The Last Daughter of Krypton - IC

[Wyldfire]

Diana nodded back to the Manhunter as he departed. As she watched the last of the party leave an old addage crossed her thoughts. "No plan survives contact with the enemy," She said half to herself, "So it's time for us to make our 'Go to Hades' plan."

She looked at the suit Kara had been given. If it would protect her against the meteor rocks she ought to wear it. This was going to be a battle, but that was fine. Diana knew that at least half of her learning in Themyscira had been for this. She looked at Kara and Rose and asked "Have either of you been taught how to fight? I do not believe the other group will succeed, so we have to expect our objective to come down to a fight. If this is truely Aries we have to have a trick or two up our sleeves. I have one, but it will hurt Kara. So maybe the clothing you were given would be a good idea. I know you do not want to wear a mask, but that mask is probably part of the protection," a thought entered her mind as she expected Kara to refuse to wear the out fit but she wasn't going to say it yet, "I hope we can complete our mission. A world under Aries' thumb is not one I would like to live in."

 

[camerindrake]

Damian

Black Hood spoke into his mike, "Wraith, How hard have you hit Zod. Give me feedback."

He began to feel the shock-wave and jumped into the air removing the coat and grabbing the bola's out of their place.* He tossed the coat into the darkness and placed one bola on his back tossing the other to Bruce.*

Black Hood spoke into his mike again, "Bruce, the ring. Now."

He then pulled on what looked like a zip cord releasing the memory cloth from where it was stored in the neck compartment. It added a good inch to the girth of his neck piece, but that is why He had it ribbed. It meant that the neck piece didn't have to flow with his neck movements and he could still move his neck. The memory cloth did have weights with sharp edges at the bottom of what now formed a cape with flayed bottom. Black Hood was ready and all he needed was a gust to go airborne.

Black Hood knew Zod was in that darkness do dense you could feel it and he knew Zod could be hurt by anything Wraith threw at him. Magic the other weakness of Kryptonians. One he had almost forgot about.

Black Hood smiled it looked like a grimace to most people he then spoke, "Wraith, hit Zod with your most powerful attacks. They will hurt him. However us mortals for the most part need to see."

With that he turned on his night vision. There was goin to be blood this night, Black Hood smelled it.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Chloe, Gabe, and Jamie

And just like that, Merick was gone.

Bruce and Pete and Ceri and Damian with him.

Right there, J'onn entered the room. He delivered a pretty heavy pep talk, to which Chloe, already feeling a little freaked out and despairing, wanted to append: 'But no pressure, or anything.'

All the same, though. Being compared to J'onn's own daughter was, in its way, the greatest compliment Chloe felt like she'd ever received. It was enough to make her stand a little taller.

On reflex, Pavlovian response, good people skills, Gabe returned J'onn's respectful nod, though there was a funny little look in his eyes.

As soon as J'onn had left the room, Gabe turned to Chloe and murmured: "That man was green. Very green."

"He isn't always," Chloe replied helpfully, with a tiny little smirk.

"Oh," Gabe nodded, as if that helped matters somewhat.

Jamie stared at the spot where Ceri had stood, stared hard with dark dark eyes that held many secrets and no small quantity of pain.

"Gone again," he whispered. "She always goes, and I never say it. Not properly."

Chloe looked at him with a bit of worry, but attempted to make conversation, maybe to cheer him up: "I realise you probably get this a lot, but, um... 'Fireplace Man?'"

"There are times," Jamie murmured, lost in a little shard of memory, a subdimension of his mind, "when you need to get a man in. A repairman, of sorts, to check that everything's running properly. That was me. I'm the one they called when things'd gone all pear-shaped."

Chloe digested this for a moment. "And 'Weeping Angel?'"

"She's haunted, and she's lonely," Jamie whispered. "But don't take your eyes off of her for a second, because she's the deadliest thing in the room."

"What sort of things did you solve?" Gabe found himself wondering. "Can you help us figure out where this next Crystal is that that green fella was talking about?"

"No, no," Jamie murmured, shaking his head. "I couldn't possibly. Haven't the foggiest. Wouldn't even know where to start."

Brow furrowed, without even saying a word, Chloe went to her laptop bags and retrieved The Tablet. She set it in front of him, held it in Jamie's line of sight.

"I might have a clue?" she wondered hopefully.

Jamie stared to nowhere still for a moment. But then he seemed to refocus subtly, and his glasses appeared out of a pocket and onto his face so quickly Chloe might have missed it if she had blinked.

He reached out and he took The Tablet from her. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Rubbish with terrestrial languages," he muttered. "But not all of this writing's terrestrial, is it? Not strictly. Russian. But it's not Russian. It's all wrong, it's all knackered. (Code?)"

Chloe pursed her lips. "Did you-- have you found something?"

Gabe tried to peer over Jamie's shoulder. "Does it have something to do with 'Veritos?' There was this thing I found--"

"'Veritas,'" Jamie corrected Gabe reflexively, continuing to stare hypnotised at The Tablet, his voice a fascinated, rapid-fire hush. "Latin. Spelled with an 'a,' really. Means 'Truth.'"

Gabe shook his head. "That's weird, because the man who said it has perfect diction, and he said it with an 'o.' 'Veritos.'"

