DC Next presents:

##I AM BATMAN

In To Love And To Lose

Issue Twenty: Atonement

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by Predaplant

<< ||| < Previous Issue ||| Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Only a few months off of a year since Cassandra had returned from Detroit, and Christine was still itching for any sort of contact with her. She sent her message and drafted many more, but nothing could quite match all the love she’d shown for Cass in the first one. How could she give more of herself when it took so much out of her to even craft one message? When she wasn’t stressing about Cass while at work and nearly losing her position within the show entirely, she sat at home, staring out into the night sky, hoping for some sort of sign that everything was going to be alright.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and worry turned to exhaustion. More and more, as time went on, she wondered how much longer she could subject herself to such pain, even after reaching out to Cass directly. Her heart ached so strongly for someone she wasn’t even sure still existed. Was the woman she fell in love with still around? Could Cass still be the same person after so long in self-imposed isolation? Christine wanted to hope, but her will was running thin.

On a cold December night, merely a week from Christmas Eve, Christine found herself sitting on the fire escape of her building, a mug of hot chocolate with a much-too-large portion of whipped cream on top held tightly in both hands to keep her warm. She didn’t know what she was watching for anymore as she stared over the city across the river separating Old Gotham from Somerset, watching the lights move up and down the streets, sparkles along the sides of skyscrapers carving out portions of the nighttime sky. Christine couldn’t quite remember the last time she really saw any significant amount of stars.

She took a sip of her hot chocolate and licked her lips of the whipped cream that remained, wiping off what was left on her nose with her sleeve. The night was surprisingly quiet for Old Gotham — there was no shouting, no car horns, and, shockingly enough, traffic was the lightest she’d seen in far too long. Flakes of snow trickled down from the sky, accumulating on buildings and window sills, coating the roads below as drivers traced their paths through it.

Slow puffs of visible breath escaped Christine’s nose as she took in her surroundings, appreciating the silence and, for a moment, feeling as though her troubles had subsided. She allowed herself a moment of peace amidst her constant worry, and feeling the tingling cold in her toes and in her fingers was a welcome reprieve.

For a brief moment after she heard the knock at her door through the open window, she was confused. They were only seconds, but for those quick heartbeats that seemed to last much longer, Christine didn’t know what it could have been. Then, like snowflakes finally snapping a branch, Christine stood and rushed back inside her apartment, careful to not spill her drink on herself, yet still managing to hit her head on the sliding window she’d climbed through.

Closing it behind her, she set her drink down and tossed the blanket she’d wrapped around herself onto the couch nearby, moving toward the door as a tsunami of anxiety mixed with anticipation crashed within her. Her chest felt tighter than it ever had before. No one visited Christine, especially unannounced. Within the blink of an eye, she reached a conclusion that even a few hours prior she would have considered impossible.

Despite wishing to rip the door from its hinges, a small cry at the back of her mind reminded her to check the peephole — she did live in Gotham City, after all. She opened the cover and peered through, seeing nothing but shadow and a faint hint of some sort of brown material. It was far too close to the door to tell what it was. Throwing all caution to the wind, Christine closed the peephole cover and wrenched the door open.

“Ohmygod,” she exclaimed suddenly as a large stuffed animal head flopped toward her, its big, glossy eyes drooping toward the floor. Taking a step back to fully understand what, exactly, was sitting in front of her, she saw that it was a massive — positively gigantic — stuffed dog, nearly entirely taking up the space of her door frame. The person holding it, her small, toned, and scarred arms holding on for dear life, barely able to hold on to the sheer volume of the plush animal, made a small squeak in response.

“Babs said it would help,” said Cass, her voice muffled from behind the dog, face unwillingly shoved into its back as she tried her hardest to retain a grip on it. “I am sorry.”

“Cass, I–” Christine began, unsure where to start. “Hold on.” Grabbing onto the dog beneath its giant stuffed arms, Christine took it from Cass and walked toward the couch, tossing it down with a strong mix of confusion, amazement, and sorrow.

“Do you like it?” Cass asked, rubbing her forearm incessantly as her eyes scanned Christine over and over. Christine barely had time to formulate an answer before Cass continued, “I am sorry.” Christine sighed, averting her gaze as she continued to think.

“It’s almost been an entire year since you disappeared to Detroit,” Christine said. “Almost nine months since you came back and disappeared again, of your own doing.” Cass nodded along, taking a deep breath. “A stuffed dog isn’t going to fix everything.”

“I know,” said Cass. “I am sorry.” Christine bit her tongue. A flash of what looked like fear washed over Cass’ face as she took a step toward Christine, arms opening slightly to indicate just what she needed.

“Let’s talk, first,” said Christine, receiving another nod in response. With a long exhale, Christine sat down on the couch behind her, forgetting about the dog for just a moment until she sank deep into its back. “This thing–” She paused, looking back up at Cassandra and trying to figure out her own thoughts. “What happened, Cass? Why did you leave?”

Cass’ eyes traced over Christine’s face again and again, and soon enough she appeared to be straining herself, as if she had been digging a hole far past the point her fingers bled.

“I still care about you, Cass,” Christine said. “If that’s what you’re looking for.” A quick, stress-filled nod preceded a deep exhale.

“Everything was… bad,” said Cass. “Everything I saw… In Detroit, with the Thinker…”

“The Thinker?” asked Christine, cocking her head slightly. Dread washed over Cass’ face.

“I did not tell you… I thought…” She shook her head quickly. “He was… he showed me what normal is. He showed me what normal looks like. I had my family. I had school. I had friends.” She took a few steps toward the couch and lowered herself down to her knees, sitting in front of Christine. “But it did not work… because I am not normal. I cannot be normal.”

“What does that mean?”

“I am a weapon,” Cass replied, blinking hard as she lowered her head. Christine adjusted her seating, leaning forward slightly with her hands on her knees. “I was made to kill and to fight. Even when everything is normal, I need to fight. I broke normal.”

Racking her brain for the right response, Christine looked down upon Cass and could still only see the woman she’d fallen in love with, the woman who liked to watch corny movies and read Shakespeare. She had seen firsthand what Cass was capable of, the brutal violence that she so intuitively employed, and yet through that she saw a woman with a pure and intense love for life.

“Come here,” Christine said, pulling Cass into an embrace. “Then what happened?”

“I hurt people,” she said. “I hurt Thinker. I came back. I hurt Arkham. I hurt criminals. I hurt Babs, and Robin, and I hurt you. I hurt because I can not be normal.”

“You can be, Cass.” Christine began to rub her thumb over Cass’ head, slowly moving her hand along Cass’ hair, feeling hot breaths against her other arm. “You were my normal.”

“Is that possible?”

“It was.”

“And now?”

“It can be,” said Christine, feeling Cass shift slightly beneath her.

“How?”

Christine thought for a moment.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I want to be here for you, but… you can’t just run away. I don’t know how much I can take.” Cass nodded. “Everything inside of me is telling me not to say this, to go right back to ground zero and begin again… but I love you, Cass. I don’t want to find out that the woman I fell in love with was an act. Was she?”

“No.”

“Then I want to fall in love with her again,” she continued. “I’m frustrated, I’m upset, I’ve felt awful all this time because you were gone, and I don’t even know what I’m feeling now, but… We have so much left to read and to watch, and I want to do it with you. I want you to be my normal again, more than anything.”

Both fell silent, and for the first time in nearly a year, Christine got to listen to Cass’ breathing once more. The slow, steady indication that she was close, and that maybe things would be okay. Christine didn’t know what the path forward was, despite her love. She continued to stroke Cass’ head, running her fingers through her hair, trying to put together any thought that made sense.

What could make sense after a mechanically induced delusion created by a super maniac caused such intense isolation? What was left after pure silence? They both knew they couldn’t start back up where they had left off, acting like nothing had happened, but Christine so desperately wanted to cling to the woman that made her feel so happy.

“Can I kiss you?” asked Cass, catching Christine by surprise. Cass raised her head from Christine’s lap, letting go of the embrace, and looked up into her eyes. Red and puffy, tears had grown and shed, some catching on Christine’s clothing, others having fallen to the floor. Big brown eyes looked deeply into Christine’s own, searching for her heart.

“No,” Christine said, though, in spite of the torrent of emotions she felt, she smiled. “Not tonight.”

Both Cass and Christine woke up on the couch, arms wrapped around each other, enveloped by the giant mass of synthetic fur and plush that laid on top of them both. Even despite the lingering feelings within Christine, the crashing waves of uncertainty, fear, and frustration, she still felt good. So long had gone by, and yet she cherished being able to hold Cass so closely in her sleep, to feel her warmth, to listen to her low breathing in a moment of peace.

She was reminded of a time she thought had passed, but as she held Cassandra within her arms, she could only truly feel relieved.

“I want you to be my normal,” Christine muttered, tightening her embrace momentarily, feeling Cass do the same.

Much Later That Day…

Cass waited in the Belfry, restlessly pacing the mission room as Babs typed away at the Bat-Computer. It was difficult to pry herself away from Christine so soon, but she had wronged more than the woman she loved. While she promised to return, to talk more about the past, the present, and the future, there was more to be done in the wake of Cass’ neglect. She wasn’t sure how to handle it all, but in her first days back, Babs had drilled it into her that she needed to face all those she had wronged.

She knew it had to be done, but that didn’t make the actual act of atonement all that much easier. Taking a look at the time at the bottom corner of Babs’ screen, Cass sighed and continued pacing, unsure of how long it truly took to ride a bicycle from Gotham Academy into the city proper. The typing at Babs’ computer stopped for a moment.

“She’s here,” said Babs, turning in her chair away from her large screen, grabbing her cane, and standing up to leave. “Try your best.”

“I will,” said Cass, rubbing her hands together. A set of light footsteps made their way toward the door of the mission room, and as the handle turned, Cass’ heart felt as though it would jump from her chest. She truly didn’t know what she would do or what she would expect. The door swung open.

Maps stood for a moment, looking Cass over with evident uncertainty. Part of the girl seemed to want to close in on herself, questioning why Cass was present, as if they’d never met before and there was suddenly someone unfamiliar in her comfort zone. Then, after a moment of tension, Maps’ eyes returned to Cass’ face and narrowed, only briefly, before opening wide.

“My name is Cassandra,” said Cass, taking a step toward Maps, who shook her head quickly in response.

“I– I shouldn’t know that,” Maps said quickly, gripping the straps of her school bag with white knuckles, taking a step back. “You– I– Batman, I shouldn’t–”

“You should,” said Cass, firmly. “Robin always knows Batman. I did it wrong.”

“No!” Maps exclaimed. “You obviously had a reason!” Her breathing quickened and the impulse to run was showing across her entire body, blaring like an alarm. Cass frowned as she used a hand to gesture for Maps to approach. The girl was hesitant, but relented after a few moments of thought, closing the door behind her. As she stepped closer, Cass lowered herself to her knees.

“I did it wrong,” said Cass. “I had no reason. You almost died and I was not there, not until it was too late.” She lowered her head to look at the ground, noticing Maps’ formerly white shoes covered in custom decorative art. Mostly Bat-related. “I should have listened to you, Maps. You did really good, and I did not.”

The girl seemed lost. Cass raised her head to look into her eyes, and could only see fear and confusion.

“You deserve to know who I am,” Cass continued. “I have not treated you like an equal. There is no Batman without Robin. I cannot keep us both safe if we cannot trust each other.”

“But I do trust you,” said Maps.

“No, you do not,” Cass replied. “You trust Batman. You… love Batman. But I am just like you, and I do not think you trust me. Not yet.” There was a brief silence as Maps wiped her eyes, taking her bag off of her shoulders and throwing it to the ground.

“No!” She shouted. “Get up!” The girl rushed to grab Cass’ arm, pulling her up off of her knees. “Get up, please!”

“Maps–”

“You can’t!” She continued, cutting Cass off. She pulled as hard as she could, trying to force Batman to stand up. “You can’t do this! Batman doesn’t kneel like this! Batman doesn’t–” Her voice broke. “You can’t… You can’t be real…” It took only moments, but Maps soon seemed to deflate, drained of energy, as she fell to her knees as well. “You shouldn’t be real…”

Leaning forward, Cass took the young Robin into her arms and felt the girl fall entirely limp. With a deep sigh, she said, “I am real, just like you. I am sorry.” Maps did not respond, her shaky breaths speaking for themselves as she struggled to recollect her thoughts. Cass obliged her in the silence, allowing the young teen some time without words.

Cass had felt the worshipping gaze upon her in the last years since she had first met Maps Mizoguchi. She felt the utter devotion Robin kept, and she felt it crumbling as Cass ignored her. Despite that broken faith, the idealization held toward her kept strong. She couldn’t live up to that, and she knew that reverence would never help either of them. She didn’t want Maps to find herself in danger wondering why the greatest superhero in the world couldn’t save her. She didn’t want to fall into the belief that Maps’ worship was warranted. Cassandra Cain was human, just as Mia Mizoguchi was human.

“Please get up,” Maps asked, her voice low and broken.

“Only if you do, too.” Maps sniffled as she nodded in Cass’ arms, and after another moment of shaky breaths, both rose to their feet.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##NIGHTWING

In Annual Two: Christmas on Morrison Street

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by ClaraEclair and PatrollinTheMojave

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

For Dick Grayson, the holidays had always been a time of chasing ghosts. Not the very real kind that required an exorcist or any holiday-appropriate Dickensian spirits. No, Dick spent enough of the year haunted by the past, burdened by the present, and shadowed by future threats. Christmas, instead, was a time when he pursued a feeling - a warmth that once seemed so easy to capture.

For the first ten years of his life, Christmas was an unavoidable miracle. Haly’s Circus took a rare pause, but rest was never part of the plan. The pitch transformed into a festival just for them, their own winter wonderland. He remembered the glow of lights strung between trailers, the scent of roasted chestnuts mixing with sawdust, the sound of carols sung in a dozen languages. It was messy and loud, suffocating in the best way - a perfect chaos that filled his heart until it nearly burst.

Then, his world shattered for the first of far too many times.

Christmas at Wayne Manor was a different beast altogether. There were the grandiose parties with billionaires sipping champagne beneath glittering chandeliers, and the quiet dinners where Alfred’s voice hummed like a lullaby against crackling fireplace embers. The ceremony remained, but the chaos was gone. The warmth of family had cooled to something quieter, more dignified, but never quite the same.

And then, the spirit of change visited again.

Christmas with the Titans brought new traditions. Mornings spent with families or mentors - if they were fortunate enough to have them - followed by afternoons that bled into midnight. A feast spread across tables pushed together in Titans Tower, festive movies flickering on the giant screen, laughter echoing through the halls. As leader, Dick orchestrated the chaos, made sure everyone was there, fed, and smiling. It wasn’t the circus, but it was close; close enough to fill that ache inside him.

Even when the Titans splintered, Dick didn’t let go of Christmas. After Bruce died and Gotham called him home, he clung to the holidays like a lifeline. He’d found himself leading a new family - the Bat-Family - one that shifted like sand beneath his feet. There were always empty seats at the table. Tim one year, Jason the next. But Alfred’s turkey roast remained absurdly large, Dick always ate too many Yorkshire puddings, and for one night, they were together. It was a fragile peace, but it was enough.

Now, as Dick Grayson drove his silver Porsche across the Craig Bridge into Gotham, that peace felt impossibly distant. The city’s skyline loomed ahead, its spires and rooftops dusted in snow for the first time in years. Traffic inched forward like molasses, brake lights blinking in the blue gloom. Dick cranked up the heated seat, pulled his turtleneck higher against the chill, and let his thoughts drift. The snow reminded him of a night just over a decade ago, one where Dick and Jason - both Robins - chased down Harley Quinn while Bruce was busy with Mr Freeze. His fingers tightened on the wheel, his left hand trembling. Not from the cold. He knew that. This year was different. There was no neatly wrapped window of peace. Basilisk still lurked in the shadows, ready to strike. Hawkman and the captive Tylers were still in the wind. And despite Damian’s relentless search, Talia and the secret that bound her remained a question mark. Dick felt like he was stealing time, indulging in something he didn’t deserve. Luckily, he had something to make it easier. Artemis.

“It’s time you came back to Gotham,” she’d insisted. “You can show me Christmas at the townhouse!”

Two years ago, she had suggested they go on vacation away from Gotham over the winter break. But that was before she knew that truth about who Dick was, so he could only vaguely gesture at the things keeping him from going with her. Namely, his responsibilities to the city as Batman. Now she knew everything. She was part of this world, a fledgling hero with battles of her own. This year, all it took was her unwavering resolve to give him permission to come home.

Excitement flickered beneath his guilt. He didn’t know what “Christmas at the townhouse” would look like this year. Alfred was back - Dick knew that - after spending some time away from the city with his old friend Alan. Steph’s college had gone on winter break, and she was back at the house. But would Tim be there? It had been difficult to get him on the phone at all lately. Mar’i and Damian had both independently floated dropping in, but the tones in their voices suggested they were far too busy dealing with the sorts of escalating situations Dick was making a point to ignore for a few days. And Jason…

Jason, the brother from another universe, the echo of the brother he had lost, was still a secret neither Dick nor Jason were ready to share just yet.

Dick sighed as he turned onto the bridge over the Ward Channel, the East Island’s lights reflecting off the icy water below. He hadn’t planned. He hadn’t wrangled people together. For once, he was showing up blind, hoping the pieces would fall into place.

Finally, he parked on Morrison Street. The road crunched with salt and ice under his boots as he stepped out, breath misting in the cold air. There, sitting on the stoop of Number One, was Artemis Crock.

“Hey, you,” she smiled up at him.

Dick’s heart unclenched a little, tension unwinding like a spring. He stepped closer. She stood, her green coat brushing against his leg, the yellow scarf framing her frost-pinkened face like a splash of warmth in the winter chill. She kissed his cheek, her gloved fingers brushing his jawline.

“Merry Christmas, Artemis.”

He let himself hold her there, her presence a tether that grounded him. Her smirk broke the spell.

“I was worried you’d get waylaid by a burning orphanage or something.”

Dick chuckled, the sound escaping him like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Those orphans need to learn to look after themselves sometime, don’t they?”

Her laughter rang out, clear and bright against the muted cityscape. Relief washed over her face - the risky joke had landed. She nudged him playfully. “Well, are you gonna let me in, or what?”

He grinned and turned, the key turning smoothly in the lock. The door swung open, and warmth spilled out, a golden glow chasing away the bite of winter. The rich aroma of roasted turkey and sage wrapped around him, mingling with a subtle hint of cinnamon. He drew in a deep breath and stepped inside, the scent of home settling deep in his chest.

“Welcome back, Master Richard.”

The voice was steady, familiar - a melody from a past that never quite left. Alfred stood in the hallway, his back straight, his white shirt crisp beneath a pine-green waistcoat. His eyes, though, gave away everything - a warmth that wrapped around Dick like an old, beloved blanket.

Dick didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around the older man, holding him in a firm, grateful embrace. He felt Alfred’s hand on his back, steady and certain, like it always had been.

“It’s good to see you, Alfie.”

“And you as well, sir,” Alfred murmured. He pulled back just enough to meet Dick’s eyes. “It’s been far too long.”

They stood there, the silence brimming with all the words they didn’t need to say. Then Alfred turned his gaze to Artemis, his eyes twinkling with a spark of mischief.

“Miss Artemis,” he greeted her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “You’ve done a commendable job keeping him punctual.”

Artemis grinned, her eyes glinting. “It was a full-time job.”

“I can imagine.” Alfred shared a conspiratorial look with her, a glimmer of shared secrets. Dick’s brow furrowed.

“Okay, what did you two do?”

“Nothing at all, sir,” Alfred replied with the kind of deadpan innocence only he could pull off. “Perhaps you should step into the sitting room and see for yourself.”

Dick shot a glance at Artemis, who simply shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. He took her hand and led her forward, his boots thudding softly against the polished wooden floor as they turned the corner.

The sight struck him like a punch to the chest.

The room was a tapestry of festive warmth. Evergreen garlands laced with gold ribbon curled around the mantelpiece, red stockings hung beneath them in neat rows. A tall, lush tree stood in the corner, its branches twinkling with lights and ornaments. The air buzzed with a comforting energy, rich with laughter and life.

And there they were.

Stephanie Brown was perched on the arm of the sofa, her blonde hair longer now, waves framing a face that seemed older, more self-assured. She looked up, her grin wide and infectious. “About time you got here, old man.”

“Steph,” Dick breathed, a smile breaking across his face.

“Don’t get too sentimental.” Tim Drake emerged from the kitchen, two glasses of white wine in his hands. He handed one to Steph. “She’s almost 21. We checked. It’s fine.”

Dick laughed and pulled Tim into a quick hug. “Good to see you, Tim.”

Tim’s smile was genuine, if a little worn around the edges. “You too.”

By the fireplace, Jean-Paul Valley stood with his usual stoic grace, round spectacles perched on his nose, a brass poker speared with marshmallows in hand. “Merry Christmas, Dick.”

“Merry Christmas, Jean-Paul.”

Beside him, Barbara Gordon lounged in Dick’s armchair, her red hair a vibrant beacon. Beside her, Cassandra Cain pretended not to rush to finish her mouthful of roasted marshmallow in order to speak. “Sorry we started without you,” she finally said.

“Don’t worry, we saved some marshmallows for you and Artemis,” Barbara added.

From the look of her, a young woman enjoying perhaps too many festive treats, Dick never would have guessed that Cass was secretly the latest inheritor of the cowl, a fearsome yet inspirational Batman. Here, among a group he hoped she could soon see as her family, she was just a girl.

And then he saw the last guest - hovering near the wall, half-hidden behind the curtains. Mar’i. His daughter from an alternate future. Her emerald eyes were wide, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She looked painfully out of place, like a lost spirit.

Artemis noticed too. She leaned in close to Mar’i, her voice soft and reassuring. “Hey. You’re with family now.”

Mar’i’s eyes darted to Artemis, then to Dick, then back again. Slowly, she nodded. Artemis took her hand, guiding her gently toward the group.

Like every Christmas, there would always be some missing from the dinner table, even one as big as they needed today. Dick thought of Jason hiding away, to Betty who was too proud, too estranged. He thought to Luke, who was far too busy with his own family and friends. And… others conspicuously lingering at the edge of memory.

Dick’s throat tightened. He took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the moment settle over him. The room was filled with laughter, with light, with life. This wasn’t the circus, or Wayne Manor, or Titans Tower. He wasn’t the family patriarch or the team leader. But he didn’t need to be. This was something new. Something just as precious as what had come before.

He reached for Artemis’s hand, his fingers threading through hers. She squeezed back, her eyes meeting his.

“Merry Christmas, Dick.”

He smiled, his heart finally - blessedly - at peace. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

And for a day, the world outside could wait.

Next: Continue the search for answers in Nightwing #21

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE NEW TITANS

In Alter Ego

Issue Sixteen: Eye in the Sky

Written by PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce and GemlinTheGremlin

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

“He’s like me,” Conner concluded gravely. “He’s one of the Reawakened clones, from Cadmus.”

Bart glanced out the ajar window, then back to the Titans. “He can’t have gotten far.”

“Don’t,” Raven said. “He didn’t seem violent, but chasing him like this could change that, and a brawl in the streets with a Reawakened Kryptonian is just what the Delta Society would want.”

“We can’t just drop this,” Mar’i said. “They were watching Jordan for a reason and if they found him once they could find him again. We need to find out where he’s going.”

Tim lit up at Mar’i’s comment. “Good idea!” He projected a web screen from his wrist and began manipulating it with buttons built into his suit's forearm. The team’s eyes fell on him, but with his focus on the screen, he remained oblivious until Conner prompted him.

“Rook.”

“Hm?” Tim’s eyes flicked up. “Oh! Most of the Delta Society’s intel is crowdsourced from a handful of online forums. I’m running keyword searches for this address.” He frowned, “Getting a lot of bots…”

“How can you tell?” Conner asked.

“Formulaic sentence structures. The same five or six phrases get peppered in, along with some uncommon words appearing more often than they should on a message board.”

“That’s good, right?” Mar’i asked. “More useless chaff for the Delta Society to sort through.”

“It should be.” He typed more furiously, cross-referencing posts against one another. A video box appeared, filling one quadrant of the screen with a newscaster. “Except these bots are still providing good intel somehow. Collating local news footage as it releases and making logical inferences with little-to-none of the hallucinations that usually make this AI garbage. I can think of a half-dozen tech companies that’d love to get their hands on a language model as sophisticated as this, but the algorithm, let alone the processing power isn’t… isn’t–” Tim blinked a look of panic onto his face.

“What is it?” Conner shifted his weight.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Tim’s voice tremored.

“Who?”

Mar’i squeezed a fist and pale green light poured out of it. “OMAX. He’s breached the network containment somehow.”

Raven pulled her phone from her costume. “Are you sure? I’m not seeing any reports about security incidents at Stryker’s.”

“You wouldn’t,” Tim said. “He still needs the Xenothium. There might be a handful of others who could pull something like this off, but…” Tim heard his heart pounding. He forced his breathing to slow. Kord Enterprises? Bialya? No, it didn’t make any sense. The sound of Maxwell Lord giving voice to the comments played across his mind. “Call it a strong hunch.”

“So he’d know how to find Jordan,” Conner said. “Time for another interrogation.”

“Bad idea.” Tim flicked off the web-projector. “OMAX is the most advanced supercomputer on the planet fused with an egotistical maniac. Somehow he’s gotten access to the internet and he’s using it to help the Delta Society. Our one advantage right now is he doesn’t know we know that.”

Raven looked up at Tim with an alarmed expression, clutching the phone in her hand. Tim wondered how much of that worry was being fed by his own. “I patched the firmware on all of your devices months ago,” he said. “If he’s listening in, it’s not through your phones.”

“We really don’t need another bad guy to fight right now,” Bart groaned.

“The city’s already a pressure cooker. We need to find Jordan. I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but unless we can think of another way, I think we need to talk to OMAX,” Mar’i said.

“Even if it means playing into his hand?” Tim rubbed his temples, wracking his brain for a way they could nail down Jordan’s location today. “The Delta Society will work on upping their network security and vetting as soon as they realize they were breached by us.” He stepped into Jordan’s room and glanced around at his spartan accommodations. Tim pulled open the closet and checked under the bed for any secrets, any indication where the Reawakened might be going, losing steam as the search continued to turn up nothing. He sighed.

“Whatever we’re doing, we should do it fast,” Bart said.

Tim grimaced. “I’ll tell Stryker’s to expect visitors.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The claustrophobic hallways of Stryker’s Island Penitentiary were becoming all too familiar to the Titans. Mar’i followed closely behind the prison guard, resisting the urge to grill him about security measures. She’d picked up her share of info security from spending time with Tim, and Marcy before him. There was too much surveillance in the bowels of the concrete labyrinth that was Stryker’s, and if he’d breached containment, OMAX no doubt knew it all like that back of his hand. Any questions she couldn’t find the answers to with the floorplan and any suggestions to secure sensitive systems against OMAX would be fed straight to the man they wanted to keep in the dark. Mar’i glanced back at her teammates. Tim seemed to be deep in thought. Maybe he had an idea? She hoped so. Mar’i’s last interaction with OMAX made her skin crawl. A silver bullet from someone who had been profiling the creep for years was just what they needed. Conner looked more ready for a fistfight. That didn’t seem the worst idea either. Ostensibly, OMAX was still reliant on a chemical only a handful of Kord Enterprises employees and imprisoned Checkmate scientists knew how to synthesize, but they’d come to expect surprises from the man-machine hybrid. Bart was driving a conversation with Raven about some study material from Professor Temple’s course. It felt startlingly out-of-place, but the distraction was setting Raven at ease amid the high emotions.

Tim perked up, whatever idea he had apparently done baking. “Mar’i. I think you should talk to OMAX, alone.”

She blinked. “Not that I don’t appreciate the trust but,” Mar’i grasped for a reason, “you don’t want to?”

“I want to.” He said, his voice low. “And OMAX knows that. He keeps his guard up around me in a way he doesn’t with you. You got good information out of him last time.”

“Yeah…” Mar’i said, casting her emerald eyes downward.

“I know. He’s a bastard. Get what you can. If we have to, we’ll find another way.”

“Or Chicago implodes.” She set her jaw, readying herself for the interrogation as they arrived at the cell door. “I’ll do it.”

The square-jawed prison guard pressed a button beside the cell’s steel door and with a loud buzz, it slid open to reveal a red light pulsing in the darkness. Mar’i stepped inside and the door clanged shut behind her. “OMAX.”

The nanite-reconstructed jaw of Maxwell Lord emerged from the darkness. His skin rippled. It looked like he’d gone through the effort of tinting his exposed skin the color of flesh. It was an imperfect disguise. Where his skin met bright orange prisoner fatigues, the illusion fell away and his rough skin took on a gunmetal blue shade. It was uncanny, and it occurred to Mar’i that the imperfection may be the point. He certainly didn’t go through any effort to hide his pulsing red eyes. “Little Star. Eye must say your visit comes as some surprise. Eye can share little else about Fel Andar.”

Mar’i prickled at her childhood nickname. “You’re working with the Delta Society. Why?”

A pause. OMAX flexed and the tubes pumping liquid into his veins strained with the movement. “Eye admit, you discovered that more quickly than anticipated.”

“You’re not the only one full of surprises.” Mar’i folded her arms.

”It is difficult to account for Titans spontaneously coming into existence. Corrections are being made to my model to eliminate future… surprises. In the spirit of fairness, may Eye ask if Impulse is the last such addition?”

Mar’i quirked a smile. “Quid pro quo?” OMAX didn’t answer, so she continued. “I would’ve thought working with a bunch of nativist fear-mongers was beneath your standards. Why do it?”

”Those nativist fear-mongers accomplished a great deal in your backyard, Little Star. There are more Deltas every day, even excluding my touch. Not just any group of agitators can whip up a crowd to the point of storming the most advanced cloning facility on the planet. They’re more than you give them credit for.”

“So that’s it? You’ve finally found a cause?”

OMAX approximated a laugh. “Not exactly. They’re still something of a blunt instrument. If Eye were truly collaborating, Eye would not have allowed our young visitor from the stars to be removed before the mobs breached Cadmus’s doors, nor would she be quite so out of reach as she is to the Delta’s now.”

Mar’i’s exhaled sharply. What did he know about Thara? They’d all been confident she’d be safe and secure on the Watchtower, but if OMAX knew about that… She made a mental note to ask Tim to look into reinforcing the Watchtower’s digital security. “So why feed information to them?”

OMAX shifted in his wheelchair. “The price of that information outweighs anything you have to offerw.”`

Mar’i turned to the door. OMAX craved information. She hoped this would put some pressure on him.

“Ah-ah. But perhaps you would be interested in young Jordan’s new location?”

She stopped, then turned to put her back against the door. “What do you want?”

“You led this other world’s Teen Titans. What were they like?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“After you’ve answered my question, Eye could tell you that instead of Jordan’s location, if you wish.”

Mar’i pursed her lips, then began to speak matter-of-factly. “It was me, Micron, Kid Flash, Whiz, and… Arrowette. Whiz had magical powers, River— Micron,” she corrected, “shrank using tech they designed. You can guess the rest.” She distanced herself from their memories.

“Yes, but who were they to you?”

The question struck a nerve. “Why—” She stopped herself, expecting the same answer as before. “They were my teammates. My friends. What is there to tell? We watched each others’ backs, cared about and trusted each other. It was a second family.”

“And now, third time’s the charm?”

Mar’i stared daggers at him. She wanted to tell him where he could stick his billion-dollar life support machine, but lives were counting on this information. “It’s different.” She said, detached.

”Different how?”

“Just… just different. I didn’t grow up alongside this world’s Titans.” Emotion crept into her voice. Flashes of painful memories on her timeline, coupled with the knowledge that it wasn’t even dead; just gone. It - they - had never existed. “Where’s Jordan?” She balled her fists.

“You’re withholding, Little Star. The Titans of this world have fought for you and sacrificed for you. You’ve shared little jokes. Timothy clearly trusted you enough to speak to me alone.”

“I loved her, okay?!” Mar’i shouted in OMAX’s synthetic face, unaware she was trembling.

“Arrowette.” OMAX said, quiet.

“Marcy.” Mar’i said, as though asserting her identity. It wasn’t like she’d ever exist in this world anyway. “I loved her and she’s gone forever, and when I forget what she looked like it’ll be like she was never around at all!” She wiped moisture from her face with her forearm, then locked her eyes on a bolted floor panel.

“And you are forgetting, aren’t you?”

Emotions that had been pushed down bubbled up. Mar’i seethed in frustration at OMAX, at herself, at this world and the decisions that had led her to this point. She swallowed them again, then looked up at OMAX with a fierce expression. “Tell me where to find Jordan.”

“Very well.” OMAX’s skin shimmered. ”Jordan is staying at a homeless shelter not far from Lincoln Park. Just a few blocks from Chicago’s other visiting Supermen, in fact. Eye would hurry if Eye were you, Mar’i. Eye expect the North Shore may soon see a substantial dip in property values. The relevant details have been forwarded to Timothy.”

Mar’i pressed the button beside the cell door. Again, it buzzed and the steel bulkhead slid open.

”Come again soon, Mar’i. Eye do so enjoy our chats.”

Mar’i stepped through. As soon as the door sealed behind her, she squeezed her eyes shut, still feeling the heat of swirling emotions. She felt an arm around her and opened misty eyes to see Raven carrying some of her weight, a kind smile on her face.

“What happened?” Bart asked. “What’s wrong?”

Mar’i cleared her throat and steadied herself. “I’m fine. There’s no time to waste. Rook, there should be a message—”

“Got it,” Tim said, sounding less than pleased as a message from OMAX registered in his inbox. The team hurried down the hallway in the direction of the Boom Tube while Tim explained. “I dug deeper into Delta’s servers while you were in there. They’ve managed to compile profiles on the other Supermen. Incomplete, but still more information that I expected. One of them goes by‘Alex Luthor’.”

“Luthor?” Conner asked.

“From the Justice Lords’ Earth, apparently created by the Freedom Fighters to take out Lord Superman. Our communication with Sigma is spotty, but I’ve put out some feelers to see if the details line up and try to glean any extra info.”

“And the other?” Bart asked.

“Aggressive, sadistic maybe. Records are sparser, but they don’t think he has any kind of code or morals. Just pure, unchecked power.”

“And they’re all in a three-block radius,” Mar’i said. She picked up her pace into a jog. “Why?”

“We need to alert Chicago PD and get them to set up a cordon.” Conner said, his voice grave. “If this Alex Luthor was bred to kill Superman… then he’s not going to be very happy when he sees Jordan.”

To be continued in The New Titans #17

Superman

In On Her Shoulders

Issue Thirty-One: Re:start

Written by /u/Predaplant

Edited by /u/ClaraEclair

First | Previous | [Next]

The light peeked through the curtains of the bedroom window, its orange hue falling onto a messy bed. All was silent until an alarm buzzed from the nightstand, peppering the air with short staccato beats.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Moaning, a figure underneath the bedsheets threw them to the side, reaching a hand towards the alarm. Switching the alarm off, Linda Danvers opened her eyes. She stretched for a few moments in bed, before sitting up.

She took a deep breath, she smiled, and she set off to start her day.

SSSSS

Upon her return to National City, Linda started to feel more confident. Maybe it was silly, after how much she had failed to make her mark as a hero in Metropolis, but after the exorcism, it really felt like she had gained a new lease on life. Her second chance had been her initial arrival in National City, but now she had been given a third, and she promised herself she wouldn’t waste it this time, that she’d push as hard as she could to make something of herself.

The hard part was just figuring out exactly what she would make. She tried to draft life plans, grand documents where she acted as some liason between regular people and the superhero community, but at the end of the day, she was still just a young woman without a college degree and without a job. So, at Alex’s advice, she started small.

She had three goals that she thought would be relatively easy to accomplish. The easiest one involved her just continuing what she had been doing: making art.

It wasn’t quite as simple as that, though. Her art had changed now, it was different. Before it was more abstract, quite amateur, if Linda was being honest. She had drawn from concepts within her mind that had potential, but her actual form was still rudimentary. Now, Linda could really see progress, and she was proud of herself. All those hours practicing the fundamentals had made her a lot better, and even Alex could see it.

Linda’s next goal was to find a job. It was something that she had tried before, sure, but it was incredibly hard for her to keep her motivation high, so she had always quit after a few applications. But this time, she was going to give it her all. She scoured job sites, wrote cover letters, and tried to follow some resume tips that she had found. Eventually, interviews started to slowly trickle in.

She didn’t know how to handle her first job interview. She was so nervous that something would be wrong with her, that the interviewer would see it on first glance and discard her as a serious candidate. She stumbled through it to the best of her ability, and worried about it for days in the aftermath.

She didn’t get the job, but she felt silly afterwards spending so much time worrying throughout the whole process, so the next time, she didn’t sweat it as much. And this time, she was able to land the job.

Sure, it was just working the cash at a local chocolate shop, but it was something! It actually really surprised Linda just how many different people came into the shop, and how pleasant most of her conversations were with them all. They were just short conversations about chocolate, but still… it felt like she was really helping people. Like she had found her place in the world, or at least a place, if not one made particularly for her.

Spending so much time around chocolate really got her artistic mind flowing, too. Would it be possible for her to use chocolate as a medium for sculpture? She’d have to try it at some point, although she would have to wait for the perfect idea. Couldn’t be too good or she’d want to sculpt it in something more permanent, after all.

Linda’s third and final goal was simple in theory, but was maybe the hardest to actually pull off. She wanted to find friends, to start building out a network so that she wasn’t so reliant on Alex all the time. She didn’t really know where to start, but thankfully a starting point ended up granted to her out of the blue one day.

The bell rang above the shop door as a young man entered the shop. It was mid-afternoon and a fairly slow day, so there weren’t any other customers there; Linda greeted him with a nice “Hi,” as he approached the counter.

“Hey,” the man replied. “Linda, right? I think I recognize you from somewhere. We met in Metropolis?”

Linda took a closer look at him. Young, short black hair… was this guy Superman? He definitely could be.

He smiled as he watched her consider his identity, and he laughed. Just a small chuckle, but it made Linda smile.

“Anyways…” he said as he pulled out a scrap of paper. “Wanted to give you my phone number. Just in case you wanted to talk more.”

Linda stared at the piece of paper for a few seconds before taking it, pulling out her phone (that she wasn’t supposed to have while on shift, but nobody really cared anyways as long as she didn’t use it when a customer was there), and entering the number.

By the time she looked up, the man was gone.

Once they got past the first few steps of verifying each other’s identities, Linda really enjoyed messaging back and forth with Superman… or Jon, as it turned out was his name. She tried as hard as she could to forget all the stories, forget all the cool stuff he’d done, and just try and form a connection with him without any of that getting in the way. Which felt surprisingly easy; he was one of the nicest guys she could ever remember holding a conversation with.

Building up that friendship with Jon was definitely a start. Linda got back into more regular conversation with Traci, too. Those connections were nice because there was no way Linda was ever going to be able to talk to anybody else she met in National City about any of her time as Supergirl… but she still needed people that she could spend time with in her day-to-day life.

She puzzled over what she could even do to break into the social circles surrounding her. She talked it over with Alex and with Jon, and eventually she settled on a plan: she’d apply to an art show the city was planning. Time felt like it passed with a snap of her fingers, and pretty soon, her application had been approved, and the day of the show had arrived.

SSSSS

Transporting the sculptures was going to be the hardest part. Alex didn’t own a truck where Linda could tie them down securely, and there was too much risk of things going wrong with public transit. In the end, Linda finally caved and let Jon carry them one-by-one across the city as if he was just bringing them in from the other room; it felt silly, but she was too paranoid about their structural integrity for any other way to feel reasonable.

As Jon brought each of them in, Linda set them up on her table carefully. She had a plan for where she wanted each of them to go, but the actual lighting of the showroom had her constantly re-evaluating her plan. As the last few pieces arrived, she started to feel sure: she’d have to readjust things on the fly. She said a quick thank you and goodbye to Jon and then started toying with the positions, trying to ensure that at least one of her pieces caught the light and could be viewed favourably from any possible approach angle. She was only just starting to feel satisfied with where things were when she heard a voice from the stand next to her.

“Sculptures, huh? Don’t see that many of those around here.”

Linda turned to see a woman at least a few years older than her with shoulder-length black hair and a nose piercing behind a booth displaying watercolours. Linda smiled nervously.

“Something about it just really speaks to me, I guess.”

“They look really cool,” the woman said, stepping out from behind her booth to take a closer look at Linda’s sculptures. “I can see you’ve really put some effort in. I’m Erica, by the way.”

