STARMAN: STELLAR ALIGNMENT
Chapter Three
"Injustice Rears Its Ugly Head!"
Originally Presented in
Dark Genesis # 1 & Outsiders # 15-16
Written by Curt Fernlund
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STARMAN: STELLAR ALIGNMENT Chapter Three Originally Presented in Written by Curt Fernlund |
Dark Genesis # 1 - "Let There Be Light!"
The following are excerpts from Dark Genesis # 1. Previously, the other-dimensional demigod Thanos has entered the DC Universe and sown the seeds for a crisis of cataclysm proportions! Many of Earth's heroes can only look on and wonder just what cosmic tragedy they might be witnessing.
Ted Knight leaned back and squeezed the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyelids shut to ease the strain of his eyes weak with age. He blinked, trying to focus as he grabbed at his wire-rimmed glasses set-aside for the time being on a nearby table. He heard his coffee mug tumble, shattering far below on the cold, tiled floor.
“You okay dad?”
Ted turned back, glancing to the floor some thirty feet below his viewing station set beneath the lens of the great telescope and saw his son, Jack. He was dressed against the chill of winter outside; a long, leather coat with a hooded sweatshirt beneath, his rattiest blue jeans and combat boots. As always his jacket was littered with pins and buttons, the most notable being his silver US Marshal's badge; a star within a circle. Ted had to smile.
“Fine, Jack,” Ted said slipping his glasses on, hooking the stems behind his ears. Just a little tired.”
“Wanna take a break? Grab a bite somewhere in town?”
He wanted to, really. And there was no real reason not to. Ted Knight had been watching the mysterious beam of light that had appeared for over two weeks now and there had been no change. What were the odds that something might come of it now? He had been eating in, denting his usual stores of food and drink that he built up from time to time for occasions just such as these: when the stars beckoned. The heavens had always been fascinating to him of course, but when things like the beam appeared he all too often forgot about his basic needs like eating, and sleep, and family.
“Sure, Jack. I can use the break, though I don't know how much company I'll be,” he said as he stood, typing on the small computer keypad to direct the telescope to continue on automatic scan. “I'll probably nod off at the table, wherever we go.”
“Not a problem, dad,” Jack said, raking his fingers through his wild hair and watching as his father slowly climbed his way down the metal rungs of the stairs. He looked tired, and old, but he also looked more alive than he had seen his father in quite awhile. Stargazing had that effect on him, just like memorabilia got Jack hyper and high. To each his own, Jack decided as his father, the original Starman of the Forties, finally stepped to his side, donning his jacket, coat and hat.
“So, where we off to M'boy?” Ted asked as he gave a last, long look to the telescope as it moved ever so slightly along its track. Nothing would happen…
“There's this new diner out off 80 I was thinking about. It's a drive but I hear the chili dogs are outta this world…”
And besides, if it did, what could he possibly do?
The Outsiders # 15 - "Injustice Rears Its Ugly Head!" Part One
Opal City
Jack Knight stirred his fork through the steaming plate of sautéed broccoli rabi and Italian sausage, savoring the aroma of the delicate spices drifting up and about him. He loved coming to Antonio's for the Italian cuisine, the atmosphere and the people. The food was great, as was the service; par excelance' on all counts, and there always seemed to be a crowd worth watching, from the Yuppie after work group to the actual old school Mafioso's who were regulars at the candle lit checkered table in the far corner. And even more so on a holiday.
Granted, Halloween was not an Italian tradition, but the folks at Antonio's got into the spirit, dressing up and having fun with the patrons. Usually the waitresses were dressed in a peasant dress; corset and flowing skirt with crinoline below, but tonight they were all decked out in Meta motif. He saw Batgirl, Supergirl and Wonder Woman at a glance, and his table was being served by the Catwoman herself, though looking more like the Michelle Pfeiffer version than the real thing, not that he was complaining.
He leaned back, sipping his Valpolicella as the Catwoman ground more pepper onto the dish, watching as his father eased his knife through the thick porterhouse swimming in enough grease to float the baked potato that shared the thick plate. Jack wrinkled his nose as blood oozed from the slice of beef, his father jabbing the piece that he had cut away and dabbing it in the ample puddle of A-1 sauce he had poured to the side. He met his father's eyes and smiled to see his father happy.
“You like?” he asked, stealing a bite of the broccoli as he waited for his father to swallow, washing down his own bite with a swirl of Guinness.
“It's delicious, Jack. I can't believe I've lived my whole life in Opal and never come here.”
“If they delivered, AND to the observatory, you probably would have been a regular,” Jack mused, stabbing a bit of spicy sausage. “David raved about the place too. That's what got me to try it.” His father smiled, but Jack saw a bit of bad memory there. He still missed David, Jack's older brother and chosen successor to the Starman mantle. Hell, Jack missed David, despite their queer yearly encounters. Missed him more than he ever would have thought. They were closer in death now, than they were in life.
Jack shivered, shaking his head, trying to force the dark thoughts out of his head. He had suggested a night out to his father for Halloween, and surprisingly his dad had accepted. Things were slow in the Opal lately, all the usual weirdness having eased off remarkably the last few weeks. Jack's shop was up and running nicely, Knight's Past actually turning enough profit to enjoy life a bit on the side. His time and times with Sadie was good of late. Hell, even the Shade had not been around to complicate things. He was glad for the break.
And glad for a semi-quiet night out with his father. Jack stared across the table at Ted Knight, watching as the man that he admired most in the world savored another chunk of sirloin. His father seemed happy, at peace with the world, such as it was, more than content to sit at his telescope for hours on end and log star time. Which was fine for him, if it made him happy, but Jack had never been able to do that. Certainly he loved space; the vast black dotted with blazing fireballs and clouds of gas, but to make a life and living of it all, well, Jack could never see it.
But dad loved it, and if he was happy, that's all that mattered. Jack knew he was too, despite a longing that he sensed when word came down of the latest incarnation of the Justice Society of America. It was a raw deal that some of the members got rejuvenated a bit, like Jay Garrick and Alan Scott, and lord knows it would have been fantastic if that had happened to the original Starman, but that was not meant to be, apparently. Ted Knight was well into his eighties and enjoying retirement however, despite a certain longing for past glories.
“Glad you wore the shirt, Dad.”
Ted Knight smiled at him, unconsciously glancing down at the star-emblazoned red shirt that he wore beneath his blazer. Jack had tried half-heartedly to get his father to come out in full regalia, but the elder Knight had declined.
“Seemed a happy compromise, Jack. It is Halloween after all.”
