was once Alec, the fluoronic body of the Swamp Thing decaying more with every tear she shed…

The Gray

Somewhere in the midst of Slaughter Swamp, the mire bubbled and boiled and a hand rose above the bog.

It was Monday after all…

The Opal

Camille was the first.

Maybe it was the Star Sapphire, the greatest weapon ever created, a mix of magic and science that gave her her powers.  Maybe that was the difference.

Perhaps it was her, in the end.  She had always been strong and independent, surviving in the hell of Viet Nam when so many others had succumbed to the horrors of war and the unstoppable machine that was America.  She had heard stories of the War Wheel in her youth, and knew that the United States was that, grinding her homeland to dust, saving the resources for the likes of their corporations; Goodrich, Good Year, McDonalds, and Wal-Mart.

She had escaped, coming to America in a ship, packed in with hundreds in the dank and humid hold, fighting for every scrap of bread and every drop of water tossed down.  She was strong, and she had survived.  It was later that she received absolution, when the Femizons appeared…

She blinked, shaking her head and trying to get her bearings.  The others were milling about, or collapsed on the ground.  Bend was on his knees, mumbling to himself.  Rocker was screaming, his gravelly voice cracking with despair and remembrance.  Blizzard was staring vacantly into space…

Fuck ‘em!

Camille shook her head and stared into the light, feeling her eyes start to water at the brilliance.  She saw Zard and his friends, the dark man and the old man, but they seemed indifferent, all staring at the fourth, the naked man with the red hair.  He was trembling and sweating as the dim light pulsed about him…

“Zard,” the naked man said, his body pulsing oddly, swelling and deflating in the space of heartbeats.  He seemed in agony almost, fidgeting as he tried to contain his composure.  “I should’a known…”

“James,” the Wizard said with a slick roll of his tongue.  “It’s been too long.  An eternity.”

Camille saw the naked man flinch, his eyes rolling up into his head.

“Damn you, Zard…” he rasped, his body paling, starting to convulse.  Camille felt her hair rise, standing on end.

“What is this?”

She saw Pitch-black, his body flickering and fading in and out of time.  His black mask made his expression unreadable, but he reached out and she knew that he too was confused.  He touched her and her skin sizzled.

“Eobard…” she whispered, pulling away at the burn.  He was separated from the rest, lost in Time and the Speed Force.

“Arrgghh!” the naked man screamed as his skin faded to a chalky white.  He dropped to his knees, clutching at his stomach.

“Now,” Zard said, touching his cane to the man.  In unison, the Shade reached out and blackness oozed from his cane as well, a different form of madness.  And the Fiddler started to play.

It was beautiful…

The Opal

The Negative Woman swooped down, a flash of scarlet cutting across the darkened sky.  She saw the source, the man that would become again the Spectre, naked and fragile in the cold.

Rajas was dead.  Dead and gone.  It was not fair.

She swooped down in a flash; speed of lightning, roar of thunder, Death on the wing.  She saw the Shade glance skyward at her approach.

“Visitor, William.”

“Not unexpected, Richard.  Simply premature.”

William Zard looked up at her, something that he should not have been able to do.  She was light and thought, moving with infinity at the blink of an eye.  He smiled a smarmy smile and raised cane…

Valentina Vostok gasped as oxygen filled her lungs and she fell to earth.  Human and fragile, she moaned in agony, her back aching with the unexpected impact.

Human…

She stared at the sky above, coursing with light twisted and churning, remembering the Red Skies.  What was happening?

Zard glanced her way, then ignored her, his hands flashing in prestidigitation, too fast to follow.

“Stay down, child,” the Shade offered, shifting his stance.  Darkness swirled about him.  “It’ll be over soon.”  He clacked his cane to the ground in finality.

Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok stared as the three men adjusted their stance; Wizard, Shade and Fiddler.  Each exuded power in his own form; Magic unbound and ancient, the darkness of Obfuscation, and the soft melody of music…

The naked man screamed…

And the world shifted.

The naked man paled to white and grew.  Gargantuan and dwarfing, he became mammoth, encompassing.  His head hung, lost in the shadows of his verdant hood, skulls sparkling, screaming in the darkness where his eyes should have been.  He frowned, reaching out and Valentina Vostok saw the Earth spinning there in the void, a shining gem naïve and unsuspecting of calamity.

The Spectre reached out, grasping, clutching the Earth and squeezing like a sponge.

She stared as his other hand reached out, engulfing reality…

And felt the world slip away…