Linda took Erica’s hand and shook it. “Have you been to this sort of thing before?” Linda asked. “It’s my first time showing my art to people where I can actually see their reactions, so I’m unsure what to think.”

“I’ve done this once or twice before,” Erica replied. “It’s hard. People come and go, and most of them don’t really care about art, so your art is never going to be of interest to them. Even the ones that do care, most of the time they won’t get it, it won’t be for them. The rejection’s hard. But you need to have faith that every piece of yours, every single one, has somebody out there who will see it for what it is. They’ll notice all the care you’ve put into it; they’ll notice details that you didn’t even put in on purpose. And they’ll love it, and put it up in their home and it’ll mean a lot to them. People find a place for the art that means something.”

Linda nodded. “I’ve kind of been struggling a lot with finding my own place. Been chasing meaning in a few different places, but it’s been tricky.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Erica sighed. “I’m gonna be honest, I’ve spent most of my twenties trying to find a meaning for myself. Trying different hobbies, different relationships, different careers... it’s hard when nothing sticks. When you don’t know what the future even looks like for you. I think I’ve maybe started to figure out the basics for myself, but I don’t know if I have much advice for you. I don’t know you. All I’ve gathered is that you have to find things worth keeping in your life, people that feel right to you, and then try and make your life a place where those sorts of people and things will naturally feel welcome.”

Linda nodded, looking around the room at the other artists there. She wondered if this was the sort of place where she belonged, whether she should make her life the sort of place where she could do these sorts of events regularly.

She wasn’t sure yet.

“Oh, did I scare you off?” Erica asked. “Sorry. Let’s talk about something a bit lighter. What’s the inspiration for your sculptures?”

Linda considered how to phrase her answer. “Been thinking a lot about the cosmological. Angels and demons and stuff. They really lend themselves to sculpture… or I think so, at least. What about you?”

“A lot of people don’t realize the beauty that lies just beyond this city,” Erica replied. “Or even within the city limits, for that matter. I just want people to reconsider their surroundings and understand that the world isn’t just all the few places they see everyday.”

“I definitely get that,” Linda nodded.

The two women talked a bit more about art while waiting for people to start filing in, and before Linda knew it, it was time.

She felt an incredible sense of anxiety welling up as the first people approached her table. She closed her eyes and allowed herself two deep breaths before opening them once again to smile at the people walking by.

With time, she started to grow more comfortable. Most people weren’t paying her too much attention, but that was alright. She just hoped that eventually, at some point in the day, someone would.

She noticed a couple engaged in conversation with Erica about one of her pieces. Sounded like they lived right near one of the landscapes Erica had chosen to paint. Linda noticed that they had a young child with them, maybe five or six? Linda didn’t know, she didn’t have experience with kids. He was wearing a Superman shirt, though, which made Linda smile. He was absentmindedly waiting for his parents to finish talking, stepping between the different floor tiles of the showroom.

Linda watched him for a few moments. He reminded her of herself as a kid, following around her parents and Alex all the time, bored out of her mind and yearning to be able to go wherever she wanted. And now, she was maybe finally taking steps to be able to do that, as hard as it had been.

The kid looked up and saw Linda watching him. He froze.

“Hey,” Linda said, with a small wave. The boy waved back.

“You like Superman?” Linda asked.

He took a few steps towards her. “Yeah, he’s really cool! One time we were on a roadtrip, and we almost crashed because of ice, but then Superman was there, so we didn’t.”

Linda laughed. “That’s really lucky!”

The boy nodded. “He flew so fast! Like, woosh!!!”

“I met Superman, too!” Linda told him. “He helped me out when I was really sad and made me feel better.”

“Did he fly fast?” the kid asked her.

Linda nodded with a wide smile. “He did!”

The child’s mother looked over to her right, noticing the conversation happening beside her. “Jacob, what did we say about talking to strangers?”

“But she’s talking about Superman!” Jacob complained, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry…” Linda said with a small chuckle.

“Honestly, thanks for keeping him engaged,” Jacob’s mother replied as she scanned over Linda’s table. “These are really impressive.”

“Thanks,” Linda said, as her heart rate started to spike again.

She watched with bated breath as the woman, and soon her spouse, perused Linda’s sculptures. They picked one up, then another, murmuring between each other about where they would fit in their apartment.

Linda couldn’t handle the anticipation, so she turned to face Jacob again. “Hey, did you know that Superman can fly to different stars? He doesn’t even have to wear a spacesuit!”

“No way!” Jacob said, shaking his head.

“It’s true!” Linda said. “He told me himself.”

She kept talking with the boy while his parents debated her art. It kept her distracted, and she really felt like she was making a boring art show into something more special for him. In fact, the only thing that kept her from continuing the conversation was the fact that his parents had finally decided to buy one of her sculptures.

Linda wasn’t experienced working the mobile card reader, but she managed to figure it out and soon enough, the deal was done. She almost wanted to laugh; she felt ready to conquer the world. If she could do a show and sell her work, what couldn’t she do?

As the parents walked away, Jacob waved goodbye to Linda, and she waved back.

There must have been thousands… no, millions of people out there, each with their own stories of Superman, just like that boy. Linda felt connected to them all, through him. Even if she couldn’t save people herself, she still had her own role to play, and she could make people like him smile in the process.

And that made her feel more special than trying to be a hero ever had.

DC Next presents:

SHADOWPACT

In Gone to Ruin

Issue Nineteen: Loophole

Written by PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin

Next Issue > Coming January 2025

The bracing air zipped past Jim’s face, and though it stung his eyes, he willed himself to watch the tenements and factories of this place, of– of Myrrha-- draw closer. The mortal terror of plummeting took a backseat to White Stag’s words playing over and over again in his head. This place, his childhood– it was all fake? The concept was revolting, but doubts continued to creep in. His Myrrha was one of warm-faced villagers and gallant knights, like something out of a storybook… or a child’s imagination. He’d recognized that, even all those years ago, and written it off as some secret history. The ground was getting closer. Jim realized he was still white-knuckling the Sword of Night, an artifact with more power than he’d given it credit for.

If this place was conjured from his mind…? Jim squeezed his eyes shut and imagined a powerful gust of wind gently carrying him to the ground. Nothing happened. He imagined the long-dead dragon Rhydicererax gliding through the air and snatching him from his doom. Nothing happened. By now, small crowds of people below were pointing up at the rapidly enlarging figure coming down from on-high. He grunted and drew the sword in against his chest, bracing. The air at the tip of the blade shimmered, then, with a loud rrrrip, tore open. In the blink of an eye, Jim shot through the tear and everything went dark.

Dull aches across his body were the next thing Jim noticed. His limbs felt heavy. Green and brown blurs slid across his vision. He blinked hard, sharpening an old man into focus. A snowy mustache curled off the man’s cheeks and his eyes, enlarged behind thick spectacles, glanced across a table of tools and implements. Jim opened his mouth. Whatever he’d wanted to say, a low groan slid out instead.

“Now now, try not to move too much! Not many survive a fall like that!” He said. His voice was chipper, but did a poor job describing how distracted he was. “Why, I think this will make for a colorful anecdote in the next edition of Myrrha Medical Monthly!”

That voice. Why did it sound familiar?

The old man turned from his tools to the bed Jim found himself laid out on and leaned in close, syringe in hand. Jim reached for his sword, but grasped only air. His gaze tracked from his empty hand, along the wall of the thatched cabin, to the Sword of Night resting beside the door. The old man heaved with a curious chuckle. “Not a fan of needles, then? It’s a weak sedative. Just something to ease the pain.”

Jim looked the old man in the eyes, that itching sensation in his memory just growing stronger. “Mhm.” He relaxed and the needle slid into his forearm. “Where…?”

“The miller is kindly letting you rest in her cabin after she found you bloody and battered in the grain silo. Locals seem to think you were falling out of the sky a quarter mile away. How’d you manage that?”

“Magic sword,” Jim said, weakly.

The old man rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me. More secrets in Myrrha than gold coins in—”

Jim’s eyes went wide as his memory clicked into place. He jostled, finishing the phrase along with the old man, “— Rhydicererax’s hoard.” A sharp pain shot through his arm. A trickle of blood ran down his forearm where Jim’s sudden movement had dislodged the needle. He winced.

The old man curled an eyebrow. “Have we met? I thought I’d coined that one, if you’ll forgive my—”

“Farben!” Jim sat up in bed and threw his arms around the man, who returned the gesture with a tentative pat, then gently removed Jim’s bleeding arm.

“It’s Ben,” He said, wiggling an eyebrow. “Itinerant physician, regular correspondent of Myrrha’s number one medical journal? You’ve heard of me?”

Jim’s heart leapt. The wise wizard Farben had guided him through deadly challenges in the past; if he was here then— then this really was Myrrha. White Stag was telling the truth. As hard as the enigmatic duelist was to predict, it was hard to imagine what he gained from lying about the sword and how it conjured this place, these people.

“I’m beginning to wonder if the fall might’ve damaged your brain.” Ben said, lifting Jim from his train of thought.

Jim shook his head. “I’m fine. Thank you, Fa— Thank you, Ben. My name’s Jim.” He swung his feet out of bed.

“Take it slowly.”

Jim nodded and rose to his feet, then took a step towards the sword.

“I’m afraid whoever you intend to poke with that, you’ll have a challenging time in your current condition.”

He stopped, chewed his lip, then asked, “Ben, do you know of any… magic in this world? Wizards, monsters, anything?”

Ben guffawed, “Not metaphorically speaking? I’ve had my fair share of travels, from the SIlver Desert to the Fatefos Isles, and there isn’t anything that can’t be explained with simple reasoning. Don’t tell me you’ve bought in on peasant superstition?” He said, exasperated. “I couldn’t so much as wheel you in here without someone telling me about the cave of some-and-such with an impossible indent in the rock. As though they know the first thing about cave formations.”

Jim blinked. “Nevermind.” He opened the door of the cabin.

“Now, Ms. Sara is happy to let you rest here for a few days while you recover. Speaking as a medical professional, I hope you take that offer.”

Beat.

“Jim?”

Jim stared through the doorway, taking in the cacophony of the street. A young boy stood across the street, newspaper in hand, shouting, “Extra! Extra! Civet declared exchequer-for-life! Read all about it!” Jim caught a whiff of fried dough from further down the street, where a street vendor was selling some kind of confection on a stick. A carriage drawn by two brass mechanical horses, each steaming from the mouth, zipped down the cobbles with surprising speed towards—

“Anabeth!” A woman in a flowing green skirt shouted, her voice fraught, from the larger stone house to Jim’s left. He followed her gaze to a little girl sitting in the street, her knee skinned and bleeding, and eyes wide in shock.

Jim acted on instinct, ignoring the ache at the base of his spine as he sprinted into the street. He swept the girl up into his arms and rolled onto his side. He felt his back smush against some gutter detritus and watched the cloven hooves of mechanical beasts thunder by inches from his face. He exhaled deeply and loosened his grip on the now-crying girl. She ran to the woman in green, who offered Jim a grateful smile as she embraced Anabeth. Jim winced.

“Ow.”

✨️🔮✨️

“Excuse me, have you seen an older guy, about yay high, likes to swing a sword around?” Ruin asked. They turned the faded parchment map in their grip to an angle, studying it.

The washerwoman studied them, unaware that the washboard in her grip was beginning to rust. “Who wants to know?”

“Oh, I’m his… friend? Coworker? Friendly coworker? We met through a mutual friend, but he’s gone now, so the dynamic is a little weird, but—”

The washerwoman lifted a finger down the street towards an assemblage of tents and stalls. Sales pitches overlapped with one another, pouring out of the pop-up market. “Half-off gently used—” “—sprockets, big sprockets, small sprockets, got just what you need for—” “—the missus! Buy now before we sell out!”

“Great, thanks!” Ruin nodded, taking a step before turning back. “Wait, are you saying that’s where he is, or are you telling me to go away or—”

The washerwoman gestured again in that direction, a more annoyed expression crossing her face.

“Got it, thanks!” They bounded off into the market, following the sound of a guitar plucking out a few notes. “Jim?!” Ruin stood on their toes, trying to see through the throng of people going about their business. They wiggled through the crowd, following the halting notes of the guitar until they reached the flap of tent, drawn aside to reveal the music’s source.

Jim sat beside a young straw-haired man, watching his hands - no, his fingers, as they gripped the guitar. “And if you move to the next string—”

“Jim!” Ruin hurried into the tent. “You’re okay!” They beamed.

“Ruin, where’d you come from?”

“When I couldn’t find you, I started trying to figure out those tasks. White Stag had this whole thing set-up with riddles, and three sages, and…” They glanced at the guitar, then back up to Jim, quizzical. “You play the guitar?”

Jim gave them a look that said, ’now, seriously?

“RIght, um… well, the first one you were right about. We need to find that wizard, Farben, then we’re supposed to ‘taste true defeat’, so I guess we need to lose or something? And then we need to ‘return the heart of Myrrha’. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but now that I’ve found you, I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Jim pondered for a moment, then grinned, then started to laugh.

“Uh, Jim?” Ruin gave a weak laugh. “Everything alright?”

Jim’s shoulders relaxed. “Just fine. I’ve just been thinking about White Stag while I’ve been here recovering, and you helped me put some of the pieces together.”

“Oh?”

Jim stood, then turned to the straw-haired guitarist. “Two hours a day, and you’ll have that tune down in no time. If you want to hear the rest of the album just look up—” He paused. “Just uh, keep practicing. Ruin? Let’s go talk to Farben.”

✨️🔮✨️

Ruin and Jim descended into the damp, dark cave. The former clicked their fingers and a soft flame rose from their palm, illuminating their surroundings in pale orange light. A pool of still water filled the cave, with a patch of smooth black stone poking out of the center of the subterranean lake. “Huh.” Jim said. “Smaller than I remember.”

He stepped into the water and Ruin followed closely behind. “I know this is your thing and all,” they said, “but the instructions were pretty clear that we were supposed to do the tasks in order. Are you sure about this?”

Jim nodded. “White Stag wants me to return Myrrha’s heart. I think it’s about time.”

Ruin furrowed their brow and watched Jim clamber onto the rocky island in the pool’s center. He drew the Sword of Night and held it aloft, then plunged into a gap in the rock, a peaceful expression across his face. With a heavy ker-chunk, it sank deep. Ruin felt the air shift. The water around them trembled.

“Jim?”

Jim took a step back and a plume of radiant fire engulfed the sword’s white-hot hilt. The pillar of flame reached to the cave’s ceiling, bathing it in blinding golden light which spread further outward with each passing second. Jim stepped off the rock and into the waist-high water beside Ruin, keeping his eyes on the light emanating out from the cave walls.

“What’s happening to this place?!” Ruin raised their guard.

“I think,” Jim said, “we’re about to find out.”

The light blanketed the cave walls, casting it in a formless golden glow. Moments passed before Ruin managed to reopen their eyes amidst the sound of a cheering crowd. They saw wooden floorboards beneath them and looked out to find themself standing on a grand amphitheater before a crowd of thousands. Skyscrapers poked out past the rows upon rows of seats packed with denizens of Myrrha. Jim stood beside him, rubbing floaters from his eyes.

“Nightmaster!” White Stag whipped his fencing foil through the air with one hand and coiffed his snow white hair with the other. “One last act of selfishness! Was it worth it?! When I gut you, I wonder if you’ll still think it was a wise decision to leave your stain on Myrrha!”

“Jim returned the sword like you wanted!” Ruin said.

“No, he did not,” White Stag sneered. “You couldn’t follow simple directions, and now the fundamental principles of this world— of my world still work off a child’s logic. Years of work wasted, and my home remains a child’s dollhouse. You were tasked with finding what became of the old wizard to break your illusions about magic, and see a version of your Myrrha with real hardship, where her victories are won by her people, and not by gallivanting little boys and manchildren. The third task would’ve reset the world into something complex, something grounded in reality, but you ruined it. This place never handed you a true loss, just distractions. It hasn’t shown you that the world doesn’t revolve around you!” White Stag shouted, then dropped his voice to a whisper, “And so it still does. You’ve taken away my chance to create a real Myrrha and fight for it in a way that has meaning, but I can still avenge it. ” White Stag twirled his rapier. “You wanted a stage, clearly, and here you have it. I’d say en garde, but…”

Ruin’s fists crackled with sparks. Jim stepped in front of him. “I did lose. I’ve spent months trying to find my Myrrha. When I first found the sword, it was an escape for me. It gave me a life I wouldn’t trade for anything.” He exhaled. “But that Myrrha is gone now. I’m not this place’s savior. I’m not its king. I’m not even its protector. You could say Myrrha and its people bent to serve me since I got here; that a town binding a stranger’s wounds, giving him a place to stay, and warm meals with no strings attached is childish or the stuff of fantasy, but they still made their choice, and it’s a choice I’ve kept making every day I’ve faced horrors with the Shadowpact. They chose to help, because it’s the right thing to do. You want to be Myrrha’s protector now? Fine. But if you take away that choice from them, you’d be no different from the kid who fell through a hole in a record shop.”

Murmurs passed through the crowd, followed by a heavy silence. They felt the weight of thousands of eyes upon them. White Stag looked to his rapier, then up at Jim. He frowned.

In a blink, Jim found himself face-down at the Oblivion Bar. He rose from his stool. “We’re back.” He smiled. “Goodbye, Myrrha,” he said, with a hint of melancholy.

Ruin pursed their lips. “That was… kind of an anticlimax?”

Welcome back to DC Next! Wrap up warm, stave off the cold, and curl up by the fire with yet more instalments in our exciting stories!

December 4th:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #22
• Shadowpact #19

December 18th:

• I Am Batman #20
• The Linear Men #23
• The New Titans #16
• Nightwing Annual 2
• Superman #31
• Wonder Women #57

DC Next proudly presents:

##KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In Conflict Of Interests

Issue Twenty-Two: New Names

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by Predaplant

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Another night with a bow and arrow in hand, another name to cast aside, and another reason for Kara to expel her from ARGO Solutions. Thea cared more for Kara’s fledgling business more than she had expected. For once in her life, she guided her own hand — she wasn’t in the shadow of a big brother who always seemed to be in the news, she wasn’t being groomed to take over someone else’s business, and she wasn’t held in the shadow of a man she didn’t know she was related to until far too late. Kara had placed her trust in Thea Merlyn, and Thea Merlyn alone. She couldn’t let anything threaten that trust.

And yet, she followed Cameron Chase to her home, bow and arrow in hand. A small part of her yearned for what used to be, the name she used to use, but she knew that wasn’t who she was anymore. Oliver Queen tried his hardest to make her feel like she belonged, that he saw her for what she was, but even after so much effort in trying to reshape herself and rediscover Thea Queen, the nagging feeling that something was wrong never went away.

She said things she regretted the moment they flew off her tongue, and Ollie could only stand and take it, dejected. Maybe he thought she was right about what she was saying, or maybe he simply found it too taxing to try and bring her back again. Through tears and sobs, she shouted hateful things about herself, her family, but especially her father. It was a bad day. She had far too many bad days, and she would take it back in a heartbeat. She couldn’t.

She was Thea Merlyn. She was new, she was confident, and she was picking the lock to Cameron Chase’s home. It was a larger house than she expected, though it did feel like her suspicions regarding Chase’s past were being confirmed. She was important in her former role, enough to have a salary that dwarfed most in the country.

Thea was right, as always, when she told Kara there would be no references to contact to understand who Cameron Chase was. The mix of curiosity and worry became overwhelming by nightfall, and Thea knew she needed to find something. Was she paranoid? She knew that acknowledging that fact didn’t change it. Cameron Chase gave Thea a bad feeling, one that felt even worse than Christina Bell, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what caused it, exactly.

The click of the lock tickled Thea’s ear in just the right way, and she slipped inside without any obvious issue. She had accepted the moment she decided to break in that Chase would have an alarm system, but all that meant was that she was now on a timer. Ensuring she walked lightly, Thea moved quickly as she scanned her surroundings, quick glances searching for anything that gave her a clue as to Chase’s identity or background.

Beyond the entryway, ahead of Thea, was a long hall, stairs up to the second floor occupying the left side, while the right extended back nearly fifty feet with doors leading to various other rooms along the way. To her left was the kitchen, a large open plan room covered in bright white modern-styled granite, with a large island sitting in the centre and numerous stools on one side sitting under a slightly overhung countertop. It was far too big, and far too neat for someone who seemingly lived alone. Thea grew up — and still was — wealthy, but now it only felt excessive.

To Thea’s right was a wide hallway that led into the living room, a quite long room with a massive mounted TV and a u-shaped couch that could fit ten people, at least. At the far end of the living room were a couple of doors, both closed, that Thea beelined toward.

She didn’t hear anyone else in the house and, hoping that it would stay that way, assumed that Cameron was either asleep or simply elsewhere in the house. She’d have breathed a sigh of relief upon finding out both rooms behind the closed doors were empty had she been less careful of making any noise. The door to the left simply led to a small closet and storage space that Thea knew she would have to explore for any old physical documents later, but the door to the right led to an office.

As Thea’s hand found the handle, her ears perked up at the sound of footsteps somewhere above, from the hallway by the front door.

“Are you really so paranoid that you’d come to my house uninvited?” said the voice of Cameron Chase, getting louder and much closer to where Thea was stalking. Her heart slammed against her chest as she quickly — and perhaps carelessly — blew the door to the office open and rushed inside, hoping to remain out of sight.

Pulling a small device from a pouch on her belt and sticking it to the door, Thea’s earpiece lit up simultaneously as she left the door to search the office as fast as she could. The bookshelves that lined the room were quick to scan, nothing particularly jumping out at her beyond psychology and criminology textbooks. As she reached the desk, she pressed the power button on the desktop computer as she began rummaging through the drawers, waiting for the boot process to finish.

“I’m sorry, Cameron, but I don’t trust anyone in that building,” said another voice, one that seemed to scratch something in the back of Thea’s mind, though she couldn’t put her finger on where she thought she’d heard it. “Least of all someone like Thea Merlyn. You don’t reject the last name of the good billionaires and go for the murderer’s with good intentions.”

Thea paused and nearly turned toward the door, having to forcefully remind herself to keep at her task. Her heart steadied only slightly knowing that she was not alone with Cameron. She was not being addressed directly.

“So it’s not even Kara Zor-El you’re worried about anymore?” Cameron asked. “Doctor Veritas isn’t exactly clean, either.”

“No,” said the other voice. “No, they’re easy to grasp. The Kryptonian is a prickly idealist and the Doctor is shrewd but principled. It’s Merlyn that confuses me. She’s far too invested in Kara and ARGO to go to the lengths she has to defend it after so little time. I understand Kara’s defensiveness and Veritas seems to see ARGO as nothing more than an experiment, but where does Thea Merlyn fit in?”

“So you think there’s some sort of ulterior motive?” Cameron asked.

“I don’t even know at this point,” the other voice said with a sigh. “I think she’s clearly got something going on, but I can’t say what. She’s here for a reason, and Kara is important to whatever plans she has. I mean, why attack me so blatantly before even working with her if you don’t have some sort of scheme going on?”

At those words, Thea’s heart sank and she suddenly felt a sense of immediate recognition for the voice Cameron was talking to. The woman that was monitoring Kara from a safehouse across the street from ARGO’s lab, the one she’d hoped to have gotten rid of, was in the room with Cameron Chase. Even if Thea found nothing incriminating on Chase within the desk or on the computer — of which she was now in the process of cloning the hard drives using a small USB device — she now felt justified in her suspicion.

She couldn’t tell Kara, though. Not yet, at least. She had no desire to anger her new partner with the revelation that she’d broken into the home of the new security specialist at ARGO, but she now had even more cause to look into this woman.

As the hard drive of Chase’s computer finished cloning, a second revelation dawned on Thea as her eyes fell upon the window behind the desk — the woman monitoring Kara was likely government, just as Chase had been, or perhaps still was. Thea had, in all likelihood, attacked a federal employee. She cursed to herself as she moved toward the window and unlocked it.

“You’ve never been the most subtle, Danvers,” said Chase. “Maybe it was a bit of constructive criticism.” Even through the door, Thea felt as though she could hear the smirk on Chase’s face, and the subsequent eye roll from Danvers.

When Thea began to hear approaching footsteps, she knew she could not stay any longer. She deftly climbed through the window and shut it as quietly as she could, leaving the office nearly untouched — until she realized that she had forgotten to turn off the computer. Far too distracted by the conversation on the other side of the door, the light blue glow of Cameron Chase’s stock desktop background lit up the room, and Thea cursed as she began to lightly run toward the front of the house.

“Wait,” said Cameron’s voice, picked up by the listening device Thea had also forgotten inside the house. “Someone’s been in here!” She exclaimed. “Get to the front, I’ll check the back!”

The command was heard loud and clear by both Thea and Danvers, both of whom entered a full sprint. Just as Thea reached the end of the driveway and approached her own motorcycle, she heard the front door of Chase’s house open wide, a voice calling out nearly immediately afterward.

“Stop!” called Danvers, pulling out a handgun and aiming it directly at Thea. Thea ignored the command and jumped onto her bike, pulling the keys from her belt and inserting them into the ignition. A bullet shattered the windscreen, causing Thea to jump off and rush to the cover of a nearby fence. She cursed to herself once more as she nocked an arrow and waited for Danvers to approach.

“I know it’s gotta be you, Merlyn!” Danvers shouted. “This is more than enough to get you put away, we don’t care about your money or your lawyers.” Thea scoffed. “Come out with your hands up and this won’t go too badly.” Danvers’ footsteps approached cautiously, and Thea began to balance and shift her weight across the ball of each foot, exhaling deeply as she waited. “I’m sure dad would be real proud–”

Drained of any last ounce of hesitation, Thea sprung from her cover, firing an arrow at Danvers’ gun as she leapt toward the other side of the driveway’s opening. A small pained sound escaped Danvers’ mouth as she dropped her weapon, turning immediately into a sprint toward Thea, baton pulled from her own utility belt without wasting a second.

The blow was fast, but was swiftly deflected along the curve of Thea’s bow, sending Danvers’ strike wide and opening her up to a quick retaliatory punch to the chin. Reeling, Danvers was unable to avoid the followup knee to the stomach, giving Thea the perfect chance to retreat a few steps and draw another arrow, this time aimed at Cameron Chase, who was about to join the fray.

As the arrow loosed toward Chase, she barely had time to stop in her tracks before a concussive blast erupted from the projectile only a few feet from her face, sending her down to the ground, eyes shut tightly with her head in her hands. With enough time to rise, Danvers jumped back up to her feet and launched a haymaker at Thea’s head, striking her just below the eye and sending her off balance. Danvers closed the distance easily, tackling Thea to the ground, and trying to wrestle her into position to be handcuffed.

With all of her might, Thea resisted, thrashing and fighting as hard as she could, until she freed one of her arms just enough to reach into her quiver and grab another concussive arrow. Holding it in the air behind Danvers’ head for just a moment, she detonated it, feeling the blast slam her head back into the ground, tenderizing her hand, and leaving Danvers totally unconscious on top of her.

Unable to take a moment to catch her breath yet also struggling to focus, Thea roughly tossed Danvers to the side and stumbled to her feet, climbing onto her motorcycle as the world spun around her, ears ringing and eyes nearly blinded. She could feel the swelling around her left eye growing more intense by the second, and her right was faring no better. Despite that, she turned the key in the ignition and felt the engine roar to life between her legs. Not wishing to waste another moment, she shifted into gear and sped off into the night, barely aware enough to not care about the noise in such a quiet neighbourhood.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE NEW TITANS

In Alter Ego

Issue Fifteen: Trade Secrets

Written by AdamantAce

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin and PatrollinTheMojave

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

The room was buzzing with the low hum of mingled conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the subtle shifting of bodies as people navigated the space. From the looks of things, the Delta Society threw one hell of an event, but all Tim could focus on was her. Across the room, closer to the main stage, Mar’i stared back at Tim. Here she was, embedded among the Delta Society’s ranks, despite having tried to dissuade Tim from coming earlier today.

Before he could confront her, a voice cut through the murmuring crowd, bringing the room to a focused silence.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. Let’s get the evening started properly,” the host announced, stepping into the light. He introduced himself as Henry, a man in his mid-thirties with an earnest demeanour that seemed slightly out of place. Tim studied him from a distance, noting the subtle signs of nervousness that betrayed Henry as an underboss; someone with a superior to impress.

Henry’s voice carried well in the room. “We welcome back all our members, and I invite them to give a hearty hello to all the new faces among us today.”

On cue, the majority of those in attendance replied in unison, "Hello!" The sound was chilling, almost cult-like. Tim’s gaze darted back to Mar’i, who joined in the greeting, her voice mingling with the others. So, she was already a member.

“This event is about giving new people a chance to get to know the Delta Society, and giving us a chance to get to know them back,” Henry continued, his tone enthusiastic yet measured. Tim listened, understanding now that this was some kind of mass informal interview, a gatekeeping process to learn more about potential inductees before formally welcoming them.

As Henry wrapped up his speech, looking at his laptop on a small table beside him for prompting, Tim discreetly pulled out his cellphone, flicked a switch, and slipped it back into his pocket. Nothing too conspicuous.

The crowd soon dispersed back into smaller groups, the murmur of conversation blossoming anew. Seeing his chance, Tim approached Mar’i, who was conversing with a group of attendees. His smile was calculated as he greeted her, forcing her to maintain her cover by reciprocating the friendly facade.

“Hey you!” the former Robin chirped. “Can we talk? Come on, just over here!” Tim suggested, nodding toward a quieter corner of the room. She followed, her expression schooled into one of casual interest.

Once out of earshot, Tim’s friendly mask dropped. “Mar’i, make this make sense. Why tell me to stay away if you’re neck-deep in their operations?”

Mar’i’s response was quick, her words rushed. “I infiltrated the Delta Society two months ago, Tim. Just after the pod crash, after they tried storming Cadmus to get a look at its passenger. We need to know their plans before they escalate further.”

Tim crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “That’s exactly why I came tonight. Why did you think you had to do this alone?”

“What about you, Tim? Do the others know you’re here? Or do you always play by your own rules?” she shot back, her voice a harsh whisper.

He grimaced. “No, they don’t.” Tim frowned. “But at least I didn’t lie to them. Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

Mar’i’s anger flared. “Are we really doing this?” she hissed, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. “I know you’ve been struggling with The Mar’i Problem. It’s hard to run a background check on someone from a non-existent reality, isn’t it?”

Tim felt a twinge of guilt, mixed with offence. “I trust you because you’re my teammate, Mar’i.”

“Oh yeah?” Mar’i replied sharply. “Like Uncle Bruce trusted his? With all those contingencies?”

She softened slightly. “Look… I didn’t want to give you any reason to doubt me, Tim. I know you wouldn’t have accused me of anything right away if I’d have told you, but I couldn’t risk… sowing any seeds of mistrust.”

He sighed, the weight of their situation settling between them. “I can feel plenty taking root now.”

“You don’t mean that,” Mar’i replied softly.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’m hurt you think I’d be that untrusting of you. If I want to know something about you, I’ll ask. Okay?”

She nodded, the tension between them easing into a fragile understanding.

Suddenly, Tim’s phone beeped. He pulled it out and his brow furrowed.

“What?” Mar’i asked.

“While we were arguing, I’ve been pulling data from Henry’s laptop. His security’s not totally incompetent, so a lot of the files are corrupted or encrypted.” Tim paused, squinting at his phone. “Let’s see. Video files for his latest debunkings. Oh!”

“What is it?” Mar’i asked, her interest piqued.

“Looks like he’s writing a book.” Tim rolled his eyes. “The Tenants: Earth Delta’s Squatter Problem and How to Solve It.”

“Anything useful?”

“Not sure. There’s a set of unlabeled coordinates from a text chain. It looks like the Delta Society’s running surveillance on an apartment building here in Chicago.”

Mar’i’s interest was piqued. “Go check them out. I’ll hang back for another 20, to avoid suspicion and keep my cover.”

Tim nodded. “Okay.”

As he turned to leave, Mar’i’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Tim,” she said, “Just... don’t do this alone, okay? Take the others.”

“I will,” he promised.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

From their vantage point, the Titans surveyed the dilapidated apartment complex that sprawled at the city's edge. It stood as a stark reminder of urban neglect, its walls stained with the passage of unkind years.

They stood atop a taller building a few whole blocks away, with Tim equipped with high-tech binoculars, scanning the building from the coordinates meticulously. Beside him, Bart's curiosity broke the silence. “So, Tim, what’s the laptop gossip? Does this place have a secret underground cave or what?”

“It was marked as high priority, a place to watch,” Tim responded without shifting his gaze from the lenses.

“So that’s why we’re being so careful then, right? Standing so far back? Because they might have their own people already watching this place?” asked Conner.

Tim smirked. "Ding ding ding."

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Conner retorted, scanning the area with his X-ray and telescopic vision. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just people getting on with their lives,” he reported back moments later.

Raven interjected, her voice low and even, “The Delta Society doesn’t do us the favor of dressing up in bright costumes. It could be anyone.”

Bart leaned in, his voice appropriately quick. “Wait, wait, wait - what’s the big deal if they see us? Not like Tim left a business card on the laptop or something.”

Tim was quick to explain, “I’m not in a rush to have the Titans make headlines for swooping in on some guy’s apartment.”

Bart didn’t seem concerned. “Surely, worst case, we wave and say ‘Sorry, wrong address!’, right?”

“It’s not just about us,” Raven interjected. “If we bulldoze into a Delta Society operation, they could use it as ammo against us in another broadcast hijack, or online. Through us, they’d be getting more attention from the media, and attention could lead to escalation.”

Their strategic exchange was interrupted by a new voice. “Sorry I’m late.” Mar’i approached, her anxiety almost palpable to Raven’s sensitive perceptions. Fearful, no doubt, for the team’s reaction to her deceit.

Bart was unbothered as he replied, “Don’t worry. You didn’t miss much.”

Mar'i caught up quickly, glancing towards Conner. “Do you have eyes on what’s inside?”

“Just some guy,” Conner replied succinctly. “Tim pointed us at the exact apartment from the coordinates, and… nothing.”

“Well…” Mar’i continued. “If we’re worried about a front-page moment, there's always another way to approach this.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Ding dong. The sound echoed faintly in the rundown apartment building’s dimly lit stoop. The five stood there, inconspicuous in civilian clothes. Mar'i, with a determined frown, pressed the buzzer again. No response came from within. With a slight crease of impatience between her brows, she pressed it a third time. After a brief silence, a crackly voice emanated from the PA box.

“Go away. I don’t want trouble.”

Raven stepped forward, her instinct to reassure, but Mar'i's voice cut through first, firm yet gentle. “We don’t either. But we’re worried someone else is watching you. Someone dangerous.”

After a tense pause, the door buzzed open.

Ascending three flights of narrow, creaking stairs, the group reached a poorly lit corridor. As they approached the designated apartment, a young man with curly dark hair peeked out. His expression was sheepish, his posture slightly hunched as if bracing for unwelcome news. “Hi, I’m Jordan. Please, come in.”

As they entered, Raven felt a wave of fear emanating from him - palpable, like a cold draught. Not only that; she recognised him from somewhere. Not that she could place it. Despite this, the apartment was completely ordinary. The apartment smelled faintly of old coffee and damp wood. The living room’s worn sofa sagged slightly in the middle, and a stack of magazines threatened to spill off the modest TV stand. A small kitchenette was visible, its surfaces cluttered with unwashed mugs and a stack of bills.

Jordan, eyeing them nervously, broke the silence. “Who do you think is watching me?”

“The Delta Society,” Tim responded without hesitation.

Jordan’s eyebrows shot up. “The ‘storming Cadmus’ Delta Society?”

“So you heard about that?” Conner’s tone was casual, but his eyes were searching.

"All of Chicago did - and further out, I’m sure," Jordan responded.

Raven gently took the lead, her voice soft, meant to comfort and not to confront. “You don’t seem to think it strange that the Delta Society would be keeping tabs on you, or that strangers like us would come around with a warning. I know you’re afraid, but we just want to help.”

A tension in Jordan’s shoulders relaxed; it was as if the stress caused by his unexpected visitors had been lifted, at least somewhat, upon hearing her comforting words. Under her gentle probing, Jordan confessed slowly. “They’ll be after me because I’m Reawakened.”

The group exchanged concerned glances. “How many addresses of Reawakened people might they have?” Conner asked with dread.

Tim was pragmatic. “I’d have to dive deeper into Henry’s files to see what else he’s got.”

But while the others began to grapple at the bigger picture, Raven kept her focus firmly on Jordan, his anxiety still potent. “Can you tell us about your arrival here?”

Jordan shifted uncomfortably. “It was… a lot. It’s hard to explain. Everything I know is… so far away. I’ve just been trying to lead a normal life, fly under the radar, not stick out.”

“Are you used to sticking out?” asked Mar’i, relating a lot to his situation.

He sighed in response. “I guess I am. Enough that I’m a lousy liar.” Jordan shook his head. “It’s not fair! I’ve not been bothering anyone; I’m just trying to disappear, to be normal!”

“It’s not your fault,” Raven replied quickly. “There’s no shame in doing what you need to to survive.”

“Right,” Mar’i agreed. “This is just who the Delta Society are. They fear what they don’t understand, and other realities are far outside of the scope of their tiny minds.”

“They’re not stupid,” Jordan replied. “My mom taught me not to think of people like that.”

Mar’i blustered. “No, I know, but—”

“Are you Reawakened too?” Jordan cut her off. “Only, you speak like you’ve got some experience with these Delta people.”

Mar’i frowned. She looked at Tim, whose eyes had already landed on her, and then back to Jordan. “I’m not, no. But I’m also a long way from home, a long way from my family.”

Jordan scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. “My parents - they’re probably... I mean, they must be freaking out. I think about it all the time.”

Mar’i nodded, though her eyes flickered with something between empathy and envy - a feeling she quickly buried behind a practised smile. After a moment of heavy silence, Jordan looked up, curiosity breaking through his apprehension. “Who are you all, exactly?”

The five of them just stared at Jordan for a moment then, as they all collectively realised they had prepared no answer for such a question.

Before anyone else could respond, Bart blurted out, “Well, seeing as we know your big Reawakened secret, I figure you rat on us and we rat on you: we’re the Titans.”

The room tensed at Bart’s words, Jordan most among them all. His reaction was immediate; his face drained of colour, his eyes widened in fear. “The Titans?” he stammered, his voice cracking. The room suddenly felt smaller, his anxiety palpable in the cramped space. Not just to him, but to Raven too, who was suddenly overwhelmed by his all-encompassing anxiety. He stood, his movements jerky and nervous. “Well, I think... I think it’s best if you leave now. I wouldn’t want to keep you heroes busy.”

His voice was apologetic, his demeanor frantic as he edged towards the door, urging them towards it without touching anyone. "I’m really sorry, I just... can’t," Jordan continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. His hands fluttered at his sides, a visible struggle to maintain composure.

They obliged quietly, stepping out into the hallway as the door shut behind them.

Beat.

“What was that all about?” Bart asked.

Before Raven could process her thoughts, Conner’s concern redirected their focus. “Raven, did you recognise him from somewhere? Like he was someone you’ve seen before?”

With a hesitant nod, she confirmed, sensing Conner felt the same way. “Y-Yes. Yes, I did,” she stammered through the secondhand effects of Jordan’s fight-or-flight.

Conner cursed and moved back towards the door. Tim tried to intervene, but it was too late; Conner had already knocked the door off its hinges.

Mar’i exclaimed in a mix of shock and protectiveness for Jordan, “Conner, what the hell are you doing?”

They stared into the now-open apartment, only to find it empty, the window left ajar.

“He’s like me,” Conner concluded gravely. “He’s one of the Reawakened clones, from Cadmus.”

Next: Open terminal in The New Titans #16

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##NIGHTWING

In Blood in the Water

Issue Twenty: Hidden Cost

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Predaplant

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

The sun was barely breaking over the horizon, casting long shadows across the wide streets of Gotham as the heavily armed convoy rolled through, its sleek black vehicles bristling with defensive equipment. Inside the lead truck, Roger Wycliffe sat in a reinforced holding cell, expression unreadable: the man who could finally put Simon Hurt behind bars for good. With the recent attempt made by Shrike to strike at the informant, the timeline of the Hurt trial had been rearranged suddenly, with the goal of getting Wycliffe’s part in it done as soon as possible. The transport was guarded by highly trained armed officers, their rifles at the ready, eyes scanning the roads as they made their way toward the courthouse.

The convoy moved like a machine, precise and deliberate - until the first black-robed ninja leapt from the shadows. It happened so fast. A blur of movement, the sound of blades slicing through the air, the crack of rifles disarmed in an instant. The assassins moved with lethal grace, disarming and subduing the guards before they could react, moving with an efficiency that was terrifying. One by one, the guards fell, groaning in pain as they were pinned to the ground or knocked unconscious, but not one of them was killed. Nonetheless, the convoy was left completely vulnerable.