Jamie stared at Gabe like Gabe had sprouted a second head, and this second head was shouting "Humma Kavula" at the top of its shared lungs.

And then the dawn broke on Jamie's face.

"Substitution!" he blurted, his gaze snapping back down to The Tablet. "Substitute the letters in 'Veritos' for their Cyrillic counterparts and take into account the groupings and -- simple alphanumeric 1-1 ratio -- can't believe I couldn't see it before -- coordinates!"

"Coordinates?" Gabe blinked, startled. "For what?"

"With any luck," Chloe grinned, "for The Crystal of Air."

"What era is this from?" Jamie wondered, frowning as he touched his tongue to the stone. "Very strange. Did they even have longitude back then? It's all very Rambaldi-esque."

"He knows Rambaldi," Chloe chuckled. "Of course he knows Rambaldi."

"Mm, yeah, big fan," Jamie nodded absently, oh-so-very absent-mindedly, utterly lost to the work. "Milo Giacomo Rambaldi. Had a poster of him on me wall in boarding school. (Hang on, quiet, gobs shut, have to do maths)."

He hurried off to a corner of the kitchen, muttering rapidly to himself, staring at The Tablet.

"Do you think he'll figure it out in time?" Gabe asked Chloe, understandably flabbergasted.

"We'll do what journalists do," Chloe murmured. "We'll chase down every lead."

With that, she sat behind the black Alienware. "Odin. What was our last telemetry on BRAINIAC? We were thinking Shanghai?"

 

[ChasNicollette]

Alfred and Rose

Alfred went to the door and gazed out after J'onn J'onzz.

"'In the ranks of death you'll find him,'" he murmured.

Rose stared at her hand.

The Martian had been very warm. Not sun warm, like Kara Kent or John Smith.

But still... warm.

That warmth lingered on her hand, and she flexed her fingers.

"I don't know," she murmured. "How to fight. Exactly. Fists and feet. My mum never got around to teaching me that stuff. I didn't even know she knew that stuff until this afternoon."

She glanced up at Diana, her eyes scrunched with thinking hard.

"But, not for nothing?" she murmured. "I'm quick and I'm strong and I can run forever. And my dad's taught me how to use my powers, fire and ice and flight, inside and outside and upside-down. So I'll not be a slouch in the combat department."

Rose shuddered softly, but steeled herself, and whispered with a half-broken voice, a voice half broken and half unbreakable: "I've already killed one of them, one of 'Ares'' goons. I killed his Vulture. A man named John Smith killed Ares' Dog."

 

[Lunaramblings]

Wintergreen walked out of the restroom of the Tower. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed.

"Yessir. I have the information. This geek had a tough jaw though. Near broke my hand. We are getting too old for this. He is headed to China. Filed a fake flight plan. Whatever he is doing he wants it off the books. Shall I meet you sir?

Wintergreen waited a moment. "Very well. I will meet with Morgan in the morning. Get you all the facts. Goodnight Sir."

Edmund Tennylson sat at an unfamiliar table. Looking through pictures. He regretted having to have killed Tommy. But, at least there was promise left. IF Dale refused to take over he still had Merick. And the boy was young. He should promise. And somehow he had penetrated Edmund's security earlier. That was impressive. He had to have hacked the video feed. No one disappears. Unless... Tommy had powers. What if Merick did as well?

Edmund sat straight up. Closed his eyes and began meditating.

 

[Lunaramblings]

In the Halls of Destiny.

Thomas Cozbi Tennylson sat Indian style in mid air. He looked quizzically at the being before him.

"I dont understand. If I died, how am I here. I want to help my brother. Please. You dont understand. I just found him."

Doctor Fate nodded. "I understand all to well. You died in a realm called The Dreaming. In this realm all is not what you think. For one, the laws of your reality do not exist. You were ripped from your destiny. A destiny that would have changed the world. Now, you must leave that world."

"So if I am still alive, why can't I help? I could do something.

"Your death caused a bit of an uproar cosmically. Your manner of Death, for one thing. Any who die in the Dreaming are the province of Dream. And, as his, you are owed vengence. But there was something strange about your death. I am unable to divulge further until I speak to several sages. But something very strange has occured. Something... I can not explain.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Bruce, Pete, and Ceri

Even as Bruce moved, he pulled on the leadlined glove over his existing glove, and slid the ring into place upon his finger. It gleamed green, a kind of gleam that penetrated even darkness.

"Cry 'havoc,'" he breathed, "and let slip the dogs of war."

There was not only The General. There were his foot soldiers. Native Hondurans, it seemed, rebels sympathetic to The Ten Rings...

Pete nearly stumbled into one, and they stared at each other for a moment, in fright and in bewilderment.

"Hola," Pete breathed.

The weary soldier drew a gun on Pete with a cry, but Pete's left-hand nightstick clubbed the gun aside on sheer raw adrenal instinct and the follow-up right stick whupped up into the man's produce section.

"Lo siento," Pete winced sympathetically as the man whined faintly and fell to his knees.

Pete's next strike knocked the man clean out.

"Lo siento big-time," Pete shook his head, and whirled to face the next guy.

Ceri, on the other hand, wasn't bothering to apologise. The men ran at them out of the globe of darkness, fearing the magickal beast who fought their god, not to mention the god himself.