Jack nodded, watching his father eat, drink and be merry, the long sleeves of his old costume rolled to the elbows, looking like a man in his forties again by the glow in his skin rather than the receding hairline and wrinkles. Hypocritically, Jack had not dressed beyond a loud Hawaiian shirt, Levi's, MC boots and leather mid thigh jacket complete with the Texas Ranger's badge that was his mark. His goggles dangled from the post on the back of his chair, mimicking his father's beat up fedora on the old man's. He usually dressed up a bit for Halloween- and would do so more when he visited Sadie later- but it seemed almost inappropriate with his father somehow, beyond the family tradition.
“So, how are things with that redhead… Sadie?”
Jack grinned, surprised that his father remembered her name as he had not mentioned her but once or twice. “Good, Dad. Real good. Seeing her tonight in fact–"
Jack winced as the pain bit into his shoulder, hot and sudden. He glanced down stupidly and saw the quarrel sticking out of his shoulder, blood oozing with the multi-colored blues and greens of his shirt. He could feel his arm going numb as shock set in.
“Jack?”
He saw his father rise, his chair falling back and away as he dipped a hand into his inner pocket and withdrew a Star Rod. Jack blinked as the world slowed, surprised to see his father whirl about, sparks flying from the tips of the short, golden staff. He saw something flutter overhead, draping over his father even as the eld Starman fired, blasting a hole in the wall of the restaurant.
People started screaming then, and he saw the woman with the small crossbow aiming in the shadows…
Port Jefferson, Long Island
New York
Josiah Powers stared at the monitor as it scrolled down, marking deviations in the numbers that he would have to investigate. There were almost a dozen surges in Sokai Tech with the recent purge of data in the mainstream. Microsoft was down of course, and the LexCorp stock remained stagnant. His iron and penny stocks were all thriving however, and the additional income from Gaki Atama would more than compensate for the LexCorp loss, but still…
He blinked as a window opened on screen.
Powers read the message, a cell call intercepted, directed to the JSA, voice translated to text:
Injustice Society Attacking! Help!
It was signed with Starman's code and password: Jack's Shit .
Power's smirked as he wiped his sweaty brow with a tissue. It would serve Knight proper to ignore the message, and let him deal with the Injustice Society alone, but of course that was not part of the plan. Zard would not be happy if he deleted the message, ignoring Knight's plea for all intents and purposes. It was all part of the plan.
Josiah Powers eased a chubby finger over the keyboard, hesitating just a moment before he pressed the comply. Message received. He settled back, waiting and counting the seconds…
“What?” he heard a voice say from behind.
Powers glanced back and saw Jeff Smith- Wind hovering behind his chair to the right, as almost at the same instant Pitch Black appeared at his left. Were they competing again?
“It would seem that things are progressing,” Powers said, his chubby black fingers flying over the keyboard before him. He watched as what he typed appeared and disappeared just as swiftly. “Time to make an appearance, gentlemen. Who's on hand?”
“Everyone.” Wind shrugged. “It's Tuesday.”
“Good,” Powers said, his typing continuing. “Gather the troops then. There's a party in the Opal you must attend.”
The Opal:
Antonio's
Jack Knight stared in awe as his father wielded his Cosmic Rod. It was always an experience to watch. Ted Knight had created the original of course, and it was always poetry personified to see him in action.
He had ripped through the Sports Master's net without a second thought, the rod flaring as it burned through the steel mesh, then enveloping them both behind a protective shield of starbursts as Tigresses' second quarrel bounced off and away. It was like second nature to the old man. Jack was good, but it would be years before he got THAT good.
“You okay, Jack?”
Jack Knight looked up at his father as he continued to ease the bolt from his shoulder. He was damn lucky that the thing was not barbed or he would have been up shit's creek. As it was, it hurt like hell to pull the thing out.
“I'll live, Dad,” he said, staring at his Cell, wondering why nothing had happened yet. He'd called the new JSA as soon as he saw the mass of villainy marching through the front door of Antonio's, and recognized them…
Sports Master and Tigress, the kids of the originals. He had not seen them since his last trip to New York, when he had hooked up with the Black Canary for a brief time.
They were quickly followed by the Icicle (junior), a sneaky little bastard that started freezing the patrons to the tables with his Ice Gun as soon as he stepped inside.
Behind him was the Rival, a darker image of Jay Garrick, his old Professor in fact, from his college days according to the original Flash. The man had recreated Garrick's Hard Water experiment and become ‘one' with the Speed Force back in the Forties. Jay had said that he had disappeared, but here he was, ‘flashing' from table to table and killing the patrons with a simple shimmer of atoms. Blood spewed in his wake.
Lastly, simply standing in the doorway stood Johnny Sorrow in his garish red suit and that crimson mask that just hovered there in space. The most dangerous of the group, debatably, but Jack Knight could not help but think that there was something odd, something missing.
“Jack!”
Jack Knight whipped about, watching as a golden glow rippled over his father. He flowed backwards as Rival blurred about the protective screen, his hands a flurry of motion. Lightning crackled in his wake.
“Jack! Call for help… I can't…”
A cricket bat cracked off the back of Jack's skull, blurring the rest of the words to his father's sentence and sending him sprawling to the floor.
“A wicked googly, Knight!” Sport's Master chortled as he stepped up to plate. Jack shook his head as the cricket bat fuzzed and melted, and within a heartbeat the Sports Master held a nine iron. “Fore!” the sportsman said as he whipped the golf club down in a smooth arc. Jack barely rolled to the side as the metal club glanced off of his temple.
“In the rough. Penalty…”
Jack blinked, feeling the warmth of blood seeping into his eyes and oozing down his cheek. He saw an explosion of light as the Rival appeared for just a second and a flurry of steak knives spattered off of his father's shield, bouncing away.
If only he had the Star Staff, but it was safe and secure out in the trunk of his car. Who knew they were going to be attacked in the middle of dinner? He was on his own wits for now, and the grace of his father until, IF help arrived.
And the Injustice Society – if that's who they were – were focusing on the original Starman with a lust and vengeance. Jack Knight could see his father struggling to hold his own against Rival's sudden attacks, Tigress' distracting quarrels and whatever ‘Popsicle 2' was doing. Jack could feel the cold though, and see his breath. Since when –
“Much has changed, Jack.”
Jack Knight turned and saw the Shade standing before him, resplendent in his last century black undertaker's garb, complete with cane and top hat. As always he looked like ‘death warmed over', just risen from a Romero flick produced by Burton.
“Shade…” Jack said, his hand wiping at his temple and coming away bloody. “What… Don't tell me you've gone over to the dark side again?”
The Shade smiled. “Very nice, but no. As always I am one with what is right. My view of course differs from so many others.”