The van that held Wycliffe was next. A group of assassins approached the rear, their black robes fluttering in the wind as they advanced. And then, with a swift motion, one of the figures stepped forward from the group, her presence commanding. She reached for the back doors and, with a sharp pull, swung them open.

Talia al Ghul stood before Wycliffe, her cold eyes gleaming with purpose. She was striking in her black robes, her face sharp, beautiful, and dangerous all at once.

“You will come with me, Mr Wycliffe,” she said, her voice low and threatening. “Resist, and you die.”

Wycliffe remained silent, frozen in place, but before he could make a move, another voice rang out from the darkness behind her. “I don’t think so.”

Talia turned to see a red sword gleaming in the dim light. Shrike, his hood pulled low over his masked face, held the crimson blade against her.

Talia turned slowly, a faint smile on her lips. Amused. “Jason,” she purred. “I’m surprised to see you protecting him, after you’ve done such a good job of killing all his friends.”

Jason bristled at that, his jaw tightening. “Maybe he’s more valuable alive,” he said, though even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure if he believed it. But he had to. He added, “And since when were you doing Hurt’s dirty work?”

Talia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her smile fading. “I’m not working for Hurt,” she said plainly. “If it were my decision, I’d march Wycliffe to the courthouse myself. But someone else is pulling my strings.”

Jason’s eyes darkened beneath his mask. “Who?”

“Our mutual friend,” Talia replied with disdain.

Jason’s heart sank as he realised who she meant - the same figure who had been feeding him Black Glove targets, the one who had been manipulating everything from the shadows. He clenched his teeth, his grip on the sword tightening. “I can’t let you leave with Wycliffe.”

“I know,” Talia said softly, playfully. “That’s why we need to make this look good.”

Without another word, she launched herself at him, her blade flashing out in a blur of motion. The League of Assassins’ ninjas sprang into action, all attacking at once. In a beat, Jason slashed his sword through the air, meeting their attacks head-on. He spun, ducked, parried, his movements quick and precise, but there were so many of them, and Talia herself was no easy opponent. Her strikes were fast, deliberate, and every time he blocked one of her attacks, another assassin was there to try and take him down.

The odds were stacked against him in all ways but one: Talia’s forces weren’t trying to win. So he pushed back harder, quickly slashing at three ninjas, dealing grievous enough injuries that they weren’t getting up any time soon, and Talia smiled. She couldn’t be seen to be going soft, to be throwing the fight, but she knew Shrike’s capability: she knew she could throw a hell of a lot at him and still have him come out of it.

It was fun, she thought, playing the fool.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

As they approached Robinson Park, the cool breeze of Gotham's evening air swept through the streets, brushing against Dick Grayson’s face. In his civilian clothes, he looked every bit the tourist, a hat pulled low over his brow, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. It was important to hide his face in public, considering who they were visiting the park with. Beside him walked Damian, who, as always, carried himself with a cocky air of defiance, even in casual wear.

Dick’s heart then stuttered as he caught sight of the towering statue in the centre of the park. It was Bruce Wayne, standing tall in bronze, his stance resolute as if overseeing Gotham even in death. The statue was breathtaking, the craftsmanship so perfect that it felt like Bruce was standing there in the flesh.

He stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it.

The other Dick Grayson, also now in civilian clothes, caught up with Dick and Damian, and turned to Dick. “Surprised?” he asked. “Didn’t build one of these on your Earth?”

“No…” Dick shook his head slowly. “We didn’t. After Bruce died, we hid the fact that it even happened. Over a year after Coast City… no one knew.”

The other Dick frowned. “Why?”

Dick shrugged. “Stupid reasons. Ones that feel like a lifetime ago.”

Damian stood next to him, staring up at the statue of a father he never truly got to meet. His usually sharp expression softened, his eyes betraying the deep well of emotions that he kept buried. The sight of Bruce, larger than life, towering over him even now, was yet another reminder of all that he’d missed.

The Dick of Earth-Upsilon was quick to notice the look on Damian’s face and stepped closer. “Look, Damian, I don’t know much about you, about your history on your Earth…” he began gently. “But if you’re here, standing beside him,” he gestured toward his Earth-Delta doppelganger, “then I have to believe Bruce would be proud of you.”

Damian scowled, turning away slightly, trying to maintain his cool exterior. “I don’t care what he’d think,” he muttered, though there was a catch in his voice. After a moment, he added, quieter, “But thanks.”

Turning to take in the rest of the park, Dick then noticed a few people in the park turning their phone cameras toward them. “Hey,” he said, “Are you sure being out here is a good idea? Seems like you’re a bit more of a celebrity than I am back home.”

The other Dick glanced at the onlookers but remained calm. “It’s fine,” he reassured him. “They’re harmless.”

Damian turned to him. “Why’d you bring us here, anyway? What does this have to do with what Jason did?”

The other Dick’s expression turned sombre. He turned back to the statue of Bruce, his gaze fixed on it, as if drawing strength from it. “Look around, both of you,” he said quietly. “From Gotham’s heights to its lowest pits, the city is safer, brighter. You could look at the world beyond and there are fewer monsters in the shadows, all because the Black Glove is gone. It is hard to escape the thought that maybe Jason was justified.”

Dick watched as his doppelganger’s eyes stayed locked on Bruce’s statue. He knew what was coming.

“But not here,” he continued. “Bruce loved this city. He would have moved mountains to see it like this… but not at Jason’s price. Not like that. Bruce would be sick to his stomach knowing what Jason did, knowing what this progress cost.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “So what? You’re saying what Jason did was wrong because Father would say so? Even if so much good came from it?”

Dick flinched at Damian’s off-colour words, but they were also exactly what he was thinking. The other Dick winced but didn’t shy away from the question.

“No,” he replied firmly. “It’s wrong because it’s not how heroes do things. Bruce understood that. Sometimes - rarely - the ends do justify the means. But we operate most of the way outside the law, and that’s a privilege. If we abuse that, we threaten the very fragile existence of all heroes.”

Dick noticed that even more people had gathered, filming them from a distance, though none dared step close enough to hear.

He turned to his counterpart. “I didn’t get this much attention when I was Wayne CEO. What’s going on?”

The other Dick smirked. “That’s the thing. After Shrike’s public rampage, when he was arrested and put in Stryker’s, his identity as Jason Todd was revealed. To preserve the integrity of the superhero community, we had to beat the rumours by revealing our own identities.”

Dick felt the ground shift beneath him. “Wait, you mean…?”

The other Dick nodded. “We revealed ourselves. Me, Helena, Kate… now Damian and Cass, too. Even Bruce’s identity was made public posthumously.”

Dick was floored, his mind reeling. He looked at the onlookers again, realising they weren’t just filming a local celebrity - they were capturing a public sighting of Batman. “What kind of problems did that cause?”

“Surprisingly few,” the Dark Knight admitted with a small grin.

“How?”

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t have a civilian life to lose. Not since the deaths of the Justice League.”

The words hit Dick hard. He thought about his own life, his constant struggle between his many lives, his many responsibilities. He tried being a police detective, and that didn’t stick. He adopted a child, and then she became a masked hero right beside him. He found love, and then his girlfriend ended up being the daughter of supervillains. Alongside all of his life’s pressures, he had fought for some semblance of normalcy, and none of it had stuck. He hadn’t had a real civilian life in years either. He glanced at Damian, who had never known one at all.

“Well… do you want a civilian life?” Dick asked his counterpart.

The man’s smile faded slightly. “Could’ve been nice,” he replied. “But then again, it could’ve been nice to grow up in the circus with my parents, too. I’ll never know.”

Damian, ever the pragmatist, scoffed. “That’s a waste of time thinking like that.”

The other Dick chuckled softly but didn’t disagree. He looked his other self in the eye, more stern than before. “Look: The Black Glove… they’re a scourge, but they’re not unique. There will always be other secret conspiracies, they’re just the one that targeted us.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe there is a lot to gain from their… eradication... But we can’t allow ourselves to relish in it.”

Dick nodded. If there was ever someone who could understand the anger he felt for the Black Glove, he was looking at him.

The other man continued. “We’ve been tethered to the Black Glove long before we were born. Now, you’re free from them. But don’t let that freedom make you reckless or compromise your values. Just because they’re not trying to corrupt you anymore, doesn’t make you above corruption. You understand?”

“I do.” Dick nodded.

“Good,” the other Dick blinked. “Make sure you do.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Dick and Damian stepped out of the Boom Tube generator and into the dim, cold Batcave beneath Wayne Manor, its familiar shadows and stone columns unchanged by time. The technology had been hidden away here, known only to a select few trusted by the Justice Legion. Unlike other Boom Tubes, ones created here could stretch to other universes, and that was a power they couldn’t responsibly grant to just anyone.

They hadn’t gotten more than a few steps before a voice reverberated out from the darkness.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Jason Todd stepped into the faint light, his hands shoved into the pockets of his grey hoodie, a black tee beneath. There was no trace of anger in his tone, not even when his eyes flickered between the two, sensing their apprehension. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t any anger to be found deeper.

Dick hesitated. The tension of their truce, thin as it was, buzzed in the air. “Right,” he muttered, but the wariness was still there. He hadn’t told Jason they’d gone to his Earth. He hadn’t planned on telling him at all.

Jason shrugged off Dick’s discomfort. “Relax. I get it. It’s only natural you wanted to check I’m not from some evil vampire universe, or whatever.”

Dick didn’t know what to say to that, but Jason didn’t seem interested in hearing it anyway. He looked around, taking in the Batcave’s familiar sights. “Smart move hiding your Stargate down here, by the way. Suppose you couldn’t account for evil, parallel universe Robins knocking at the door, huh?”

“You’re not evil,” Dick said firmly.

“Okay,” Jason smirked, firmly unbothered. “So, how are things in my old stomping ground?”

Damian, ever too quick to speak, cut in. “Everything’s great. Better without you, actually.”

Jason smirked, his gaze shifting to Damian. “No, kid. Things are better because of me.”

Dick stepped forward, cutting the moment short. “Even if things are better,” he began, his tone sharp, “that doesn’t make what you did right. Just because an incredible risk happened to pay off, doesn’t mean it was good. And you definitely shouldn’t have done it again here, Jason.”

Jason paused, his smirk fading as he absorbed the words. There was a flicker of something. Discomfort? Sadness? He looked away briefly before locking eyes with Dick again. “You think that’s why I did it?” His tone was softer now, not defensive, just… real.

Dick stayed silent.

Jason took a breath, stepping closer to them. “You think I showed up here, saw that this universe still had the Black Glove and decided to massacre them again to make the world a better place?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I didn’t do it because it was good or bad. I did it because it needed to be done.”

He continued, his words increasingly deliberate. “In both our worlds, Jason Todd and his sister Alice were meant to be Black Glove weapons. You know that. On this Earth, they killed me just to get to you. And on mine, I destroyed myself piece by piece to stop the Black Glove, to protect you. To stop you from becoming their puppet.”

It struck Dick in the heart, to be reminded of how much two Jasons had suffered in his name.

“Alice wanted to kill you,” Jason added, shaking his head. “That was her solution: end you, stop the Black Glove’s plan. But I took the bloodier path, the long one. It was you or the Black Glove, and I chose to save you, Dick. And for it, Alice died.” His voice cracked for the briefest moment, but he kept going. “On two Earths, I’ve lost everything. On one, my life. On this one, my soul. All so you could keep yours.”

Damian stood silent, for once not cutting in with some comment or retort.

Jason continued. “This time, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me. If the universe - hell, the multiverse - has decided to make me into this weapon against the Black Glove, I’ll lean into it. So no one else has to.”

Dick struggled for words. His throat felt tight. “Jason, I…” But Jason wasn’t done.

“You don’t have to agree with me, Dick,” Jason said, with genuine reassurance. “You don’t have to enjoy what I’ve done, especially if it makes you sick. You just have to take your freedom and live. Like I never got to.”

Dick anguished as he thought about the Jason Todd of his Earth, who was lost to him before he could make things right. But he also thought the words of the other Dick Grayson; neither of them were doing much living outside of being a superhero. That wasn’t what Jason - either Jason - had sacrificed so much for.

“I see what you’ve sacrificed,” Dick finally managed. “I’m sure most people only see what you’ve taken, but not what you’ve given. I won’t say thank you… I can’t. But I won’t turn my back on you either.”

A sincere comfort washed over Jason’s face, a rare moment of vulnerability. Then he turned his attention to Damian. “And what about you, little man?”

Dick tensed, remembering Damian’s earlier threats, wondering if he would expose Dick and Jason’s alliance to Jean-Paul and the others now.

“I was created to be a weapon as well,” Damian began. “My mother wanted the perfect assassin. But she’s fickle, always looking for the next experiment.” His gaze flickered between Dick and Jason. “Like you, Todd, I wanted a purpose other than what was given to me. Something of my own. That’s why I joined the Justice Legion.”

Earlier, he had told Dick it was for nothing more than to keep him busy. Dick knew there was more to it.

“I killed my first man when I was eight, under Mother’s instruction. You were older when you started, but you were put on that path long before.”

Damian’s eyes locked on Jason’s, unblinking. “All three of us were put on a path towards bloodshed as soon as we were born, by powers outside of our control and understanding. Some of us were better at resisting that destiny, but that doesn’t mean we’re any different.”

Dick couldn’t hide his pride in Damian’s growth, the maturity in his words. He was seeing the boy become more than what he was created to be.

“I think you’re close to freedom,” Damian resolved. “You’ve rejected the Black Glove’s control. But you still need to reject whatever role you think the universe laid out for you, Jason. You need to be your own man.”

Jason turned to Dick. “Is that what you think?”

Dick nodded.

Jason exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t let Talia kill Roger Wycliffe while you were away.”

Both Dick and Damian jolted. “What?!”

Jason revealed what he’d learned. “Turns out whoever was pitting me against the Black Glove, whoever’s pulling Basilisk’s strings, is also pulling hers.”

Damian stared in disbelief. “How does anyone force Talia al Ghul to do anything?”

“Well,” Jason smirked. “That’s what we need to find out.”

Next: To be continued next month!

DC Next presents:

##I AM BATMAN

In True Crime

Issue Nineteen: Closing The Distance

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by Voidkiller826

<< ||| < Previous Issue ||| Next Issue >

The morning that Oracle reported the seventh body of a missing Gotham University student, something seemed to snap. The pirate radio station that she and Robin had been monitoring suddenly ceased all activity, the signal simply disappeared. It was in that split second of it going offline that the broadcaster’s hand slipped, and Oracle was able to trace the signal to an abandoned property in Coventry, far to the north east of Burnley, Gotham’s north most island.

All security measures had gone down for a moment, but it was the exact moment Oracle had needed in order to pounce on whoever was broadcasting murder across the city, who was teasing all of her listeners with the most overt clues she could think of. It was only a matter of time before Babs tracked it all down to the woman who was burying young adults all across Gotham.

Of the seven bodies — with Zack Howard being the eighth, the victims alongside him bringing her body count into the dozens — only one of them did not share a class with the others, and she was the partner of another victim. The suspects were easy to narrow down: the class they all shared was composed of a total of fifty students, and twenty-four were women. Babs immediately ruled out the obvious, striking three names from the list of women, those being the victims. For the broadcaster herself, there were now only twenty-one suspects. With a property in the city to cross reference the owner to any of the students, Babs knew she was getting close, and that’s when her nerves began to fray.

She looked at the time — 4:27 p.m. — and realised that Maps would be on her way from school, up in Bristol. It was a long ride on her bicycle, but she insisted she made the journey herself, and Babs couldn’t help but admire the determination. Maps always said to her, “It’s to build all my muscles,” and it made Babs laugh a little. Maps was as dedicated as any of the Robins had been, perhaps she tried even more so to be that ideal she held in her mind.

She reminded Babs of Tim, somewhat. She had a normal life to live and to lead. Until she had run into Batman on a case, there was nothing to indicate to anyone that Maps would become so involved with the hero she worshipped. If she wanted, she could stop at any moment and return to her home and live on like nothing had happened. The Mizoguchi family, somehow intertwined with the Bats on a civilian level, had nothing to do with Gotham’s more dangerous elements.

Maps didn’t need to be Robin, she didn’t need to put herself through pain and hardship to witness brutalised bodies and serial murder, and yet her drive prevented her from doing anything else. An obsession with mysteries, puzzles, and Batman could only ever lead her to one place, despite the ease with which she could reject it. Maps fought hard, and Babs admired it just as much as she feared it.

As she looked over to her screen and laid eyes on the disconnected lens cameras of Cass’ suit, she thought that maybe Maps was needed. There was a place for Robin, side by side with Batman, and Maps tried her hardest to honour that. Cass was a particularly emotional and stubborn Batman, one who needed a Robin who was just as stubborn. Babs smirked at the thought, maybe the secret to the Dynamic Duo was mutual stubbornness to keep both of them in check.

From what little she had heard of Cass in recent days, Babs knew she was chasing leads on Sofia Falcone, and keeping the pirate radio broadcaster in the back of her mind. She first suspected that Joker was behind it all, something Babs had strongly considered. The Amusement Mile Bat-Cache was one of the first that Cass had decided to fully explore, and it gave her every piece of information on the Crown Prince of Crime that she could possibly need. It was easy to connect such simple dots, an attack on a public event with a green gas so similar to Joker’s Laughing Gas that it must be connected, and yet the man himself hasn’t shown his face anywhere within the city. It made Babs nervous.

Sofia Falcone, on the other hand, was exceptionally good at remaining boring. She knew that Batman’s eyes were on her and that a single slip would have the Caped Crusader crashing down on everything she had built. Property acquisition had become easy once large corporations began to leave Gotham in the aftermath of the Nighthawks attack and GothCorp’s Man-Bat mishap. It was the weapons and drugs moving into and around the city, ever so loosely connected to Sofia, with the motto of building a New Gotham that seemed harder to pin upon the crime lord.

Businesses popped up to replace local small businesses in less commercial districts, like Otisburg in the north, Chinatown and the East End on Somerset — the middle island of Gotham — and The Cauldron to the south, in Old Gotham. Sofia’s fingerprints were everywhere, but the dirt on top made them difficult to find.

Babs fell back into her seat and rubbed her temples. She got a headache just thinking about how much was happening around Gotham that she couldn't do anything about. Astrid Arkham, the traitor she had now revealed herself to be, was the most difficult to pin down. Babs never truly expected full allyship from Astrid, but the setup she’d thrown Cass into was frustrating nonetheless. Whatever end goal Astrid had, it was much too obscured at the moment to even begin to guess.

Babs sighed deeply just as the door behind her opened, a winded Maps bursting through and excited to continue investigating the mystery before her. Babs turned in her seat and said, “Glad you’re here. I’ve got a lead that would help us bust this whole thing open.” Maps gasped loudly.

“What is it?” She asked, rushing toward the Bat-Computer, and looking up at the screens, tossing her school bag down to her feet and scanning for information.

“About an hour ago,” Babs began. “After the GCPD found the seventh body, the entire broadcast went dead, security included.” Maps looked over at Babs with a nod, the excitement over new clues bubbling within the girl. “When it all went down, there was a second or two where I could trace everything back to a building in Coventry. Ever since I got that, I’ve been cross-referencing the suspects we have with the one who owns this building, and I think I have our girl.”

“Who is it?”

“She put a few layers between herself and the property itself — business names and pseudonyms, some other easy tricks — but beneath all that, her name is Alexis Kaye,” said Babs, bringing up a photo of the woman in question. She had long, straight black hair that fell down to her lower back, with sharply cut bangs, thick-rimmed glasses, and dark makeup that contracted intensely with her pale white skin. “She’s a technician for GCN’s production crew, probably where she learned about analogue broadcasting — GCN just can’t seem to leave the past behind — but I’m still not sure where she would’ve learned how to hide herself as well as she did. She was a journalism student in school, minored in Psychology.” Maps frowned and her brow furrowed.

“But what about the gas?” she asked. “You said it wasn’t a copy of the Joker’s gas.”

“From what we can find — which is shockingly little — there’s no solid proof that he had any formal training on that, either,” Babs admitted. “At the very least, she knows how to do research.” Maps nodded, though her excitement and curiosity dimmed soon after.

“I assume you already told Batman?” she asked. “Is she going to handle it?”

“I did tell her already, yeah,” Babs replied. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t meet her there.” Maps smiled lightly, still unsure of whether Batman truly wanted her around. “It’d give you two a chance to talk.”

Much like the Narrows, though perhaps not as severe, Coventry was another of Gotham’s less developed neighbourhoods, not fondly looked upon by almost anyone. While the area never quite got as bad as the Narrows did, it certainly wasn’t struggling for hardship. Crumbling infrastructure and a lack of accessible transit, food, or other necessities made living difficult. Damaged streets more often than not led to frequent vehicle repairs, and those cost money that the people living in the neighbourhood couldn’t afford, especially after the mass exodus of large corporations. Those who couldn’t afford to move to follow their job had to lose it, remote work apparently not an option, and thus even more citizens were left to themselves.

Despite the adverse conditions in Coventry, it was also home to some of Gotham’s nightlife scene, some underground and some much more popular than one would expect. Clubs blasted music that could be heard a block away, and beneath the heart-pounding noise was always an illicit deal. Sofia had already bought two clubs and started a bar in the neighbourhood, assigning them to various underlings, and was pulling in absurd numbers of young partygoers.

The property that Oracle had uncovered was a small, boarded up storefront in the very centre of the district, across from a particularly loud nightclub called The Siren. Upon seeing it, Maps tilted her head at Babs and asked “She’s just a technician at the News, right?”

“That’s what I found,” Babs replied.

“Then how did she afford this?”

“Something illegal, I would guess,” said Babs. “Even with real estate being as unfavourable as it is up here, this shouldn’t be in her budget.” With a slow nod and pursed lips, Maps let out a smooth exhale from her nose and approached the front door. “Hold on,” Babs called, taking the device from her bag that they had previously used to locate the body beneath the Gotham University bleachers. She handed it to Maps. “She attacked a public event, I don’t want to know what she’d do to a hideout.”

“You think there’s a bomb?” Taking the device, she powered it on and pointed it at the door.

“Who knows what could be in there,” said Babs. “If she’s taking inspiration from Joker, then there’s no way of knowing what we could find.”

“There’s nothing,” called Maps, scanning the door.

“You’re sure?” Babs asked. “Check the corners, double-check the whole thing, and go, maybe, five feet on every side. I want you to be extremely sure.” Maps turned to give her an odd, yet cautious look, before returning to the door.

“Where’s Batman?” Maps asked, absentmindedly.

“I don’t know,” said Babs. “I told her where we’d be, but she hasn’t said anything back.” Maps sighed.

“Alright, it looks clear,” she said, passing the device back to Babs.

“Good, now use that lockpicking kit like I taught you.”

“Won’t people be suspicious? We’re not exactly Batman and Robin right now, or something.” Despite her concerns, Maps obeyed and brought out the small set of lockpicks that Babs had given her, and she began to work on the deadbolt on the door.

“People are already partying at 6 pm, there’s a lot more for them to worry about than us,” Babs said. “Besides, Coventry keeps to itself. One of the weirdest side effects of this place being so easygoing is that it makes Bat work a lot easier.”

“I haven’t seen a single police car, do they even come up here?” asked Maps.

“Only if it gets particularly bad,” Babs said. “Maybe one or two cruisers around the neighbourhood at a given time, but it’s the bare minimum.”

“So, because the police don’t care much about this place, we can just break into a building really easy?” Maps said, getting a crooked look from Babs in return.

“Well, when you put it that way, it’s a lot nastier,” she said. “But yes, it makes things a lot easier.”

With a final click, Maps twisted the lock on the deadbolt and gently twisted the handle below it, pushing the heavy metal door open with a stinging creak. With bated breath, both of them looked inside the darkened building, waiting for something to happen. It took a moment too long for Maps to pull a flashlight out of her pocket and turn it on, flooding the interior with light.

It was surprisingly mundane and empty, nothing immediately visible from the doorway. Babs frowned, but Maps took a step inside. Babs was hesitant to follow but knew that she should be around to keep Maps out of danger.

“It’s empty,” said Maps, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “There’s a door to the back, though!” She was quick to approach, reaching a hand out for the scanning device from Babs. Upon receiving it, she repeated the process done at the front door and, upon seeing nothing on the screen that indicated any sort of wiring or machinery that could cause harm, she twisted the door knob and slowly opened the new door. Her jaw dropped.

“It’s all here!” She called out, rushing into the room she had just opened. Babs followed, looking in to see heaps of analogue radio broadcasting equipment scattered throughout the room and haphazardly placed on top of a desk, the console in the centre of the room being the main hub for all that Alexis Kaye had been doing in the past year and a half. Beyond that, on the far wall, was a series of monitors stacked on top of each other, and the moment she laid eyes on them, Babs felt a pit in her stomach.

In what felt like a split second, three things occurred: Babs looked over to Maps and called, “We need to leave,” the door behind them closed, and the screens on the far wall sprung to life all at once. The girl with the dark hair and face paint, Alexis Kaye, was on the interconnected screens, hair tied up, with black lipstick, and a red tip of face paint on her nose and over each cheek. She seemed like a harlequin in all but name.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” She asked, shaking her head subtly. “Why, it must be the meddlers who won’t leave well enough alone!”

“You killed people!” Maps called out. Babs immediately wanted to tell her to not speak, to ignore what Alexis was saying, but her words failed her. “We can’t let you get away with that!”

“Oh my, the little thing is so fierce!” Alexis said, putting a hand to her mouth in feigned shock. “Too bad that what’s done is done, and there are more on the way!” The camera that was broadcasting Alexis zoomed out to reveal a man strapped to a chair, duct tape over his mouth.

“I’m calling Batman,” Babs said to Maps, her voice low. In return, Maps nodded curtly but otherwise didn’t react. Pulling her phone from her bag, she navigated through its locks and immediately brought up communication with Cass. It opened, but she could never be sure that Batman was actually listening.

“I’m sure that whoever’s on that phone will be oh, so concerned about your wellbeing, but you’ve got a little bit of a problem,” the last words that Alexis had spoken were exaggerated with more stress put on each syllable. In front of the screens, Babs could see Maps continually clenching and releasing her fists. “You two lovely ladies have, oh, I don’t know, an hour until that little room of yours is flooded with gas just as bad as what poor old Zack Howard and his adoring fans dealt with.” Maps turned to Babs for guidance, but all she could offer was uncertainty.

“Seeing as you two want to spoil everything, I thought I’d do my best and put on a show!” With little effort, Alexis pulled a knife from the back of her way-too-tight leather bodice and dragged it along her victim’s skin, fearful whimpers escaping from beneath the tape over his mouth. In her other hand, she pulled a small remote and pressed a button, aiming it at something behind the camera she was speaking into.

“So much of Gotham sees me now,” she said, a wide smile across her face, an odd serenity befalling her. “Eight plus a couple dozen bodies wasn’t enough to make an impact, such showmanship is useless when Bat-people and assassins run this town, so why not make this a public spectacle?”

Rushing toward the door, both Babs and Maps began to pull on its handle, but it felt as though it was welded shut. It didn’t budge, no matter what they tried.

“Batman,” Alexis called out to the camera. “I’ve got a fun situation for you! You know the bodies, you were there when Zack Howard was blown to bits, and I know you’re out there somewhere right now, and I know you’re listening.” She clicked the remote one more time toward the camera.

In the corner of the room, in a spot Maps hadn’t noticed before, she saw a small red light begin to emit from an old security camera. Her heart sank even further.

“What matters more?” she asked, sliding the blade of the knife over the bound and gagged man’s neck. Blood spilled out of the wound at an alarming pace.

“Maps, look away!” Babs called out, though her command was not heeded.

“Me, in good old Tricorner?” said Alexis, pointing the tip of the bloody knife at her cheek, leaving a few drops behind as she then pointed it toward the camera. “Or these busybodies who just couldn’t help but get involved in my business? You’ve got an hour, I’ll see you then!” With a kiss blown at the camera, she then pressed another button on the remote in her opposite hand, and the broadcast ended.

‘Tricorner’ was the only clue that Batman needed, and as she raced southward through Old Gotham, her heart seemed to beat harder than ever before. Something was wrong with her, but she tried her hardest to ignore it. She focused on her destination and on the sound of her cape fluttering in the wind. She had a target, and nothing was going to get in her way.

She sped through the evening traffic, weaving and filtering between drivers at near full speed, utterly confident in her abilities. She always had been, but she had misdirected them. They were better off serving her as Batman, never wavering from her duty.

The location that the woman was broadcasting from was easy to identify — Batman had been in Gotham for so long and had stalked all of its corners so much that any single part of it was immediately identifiable, just as much as she could read a single muscle movement on another person and predict exactly what they were going to do. A mugger about to pull the trigger, a driver about to speed off, or a cornered criminal about to try and fight for his life — she could see it all before they happened.

She was too perfect, too honed as a weapon to use herself as anything but a force for good.

Perhaps, in another time, she would have been able to acknowledge the absurdity of the Gotham Knights Stadium being the woman’s current hideout. Now, she only felt a steely determination to end her schemes at all costs.

Activating the bike’s automatic driving system, she leapt off with a grapnel gun in hand and zipped up and over the high walls of the stadium. She shot over the highest seats and used her cape to glide over the site of the explosion that occurred months ago. Beneath the shadows, lined along the side of the field below, were bodies. Batman did not linger on them long, and instead allowed them to fuel her rage. Nearly thirty people had now been killed by one woman, and Batman would promise nothing but the worst to fall upon her.

The VIP seating was easy to get through, and Batman burst through the glass with ease as she shot up with another pull of the grapnel gun in hand.

A cackle erupted from the adjacent room.

“I really gotta say,” the woman began. “I didn’t expect this one! This guy’s already dead and you’re coming after little ol’ me, even in the face of two more bodies. That’s some real dedication.”

With a swift kick, the door swung open violently, and a blinding light shone over Batman. She covered her eyes with her arm, scanning the room as best she could.

“What are you waiting for now?” asked the woman. “I’m not going to fight you back, I know there’s no winning that one, so why don’t you just come here.” Batman obeyed, taking firm steps forward into the light, far enough to finally make out the figure behind it all. She was a fairly thin woman, though much more toned than Batman had expected upon further examination. Her outfit seemed ridiculous; a short leather dress over a tight, sheer purple top and leggings, with black thigh-high boots.

The moment she laid eyes on the woman behind it all, Batman lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her against the nearby wall. After a torrent of coughs from the impact, the woman smiled and shook her head, raising her arm. Batman’s eyes widened.

“Now, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said. Her arm was rigged with electronics leading from her bicep all the way to a device held firmly in the palm of her hand, thumb pressed down on the glowing red button. “Dead man’s switch. Heart monitor. You do anything to me, and the gas flows.” There was a brief pause as Batman began to take steps toward the woman. “It’s good to have insurance.” Batman’s eyes narrowed.

“Where is Joker?” The woman immediately let out another quick cackle.

“I’m sorry, but I’m the real deal,” she said. “I may be inspired by the classics but there’s nothin’ but me here, and we’re all better for it.” Batman took another step closer, and the woman adjusted herself on the ground, her devilish grin only growing more confident. “Y’see, he’s the setup, babes, and I’m the Punchline.”

Batman should have seen the blade coming, but she was so focused on the detonator in Punchline’s other hand that it seemed to have appeared from nowhere as it slashed at her thigh. She was thankful for the material of her suit once again as the blade failed to slash through, saving her from potentially deadly bleeding while she grabbed onto Punchline’s head and smashed it against the wall.

In a desperate reminder of where the power stood, Punchline waved the detonator around. Batman took a step back.

“You let me walk, and I don’t blow us sky high, and I don’t leave them to choke on my laughing gas.” Punchline’s voice was now stern, having lost all of its joy, reflecting the angered expression on her face. Batman cocked her head. “You didn’t think I’d come here without making sure I had a way to escape, did you? You don’t let me go, you don’t get to walk out of here either, and then they die, too. It’s an easy choice… unless you’re the self-sacrificing type.”

Batman took another step back and pressed a hidden button on the temple of her cowl. Her lenses flashed over, changing their view mode to detect electrical impulses and signals, and as she scanned the room, she truly realised that Punchline wasn’t bluffing. Every wall was lined with enough explosives to blow a hole in the entire stadium, not just the VIP seating area.

A mass murderer sat in front of her, practically surrendering, and yet Batman found herself filled with doubt, her heart pounding against her chest. Thoughts burst forward in her mind just as fast as they receded, beneath her suit she could feel the sweat forming in her scalp, getting caught and smeared against the inside of her cowl, just as much as the clamminess in her hands was stuck within her cloves.

She could bring Punchline to justice, she could do what some would consider the right thing, it would be easy. It was mere feet away from her.

Across the city, however, were two people counting on her to save the day, whatever it took. Barbara had seen in Cass what many hadn’t, and she made it her duty to ensure Cass led a good life, despite her upbringing. She tried so hard for Cass, she gave up her position as Batgirl, left the GCPD, and dedicated so much time to teaching her everything she now knew that wasn’t combat. Once again she was in danger, and now, Cass realised, it was because of how much she was neglected by the woman she spent so much time helping. Was letting her die the way to repay her? To show the love she truly felt but lacked the courage to show?

Maps saw Batman as more than an ideal, more than a symbol of hope, or a hero. Maps revered Batman like a god, and yet all Cass could do was betray her like any other human. There was no godliness in forsaking love and hope for rage, and somehow Maps still held onto her beliefs. She was no different from when they had met, and yet both seemed unrecognisable to Cass. Maps had solved the mystery, she had uncovered Punchline in the first line, and she was rewarded by being ignored by the one she looked up to most. Even if Maps forgave her, Cass wasn’t sure she could forgive herself.

“Leave,” said Cassandra Cain. “Never return.” She didn’t stay to see the smile creeping onto Punchline’s face.

As she raced through the city, keenly aware that she had less than thirty minutes left to find her way across the entire city and make her way into whatever trap that Babs and Maps had been lured to. As she sped away from the stadium, she pressed a small button near her left ear, and the Bat-Computer’s automated voice activated, telling her that communications had been turned back on.

Pressing another button just below that, she heard a small chime as another voice spoke.

“Cass,” said a recording from Christine. “Hey. I… don’t really know what to say. It’s almost been an entire year without so much as a word from you, but… for some reason I’m still here. I’m still waiting around for you to come back. Some part of me is telling me to move on, but… I know you’re struggling, and I know I have every right to let you sort your own business at this point, for the world’s longest ghosting, but… I love you, Cass. I love you so much more than I feel like I know how to express. I want to dance with you again, I want to read with you again, and I want to watch movies with you. I want to hold you close and I want to see your face. Even if it’s only one more time for the rest of my life, I need to see you again. You mean the world to me.”

The line cut. The hum of the batcycle and the fluttering of her cape were shunted to the forefront of Cass’ awareness. Even despite the speed she was travelling, she shut her eyes tightly, feeling the tears welling up. As she opened them, she swerved to filter between a handful of vehicles moving slowly along Brombal avenue.

She pressed the button once more.

“Look, Cass, I know that you’ve seen Christine’s messages, and I know you’ve heard enough of me telling you to talk to her, but… I want you to talk to me, too. I can’t remember the last time we really had a conversation, or hung out, or did anything that wasn’t Batman related. I care for you, Cass. You’re like a younger sister to me, but I don’t know where that girl went. Talk to me, Cass. Please?”

The line cut.

Cass let out a sharp exhale and kept driving, pressing the button over and over again, listening to the numerous messages she had been left over the last few months. Her heart kept beating.

Batman stormed into the abandoned building, knocking down the front door with ease. There was a man inside, startled by the sudden destruction. He jumped up from a seat, and stood, frozen in fear as the silhouette of Batman drowned out the light that struggled to make its way inside to meet his eyes.

“Where?” Batman demanded.

“I– I can’t–”

Before he could continue, Batman had advanced and delivered a kick to his chest, sending him flying into the chair he’d stood from, destroying it in the process. At the sound of commotion, a knocking arose from a door nearby, hidden in the back of the room. Low voices shouting unintelligible words hummed from the other side.

With a batarang in hand, Cass smashed the lock and pried apart the latches that kept the door closed, unsure of how much time she truly had left to get to her team.

“Turn off the gas!” Batman demanded, hoping that it could be stopped before it had even started. The last of the latches came flying off, but the door struggled to budge. The man she’d kicked remained silent. With a punch to the door, Cass reached into her utility belt and pulled out two small, circular devices, planting them on the hinges and beneath the deadbolt she’d already unlocked. “Step back!” She shouted, her voice growing less controlled. The knocking ceased, and Cass took a few steps back to detonate the devices. Bright sparks shot from the door, destroying all of its joints.

Grabbing onto the hole where the eviscerated handle used to be, she began to pull on the door, using all of her strength to break it from its now-damaged frame. Her arms strained, her legs began to ache, and her jaw stiffened from the intensity with which she was clenching every muscle in her body from the effort.

“Push!” She shouted.

It first came in a small budge. Cass’ eyes widened. Then, like a river pouring through a newly opened dam, the door came loose with ferocity. Cass nearly fell underneath it as she tossed it aside and, with a lightened heart and a smile she could not control, she came face to face with Barbara Gordon and Mia Mizoguchi, no worse for wear and ready to leave.

Both of them ran out of the building without hesitation at Cass’ urging, and as she lifted the man in the front room out of the darkness and into the light of the late night Gotham streets, opposite a bar playing music that was far too loud, Cassandra Cain finally allowed herself a moment of relief.

#Wonder Women

Issue Fifty-Six

Written by u/VoidKiller826

Edited by u/Predaplant

Arc: Witch War

**************************************

Life is a series of mountains.

Each of us stands at the base, looking upward, where paths are obscured by fog, by fear, by fate itself.

For a scholar, the mountain is knowledge, driven to climb the very top to seek the answers to their questions. For a warrior, it’s victory, whether facing an impossible enemy or seizing a prize no one else could claim.

But for me? My mountain is fate. The invisible hand that dares me to defy it, threatening to crush me if I begin my climb. So I felt bound, chained at the base, forced to gaze upward, mocked if I tried to attempt to break free.

I once accepted my fate. Born a Child of the Sun, raised by a king who gloried in the ‘blessing’ of a god laying with his wife, too proud to see he allowed another man to sleep with her. My mother, a queen, saw me as her trophy, proof of her worth, blind to how she was merely another lay for a bored sun god. I watched my brother turn from a sweet boy to a tyrant, and my sister was sent away to marry a withered king in another land, because of traditions. I accepted it all because that was what fate demanded.

Even when fate confined me to the Island of Aeaea, to be the guide for every so-called hero that set sail, I accepted it. I endured it, resigned to believe I would never get past this mountain.

Until she came to my island, to my life, and became my true mountain to beat.

**************************************

*CRASH*

The ceiling above shattered as three figures crashed through, landing heavily on one of SCYTHE HQ’s office floors. A burst of energy surged around one of them, hurling the other two women to opposite ends of the room as the debris settled into dust. Circe stood at the center, her crimson eyes glowing menacingly as her violet shield dissipated around her. She cast a smug look to her left at Artemis of Bana-Mighdall, the so-called Wonder Woman, and then to her right at Cassandra Sandsmark, the Child of the Sky.

The battle had torn through three floors already, leaving destruction in their wake. SCYTHE’s expensive equipment and high-end furnishings lay in ruins. Millions of dollars, paid for by President Veronica Cale, gone and dusted.

“Come now, darlings,” Circe taunted, her heels clicking as she took a few calculated steps. “Weren’t you trained by the very best?” She turned to Cassandra. “Or are you not that interested in saving your mother?”

Cassandra gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around the Amazonian sword in her hand.

“Cassandra!” Artemis called out, trying to get Cassandra’s attention. Circe had been poking at her emotions the entire fight, twisting her grief and rage to her advantage. “Don’t give in to her tricks.”

“Silence, you cow,” Circe sneered at Artemis. Her eyes lingered on Cassandra with a cruel gleam. “Aren't you heroes all about ‘saving the day and protecting people’ or whatever lies you tell yourself?” Circe raised a finger to her lips in mock thought. “Unless… you actually don’t mind leaving your dear mother to rot under my curse.” She smirked. “I wouldn’t blame you, I certainly wanted to strangle my own mother at times.”

That was enough to set Cassandra off as she lunged, sword in hand and charging toward Circe. The witch moved, dodging with a twist of her head that cost a few strands of her purple hair, her wicked smile still present. 