Ceri met them with face grim and eyes alight, pounding bean-bag rounds into each man as they got within feet of her, point-blank range. She shot them in chests, in faces, takedowns.

Her shotgun clicked empty and she wielded it like a club; the next man to come at her had his skull shattered... she swung the scattergun so hard that pieces of the scattergun scattered...

She dropped the gun. She didn't like guns. Not really. Claire liked guns.

Lee Travis had taught them well. So very very well.

Too well.

"I'm out," she noted, briefly. "Going manual."

She pulled the little metal case out of her inside jacket pocket.

This had been an engagement present from Emil Hamilton, her erstwhile brother-in-law. And while she still maintained that Emil was mad, his presents had been very thoughtful.

His wedding present to her was sitting under the stairs at the house, still. But she carried the engagement gift around in the glove box of her car, just on the off-chance.

Straight razors. Where Ceri came from, they called them "cut-throat razors." Like barbers used.

Except these were titanium. And coated in Lubrilon.

They could cut through just about anything short of omnium steel or Steve Dayton's "depleted Promethium."

And Ceri began to use them to cut through guns, wrists, fingers. Men screamed and bled all around her...

...blinding fury, reflecting the moonlight in shimmers and flashes and streaks...

...her blades sang and men wailed...

...until her boots found their skulls and their wails were silenced as they dropped, unceremonious, into unconsciousness.

She treated them like parkour obstacles, running up one man's chest, vaulting into the next man, agile as a cat, untouchable as a shadow.

And she cut them and she kicked them and they fell around her in droves.

"Chwarae troi'n chwerw, wrth chwarae gyda thân," she snarled.

 

[Lunaramblings]

Dale moved like a wild beast. In seconds he had emptied his gun, and bandolier. He dove heartily into the midst of a group of 6 men. All wielding weapons.

The man to Dale's back attempted to stab, but Dale felt it coming. The towel in his hand snapped like a cobra. Wrapping around the man's hand. Dale yanked and spun. The man's should dislocated with a loud pop as he staggered forward, burying his knife into another man's heart.

As Dale spun behind the man, he brought the empty gun down on the man's neck. Severing his spine snapping the gun.

Dale was furious motion. Dale used the towel to disarm two more thugs, then drove the broken end of his gun into one of their cold black heart. The other he grabbed by the throat, and with a twist and a sickening sound tore his windpipe clean out.

The remaining men, three of them, had not even had the chance to move before Dale was on them. Driving his fists, feet, knees, into them. He switched quickly from Jeet Kun Do, to Jiu Jitsu, to Krav Maga. From his pocket he produced his house keys. Wrapping his fingers around them they formed a rudimentary set of tiger claws. He drove the keys into one mans eyes, making them explode. He buried caught a man with his leg around there neck and snapped it like a twig. The last man. God have mercy, he simply bullrushed to the ground. Grinning ear to ear, savagely, he beat the man to death with his bare hands. Ah he sits on the man in a mount position, his blows inforcing his words, A voice dark and hateful speaks from within Dale, the voice of THE RAVAGER Have smashYou smash ever smash Danced smash with smash The Devil smash in the snapsmash Pale Moon Light as he finished Dale was soaked in the blood of the fallen and grinning like a demon of yore.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Bruce Wayne

Bruce was at the opposite end of the spectrum from Dale Tennylson.

He stood, waiting for his opportunities. Waiting for his enemy to come to him.

Mohammed must come to the mountain.

I am the mountain in the storm.

A soldier came at him, he darted half a metre to the left, drilled an elbow into the man's neck. The soldier went down.

Economy of movement. Efficiency. Robotic. Wasting nothing.

Another soldier rushed him, and Bruce slugged him in the stomach. As the man doubled over, Bruce's foot came up and back and somehow, impossibly flexible, cracked the fool in the face. The fool crumpled, and Bruce did not look twice at him as he fell.

He was watching for The General, so that he might use this ring.

The soldiers were only a distraction. Frivolities. Minutiae.

They were not his target. He would not expend any more energy on them than was necessary. (He was grateful, in his cool granite way, that Ceri and Bruce and Dale and Pete were so effectively keeping these drones away from him. Pete seemed to be using his knowledge of anatomy to make his strikes more effective, that was interesting.)

In the eerie sickly Kryptonite-esque green of his nightvision, he saw a man aim a carbine at the back of Dale's head as Dale sat atop a dead man, beating what was left of the semblance of life out of him.

Simple, direct, Bruce extracted a caltrop from his pouch and flicked it at the side of the rifleman's face, gouging his cheek, cutting a chunk off of the man's ear.

The man slapped at his face, half-dropping his gun, and he started to cry out--

--his cry only partially escaped before Bruce's fingers, professionally stiffened-- a move taught to him only days ago by Henri Ducard --struck a nerve cluster, silencing him, causing his cry to strangle in his throat.

The man was only awake for an instant more, before Bruce plucked his carbine from his grasp and cracked him across the face with the butt of the weapon.

He popped the clip out of the gun and threw both in different directions.

The Last Son of Wayne Enterprises had saved Dale's life. And while he didn't approve of Dale's... animalism... he couldn't argue with how useful it was under the circumstances. (If only he would switch from the dead man to a living target, that would make Bruce a little happier.)