“Then why – “ Jack looked up to see his father blasting Icicle with a beam of stellar energy. Icicle slammed against the far wall, landing in a heap of spaghetti and marinara sauce. “Why are you here?”
“Things change, Jack,” the Shade said, a trickle of darkness escaping from where his cane touched the floor. Zard is quite convincing of late.” The Shade seemed almost embarrassed as he withdrew his dark spectacles from his long coat and donned them. “Who would have thought?”
“Zard? I don't get it.”
“You will, Jack,” the Shade said as he glanced away, towards the fight. His facial expression seemed to change, becoming sour and depressed. “I'm sorry, and my condolences…”
“What?”
An icy dagger of panic jammed into Jack Knight's heart as he heard his father scream. Jack turned just in time to see his father fall hard to the floor. His lower torso was encased in a thick block of ice. Sports Master had a javelin pressing into the golden star on his chest while Tigress had a Glock aimed between his eyes. Johnny Sorrow stood at his side, a foot planted on the ice, one hand on the mask floating above his shoulders.
“We seem to have a choice here, young Knight,” Sorrow said as he leaned forward, pressing his weight onto the frozen block. “You can willingly back off, let us take your father's rod and both of you will survive this night, or…”
“You want the Cosmic Rod?” Jack said in disbelief. “All of you, all of this just for that? Take it!”
“Jack!” his father gasped, teeth chattering. “No!”
The Sports Master whipped the javelin about with a swift smooth motion, jamming the haft up into Ted Knight's temple. Jack winced, almost shot forward as his father's eyes rolled upward. The only thing that stopped him was Tigress, a Semmerling hold out in her free hand and pointed between his eyes. She smiled –
“Go ahead, Knight. Try…”
Jack saw the javelin whip about again, now pressing between the wrinkles lacing his father's throat. There was no decision to make.
“Take it,” he said. “Leave him alone.”
He glanced at the Shade, half expecting the dark man to step in and help, turn things around. The villain simply stood there though, watching…
What?
Jack turned and saw a familiar face flow past. It was ephemeral and shifting, but he recognized it for the hell that it had caused in his life.
“Nash…”
The Mist – the daughter of the original Mist sifted past, and as he watched he saw the form of the woman solidifying, standing above his father even as Johnny Sorrow stepped away, holding the prized rod. She looked his way.
“Change of plans, lover.”
Jack watched as the mother of his son pulled a .45 from her black military field jacket and aimed it at his father. “You don't get off so easy.”
Jack screamed as she pulled the trigger…
Fortunes & Forbidden Tales
William Zard breathed deeply as he stepped within the grand foyer of the shoppe. As with most places of the like, it appeared far larger on the inside than the outer façade led one to believe. It was a simple spell really, and one that did not require much FIRE to ignite, and would burn unhindered once set, to continue the analogy. Zard had used it himself quite often in the old days. It did baffle the heroes. All save Fate of course.
He was pleased to see as well that the proprietor of the little fortuneteller's shoppe had used the granted extra space both wisely and fashionably. So many of these places were always so overtaxed with baubles and knick knacks that the proposed had gathered over the years that it created a rather claustrophobic atmosphere in the enclosed space. He remembered visiting Madame Xanadu over a decade earlier and would have run screaming from her place had he not been so desperate for her aid at the time. Still, it had taken days to wash away the skin-creeping feeling that he had taken away with the bit of information that he had gone seeking. Zard made a mental note to track down Xanadu's current locale when he returned home.
He stood, enjoying the peace of the hall. It was large; appearing chiseled from stone, the very heart of Opal. The city had always prided itself on its beauty and the foundation of its glorious structures, flaring in the artistic. Yet where the grand spires of the inner city were magnificent, so too were the smaller buildings surrounding the heart. There was no cutting of cost and corner of any construction, every building solidly and soundly placed with a precision almost equal to the greater pyramids. The sculpted grandeur of the Opal was reflected in the minutest detail of every fiber of its being; here in the flowing stone that held just a hint of ancient Rome in motif with rounded arches and detailed columns esthetically situated about the hall. There was an abundance of plants, orchids mainly, adding to the color and splendor, creating an atmosphere that was fresh and scented of nature amongst the stonework. But of course too, there was décor.
Zard paused at an upraised stone pedestal, admiring the clarity of the glass orb resting within the gilded cradle. It was somewhat ornate, though not quite gaudy; a bit of showmanship for the Seer no doubt. Across the hall was a table set with four chairs all sculpted, molded perhaps the better term from what appeared to be a pale cherry and lined with a soft velour that seemed none the worse for wear for the age that the set appeared. There was a deck of cards fanned across the smooth and polished top, and Zard did not have to look to know that they were Tarot, though a glance to the mystical side revealed no FIRE within. He knew well enough that in the true establishments such as this, the real magic took place in the darker recesses away from the mundane customers that might wander in on a lark or tawdry mission of easing a heavy heart or soul.
“I don't like this place,” the husky feminine voice scratched from behind. “Gives me the crawlies.”
Zard grimaced as the mood and moment slipped away, the reality of the visit coming to fore again. He was here for a purpose, and suffered the woman lightly to help distract at best. He held his fist over the stone knob of his cane, hiding the FIRE within, letting the Enchantress flare and glow; a fire to attract the attention of the moths. Despite the recent set back with the Justice Society and the attention that had no doubt garnered in the Hero Community, he doubted that the darker, secretive circles of the Shadow World had heard that he was no longer simply the Wizard.
“A simple spell of protection, my dear. Set more as an alarm and an irritant I imagine. The feeling is the friction of your magic rubbing against that of our missing hostess.”
“Not missing, sir,” another womanly voice whispered from one of the arched connecting halls. Zard heard the soft clack of heels echoing on the stone, a vision slowly paling to clarity within the shadowy recesses. “Simply, fashionably late. A prerogative of those in our profession, to make the grand entrance, don't you agree, Wizard?”
Zard smiled, nodding slightly and tipping his hat as the woman glided casually across the room. She was beauteous, and as far as Zard could tell it was natural. He could detect no Glamour , nor spell of Revival , yet he knew this woman was whispered to be decades older than she appeared to be. But then, so was he.
She turned at the room's corner and took a seat in a high back wicker chair that he was certain had not been there before. He could see her inner magicks radiating now, as she crossed her satin draped legs and shifted comfortably into her literal seat of power. Her full, pale lips pursed as her exotically dark eyes narrowed, and Zard knew that she was gazing at him in return, but as he had hoped, the brighter flare of his companion diverted the woman's scrutiny.