“Cassandra!” Artemis called again, but her words couldn’t reach her through the haze of Cassandra’s rage.

Cassandra swung with all her strength as Circe dodged. She then crocked her fist back, and the two women’s punches made contact, colliding and creating a shockwave that shattered every window around them. Circe seized an opening, sending a quick, pinpointed spell toward Cassandra’s stomach that knocked the wind out of her. As Cassandra staggered, Circe kneed her on the face. But before she could follow up, a blue lasso whipped around her wrist, stopping her. Artemis then pulled Circe toward her and met her with a powerful elbow to the jaw.

“You fat cow!” Circe hissed, shaking off the hit. With a flick, she unleashed a beam of raw magic, forcing the Amazon to dive aside to avoid the brunt of it. Artemis then charged, dodging more spells as she closed the distance. In one swift motion, she leaped into the air, bow, and arrow drawn, aiming at Circe.

However, the witch was ready. With a snap of her fingers, the ground underneath began to tremble, and twisted tendrils of cement, steel and earth erupted from the floor, catching the Amazon mid-air and slamming her into the ceiling.

Circe’s small victory was cut short as an arm wrapped around her waist. Cassandra had grabbed Circe from behind, grabbing her own wrist and squeezing it tightly. With a fierce shout, Cassandra hoisted the witch up and fell backwards, executing a brutal suplex that sent Circe crashing headfirst into the floor with a powerful force. The weakened floor crumbled under the impact, and the three women plummeted to the floor below.

**************************************

Diana of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta, Champion of Athena, the new Wonder Woman

That was how she introduced herself, chosen for a noble mission to end all evil. I heard tales of this new Wonder Woman, how she’d slain Medusa and her sisters, then bested Poseidon. She made her mark quickly after leaving her Amazon island and traveling around Man’s World. I never thought I would ever meet her in person, let alone on my own island, face to face.

In that moment, my purpose became painfully clear, my destiny, forged by these gods who had given me life to serve them, a fate I could never escape nor break. I was the Godkiller, a demi-goddess born to bring ruin upon Mount Olympus and the gods, to bring about the end of their little and dying world. Diana looked upon me as an enemy, a threat she was commanded to destroy, a mission handed down by Athena herself, and she was eager to fulfill it. I could hardly blame her, really, I would be arrogant too if I bested the god of the sea and defeated legends and myths. I am sure that to her, I was just another trophy to be bested.

I also learned that my fate was to die at the hands of an Amazon princess. And unless Antiope had suddenly developed a taste for men, the only person who fit that description was Hippolyta’s daughter.

It was then I stopped accepting my fate, and began my own climb up that treacherous mountain they built to keep me in place. I don’t know if it was defiance, or simply stubbornness, but I knew one thing, Diana was now my mountain, and I aimed to pass over that self-righteous, unyielding ball of hypocrisy.

**************************************

Artemis walked through the debris of SCYTHE HQ’s ruined reception area where they landed. The sound of groaning metal beams and crumbling pillars echoed ominously through the silence, and she knew it wouldn't be long before the entire structure collapsed.

‘My arrows…’ Artemis found her quiver and arrows in them scattered around the reception area.

Through the dust, a faint purple glow caught her attention. Her eyes widened as a beam of light shot out, forcing the Amazon to throw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding being sliced by the magical beam.

“Why won’t you die, you stupid cow…” Circe's voice echoed, laced with contempt. As the dust settled, Artemis saw the witch standing over Cassandra, her heel pressed against the demi-goddess’s throat. Despite her smirk, it was clear Circe had taken some damage; her clothes were torn, the armor she wore on her arms was dented, and blood streamed out of her arms, legs, and chest.

“Let her go, Circe!” Artemis demanded, and Circe scoffed.

“You don’t get to address me, cow,” Circe sneered. “You are hardly worth even being the grime on my shoes.”

“Then…” Cassandra breathed out. “We change that!” She shouted and grabbed Circe’s leg out from under her and twisted her legs around the witch’s, pulling her off balance.

“You little shit!” Circe cursed, pain flashing across her face as she felt her leg being twisted. The momentary distraction was all Artemis needed as she closed the gap, leaped, and delivered a fierce punch that knocked Circe back, freeing Cassandra.

Now free, Cassandra scrambled to her feet, and she and Artemis attacked in tandem, moving in perfect sync. Punches and kicks flowed as they worked together, overwhelming the witch, who, for all her experience and confidence, was beginning to falter under this relentless assault. For a moment, Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl worked together to defeat a great enemy, and they were winning. 

“Enough!” Circe’s voice rose in fury, unleashing another magic shockwave, sending both women sprawling. She then slammed her hand on the ground. The floor trembled and then began to churn, turning concrete into thick, sludgy mud that surged toward Artemis, slamming her against a wall and beginning to bury her. “And this time, stay dead!”

“Not while I am still breathing, you bitch!” Cassandra’s voice rang out from behind her. She launched a high kick aimed at Circe’s head. But the witch blocked it effortlessly, catching Cassandra’s leg in mid-air.

“And you…” Circe sneered and yanked Cassandra off balance, slamming her to the ground. “Didn't we do this song and dance before? With me kicking your sad, pathetic, and depressing skinny ass?”

Cassandra tried to get up, only for Circe to drive her heel into her ribs, forcing her down again.

“Is that it?” Circe mocked, grabbing Cassandra by the hair and forcing her to look at her. “I thought cursing your mother would give you the fire to stop holding back finally.”

Cassandra tried to take a swing at Circe, who answered by slamming her head on the ground.

“All this power you have in your blood, the powers of your father Enlil gave you, powers I activated for you,” Circe proclaimed, forcing her to look at her. “Such a disappointment…”

Unnoticed by the witch, Cassandra’s hand itched toward a broken arrow lying within reach, one of Artemis’s. As Circe continued to gloat and mock, Cassandra seized the arrow and drove it into Circe’s leg.

Circe cried out, stumbling back as she clutched her bleeding leg. “You little wretch!”

Cassandra pushed herself up and delivered a powerful uppercut that sent Circe flying. Wiping the blood from her mouth, she grabbed her fallen sword just as Circe stood up and yanked the arrow out of her leg.

Without another word, they charged at each other.

**************************************

For a while my mountain was disproving the destiny that the fickle gods and their cows had labeled me, that of a Godkiller. But with time, with the losses I suffered at the hands of Wonder Woman, thinking she's following a righteous mission given to her by Athena and her disgusting father, my perspective changed.

Perhaps it was true, perhaps I was fated to be this great destroyer… for a time. I became obsessed to prove them wrong, all who were shackled by their fate. I thought for a time that if I destroyed Diana, the embodiment of that fate, my mountain who deemed me as this wicked villain, I could finally be free for my own path. But with the years, my goal to move past this mountain became a focus on making Diana suffer, which in turn would prove that I was greater than the prophecies and the judgments that were put on me since birth.

In our final battle, Diana nearly succeeded in killing me, and I would have accepted it, but I survived. Whether it was stubbornness, pride or spite, I survived her sword and lived another day, planning my next move to finally put this feud to an end, and in turn, pass over this mountain.

Then Diana went ahead and died, at the hands of a man no less.

A man, a human, with just a stupid power ring. She died in the most pathetic way possible, while I got nothing out of it.

That man stole my final ascent, ripped that last foothold from my reach. Now I was standing in front of a mountain that no longer existed, destroyed utterly and completely, left with only memories and a void that would never be filled. Every step I took since Diana came to my life, every wound, every scar, every loss, were for nothing, meaningless, as if my suffering were for naught, an afterthought in the grand design of fate that was bestowed upon my life.

I lost.

But I refused to let fate, or Diana’s ghost, mock me any longer. I would not stand in this void, defeated and empty. If my mountain was gone, I’d build a new one, something greater than anything else, based around the one thing left to seize.

Diana’s legacy.

**************************************

Cassandra lunged at Circe, her sword flashing with every furious swing. Her strikes were wild, aimed at any part of the witch’s body she could reach. She was no longer holding back, eyes full of rage, a desperate determination to end Circe once and for all.

“Come on! Put some weight behind it!” Circe taunted, sidestepping the blade and grabbing Cassandra’s wrist in one swift movement. “Didn’t you promise to kill me? End my misery and save your dear mother? Or would you prefer her to suffer a slow, agonizing-”

Cassandra cut her off with a brutal headbutt, momentarily stunning the witch. Taking advantage, Cassandra slashed her sword across Circe’s chest. Though the witch managed to take a step back, the blade tore through, striking the very spot Diana had once wounded her.

Circe staggered, clutching her bleeding chest as she dropped to one knee. Cassandra stood over her, sword raised high, ready to finish her.

Cassandra screamed as she swung her sword at the waiting Circe. The sharp blade swung and stabbed, aiming to take whatever body part the vengeful girl could take away from the Witch. Circe for her part knew that Cassandra wasn't holding back; the rage behind her eyes was that of someone who would do whatever it took to finish her off.

“Well…?” Circe sneered through gritted teeth. “Are you… going to stand there or do what your mentor was too much of a coward to do?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, but instead of delivering the killing blow, she threw her sword aside, her fists clenched. Circe’s eyes widened in confusion.

“Figures…” Circe scoffed, letting out a bitter laugh. “Always knew Diana made you soft—”

Cassandra’s fist smashed into her face, cutting her off. Circe fell backward, blood dripping from her nose.

“Get up,” Cassandra said coldly, her voice like steel.

Circe struggled to rise, but Cassandra struck her down again. And again. And again.

“I said get the fuck up!” Cassandra’s voice rose to a shout as she drove another punch into the witch’s face, blood spraying across the cracked floor. Cassandra’s intention was clear; she wasn’t going to let Circe escape justice with a quick death. She wanted her to suffer, to feel the pain she had inflicted on so many others, on her and everyone she cared for.

**************************************

What remained? That was the question I was left with.

I was a woman stripped of purpose, my mountain shattered, my destiny destroyed, my life rendered meaningless. I once believed that breaking free from the chains of fate would bring me peace, and in a way, I succeeded. But each day I was reminded of how Diana—the one I had to defeat above all—was taken from this world. Taken from me.

Then one day, I opened the news and saw it: a new Wonder Woman. A fool parading around in Diana’s colors, calling herself her successor. She wasn’t fit to even lace Diana’s boots, a pretender who didn’t realize the weight of the shadow she’s trying to step into.

And then I learned of another: Diana’s protégé, her little soldier. Cassandra Sandsmark. Wonder Girl. Diana spared her, trained her, called her comrade, when the gods would have seen her put down. She was given the chance to fight Diana’s fight—the chance I wished had been mine. Was it out of guilt that Diana took her in? A way to make up for what she couldn’t do for me, her greatest failure?

I couldn’t just sit back, pretending I hadn’t been wronged by those who made my life hell—the gods, the sycophants, and Diana herself, who expected me to become a monster. They succeeded.

Now, I’m going to tear down the legacy you built, Diana. Your city? I’ll burn it. Your followers? They’ll be broken. And your pupil? I’ll make her into the monster you turned me into, then set her upon Olympus when she’s done with me.

Because in the end, our war taught me what I truly wanted: peace. But I’ll never achieve that while I’m still breathing. You made me wish for death more than once, Diana of Themyscira. I hate you for what you made me become.

And yet… I admired you because at the end of the day, until our very last battle, you still tried to get me to stand down, despite everything that happened. And for that, I thank you.

I’ll see you on the other side.

**************************************

Cassandra continued to unleash a flurry of brutal punches on Circe, her hands bloodied as they struck again and again. Circe’s face was bruised and swollen, yet she still managed a twisted smile, like a proud mother savoring her daughter’s fury.

Nearby, Artemis broke free from the hardened mud formation that had encased her. She watched in horror as Cassandra’s fists fell mercilessly, seemingly deaf to her surroundings. "Cassandra!" she shouted, but her friend didn’t respond. Desperately, Artemis clawed her way out, knowing she had little time to stop Cassandra from making a mistake she couldn’t take back.

Circe was now on her knees, her body battered but her expression unfazed. Cassandra grabbed her by the jaw with one hand, her other hand braced behind Circe’s head, ready to snap her neck.

“Cassandra! Don't!” Artemis begged, feeling helpless to stop her.

Seconds stretched into an eternity as Cassandra held her grip, trembling as she stared down at the witch. Her hands shook, her teeth clenched, and for a moment, hesitation crossed her face. Finally, with a primal scream, she released Circe, the fury pouring out of her in a desperate roar.

Circe looked up, first with surprise, then with contempt. "You’re… hesitating?" she sneered, venom in her voice. "You coward! Do you want your mother to die?”

“No!” Cassandra shouted, her eyes blazing as she pointed an accusing finger at the witch. “God knows I want to end your miserable existence right here and now. I am fighting with every fiber of my being to not take my sword and just cut off your fucking head!” She glared at the witch hatefully, making it clear she was not happy with her own decision. “But I will not let you destroy who I am! Everything in my life, ever since Coast City, took a piece of me and I had enough of that.” She turned to Artemis, tears began falling more freely. “And killing you with so much hate in my heart… there is no coming back from that…”

Circe’s smug smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. "You think sparing me gives you some moral high ground?” she spat. “You’re willing to let your mother die?!!”

Cassandra sank to her knees in front of Circe, meeting her eye to eye. “My mom… she would be disappointed if she knew what I did to save her… and she didn’t raise me to be a killer…” she said, tears falling, already feeling the weight of her decision.

Cassandra wiped her face, then turned to Artemis, who had finally managed to free herself. Artemis gave her a proud smile, pulling her into a fierce hug. Cassandra didn’t move at first, before hugging back, crying on her friend’s broad shoulder as her mind raced, still questioning if she’d done the right thing. Memories and lessons from Diana, from her mother, filled her mind, grounding her.

But their moment was shattered as the ground trembled beneath them. A red beam of light shot from the direction of the prison area, where the Helm of Ares was kept.

“What’s happening?” Cassandra whispered, staring at the crimson light.

Artemis turned on Circe, grabbing her by the collar. “What did you do?” she demanded, shaking the witch.

Circe laughed, even in her beaten state. “Just a contingency, in case one of you got too clever with the Helm,” she sneered. “This city will be ashes before long.”

Artemis’s grip tightened. “Even if Cassandra killed you, you planned to destroy this city?”

Circe smirked. “Diana’s legacy… I will see it obliterated. She protected this place with her life, but now it will crumble, just as she did.”

“You disgust me,” Artemis growled, throwing her aside.

Cassandra, meanwhile, stepped toward the window, focusing on the red beam of light. She felt the chaotic energy of the Helm of Ares, memories of its power flooding her mind. Then, faintly, she heard a voice, familiar yet distant.

“Cassandra…” Emily’s voice echoed, barely a whisper. “Save us…”

Cassandra turned to Artemis. Even through her tears, she still gave the Amazon a knowing nod, which Artemis returned, and the demi-goddess leaped through the window, rocketing toward the red beam of light, leaving Artemis and Circe behind.

Artemis’s instincts kicked in as she dodged out of the way of a magical beam fired by Circe as it passed by her and destroyed the wall.

Artemis recovered quickly, her eyes blazing with determination as she faced the witch, who was now rising to her feet, magical circles forming around her hands. “You’ve lost, Circe. There’s no victory for you here.”

Circe’s face twisted with rage. “Silence, cow! You’re the reason that little fool couldn’t kill me. I thought Cassandra had potential when she took down that alien invader, but you’ve infected her with weakness!”

Artemis steadied herself, meeting Circe’s glare with fierce resolve. “You’re wrong, Circe. Cassandra Sandsmark is stronger than you’ll ever be. She will become the best of us, something you can’t possibly understand.”

Circe let out a furious scream and charged at Artemis, magical energy blazing in her hands. Artemis stood her ground, ready to face the witch head-on.

**************************************

Previous Issue <> Next Issue

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##The Linear Men

Issue Twenty Two:Memoirs of the Lost

Written by Dwright5252

Edited by Predaplant

< Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

From the Journals of _______

As a historian (for part of me once was), it’s only logical that I should record my actions, motivations and accomplishments for posterity. Future (or past, or present, it’s so difficult to discern things in this state sometimes) individuals may find interest or even inspiration in the words I transcribe. The scientist in me also believes in recording the experiments, seeing the fruits of my labor and formulating alterations for better results on subsequent missions.

Some may see this tome as a justification, or accounting of my crimes against those many consider to be heroes. I do not seek absolution, nor do I operate under the impression that my actions benefit anyone but myself. I’ve been selfless for too long and know that what I work towards, though directly placing everything I ever wanted at my feet, also will benefit all.

That stubborn part of me insists it doesn’t just help me. Heroism is difficult to shirk.

I started with various tweaks to the timeline. Giving the “Legends of Tomorrow” anomalies that would ultimately bring them to the attention of the Time Masters. Perhaps they would take out my former teammates for me?

They did not, leaving me with the grim task of doing it myself. But how to accomplish this without drawing the ever watching gaze of those chronal zealots?

It would involve going slowly, piece by piece, assembling my game board and making it seem everything was as it should be. Were they to look upon us, they would see nothing out of the ordinary. This timeline and universe has already seen its fair share of near collapse, so the small fractures I cause are able to heal into strong foundations. These changes directly affected my prey in small but vital ways, paving the way for their removal.

Let’s begin with the fool.

After all, we can trace the start of this whole endeavor to his doorstep. Would the group known as the Legends of Tomorrow have even existed had he not stumbled upon our world during his journey to the past?

And that enabled the greatest insight into our would-be hero: how badly he wants to be something; the urge to be famous was so great that he broke the laws of time and space to make a name for himself.

This enabled me to craft the perfect world for him, a world where he could finally be the star. What do you give to the man who has nothing? Everything. Looking at his connections, it seemed he had an affinity for a hero that perished during the Apokoliptan Incursion, one David Knight. I believed giving him a companion to share his exploits would lessen the chance of his breaking free.

His removal from the timeline was the easiest of all his compatriots; he did not belong in any sense of the word. Neither the time nor the very universe he found himself in could claim him as a native. If anything, placing him in a pocket dimension was fulfilling the Legends of Tomorrow’s mission. It made me rather sad how little impact his erasure had upon the continuum. No, I don’t care about that. The man is a fool. He is earnest, and truly has a good heart.

Where was I? I wasn’t myself, or perhaps too much of myself, for a moment. Yes, Booster Gold was a fast removal. Another simple matter was plucking the team’s other displaced member from the timeline: Terry McGinnis. By all accounts, he should no longer exist in this iteration, as his origin point was erased.

I could’ve erased him, but I stopped myself. This is a weakness that may ultimately cost me, or win me everything, depending on my perspective.

This must be confusing, but imagine how I feel.

Giving the Dark Knight of Tomorrow his world back was simple, and truly required the least effort. Simply pulling the relevant data from his mind and crafting the world to its specifications… he did the rest.

Terry… Much like Booster, he dreams of a better world. Was the world he came from really worth aspiring to? Something I ponder often as I watch him defeat another of his foes. The others were more difficult. After all, they belonged, more or less, where they were.

Helena Wayne, the daughter of two opposite yet destined souls. A living contradiction, following one parent’s footsteps while looking down upon the others. Yet a part of her yearned for that connection.

I gave it to her. The other side of the coin now faced up (oh, how I can relate). Helena takes from the people she used to be, fights those she considered family in favor of the one person she wished beyond all hope of connecting with.

It's her actions in this new dimension I’ve given her that truly fascinate me. I know another version of Helena almost destroyed the world to save her father, and yet… When given the opportunity to ally herself with the burglar that birthed her, she took it.

It makes all the sense in the world to a part of me, but that side doesn’t deserve the benefit of being heard.

Nature and nurture, an ever evolving debate. Helena Wayne makes for an interesting subject to investigate the truth of the matter.

But we still have others to deal with. Kat Clintsman, the strong authority figure of the Legends. No nonsense, working to do the most good at any time and willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen.

It surprises me when I see her ideal world: one that doesn’t need her. Those she failed to save living prosperous existences, alive and well. Her own safety was irrelevant. In fact, Kat seemed to believe that her mere presence in this fantasy would cause it all to come crashing down.

Ever the benevolent friend and mortal enemy, I granted her request. Taking inspiration from that old fairy tale standard, I entombed Kat Clintsman in a memorial created by her friends, blessed and cursed with unending slumber. Why couldn’t I just kill her outright? Why must I provide a half measure?

I justify this as a necessary complication, as her unconscious mind helps trap the others in their fantasies. It’s a feedback loop that keeps my subjects docile, and the more that are in sync with this pattern, the stronger it is.

Finally, our fearless leader. “Rip Hunter” never wanted that name. His ideal world in fact helped me to cement the ultimate defense against the Time Masters: the reformation of the Linear Men. This stalwart time-traveling band of chrononauts were seen as superior to the ragtag Legends in every Time Masters’ opinion. More qualified to fix anomalies, more easily controlled and directed, the Linear Men were the docile force of stability that this timeline was lacking. With them in place, and our leader back to being the one and only Michael Jon Carter traveling through time, my future kingdom would look… normal. The genius of this was that I was not required to shunt my former leader into another pocket dimension; his fantasy could be lived out perfectly in the very universe I seek to rule. Saving the Linear Men from their destined fates was no simple task, but for one as versed with the time stream as myself, it ended up being an amusing challenge.

Fixed points in time are difficult to work around, as our previously mentioned Helena discovered. Utter oblivion awaits those that attempt to change them.

Now, reader, I reveal the real beauty of my solution to this conundrum: I didn’t change the fixed point in time that causes the deaths of the Linear Men. I only… delayed it. Extended their mission log indefinitely, with their final voyage still technically on the docket. After all, what is linearity in the very stream of time itself?

I took that idea from one of the Time Masters’ own agents, Jenny Sparks. By all accounts, she should’ve perished at the dawn of the 21st Century, but still traverses time and space with her Authority. She’s avoiding the year 2000. And so, I have the Linear Men directed around their end point.

Though my plan was, admittedly, complex, I feel it was the best I could do with the shackles I’ve created for myself. I know there must exist some failsafe that allows these heroes to escape and foil my works, but the way is blocked in my mind. I’ve done too good a job at segregating myself.

They were my friends. They were my enemies. What am I now, friend or foe? My actions indicate a combination of the two. I take them out of the picture, but keep them somewhere that’s perfect for them. Do I do this to ensure their cooperation? Or is it that I can’t bear to destroy them once and for all? Time, as they say, will tell.

It seems I’ve underestimated the one I left alone: the former criminal Deirdre Harkness. A part of me felt she’d disappear into her life with her new partner, eschewing the life of the time traveling agent in favor of domestic bliss. Another part of me believed she could do nothing to stop my plans, nor convince anyone that anything was amiss. How foolish a thought that was.

She seemed to retain her memories of the others, a situation I had yet to encounter. Was her sabbatical outside of the Waverider responsible for this? Does her history battling against denizens of the Speed Force hold the key to her remembrance? Perhaps this was the oversight I mused about before… It seems too convenient that the one member with direct experience with a Flash escaped my grasp. Once she returned to the ship, it seemed that everything changed.

I’ll confess, the erasure of Walker Gabriel was a panic reaction. Had I not been caught off guard, a more elegant solution may have presented itself. I fear this domino may lead to the ultimate confrontation that I must not lose.

I must prepare for the final conflict, and push away my thoughts of keeping them safe. They need to die, I can see that now. I can’t stand it, but I also relish it. I’m of two minds, you see.

One must prevail in this battle if I am to ascend. The heroes gather, though the field is not set. I can use my resources, my skills and knowledge to give myself the advantage. I’ll need to watch out for self sabotage, but that shouldn’t be an issue if I take my time.

Thankfully, I have all the time in the world.

Superman

In On Her Shoulders

Issue Thirty: Division

Crossover with Shadowpact

Written by /u/Predaplant

Edited by /u/ClaraEclair & /u/gemlinthegremlin

First | Previous | Next

Jon Kent was hard at work at the Daily Planet, at a desk typing up a story. He took a shaky breath; this one was important to him.

He had been working at the Planet for almost three years now, biding his time as an assistant helping out other writers and putting together a handful of smaller articles, but now it was time; Mr. Foswell had finally given him the go-ahead to write something of his own.

It was a city council story; they were working to introduce more bike lanes across the city. Jon had interviewed the councillors fighting for and against the bike lanes, even though he didn’t think much of the anti-bike lane position. He had poured over meeting minutes, sketched out the routes that the bike lanes would take, and talked to cyclists within the city to hear their thoughts on the plan. Now he just had to put it all together.

Writing up a story was always interesting for Jon. He had a typing speed that placed him second in the world (maybe Barry had gone on the site at some point... or maybe there was a hacker), but the limiting factor was never how quickly the words got on the page.

The problem was always figuring out what to write, what angle to take, which perspectives to feature. Jon liked to do multiple drafts of any given piece, to try and figure out what the best approach was.

There were so many hard decisions, and after working on any given article for more than a few days Jon always felt drained, like he had gone ten rounds with the Parasite or something. Jon knew that perfection was the enemy of good, but he could never shake the feeling that there was something better, a few minor tweaks that he needed to make and the article would be so much better for it.

Plus, it was starting to creep up on him that maybe he wasn’t as good at this as he had hoped he would be. His mom Lois had been nothing but encouraging to him, but Jon had read her early articles and they were far-and-away better than his own.

Even his ex-boyfriend Jay had insight that Jon struggled to match when Jon could bring himself to check out what he was up to.

Jon knew he was still learning, that he still had a long way to go and that he was working underneath the shadow of Lois Lane, the greatest journalist that Metropolis had ever seen. He told himself to wait, to hold off at least until he got this article done to judge himself more fairly.

But it was hard for him to hammer away at an article... especially when being Superman felt so easy, by comparison.

Hearing somebody approaching, Jon slowed down his typing speed to reasonable human levels, and turned to see Percy Bratten making his way around the corner.

Percy was a few years older than Jon, and the two had bonded over both having something to prove. Percy was the son of one of the Daily Planet’s owners, and was eager to prove that he wasn’t just a nepotism hire, full of ambition, always willing to push himself forward for the story.

Percy was somebody else who Jon often compared himself with. He didn’t come out on top nearly enough there, either.

“Working that council story, huh?” Percy asked, chewing on an apple. “I’ve been wondering why I didn’t get that story.”

“Well,” Jon said as he chose his words carefully. “I guess they just wanted to give me a shot.”

Percy shook his head. “But I’m sitting here without a major story to follow, and you’re out here with less experience typing up this key piece that might determine public sentiment on this issue. I wish I could wish you the best with it, but honestly...”

Percy shrugged and started to walk away. Jon’s face curled into a frown. Percy was ambitious, sure, but Jon had never known him to put down somebody quite like that. There was something wrong here...

Jon remembered what he had noticed earlier in the day, how much of a crabby mood everybody seemed to be in. If it was still happening, then this was a job for Superman.

He ran for the stairwell at super-speed, taking off his outer layer of clothes as he did so. He took a millisecond to tuck them under a corner of the staircase and then burst through the door to the roof of the Planet, jetting off into the sky as he did so.

He scanned the ground below him. No obvious signs of an epicentre… at least, not yet.

Just then, he heard a voice from across the city out of the corner of his mind.

“Superman! Come help!”

In a flash he was off to the source of the call.

SSSSS

Superman found himself outside a hotel window. Peering into the room, he saw someone that he recognized sitting on the bed: that girl, Linda, who he had talked to just that morning. She was lying on the bed with a grimace across her face, but her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping. Additionally, there were a few others in the room: a strawberry blonde woman, a figure in a suit of greenish-grey rags, a woman with short reddish-brown hair passed out on the bed next to Linda, and another woman, the youngest in the room besides maybe Linda, waving at him. She walked to the window and, opening it up, let Superman into the room. He touched down and smiled at the assembled group. “Alright, what seems to be the problem?”

“Hi, Superman. Glad to see you could make it. I think you’ve already met Linda. I’m Traci from Shadowpact, I’m here with a couple members of my team - this is Rory and this is Sherry - and I think we’re going to need to perform an exorcism here.”

“An exorcism, huh?” Superman raised an eyebrow. “I assume we’re not just talking a symbolic one here.”

“Oh no, this is very real,” Traci said.

“I’ve been examining Linda for a bit, and I think there’s both an angel and a demon in here,” Sherry told Superman. “Might give us a bit of an easier time, but simultaneously it might be a bit unpredictable.”

“Okay, awesome. An exorcism. Where do I come in, then?” Superman asked.

“She needs a strong emotional tether,” Rory explained. “Someone who has a strong connection with her. Her sister’s here and all, but she’s been drained of her energy already. Passed out just before you got here. Don’t think she’ll be of much help.” He gestured towards the woman on the bed beside Linda.

“All you need to do is stand here and focus. We can handle the rest,” Traci told Superman.

“Alright,” he replied. “Let’s move.”

“Perfect.”

Superman watched Linda on the bed next to her sister as Traci and Sherry flipped through a book together. Hard to believe that there was so much going on with her. Jon hadn’t yet dealt with heaven or hell much at all, at least to his knowledge, but he had heard some stories from his dad, and he knew that they were best avoided, if at all possible. He couldn’t back out now, though. This was likely the cause of the emotional disturbances, which posed a threat to the entire city.

He felt like he owed her, too, for trying to help out in Metropolis. Maybe she was young and unprepared, and maybe he had already been the one to inspire her in the first place, but she had risked a great deal in an attempt to help others, and one good turn deserved another.

But most of all, she was just one person in need. And Jon knew that was what being Superman had always meant: showing up when people needed it, even when you didn’t know exactly how you were going to help them yet.

Traci asked Jon to reach out to touch Linda. As Rory gently removed Alex from the bed and laid her down in the corner of the room, Sherri and Traci chanted together, and the exorcism began.

SSSSS

Immediately the energy in the room shifted. Jon could feel Linda’s mind just on the other side of his; he could feel all of her fears and pains. They felt immense, as if they were taking up the majority of the room and Jon was squeezed into the corner. But Jon knew there was something behind them all; he could hear movement from the other side, what sounded like a scuffle. He started trying to break his way through.

It was a challenge. There wasn’t that much room for Jon to push them away; they were densely packed, almost suffocating. Jon realized that this huge pile of Linda’s pain must’ve been what had spread across the city. There was nowhere else for them to go, since they already surrounded the hotel room for blocks.

But slowly, bit-by-bit, Jon pushed his way through them, almost like he was shovelling a path of snow. Most of the time the only way that he managed it was by closing up the hole behind him, but he didn’t mind. All he could do now was go forwards, anyways.

So that was what he did. He could feel himself surrounded by Linda’s anxieties on all sides. They whispered to him, humming a sweet melody of possibilities of a world that would never care for her, or him, or anyone the way that it should. It was so easy to listen to it all, especially with the sensitivity of Jon’s ears. But he knew that if he did, he would be lured in and never bother to make it to the other side.

So he didn’t let himself stop. Just a bit further now...

With a final blow Jon burst his way to the other side to find the demon that he was here to help exorcise. It was turned away from Jon so he couldn’t see its face, and it was beating up... something that Jon couldn’t see.

Jon rushed forwards around the demon and separated the demon from its target... only to find out that the demon was beating up a life-sized doll of Superman himself.

Falling to the ground, the demon started to laugh. Its laugh was louder than any reasonable person’s, and grating, too; it was more repellent than the anxieties were attractive, even. Jon gritted his teeth and waited for it to stop, tossing the doll aside.

It did, eventually. The demon looked at Jon and smirked. It was red and small, with a face that was at the same time cute and punchable, with a body similar to that of a boar. “You thought that you were going to rush in here and save the angel that you were told was in here? No, sorry. I’ve dealt with it now; it’s not going to show up here that easily, if any remnants of it still remain. You, on the other hand, are much more fun to play with… not to eat, of course. Welcome! Stay a while! I know your friends out there are trying to push me out of here, but I have no intentions of moving.”

“I’m sure they know what they’re doing,” Jon told it. “They seem very confident. Very knowledgeable.”

“You trust so easily, don’t you, Superman?” the demon asked mockingly. “Not everyone is as capable as you, even in their own fields. You really think a bunch like that can deal with a demon who can stop a whole city in place the way I can?”

“I’ve moved entire planets before,” Jon replied. “Who’s to say that a small team can’t wedge you out of here?”

“Hmmf,” the demon snorted. “I’m to say.”

The demon waved a hoof in the air and Jon could see what was happening outside, back in physical space. He and Linda were levitating off the ground while Shadowpact struggled to control the ritual.

“If this goes bad, well... I’d be surprised if someone who’s known magicians his whole life didn’t know the potential consequences of magic. How much these sorts of rituals can backfire.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, looking intently at the demon. “I believe in them. They can handle this.”

“Well, let’s see how much you believe in them,” the demon said. “Just give me Linda Danvers, and I’ll go. I’ll leave you and your stupid little Justice Legion friends be for a while. I won’t cause you any more issues. Promise. You get to make sure nobody else in this hotel gets hurt.”

Jon shook his head with a hard stare on his face. “I would never give her up. If this ritual kills me, I just want to make sure that she’s safe.”

The demon snarled at Jon. “Fine, then! Be damned, you and the entire city of Metropolis!”

It lunged at him and engaged him in a grapple. Jon didn’t feel quite as strong here as he did in the flesh; he started to feel himself getting pushed back, the demon getting the upper edge.

He slid back on his heels until he ended up near the wall of anxiety, whispering at him, telling him that he couldn’t do this, that it was alright to back down and make a deal.

No! He took a strong step forwards, and as he did, he closed his eyes, focusing.

Sure, this was all metaphorical, but he was here for Linda. This was her mind; she had to be here somewhere. All he had to do was reach for her.

So he did. He swiftly shifted his body weight, disengaging from the demon with one arm as he ducked away from its centre of mass. He reached out with his free arm and... he found the hand he was looking for.

With one swift tug, Linda was there next to him, dressed in full heroic attire. She smiled and laughed. “Superman! You came!”

“Well, someone had to,” Jon smiled as he looked at the discarded Superman doll. “Don’t think that thing was doing too well by itself.”

It was two-on-one, now. The demon looked much more hesitant, much more scared. Jon continued to grapple him, but now Linda was able to approach from the side and get in some good clean hits, knocking the demon down.

Jon tried to stomp on him, and the demon rolled out of the way, but Linda was right there to finish the job. With a loud CRONCH, the demon splattered into goop.

Superman and Supergirl looked at each other.

“Is that it?” Superman asked.

“I... I think so?” Supergirl responded. Cocking her head, she held up a finger. “Wait... no. I think they have to finish the exorcism first. We fought back, and that helped, but there’s still more to do.”

Superman snapped his fingers. “I think I know what we need to do. We need to save the angel that’s been living inside of you all these years.”

“How are we going to find it?” Supergirl asked.

“It has to be in here somewhere,” Superman said. “I think that you can find it, if you try hard enough. It’s here to help you, after all.”

Linda nodded. She closed her eyes and reached out, and there he was.

The angel Zauriel glowed brightly. Jon and Linda’s eyes darted away from him when they tried to take a look; it was impossible to really get a good glimpse of what the angel was supposed to be.

“Thank you,” Zauriel told them. “I almost perished completely, and would have, were it not for your sake.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Linda asked him.

Zauriel smiled. “I suppose I’ll leave. Retreat back to heaven. Unless, of course, you need me to stay for some reason?”

“I think it would be best if you left. For you, and for me,” Linda replied.

She gave him a hug, and looking away from him, she whispered “Goodbye.”

In a flash of light, he disappeared... and as the exorcism ended, Jon and Linda found themselves back in the Metropolis hotel room.

SSSSS

Linda smiled as she watched Superman fly off. She wished he could stay, but she knew he had so much more to do, so many people to meet, and... she almost felt like some of his thoughts merged with hers while he was in her head. Something about an article to finish? Was he some sort of writer?

She shook her head and turned to face Traci, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you so much for saving me.”

“Of course!” Traci hugged back, gently patting her friend's back. “It's what we do.”

“I should try to keep in touch more. We should call sometimes!”

“That sounds good!” Traci laughed. “But we should probably be going. Duty calls, and all that. Plus I don’t want to stay to hash things out with your sister when she wakes up.”

“Probably a good idea.” Linda hugged Traci one more time, before looking to Rory and Sherry. “And thank you both, too.”

“Just happy to help,” Rory said, before turning to the door.

“Take care,” Sherry told Linda with a bright, warm smile.

And with that, Shadowpact left the room... leaving the Danvers sisters alone.

Linda grabbed Alex’s hand; Alex’s eyes fluttered open. “Hey Linda. How are you feeling?”

Linda’s mouth crept into a smile. “I think I’m feeling alright now, Alex.”

And she was.

DC Next presents:

##GREEN LANTERN

Issue Thirty-Nine: Blackest Night

Written by UpinthatBuckethead

Edited by adamantace, predaplant

First | Finale

Where are they? Ganthet silently asked himself as Parallax confronted the Black Pharaoh high above the desecration of Oa. His eyes flitted to Mogo, bright in the night sky, back to the conflict. Koriand’r and the others should have arrived by now. The dismantling of Izhoges’ shrine, already in progress. And with every passing second Apokolips and New Genesis drifted towards their inevitable confluence.

Why were his Lanterns so delayed?

Guy, shadow fuming from his form like ink staining the space around, sneered at Parallax. “Come to play the hero, one last time?”

Hal Jordan clenched his teeth. “I don’t play,” he growled. Then, he appealed to his friend. “Guy, I know you’re in there. You can hear me. Fight it!”

“Your friend is gone,” the shaded Guy said as he let Parallax go. “Mine, for all time!”

Hal landed in a heap, unmoving. Ganthet, Sodam, and John all held their breaths.

“I know you’re there.”

The words were a hot knife plunged into butter. Ganthet’s knees went weak, his insides gone runny.

“Ganthet, John, Sodam,” the Black Pharaoh addressed each individually. “Have you come to spectate? I am sure it will be quite beautiful. Or have you come to try in vain to stop me?”

Far above, three green trails fired off from Mogo into space. A trinary of shooting stars en route to Oa. Visible only for a moment. Ganthet cleared his throat, eager to keep the Dark One’s attention. “Izhoges. How many millennia has it been since we last met?”

“Small talk won’t buy my forgiveness,” Izhoges replied. Not in a chiding way, but with a note of forlorn sadness. Disappointment. Sodam and John exchanged a look. “No,” it continued through Guy, “It is much too late for that.”

“What would you have, then?” Ganthet, trying to buy back some of the precious time ticking against them. Time enough, hopefully, for their strike team to adequately find and dismantle the altar.

Guy narrowed his eyes upon the trio of Lanterns, two green and one gold. He held out a hand, and all around them they felt the sludge begin to writhe beneath its surface. “I’d have you, of course, and the rest of your kin. But alas, they’re gone. So I’ll have to settle for everything else as consolation!”

Sodam’s ring flashed in anticipation of an attack, the Lanterns barely able to lift from the murk before a thick black tendril struck up from beneath him to lash around his ankle. Sodam was barely able to let out a soft yelp before it yanked him down, slamming him face-first into the dark water before any of them could react. With a blaze of viridescence, Ganthet swung his ring and an ornate battleaxe of hard emerald light cleaved deep into wet Oan soil, severing the tendril and freeing Lantern Yat to quickly scramble out of his lightless prison. The three Lanterns in the air, Ganthet signaled a maneuver to Sodam and John before the environment erupted around them.

A forest of obsidian trees splashed up all around, blocking their lines of sight with broad, black-dripping branches. Oa was momentarily silent but for the sound of those droplets. Then it was suddenly mixed with the crunching of glass, the narrow ends of the branches reaching out towards them as the Lanterns launched into action. Ganthet and Sodam blasted through the thinner stems to escape the encroaching crystal forest, the broad limbs piercing through their thin construct barriers to slice skin.

Yellow blood welled in his wounds, but Ganthet was locked on task. The last Guardian of the Universe sped towards the Black Pharaoh Guy, mirrored by Sodam. They were twin lances of light that swerved together and met almost instantly. It produced a flash of such brightness that it forced Izhoges to recoil, and that was when Lantern Stewart struck.

Deep within the dark artificial forest, John laid in wait. He knelt, one knee down, inside of a thick aureate bubble shield. In his hands was an intricate construct of a bolt-action sniper rifle. The same model he’d used in his days as a US Marine. Its barrel, sized up three times for maximum firepower. Stewart dialed in the settings on his scope and took careful aim through the sharp claws of the trees scratching at the edge of his shield.

There were two arcs of light. A green flash as they collided. John pulled the trigger.

Lanterns Koriand’r, Tomar-Tu, and Ch’p entered Oa’s atmosphere as stealthily as they could, taking caution to move slowly enough to avoid drag, burn-up, and leaving a trail behind. A mile below was an emerald flare, bright as a sunspot, followed by a blast of pure energy as wide as a canyon. The gash left in its wake trailed dust and debris into space, a violent splash of Oa itself. This marked the beginning of a series of lightning-fast light streams of green, gold, even of pure black darkness.