And oh, oh, there was that sentence again. That accursed verbal harbinger of death. Murderers spoke those words.

Forget it. Leave it. Some mysteries only unfold in time, and only an idiot fights two battles at once.

You have your target. Focus.

Bruce kept watching. Watching for The General.

Bruce was the mountain, and Zod was the storm. And Bruce would not be moved.

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Wraith

OOC: Approved by Amen (thanks amigo )

"Who did this guy learn English from? Bob Dole?" I thought to myself as Zod raged in the darkness.

Then things got interesting when the bolt of green energy blasted past Zod, barely missed me, and tunneled through the forest behind me.

Seems the calvary had arrived.

I kept the field up and took stock of the others. I could see Merick and his Dad, and Rose's mom. That means Bruce and Pete were here, but where was the Martian?
And the Chosen One?

Shit! Nobody here was fast enough to hit this guy without getting cooked by his eyes. He was still blasting things, and the others couldn't see him.

Time to roll the dice. The Martian had to be seconds out.

I stepped out into the clearing and faced Zod.

"Zor-El told me you were an arrogant prick, but I thought you would be taller." I said in a loud voice.

Then I dropped the field and blasted him again, knocking him back into a truck, which crumpled around him.

He stood with a roar, throwing pieces of the truck around him and I hit him again, walking forward in a measured stride, blasting darkbolts into him, driving him back, keeping him off balance.

Because if he got his feet under him, I was toast!

At about thirty feet apart I let loose a blast, and he let loose a blast from his eyes at the same time instead of trying to stand. Time slowed as the beams flew at each other, and met about fifteen feet between us.

The resulting explosion threw me back and into the ground, dazing me. I had no idea what happened to Zod.

The grip like iron around my neck a second later let me know Zod was not as hurt as I would have liked.

"You would lay hand on Zod? You, this pitiful thing before me? You are not worthy to kneel before me. You are less than nothing."

I felt his grip tighten, as if to choke the life from me. A truly horrifying way to die.

If you breathe.

I formed my fingers into claws then while struggling in his grip like he WAS choking me. I would only get one chance at this.

"Now you die, coward."

"You first windbag" I said, then my hands struck, one slicing him across the chest, and the other across his face. He turned his head or I would have got his eyes.

With a roar he slapped me backhand across the chest, throwing me back against a huge tree and cracking God only knows how many bones, then he was on me.

Blows rained down on me until I could only feel pain, and nothing else.

I got one look into his mad eyes, clawmarks crossing his face, and then I was flying up. Up, up into the sky and through the clouds.

And then in the cold dark of the thin air, I started to fall

I couldn't pass out. Once I hit the shadows of the clouds I could shift to shadow.

I just had to stay awake.

Stay awake.

Stay awa......

 

[ChasNicollette]

Raya and Lar

Not taking his eyes off the swirling blackness of an approaching dust storm, Var-Sen answered Raya.

"She will stay," he told her, "for it is her destiny. She will bring peace where there is fighting, trust where there is deceit, courage where there is strength. But most of all, Raya, she will bring hope to all mankind. She will become the symbol of her namesake for a people whose world has adopted her.

And to Lar, his voice was serious. "The Gateway has not opened yet, my friend. Have faith. There are sciences greater than even ours to be held."

"Althought we do indeed seem to be stuck in this place. And it is said that none save for those carrying the blood of the House of El can activate the Gateway on this side," he continued, "and yet the last surviving of that line is about to face her destiny on that small world of Earth.

"But," he finished, "the House of El had others. There was a great statesman and advisor, a Council Elder for the magnificent Argo City, and he shared the name with Zor-El. I speak of Zor-El's brother, Jor-El. His wife was Lara, and they had a boy child, but this child's name escapes me."

Raya gazed into nowhere for a moment.

Her voice was gentle, and it was sad, and it was contemplative.

"I remember this boy," she mused. "Every so often, Jor-El would visit Zor-El in his lab. They had many discussions about whether atmospheric avionics would still be effective while traversing wormholes. I never had opportunity to converse with the man, but there was one instance in which Jor-El brought his son to the lab. You weren't there that day-- there was a symposium on Omegahedron technology which you chose to attend --but the young man was very studious. He had eyes that missed nothing."

Raya Ro-Zan glanced at Lar Gand. "(He resembled you, more than a fraction.)"

"(I get that a lot,)" Lar wisecracked, heavy on the irony. "(I have that kind of face.)"

She frowned softly. "He was a little cold, even for a Kryptonian, even as young as he was. But he had an atmosphere about him. He wore his House Symbol well. Even in the midst of his cold demeanour, he nourished hope like it was his lifeblood."

But then she smiled, smiled that sad little smile. She wondered what this boy would have looked like if he had grown up.

"His name was Kal-El."

 

[Lunaramblings]

Merick dove into battle. He was anger. He was fury. He was Vengeance.

Merick didn't bother dodging blows, he allowed them to hit him. He figured if hitting the ground at terminal velocity was but a discomfort, then the knives, shovels, and occasional bullet here would be little more.

Merick used his energy instead to pull them in. He was firing blast in all directions, forcing them to close to avoid the blasts. Once he had several surrounding him he too grinned. Then there was a violent Swoosh, louder than any Merick had previously produced. Suddenly him and the men were gone.