The woman, Charity as he recalled, settled back at last and placed an elbow casually on the chair's arm, cocking her head just so to rest her chin lightly in a contemplative, yet alluring pose. Her long, auburn hair flowed and feathered about her face and neck, caressing the milky, bare shoulders and just tickling the bulbous curve of her bosom almost overflowing the constrictive confines of her lavender, leather corset.
“Your companion seems ill at ease, Wizard,” the Seer purred with some amusement lacing her voice. “June Moon, yes? Perhaps she should wait outside while we discuss whatever business brought you through my doors.”
“I am NOT , June Moon.”
Zard winced to hear the barely suppressed anger in the voice of the Enchantress. Charity apparently knew more about her, possibly both of them than her casual attitude alluded. She knew what buttons to push, at least in the Enchantress' case.
“Ah, yes… the Enchantress then. I did not realize that she was a part of your Society, Zard. Or are you here to represent your Secret Society, rather than the Injustice? I sensed Johnny Sorrow as soon as he crossed the border, Wizard. Did you think me blind, here in my own sanctuary?”
“Not at all, my dear,” Zard said with a greasy smile and smarmy lilt. “Sorrow and the rest are in the Opal for their own purposes, however closely related to my own. You are not the only game in town, after all.”
“Jack…” she whispered as the Wizard smirked, shaking his head.
“Close, but no.”
William Zard stepped casually to the side even as the Enchantress eased forward. She raised her arms, her smooth fingers curling in such a way and finally flipping the flowing green of her tunic back as the barely contained spell was allowed release. The distraction became offensive as waves of red sprang from the Enchantress' fingers, solidifying into thick bands that arced and flowed in an almost artistic spiral towards the Seer. As expected, the target swiftly muttered a spell of her own to counter, but Zard had come prepared, listening to the words whispering past the full red lips of his companion –
Let the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak bind you!
The woman Charity's eyes widened as soon as she realized that her counter spell of protection was useless against the otherworldly magic wielded by the Enchantress. It had taken much effort and strain on Zard's part to glean the ways of that other plane, which he had caught the barest glimpse of in his wanderings. It had cost him many favors and allies to see beyond the veils, but it had been worth it. There were few here in his own existence who might hope to even partially control that strange, twisted sorcery from beyond, but in that selfsame sojourn he had seen and listened and learned. June Moon, the Enchantress was one such, with a counterpart there, though a splintered reflection, not unlike his own. But where Zard's dark image was a wizard of science and technology, Moon's was a goddess.
The Wizard smiled as he stepped forward, ignoring the smell of burnt oxygen that seemed to roil through the air, the swiftly dwindling aperture that the Enchantress had opened to grab the magic and direct it here. There was a lingering shadow flickering in the air like residue of an intense light reversed, the slightest howl of the tormented souls beyond screaming as hope faded again. Zard had learned the ways through Hell and remembered.
He stopped before the massive dome of red, a shell that encompassed the Seer and probably impenetrable to one of her ability. Zard doubted that it would hold the likes of Fate or the Stranger, but against the lower castes it would serve. He reached out, his pristinely white-gloved fingers lightly brushing the warm surface. It almost seemed to pulse as though alive, but he knew it was the instability of the dimensional magic. It would crumble all too soon, but he would be finished long before that happened.
“It burned, Wizard.”
William Zard glanced back with some annoyance. Moon had done her part and would be paid handsomely for it. Why was she whining? He looked at her blackened hands, smoldering slightly and he could see the tears welling in her eyes as she sucked the sulfurous air through gritted teeth. He had told her, warned her of the risks, but the dollar signs had appeared in her eyes and she had agreed.
“You shall be compensated, my dear. The insurance will cover any hospital bills or medicines so long as your dues are up to date. Submit the proper forms when we return at your Local.”
Zard turned away again, annoyed further both at the woman's self-absorbed sigh and the slight cracks that were already appearing in the woven bands of crimson. The magic was deteriorating already, sooner than expected. He would have to hurry.
He held forth the cane in hand, peering slightly at the blood red jewel capping the handle. There appeared to be a shadowy flaw within the stone, but when Zard reached out and flicked a finger against a facet, that shadow within started to move. There was a tiny, tinny noise emitting from the depths of the jewel as well, and that caught the attention of the Enchantress.
“It's true,” she whispered in almost reverence, leaning in and peering closely at the now glowing stone. Zard watched as her eyes widened, first with surprise, then with devilish amusement as she caught sight of the tiny form trapped within. “Felix Faust,” she giggled, reaching out to tap the jewel herself and stopping only when she saw her singed hand. She stood upright again, then stepped back at Zard's nod.
“My closest friend and unwilling accomplice,” Zard replied as the fiery energies of the Luck Stone of Bel flared and crackled. He had held the mystical focus for so long now that it complied to his merest whim without the tedious words and motions. He shifted his grip to envelope the stone, raising the tip to point at the decaying shell before him. “Quiet now. I must concentrate.”
Not really, Zard simply wanted the woman silent; seen and not heard as all women should be. Look pretty and be amazed at what your man can do. Like a fencer, Zard thrust the tip of his cane into the shell.
He heard the Enchantress gasp, whimpering as blood red light exploded from the shell. He vaguely saw her staggering back, lowering the wide brim of her witch's hat to shield her eyes from the dazzling radiance. Zard however stared blankly into the light. He had seen the effect dozens of times before and in varying degrees; from those small tokens surrounding him regularly that he had been leeching power from like the Weather Wizard's Wand of Mentachem and even Camille's Star Sapphire, to the greater energies of beings such as Encantadora and Witchfire. He had seen the display and never tired yet of its dazzling beauty, watching as soul and FIRE melted together to swirl into the grasp of the stone, sucked into the gem.
For William Zard knew the secret, the true purpose of the Luck Stones of Bel . True, when used properly they granted the bearer prosperity, but with the proper employment that prosperity became power without limit. The red jewel was a containment vessel; a bottle as it were, while the blue was a cork of sorts. So long as ‘ne'er the twain shall meet', the holder of the Stones would know no bounds. And with the azure counterpart safely in the hands of one John Gaunt , there was little chance of that.
They heard Charity's scream as the bands finally shattered. Zard smiled as that other world's magic dissipated, evaporating back into the aeyther. He felt the pulse of power in the palm of his hand, the almost searing burn as the glow diminished, fading with the spent, trapped energies that he had stolen from the Seer.
Charity still sat in her chair, but all grace had left her still form. She was not dead, he could see her breathing albeit slowly, but she slumped with her head lolling to one side, a slimy trickle of spittle drooling from her once kissable lips. Her dark eyes glistened, staring vacantly at something out of reality. Her once smooth skin now seemed parched and actually chapped in places, little slivers of blood about her knuckles where she had frantically been gripping the arms of the chair in agony. Zard truly hoped that the snooty little gypsy had suffered.