The group descended on Memorial Hall, a band of falcons swooping silently in on their kill. Sounds of combat echoed across the night: crashing and smashing and behind that a deep guttural wailing. The noise sent a shiver down Kory’s spine. She’d partaken in many battles throughout her life, but never had she heard such an uncanny, ululating cry. They slipped inside the temple’s open door, Kory eager to leave the baleful noise behind.

In the heyday of the Green Lantern Corps., Memorial Hall had been one of their most venerated, most holy structures. It had served as the Corps.’ functioning cemetery. There, fallen Lanterns - if prior request for homeworld return wasn’t made - were laid to rest, forever entombed alongside their brothers and sisters in arms. It had always been a solemn place, kept dimly lit by candle-like crystals which lined the walls. There was never a time when the mournful souls of the living, Lantern or otherwise, couldn’t be found littering its halls.

Now, the temple was empty of people. The crystal candles had been shattered. Koriand’r sparked her Power Ring to light her way. Ch’p and Tomar both followed suit. Illuminated by their dull green light, the room looked like a dank swamp. They stood in several inches of dark sludge, which left wakes against their ankles even when they stood still. This sludge trailed up the walls, stopping at a hard line before the remaining tombs above were debased instead by deep runic carvings too ancient for even their rings to recognize.

In the center of the hallowed hall rested an accursed shrine: a plateau of an altar risen out of the muck. The thick substance ran off of its surface, giving the unholy dais the facade of a melting onyx cube. When Kory approached, she could more clearly see the components of its construction. A base of rent metal and chunks of stone that had been pillaged from the spoiled graves shone through the top, a glass pane from the Guardians’ Planetary Citadel that remained intact. A set of objects was arranged on the altar top, the contents of which caused Kory’s heart to drop.

In a semicircle lay one of each of the Lantern Corps’ Power Rings, sorted by order of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, before finally violet. At their center was a lifeless Mother Box, and behind the array leaned a pair of tarnished silver shears. All of these items were set into shelves that had been carved in the flat sheet of glass, in a bizarre amalgamation of fine tool technique and seemingly natural processes. The black residue gurgled up from beneath the Mother Box without end.

Kory looked to her companions. “Do either of you want the honors?”

“Will this kill him?” asked Ch’p.

Tomar-Tu snorted. “We can only hope.”

Kory looked down over the artifacts. She clenched her fist, Power Ring momentarily flashing brighter than its ambient glow. “Let’s get to it,” she said. A construct sledge appeared in her hands, and with a heave, Kory swung.

A loud clang echoed across the Hall. Lantern Koriand’r’s shoulder rang out and her hammer rebounded, forcing Ch’p to swiftly dodge its path. The weapon splashed into the muck behind her. Tomar, covered in the substance, frowned as he shed his containment shield for a fresh one.

“Surely you didn’t believe that would work?”

“We had to try something,” Kory said.

Tomar scoffed, “Something doesn’t always have to be brute force.”

“Being at each other’s throats isn’t going to help, either,” Ch’p chided Tomar. “Mogo didn’t let us into his database for no reason. We need to put our heads together and use what he gave us. Somehow.”

“Somehow,” repeated Tomar with a tone of disbelief.

“Always somehow.” Kory glared at him. “You could help, rather than deride. I’m not hearing any ideas.”

The Xudarian’s face dropped. From the look of his expression, she intuited it not to be about their confrontation.

“Tomar? What’s wrong?”

He gulped. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” Kory was caught off guard. “No, I don’t.”

Then she realized. The baleful moaning had ceased. No roars echoed across the homeworld of the Green Lanterns. The newest Lantern shared a worried glance with the others before their rings lit up in unison.

“Lanterns, you have incoming!”

The voice of Sodam Yat. Through the shattered glass window high on the eastern wall a figure appeared. Gargantuan and misshapen. And it was headed their way.

No words necessary, the three Corpsmen inside of the Hall immediately fell into evasive evacuation of the swiftest variety. Ch’p, quickest of the three, naturally led the group. They plunged towards the far side of the room at mach speeds as Ch’p generated a battering ram around his rodent form. The squirrel impacted the crystal a moment later and smashed through to the outside. Tomar and Kory weren’t far behind, ramming through the shattering wall just before the rest of Memorial Hall came crashing down.

The muck that coated Oa’s surface swashed over the Lantern trio, threatening to invade their mouths and noses if it wasn’t for their containment shields. That sludge rose to cover the remains of the Hall and the thing housed within. The person, Kory reminded herself. People.

Above the ruins of what was one of the last standing structures on Oa floated Ganthet, panting heavily. Beside the Guardian was Saint Walker, inaugural member of the Blue Lantern Corps, who seemed to be holding Ganthet by the shoulder. Giving him strength. Keeping him aloft. Their lights commingled into a brilliant cyan which drowned out the green of the approaching Sodam and the gold of John behind him.

The rubble below shifted. Ganthet flinched.

Out from the mire rose Izhoges, the beast. The monster was over one hundred meters long from head to rattle. It had no legs to speak of, instead rising first onto its fists and then onto its thick muscled tail. Its arms were thick and its trunk apish, both marked with the tattoos of the Warrior: a band across the chest and shoulders, two stripes on the arms beneath that. The rest of the beast’s torso, too bristly to discern. But worst was the thing’s head. Cephalopoid in form, the front of its face writhed with tentacles so numerous that they engulfed its skull to the point of obscenity.

If it has a skull, Kory thought, and instantly admonished herself. Of course it had a skull. That was Guy! Their Guy.

By the rattle on its tail the corrupt altar remained, continuing to pour out its vitriol. The thing’s breath expelled from somewhere beneath its mass of tentacles, putrescence concentrated. Tentacles unraveled to reveal a central beak that gnashed as it screeched.

Ganthet held up a steady hand. His voice boomed out over the ruined city, amplified by the power of his ring. “Brother, stand down.”

Brother? The familiarity shocked Kory, even now. Did he address Guy? Or Izhoges?

The dark beast bellowed in response. It pushed up on its arms, rattled tail rearing back to reveal a hidden stinger beneath.

Koriand’r lifted her ring. From its face fired a great emerald chain which arced low over the beast’s right shoulder. Another with links of gold launched up and over the front. Before the monster could attack, it found itself struggling against a series of seven constructed irons. They were reinforced by the combined powers of hope and will, whose energy surrounded and bound the links as one.

All but a single, solitary chain.

The length stretched back to Tomar-Tu. His expression was focused. Determined.

“Tomar!” Kory called for his attention, but he was shut off. Every morsel of him was focused on this task. He’d left no room for error, no room for sentimentality, conversation, or kindness. No room for hope.

The dark beast of Izhoges strained against its bindings. The mass of links secured by Saint Walker held fast, but Tomar’s hobbled fetters threatened to buckle. With every pull appeared another crack. And every crack made Tomar wince in pain.

“Tomar!”

But it was too late. The beast heaved. Tomar’s bond shattered, dissipating into the air. His eyes went wide in surprise. He hadn’t noticed the ongoing deterioration of his construct. He’d been too focused on the task at hand. The rest of the Lanterns immediately felt their collective burden grow heavier. The exertion of their will, reaching its limit.

Suddenly Kory felt that burden lessen. She took a much-needed breath. Tomar-Tu remained frozen in shock. His construct, nowhere to be seen. But a new chain had appeared. Stretched out from the sludge itself, its composition was notably darker than the rest. The surface of the construct rippled like malachite - a constantly moving sea of green.

The voice of Parallax boomed from on high. “Clear!”

A cleaver construct sliced the clouds to reveal Hal floating above, cape billowing behind him. The knife plunged towards Izhoges - towards Guy. Kory barely managed to cry, “No!” before it was over in a blaze of gold.

“You ready?”

An unfamiliar, ethereal voice. Judging by the confused glances, they’d all heard it. Then, another sound. A softer sound.

The cleaver, embedded into Oa like a great butcher’s block, disappeared. In its place laid a black-haired Guardian, face-down in the muck. Beside him was Guy, coughing weakly into his hand. A being of pure golden light cradled him. They wore a blindfold and six wings stretched from their back, each adorned with a magnificent eye. The being pet Guy’s face and offered a smile before they were gone with a flash.

Kory rushed to her friend’s side. Guy was cold and shivering. His fingers, toes, and lips all a shade of blue. He managed shaky breaths, stable but otherwise unconscious. On the contrary, the fallen Guardian had risen up from the water, brackish fluid dripping from them as they trudged towards the shrine.

The shrine! Now a geyser of murk and mire, a shimmer had appeared at its apex. The shimmer was like a moving of space itself, folding and unfolding and folding again at a dizzying speed. The ground beneath their feet shifted. One moment, the befouled and desecrated Oa. The next, the fiery hell pits of Apokolips. Then, the high-tech natural landscape of New Genesis. And back again.

The pandimensional syzygy was under way.

Parallax was first to act. While attention was on Guy, he made a break for the shimmer. That was when Kory remembered what Mogo had told them. When she realized what it really meant.

Kory kept into action, dropping Guy into the open arms of Saint Walker. She was barely able to wrap her hand in his cape and pull him back before he entered the portal, but she managed. She could feel the strength of Parallax’s will, the power of his hate, even through the thin construct cloth. Hal spun, spiraling the cape around himself and smashing Kory into charred Apokaliptian earth.

According to Mogo, any being of sufficient power could access this portal. Of course their first question was how much power qualified as sufficient. Whether a Green Lantern could qualify. When Mogo declined, they’d thought it good news. Surely, if the universe’s most powerful weapon was too weak to breach the veil, nothing could be that strong. Not really.

But they were wrong. Mogo was warning them. Warning them about the strongest will she had ever seen.

The rest of the Green Lanterns swarmed Parallax after the split-second exchange. Ch’p used his sharp focus and quick reflexes to generate a multitude of tiny acorn constructs, peppering Hal with them to buy Sodam and Tomar-Tu time to prepare their own attacks.

Lantern Yat had brandished a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He swung his offhand to deliver a backhanded blow that would have been devastating on its own, but Tomar was there quick as a flash. From the face of his ring erupted a cone of viridescence, catching Parallax off guard when it connected with his cheek. The force slammed him into Sodam’s shield, sound ringing across the ruins.

To take advantage of Parallax’s dazed state, Kory summoned a set of manacles to bind his wrists and ankles. She glanced towards Guy - towards Saint Walker. The Blue Lantern was pouring every last bit of hope he had into healing their wounded friend. She gulped and looked back. Already the chains were breaking.

And then, they were broken.

Parallax tore the links like paper over his head. He bellowed an inhuman roar, revealing a maw inset with razor-sharp teeth. Hal threw himself at Ch’p, snatching his fangs down before the small mammal could move. But not before Ch’p could think. A bubble of a shield had appeared around the squirrel, barely holding the ferocious jaws at bay. Tomar-Tu closed his eyes. The construct bubble thickened, reinforced. And when Parallax chomped down for a second time, the trap was sprung.

In an instant, the outer layer of Ch’p’s shell exploded outwards in a wave of energy. Parallax was thrown away from the shrine. He spat and snarled, revealing several of his pointed teeth to be chipped.

“You all should be letting me through. With this power, I could rewrite our history. I could make it so none of this ever happened!”

He was looking at Kory. Pleading.

“No.” Not Kory’s voice, but Sodam’s. He strode beside Parallax wearing radiant cyan armor, sword and shield glowing to match. He leveled his blade at the kneeling villain. Saint Walker approached Sodam from behind and put a hand on his shoulder. Sodam took a deep breath. Parallax felt a latching of chains. The sword remained.

“Hal?” Guy said weakly. Heads turned to see the emaciated Lantern in golden regalia, held upright by his partner, John Stewart. “What happened to you, man?”

“I…” Hal choked with remorse before he gritted his teeth, his expression switched to one of fury. “I should be asking what happened to the rest of you! I could become a god! I could undo the tragedies of the past five years!” He locked eyes with Kory. “I could send Mar’i home. Restore Tamarus, return your father to the throne, make you a Titan again. I could save Coast City...”

A beat came and went. Koriand’r took a breath, but he wasn’t through.

“I could save Kyle.”

The tension snapped. A green-gauntleted fist cracked against Parallax’s jaw, whipping his head sideways. Then, the other way. Again, and again, and again.

“How dare you!” cried Tomar-Tu as he pummeled the man he’d called uncle; his father’s best friend and killer.

“Tomar…” Kory called gently, but it took Sodam’s hope-enhanced strength to pry the furious, grieving son off of Parallax. As Sodam escorted Tomar past Kory, he paused, panicked.

“Lantern Koriand’r, he can’t - ”

She gave him a reassuring embrace, telling him, “I know,” before she faced the beaten Parallax. One of his eyes had swollen, and a thin trail of blood ran from his mouth. He’d looked worse, she thought.

“That isn’t how this is going to work,” Kory said with conviction. Hal scoffed, but it did not deter her. “You’re a monster. You’ve taken thousands of lives, and countless more have been lost as a result. You don’t get to just… undo all of that. You don’t get to kill people and bring them back again.”

Her voice lowered to a growl. “And you sure as hell don’t get to talk about Kyle. He was the best of us, and you… you took him away!” She didn’t know if she was speaking as a Lantern, a Titan, or herself. Maybe a bit of all three. She took a breath. “You took him out of anger. Out of hurt. You turned that hurt against your allies, and you don’t get to take back that mistake. I won’t let you.”

Kory marched towards Hal, knelt down to meet his eye. Hers welled with tears, but held strong as they stared into the limitless depths of Parallax’s will. “Your tragedy is what made me a Lantern. I’ve helped more people, saved more lives, than I ever could have as Starfire. You aren’t going to take that away from me, and you aren’t going to take that away from them, no matter how convenient it would be.”

Silent tears flowed down Koriand’r’s face. She’d been waiting years to tell Hal how she felt about that fateful night in Coast City and the massacre which followed. Her heart beat slow and heavy, her senses on high alert. She could see the emerald veins of Hal’s iris. Feel the mists wisping off of the ichor brushing her face. Hear Hal’s irregular breathing.

Now, to wait for his response.

“But you’d let him?” Hal asked, taking her completely by surprise.

Where Hal pointed, Ganthet and the dark-haired Guardian fought. The pair were barely visible at the bottom of the altar, wrestling one another into the thick muck. Izhoges reached up towards the shimmer, only for Ganthet to pull him back down again and regain the upper hand. Ganthet lifted his brother overhead and slammed him onto burning Apokoliptian rock. Kory looked into the sky. Nothing moved, not even Mogo. Only the surface, which continued to shift in syzygy.

That was when it clicked.

“Ganthet!” she cried. “It has to be you!”

Ganthet stared across the battlefield, the desecrated temple of the dead, a look of understanding dawning on his face. He forced Izhoges down, reached for the shimmer, and was gone.

Ganthet looked up to see a pair of gleaming blue eyes gazing down upon the stark black text of his form. He was nothing but a word, now; an assortment of letters. Ganthet. He looked to a pair of hands over a valley of keys, one for every letter and more, awash with all the colors of the rainbow. Their fingers plucked diligently away. Ganthet would have gasped, if he wasn’t a collection of swirls sans serifs on a page.

“Where am I?” Ganthet asked, but here merely thinking seemed akin to speaking. Ganthet could perceive his statements, his thoughts, feelings, and actions all as words on that great page created by the even greater hands at work.

But Ganthet would realize that he was with the bard of their ballad: two of the many Hands of Creation. Was this the vision that had driven Krona mad so long ago? He couldn’t be sure. He certainly didn’t feel mad.

The Hands continued, endlessly writing the words that would become reality.

Why am I here? he thought-spoke, and the answer made itself clear. The Hands wrote a final sentence, and stopped.

I sat down at the keys, hands already in action. I could see the eternal pages of the past, the virgin canvas of the future. I knew why it had to be me.

I knew what I had to do.

The surface of Oa rumbled beneath the Lanterns’ feet as the altar ceased its geyser, the muck and more draining into the fractures in the planet’s surface and taking Izhoges with them. They watched in wonder as an ethereal image formed before their very eyes: that of an Oa before its razing. Oa in its splendor. It shone like a construct at first, slowly solidifying, becoming more and more real… until it was. Finally Memorial Hall reformed around them. And in the center of the tomb, across from a statue of Lantern Kyle Rayner, his first victim, Parallax sat. Raging against the powers that be.

Cursing me.

Koriand’r looked out the window towards the Hall of Oa. Mogo sat in orbit behind a sunny sky. She spied a streak of green. Then another. And another. Thousands of rings, each on its way to find their champions of willpower. The next generation of heroes. She beamed, unable to contain her joy.

The Green Lantern Corps had returned!

The End.

Dear readers,

It is with bittersweet feelings that I bid you farewell as a writer on this subreddit. My life has changed a lot in the five years since the beginning of this next step in the DC Universe. Most notably, I was married almost two years ago and now have a toddler of my own running around the writer's room! I am immensely proud to be a member of the writing team at DCNext, have had a blast writing Green Lantern for you, and I hope that you enjoyed my tale.

I can't wait to see what Kory has in store next!

Thank you all for allowing me to be a part of your lives.

• Upinthatbuckethead, signing off.

DC Next presents:

SHADOWPACT

In Gone to Ruin

Issue Eighteen: Challenge for Cause - Crossover with Superman

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by Predaplant & PatrollinTheMojave

Next Issue > Coming December 2024

Minutes had passed since Jim and Ruin had been teleported away by White Stag in a flash of white thanks to the ever-mysterious powers of Nightmaster’s sword. And yet, it felt like hours. The Oblivion Bar was quiet, even amongst the omnipresent residents of the rags, and the three remaining members of the Shadowpact sat staring into space. There was a quiet understanding between them, through both assumptions and fact, that time worked very differently on Myrrha, and therefore traveling between there and the bar was a time scale they could not anticipate. As such, they waited; Rory tended to their few and far between patrons from behind the bar, Sherry gave the empty seats a light cleaning, and Traci drank.

It was whilst they were waiting, however, that Traci’s phone buzzed.

Between sips from an alarmingly blue liquid in a highball glass, Traci glanced down at the phone and gently tapped the screen to read the message. A familiar number and even more familiar name shone back at her from the LED display, detailing a panicked, semi-garbled message. Linda.

Traci froze. Text conversations - or any conversations, for that matter - had been somewhat sparse between her and Linda since the two had worked to save the multiverse together, not in the least due to the business of both parties. As such, Traci had developed a ‘no news is good news’ approach to her contacts; people only seemed to message her when something bad was happening, including her fellow Shadowpact members, and so a day where her phone remained undisturbed was a good day.

Today was not a good day.

“We need to go,” Traci announced, rising to her feet. She slammed her glass onto the bar with a hefty thud and a small drop of liquid splashed onto the hardwood, staining it instantly. “Now.”

“Go where?” Rory asked.

Traci didn’t answer, instead muttering an incantation to herself and whirling her right hand in a circular motion. After a moment a sputtering purple ring appeared, glowing and pulsing with hastily-formed magic.

“Are Jim and Ruin okay?” Sherry vaulted over the bar. “Has something happened?”

“It’s not them,” Traci finally answered. The violet portal in front of her opened out onto a long beige corridor with doors lining each wall. “We’re going to see an old friend.”

Rory fiddled with the rags against his body, the fabric coarse. “But what if they come back from Myrrha? What if they’re in trouble and we’re not there to help?”

Traci frowned. “They’re grown-ups. I’m sure they can look after themselves.” She cracked her knuckles. “Besides, it might be us who end up asking them for help.”

✨️🔮✨️

In her fervor, Linda had neglected to provide a room number which, if the situation were not as dire as it appeared, would otherwise have not been an issue. The trio sped down the hallway in search of anything out of the ordinary - they listened for any crashing or banging, looked out for any broken down doors, even felt along the off-white walls for any texture, heat, marking that could point them in the right direction. But everything seemed surprisingly normal. Annoyingly normal.

As they continued to stride down the hall, turning a corner towards the elevator, Traci stopped and slapped the button labeled ‘up’.

“This is hopeless,” she huffed. “There could be hundreds of rooms.”

“Well, getting worked up isn’t going to help anything, is it?” Rory mumbled, before frowning at himself. He was taken aback by his own words, as his annoyance had gotten the better of him for a moment. He cleared his throat and looked up at Traci, who was looking back at him with a furrowed brow. “Sorry. Not sure where that came from.”

“No,” Traci started slowly. “Neither am I.”

As the elevator dinged and opened its metal jaws to reveal a dimly-lit room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, she stepped inside. Her eyes wandered from Rory, lost in thought, as she pressed the button for the highest floor. He was one to lose his temper, sure, but amongst the team he was often the last to do so. Beyond that, Traci herself was beginning to feel a sense of unease - a dread that seemed to grow stronger as they gained altitude. It was a peculiar feeling, but not one that was alien to her. A noise grew from outside the metal walls of the elevator; at first a quiet murmur, then gentle thudding, then muffled shouting.

The elevator dinged once more, and as the doors parted the sound erupted. Shouting and crashing, though somewhat sporadic, echoed through the halls - distant at first but growing ever closer as the Shadowpact neared the wooden door at the end of the corridor. It came from all around, all angles, from every door. The difference compared to the lower floors was staggering, but it all pointed towards the same answer - they were close.

As they reached the end of the hall, the noise reached a crescendo before, as Sherry passed a door to her left, there was a sudden lull. She stopped, which caused Rory and Traci to stop as well.

“What is it?” Rory mumbled, his voice hushed by the background noise.

The room next to her was eerily silent, beyond the natural silence of a vacant room. They had found it - the eye of the hurricane.

Sherry gestured towards the door with her head. Traci rolled back her shoulders and traded places with Sherry. There was no telling what was behind the door, but whatever it was, it was making her mad.

She placed her hand against the cool metal handle and closed her eyes. With a soft hum, the matte black door card reader began to flash its LED lights rapidly - red, then amber, before settling on green with an affirmative click. She winced at the sound; given the noise of the surrounding area, perhaps it had been drowned out, she hoped. Her hand remained glued to the handle as she pressed her weight gently into it and eased the door open, being careful not to—

A sharp stinging pain rippled through her face, striking her with such force and ferocity that she had to check her mouth for all 32 teeth. The culprit slammed the door open against the bedroom wall, sounding out an almighty crunch as the hard metal handle met drywall. In front of Traci, Rory and Sherry stood a woman, her hair tied back and her fists clenched. Before any of them could get a better look at her, she screamed and launched herself at Traci with utter rage.

No, it wasn’t rage. It was despair.

“Get away from her!” she cried. Her hands were gripped tight around Traci’s jacket. “You… you can’t come near her! I won’t let you.”

Traci focused her attention past the frantic stranger clinging to her and into the room. Where is she? Surely this is the right room. Please be the right room. As she squinted against the low light, she could barely make out a figure laying still on the bed. She felt extra weight on her arms as Rory yanked at her attacker in an attempt to wrench her away. The figure was eerily still, and their head was turned to face her.

“Linda?” Traci called out into the darkness. But as she opened her mouth to say more, her head ricocheted off of the door frame.

“No!” The woman in front of her shrieked. Traci felt a hand on her head on one side as the other struck the wall again. She clawed at the attacker’s hands but to no avail. “She doesn’t need you.” Her head hurtled towards the frame again but was cushioned by Sherry’s palms. “She doesn’t need any of you.”

With a swift kick from Rory, the woman went tumbling backwards into the room and crashing into the closet, the wood groaning in response. Sherry straightened Traci up from her slouched position. “Are you alright?”

“I’m—” There was no time to respond. Rory grunted as an elbow made contact with his nose, and though he tried to grab at the perpetrator with his gloved hands, she was simply too swift, instead managing to duck under his arms. Her hands moved to her hip and, in one smooth motion, she unclipped her sidearm from its holster and gripped the gun in her hands.

“Don’t move,” she warned. Her voice was suddenly firm and confident. From across the hotel, the sound of glass breaking echoed. “I don’t wanna have to do this.”

“Then don’t.” Sherry raised her arms above her head slowly. She watched the young woman’s movements carefully: there was a tension in her brow, a single bend, that betrayed her anxiety. “We don’t want to hurt Linda, we just—”

“Why did you come here?!” Alex Danvers barked. “Why did she invite you?!”

“All she said was that she needed help,” Traci said. “We’re friends.”

“She… she doesn’t need help.”

Traci looked over to Linda, her silhouetted body still motionless. “Look, there’s something wrong with her. There’s… this energy. If I can get a closer look then I can—”

“No,” the armed woman spat.

“— I can help her.”

“Now!” Sherry called out to Rory. He pulled himself around Alex, engulfing her in the numerous shades of cloth comprising his suit and covering her face. Just then, Traci threw her hands out in front of her and wrenched the gun from the woman’s grasp with a flash of purple energy mere moments before she squeezed her finger around the trigger. The gun clattered to the ground and, as Traci clenched her fists, the metal sizzled and popped as it contorted into a flat round disk, rendering it unusable.

Alex began to tear at the rags by scratching at Rory’s torso, wrestling with the semi-sentient piece of cloth. As she managed to break free, she was met with Sherry, who gripped the woman’s wrists and yanked them above her head. Alex yelled out in frustration and anguish. “No! You can’t!”

“Traci, go!” Rory strained as he wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist, trying to hold her back from launching at Traci once again. As the duo managed to wrestle the desperate Alex across the threshold of the room and into the corridor, Traci swiped her hand in front of her face and, in a blink, she had teleported herself to Linda’s bedside.

Traci didn’t have much time.

“I’m here,” she soothed. Through the adrenaline, she could feel a simmering anger inside of her, unnatural and strange. Linda was unresponsive - catatonic, her breaths shallow. This is bad.

Alex cried out as she thrashed against Rory and Sherry’s grasps. She struck hard down on Rory’s side, winding him but not releasing his grasp. He was held steadfast, that much was certain.

Traci cracked her knuckles and placed a hand on Linda’s forehead. Traci could feel the disturbance in her mind, the paralysing war within her. Traci had seen a number of different magicks in her time, from corrupt angels to self-taught necromancers, but the swirling layers of confusion that Linda had inside of her was like nothing she had ever seen in person. But, she had a feeling she knew what to do. Her hands crackled with energy as she reached out through her mind, fighting through waves of nausea and rage. Then, as she felt something give, she yanked her hand back.

Linda’s eyes flickered for a moment, a much deeper breath entering her. “Traci?” she croaked out.

Alex, hearing her sister’s voice again, slowed. Her throat was hoarse and she fought for breath.

“Linda, listen to me carefully,” Traci spoke quickly. “There’s a lot going on inside of you right now, and we don’t have a lot of time. There’s this… being inside of you, and it’s changing you. It’s angry, and it’s making you angry.”

Linda blinked. A wave of guilt washed over her. “I… I don’t…”

“Have you been acting strangely? Irrationally?” Traci looked down at Linda with a stern expression, focused.

Linda’s gaze fell on her sister, who had now ceased her thrashing against Rory and Sherry. She fought back tears, taking a gasping breath. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing, I… I just wanted to…” But she couldn’t find the words to express how she was feeling, the weight of the guilt on her shoulders - how could she?

“Sherry,” Traci called over her shoulder. “What do you know about exorcisms?”

Linda’s eyes widened. Sherry, with a level of caution, released her grip from Alex and slowly approached them. “Well, it’s gonna take an awful lot of mental strain. Not to mention a psychic tether.”

“A tether,” Traci repeated, her memory jogged. “Someone for Linda to latch onto while this is going on. Someone of great emotional importance.”

As Traci looked down at Linda, she thought back to the last time they had seen each other in person - how high their spirits had been, at least in comparison to now, after saving the multiverse from destruction. How she had spoken about her famous red and blue costume, and the drawings she used to make as a kid. How she—

Traci stopped. Of course.

“Superman.”

✨️🔮✨️

Next: Familiar faces and unfamiliar places in Shadowpact #19 - Coming 4th December

Also: Be sure to check out Part 2 of our two-part crossover with Superman in Superman #30

DC Next proudly presents:

##KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In ARGO Solutions

Issue Twenty-One: New Faces

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by Predaplant

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

“I don’t see why we need someone like her,” Thea said to herself, out loud. “I’m perfectly capable of doing exactly what you’re hiring her for.” She was sitting at her desk, placed a few feet outside the door to Kara’s office. Even with the door open, she knew she was out of earshot of both women inside, yet she knew Kara could hear her. “Hell, I’d been doing that before I joined.”

Despite her complaints, she kept typing on the computer in front of her, muttering under her breath as she navigated spreadsheets and digital paperwork — the most boring parts of the job that were about to become her sole responsibility. She knew Kara could keep a solid poker face whenever Thea prodded her in moments like these, though she was still tempted to make it a game, to see if she could make Kara crack. She doubted the current new hire would appreciate the unprofessionalism, however.

“At the very least, you could’ve let me look into her,” Thea said. “An impressive resume is one thing, but an impressive government resume is another. I guarantee you that we can’t call for a single reference. I could find out who she is.”

“I know who she is,” Kara’s voice arose from behind Thea, startling her, and the temptation to turn around to see if Kara had somehow appeared out-of-view remained intense. “Find out what you want, but right now we need someone more than intermediate in cyber-security.”

“You’re getting too good at that,” Thea remarked, settling back into her seat and chewing on her tongue. Kara’s mastery of what she called throwing her voice allowed her to project it soundlessly across seemingly any distance, and yet perfectly clear exactly where she needed it. It was likely that the woman she was meeting with had no idea what Kara had even done. As long as her office door was open — which it usually was — Kara could project her voice anywhere into the lab.

“I’ve been practising,” Kara replied. Thea rolled her eyes and continued typing.

“I’m going to find what I can,” she said. “Vague government jobs don't exactly give me confidence.”

“Just don’t break any laws.”

“No promises,” Thea said, noticing a knock at the front door of the lab. “But I can make sure I don’t get caught.” Projecting a sigh wasn’t possible for Kara, yet Thea could still feel the palpable frustration from the other room as she stood and approached the knock at the door.

Twisting the handle and pulling it toward her, Thea was met with two people: Shay Veritas shoving her way into the office, a wide bag slung over her shoulder of what Thea assumed was more lab equipment, and a younger, similarly dark-skinned college-aged girl. The younger woman lit up as she laid eyes on Thea, as if she were excited to simply be acknowledged.

“Belinda,” Thea said, to exuberant nods from the girl. “Come on in, we’ll get things started.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Merlyn,” Belinda said, her voice an octave too high in excitement for Thea’s taste. “I’m so excited to be here, after Miss Zor-El’s talk at the university, I just knew I had to–” Thea could feel the judging gaze of Shay Veritas sitting on both of them.

“I totally get it,” said Thea, trying not to sound annoyed. “Why don’t you just take a seat by my desk, and we can get started with some onboarding — just a little bit of paperwork.” Belinda’s eyes widened.

“You mean — what about an interview?” Thea offered a smile.

“Kara really liked your resume and the research papers of yours that she’d read,” Thea said. “So she’s decided to go on faith here. We’re looking for people, and you ticked off all the boxes she was looking for.” From the corner of her eye, Thea noticed the door to Kara’s office widen.

“I— I don’t— I thought there were going to be questions, and—” Belinda was stumbling over her words, clearly unprepared for the sudden and immediate acceptance. Who would be, Thea thought. Kara shook the other woman’s hand — she was also blonde, though she was stockier and stood a head taller than Kara, in a dark suit with sunglasses pushed up to rest on the top of her head.

“You’re going to do great, Belinda,” said Kara, turning to the younger girl as the tall woman took a few steps back and waited. “Of course, there are going to be some fun questions to answer, but those will just be to see how we can best fit you into this little operation.” Belinda’s mouth hung agape as she turned toward Kara, who stood with a kind smile and her hands clasped together. “Come on into my office for a quick chat, and bring the papers.” Belinda nodded quickly and rushed to her feet, almost stumbling over the strap of her bag having loosely fallen down her back to waist-level.

As Belinda and Kara disappeared into the room next to Thea’s desk — door slightly ajar — Cameron Chase sat down on the chair across from Thea. Thea passed a small clipboard over with various paperwork for Chase to fill out and said, “N.D.A., onboarding, contract stuff.”

“N.D.A.?” Chase asked, eyebrow raised.

“Kara likes to protect her interests, as do I,” Thea replied. “She has rivals who have made attempts on her life and property before. Belinda will sign one too. Any information that could get out would compromise our mission.”

“Compromise?”

“Not criminal,” Thea said, no shortage of venom in her voice. “I’m sure you’re very familiar with classified information. We’re a private company, with private interests, and very concerned contemporaries who would use our work for dangerous means. Kara’s status as a Kryptonian has already incited violence against her.”

“Understood,” said Chase. “And what about when contractors need repairs for the projects we complete?”

“In that unlikely event, we are the only qualified people in the world to repair our technology,” said Thea.

“If this stuff is so dangerous and its existence poses such a threat that everything about it is kept secret,” Chase began. “Why bring it at all?” Thea stopped typing, and took a moment. She looked over at Cameron, who had stopped signing the paperwork on the clipboard she held.

“It’s not the tech that poses a threat any more than a stationary wooden arrow does,” Thea said, her voice clear and firm. “When someone nocks and draws that arrow and lets it fly, that’s when it poses a threat.” Chase simply gave Thea an odd look. “If you want something simpler: we’re making knives. We make tools for everyday use that don’t pose a threat, if you’re careful. But if someone wants to, they can come along and turn that knife into a weapon. We want to prevent that outright, instead of dulling our knives — or not making any at all. The knife can’t cut anyone if we’re the guiding hand.”

“You certainly have an interesting way of looking at things, Merlyn,” said Chase. “Have you bought into Kara’s idea that humans are the children of the galaxy, that we should be kept away from all sharp objects?”

“I can guarantee that is not how Kara sees humanity,” Thea said. “If she did, she wouldn’t need so many of us.” Thea looked at the pages that Cameron Chase had signed, noticing the non-disclosure agreement among those already finished. “Simon Tycho is the man she sees as a threat. I’m sure that’s a familiar name.”

Chase only gave a grunt in acknowledgement and went back to filling out her paperwork, indicating that the conversation was clearly over. Thea grinned lightly to herself, before looking up and over at Shay Veritas, who was still giving her an unsavoury look as she tinkered with a piece of equipment Thea would never be able to identify. Thea stood and strolled over to the doctor, intending to seem casual.

“What’s the issue, Shay?”

“Don’t call me Shay,” said the doctor.

“Alright, Doctor Veritas,” Thea said, receiving an eye roll in response. “What’s going on?” Veritas gave a deep sigh as she stopped tinkering. The look she gave Thea was almost damning, some level of anger boiling to the surface that Thea had never seen in the doctor before.

“We are hiring children, thugs, and the scions of murderers,” said Veritas. Thea cocked her head. “I was under the impression that this was going to be a respectable business, not a circus.” Thea winced.

“I can promise you, Doctor Veritas…” Thea received a dry stare from the Doctor. “What you signed up for is exactly what ARGO is going to continue to be. I’m going to trust that Kara’s embrace of opposing opinions is forgiving enough to let me be curt, here; pull back on the ego and let Kara’s plans come to fruition before freaking out again.” Veritas scowled, but relented.

“As you command, Queen Merlyn.” Thea held back a scoff as she returned to her desk.

“How’s it looking over here, Miss Chase?” asked Thea, sitting down on her side of the desk.

“All finished and ready to start,” she replied, placing the clipboard in front of Thea.

Thea picked it up and began scanning through each contract, keeping an eye out for each signature line. It was certainly finished much faster than she had expected. She raised an eyebrow as she flipped through, nodding to herself as she noted every signature where a signature should have been.

“Perfect,” said Thea, dropping the clipboard down onto her desk. “We’ll just get all of this on file and everything will be ready. First day will be, let’s say, Monday at 9 AM?”

Chase nodded and stood, offering a hand over the desk to shake. Thea took it, and the firmness of Chase’s grasp came as a minor shock to her, though she was guilty of offering the same stiffness. A moment of silence passed between the two as they each gave the other a stern look. It was only interrupted by two events simultaneously happening within the lab.

First, a flashing light with an accompanying alarm arose from Shay Veritas’ watch, and within the moment it had activated, the doctor was already storming out. Second, Belinda and Kara exited the office to Thea’s left, Belinda somehow beaming even brighter than before.

“Shay!” Thea shouted, and all three of the other women turned to the door, where the Doctor had already disappeared.

“Where’s she going?” asked Kara, looking at Thea, who could only shrug.

“Some alarm of hers went off and now she’s gone,” Thea replied after a moment. “God knows where to.”

“Anyway,” Kara said, a little loud, to regain the attention of those around her. “Cameron, Belinda, thank you so much for coming in today, I’m very excited to get working with you both. I’m sure Thea has already mentioned your first shifts—” Thea picked up a small paper from her desk and passed it to Belinda. “—should be this coming Monday.”

With a few more moments of farewells and thank-yous, Cameron and Belinda left for the day. Kara sat down in the seat across from Thea, throwing herself down in what seemed to be exhaustion, and let out a deep exhale.

“Does talking to people all day ever get easier?” she asked, and Thea smirked. “Don’t answer that, I feel like I won’t enjoy it.”

“You won’t,” said Thea. “But I do have some news.” Kara wiped her hand down her face, forehead to chin, and looked over to Thea with tired eyes. “We’ve got some interested contractors. Chief among those is the Oregon Health Authority. I sent a few of your climate proposals to an interested party, and they may have been able to get us an audience with the board. They’re interested.” Kara sat up.

“Thea, that’s—”

“A really good chance to prove ourselves,” Thea said. “But it won’t be everything. We won’t be changing the world with this, probably not even the state on a significant level with whatever permits they give us to work, but it’ll afford us some legitimacy to reach out to larger organisations.”

“So what are they looking for? What proposals did you send over?”

“The last O.H.A. annual climate report mentioned a few things that need attention,” Thea said, pulling out a stack of papers from a drawer next to her. “Wildfires and drought are what caught my attention. Not much we can do to stop that at the moment, but we can provide responses and alternatives. Water purification and desalination, response systems and water storage for forest firefighters, alternative energy, air purification, you name it.”

“We had all of that on Krypton for centuries,” said Kara, under her breath. “I know how we’d do it.”

“I doubt we’d get much funding to do all of it,” said Thea. “Even my own money won’t get us far if we have to rely on it. But we’re going to get a good start.”

“This is perfect, Thea,” said Kara. “Set up a meeting as soon as you can.”

“Already on it.”

Welcome back to another month here at DC Next. We hope you enjoy this month's instalments, including an exciting Shadowpact/Superman crossover!

November 6th:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #21
• Shadowpact #18 - Crossover with Superman!

November 20th:

• I Am Batman #19
• The Linear Men #22
• The New Titans #15
• Nightwing #20
• Superman #30 - Crossover with Shadowpact!
• Wonder Women #56

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##NIGHTWING

In Blood in the Water

Issue Nineteen: Winners in War

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by ClaraEclair

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue >

The streets of Gotham on Earth-Upsilon were a far cry from the shadows Dick was used to on his own Earth. As he and Damian moved across the city rooftops at night, neon lights flickered across the streets below, bathing the buildings in a soft, artificial glow. It felt safer - markedly so compared to the Gotham they called home. But Dick's instincts were sharp, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them.

Damian sneered as he looked down at a brightly lit street filled with shops still open well past dark. “What is this? Gotham or Metropolis?”

Dick didn't answer, his mind elsewhere, trying to process the strangeness of it all. But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a voice cut through the still night air, calm and self-assured.

“Funny seeing you two here. Grayson. Damian. What’s with the new get-ups?”

Both men turned sharply, instinctively defensive. A figure stood perched on a higher ledge, cloaked in a sleek purple costume accented with black and silver. A long cape billowed slightly in the gentle breeze, and her face was reduced to an inky void thanks to the black mask she wore underneath her purple hood.

Despite this, Dick recognised her voice instantly. It was Stephanie Brown.

Damian was the first to respond, rattling off a smooth lie. “We're on a covert mission. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Steph hopped down gracefully, landing with the ease of a seasoned vigilante. She eyed them both suspiciously. “Covert, huh? Are you sure you two aren’t from another universe or something?”

Dick’s eyes narrowed, instantly on alert. “How do you know about that?”

She smirked under her mask. “The multiverse has been on our radar since a couple of years ago. People started disappearing one night - random people across the world. The Justice League looked into it, and Red Robin figured out it wasn’t just random. He found chronal aberrations and Flash confirmed it: multiversal interference.”