In a moment they all came crashing back to earth. This time Merick was ready. Instead of an inglorious face plant Merick neatly tucked and landed in a crouch.

"ZOD!! This is our world, you will not take it lightly!"

Merick fired a blast directly at Zod. Hoping to do anything of use. He knew Zod was impossibly strong, ungodly tough, but Merick would die before he gave in.

The rippling wave of energy, more than two feet in diameter shot toward it's intended target....


Dale mean while was otherwise concerned. He looked at Bruce...

"Well done boy!" Dale leapt at the nearest standing target, biting, gouging, pummeling.

Dale was a tornedo of motion. Seemed the more he hit the faster he moved. He was holding little back. Several of these men would die before they realized they had even been hit.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Bruce

"Well done boy!" Dale exulted, and then dervished back into the fray.

"Hh," Bruce grunted. (There was a small part of him that was gratified at this praise, but it was overshadowed by The Voice.)

Also, Bruce was looking skyward. He could barely make out the shape of Kyle Greystone, a fragment in the sky, could see him through a gap in the clouds.

Tumbling. Freefall. Hurled heavenward by Zod, dragged earthward by gravity.

"Starheart!" he snarled, bellowing at Merick. "Use a force-bubble! Catch Wraith!"

And then he chased Merick's blast towards Zod, that ring glinting in the night.

He wasted no breath on battlecries. He stormed in after Merick's blast, hoping to capitalise on its impact, his ring-bearing fist already cocked, ready to fly true...

 

[ChasNicollette]

Flashback: The Veritos Society

Swann Mansion.
Years ago.​

The man with his cane and his cold cold stare strode fiercely, fiercely down the hall away from the meeting room, leaving The Teagues and The Queens and all their chums and comrades and that insufferable Thomas Wayne in his wake.

Virgil and Lionel. Twin thorns in his side. "They will. Regret this."

As he strode fiercely towards the front door, he stopped when he laid his cold cold stare upon an older man: a little bit pudgy, a little bit stodgy, but with eyes mysterious as an Antarctic night.

This older man stood leaning against the corridor wall, arms across his chest, apparently too lost in thought to even acknowledge the man with his cane.

Henri Ducard sneered at this older man, at the age that had gathered in the silver of the man's hair, at the wrinkles around his eyes.

"McCrimmon," he snarled. "Why do I suspect that you had something to do with this? Hardening their hearts against me?"

Dai McCrimmon, arms still crossed over his chest, simply arched an astonished eyebrow, as if he were offended to be accused of such things. "Why, Ducard. Of all the -- no, no, of course not. You did that all by yourself, you didn't need any help from me."

"Why they even listen to your doddering notions," Ducard growled, drawing closer to McCrimmon, "is beyond me. It's not like you're a member of their elite little cadre."

"No," Dai murmured, utterly unmoved by Ducard's little display of temper. "I'm just a historian, really. A student of the past. For instance, while this incarnation of The Veritos Society is relatively young, The Society itself has been around in one form or another since before your 'Master' ascended to 'his' rank. It's not as old, of course, as the first Demon's Head, that utter savage, but it beats your 'Ra's al Ghul' by a significant margin. It's older even than my own little... brotherhood."

Ducard's lip twitched. "Your insight is. Impressive. Most impressive. But do not forget, Dai, that while you know my little secrets, I am aware of a few of yours."

Dai frowned ever-so-faintly. "You'll have to forgive me, m'sieu. I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Henri smiled a twisted little smile. "That's where you miss your guess, old man. My master and I... we do not forgive."

"Is there a problem, Dai?" a voice rang out, cool and calm and strong. "Henri, I was under the impression that you were leaving."

Ducard turned his head, and glanced back the way he'd come.

Doctor Thomas Wayne stood there, eyes narrowed, face serene. Wayne's new lackey Pennyworth stood behind him, rolling up his sleeves.

"Shall I eject him forcibly, Masta' Wayne?" Alfred offered with no small relish.

Ducard's lip curled, as if challenging Alfred to just try it.

"You are all imbeciles," Ducard growled, shoving away from Dai McCrimmon. "Your Traveler cannot be protected, and he certainly cannot be controlled. He is stronger-willed than a dozen men. When his Crystal is found, his knowledge must be used to remake the face of The Earth not according to principles of alien utopia, but according to the precepts of natural evolution. We must remake the world, in one fell swoop, as The League of Shadows has been remaking one civilisation at a time since the dawn of Civilisation itself."

Alfred smiled bitterly, and took a step towards Ducard, but Thomas stopped him with an arm across his chest.

"No, Alfred," Thomas murmured. "We are not barbarians, nor are we vandals. Ducard is a respected associate, and a messenger. We do not shoot messengers."

"More's the pity," Alfred grimaced.

Dai McCrimmon, startled, suddenly worried, glanced up at a pair of double doors off of the hallway.

And then those doors burst open, two teenage girls, dark-haired and wild-eyed, somersaulting through them, exchanging fisticuffs, kicking with astonishing precision. They were sparring.

They froze, though, when they realised that they'd been discovered.

"Girls," Dai winced, moving to stand between Ducard and the two raven-tressed martial artists. His great-nieces, visiting from Wales. "Young ladies, this is not how we behave under the roof of my friend Virgil. He is a kind host, and we should respect his property."