Zard held his cane up and peered into the pulsing jewel. He could see Faust within, his tiny body spasming as the energies coursed through him. His mouth was wide with a silent scream, his eyes bulging as fire washed over his naked form. A pity that Faust was needed as a focus within the focus, and more the pity that the sorcerer could never use all that energy flowing through him. Zard liked Faust, really. They had had a loose and tentative friendship as peers, and in truth he oft recalled with some melancholy their long debates at Bewitched. Felix Faust could be an irritating little braggart at times, but he was a congenial conversationalist with a bit of liquor in him.
“Bitch!”
Zard's reveries were broken to hear the resounding slap of flesh on flesh. He focused just in time to see the limp form of the Seer slumping from her chair like a rag doll, the Enchantress standing triumphantly over her, the slapping hand shoved up under her arm pit from the sting of contact. Charity sprawled at the stiletto boots of June Moon, her tongue seeping blood from the bite as her chin hit the floor. She did not move or cry out, but simply lay there as the Enchantress raised her foot –
“No.” Zard grabbed the woman's arm, pulling her off balance before she could trample the helpless woman. The Enchantress regained her footing with a clack of heel on stone and turned to glare at the Wizard. He smiled coolly, spoke softly-
“A little respect for your elders, girl,” he said with some contempt, “if not your betters. We're done here. Let's go.”
He gave the Enchantress a firm but gentle shove towards the door, giving Charity a final glance and nod of thanks before he followed.
Now if only Sorrow and the Mist held up their end of the bargain, the trip to Opal would be a success.
Antonio's
Jack would remember the man – the hero's name in a few seconds, after the shock and surprise had worn off.
He had seen Nash fire, almost point blank range. He had seen the .45 spit fire and brimstone. He would swear later that he had actually seen the bullet leave the barrel, but he had not seen the man arrive. He was just suddenly there, holding the bullet in the palm of his hand.
Pitch-black!
He was one of those new Outsiders that had popped up recently in Manhattan in the wake of the Titans' and the JLA's troubles. They had been all over the news, in the papers and on all the talk shows in a media blitz that put a presidential election to shame. Jack stared open-mouthed at the man (or was he an android as the Press claimed) as he simply turned his hand and let the spent slug clatter to the floor.
Jack started to move, finally, but it was as though wading through molasses. Even as he started to focus his thoughts to speak, to explain the situation, Pitch-black vanished in a blur of darkness to reveal a woman behind him. She was short, dressed mostly in black and silver-trimmed kimono and tights, wearing leather knee boots and fingerless gloves. She was Asian by the look, probably Japanese and gorgeous, but deadly as well Jack saw as she flicked her wrist and brought her bloody Samurai Sword to bear.
Jack saw the Sports Master staggering away and clutching at the bloody gash running the length of his upper arm. He was cursing, whining as his form seemed to shimmer and instantly his golf ensemble was replaced by the full body armor of an NHL goalie, mask and stick included.
“Bitch!” a shrill scream followed by gunfire and Jack finally seemed to catch up with real time. He saw Tigress firing both guns at the woman with the sword as he dove for cover, and to cover his father. He landed atop Ted Knight even as he heard the high-pitched ‘ting' of the bullets bouncing from the woman's blade.
Glancing back he saw the blur of the woman's arms as she eased the katana in a fluid motion. Sparks flared with each strike and Jack felt the burn as a ricochet buzzed past his cheek close enough to scratch.
“Jesus…”
“J- Jack…”
Jack Knight winced to feel his father's hand encircling his forearm. He looked down at his father's ashen face, Ted Knight blinking and trying to focus.
“Dad! Don't try to talk. I'll-“
“S- Shut up…” the clatter of teeth as his father spoke sent a shiver down Jack's own spine. “G- Get the r- r- rod…”
Jack Knight looked up, remembering then that the Injustice Society had come for the Cosmic Rod – one of them at least and more likely his own Star Staff. Who knew that Ted Knight would be packing? Regardless Jack quickly scanned the restaurant and saw that there was more going on than he had originally saw.
The Asian woman and Tigress were going at it toe to toe. The former was poetry in motion, her slight form stepping lightly and smoothly through a well practiced kata, blocking and attacking an almost mirror image as the latter countered. The Asian was well versed in her form (Jack had gone through his own Bushido phase not so long ago), but Tigress was no slouch either and apparently a fighter in her own right. It was oddly kind of erotic to watch them, but there were other concerns.
He felt a wave of cold permeate the room and quickly saw the reason why. Icicle was blasting away at his heroic counterpart in the Outsiders – Ice Storm he thought – and the two combined were sending a cold front moving through Antonio's. Frost spread across the wide, paned windows, the sudden chill causing the glass to spider web in protest. Snow swirled immediately about them, and Jack could see the air misting as the cold forced the heat out of the dining room. Like the women, the two frosty guys seemed closely matched.
Sports Master had staggered back and away, clutching his arm and focusing on his pain while stumbling right into the arms of the massive stone brute called Rocker. Jack wondered if that was the same big rock guy that had appeared about the same time as he had made his own heroic debut. Golem, he thought, a member of Primal Force. Who knew?
Regardless, Rocker had Sports Master wrapped up in a bear hug that the villain apparently could not break. As Jack watched, Sports Master shifted garb from NHL to NFL to WFL all to no avail. Rocker held him in such a way that the villain could not employ his weapons, not that they would help against the hero's stony hide. Good.
Jack started to press to his feet. With the lackeys busy or taken care of, otherwise occupied, that left the big guns in the Society; Sorrow, Rival, Nash and Shade. Johnny Sorrow was of course the main concern as he had the Cosmic Rod, but the others were hella-dangerous in their own right.
Jack shouted, startled as the windows shattered, a gout of flame spewing into the restaurant. He looked and saw Icicle collapse as the flames enveloped him, his gun actually melting a bit before exploding in hand. He stared as he rose and saw a golden haired woman stepping through the opening, the random spots of flame fluttering at her passing and blending into her fiery aura.
“I had him,” Ice Storm said as the woman passed. He looked just a bit ticked off that she had interfered.
“I know you did,” she replied with a smirk and a shrug. “But we are a team, right?”