Clearly it was the Reawakening she was referring to, but she didn’t seem to know yet where all of those missing people had gone. This Earth, Earth-Upsilon, didn’t seem to know their missing people were all trapped on Earth-Delta. Or perhaps it was just that Stephanie wasn’t privy to that information.

But it was something else that caught Damian’s attention. “Red Robin? What is that?!” he exclaimed. “Whose ridiculous name is that?”

"You’re telling me Tim’s not called that where you’re from?” Steph tilted her head, confused.

“No, he’s not.” Damian said with suppressed mirth.

Dick pressed on. “These disappearances… what put the Justice League on their trail in the first place?”

Stephanie’s expression darkened. “Jason Todd. He disappeared from a maximum-security prison. One second he was there, the next… gone. No signs of a breakout, no leads.”

Dick’s stomach twisted. So Shrike had been a problem long before he crossed universes.

Damian leaned in, intrigued. “Was he locked up for killing the Black Glove?”

Steph blinked, surprised. “Yeah. Yeah… he was. Every last one of them.”

Dick’s heart sank. The weight of what that meant was overwhelming. Jason had slaughtered the Black Glove here completely. And then, once on Earth-Delta, he had found the Black Glove still alive and decided to do it all over again. How many lives had Jason taken? How much blood had been spilled across Earths?

“That must have caused chaos,” Dick murmured, expecting to hear about mass destruction, riots, and violence.

Steph’s expression softened. “It did. But not in the way you’re thinking. The League of Assassins, Society of Shadows, Kobra, Intergang - they all tried to fill the power vacuum left by the Black Glove. They started tearing each other apart.”

Damian looked genuinely impressed. “So what? They all just killed each other?”

“Basically,” she said. “Only the bad guys got hurt in the end.”

Dick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. So much loss of life, except somehow none of this warmongering led to any civilian casualties? Then a dark thought came upon him.

“And Damian?” Dick asked fearfully. “Cass? They were raised as part of the Assassins and the Shadows. What happened to them?”

Steph shrugged. “They both broke out during the war actually. They teamed up with Batman - our Batman - to help keep civilians safe. Damian’s Robin now, and Cass is Batwoman.”

Dick blinked, thrown. “Batwoman? So, Kate’s—”

“Retired,” Steph replied with a chuckle. “Married, with a kid. She’s living a quiet life. Why? What’s she up to on your own Earth?"

Dick frowned, a pang of guilt washing over him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked in with Kate. “I’m… not sure.”

Suddenly, an explosion echoed from downtown. The distant sound of chaos reached their ears, followed by a faint, rhythmic chant that none assembled could quite make out.

Damian straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What was that?”

Steph adjusted her mask. “Bane Gang,” she muttered, already pulling out her grapnel gun. “We better move fast.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

The three heroes raced across the rooftops together, with Steph leading the way. As they moved, Damian called forward. “What’s Bane even doing here?”

“He’s not,” Stephanie replied over her shoulder. “Bane’s locked up in the Black Block. These guys are just wannabes. Losers who pump themselves full of Venom to feel strong and follow his toxic worldview.”

As they closed in on the source of the chaos, it became clear how bad the situation had already gotten. The streets were in flames - fires licking the sides of buildings, shattered glass littering the ground, and civilians running for cover as gang members, huge and brutish, stomped through the streets in imitation of their idol.

“There they are,” Damian growled, as they dropped down into the heart of the fray. “Let’s finish this quickly.”

Nightwing nodded, his escrima sticks already in hand. But Damian’s aggressive tone rubbed him the wrong way. The younger Wayne still hadn’t learned how to take direction, or how to work as part of a team.

“Don’t just rush in,” Dick cautioned, but Damian had already moved forward, engaging the first thug with brutal efficiency. Typical.

“Subtlety is a lost art, isn’t it?” Steph quipped as she darted past Dick, diving into the action with nimble movements.

The fight erupted, a blur of fists, feet, and flashing weapons. Nightwing moved gracefully, effortlessly weaving between attacks, using his agility to outmanoeuvre the brutish thugs without causing unnecessary harm. His escrima sticks crackled with electricity as he stunned one gang member after another, disarming them with elegance.

Damian, meanwhile, fought with sheer force, his cape swirling like a storm, fists pounding into the gang members with unrelenting ferocity. His scowl deepened as he noticed Dick’s approach. “You’re going too soft on them,” he called out mid-fight, deflecting a punch and landing a vicious kick to another thug’s midsection.

Steph cartwheeled past them both, narrowly avoiding a thrown Molotov cocktail. “Less bickering, more action!”

But before anyone could respond, a gang member nearby grabbed a vial of green liquid from his belt and jabbed it into his arm. The effect was immediate. His veins bulged, his muscles expanded grotesquely, and a guttural roar escaped his lips as his body began to transform, growing larger, more monstrous.

The beast charged, slamming its fists into the ground, sending a shockwave that threw Damian and Steph off their feet. Dick gritted his teeth and dodged out of the way just in time, landing near the monstrous figure, but even his precision strikes weren’t enough to bring it down.

“We’re gonna need backup,” Steph muttered as she scrambled to her feet.

And then, without warning, the entire street was plunged into darkness. Not the natural darkness of night, but an otherworldly, suffocating black fog that swallowed the light and drowned the flames.

“What the hell?” Damian cursed, squinting into his pitch-black surroundings.

From out of the fog, two shadowy figures descended, moving with lethal precision. A flurry of blows rained down on the monstrous gang member, too fast to follow. Dick barely caught a glimpse of the attackers - a flash of navy and grey, a flowing cape, and the distinct clang of metal against flesh. The creature let out a howl of pain as it was brought to its knees by the sheer force of their assault.

As the smoke cleared, the hulking Venom-enhanced thug lay unconscious on the ground, and standing over him, victorious, were two familiar figures: Batman and Robin.

Nightwing stared in stunned silence before realising the obvious. This Batman - it was him. It was Dick Grayson. His counterpart on Earth-Upsilon. And the Robin standing beside him was none other than Damian.

The Earth-Upsilon Batman dusted his hands off, a cocky grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks for softening him up.”

Robin rolled his eyes, clearly used to the banter. “Let’s just get this cleaned up before you start talking about theatrics again.”

As the five heroes stood in the aftermath of the fight with the Bane Gang, the quiet of the neon-lit Gotham night settled back around them, Dick was still processing, staring at his alternate self. It was like looking in a mirror, but the reflection felt... sharper. Sleeker. More controlled. Then something clicked into place. He recognised that fog. That otherworldly smoke.

“You son of a bitch,” spat Nightwing, stepping toward his alternate self. “You’re still using it? After everything!? Allying yourself with the Black Glove? You’ve betrayed everything Bruce stood for, everything we stood for!”

The Dark Knight didn’t flinch at the venom Dick spoke with. Instead, he simply raised a hand in a calming gesture, his tone measured and even. “I understand why you’re angry, and I get that it must look bad. But you’re wrong. I did use the Suit of Sorrows, sure... like I’m guessing you did for a while, if you recognise its tricks.” He let that hang in the air, the challenge unspoken but clear.

Dick clenched his fists. He had used the Suit of Sorrows before, when he’d felt backed into a corner. With it, he was promised power, the strength to protect others and finally fulfil all of his responsibilities to everyone. And it had nearly consumed him. “But you’re still using it now,” Dick insisted. “I can see it in how you fight, the way you move. You’re compromised.”

The other Dick shook his head. “Not anymore. We had some… close allies help us recreate the effects. It’s not magic or dark power, just tech now. Safer. More reliable.”

Nightwing’s mind churned. Helena. Barbara. Luke. They must have been the ones to help him replicate the suit. Was that really possible? Would it even be worth it?

The other Damian, this Earth’s Robin, grinned, as though the tension between the two Dicks didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Focusing on Gotham alone gives us time to fine-tune everything,” he said, as if offering an explanation. “Drake’s with the League. Helena’s with the Titans. But we keep Gotham safe.”

Aethon, the Damian from Earth-Delta, rolled his eyes, his smirk cutting. “You mean you’ve settled for dominion over just one city?”

Robin laughed, shaking his head, clearly amused. “Gotham’s the ultimate challenge, and taming it is the ultimate accomplishment. Everywhere else is child’s play. There’s a reason Grandfather wanted it off the map. He knew he couldn’t beat it.”

Damian was silent for a moment, weighing his other self’s words. And then, grudgingly, he nodded, respect glinting in his eyes.

Despite the seeming harmony between the two Damians, DIck couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that all of this was too good to be true. Jason - the Jason of this universe - had massacred the Black Gloves of two worlds. And yet, somehow, this world seemed better for it? The justice systems, the crime levels… everything seemed to have shifted in a way that left him deeply unsettled.

Then the other Dick spoke again, cutting through his thoughts. “So what are you doing here?” he asked, eyes sharp beneath the cowl. “Are you looking for answers about the disappearances too? I heard it wasn’t just our Earth that was affected.”

Dick’s chest tightened. He couldn’t let them know the truth, couldn’t reveal that the missing people of Earth-Upsilon had ended up on Earth-Delta. It would bring too many eyes, too many dangers to his world. He’d spent so long looking for Jason himself, desperate for answers. He couldn’t imagine what this version of him would do if he found out his Jason - Shrike - was loose on Earth-Delta.

“Something like that,” Nightwing replied evasively, refusing to meet Batman’s eyes.

The conversation shifted, but the tension remained. Dick turned to Steph, who had been standing quietly at the edge of the conversation, watching them with cautious interest. “I heard about what Jason did here,” he said, his voice dropping. “From her. She said he killed every last member of the Black Glove.”

The Caped Crusader’s expression darkened, and Dick saw the first crack in the armour - the first hint of vulnerability in the man who had taken up the cowl in this world. “Yes,” the other Dick muttered, his jaw clenched. “He did.”

“We’ve been having trouble with the Black Glove on our Earth,” Dick continued, quiet but insistent. “We failed to stop them. They’re being massacred now, and we’ve—”

“And you’re wondering if you should let it happen?” the other Dick cut in sharply.

Dick froze, shocked by the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“I’d get it,” he said softly, though there was an edge to his words. “I’m sure you’ve seen and heard what things are like here. Everything changed after Jason did what he did. When I took up the cowl after him, I inherited a world that was... safer because of him.”

Dick blinked, processing the words. “Wait... ‘after him’? You mean he was Batman before you?”

The other Dick nodded, his gaze distant as if recalling a memory that pained him. “Yeah. For almost two years. While I was leading the Titans, Jason was the one fighting in Gotham. I didn’t even realise that, while I was dealing with the Black Glove’s temptations, he and Alice were fighting an invisible war.”

“Alice,” Dick repeated softly, remembering Jason’s long-lost sister. He had only encountered her on a few fleeting occasions, and had no idea where she was now after the death of her brother.

The other Damian’s communicator chirped then, breaking the silence that had fallen over the scene. He glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly. “It’s Superman. I’m helping him with a case in Metropolis.”

The Damian of Earth-Delta couldn’t help but scoff. “Superman? What’re you doing teaming up with him?”

Robin gave a half-smirk, clearly unfazed by the jab. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s a friend. Not everyone needs to be a loner like you.” He flashed a curt salute and, without waiting for a response, fired his grapnel gun at the sky. Within seconds, he had disappeared into the heavens.

Earth-Upsilon’s Steph, standing off to the side, checked her watch. “I should be going too,” she said, the playful edge in her voice softening the abruptness of her exit. “I’ve got an appointment at the prison.”

“Later, Bats.” She threw a lazy wave over her shoulder before slipping into the darkness.

Now, it was just the two Dicks and Damian left, surrounded by unconscious Bane Gang members, sirens slowly becoming louder in the distance. Nightwing shifted uncomfortably, still struggling to digest the strangeness of this world. He turned to Batman, the version of himself that had walked a different path. “So, how do you know Stephanie Brown?” he asked, disguising the depths of his curiosity.

Batman paused, as if weighing his response. “Her father was Cluemaster. Jason took him down when he was Batman.” He didn’t flinch at the mention of Jason, just continued on as though it was an ordinary fact. “Left Stephanie with a lot to figure out, so she took up a cape and a mask and started calling herself ‘Spoiler’. But we’re not that close. She’s closer to Tim.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Really? So you don’t know her very well?”

“Not really,” the other Dick replied. “Should I?”

The response felt hollow, almost dismissive, and it struck a chord with Dick. He thought of his own version of Stephanie Brown, his Steph. The girl who’d gone through hell after her father was murdered by the Penguin. She’d been so lost, but he went out of his way to help her, to take her in. There being only eight years between them, Dick didn’t see Steph as his daughter, and she certainly didn’t see him as her father, but legally that was the case after taking her in. Together, they had been Batman and Robin, depending on each other in ways neither could have anticipated. And, in the past two years, while he had seen her over the holidays when she wasn’t too busy with the ever-increasing demands of college, Dick felt he still could have made more time for her.

A pang of guilt hit him. I have to fix that, Dick thought to himself.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Look. I can’t help but think it. That this place, this Earth… Things seem really good here. I mean, Gotham’s safer, you’ve got tech that works wonders, and it seems like everyone’s doing well,” He trailed off, the unease creeping back in. “But I keep looking for the catch. Killing the Black Glove can’t have been a good thing, right?”

There was a long pause. The Dark Knight’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something shifting beneath the surface. The way he clenched his fists ever so slightly. The way his shoulders tightened. This was painful for him, Dick could tell.

The other Dick sighed, breaking the silence. “Come with me. There’s something you need to see.”

Next: Look around your life in Nightwing #20

##Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 37:‌ ‌ Darkheart

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ GemlintheGremlin

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The Binding Seeds‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

In sleep, William Arcane finds no peace. Instead, he finds an inky black void, one that reminds him constantly of the station he had chosen in life.

It doesn’t feel like a dream, for a dream carries a certain sense of unreality. What you see is not entirely tangible, not entirely physical in the way real things are. You grasp at them, you squint to see them more clearly, but they are forever blurred, their true nature unintelligible to all but the basest, most incomprehensible parts of your mind. When you finally wake, the memories fade fast, to be forever forgotten.

William remembers every moment in the void, where everything he sees is clear as crystal. Then again, he doesn’t see much anyways.

He floats in the dark, an oily substance cushioning him and keeping him from sinking into further depths. Its texture always baffled him, simultaneously being softer than any bed he’d ever slept in, yet he never felt comfortable when wrapped in it. The feeling was comparable to wet sand, in the ways that the substance felt sticky and invasive, refusing to let go of its captive.

For three years, he slept with this silence, with this place being what he would return to every time he needed to rest. It was not a happy place to be, yet there were certainly worse places most of the time.

No longer was that the case, for she was here now.

It wasn’t really her. William knew that Capucine was out helping his sister, and had been for months, yet he saw her in this place all the same. She didn’t move. She didn’t say anything. She just floated in the embrace of the void with him, limp like a corpse. He wanted to say something to her, to apologize all over again, to fully put into words why his actions were a mistake. He wanted to scream the words, to cry uncontrollably, to unfurl the shell around his soul and lay it bare in front of her in some vain hope of redeeming himself in her eyes.

But there was simply no point. It helps no one to recite words when nobody, especially not the person they are intended for, is there to hear them. So William remained silent, letting what can never be said fester within him. He felt emptier every night, his own shame hollowing him from the inside out.

Waking up was the most pleasant part of the void, as William knew he would finally be free of Capucine’s visage. The inky black would surge, swallowing him whole, like a swarm of insects, and in moments his eyes would open, and he would be back in the Rot proper, his body cradled by a leather hammock. He yawned, stretching his arms before pulling himself out and onto the freezing cold floor. He could barely feel the cold through his pale feet, his skin already sapped clean of any sense of warmth. He ran his hands through his long, unkempt hair, measuring whether or not he wanted to cut it. He elected not to, knowing full well he never looked good after his crude attempts at mimicking a barbershop. In a similar vein, he elected to run his fingers along his jawline, focusing his attention on a different matter of appearance.

He wouldn’t call what he had a beard - the stubble was far too sparse for that - but it was an improvement over last week. The hair above his lips had grown particularly visible, to the point that in a few months, William expected to have his own fully fledged mustache. It was such a small thing, so unimportant in the grand scheme of William’s daily tasks, yet he felt a small measure of pride whenever progress was made.

With that settled, William walked to the mouth of his cave, taking note of the greater Rot as its true majesty revealed itself to him. Clouds blanketed the sky, broken up through various swirling vortexes. There was no gap for a sun to peek through, no opening where the greater ceiling could be beheld, and yet this was still the calmest the Rot had been in a long time. The realm’s signature purple lightning was a rarity, and even then only traveled from cloud to cloud when it appeared. The terrain remained rocky and dusty, but the winds were far calmer, resulting in only a paltry collection of small storms each month. The realm was calm, and that meant William was doing his job well.

But it wouldn’t stay that way if he stopped doing that job. Taking a deep breath, William began to trudge across the Rot, ready to fulfill his duties for the day.

The Council of Bones didn’t exist before William, but he hoped that it would exist long after he ceased to be Avatar. Located at the top of the Rot’s highest mountain, the council congregated weekly under Sethe’s Ribcage, dressed with his feathers to form a canopy. A table constructed out of bone surrounded by chairs made of animal furs and skins sat under the structure’s protection, and as William made his way towards the table, he was met with stares from the rest of the council.

The first of them was Graar, who William presumed was some kind of ursine creature in a previous life. Her seat was far bigger than the others, made to fit the stockiest and most muscular body at the table. Her fur was matted, making her even larger than what could be seen of her frame, and her coat was slick with some kind of rotten, pungent liquid. Clumps of hair were missing, and the entirety of her face, from snout to eyebrows, was missing any kind of skin, revealing the raw bone of her skull underneath.

The second member of the council was Eirik, a man who in life seemed to hold a title of minor nobility. He carried himself well, and spoke plainly, even without a jaw. He had been reduced to a skeletal mass, and yet was still clothed by chainmail and leather. He sat calmly, comfortable in his place at the council. He was always first to arrive and last to leave; William wondered if he ever left the chair to begin with.

The third member of the council was Ora, a mass of moss, tree branches, flower petals and stems. A living biomass, they settled nicely into their chair, even if their form meant that it was less sitting and more existing, like a glob of vomit at the bottom of a paper bag. They stirred, bouncing up and down like jello at William’s arrival.

The final member of the council, besides William himself, had no chair, for it didn’t need one. Instead, the place was taken by a singular obelisk formed from the stone of the mountain. It required no symbols, no voice, for the realm itself was all that was needed to communicate its wants and needs. The Rot was a core aspect of reality, and that aspect deserved a seat on the council. Perhaps the obelisk held only a symbolic position, but sometimes William wondered if the realm itself had a mind of its own, if it appreciated having a say in its own fate.

William sat down at the table, and cut to the chase. “So… any updates? Things we need to worry about? I haven’t sensed anything adverse, but I don’t have the same perspective as the rest of you.”

“Nothing on my end,” Ora remarked. “The seas are calm, and nobody’s been getting their roots up in a tangle! I think the coral and the weeds have finally stopped feuding for once.”

“It’s a similar case for my domain,” Graar said. “Turmoil is the nature of an animal, but our efforts have managed to unify them into a peace, however fragile that peace may be.”

Eirik stirred in his seat, a voice emerging from under his armor. “I do my best. There is still quite a lot of bickering, but no violence.”

William nodded. “Good. We’re still making progress. The chaos of this place isn’t tameable, but we’re still forging a good path towards a more stable realm. This place is important, and if we want to make sure this place doesn’t lash out again in the future, we need to stay steadfast. It’s rigorous, and it’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

“You don’t have to convince any of us, William. You’ve already done that long ago,” Graar remarked.

“And you’ve continued to convince us every week,” Ora said. “No Avatar has taken this approach before, and so far it’s worked.”

William nodded. “Well… I won’t keep you then. No need to keep this meeting longer than necessary.”

Graar and Ora acknowledged William before leaving in their own ways, with Graar rolling out of her chair and starting their walk down the mountain while Ora simply rolled out of their chair, then off the mountain like a stone. William used to have trouble containing his laughter at the sight of the latter, but in more recent times he struggled to summon the energy to be entertained. Leaning back in his chair, William sighed, then looked to the obelisk representing the Rot as a whole.

It was still far from polished, with rough bumps and crags running all the way to the top from the base, yet the fact it resembled any clean shape at all was a testament to the work the Council of Bones did. They were guiding the Rot to a better future, one that was not only more internally stable, but also more inherently in harmony with itself and the rest of the elements. The Red and the Green, in time, would hopefully see this change as beneficial to the health of reality. One less force would be susceptible to being stirred up into a frenzy. One less force would be eager to make war.

Perhaps peace is possible, if change to the Rot goes far enough, William thought. Though whether or not such a result would be achieved might not happen for decades, maybe even centuries.

There was a real possibility William might not even see it. Yet another thing left unresolved in his mind.

“Something eats at you, Arcane. I can tell.”

William glanced towards Eirik, who predictably had remained planted in his seat. The young Avatar sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“To the others, perhaps not,” Eirik said. “But we were both human once. We can better… understand each other in that way..”

William grimaced. “If you say so. I’m just unsatisfied with our progress.”

“Please… you cannot lie to me,” Eirik said. “In fact, you cannot lie, at least not effectively. It is not your disposition, not your… nature.”

For a moment, William considered getting up and leaving. He had no desire to open his troubles to the equivalent of a co-worker, and Eirik had no business being nosy. At the same time though, he knew that to do so would be an act of disrespect. Beyond the baseline courtesy of remaining cordial, William also knew that Eirik meant well. He had no desire to shut down an ally like that. William hung his head. “Fine… you’ve caught me. It’s something else.”

“Capucine?”

William nodded. “Yes.”

Eirik was silent for a moment, then uncharacteristically got out of his chair, standing tall above William. “It has been months, Avatar. I did not expect this wound to remain open.”

“Neither did I, yet here we are,” William grumbled. “She’s gone, and it’s her choice. I should accept that, I have to accept that. But… I just can’t.”

William looked up at Eirik, staring into the sockets of his skull. “Eirik, I see her every time I close my eyes to sleep. She just lays there, haunting me over what I did. Time is supposed to dull this kind of thing, but I still feel so… raw about it.”

William stood up, meeting Eirik’s height, “Has this ever happened to you, Eirik? Do you have any advice to help me… stop feeling this way?”

Eirik shifted where he stood, almost like a breath was passing in and out of his body. Then, he sat back down, maintaining his gaze with William. “Alas, I have not had this problem. Perhaps I perished too young to experience it. Regardless though, I may have a word of wisdom, should you wish to hear it.”

William sat down. “I’ll take anything, Eirik. Anything to make all of this stop.”

Eirik nodded. “This place, especially in its prior state, has a habit of sanding our inner sensibilities down until there is nothing left. I have forgotten much of my life, and many of the sensations that come with it. I do not remember the feeling of grass cushioning my body, or of warm blooded flesh pressing itself against me. There are no muscles left on me, and with that loss goes the memories of tension being relieved in a hot spring, or the burning I felt after every long march or bloody battle. This place has robbed me of much, and the fact I possess what is left is a miracle.” Eirik pointed towards William. “Your emotions are not pleasant, but they are there. This place has not robbed you of them. Instead of being so eager to stop feeling, consider why you feel that way. Seek instead to understand and internalize what makes you… you. Perhaps this is not the advice you wanted, but it is the advice I have.”

William stared blankly at Eirik, finding it impossible to truly accept what he had to say. Maybe there was wisdom in it, given that Eirik had been here far longer than he had, but there was no denying that the raw shame he felt could not be reframed as anything good. He had ruined one of the most important relationships in his life, and he had himself to blame.

And nothing, not even a new perspective, was going to change that.

As William opened his mouth to respond, the flaps to the canopy were suddenly thrown open, and a new individual entered the chamber of the Council of Bones, one who had never graced its protection. Draped in an old rotted trench coat that barely covered the pale skin and bones that laid underneath, the man tipped his cowboy hat to Eirik, then to William, and finally to the Obelisk, respecting its place at the table. Then, he smiled. “Hoo-wee! Gotta say, I love what you’ve done with the place! If I had the capital, I’d invest in getting some good real estate developed!”

William glanced at Eirik, then back at the man, “Uh… Hi?”

“Oh! Forgive me! This outlaw forgets his manners!” The man took off his hat and gave everyone at the table a deep bow. “The Pale Wanderer, at your service! If you have the time, I’ve got a business proposition for you!”

Next Issue: An Arrangement to be made!!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE NEW TITANS

In Alter Ego

Issue Fourteen: Inside Man

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce, PatrollinTheMojave and deadislandman1

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Jordan groaned as he slapped the top of the alarm clock with a limp arm. The time - 9:30am - blinked expectantly at him in neon green on the small LED screen, and as he rubbed his eye, he searched the room for his clothes.

It wasn’t as if Jordan had much to get up for, really - the odd errand, mostly consisting of just buying food - but if he wasn’t careful he could very easily waste a day just sleeping. His clothes slipped on like a glove, and he shuffled a pair of worn-out sneakers onto his feet as he manoeuvred himself towards the door.

The air was crisp and cool as it blew past his face; he hurried to pull his hood up over his head to shield himself from it. Chicago was unlike anywhere he’d ever known, and since coming here, Jordan found he had to quickly grow accustomed to the local idiosyncrasies - for example, the L train was easily the quickest way to move around the city, even despite a sudden alteration of the tracks in recent times. He fumbled in his pockets for his loose change, eager to make his way to the centre of town. Overheard, a flock of geese squawked, flying in their familiar V-shaped arrow towards Lake Michigan.

He could get used to it, all things considered. There was a part of him that missed home and as he felt the biting wind on his face, he thought of his mother. It would be a joy to go back, he thought to himself. But as the incoming train screeched across rusted tracks, announcing its imminent arrival, he shook his head. No, he should focus on the now. He should focus on Chicago, and the errands that were waiting for him.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

“Oh! You’re that guy from the support group, right?”

Tim had been spaced out staring at the clock hanging over the barista’s counter for so long, he barely realised that the short-haired young man in front of him was talking to him. Yes, he did know him - he had met him briefly at a support group for the attacks on Chicago a few months prior.

“Sebastian?” Tim asked, knowing the answer.

“You remembered,” the guy nodded, impressed. He placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Hey, good to see you again. Did you ever read the stuff I emailed to you?”

Tim recalled what he was referring to - most of the links had been hateful, sourceless drivel made to instil fear and hatred in its readers, with some consisting of social media posts, but there had been one or two scholarly studies mixed in which, while inconclusive, suggested that there was money and time going into the study of the Reawakened.

“I did,” Tim said. “I appreciate you sending it over.”

“Of course, dude. A lot of the people at those support groups don’t wanna hear about it, y’know? So it’s nice to know someone actually took a look.” Sebastian glanced up at the time before placing his cup down on a nearby table and reaching for his pocket. “Listen, I’ve gotta dash, but…” Sebastian fumbled for something in his wallet. He dug through the card slot and retrieved a single dark brown card with a small white typeface emblazoned upon it. There was a small number 6 embossed into the corner, which Sebastian ran his thumb over as he handed it to Tim. “Here.”

Tim analysed it carefully. The card was vague, but contained an address in the centre of Chicago, as well as a date and time. As he rotated it slightly, the harsh white light overhead glinted against a symbol laminated into the centre - an isoceles triangle. Tim blinked.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” Sebastian said, raising a hand to wave goodbye. And as he scooped up his cup of coffee, he strode towards the door, swinging it open and departing. Tim couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the card. He, of course, recognised the symbol - how could he not? He chewed on the inside of his cheeks as he thought about how best to approach this information, this lead that had seemingly fallen into his lap.

“Green tea for Tim?”

He hardly looked up from the small rectangle in his hands as he reached for the cup. No, he had to tell the others, he thought. This wasn’t his fight alone.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Tim placed the card on the table in front of his fellow Titans. Each of them leaned forwards to look at it before Conner swiped it up into his hands to take a closer look.

“Sebastian?” Conner said incredulously. “I mean, I know why you asked that guy for his sources, but I never thought…” He trailed off.

“There was always a risk,” Tim said, pacing. “Always a chance. And now, here it is.”

Bart tilted his head. “So, what do you think it is? Some kind of conference?”

“Doesn’t say,” Tim said. “And Sebastian was in such a hurry, he didn’t stop to tell me. Either way, though, this could be our ticket. What do we think?”

Raven nodded, as did Conner. “I say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Raven said. “We already knew this Sebastian guy could be up to something, and now he’s literally handed you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“I mean, you’ve gotta, right?” Bart agreed, looking between the other Titans members.

There was a lull in the conversation, and as silence fell for a moment, all eyes fell on Mar’i, who was silent apart from the slight tapping of her heel against the floor as she nervously bounced her leg.

Conner opened his mouth to ask for her thoughts, but she spoke first. “You shouldn’t go.”

Tim frowned. “Why’s that?”

“This is the Delta Society we’re talking about, Tim,” Mar’i explained. There was something in her voice - annoyance? Panic? Desperation? “This isn’t something we can take lightly. We don’t know what they’re capable of. Especially considering recent events.”

“Which is precisely why I need to go there and figure that out.”

“As Tim Drake?”

Tim blinked. “Yes, of course. I was invited, he’ll be expecting me.”

Mar’i huffed, standing up. “You - we - don’t have any idea what you’re getting yourself into. You said yourself - you don’t know whether it’s a dinner, a meeting, or a full-on initiation. You could be walking your way into a death trap.” Mar’i folded her arms and looked at Tim. “You need to go in as Rook, not as Tim.”

Tim pondered her words for a moment. There was something in them that resonated with him, a wake-up call to him regarding his work-life balance. It was an issue that Tim had difficulty with in the past, and one that continued to rear its head every once in a while. And yet, as he looked down at the card in Conner’s hand, he shook his head.

“I understand, Mar’i,” he started. “Really, I do. But I think this could be our chance.”

Mar’i said nothing, instead electing to sit down again. Raven stirred, made uncomfortable by the tension in the room.

“I’ll think it through,” Tim concluded. “I’ll take what you’ve all said into account.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

“The next stop—bzzzzzzzzt—... Thank you.”

Helpful, Jordan thought to himself. He clutched his bags of groceries hard in one hand, a coffee cup clutched in the other, and he attempted to steady himself by leaning his weight against the side of the train as it buffeted back and forth along the track. It was less so the weight of the bags that was the issue, and more the way they slid across each other, jostling the contents and threatening to snap at any moment.

Jordan peered out of the window and up at the cloudy mid-afternoon sky. A single plane streaked through the air, leaving a long white trail against the grey backdrop as it sailed towards its destination. He felt himself leaning forwards, unbalanced with the extra weight of his shopping bags, and as he lurched to catch himself, his coffee cup tipped. Warm brown liquid splashed against his leg and down the bright blue bags in his hands, and as he looked down at his newly-stained trousers, he sighed.

Giving up on the coffee in his hand, he placed the mostly empty cup on a nearby unoccupied seat and huffed. Jordan was glad, despite what he would consider a wildly unproductive and uneventful day, that he was on his way home. And as he watched the plane above him become a dot in the distance, he felt the train slowing to a halt at his stop.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Tim tapped the small card against the back of his hand as he approached the building. All things considered, it blended into the backdrop of the city; the address was just another room in just another skyscraper in the middle of town, a dot on the map. They had truly made themselves a needle in a haystack, Tim thought to himself. He checked his watch as he crossed the threshold into the lobby of the building - 4:58pm. Two minutes until the meeting. The AC whipped through his hair as he moved through the automatic doors, his eyes fixed on the elevator doors on the other side of the room. Soft jazz music played softly, bouncing off of marble walls and polished floors as a receptionist mumbled to someone in her headset. It was all very… normal.

Tim pressed the button labelled with an ‘up’ arrow and waited.

After a moment, a light chime rang out, and the doors opened. The elevator was immaculately clean, and Tim was met with a reflection of himself. He stepped inside. Checking his card, he made note of the number embossed into the corner - six. Then, looking up at the numbers on the elevator, stretching all the way up to 25, he pressed his thumb firmly against the button labelled “6” and waited.

The young Titan looked up at his reflection in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to smoothen the slight frizz. He had taken care in choosing his outfit, opting for a shirt and jacket with chequered slacks and a smart pair of sneakers. He couldn’t be sure how formal this event was going to be, and as such had chosen an outfit which made himself appear refined yet relaxed - towing the line between casual and formal.

As he looked at himself and straightened his jacket, however, he thought back to what Mar’i had said. He furrowed his brow; had he gotten it wrong? Was he walking into a situation that Rook may be better equipped for?

But as the elevator dinged, announcing his arrival on the sixth floor, it was too late to doubt himself. He was going in as Tim.

The doors opened out onto a large open plan floor, decorated with various dark brown tables scattered around the room. A large red tablecloth was strewn across the centremost one, displaying various meats and cheeses with noticeable gaps made by hungry patrons. There were no more than two dozen people dotted around the room; some stood huddled in the corner and mumbled to each other through bites of charcuterie, others sat checking their watches and phones, and others stood nervously with their arms folded, attempting to blend in with the furniture. A younger man fiddled with a microphone near the far wall, tapping his finger against it and receiving a dull thud through the speakers in response.

Tim took a deep breath and strode confidently into the room. A tall, thin man in a navy jacket approached him with a smile, his hand outstretched. “Nice of you to come along.”

Tim nodded politely. “Thank you for the invitation.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand, who gladly took it with a firm shake.

“Come in, enjoy the food. We have a speech in about—” He checked his watch. “Oh, any minute now in fact. But otherwise, explore, socialise - whatever you please.”

Tim smiled slightly. “Sounds great. Thanks again.”

And with a polite nod, the taller man departed.

As he took in the scene, Tim’s eyes lingered on a group of younger men having a slowly amplifying conversation just a few feet away from him. The tallest of the men - who appeared to be leading the charge - was gesticulating broadly with his arms, and with a frustrated sigh, he commented, “I mean, they can’t hide that thing forever.”

Tim perked up. He walked calmly towards the group with a slight smile on his face. “Hi. Pardon me, I’m Tim. Nice to meet you all.”

The trio each nodded politely, the tallest man clearing his throat. “Derek. Nice to meet you too.”

Somewhat worried he had prevented them from continuing, Tim chirped, “What were we talking about?”

A man with a long dark ponytail raised a pointed finger, swallowing a large mouthful of buffet food. “Cadmus.” He spat the word like ichor, a sneer on his face.

“Yeah,” the third man added, folding his tattooed arms. “God, they really think they can pull one over on us, huh? They think they can just hide that thing forever like we’re not gonna notice?”

The first man - Derek - scoffed. “Exactly, man.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Tim added, his words quiet. He nodded slowly. “They might be smart, but we’re smarter.”

The three men all gave affirmative nods, each with differing levels of enthusiasm. Then, as a silence hung over the quartet, Tim gave the group a polite smile. “Have a good night, guys. I’m sure I’ll catch you later.”

Tim continued on. Despite a distinct lack of appetite, Tim reached for a dark red paper plate stacked next to the trays of food and pondered his choices. His eyes darted upwards for a moment as he surveyed his surroundings once more. Many of the patrons had taken to moving towards the stage, most of them male, with a few exceptions, notably—

Tim froze. Mar’i had locked eyes with him from across the room. She clutched her paper plate tightly between her thumb and forefinger so tightly that the plate had begun to bend and form a valley. What was she doing here?

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” a man spoke into a microphone. “Let’s get the evening started properly.”

Next: Secrets uncovered in The New Titans #14

DC Next presents:

##I AM BATMAN

In True Crime

Issue Eighteen: Beating Hearts

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by AdamantAce

<< ||| < Previous Issue ||| Next Issue >

Does she even still love me?

The biggest question on Christine’s mind haunted her ever since Cass seemingly cut contact was one which caused doubt about everything she had known for the past few years. Could someone who so readily threw everything away really love her? Even if it was for the greater good, could she move on knowing that the first woman she felt she could love and trust unconditionally chose to leave without any sort of explanation?

Christine could look into the sky every other night and be painfully aware of Cassandra’s presence in the city, knowing that she was out there and yet refused to visit. Staring at the phone on the bed in front of her, she wondered if she should even try to contact Cass, if it would even be worth it to rekindle such a dying fire.

She sat conflicted, the device face-down, wondering what the point would even be to make the call. She knew it wasn’t the first time that Cass had run away or gone silent in the face of personal distress. Was it right for Christine to put herself through such emotional turmoil for such common actions from Cassandra?

The first days that Cassandra had stopped responding, coming only a week after her return from Detroit — something that she refused to talk about — Christine couldn’t help but be terrified of the possibility that she had died. Every night had been a gamble on whether Cass would survive to see morning — even if Christine knew she could pull herself out of any situation, the worry persisted. She was lucky that Barbara cared so much on Cassandra’s behalf, but to shift the weight of what was once love onto someone else in the form of fear and anxiety and longing… It felt wrong.

She almost jumped at the sound of her phone buzzing, light vibrations travelling to lightly tickle the skin of her crossed legs. Hastily grabbing her phone, she flipped it over only to frown at the message that appeared in front of her lockscreen — a selfie of her and Cass cuddling on her bed, taken between reading chapters of a book that Christine had long returned to the library.

The message itself was from someone she had thought was blocked, someone she’d known from years past.

“Hey,” it said, an overly casual message for how long it had been since they’d spoken, and what had happened between them. Christine sat for a moment, wondering if she should even entertain responding to the message. Before she could make a decision, another came through. “Been a while. Got time to chat?”

Christine sighed. She knew it wasn’t a good idea, and yet she found herself typing back to them.

“What is it,” she replied, intentionally blunt, yet after sending it she wondered if it was the correct decision. It had been years since she had seen them, after all. Perhaps things could have changed in that time.

“Still touchy I see,” they said, causing Christine to roll her eyes. “Just wanted to say hi and see how things are going for you.” Christine bit her lip and pulled some of the dry skin off with her teeth — a bad habit she did while nervous that she couldn’t quite kick in favour of something that didn’t lead to bleeding. “I’m back in Gotham for a few days and couldn’t help but think of my favourite dancer.”

“Things are fine,” she replied. It was already starting, and she could see it much better than she could back then. “Hope your stay is good.”

“It’s alright, but could be better. You could help with that.” Christine scowled at her phone and was tempted to block them again then and there. “Make it like the good old days.”

As if on instinct, Christine closed the app immediately, met with the face of Cassandra Cain, smiling gently into the camera. Next to hers was Christine’s own face, and she could see nothing but love in her eyes. She missed it. There was a happiness within her that was unlike any other feeling she’d experienced before.

Taking a deep breath, Christine looked over at the nightstand next to her bed, a small stack of books that had been waiting months to be read — and racking up late fees, to boot.

She and Cass had spent so much time together, in the very bed she was sitting on, holding each other close and reading to each other. There was a time where Cass was pretty much living with Christine, barely staying at Barbara’s apartment and only doing so for the convenience of Batman when it was necessary.

She looked fondly on those simple memories. She had far too many bad memories; her last relationship, her mother’s death, the endless difficulty she faced within Gotham itself — she couldn’t let her happiness dissipate. She knew Cass was going through a difficult time, that her emotions were running high and that something was wrong. Christine was going to fight for her love, not sit down and let it escape her, and she was going to fight as hard as she could.

For once in her life she had been happy, she couldn’t let it go.

“—and we return to the studio to discuss another matter regarding Batman and the Jeremiah Arkham case, which suffered another complication just last week as the accused was found in his home, where he is currently undergoing house arrest for his alleged crimes, heavily injured and strung up by his ankles,” said news anchor Rosalie Kim for the Gotham News Network. “In the days following the alleged assault on Dr. Arkham, which seemingly occurred under the noses of GCPD officers monitoring the Arkham estate, his daughter, Astrid Arkham, has come out with a statement condemning Batman and her actions.

“Astrid Arkham’s claims are aimed at both the vigilante as well as the city and people of Gotham, insisting that the presence of an extra-judicial figure such as Batman is an indictment upon the institutions that make up the city, and that the support for Batman’s actions by the population is representative of both moral bankruptcy and a lack of faith in the legal systems on a municipal, state, and federal level.” Rosalie’s voice was calm and steady, yet as she spoke there was an air of incredulity that infected her voice.

“Since making these claims, Miss Arkham has faced levelled criticism from many corners of the city, ranging from the few remaining multinational CEOs, to political pundits expecting a mayoral run from her in the near future, to those within the very institutions she is criticising, claiming that she is simply distraught by the state her father was found in and is lashing out.” Rosalie adjusted her position in her seat, prepared to turn as she continued speaking to the camera directly in front of her. “Here in the studio today, we have Astrid Arkham here to discuss and expand on her position.”