Claire, the younger of the two, frowned as if this was stupid. "She started it."

Ceri looked away, chagrined, embarrassed.

Ducard arched an eyebrow. The older girl was far too respectful of authority. The younger, however, she had fangs. She had promise.

"Alfred, good friend," Dai glanced at Pennyworth. "Would you mind ushering my girls back to the company of the other children?"

Alfred glanced at Thomas, who nodded easily. Alfred, smiling a beatific, fatherly grin, walked over to Ceri and to Claire, and with light pushing hands on their backs, guided them back the way from which they'd exploded. "Come along, ladies. Perhaps young Alexander will share his little picture books with you, if you've need of quieter entertaiment."

As they vanished through the double doors, which Alfred pulled closed behind them, Claire could be heard to complain: "They're comic books? And they're ridiculous. Total drivel."

Ceri mumbled: "I don't mind them so much."

Thomas returned his gaze to Ducard, as did Dai McCrimmon.

"Time to go, Henri," Thomas stated, brooking no hesitation.

Ducard's lip twitched, and then, slicing the air with a brutal strike, he swung his cane towards Thomas Wayne's face.

The cane stopped, quivering, in mid-air, mere inches from Wayne's cheek, Wayne's eyes.

The cane stopped, quivering, clenched in Dai McCrimmon's aged rock-solid fist.

Wayne hadn't flinched. Hadn't moved a muscle. He was not afraid.

And McCrimmon was a battleship, ironsided despite his age.

"Henri," McCrimmon murmured, brooking no resistance.

Ducard snorted, smirked, like he'd won a little victory. He hadn't caused Wayne to duck, hadn't shattered Wayne's impossibly fearless demeanour.

But he'd caused McCrimmon no small discomfort, having had to move so fast to defend the man.

"My master's wrath," Ducard promised, "will outlive the lot of you. On to the next generation, and the generation after, until the stars are down."

And then he turned, yanking his cane from McCrimmon's grasp, and he left in a billow of black coats.

"Pleasant fellow," Dai grimaced, rubbing his palm where the cane had nearly drawn blood, rotating the shoulder of the arm that had lunged to block the blow.

"If I ever have a son," Thomas noted, with ironic humour, "I want him to grow up just like him."

"There's a cheerful thought," Dai harrumphed, as the two men headed back towards the meeting room.

 

[Lunaramblings]

Merick's eyes darted upward. Just piercing enough of the darkness to make out the falling shape. Merick wasted no time in his actions. He folded and twisted reality. With a swoosh he was falling beside Kyle.

Part of him wanted to miss. He was still a little jealous. But he also had more than enough heart to not wish to see his best friend's boy friend became a large greasy smear. Merick shot out a bubble of force, engulfing the falling boy. He decided that risking a teleporting would not stop the velocity they were falling at. Instead he teleported himself under Kyle.

He projected yet more force to cushion the two as they fell. Waiting patiently as the seconds seemed like hours.

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Odin

Odin. What was our last telemetry on BRAINIAC? We were thinking Shanghai?"

"According to my latest calculations that appears to be his destination. There is a twenty percent magin for error though. His last jump must have stuck him to the plane. I can't track spikes anymore, and the aircraft did not file a electronic flightpath. I'll keep on him... Oh NO!"

On the screen a bubble of darkness appeared over the area where Zod had the rebels working. Seconds later, blasts of white-hot heat washed out of the dark, setting the forest ablaze. Then it dropped. The picture zoomed in, showing Wraiths stand against Zod, and then showing his defeat as Zod threw him up into the sky. His body obviously either uncouncious.
Or dead.

 

[camerindrake]

Damian

Black Hood took slow steps and then got into his battle stance ducking blows and delivering his own each movement using no more energy than was nessisary. One such victom lost skin from his face as Black Hood grabed him by the side and slammed his temple into the upcoming knee. Another found his arm and collar bone broken and a shoulder dislocated from Black Hood grabbing his fist and twisting followed by the palm of his hand striking the elbow and shoulder and then slamming his own shoulder into the mans chest.

Black Hood realized he was using to much energy and switch to a style known only by four people in the League of Assassins. Developed by the David Cain of his reality. Simply refured to as the Style with no name. He walked one person ran up and Black Hood grabbed his arm by the elbow with three fingers as he threw a punch slammed his foot into the victoms knee and then chopped him in the wind pipe. The victom began to foam at the mouth as his eyes roled back into his head.

Black Hood looked up to see Wraith fall and Merrick chasing after him after an order from Dale. The madness of the attacks. He almost seamed like Mad Dog. A failed experiment by David Cain to create the perfect bodyguard for Ra's.

Black Hood made a mental note.

He looked up further and there was Zod. The man that Black Hood knew had to die.

 

[Lunaramblings]

Dale stood over the body of his last foe. Even after so long he still had it.

Dale looked up to see his son freefalling in front of the limp body of another in a bubble.

Dale just continued to grin. Dale started scanning the battlefield. He was not done saking his thirst for blood just yet. Dale saw a man trying to limp away. He hefted a rock, dropped it into his trusty towel and let it fly. It struck the would be survivor directly at the base of his neck. Ending his life.

 

[AmenRa]

The Martian Manhunter

A streak of red across the night sky herald the arrival of J'onn J'onzz. He planted his feet once again on terra firma to see the saving of a Wraith falling from the sky.