Jack saw Ice Storm grimace just as pain shot through his shoulder. A wind rushed past as the world faded darkly and he dropped to his knees again. He saw a violet blur and knew that Rival was whizzing past, but there was another running parallel it seemed. Jack tried to focus. He did not recall that the Outsiders had a speedster in their ranks –
There was a crash and as Jack turned he saw Pitch-black again pressing Rival into the shattered wall of the restaurant. Rival fluttered a bit, but as the black masked hero stepped back and released the dark Flash, the villain collapsed to the floor unconscious. Pitch-black was a teleporter. How could he –
Jack lost his train of thought as he felt his stomach lurch and the world suddenly tilted on its axis…
Windsor Liquor
William Zard sipped at the fifteen-year-old Dewar's White Label, savoring the thick and smooth taste as it rolled down his throat. It had been a hard decision. Lord knows it would not take much for him to fall from the wagon, but things were simply going too well not to celebrate. One drink of the exquisite Scotch Whiskey would not seem inappropriate at a time such as this. He sipped again.
And again, licking his lips as he stared out the window, watching as the restaurant across the street turned into a war zone. The Outsiders had become a well-knit group over the past few weeks, working in tandem as true heroes despite their origins. Zard had no doubt as to their ability to defeat most of the Injustice Society that he had gathered. Again, like any true Illusionist, the art in the trick was the distraction.
“Most impressive, William…”
Zard did not have to turn. He recognized the voice that he had known for so many decades. And even had he not, the telltale tide of shadow that washed about his ankles, then just as quickly receded was a give away.
“High praise from you, Richard,” Zard said before downing the last of his drink and setting the tumbler base down on the table beside him with a heavy clunk. He felt good, and wanted another, but he needed to remain focused. “You have the rod?”
“Of course.”
The Wizard glanced to the side as Starman's Cosmic Rod slid into his peripheral vision. He smiled. He turned and saw the Shade standing before him looking just as smug.
“Sorrow gave it over to me, as planned. I simply stepped away into shadow.”
“Most excellent,” Zard said as he took Ted Knight's creation in hand. He looked it over, marveling at the simplicity of the thing that had caused he and his ilk so much grief for over fifty years. Little did Knight know that it had been created to serve a higher, final purpose. “Thank you, Richard.”
“Not a problem, William.” The Shade eased his gaze out the window for a moment, watching as Johnny Sorrow pulled his mask away to reveal his true form and face. Before him, a pale blue globe wavered; a shield encompassing the woman Witchery, blotting the view. Beside her hovered the hero, Wind who oddly seemed unaffected. If the Shade saw the sparkling glow of reality warping about him, he said nothing. Wind thrust his hands forward, and Sorrow simply vanished.
“A dangerous power, that,” the Shade said as he donned his dark spectacles. Outside, Witchery dropped her protective bubble of force.
“Indeed,” Zard replied, glancing at the bottle of Dewar's. Just one more perhaps. It was a special victory after all. He grabbed the bottle and turned his glass over, pouring. “It took no little bit of coercion and encouragement to convince our Mister Bend to undergo the changes needed to make him what he has become. I think it came out well, however.”
Zard poured a glass for the Shade, and his old friend took it only after the Wizard offered a toast, raising his drink –
“Memories, Richard.”
Shade smiled, touching his glass to the Wizard's with a melodic chime.
“To the golden days of yesteryear …”
And the two old ‘friends' drank.
To past glories and a future that might have been, and would be again…
The Outsiders # 16 - Injustice Rears Its Ugly Head, Part Two: "Spectres of the Past"
Opal City
Now...
Remarkably, they were winning.
Almost won in fact, Jack Knight saw as he stood over the fallen body of his father. He chanced a quick glance down and was relieved to see that a bit of color was returning to the elder Knight's cheeks, and he seemed to be moving his legs a bit, though his teeth were still chattering. It had been a tense, heart-wrenching moment when Icicle Jr. had frozen Ted Knight's lower half, complicated by the threats of Johnny Sorrow and topped off with the Mist actually trying to kill the first Starman.
And she would have succeeded if not for the timely intervention of the Outsiders; specifically the teleporter, Pitch-black. He had simply appeared and snatched the bullet out of mid-air. How, Jack did not know nor care. The Outsider had saved his father's life, and that was the most important thing.
Why the Injustice Society Mark Whatever had attacked them – Jack and his father, Ted – remained a mystery of a sort. They had wanted the original Starman's Cosmic Rod. That much was certain, though for what purpose was anyone's guess. Had it simply been the likes of Icicle, Tigress, Sportsmaster, and the other grunts, Jack would have figured it would have just been for the sheer power. But the Cosmic Rod had the potential power to rival Green Lantern's ring, and add to the mix the likes of Johnny Sorrow and the Shade, well, they tended to think on a bit grander scale than the muscle.
Thank god the Outsiders had arrived to help out. Why, Jack did not care. Within minutes the new heroes had taken down Sorrow, Icicle and the evil Flash, Rival. The big stone member of the team, Rocker had Sportsmaster locked up in a bear hug, and some Ninja looking woman that Jack did not recognize was going toe-to-toe with Tigress. They looked to be taking things personal, matching their skills in a grudge match. Fine. If it kept the villainess occupied, all the better. Shade had done his usual vanishing act, so that left just the Mist –
“Gah!”
Jack saw stars as the pain shot through his head. The world grayed as he dropped to his knees next to his father. Wincing, trying to clear his thoughts, he knew he had to stay conscious.
“Keep your mind on the game, lover.”
Jack Knight felt the chill as the Mist swirled about him; cold as the grave and filled with hatred. Granted she had reason to hate, at least in her own twisted mind. Her brother, Kyle had killed Jack's brother, David – the then Starman – so Jack had in turn killed Kyle. An eye for an eye and all that. It was an old grudge from the old days between the original Mist and Ted Knight. Sins of the father they say. Unfortunately Kyle's death drove the old mist mad, opening the door for the daughter to become the new and improved version; better powers, more control and sadistic as hell. A bitch with a gun, and the mother of Jack's son, who he had yet to even see.
“J-J-Jack…”
The voice of his father snapped him back to reality, past the pain. He felt the back of his head, gritting his teeth as his hand came away sticky and wet.
“I'm okay, dad,” he lied, trying to focus on Nash. She was hovering their, her body fading in and out and grinning like some perverted Cheshire Cat.
“Not for long, Jack,” she hissed at him in a moment of solidity. He saw her silver gun waver into focus and he tensed, ready to throw his body over his father's as a shield. Nash laughed, leering, “Kyle says Hello!”
Fire roared about the vaporous form of the Mist, her screams drowning out the sound of the gunshot. The single 9mm slug drove into the floor at Jack's face, splinters of wood pelting his skin. He stared in amazement as the blaze twisted and turned, engulfing the Mist and causing her to writhe. Slowly the Mist solidified, the gas gaining form and substance, the naked body of Nash suddenly dancing within the fiery ball, burning…
“No!” Jack shouted, immediately regretting his sudden shriek and struggle to rise. The room dimmed and tilted as he swayed, staggering forward close enough to feel the heat. “Don't kill her,” he gasped, trying not to retch his dinner, “she has a baby!”