Rosalie turned and the cameras switched to a wider shot around the news desk, where Astrid sat on the right side, the light from above glinting off of her glasses and into the camera, obscuring her eyes behind light sheened lenses.

“Good afternoon, Astrid,” Rosalie said, offering a kind voice and a slightly tilted head to the woman across from her. “Could you expand on your comments regarding Batman and her influence on the city?” There was a brief moment of silence as Astrid looked around the studio at all the cameras, technicians, and producers.

“Batman is a toxin,” Astrid began. “That name has been a blight on Gotham since the first man to use it appeared as a myth whispered under the breaths of criminal lords and corrupt politicians. It has always played on the myths of this city, of the myths that have followed my own family for generations. It feels like a perversion of the suffering of the Arkhams, and to see it used to beat and bruise our last remaining members can feel nothing but personal.” Astrid’s voice was steady and focused.

“I watch this unending brutality used against my family and the citizens of this city and I cannot help but wonder why this has been allowed for so long,” she continued. “Gone are the days of the institutions that make up Gotham, we have been in a lawless hellscape for over two decades, governed not by Mayor Essen or protected by Police Commissioner Gordon, but ruled by a group of men and women who worship a bedtime story, acting above even United States law. Our police, our judges, and our lawyers, the very core of our judicial powers, means nothing as long as they roam free. I see that Gotham has simply laid down to allow this festering cancer to spread, and I mourn.

“Law and order cannot exist while Batman and her personal army strangle our institutions and perpetuate fairy tales in the name of justice — because it is not justice, it is anarchy.”

Babs arrived at Gotham University wearing simple attire, jeans and a comfortable jacket, and waited near the entrance for Maps to arrive. Sitting on a bench just outside the main doors, she browsed her phone — its custom operating system allowing the full functionality of the Bat-Computer within the Belfry to be used wherever she went — looking over the notes she had taken and the files she had collected on her current case. As she scrolled, rereading each word for the dozenth time, her screen shifted to show an incoming call.

Answering it with a smile on her face, she didn’t even have a chance to speak before Blair began, “Hey, sweetheart, you busy?” The words made Babs’ heart flutter for a moment, Blair’s voice as soft and loving as usual outside of work.

“A little,” Babs replied, smiling sheepishly to herself. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” Blair said. “Just want to see you today.”

“Well, I should be all clear tonight.” Looking up, Babs spotted Maps up the street, pedalling her bicycle with intensity, clearly rushing to get to the investigation. “I can go to your place, we can order in and watch some movies.”

“I’d love that,” Blair said.

“Then I’ll see you then,” Babs said. “Love you!”

Coming to a harsh stop right in front of Babs, Maps nearly sent herself tumbling over her handlebar. Throwing it into the bike stand and not bothering to lock the chain around the chassis, Maps rushed to Babs, beaming with excitement. Before Babs could stand, bracing herself with her crutches, Maps had already removed a notebook and pencil from her bookbag.

“You’re eager,” said Babs, grinning. “But don’t be too disappointed if we don’t find anything. There are other leads to chase.”

“Oh, I know!” Maps said, nodding her head fervently. “Where’s that thing?” With a light chuckle, Babs reached into her purse and pulled out the scanning device that she had shown Maps a few days earlier. Handing it to the girl, Babs watched as she rushed off toward the playing field to the west of the main building.

Babs expected the odd looks from the students walking throughout the campus, but it still didn’t make her presence there much easier. It was difficult to be inconspicuous while simultaneously being the only people in an open space doing things that others would judge as odd.

The football field was large, to accommodate the large set of bleachers that bordered the highway a hundred metres further west. Maps was quick to begin scanning in and around them, almost running as she stared at the screen in one hand, nearly crushing her notebook in a tight grip in the other.

It was apparent that keeping up with Maps was a fools’ errand, and eventually Babs decided to sit down around the middle of the bleachers, to keep an even eye on her surroundings while Maps investigated.

It had been years since Babs was on the campus of Gotham University, and being there now, she wondered if she would come across Stephanie. Part of her was surprised to think of the former Robin, and immediately after, a strong sense of guilt overwhelmed her as she realised just how little she had thought of Stephanie since she officially vacated the role of Robin and passed it onto Maps.

I should call her, she thought to herself. Would she appreciate that? She wasn’t entirely sure. Though, perhaps Stephanie was busy with classes or new friends — she knew that Maps’ brother, Kyle, was someone that Steph had become close to. How much did Steph stay in contact with Dick? How much has Babs herself stayed in contact with Dick? Everything seemed to pass her by, and now that she had a moment of silence, sitting with no duty nor many people around, she could think and remind herself just how much she hadn’t talked to the people that she had been through so much with.

Babs frowned — how long had it been since she’d spoken with her own father?

“I found something!” shouted Maps from Babs’ left, at the very end of the bleachers. It almost took her by surprise, completely lost in thought.

“What is it?” Babs asked, standing up with her crutches and beginning to make her way over.

“Just come and see!” Maps replied, causing Babs to sigh deeply.

As she arrived, she leaned over the girl and looked at the screen pointed at a patch of dirt and shabby grass patches situated right against the concrete foundation of the bleachers. Somewhere deep under the ground was a figure, tucked away and curled into a ball, hidden right next to the foundation, the disturbed land above the body perfectly explained by its proximity to the bleachers, where students walked, dumped their drinks, and more.

“Oh my god,” Babs muttered. “It was right… I’ll call the police.”

“What?” Maps asked, surprised by the notion. “Aren’t we going to do something?”

“We’re not digging this up ourselves,” Babs said. “Even though we probably could if we came back at night. The police can dig them up, identify them, and I can take that information from them, and send Batman to investigate the body if we need to.”

“So Batman won’t do it herself, you mean?” Maps asked, her excitement tempered. “Even if we can’t do anything right now, she can come back at night and do something, right?” Maps lowered the device, her posture dropping in frustration and disappointment. “But she doesn’t care, does she?” Babs remained silent for a moment.

“She made a promise to me and then took it back without even telling me,” Maps continued. “I’ve been trying so hard and I’ve been working so much but she doesn’t want to talk to me. I want to do something.” Babs sighed.

“I know, Maps,” she said, her voice low. “And she does care, maybe a little too much sometimes. Something’s wrong, and I’m trying to get to her, but… things are complicated.” Maps frowned and averted her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t still work for us to do. I promise.” She received no response. Taking a moment to sit in the silence and allow Maps some room, Babs pulled out her phone and called the GCPD tip line, obfuscating her identity using the voice modulator that every GCPD operator knew to be Oracle. Finishing the call, she sighed as she slipped her phone back into her pocket.

“Let’s go,” said Babs. “We’ve got more work to do.”

That Night…

Babs and Blair laid in bed, covered by ruffled sheets, as the movie they had not watched rolled its credits on the television mounted to the opposite wall. They cuddled each other closely, limbs intertwined as each of their fingers continued to trace every line and fold of the others’ body. There was addiction, a craving in absence and indulgence in presence.

A soft kiss on Babs’ cheek elicited a smile and a giggle, and as a wandering hand reached her lower back, she flinched. Taken aback and suddenly unsure, Blair pulled away slightly, looking deep into Barbara’s eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes darting across Babs’ face.

“It’s alright,” Babs smiled. “Just a bit sensitive.”

“I know that feeling,” Blair responded, moving to rest her head on Babs’ chest, listening to her heartbeat. Rubbing her back, Babs’ hand found its way over the scar on Blair’s shoulder, one she’d been aware of but had never quite known the full story. Something that happened decades ago, so close to her heart. Perhaps a few inches down, and Blair wouldn’t have known a future, she never would have met Babs.

Her own injury changed her life, and was eerily similar in nature. Just enough in the wrong direction, and she could have been gone in an instant. She was lucky, if that was an appropriate term for not being fatally shot.

Danger lurked in every corner in Gotham, and it always threatened to take everything away. Countless people had been lost to its streets and back alleys, to its violence and craving for blood. Crime Alley was never just that alley. Babs squeezed her arms around Blair, receiving a tight embrace in return, and thought about all she stood to lose.

She couldn’t let Cass be taken by Gotham as so many others had before, not everyone was so lucky. She was reckless, pushing herself far too hard, as she had many times before.

Was she truly trying to reach out to Cass or had she lied to Maps? She neither reached out to Steph, nor Dick, nor her father as much as she told herself she should, either. She made minimum effort to ease her conscience, but there was more to do. There was always more.

It wasn’t long before Blair fell asleep to the rhythmic beating of Babs’ heart, loved and comforted by its steadiness.

Wonder Women

Issue Fifty-Five

Written by u/VoidKiller826

Edited by u/Predaplant

Arc: Witch War

**************************************

The Battle in SCYTHE's courtyard reached a fever pitch. The ground was covered in blood, fire, and ice. Bodies lay on top of each other as the bullets and steel clashed in a violent battle between SCYTHE and the Red Centipedes.

But none were having a more violent struggle than their leading commanders.

A large shockwave was felt everywhere in the courtyard after the latest clash between Hector Hall and Icicle. Hall’s armor was dented, frozen in some sections, but his spirit was still strong. He gripped his steel mace tightly, ready to strike.

Icicle spat blood on the ground. His cold shell was damaged, revealing some of his skin underneath the protective layer he made for himself. His eyes glinted and summoned a wave of ice spikes, launching them toward Hector, looking to skewer the Commander.

Hall fluttered his black steel wings, still holding strong in this fight. They propelled him upward before the spikes could reach him. The spikes caught some of the wall plants Ivy had created, shattering them into thousands of shards. He then flew downward, twirling his mace before swinging it with all his might at the icy mercenary.

Icicle took the hit head on, covering his hands with heavy blocks of ice. The two exchanged blows. Every strike created a shockwave, shaking the battlefield.

As the two continued their clash, the courtyard started to become overwhelmed with Icicle's powers. The longer this fight went on, the more possible it was for the entire place to be frozen to hell. Even Pamela Isley's powers wouldn’t be able to stop the cold winter from washing over the area.

‘I can't waste more time….’ Hector thought. It terrified him how an elemental metahuman like Icicle could completely destroy an environment if left alone.

Thinking of a new strategy, Hector lowered his mace and allowed Icicle to strike the Commander with the opening, sending him flying across the courtyard and landing close to Pamela Isley.

“I saw you drop your mace!” Isley yelled at the Commander. “Do you want to die that fast?”

“No,” He spit blood and turned to Isley. “Because I need you to throw me.”

“What are you talking about?” Isley asked. “Are you knocked in the head?” Hall gave her a quick explanation, and it was enough for Isley to understand his plans. “You're insane.”

“Just do it,” Hall demanded, and Isley shook her head before she commanded her plants to wrap around the Commander's body.

“Fine, it’s your funeral.”

Icicle noticed Isley's powers wrapping Hall up. He was confused at their plans, but he saw an opening, and created the largest wave of spikes he could make with the sole purpose of finally putting an end to this battle.

Just as the spikes approached, Isley flung Hector Hall forward, throwing him like a fastball. With a sudden burst of speed, Hector’s black wings closed through the air, gripping his mace with both hands to make sure they didn't fall off.

“Shit!” Icicle finally realized what was happening, and created a thick wall of ice. But Hector, using the momentum from Isley’s launch, swung his mace with a powerful arc, bringing it down and penetrating through the base of Icicle's ice barrier. The strike made a resounding crack, shattering the ice walls and sending the shards flying in all directions.

Icicle staggered back, shocked. With the opening, Hector pushed forward, his wings flaring as he launched toward the icy mercenary. Icicle desperately tried to strengthen his armored shell, trying to shield the attack, but it was too late. With a powerful swing, Hall shattered what was left of his armored shell and struck directly on his face. The impact sent him flying, his face breaking with a loud crack. He landed on his back and was knocked out cold, literally.

For a moment, silence fell in the courtyard. The tide of battle paused, both sides turning to their commanders. The Centipedes and their allies stared in shock, while SCYTHE saw their Commander standing, reigniting their hope.

“Gentleman!” Ares walked forward, wounded from the battle but smiling like a candy store child. “The battle is not over yet! So let us beat them!”

“FLY OUT!” Hector shouted, aiming his mace toward the Red Centipedes. His SCYTHE soldiers all yelled in unison and charged forward to finish this fight.

SCYTHE finally had the upper hand in this battle that was once stacked against them.

**************************************

The sound of the water from the active sprinklers hissed overhead, making the surface of the Slab’s hallways slick and dampening the carpet. Then, the walls burst open as Vanessa Kapatelis, the Silver Swan of SCYTHE, came crashing through, her armor skidding on the wet surface until she halted herself by stabbing her claws on the ground.

Raising her head, she saw Zara emerging from the hole, walking through the active water. Smoke curled up around her body as the water dampened the flames that usually swirled around the Amazon.

Vanessa whipped the blood off her mouth and smirked, her plan working well. “Fire mage without any fire, what a sad sight.” She stood up and brought out her claws, ready to strike.

Zara remained emotionless, and with a sudden burst of movement, she launched into a spin kick, trying to catch Vanessa off guard, relying more on her martial arts skills than her flames.

Vanessa dodged, using her wings to move through the narrow hallway to avoid Zara’s kicks. She answered back by using her sonic scream aimed at the Fire Priestess. The wave of sound caused Zara to stagger back after it hit, but the Amazon quickly regained her composure and threw another, more vicious kick on Vanessa’s chest, sending her back. “I don’t need my flames to crush you,” she said in a cold voice.

Vanessa took a deep breath, getting some air back, then stood up and spread her wings. “We will see about that!”

Closing the distance, Vanessa threw her claws forward, aiming for Zara’s midsection. However, the Amazon blocked it with a swift kick, her strength far outpowering Vanessa's NIGHT armor, and the two engaged in a fierce exchange. The hallway echoed with their strikes, a mix of metal and flesh in the middle of the active water.

Thanks to her skills and power, Zara won the exchange, blocking Vanessa's claw with her elbow and shattering the sharp blades on her claws. Then Zara grabbed one of her wings and tore it off, before grabbing Vanessa by the throat and putting her in a tight sleeper hold, aiming to choke her out.

“This is over,” Zara said, tightly gripping her muscular arms around Vanessa's neck. The SCYTHE agent tried to claw her way out to no avail. “I will make sure to tell Circe that you fought bravely.”

As the light faded from her eyes, Vanessa’s mind ran through any scenario she could think of to get out of Zara's hold, but brute strength was useless against an Amazon. She turned her head, finding herself facing the ground, and a light bulb hit her.

“Here's… the thing… about sound…” Vanessa said, moving her head slightly to ease the tension around her throat. “It bounces!”

She unleashed another sonic scream on the ground, one that rippled against the ground before bouncing back on the two, sending them upward and crashing against the ceiling, the impact forcing Zara to let the Swan go.

Not wasting the opportunity, Vanessa used her one remaining claw, her wing, and her sonic scream to attack. Zara, for her part, regained her footing and tried to counter, still trying to muster whatever fire she could use.

With one final push, Vanessa pinned Zara to the wall with her one active wing, and unleashed her most powerful sonic scream she could muster. The sound wave resonated around the hallway, amplified by the confined space. The force pushed Zara through the wall, knocking her out cold and extinguishing her fire completely.

As the dust settled, Vanessa was heaving, exhausted from the tough battle. Gingerly walking through the active water, Vanessa aimed for the exits. “Gotta help… Cassie…” she muttered before collapsing, her exhaustion catching up to her as she leaned against the wall, too tired to stand back up.

‘Cassie… Artemis… it's all up to you now…’ Vanessa thought before she closed her eyes to rest.

*****************************

SCYTHE’s Prison Section was becoming a vortex of chaos. Emily Sung was trying to absorb the chaotic magic from the Helm of Ares, growing powerful due to the fighting happening across Gateway City, feeding off the chaos. Miguel Barragan was nearby, using his powers to shield Emily from anyone who might interfere and stop her from knocking the Helm's powers out.

Elsewhere, three people were fighting in the center of the prison. Black cold bars cast a shadow under the flickering lights. The sound of a jail cell being destroyed echoed; Barbara Minerva was thrown toward it with a violent thud. Shaking her head, Barbara looked up to her left to see Alexei Abramovici spitting blood after receiving a powerful strike, his armor covered in claw marks. She turned ahead, and saw the towering form of Sebastian Ballesteros, the so-called New Cheetah.

Standing over seven feet tall, he was a hulking beast, far more monstrous than before, more of a lion than a cheetah. His feline features twisted into a grin. Eager for a fight, he brandished his claws.

“To think Urzkartaga called you his favorite!” Sebastian taunted. His voice had a rumbling growl as he stalked Barbara. “After I suckle on your bones, I'll offer your remains to my god when he returns!”

Barbara spat blood. “Good thing you're not going to be part of that.” She ran forward, her cheetah agility pushing her like a blur as her claws slashed toward Sebastian.

But the hulking monster moved quicker than expected for someone his size, and her claws missed completely. He slashed in retaliation, wounding Barbara, and got out of the way when Sebastian tried to strike again, nearly catching her head.

With Sebastian focusing on his counterpart, Alexei took advantage of the opening and moved in from the side. With a savage swing, his sickle slashed Sebastian’s ribs. The blade cut through and drew blood, causing Sebastian to roar like a beast in pain. He staggered back, glaring at Alexei as he swung his claws, and Alexei dodged.

“His name was Anatoly!” Alexei shouted. “I'll have your head for what you did!”

Sebastian punched Alexei instead of answering, and the blow connected, sending Alexei flying against a wall. He gasped as the air left his lungs, struggling to regain his footing. He remained focus, his grip tightening around his sickle.

Sebastian's wounds healed as he smirked. “You'll get to meet your brother soon, after I make you scream.”

“How about you scream for me!”

Barbara leaped into action as her wounds healed, vaulting over Sebastian's head with grace and clawing her sharp nails across his back. Sebastian screamed in pain, trying to get Barbara off of him, but she continued stabbing him with her sharp claws. Her attacks were precise, hitting critical areas that would have made anyone else bleed to death, but Sebastian wasn't just anyone. He was still gifted with the same powers as she had from the plant god she once prayed to.

Barbara’s speed proved an annoyance; she was too fast for Sebastian to catch. He slammed his fist in the ground, creating a large shockwave and catching Barbara off guard, finally giving the hulking monster the chance to catch her.

“It's over!” he screamed, grabbing her by the throat. “You'll be filling my belly- AAAAAAH!”

Behind him, Alexei stabbed his sickle into Sebastian’s right shoulder, and dug it deep.

“You'll be filed with steel instead…” Alexei muttered, coughing blood.

Enraged, Sebastian brought out his claws and slashed them across the weakened Alexei, cutting through his armor like butter as blood began pouring out.

“No!” Barbara shouted as she saw the Bloodcrow fall. Rage came over her; she grabbed the sickle that was still stuck in his shoulder and dug it deeper.

Sebastian shouted in pain, trying to fight back as he felt the blade stabbing through his body. Letting Barbara go, Sebastian tried to remove the blade, but every time he touched it, pain shot through his body. Howling in pain, he stumbled back, losing a lot of blood as he did so.

“Let me,” Barbara said coldly, grabbing the sickle. She removed it by moving it across his body and toward his neck in a brutal and decisive blow, cutting his head clean off.

The monstrous new Cheetah collapsed to the ground. His now headless body fell with a heavy thud.

“And stay dead…” Barbara let the sickle go, staring at Sebastian's head, lifeless, his expression that of shock. 

Silence came to the prison as the sound of fighting outside continued to rage outside. Barbara stood over Sebastian's body, her breath coming in heavy gasps.

“It's over…” she muttered. The monster wasn't coming back, not even a dead god could heal that kind of wound. She turned, her eyes finding Alexei laying on the ground, gasping in pain. Quickly kneeling beside him, Barbara helped to keep his head up.

“Hold on, help is on the way.”

Alexei said nothing. He wasn't even looking at her. His eyes were on the ceiling, and said in a final gasp a name.

“Brother…”

Barbara saw life behind Alexei’s eyes fade away. She held his dead body close, saddened for the man's passing. Even if their history had been one filled with conflict, and he was the reason why she was in prison, she still understood his need to avenge his brother.

*BOOOOM*

Barbara's ears twitched, feeling her fur stand up as she felt a large magical energy building in the direction of the Helm of Ares.

“The kids…” Barbara remembered Emily and Miguel. She got up and ran at full speed toward them. When she entered the room, she was introduced to a large red magical energy pillar erupting from the Helm, extending through the ceiling and toward the skies above for all to see.

“What happened?!” Barbara shouted when she saw Miguel, his hands still trying to cover Emily and the Helm in a barrier.

“I don't know!” Miguel yelled back, feeling the red pillar burn bright, hurting his eyes. “One second Emily almost had the helmet’s magic sucked out, and the next… it sounded like a bomb being set off!”

“Shit…” Barbara muttered. “That Witch probably had some kind of countermeasures in case someone tried to stop it…”

“Em!” Miguel shouted at Emily, still trying to absorb the now out-of-control magic. “We need to get you out of here!”

“I can stop this!” Emily shouted back. Using her powers, she could feel the chaotic energy from the Helm, overwhelming in its power. The more she continued to absorb, the more the Helm's magic grew, like a bomb waiting to go off any second.

“Cassandra…” Emily whispered, fear striking her heart. “Save us…”

********************************

Wonder Women Vol 3

Previous Issue <> Next Issue

DCNext Presents:

Superman

In On Her Shoulders

Issue Twenty-Nine: Shaping

Written by /u/Predaplant

Edited by /u/ClaraEclair

First | Previous | [Next]

Matrix watched closely over the life of Linda Danvers. It was a difficult life to watch sometimes, but her vigil continued nevertheless.

There was little that Linda did that did not frustrate her. Matrix felt herself prone to great bouts of grief, on occasion, at the world’s sorrow (how could anybody not, who had been blessed with the grace and kindness of heaven?), but with great awareness of any individual’s conditions came all the more tragedy of their suffering.

Matrix carried a great amount of hope within her, as all angels did, a steadfast belief that things would tend towards the good and that all who searched for it would eventually find a place of rest. Matrix found it difficult to find hope for Linda, despite all that.

It wasn’t through any fault of Linda’s, necessarily, as saddened as Matrix continued to be by Linda’s imperfect decisions and actions. No, this fear on Matrix’s part came from who Linda had become, if only by circumstance.

It had happened a few years prior. Matrix had been watching over Linda alongside another angel, one by the name of Zauriel. Zauriel was not a Guardian Angel as Matrix was, but he was quite talented at sympathizing with the plights of the people of Earth, something that Matrix rather envied. She found it rather difficult, despite knowing that it was imperative to understand and care for each person in order to do her job well. To love them, even.

Matrix respected that about Zauriel, but simultaneously she had always been nervous that he felt a little too attached to individual humans, to the point that it could become a problem.

Linda had been in a great deal of trouble back then, too, even if she hadn’t known it. She had been targeted by a religious group believing that they could trap and kill a demon through the use of Linda’s body as a vessel, that it would prove their righteousness to God and guarantee their place in the kingdom of heaven.

It wasn’t true, of course. It was grifting, potentially originating from hell itself. They were half-right in that their spell would summon a demon, but they were wrong in that they would be able to control it, pacify it, kill it.

If they were successful, it would take Linda’s form and go on to wreak havoc on Earth, even potentially bring it to ruin.

“There’s only one way out of this,” Zauriel had told Matrix. “We can’t deny them of their agency in performing this ritual. That goes outside our boundaries. And if we let this demon get loose, even if we find a way to get one of our own down there, it would only end in destruction. We need to stop this now.”

Matrix had known Zauriel for millennia. She already knew what he was going to suggest.

She remained silent and let him continue.

“I’m going to have to enter her as well, to fight whichever demon they summon off. To hold them in balance. To keep Linda, and the rest of the world safe.”

Matrix lowered her head. She knew he was right. “Go, then. Fight this demon off. Complete your mission soon, and make sure you do it well.”

Zauriel nodded. “I will.” He watched Linda’s boyfriend Buzz prepare to strike, to stab her, the first step in the summoning ritual. “See you when I’ve done my job.”

And then he was gone, no doubt preparing himself to do the job he volunteered for. Matrix watched carefully, anxiously.

And she still continued to do so every day since then.

Matrix had watched Linda develop superpowers, a side effect of the psychic feedback from the cosmological beings warring inside her. She had watched her fight off a crisis, and find a new home for herself. And she had watched her struggle deeply with identity, constantly tugged in alternating directions by the forces deep inside of her.

It seemed like now, everything was coming to a head. Matrix could see that psychic feedback emanate out further, impacting whole neighbourhoods of Metropolis. She knew the fight must be reaching its climax.

She knew that she was imperfect, that she oftentimes lacked the faith, hope, and love that she wished that she carried. That which was expected of her, as an angel.

She knew that she was imperfect, and so she knew that Zauriel could be imperfect, as well. And if Zauriel could be imperfect, there still was the possibility for his failure.

Matrix sent her prayers out to Zauriel, hoping that he would find a way to bring this to a close for good.

SSSSS

If there was one thing CW Saturn loved more than anything else, it was modernity. Oh, all the tiny little ways to be selfish! The mass communications teaching people apathy! All the superpowers and tech gadgets encouraging people to just go out and take what they feel is theirs!

Life just got better and better for a demon as time went on, he had to admit. So many little opportunities to sneak in and prod somebody to take advantage of others... it kept him busy, and he loved his work.

So when he had been given the opportunity to inhabit a human and wreak real havoc on the world, it was a great chance to spread even more chaos for a while before inevitably ducking back down into hell once more to influence humans from the shadows.

That wasn’t what happened, though. Instead, Saturn ended up thrown into years-long conflict with an angel, forced to face the searing agony of his blade, keeping him from doing what he loved. Angels were already an infuriating bunch, but this was even worse: this was personal!

Saturn couldn’t leave the fight, couldn’t let this go. Luckily for him, lately things had shifted a bit. The woman that they were fighting within, Linda Danvers, had struggled deeply with her self-worth, and that gave Saturn a bit of leverage in his battle, one that let him pull ahead. He might not have won yet, but he could feel the balance of power shifting. The angel waning, Saturn waxing, and over time that advantage became even more clear.

Saturn only had an hour, maybe two now, before he would win, fully wrest control of Linda from the angel and from Linda herself, and be able to do whatever he wanted with her body. After all this time, it would finally be his.

Linda’s sister would never be able to stop him, that was something Saturn knew for sure. She played right into his hands, in fact; he was able to influence her due to her physical and social proximity into believing that she had the power to save her sister, that there was a parasite that could easily be expelled, just to bring their relationship into even deeper ruin. It was a delight, one that Saturn had rarely had the opportunity to indulge during all these years locked in combat.

The only worry on his mind now was Superman. Saturn knew that the previous Superman had stood against the forces of hell before, and that this one certainly had the potential to do so as well. Metropolis was supposed to be a playground for demons: the City of Tomorrow’s modernity provided innumerable pitfalls for people to discard their fellow citizens, but Superman was always there helping out. Metropolitans felt little need to betray their neighbours because the city council was constantly able to provide for their citizens, and they were able to provide for their citizens because Superman and his fellow heroes did such a good job taking care of the problems that became money sinks in other large cities.

Superman could potentially put the brakes on his plans, but Saturn knew that, if nothing else, fighting him would still serve his plans. He knew that no mortal, no matter how super, could stand up to the full weight of a demon at full power, and that their fight would undoubtedly cause massive collateral damage.

After all, the so-called World’s Mightiest Mortal had been a prisoner of hell for years. Who knew what Saturn could do to Superman? What he could do to Metropolis?

And so, as Saturn started to prepare for one final push against Zauriel, he set his sights high. He’d finally be able to get everything he wanted, if only he could deal with this pesky angel once and for all.

SSSSS

Alex Danvers felt like she was boiling. She stared at Linda in pain on the bed in front of her, and felt a constant feeling bubble up through her body. Anger, despair, and fear, all mixed into one concoction that she struggled to parse, to understand what her body was telling her.

How was it even possible that she had let things come to this? She had things under control, things were stable, and yet all of that had turned to ashes in her hands.

It couldn’t have been her fault! All she did was care, was try to help out. She took time off of work to come here! She was a good sister.

So it had to be Linda’s fault. What had her sister got caught up in that had led her to this? How had she failed to stop herself from falling into it? Linda clearly had superpowers, anyways! What was Alex doing looking after her when she could do so much? Linda should’ve just gotten a job and provided for herself instead of mooching off of Alex!

Alex walked over to Linda, who was still spread out on Alex’s hotel room bed, clutching her head in pain.

She grabbed her sister’s hand tightly. Linda looked up at Alex, confused. “W-what’s going on?”

“You need to get a hold of yourself,” Alex said. “You can take care of yourself; I know it. You’ve grown too reliant on me. I’m going to make you show me.”

Linda pulled away, but Alex held firm. She knew that Linda could get through this and when she did, she’d finally be a productive member of society.

Linda swiftly twisted her arm, breaking Alex’s grip. Right, the superpowers. Linda started to crawl away from Alex to the other side of the bed, gazing up at her sister in fear.

Linda pulled out her phone. Alex sharply asked her, “What are you doing?”

Linda didn’t answer. Overtaken with fear, Alex snapped at her, “Drop it! Now!”

Eyes wide, Linda tapped away, rapidly typing out some sort of message. Alex made a move towards her and Linda shifted around, avoiding her once again.

Linda’s eyes were wide and full of fear.

She just needs to realize how to do things by herself, Alex told herself. She’s almost there. No use in stopping now.

Alex simultaneously felt a deep pit in her heart. This couldn’t go on too much longer, she thought, for either of their sakes.

But she would do what she would have to do, even if that meant Linda hated her for it.

Lunging forwards, she tried to grab the phone, but only succeeded in knocking it out of Linda’s hand, off the side of the bed. Linda went to reach for it but was overcome as she tried to reach over the side of the bed. She ended up back on the bed, panting, taking deep breaths.

Alex went for the phone, but it had locked. She held it up in front of Linda, the screen facing her.

“What have you done???” she asked. She was trying to keep her voice calm and level, but she couldn’t quite manage it. She could tell she was yelling despite herself.

Linda grimaced, sucking in deep breaths. She shuddered. “I… I should never have gone to you…”

“What did you do!?” Alex asked again.

Linda stared at her silently.

Anger bubbled up within Alex. How dare she refuse to respond? After all that she had done for Linda?

Alex turned away, unable to look at her sister. She threw the phone down on a nearby table, pacing around the room for a bit before turning back to Linda.

“What? Did you message a friend? Is that it?” Alex asked. “You called Superman? Superman isn’t going to be around to save you all the time, Linda. You have to learn to grow up and take responsibility for yourself at some point. What’ll Superman even do for you now, anyways? He didn’t know what was going on with you, either!”

“Just… leave me be…” Linda mumbled. “Please…”

Alex huffed, rolling her eyes. “I can’t exactly do that. You’re the one in my hotel room, and I can’t check out until you get off of the bed. Either come with me back to National City or stay in Metropolis, your choice, but you have to move.”

Linda stayed still on the bed. After a few moments, she started to speak. “I just… I feel like every bit of myself is being blown apart. I can’t move, I can barely think without pain… It’s like it’s erasing everything that makes me who I am. And I don’t know how to fight something that’s coming from inside of me. Maybe I never could, but even if there was a way, now there’s less and less of me left to fight it. Alex… I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be the sister that you wanted. That I couldn’t be happy and cheerful, that I couldn’t enjoy life, that I couldn’t provide for myself. If this is the last thing I ever say to you, I just want you to know that... that I...”

Tears flowed down Linda’s face as her eyes went vacant. Alex stared at her, shocked into silence.

She couldn’t let whoever Linda messaged come and take her away. Not with her in this state.

All they had was each other. Alex was going to be there for Linda no matter what, whatever she needed. She headed to the door to wait.

In the silence, Alex started to truly hear what she had been missing. The hotel around her sounded like it was in chaos, people yelling at each other. Alex heard what sounded like something glass getting smashed.

She started to cry. She knew that this was going to be her ultimate test as a sister.

But she had a feeling that no matter what she did at this stage, she had already failed.

DC Next presents: 

##Suicide Squad

Issue Forty-Five: When You Wish Upon A Star

Arc: To Wish Upon A Star

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by Predaplant and GemlintheGremlinAuthor’s Note: Any dialogue place within ‘’ is spoken in russian.

 It had been an hour since Ethan Avery had uncovered Sofiya’s secret, and the revelation had not become any less intense for him. His perfect world, the perfect life he was ready to build for himself, had all come crashing down around him in one single moment. The person he wanted to build his life around was a secret agent, someone who could easily turn him over to the government. It’d be like it was years ago, when he was a slave to the United States and their experiments. 

He paced around the bedroom, wondering if he should pack all his things and leave now. Staying with Sofiya was a risk, and if he was to be discovered, he’d be stuck in the lab for the rest of his days. He went back on this thought; surely she wouldn’t stab him in the back like that. But then again, he’d only known her for a month or so - her duty probably came first.Then, Ethan realized there was another option. Zalika had kept the offer open for him to rejoin the team. Sofiya could help him find his way into the FSB, into uncovering the secrets behind Red Star. He could pull that thread, stick to his current story, and maybe he’d get it out of this situation with a useful way to keep his friends’ mission alive.And yet, the thought of following the FSB trail made his stomach churn. If it had happened a month earlier, he’d be overjoyed by the lead, and most of his team would grab the opportunity by the horns and not let go. For Avery though, there was one glaring obstacle.Sofiya.Some of his team might’ve wondered if this entire romance was some kind of operation, a conscious decision to become involved with Avery, but he didn’t buy that theory. He’d covered his tracks well, and she would’ve made some kind of move already if she knew what he was. No… regardless of what her real job was and who he was, what they had together was real - he knew in his heart it was real. All that joy, all that bliss, it was genuine.Avery held the badge up, staring at the FSB insignia as he weighed the pros and cons of any potential route he could take. If he followed the FSB lead, he’d be taking advantage of Sofiya, but if he ran, it’d be somewhat of a betrayal as well, even if it meant he kept her out of the greater dangers of his life. Still, he might be taking advantage of her, even now. She didn’t know what he was, didn’t know the real him. He was still pretending his name was Alik, still living a lie. Every moment he was with her, he was lying to her, and it dawned on Avery how truly unfair that was.Running felt more appealing in that moment, a way to exonerate himself from Sofiya, yet even that was too difficult to grapple with. He’d be hanging her out to dry, even if he left a note. She’d be left without true closure of any kind, their time together unresolved for eternity. He couldn’t do that, not to her.Avery’s eyes finally left the badge, and he tossed it back into the purse. He laid down on the bed in silence, closing his eyes and cursing himself for his indecisiveness.

The following days crawled by, with Avery hoping that the problem would just go away, naive as that notion was. Sofiya came home from work every night, none the wiser to his discovery, and together the couple continued to eat together, watch movies together, sleep in the same bed, yet these moments, while joyous, were completely poisoned to Avery. Every intimate moment was false, tainted by his own deceptions. Every hour spent in bed was an hour that he usually spent awake, caked in cold sweat. 

Every second, with or without Sofiya, came with nothing but anxiety, at being discovered, at the consequences of what would come after, and at having what he was building for himself fall apart. Avery began to bank on these feelings subsiding, on him getting used to things, but that simply wasn’t happening.Especially when things started to boil over.It was late, and Avery and Sofiya were on one of their nightly walks. They were making their way back home, cutting through the bustling Volgograd streets. Traffic was heavier than usual that night, and all the sights and sounds of the city were more overwhelming than ever. Cars honked their horns, only slightly overshadowing the traffic notifications and announcements being sounded off every minute or so. Various storefronts peddled their wares, with bright signs advertising every kind of service you could expect. Avery grimaced, unable to take his mind off of his problems, not in a space like this. He began to quicken his pace, hoping to get home faster. The sights and sounds only seemed to intensify, prompting Avery to move even faster. His leisurely stroll became a quickened shuffle, then a highly purposeful march. People began to actively get out of his way, afraid they would get trampled. He was all the way to the intersection when a voice caused him to stop.“‘Alik!’”Avery froze, turning to see Sofiya rushing to catch up to him. He had been so wrapped up in his own mind that he’d forgotten all about her. As she caught up to him, Avery swallowed. “‘Sorry, Sofiya. I just… spaced out, I guess.’”“‘Alik, what’s going on?’” Sofiya said.Avery blinked. “‘What? What do you mean?’”“‘For the last few days you’ve been so… distant. Something’s going on, I know it. Are you alright? Do you feel sick?’” Sofiya asked.“‘No… no, I’m not sick!’” Avery said.Sofiya’s voice grew more panicked. “‘Did something happen at work? Did I do something?!’”Avery put his hands up to emphasize his honesty. “‘No! No, Sofiya, you haven’t done anything! It’s nothing!’”  Sofiya shook her head. “‘No, Alik. It isn’t nothing. I can tell it’s not nothing.’”Avery turned his back on Sofiya, trying to hide the fear in his eyes as she continued, “‘You don’t sleep at night, you barely talk to me. Something’s changed. Please… just tell me what’s wrong.’”Avery bit his tongue, then began walking to the other side of the street. “‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’”Sofiya hurried after him, keeping pace. “‘Alik! Come on! Don’t turn your back on me like that!’”“‘It’s not your problem,’” Avery grumbled.Sofiya caught up to Avery, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to face her in the middle of the street. “‘I love you, Alik! Your troubles are mine!’”Avery felt his heart snap like a twig. “‘I don’t want them to be yours!’”Sofiya began to choke up. “‘Alik, I—’”The two were interrupted by the sound of a car horn blaring, and looked up to see the headlights of a truck barreling towards them, running the red light that was meant to ensure their safety. Sofiya raced for Avery, hoping to tackle him out of the way, but Avery knew she wasn’t going to get clear in time. Instead, he stood firm, causing her to crash against him. He took her in his arm, and didn’t let go. Then, he raised his arm, summoning the energy needed to stop the car. He felt a ripple of power invade the muscles of his left arm, and slowly his white skin darkened to an inky black, with lines rippling up and down the appendage as it ballooned in size, the flesh barely keeping together. In less than a second, the transformation was complete, and he raised the arm to halt the vehicle. 

The screeching of metal invaded the intersection as the entire front of the car caved in around his transformed arm. As the car stopped, he utilized the watch on his other arm, forcing the energy back into the deepest parts of his body, and his arm immediately returned to its natural state. The event had happened so quickly that almost nobody had noticed the aberration, only that the car had miraculously stopped dead in its tracks. They simply stared in surprise, astonished at the event.Nobody except Sofiya.She was simply too close to have missed it, even while everyone on the sidewalk gawked at the accident, Sofiya stared at Avery, perplexed by the person she had been dating for a month. Avery swallowed, then let go of Sofiya, causing her to fall to the ground as he bolted, leaving the scene in a dead sprint.

Avery made it to the apartament in about ten minutes, and proceeded to grab almost everything he knew was his. Clothes, cash, everything. He stuffed his duffel bags full of the stuff, including his fake ID. All the while, tears flowed down his cheeks, forcing him to stop every once in a while to clear his eyes.It was all burning up already, everything he’d done here. The fire that burns twice as hot lasts half as long.He was almost finished when Sofiya finally caught up with him, entering the apartment and slamming the door shut. “‘Alik?’”Avery shook his head. “‘I have to go. I’m sorry, Sofiya, but I have to.’”“‘Alik, please.’”Avery turned to face Sofiya, noting that she was also teary eyed. “‘You saw what I was… I don’t belong here.’”“‘Stop!’” Sofiya screamed. “‘Just… stop and listen to me, please.’”Avery froze up, dropping his bag immediately. He looked Sofiya in the eyes as she wiped her cheeks, calming herself down. “‘Alik, you’re right. I saw what you can do, and I don’t understand it, not totally, but… but that doesn’t change how I feel about you! You don’t have to go.’”Avery hung his head. “‘Sofiya… I know you’re an FSB agent. What I am… it changes everything.’”Sofiya’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to say something, only for nothing to come out. She closed it, and Avery grimaced. “‘You can’t let me go, not after what you saw… and I can’t bear to lie to you anymore. I’m sorry, Sofiya, but it’s over.’”Avery grabbed his bag, and walked past Sofiya, making his way towards the apartment door. As he reached for the doorknob, something metal clicked behind him, and he hung his head before lowering his hand. Sofiya sniffled. “‘Was it real, Alik? Anything we had?’”Avery sighed. “‘Everything we had was real… at least to me.’”Avery grabbed the doorknob and opened the door, and as he walked out into the hall, he glanced back at Sofiya, who was holding a handgun aimed straight at him. She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to, but because she had to. “‘And my name’s not Alik… it’s Ethan. Thought you deserved to know.’”Avery watched as the door slowly closed on Sofiya, separating them. He heard the gun clatter to the ground, followed by Sofiya falling to her knees. She cried uncontrollably, and Avery felt every single sob like a knife to the gut. Brokenhearted, he forced himself to walk down the hall.It was over, and that closure did nothing to stem the bleeding Avery felt in his soul.