He had set himself down in the midst of battle. There was carnage among the serenity of the jungle. The smoke and smell of battle lingered in the thick, wet air. J'onn J'onzz close his eyes and his jaw muscles twitched.

War.

The memories did not come, thankfully, for the Martian Manhunter opened his eyes and focused on one being in the center of all things.

He was battered, but he was not beaten. For all of their powers, the ones sent against him were merely a distraction. They must maintain their course and retrieve the Crystal of Water from the cave.

J'onn's foe somehow returned a blast of energy back towards Merick. The reflected energy bounced along the ground, knocking Bruce Wayne down, but not only getting him dirty. Zod then lifted his head and saw the Martian Manhunter. A look of pure hatred replaced the look of pure anger on the General's face.

The Martian Manhunter took two steps, his cape draping across his massive chest. His eyes flashed red.

"Zod," he said in recognition.

"I should have known you would show your pathetic, self-righteous face here, J'onn J'onzz," came the acidic reply. "So we meet again at last."

J'onn's voice was loud and clear, and shook the very Earth as he spoke. "Surrender to me now and your existence will be spared," he stated.

Zod's answer was a laugh. J'onn looked towards Bruce Wayne, a warning glance for the young crusader to stay back and not assault with the kryptonite yet. Zod was still too powerful, and was smart. He would see the attack coming.

"This is not the same as it was so long ago, Manhunter," Zod chided, "you are not the stronger here. I now have powers, limitless powers, and you will not find I submit so easily. In fact, you will find that I do not submit at all! It is you who shall kneel before me!"

Martian Manhunter's fists clenched, knuckles cracking, and he began to move. He was a bit faster than Zod had expected, and when he had closed the distance between them, he landed a solid punch against Zod's chest.

"I kneel before no one," he said evenly, watchind Zod's body flatten into the earth beneath them. The general plowed a trench through the mud and muck until his momentum was finally arrested by a stand of banana trees. Zod was immediately on his feet.

J'onn was on him again, pounding and kicking Zod's body relentlessly. Zod twisted, maneuvered just right, and brought his foot up in a forward thrust kick. The kick connected, and it was the Martian Manhunter's turn to plow a furrow. Zod flew along after him, and as soon as J'onn stopped, Zod descended.

The Martian Manhunter was now locked in Zod's grasp. But, J'onn J'onzz resisted, and he gathered his power. He opened his hand, spreading his fingers wide, and placed his palm against Zod's stomach.

Zod's flesh began to burn.

The Manhunter's powers then turned within, as he mentally screamed to young Bruce Wayne:

Now!

But Zod peeled himself away from the Martian Manhunter's grip, and he looked at the large handprint that had burned with cosmic power through his clothes and into his skin. His eyes became slits.

"You forget, Martian," Zod said as he formed a smile, "that I know what you fear."

And then Zod unleashed the full power of his heat vision on J'onn J'onzz.

The very air around the Martian Manhunter began to burn.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Bruce and Ceri

Bruce's attempt to captialise on Merick's force-blast backfired considerably as Zod did-- something --with his hands, perhaps some sort of Kryptonian martial art? ...he deflected the blast away from himself and sent it crashing into Bruce instead.

Fortunately for Bruce, that little deflection didn't conserve all of the blast's momentum-- perhaps the alien absorbed it with his considerable physical durability, a flex of his knees and of his ankles --and when it hit Bruce it was severely diminished. It thudded into him and while his armour took the worst of it, it still propelled him skidding through the mud and Earth.

He rolled with the impact, back on his feet in an eyeblink.

Not so easily beaten, he paused, tensing, to watch thunderclap punches and earthquake impacts...

The Martian was here, the Martian was wrestling, two gods locked in immortal combat. There was a clinch, and the Martian succeeded in wounding The General...

...there was opportunity, but though Bruce sprinted towards the impossible combatants, he was too far away to reach them before fire poured from Zod's eyes and The Martian was wreathed in flame...!

Bruce skidded to a halt, brought up short by the radiant heat, heat like a small sun, he could feel the earth blistering beneath his feet, could feel his skin blistering beneath his garments.

If he got any closer, he might burst into flame... and yet he was still outside of the effective radius of the small Kryptonite ring he wore.

"No," he seethed. "Not so easily beaten."

"Oi!" a woman's voice called, a hard voice with accent melodious. "Ulrich von Lichtenstein!"

Bruce looked up, to see Ceri McCrimmon.

To see Ceri McCrimmon throw her right hand razor, lodge it into a thug's leg, and as the thug staggered screaming, she turned to Bruce, grabbed the pouch off of her belt-- her own pouch given to her by The Black Hood --and with a single fluid motion threw Bruce the pouch and slithered into a kick that knocked the thug off of his staggering feet and shut up the thug's screaming face.

Bruce reached up with a hand and snatched the pouch from the air.

Ceri dove and rolled and yanked her razor out of the thug's leg. ("'I aim to misbehave.'")

Bruce's lead-lined glove dove into that pouch. And came up with explosive shuriken.

Explosive shuriken, laced with Kryptonite.

He had three of them between his knuckled fingers, one-two-three nasty little darts.

Shaped like--

"Bats," he snarled.