“So?” a dark and definitely feminine voice said over the gout of flame. “She's a killer, worse. She deserves to feel the burn. The state will take care of her kid.”
“My son, dammit!” Jack shouted, hissing through his teeth as the fire flared a bit. He felt the hairs on his arm sizzle and flutter away as ash. “My son…”
There was a still moment, when all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire, the sizzle of burning flesh and the whimpering of a woman in pain. And the flames suddenly died, evaporating. Jack saw Nash lying on the floor, her body charred and smoldering, quivering. Her bare chest rose as air wheezed into her lungs, and she cried in exhale. Still alive.
Firefall stood on the opposite side of the villain, looking all beautiful and deadly, smug as she glanced down at Nash. After a moment she shrugged, returning her gaze to Jack.
“She's suffered enough, and will be a long time healing. Better than the likes of her deserves.” The heroine's voice was cold and almost emotionless Jack thought, though he noted a hint of pleasure in what she had done. She flashed a conceited grin.
“You- you're a hero?” he asked, the room finally slowing in its spin.
“That's what the papers say.”
Jack was about to curse the bitch out when someone stepped up to her side. Ice Storm, the leader of the Outsiders. He seemed about to place a hand on Firefall's shoulder, but hesitated.
“We're not done yet,” he said, and the woman turned.
“What? Rocker's got the jock and Whisper can deal with the woman. What's left?”
“Don't you hear that?” Ice Storm asked, cocking his head. Firefall mimicked him, her golden hair falling about her shoulders as she listened. After a moment, Jack heard it too.
“Violin?” Firefall asked, and Jack felt ‘em shrivel.
“Oh, shit.” He suddenly had a bad feeling that the first string had arrived.
Opal City:
Antonio's
Now...
Rocker heard the soft music too of course, but as he glanced about the rubble that was once probably one of the Opal's affluent hot spots, he saw that it was not affecting him as it did the others.
Everyone else – well, those that could anyway – were all moving towards the restaurant's front and outside. They seemed like zombies almost, shambling forward. Firefall, Ice Storm, Jack Knight, Whisper and Tigress were all heading outside, and Ted Knight was struggling to join them even though he could barely move. Even Sportsmaster was straining to join the party, though his struggling was no longer so severe and he had stopped shifting attire. Rocker gave the man in his arms a final squeeze and let his unconscious body slump to the floor before stomping to the window.
Outside and across the street he saw the cause of the sudden exodus. There was a skinny old man with wispy white air playing a violin. Somewhere in the back of his brain Rocker knew that he should recognize the man, his telltale green suit and fiddle, but it was just so hard to think sometimes, and remember. It was like there was another set of memories fighting inside his skull, trying to push out what he recalled to be true.
“Fiddler,” he rumbled, his rocky voice low.
Beside the old man, rather just slightly behind stood two others that he did recognize soon enough. They were both dressed in old styled black suits complete with top hats, one resting on an obsidian cane, the other holding a one topped with a glowing crystal. They were almost odd twins, the Wizard and the Shade, and they seemed alike in their casual attitude as heroes and villains alike shambled towards them and the Fiddler. Confused but curious, Rocker stepped through the remains of the window and out onto the street as well.
“Enough,” the Wizard said to the Fiddler and the old man stopped playing. He almost seemed to sag with exhaustion, the wicked grin he had been displaying shifting to a grimace of pain. Suddenly he looked to be ninety years or probably more, which made sense. All three men had seen better days and years in World War Two.
Though the music had stopped however, the gathered Metas remained enthralled, no longer moving forward, but now swaying somewhat as though waiting. But for what?
Rocker stomped forward, the sounds of his footfalls smashing the concrete and blacktop as he began his charge. Regardless of the why's, the three men were villains and he was a hero, last man standing. He had to stop them whatever they were up to.
Rocker saw the Fiddler gasp, his eyes wide as he staggered back a step, but the Wizard and Shade seemed unfazed as his three tons of stone surged clumsily forward. The Wizard smirked, turning to the Shade.
“Richard, if you would?”
“Of course,” the Shade answered with a nod. He raised his arm, extending the black cane towards Rocker and the Outsider gasped to see an almost liquid like shadow come flowing from the tip. He had phallic visions as the darkness expanded and flowed over him swiftly and thickly. He staggered to a slow stop, struggling as the shadow seemed to enter every crack and crevice of his rocky form, binding him into a rigid stance like a statue. Finally, only his head remained free, though he could barely turn it an inch to either side. He could hear though, and see, and speak.
“What is this?” he grumbled, his throat constricting his words like a rumble of stone in a crusher. He saw the Wizard's eyebrows rise a fraction, almost in surprise as the older man's lips twitched into a smug grin.
“My, we are resilient,” the Wizard said with a chuckle. He stepped forward then, and for the first time Rocker saw design scrawled in what looked to be blood on the sidewalk, three items lined up within; a bell, a jar and a wheel.
“I sense confusion in you though, boy,” the Wizard continued, standing right before the immobile Rocker and craning his neck to look him in the face. “A defect in the spell perhaps, or maybe the blame lies with Doctor Alchemy. Not a problem whichever, I suppose. Not at this late stage in the game at least.”
“William,” the Shade said, almost a hint of urgency in his voice. “I hear him coming.”
The Wizard turned and glanced up the street, Rocker forcing his head to the side as he too heard the sound of boots clacking, running and getting closer. His eyes widened to see Shaft high-tailing towards them, but that was hardly what caused him to stare in awe.
Behind the archer strode a giant. He was fifty feet tall at least, pushing his chalk white form through the tight buildings, his cloak flowing behind like a bank of clouds. Rocker recognized the grim set face of the Spectre immediately, and involuntarily shivered despite the grip of shadow about him.
Shaft was easily staying ahead of the giant however, despite the Spectre's allegedly vast powers. Why the old member of the JSA simply didn't shrink down to a size that could squeeze better through the narrow streets, or simply fly or even just appear in front of the fleeing Outsider Rocker could not understand. He was supposed to be a ghost, wasn't he? It was almost like he didn't know what to do.
“At last,” the Wizard said, turning his back on Rocker to stride back to where Shade waited. The other was maneuvering his cane oddly now, and Rocker seemed to sense the shadowy bonds holding him weaken just a bit. He started to flex, pushing out, paying attention to the trio of villains.
The Fiddler simply backed away into the liquor store across the street as the other two faced the onrushing threat. They seemed unconcerned at the giant's approach as the Wizard stood at the sigil on the ground to one side, the Shade at the other. Rocker could almost smell the magic in the air.
Still flexing, Rocker watched as Shaft ran past the sigil only to skid to a stop at the Wizard's side. Not attacking oddly, the Outsider handed the magician something; the wooden shaft of an arrow with a jewel of some sort by the look. The Wizard accepted it with a smile.
“Well done my friend,” the Wizard said, holding the shaft up to view the jewel under the light of the nearest street lamp. The blue gem seemed to pulse almost, Rocker saw. “Excellent. And with all the players in place, we may now concern ourselves with the grand finale.”
William Zard…
All eyes turned skyward towards the gargantuan form of the Spectre looming above them. Rocker shivered in his bonds at the deathly look, the sheer horror emanating from the ghostly presence.
Richard Swift…
The Shade grinned at what was apparently his name, seemingly unconcerned.
I am here for neither of you. Your souls are corrupt, black, but that one…
The Spectre pointed at Shaft.
He is beyond redemption. Stand aside, or you shall face his fate as well.
“Oh, I think not old foe.” The Wizard chuckled as he planted the tip of his cane on the circle's edge, mirroring the Shade in the same moment. Rocker saw a blue light flare from the Wizard's cane, sparking the gem in his other hand with brilliance even as a syrupy darkness oozed from the Shade's. If the Spectre saw what was happening, he ignored it.
Then suffer the Wrath of God!
His hollow and cold voice booming, the Spectre spread the fingers of his huge, outstretched hand. Rocker saw the palm of the green glove that he wore begin to bubble and boil. It seemed almost that something was growing from that vast palm as the Spectre reached down and closer, intending to snatch up Shaft and whoever stood in his way. And the Wizard simply tapped his cane on the ground.
The sigil suddenly burst into a crackle and spark of blue fire. Neither the Wizard nor the Shade even blinked, the latter simply raising his own cane and letting the stringy, liquid darkness spew forth. The Spectre, for all his pomp and power seemed taken aback, hesitating.
A kaleidoscope of light flared from the circle on the ground, shooting skyward and bathing the Spectre's face in an eerie radiance. The giant ghost staggered back as the light struck him, staggering for his balance as though blind, even as the obfuscating darkness swirled and entwined about his legs, creeping upwards.
Rocker heaved as the ghost struggled to remain upright. He felt his own dark bonds stretching thin, evaporating almost, and suddenly with a mighty shrug he burst free. The shadowy substance flitted away from his stony hide, drifting on the sudden breeze that seemed to be growing, flowing past and up towards the Spectre.
Rocker chanced a glance at the others, and though some seemed to be coming out of their spell, all were still moving slowly in confusion. The Outsider knew that there would be no help from that quarter, so he started his charge again, storming forward.
Shaft was simply standing, watching as the Spectre writhed, his gargantuan form being drawn in by the darkness. The Wizard and the Shade were concentrating now, ignoring everything but the Spirit of Vengeance. Their mistake. Rocker reached towards Shaft. Maybe together they could –
The Wizard touched the arrow's shaft to the sigil…
The light flared white, and the street shook as the Spectre screamed. Windows shattered for blocks around at the inhuman cry of agony. The very buildings trembled, dust and small chunks of masonry raining down as old brick and stone towers swayed precariously. Both Rocker and Shaft held their hands to their ears to block out the shrill, unearthly shriek. Even so, they could hear the Wizard's laughter, then his words...
Reddere, Corrigan…
Reffere!
Rocker strained against the glare, squinting to see an almost negative image, the Spectre swathed in the black, enveloped in the white glowing mass of light. He was struggling, but the darkness was winning, dragging him down. Shrinking him!
And within a heartbeat, the straining mass of shadow that was the Spectre was swallowed within the white, seeping into the sigil as though going down a drain.
And the sigil exploded!
Rocker was thrown back, feeling the burn of heat and cold alike as his body sailed, finally smashing to the tarmac some twenty yards away. His stony hide ached, and was smoldering somehow, sizzling and he felt as though he had been sunburned almost. He was trying to puzzle that out when something landed atop him, wet and limp.
He shook his head, trying to blink away the spots dancing through his sight. His hands felt afire as he reached up and found bare naked flesh sprawled across him. A body. He glanced aside and saw the others scattered along the street, Witchery and Wind the closest, dazed but alive.
Rocker rolled to the side, letting the still form tumble to the street as he craned his aching neck, trying to see the fate of the villains. The Wizard and the Shade however seemed unaffected by the event of the explosion, and the fiddler too, timidly slinking back onto the street to join them, and the other.
There was a man standing in the center of the sigil, flames lapping about his feet as the fires finally seemed to be dying. He was tall and gaunt, pale save for his blazing red hair that was broken by a streak of white. He was trembling, cold and dripping with some gelatin looking viscous that covered his body like a slime. Oddly, Rocker thought that the man seemed vaguely familiar, but –
A moan to his side drew his attention and he glanced at the body that he had shrugged away. He assumed that it had been Shaft – and he was correct to a point. The archer however was unconscious for the most part, or close to it. His skin was charred, most of his costume having burned away in the brilliant explosion. There were scraps however, enough, but as Rocker's gaze shifted to his partner's face his eyes went wide in…
Shock?
The memories came flooding back as Rocker stared at the unmoving form of Roy Harper, Arsenal. All those things that had been just out of reach; the confusion at a sound, the questions of a sight that seemed oh, so familiar. He remembered the agony, his body morphing beyond his ability to control. He remembered the blood and the horror as his mind fell away, the beast – all the animals finally coming to the fore, taking hold, dominating him and twisting him feral.
He remembered dying…
It was a hollow thing. The echo of a tiny shrill voice lost in the vast caverns of stone far beneath the earth, trapped in the darkness. It was recognition and knowledge, the realization of what life had become. Life after death.
Rocker screamed!
And unnoticed, half a world away, a broken and pestilent, scabrous body wheezed its final breath and slumped forward in the restraints that bound it to the wheelchair that had been its home for so long.
And even as Rajas' torment ended and he at last found peace, Garfield Logan's nightmare began…
Afterword: For those of you who may be wondering what happened next, I point you in the direction of Curt's masterful "Earth 2" storyline, which can be found in issues of JLA, Outsiders, and JLU Presents! Also, you can read more of Curt's Starman appearances in the "Twist of Fate" story-arc presented in JLA # 25-28! And of course, anyone wanting to see where Jack's story goes from here can hop over to the ongoing Starman series, written by Mike Franzoni and yours truly.
Hope you enjoyed the stories contained in this collection, and be sure to send Curt a message telling him how kick-ass a writer he is!
-- Chris Munn
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Story © 2010 Curt Fernlund and may not be reproduced without permission.