But he did not hesitate.

He whirled, and threw those spinning speeding bat-shaped nasty little darts towards the back of the head of the god who would kill The Martian.

"Share my dread," he whispered, as he watched the bats fly.

 

[Lunaramblings]

Merick thudded to the ground with tremendous impact. Due to the shielding around them however, Kyle and Merick were unharmed.

Merick checked to make sure Kyle was okay before he got back to his feet. Merick looked at Pete, only a few feet away.

"Hey, Night-Thrasher, you know what the hell we are looking for or what? This might be our only chance."

Merick swooshed to his side, blasting a thug as he arrived. "Fancy a lift?"


Dale looked to the Gods fighting. He flexxed his arms. Let out a beastly howl and moved toward Ceri and Bruce. Dale was fast. Not fast like The Martian or The Kryptonians, but faster than most humans. He cleared the field in moments. Dispatching several thugs that were struggling to move as he went. Somewhere he had picked up a machete.

As he approached Ceri a man lunged at him. In a series of quick slashes that man lost a hand, three fingers and a good portion of the left side of his face.

"Hey, Ethelfleda, need some help?"

 

[ChasNicollette]

Pete

Pete clubbed a big guy hard, each truncheon coming in on a side of the guy's neck. The big guy seethed, but didn't fall, and Pete grunted: "You look like a jock. You play ball?"

The jock snarled at him, hauled off, but Pete managed to dodge the punch, just by the skin of his teeth, by the fuzz of his mask. Lots of bullies growin' up. All of 'em big. All of 'em slow.

And Pete hadn't had anyone to help him fight them.

"My brothers were jocks in school," Pete conversed, as another fist just barely scraped by him. "Los hermanos."

The jock landed a body blow, but Pete wore armour carved from pure force beneath a jacket that looked like it could stop a bullet. The jock screamed as if he'd broken his hand.

"To this day," Pete noted, "they all gots lotsa trouble with their knees."

And he came in hard, while the guy was grabbing his injured hand, came in hard with a right hand forehand smash and pounded a nightstick into the inside of the jock's right knee. It cracked. Went all funny. The leg bent in a terrible fashion.

The jock screamed again, louder.

"Good game," Pete suggested, and grabbed the jock by the bandoliers and head-butted him in the face.

The jock crumpled, making a very surprised noise as he sank to the ground.

Pete shook his head as if to clear it, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Dude."

And then looked up to see Doctor Dale Tennylson take out a guy with a rock flung by a towel at like eight miles away.

"Speakin' of ball," Pete murmured to the animal-doctor, "remind me to never go up against you when you're Q.B. 'Necessary roughness,' much?"

And then Merick pounded into The Earth, carrying Ray Charles safely with him.

"HIJO DE PUTA!" Pete bellowed, and almost fell over.

"Hey, Night-Thrasher, you know what the hell we are looking for or what? This might be our only chance."

Merick swooshed to his side, blasting a thug as he arrived. "Fancy a lift?"

"It don't look like The Bad Man's got it in his mitts," Pete shook his head. "An' Ray Bradbury's got him preoccupied. We maybe might still got a shot at this."

He grabbed Merick's glowy green arm. "Get us to the cave, dude! (And for the last time. Somethin' startin' with an 'R.' None of this New Warriors crap. 'Red' something?)"

 

[AmenRa]

The Martian Manhunter

So, this is how it ends.

I have battled evil, conquered wrong-doers, and upheld the triumphs of truth and justice.

Yet I am so wounded now by that evil, that now upon this brother world of my own, I succumb to the inferno that took my world from me.

The fire that burned so bright it washed away all I knew.

All I loved.

As the air around him seethed with red and blue and yellow flame, J'onn J'onzz held up his hands in front of him and watched his green Martian skin begin to blister and boil.

He was frozen by fire, rooted to the spot where he stood, unable to move, because within his very core was a primordial fear of fire, instilled there by watching a Red Planet burn, burn, burn.

He tried to back away from the fire, but it was all around him, everywhere he turned, a wall of flame blocked his egress from hell.

In the midst of war, with his very skin aflame, the Martian Manhunter began to scream.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Ceri

As he approached Ceri a man lunged at him. In a series of quick slashes that man lost a hand, three fingers and a good portion of the left side of his face.

"Hey, Ethelfleda, need some help?"

"Prudence suggests," Ceri mused, razors spinning like twin whirligigs and ripping through two men's brachial arteries, sentencing them to death only seconds later, "that I keep a good man at me back. And in the absence of a good man, a man who is fucking fearless. Yeh strike me as the latter, no offence."

She grunted softly.

"Yeh fight like a Viking," she noted. "A Viking fighting alongside Ethelfleda. (History must be rolling in its grave.)"

A thug dove for her, screaming blue murder, but her foot came around like a battleaxe and pounded him into the dirt.

"I feel like I should make a 'Crocodile Dundee' joke with that in yeh hand," she snarled. "If yeh start killing bad people summore, I promise not to tell it."

 

[Lunaramblings]

Merick grinned, though in the form he currently occupied it was hard to tell.

"Red huh? Red Rocket, Red Robin, Red Tornado? Lets roll."

Merick swooshed them to the place where Zod's men had unearthed the cave.

"What we lookin for Red Devil?"