It was even colder at night now than it was when Avery arrived in Volgograd, fitting given the circumstances of his exit. The bridge across the Volga River was made of concrete, and well traveled at night, which meant it was more well populated, easier to slip across in the evening. As Avery left the city behind him, trudging in the direction of a dense forest, he considered his options, unsure of what to do next.

He could run, go live a life where he’d be chased for eternity, but that would just be winding up exactly where he was when he was with Haly’s Circus. It’d be a ticking time bomb before he was rediscovered, and at that point there would be no Batman there to save him. Alternatively, he could come back to his friends, but that would be a defeat in its own right. He would’ve disappointed them for nothing, and Avery had no intention to come back empty handed.But what could he do now? His mission was over, a complete failure.Then, as luck would have it, he was presented with the perfect opportunity to turn that failure into success.An explosion rocked the area, emanating from the skies above Volgograd. Avery glanced upward, watching a massive burning ball of energy form against the canvas of stars that made up the night. Near the explosion, a flaming plane was nosediving towards the forest, set to crash in less than a minute. Avery recognized that energy, having seen many of the pictures provided to him by Zalika.Red Star. The Russian superweapon. If he was here, that meant Task Force X was here. If their mission involved being in Volgograd, then Avery realized that if he could find a way to get something from them, something of value. Then his quest to not come back empty-handed would be fulfilled. Avery took a deep breath, the sting of his and Sofiya’s ruined relationship was still fresh on his mind, but for now he locked those feelings away, and began to trudge across the rest of the bridge towards the forest.When Avery first came to this place, he wondered whether or not this life was truly right for him, putting himself in the line of fire for a cause to live in infamy forever, rather than just hiding away. Leaving it, Avery felt stupid thinking he could ever make a smaller life for himself.He felt stupid thinking he had any choice in the matter at all. 

 Next Issue: Enemies become allies?

DC Next presents:

##NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

In Fly on the Wall

Issue Ten: Squashed Flat

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by deadislandman1

Next Issue > Coming Soon

Duke had tried to contact the others, desperate to tell them about what had happened with Deedee, but to no avail. He was alone, and he had a decision to make - fast. Despite his better judgement, despite his initial hesitation, he focused hard on the trail of light along the sidewalk. As he stepped towards them, they formed flickering, brief patterns; footsteps or pale silhouettes, depicting Deedee sprinting down the street and rounding a corner.

There was something off about her. Why did she suddenly attack the very person who was there to help her?

Duke retraced the woman's steps. She couldn't have gone far, he thought to himself. Through the ambient glow of the early evening, he was able to focus for longer on these trails of light, and as they led him through a narrow side street, he pondered on what would have caused her to take this strange path. Where could she have been running to?

As he turned a particularly sharp corner, spitting him back onto a main street sprawling with early evening traffic, the trail went dead; two footsteps twinkled against the cement beneath him, but beyond them lay nothing but dirt and discarded gum. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The odd Gotham citizen looked out of their car window and watched the Signal in awe as he scanned his surroundings.

He stood at the end of the trail and matched his feet up against the footprints. Then, he looked up.

A few feet above his head was the very end of a decaying fire escape ladder. The one red-painted cage around the ladder had not only been stripped of its coating over time, but had also rusted to a deep orange-brown. But sure enough, as Duke looked up into the distant sky, he swore he could see a twinkle of light in the shape of a hand.

Duke sighed. Once upon a time he would have described himself as afraid of heights, and although he would love to believe that those days were gone, there were still moments during patrols or mid-chase where he would look down at the city streets far below him, and a strange feeling would come over him - almost like being buffeted on a boat at sea. This was the first time he had ever felt the same rocking feeling whilst looking up, not down.

Nevertheless, he pushed through his fears and began climbing the ladder. He kept his eyes focused on the rooftop above him and tried to keep his mind as silent as possible, to little success. His armour occasionally clinked against the protective cage behind him, almost reminding him of its presence. He was starting to lose the trail once again; the light traces dissolved into the evening sky like an ice cube dissipating into a glass of water. But as he reached the very top of the ladder, as he grasped the edge of the rooftop, he swore he could hear shuffling.

He pushed himself onto the rooftop area, and as his head crested over the edge, he spotted a young woman lurching for the handle to a door located at the other end of the roof. Her hand fumbled for a moment, the locked door thudding against its strike plate.

“Deedee!” As the Signal identified her, she froze, her eyes wide. “You don’t have to run,” he continued. “I only wanted to help you.”

She didn’t respond; instead she tried the door once more, resolving to slam her fists against it when she was not immediately able to open it. Duke steadied his footing before walking towards her.

“Look, if this is to do with the people who captured you, you have nothing to worry about. We will—”

‘Captured you’?” came a mysterious voice from behind a similar rooftop exit to the one Deedee had been trying in vain to open. As she emerged, she shot Deedee a smile. “Is that how you chose to frame it?”

Deedee’s face went pale. “Nina. It’s… it’s you!”

“Oh please,” Nina scoffed. “You don’t have to keep up the act anymore.”

Duke looked between the two women for a moment before asking something: “Is this her, Deedee? The one who captured you?”

Deedee nodded timidly, to which Nina guffawed loudly. “Oh, wow! Committed, aren’t you?”

Zzzwhip!

A noise familiar to Duke could be heard above the general hubbub of the cityscape, and as he looked round to find the location of the noise, he watched as Harper Row - Bluebird - appeared over the edge of the rooftop much like he had, a grapple gun in her right hand. Within seconds, Insider emerged behind her, and as Batwing swooped in from above, his suit purred with electricity.

There was a spark in Nina’s eyes, as if she were considering a number of drastic moves to escape the situation, but her mouth pursed as she reconsidered.

“Nice trap back there,” Insider said sarcastically.”Now, can one of you - or better yet, both of you - explain to me what the hell is going on here.”

Nina spoke first. “It’s like I said to you. We were hired by this guy in order to—”

“You’ve gotta believe me, Signal!” Deedee cried over her. Their voices overlapped and integrated, much to the confusion of all witnessing parties. “I’m an art critic who was—”

“He’d already stolen all of the pieces of art. But he didn’t want to just sell off his prized possessions. No, he wanted to—”

“I knew I heard moving from downstairs, but I didn’t realise what they were hiding. Not specifically, anyway—”

“Quiet,” Jace’s voice boomed. “Either you can tell us the truth now, or you can talk to the police about it.”

Deedee’s eyes flickered back and forth between Nina and the others. Nina caught her eye for a moment and as she did, she scoffed. “Oh, I get it. It would be too easy for me to be telling the truth. It’d be wrapping everything up with a bow that’s too neat for Gotham.”

“You said you were both in on it,” Harper commented. “But - Deedee, was it? - what was your involvement?”

“Involvement? Me?” Her facade was beginning to crumble. “I… I don’t—”

“Distractions,” Nina added. “We were there as distractions. I always tell the truth, and Deedee here always lies - that was the whole puzzle. We weren’t there to be muscle, or to intimidate the kid.” She folded her arms, angry with the Knights. “We took no joy in it.”

“See,” said Luke, raising a finger. “I think you just broke your own rule.”

“Broke my own rule?”

“What you just said there, about taking no joy in it. That was a lie.” Batwing took a step forward. “I saw the smile on your face as you talked about how you were hired. How you talked about your boss, how this kid’s life was being ruined - turned upside down - by an old acquaintance, and how you smiled as you did it.” Another step. “It brought you joy, Nina.”

“She’s…” Deedee began, her voice hoarse. It was as if she had suddenly snapped out of a spell; her entire body language had changed, from small and meek to tall and firm. Despite all this, there was still a sadness, a fear, in her eyes. “She isn’t lying. Enough with this stupid puzzle, these ridiculous games. Person to person - Nina is right.”

“Alright,” Harper spoke up, her hands buried in her pockets. “I think I’ve heard enough. Batwing is right - we all saw the joy in your face as you talked about Evan in that way, Nina. You relished in watching this young man squirm. Why else would you have signed on to do it in the first place?”

Nina stared daggers into her.

“And that goes for you, too, Deedee.”

“What? Why me? I didn’t—”

“You can’t honestly think that pretending to be a hostage, repeatedly lying to those who are trying to help you - as well as admitting to it later - not to mention attacking one of us in an attempt to escape, all hint at you being innocent in all this?”

Deedee thought for a minute, the cogs turning in her head. The fear in her eyes slowly turned to panic.

“Please,” she muttered under her breath. “We… we aren’t the people you’re looking for. I can give you the name of that guy, if you need. Just… please let us go.”

“Yeah,” Nina said. “We were only hired because you went snooping in the first place. We were only here to slow you down - nothing more.”

“No,” Harper snapped. She marched towards the women with a fire burning inside of her. “You don’t get to do this. You are not innocent here. Sure, if it weren’t for us showing, you wouldn’t have been working for him. But we did show up, so you did work for him. You signed up for something designed solely to torment a young man into being under someone’s thumb. You’re just as responsible for what’s happened as he is.”

The remaining Knights watched in silence. There was a palpable tension that both Duke and Luke could feel; something about Harper’s words - or, perhaps, their delivery - made the air thick and awkward. Then, as she looked over to them, they each nodded slowly.

“I think I’ll be taking your boss’ name now, thanks.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“We’d like to speak to your son, please.”

The words fell out of Luke’s mouth smoothly, and as he looked at Charlotte Blake’s face, he allowed himself to smile; they came bearing good news, after all. Despite his attempt to calm her, Evan’s mother still looked at him with a certain tension in her face. Her family had been through so much over the past few weeks, Luke silently acknowledged, that it was no longer a relief when a costumed hero arrived at her door.

“Sure,” she said with a weak smile, moving to one side and widening the door. “He’s just upstairs.”

Batwing was the first to cross the threshold, with the other three Knights moving close behind him. Each, as they passed their gracious host, gave her a soft thank you or a nod, and Luke led them upstairs, the almighty thunking of their respective armours ringing out through the corridor.

As Luke crested at the top of the stairs, he made an effort to appear as though he didn't know the layout of the house by instinct. He turned the corner and held up his hand to knock the door of Evan's room, but found it already open. Inside sat Evan Blake, his injured leg propped up on a desk chair with a mobile phone in his hands. He looked up at the Knights with a strange look on his face - a mix of bewilderment and… fear?

“Hello, Evan,” Batwing greeted. Evan did not reply. “May we come in?”

With a timid nod, Evan pulled his leg off of the chair and straightened his back. The room was neither messy nor clean; there was a growing stack of clothes piled haphazardly at the end of the bed, with the vague aroma of sweat lingering in the air. But at the same time, the desk was spotless, recently dusted with books stacked neatly in alphabetical order along the attached shelf. As Duke crossed the threshold into the room, he closed the door behind them, and Evan immediately fidgeted with his hands.

“We wanted to speak to you about the case,” Bluebird began. She opened her mouth to continue, but Evan's loud sigh stopped her.

“You don't have to beat around the bush,” he said. “If… if it’s about the robberies…”

Harper frowned, her domino mask digging into her brow as she did. “Evan, we spoke to you about—”

“Look, I…” he began looking around his room, clearly trying to locate key items. “Just give me about 30 minutes to say goodbye to my parents.”

“Slow down,” Jace piped up, his arms folded. “That's not why we're here.”

The stiffness in Evan's shoulders loosened slightly. Jace gestured for Luke to continue.

“We managed to use those paintings you… collected, along with a few others dotted around Gotham. You were right, Evan. They made a map.”

Evan's eyes widened.

“We followed the trail,” Luke continued slowly. “And it led us to a woman, who told us all about these people who had taken your things. Dozens of them, all involved in shady dealings with art.”

“Turns out,” Duke added. “She was lying to us. She led all of us into a trap - one waiting for these three over in a warehouse, and another for me in staying behind to keep her company.”

“Who were they?”

“Hired guns,” Harper interjected. Her body language was tense; it was clear to Evan - to all of them - that there was something she wasn't saying, how they had relished in his upset and turmoil. “They… were hired as distractions. One of them told us themselves.”

Evan nodded, but continued to fidget. “And my parents’ things…?”

“We've secured it,” Luke confirmed. “We’d like you to come check that nothing's missing, of course.”

Evan, after a few moments of pondering, finally worked up the courage to ask directly, “So, you're not here to turn me in?”

The Gotham Knights all looked at each other. Each knew the answer to his question, but they were unsure of what exactly the right words would be.

Batwing, clearing his throat, asked, “Are we going to see Wolf Spider make a reappearance?”

“No,” Evan answered with immediacy and certainty.

Then, Luke nodded. “In that case, we weren't able to catch Wolf Spider. He disappeared, leaving the painting behind, and hasn't been seen since.”

A softness, a calmness, fell over Evan's face. “Thank you. All of you.”

“All that matters is that the victims are safe,” Duke added, a smile plastered on his face beneath his helmet. “And that includes you.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Next: A new web to spin in New Gotham Knights #11

DC Next presents:

SHADOWPACT

In Gone to Ruin

Issue Seventeen: Adverse Possession

Written by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by Predaplant

Next Issue > Coming November 2024

A throaty grumble forced its way from Jim’s chest. His head pounded and stomach churned as though he’d chugged a gallon of battery acid. The cold tile floor pressed against his face was a salve, keeping his gut’s contents on the inside while he drifted back into consciousness. His vision sharpened over seconds to reveal a kaleidoscopic pane of stained glass high above city streets packed with crowds and detritus. The throng of people were chanting something, but he couldn’t make out any words. “Rrrruin?” The arm not pinned beneath Jim’s own torso stretched, feeling around for his companion. The familiar clang of the Sword of Night was nearly as reassuring.

Jim pressed his forehead to the glass and let out a deep sigh as the coldness soothed him. His eyes traced over the world below. Trains criss-crossed a cityscape, billowing white clouds in their wake. Some passed through skyscrapers wrought of bronze and iron whilst others ran alongside cobbled bridges like the arteries of some buzzing metropole that he was pretty confident never was. Bus-sized dirigibles sailing across the sky, held aloft by doughy red masses that reminded Jim of red blood cells. A sprawling banner with the word ‘UNITY’ across the top bore the portrait of a suited gentleman with a fox’s head stretched across fifteen stories of one building.

“Do take your time. I am fond of that view.” Jim heard the accented voice, perhaps Scottish, of some refined sophisticate. He strained, ignoring the weakness in his muscles long enough to rise to his feet and turn. Jim pressed the tip of the Sword of Night into the floor for support and was glad for it, lurching as his eyes fell on the fox man from the poster. The man or creature opened his thin jaw and pulled his tongue along gleaming pointed teeth. Improbably, that seemed to shape his words. “You must be quite confused. Welcome to my study.” The fox man gestured around him to a small library densely packed with tomes of varying sizes. A rolling ladder decorated with bronze fittings stretched up six levels of shelves to the ceiling. Beside it, an old-fashioned inkwell and set of stationary sat atop a mahogany desk.

The fox man straightened his collar and stepped out of the doorway. A muscular woman with deep green skin followed behind him carrying a glass jar with a rat inside, currently nibbling on a cheese wedge. She was dressed in what looked to Jim like a 19th-century officer’s uniform pinned with a half dozen medals and honors. Two short tusks jutted out of her mouth and over her upper lip. Her hair was cropped short with a military buzz cut. The fox man cleared his throat, returning Jim’s attention. “I am the Dux Premier of Thinkbone and present Exchequer-Appointee of Myrrha, Civet the First.” He bowed his head and his two pointed ears went flat. “This is my bodyguard, U’gh. My artificers tell me you two are visitors from another world. They intercepted your arrival and pushed you off course, so to speak. These are dangerous times. I do hope you’ll forgive the inconvenience.”

Jim reeled. He thought he’d gotten pretty good at rolling with the punches and taking reality as it came to him over the last year with the Shadowpact, but as he opened his mouth, no words came out. His eyes darted around the library like a caged animal. He secured his grip on his sword.

“No violence, please,” Civet said. “You’ll find U’gh is quite proficient.”

The bodyguard flexed an iron fist with the faint whirring of servos. “Am.” she said, simply.

“Did you say Myrrha? I’m— this is Myrrha?”

“Or Myrrha City, if you prefer. The beating heart of the known world.” Civet clicked his tongue. “Ah, this known world anyway. You’re familiar?”

“I… I’m not sure anymore. Can you—?” Jim wracked his brain, trying to figure out what was going on. This couldn’t be Myrrha. This had to be some kind of trick being played by White Stag, surely. “Can you bring me to the wizard-king Farben? He is an old friend of mine. He’ll know what’s going on.”

Civet narrowed his eyes. “I know of no-one by that name, but Farben Mountain lies some hundred miles north of here. I could ready my dirigible to bring you there, if you’d explain yourself and answer some of my questions.”

Jim bit his lip. If this was some illusion, it was being rendered in incredible detail for some inscrutable purpose. He decided to risk the whole truth, if only to get his own bearings. Jim told them of the Myrrha he knew, fought for, and at times, ruled: a land of sword and sorcery, of chivalry and adventure. At the mention of White Stag, Civet raised his finger.

“White Stag is the worst sort of reprobate. He agitates the masses to topple our way of life, posing as some champion of the people.” Civet spat the words. “I am not shocked he has been causing such problems for you as well, though I did not know he could reach across worlds…” Civet stroked his chin, pondering until U’gh nudged with her elbow. “Ah! Yes! Pardon my curiosity. You came here with a companion, did you not?”

Jim took a step forward. “Yes! Their name is Ruin. Have you seen them?”

“We are careful about letting such agents roam, especially ones keyed to Destruction, but I believe we can trust you.” Civet nodded at U’gh, who placed the glass jar on its side and unsealed it. The rat scampered out with the cheese wedge in its mouth, darting behind a bookcase.

“Wait, is that…?” Jim raised an eyebrow.

Ruin stepped out from the bookcase and took a bite of the chunk of cheese in their hand. “Hey, Jim.” They held out the cheese.

“I’m good.” Jim rubbed his temples. “Farben was immortal, and I remember him saying something about multiple realities. If anyone has answers, I think it’ll be him. Maybe we can find him in the mountains.”

Ruin shrugged, “I know this is your thing. I’m with you, however you want to handle it, but that’s a pretty big maybe.”

“I was sixteen the last time we spoke, but I don’t know where else to start. White Stag’s our only other lead and—”

Civet interrupted, “He is quite adept at not being found. I do think a ride through the air would benefit my constitution. If this, ahem, wizard of yours is nowhere to be found, then perhaps my artificers will have discovered some other way forward by then. If nothing else, then they should be capable of returning you to your home.”

Jim furrowed his brow, frustrated by the endless complications that had harangued him since he fell asleep in his royal chambers and woke up in that Brooklyn alleyway. “My home is Myrrha. The real Myrrha.” He exhaled sharply. “Let’s go, Civet.”

✨️🔮✨️

The cabin of the dirigible had been worn down with time, its once brilliant reddish mahogany wood now faded to a dull grey. They had managed to secure a cordoned-off compartment on the ship, with simply a curtain separating themselves from the general riff-raff of Myrrha, as Civet had coined them. The large red masses atop the compartment bumped against each other softly as the aircraft departed from the docking bay, and as Ruin stared out of the window, they watched the soft white fog become lower and lower in their field of view. The sound of excited passengers chatting away to their neighbours could be heard just outside the quartet’s private compartment, and though Jim looked around in both excitement and confusion, Civet scoffed to himself and tapped his sharpened claws against his knee. U’gh, meanwhile, seemed to stare blankly into the middle distance.

Ruin whipped their head round and faced Jim. There was a sudden determination on their face. “I’ve been thinking - what if this first task is all about finding out what the tasks are?”

Jim nodded, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“And maybe,” Ruin added. “If we complete all the tasks, White Stag will return you to your old Myrrha. The one that you remember.”

“An interesting theory,” Civet commented. “Though, if I may interject, you could alternatively defeat and capture White Stag and bypass these frivolous tasks altogether. Then, I can put my best artificers on the case.”

Jim sat forward. “And you’re sure this is something you can do?”

“Are you sure this is something White Stag can do?”

Jim stirred. “No.”

And with that, Civet shrugged smugly. “Then you are no worse off.”

A young woman with a very long face and a porcine nose pulled the curtain to one side with one hand, cradling a small child in the other. There was a collection of stains on her dress, and as soon as the curtain had been opened, a strange pungent aroma filled the cabin. Upon seeing the four of them, she flinched. “Oh! I do apologise, Mr—”

“Out!” Civet barked, his voice harsh. The woman immediately retreated, yanking the curtain closed behind her. U’gh wordlessly handed Civet a handkerchief, which he took and held up to his nose, a disgusted grunt emerging from behind it.

Ruin stared at the curtain. “Who was that?”

Civet waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, just one of those Lowers. Don’t mind them, they’re harmless.” He tilted his head. “Mostly.”

The young person blinked, their eyes flickering. “Lowers? Is… is that what the rest of the passengers are called?”

“You’d think they’d construct a better cabin than this,” Civet commented, seemingly disregarding Ruin’s question. “When I told my craftsman to build my own compartment, I didn’t mean ‘install a curtain’.”

“I saw the passengers on the platform,” Ruin pressed. “They looked… I don’t know. Unhappy. Unwell, some of them.”

“U’gh, remind me to contact him about that tomorrow.”

But U’gh wasn’t listening. Instead she turned to Ruin slowly, shifting her jaw from side to side. “Unwell. Yes. Lowers unwell.”

Ruin looked to Jim, who furrowed his brow. “Why are they unwell?”

“Always unwell,” she nodded. “Uppers well.”

Jim could almost smell the smoke coming from Ruin’s ears as they struggled to process this. “Uppers?” Ruin’s eyes flicked over to the fox-faced man. “Is Mr Civet an Upper?”

U’gh thought for a moment, breathing heavily through her overbite, then nodded again.

“But you’re not?”

A shake of the head. “Bought.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“U’gh lonely. No… uh…” She gestured stiffly with tense arms, holding both hands above her head as if referencing people taller than her.

“Parents?”

“Parents,” she repeated. “Dead. Civet… bought.”

“You shouldn’t torture the poor girl,” Civet tutted at Jim. “Forcing her to relive all this… She’s been through enough.”

“You bought her?” Ruin asked. Their eyes were fixed on the vulpine man. “Not adopted, not fostered. ‘Bought’.”

Civet scoffed, refusing to answer their question.

“Is that all Lowers are to you guys at the top? Just… pawns? Something to be bought?”

“This is ridiculous!” Civet shrieked, his accent suddenly thick and his voice suddenly shrill and harsh. Noticeably, U’gh flinched. “I resent what you’re accusing me of! U’gh is my pride and joy. I gave her meaning - purpose.”

The moment Jim opened his mouth to retort, screams sounded out from the other side of the curtain, followed by panicked movement. Stomping boots and clanking metal. Then, as the curtain fell to the side, U'gh pulled herself out of her chair and in front of Civet, her arms outstretched.

Standing in front of them were a small band of pirates, bearing cartoonishly large cutlasses, each of them with white bandanas tied around various body parts: for some, the arm; for some, the neck; and for the man leading the charge, over his nose and mouth. The leader yanked his bandana down to reveal a familiar sly smile, now complete with a single gold tooth.

Ruin's eyes lit up. “Oh! Hey, cowboy guy!”

In a flash, White Stag darted towards the window and barreled into it. An almighty crash sounded, with shards of glass falling like snow at Civet's feet. And in one swift movement, White Stag dived through the now open window and grabbed hold of a loose section of rigging.

He locked eyes with Jim, the wind whipping into the cabin, the curtain billowing. “You want answers? Come get ‘em.”

✨️🔮✨️

“You go on ahead, Jim,” Ruin said, rolling up their sleeves. “We can take ‘em. Right, Civet?”

Civet whimpered meekly, his fists held up to his face.

“Right, U'gh?”

“Right,” she grunted.

Jim looked to Ruin, then to the open window. He squinted through the bright lights of the city, and the harsh wind of the ruined window. White Stag already had the jump on him; just by hesitating, waiting for Ruin's go-ahead, he was already a few feet above the window, clinging onto the rigging of the dirigible. With a sigh - more fear than reluctance - Jim pulled himself through the window and reached up for some rope.

The crimson bladders atop the cabin loudly bumped together, much as they had during takeoff. As Jim looked up, refusing to look down, he spotted his opponent, White Stag, hanging from one hand within reaching distance above him. In a moment of desperation and shortened temper, Jim reached for his sword. The blade cut through the air like butter, but as he lashed out at the pirate, he hesitated on account of the large inflatables keeping them afloat. Consequently, the sword’s swing fell short.

White Stag chuckled. He held out his own cutlass with his spare hand, before placing it in his mouth and continuing to climb. Jim was hot on his heels, however, and as White Stag reached the crest of one of the balloons, he yanked himself up with impressive force, landing on his feet. Jim was not quite as agile, instead opting to clamber onto his hands and knees, grunting in the process. As he began pushing himself onto his feet, he felt something cold and metal pressed into his chin.

“You know the rules, Nightmaster,” White Stag teased. There was a strange new excitement on his face that Jim had never seen before.

“Damn your rules,” cried Jim, batting the sword away with his arm. “Damn it all! Just tell me… tell me what this place is.”

White Stag panted, but said nothing.

“Ruin realised something earlier. The Uppers treating the Lowers incredibly poorly.”

“‘Like pawns’, I believe they said,” White Stag nodded.

Jim instinctively moved to push down on his sword to help prop himself up, but looking down at the inflatable surface beneath him, he thought better. “Is that true?”

Jim caught White Stag's sword with his own before he even realised that White Stag had swung. They clashed swords; White Stag's attacks were violent and offensive, whereas Jim made a conscious effort to avoid any large maneuvers or big swings, lest they find themselves on a sinking airship.

After a large push from Jim, White Stag stumbled back. There was a brief moment where, as he struggled to catch his balance, a mortal panic flashed across his face. The realisation of how high above the ground they were. Then, he caught himself, huffing.

“This is Myrrha,” White Stag finally said. “A version of it that I'm sure you're not used to. Corrupted, much the same as yours was.”

“Myrrha was not corrupted!” Jim barked, slashing out at White Stag. His sword found purchase in his bandana, ripping it clean off of his face and sending it tumbling into the cityscape below.

“No, I'm sure you would think that.” White Stag smiled as he retaliated, his cutlass swinging wildly. “An Upper like you wouldn't be able to tell when your slaves were suffering.”

“Blasphemy!” CLANK, went the swords. Back and forth they went, parrying and blocking and attacking quickly and with flourish. The ship rocked for a moment, and the two men paused to steady their feet.

“Using people as toys,” White Stag spat. “Puppets in your childhood game of make-believe. Pawns.”

White Stag braced for Jim's attack, but none came. Instead, the Nightmaster stared up at him with horror in his eyes. Was this truly what his people thought of him? Did he treat the people of Myrrha with such casual disrespect, as if it was easy? Or was this yet another trick from White Stag?

White Stag smacked Jim in the face with the flat side of his cutlass. “You are nothing but a scared little child, desperate to play with dolls. But the dolls are people, Jim. It was so easy to just put on a crown and proclaim yourself King - that way, all the puppets would bow to your will - but they weren't happy. They were miserable.”

“Take me back,” Jim demanded, bringing his sword down hard on White Stag. The pirate managed to evade the majority of the attack, but winced as the sword caught the tender skin of his shoulder. A small pool of blood began to form on his tan-coloured shirt. “Take me to my version of Myrrha. I can apologise to them, mend my ways.”

“You dense fool,” White Stag berated, guffawing. “This is your Myrrha.”

Jim lashed forwards once again, the two men locked into another sword fight. White Stag pushed back hard against Jim and roared with each strike. But Jim was hesitating. The weight of this revelation was pulling him down, slowing his movements.

White Stag took his moment. “That Sword of Night creates a world built solely from your psyche. All that fantasy - all the monsters and kings and servants - was all because of you. All of those people who were nothing but a background role in your life, all of the misery they went through, was because of you.”

“No…”

“I have worked so hard to reverse the damage you've caused. To give these people a purpose.” White Stag kicked Jim in the chest, swiftly holding up his sword. “Look down, Jim. Look at the world below you.”

The city below was a sea of grey and brown. Factories, dirigibles, steam and smoke. And occasionally, dotted around like punctuation, were the ruins of old cathedrals, castles, stately homes. Ruins of the old Myrrha.

“They built this place themselves,” White Stag added with pride. “Something they could call their own. Away from the tyranny they once suffered.”

White Stag pressed the tip of his sword into Jim's back, but Jim did not move. Instead, he stared down at the decaying brick and stone that used to be his home.

Then, as the cold metal sword pushed him forwards, he felt his body lurch. His feet left the dirigible, and the city began drawing nearer and nearer.

✨️🔮✨️

Next: How the mighty fall in Shadowpact #18 - Coming 6th November

DC Next proudly presents:

##KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In ARGO Solutions

Issue Twenty: National City University

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by Predaplant

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

Nia and Thea rarely agreed with each other about anything, but when Kara received an invite from National City University to be a guest speaker during one of their tri-annual career and networking fairs, they knew that it was an offer that couldn’t be refused — especially not for a fledgling business looking to hire the best and brightest.

While it hadn’t always been the case, in recent years National City was on its way to becoming one of the larger tech hubs of the west coast of America, encouraging students across the nation, and even the world, to join National City University’s prestigious science and engineering programs. Significant investment from the city and the state government of Oregon allowed the university to entirely rebuild its faculties, hiring the best professors and researchers in every field they could afford.

National City was, of course, neither Silicon Valley nor was it Metropolis, but the mayor’s dedication to encouraging the growth of its science- and engineering-focused business class led to much greater growth and higher quality graduates, all of whom had much higher grades. He was proud to foster such an environment, a dedication he claimed to inherit from his mother.

Kara felt honoured to have been invited, even if Thea tried to be the realist in telling her it was simply because she was the hottest topic in the city. Nia, naturally, felt the need to point out to Thea that just because Kara was currently popular, it didn’t mean she wasn’t wanted. Kara chose to keep Nia’s idea regarding the invitation in mind in the days leading up to it. She wasn’t quite sure what she would say to the students as she took the stage. She could, of course, talk about her business but the numerous interviews she had done since its opening did well enough to tell the public what they needed to know. The idea came to her to explain some Kryptonian technology, but the words came to her better in Kryptonian than they did in English, and she wasn’t quite sure how to accurately translate the concepts in the days before she was due to give the talk.

The truth, she had to finally admit to herself the night before, was that she had procrastinated until the very last minute and couldn’t figure out anything that made sense. She had her own deadline with no one to enforce it, and she let it sneak up on her while she focused on sifting through files and trying to coordinate with Doctor Veritas on some early contracts and schematics that didn’t seem to be able to come to fruition.

Shay was a fantastic scientist and she was clearly desperate to begin something, but even her advanced equipment struggled to meet the standards and precision that Kryptonian technology needed — and that was separate from the difficulty of obtaining the materials needed. Krypton had access to many different minerals and metals, and perhaps they got lucky with what they did have access to on their own planet. Nothing that was naturally found on Earth truly seemed to match what Kryptonians utilised.

That started the process of finding adequate substitutions, which would inevitably require synthesising their own materials from what was available, which required equipment that didn't fit in the laboratory. Shay offered to do it herself in her private labs — of which Kara still didn’t truly know anything about — and while Kara did reluctantly agree, she wasn’t sure of herself when she made the decision.

It had only been a few months and she already was finding her space inadequate for her first contracts. Part of her had hoped, perhaps in vain, that it could all be localised in her own lab, where she, or Alura, could monitor everything that happened. She found herself able to trust Shay, to a degree — she hadn’t given Kara any cause to suspect her of anything and she was overwhelmingly professional — but it bugged her that she couldn’t even get a basic project off the ground without shipping her only employee to another lab.

She wondered if it was her own vanity that wanted to keep everything so contained and firmly within her grasp — maybe her fear of Kryptonian technology getting into Simon Tycho’s hands influenced her far too much. Maybe it was why she hadn’t found a single hirable candidate in the hundreds of resumes she had read through despite their decorated pasts. The best and brightest of National City, showcasing what would be a teenager’s intellect back on Krypton. Was she being too harsh? Too protective? On the final night before her talk at National City University, it was the only thing on her mind — for the first half of the night, when she finally drifted off to sleep.

“You are ridiculous,” Dawnstar would have said to her, a scowl on her face even in her best attempts to hide it. “You say you want to use your technology to save your world, yet you hide it from those who would benefit most. The Kryptonian saviours of Starhaven did the same.” The venom in dream-Dawnstar’s voice was palpable. Kara, somehow, couldn’t quite focus too hard on her words, even if they were right.

It wasn’t the first time she had dreamt of the winged woman since they parted ways nearly a year ago, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She barely remembered each individual dream after she woke up, only the image of Dawnstar in all of her powerful glory. She worried, sometimes, that she would forget the intricacies of Dawnstar’s face, that her cheekbones would drift to match someone she had seen in the street the day prior, or that her wings would slowly disappear so she more closely resembled a human.

In truth, not a single detail had faded. She could never forget the woman she had spent so long with on a journey that had challenged everything she knew, and the companionship she found, however brief it was, matched nothing she had ever experienced before or since. Dawnstar’s absence was one she felt, one that never seemed to fully leave her mind.

While she knew that her dreams had said what was right — that her hoarding of this powerful technology that she aimed to save a world with was similar to what the ancient Kryptonian Empire had done — she wasn’t sure how comfortable she was simply sharing it. Tycho was still a threat. Alex Danvers and whoever she worked for was still a threat. Kara could, at the very least, start with being more open to new hires. It wasn’t the duty of those who had never seen her technology before to be familiar with it before applying if there was no way to be familiar in the first place. Perhaps she was too harsh.

“You’re right,” Kara responded, prompting a grin from the dream of Dawnstar. Kara’s cheeks warmed. Her thick black hair flowed down over her shoulders and down to the small of her back, and she seemed as powerful as ever. Her stature was as impressive as it had been on their last day together.

Kara wanted to stay in the dream, and she knew that she could contract Nia to do just that. It seemed as if it had only lasted seconds before Kara’s eyes shot open at sunrise, but she knew that hours had passed. She could only sigh as she wiped her face, her heart beating and still dreaming of someone that was thousands of lightyears away. She knew what it would mean if Dawnstar returned, but a part of her wanted to ignore the implications of her presence. Above all, she hoped that Dawnstar’s journey in tracking Reign had gone without issue. She didn’t want to think of what would happen should Dawnstar be caught by the Worldkiller, much less of what would happen should a confrontation come to blows.

As if it was waiting for her to wake up, Kara’s phone rang. She let out a stiff breath before reaching to her bedside table and picking it up, bringing it to her ear to answer.

“You ready?” asked Nia, who seemed as if she were already up and awake — much more than Kara was. There was a pause.

“I just woke up,” Kara said. “Give me some time to get ready.”

“I know,” said Nia. Kara couldn’t help but sigh again. That simple phrase told her everything she needed to know about what Nia had done the night before. Perhaps even mere minutes before she called Kara. “I’m sure I could connect you two, if you’d like…” Kara sat up in her bed and stared at the wall in front of her for a moment.

“I…” Kara couldn’t seem to find the words. There was another brief pause, one that she considered hanging up on. “Uh… no, it’s okay, Nia. I don’t think she needs any distractions right now.”

“Alright,” said Nia. It was simple, and it was quick. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

Thea stood outside of the main doors of National City University, situated in the northern district of National City, known to inhabitants of the city as the Glass Quarter. It housed the most influential and established institutions in the city, from the university to numerous research firms that partnered with it, and often seemed to shine a little bit brighter than the rest of the city.

Thea spoke on her phone — in recent days, it seemed like she spent less time not on it — and smiled brightly as she spotted Kara and Nia approaching. Quickly, and shockingly politely, she ended the conversation and shoved her phone into her pocket.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Not really,” Kara replied, and Thea only grinned in response.

“She’ll be fine,” Nia said, trying to reassure Kara.

“Oh sure,” Thea said. “But you can’t ride on star power forever.” Nia rolled her eyes. It was ironic, Thea thought, that Nia was so optimistic about Kara's success considering that Nia was becoming a respected reporter for National City News — the one media outlet that was most responsible for bolstering Kara's popularity. Nia herself had done whatever work she could to aid those stories. “Do you at least know what you’re going to be saying? Do you have a topic? They’re giving you a lot of leeway here, I don’t want you to fumble this.”

“Yeah, I’ve got an idea,” Kara replied, looking past Thea and into the university. She didn’t even know where the room she was giving her talk was — she had to hope Thea would. “I think I want to be more open about what it is we do, who we’re looking for, you know?” Thea nodded along. “We’re here to find people to hire and build careers with, right? Can’t really do that if I don’t give them a fair shot.”

“Like you did for the hundreds of other applicants?” Thea asked, her voice pointed but clearly trying to make a joke.

“Something like that,” Kara replied absentmindedly. “I want to walk out of here today with at least one person.” Thea nodded once more, a slight smile forming across her face.

“Alright, I like that, nice and simple,” she said. “One person is enough, it’s more than just you and the doctor. Now, what’s the pitch?” Kara looked back to Thea, confused, and fought the urge to shrug.

“Save the world?” Kara said.

“That’s too abstract,” Thea said quickly. “Every big business promises to their poached students that they’re going to save and-or change the world. Be more specific, be more tangible.” Thea and Nia let Kara think, the minutes closing in before her talk was supposed to begin.

“Well, what I want to do with ARGO is to try and get more sustainable and healthy tech into the world. We can clean the oceans, we can clean the air, there’s a lot we can do.” Kara said.

“You’re getting a lot warmer,” Thea said. “If we’re leaving here with some kid who wants to work for you, let them know what it is you’re doing. Give them examples, projects, the kinds of research and development they’ll end up doing for you. Don’t be vague and try to save the world. Pick something.”

“Almost time, guys,” Nia said, looking down at her watch. “I’m gonna get set up in your hall, Kara. I’ll try to make you look good in this one.” Within moments, she was gone, moving through the front doors and the vast halls of the extravagant university building. It was certainly more expensive than the entire city block that Kara’s laboratory sat on, tenfold.

“Be genuine, be specific, and let these kids know what, exactly, you want them for,” Thea said. “I’m expecting a lot of good looking resumes when we get back to the lab tonight.”

“Better looking than the hundreds I’ve already gone through?” Kara asked, trying to make a joke despite her nerves. Her smile was strained, but Thea offered a reassuring chuckle and a light tap on the shoulder as she began to lead Kara through the building.

“I still can’t believe you’re winging it,” Thea teased.

“Yeah, well, public speaking isn’t exactly something I thought I’d be doing so much,” Kara said, watching as the lecture halls and offices passed her by, endless classes in session. “It feels like my actual job, at this point, is to just make myself sound good instead of actually doing this work.”

“That’s how it tends to go,” Thea said. “I’d offer to take over P.R., but I’m not exactly sure I’m the right person to be the public face of this whole deal.”

“Why’s that?” Kara asked absentmindedly, forgetting that she knew the answer in the moment. She decided to allow Thea the time to respond.

“My father’s face was everywhere when he was arrested,” Thea said. “And when I found out that he was my father, I didn’t take it well. I’ve taken his name back, but it’s enough that my name is even associated with you. If I was the face of ARGO, you’d come under a lot more scrutiny.”

“You think you’re radioactive,” Kara said, taking a moment to look over Thea’s face as they walked down the halls. Thea remained facing forward, as if she wanted to refuse to acknowledge Kara’s read — one which she found wasn’t incorrect.

“You said it,” Thea replied.

“Does that mean I’m rehabilitating your image,” Kara began. “Or am I actually doing something you want to be a part of?” Thea took a moment to think as she stopped in front of the door where dozens of attendees inside were waiting for Kara to arrive. She seemed pensive for a moment. Kara hadn’t detected any form of lie when she had first arrived and offered to join ARGO. She had seemed overwhelmingly calm, in fact, but Kara had never ruled out that there could be more to Thea than she presented.

“I don’t see why it couldn’t be both,” she said finally, looking through the door to avoid eye contact with Kara. “But we don’t really have time to explore my personal life, you’ve got stuff to do.”

With a solemn nod, Kara walked into the room and looked over the waiting crowd, seated and nearly filling up the room. Seeing all the faces in front of her, she immediately felt the repercussions of her procrastination. Perhaps confidence could make up for it.

Welcome back to DC Next! We are excited to share our stories with you this month, especially the grand finale of Green Lantern by /u/Upinthatbuckethead with its 39th issue. This is significant as it marks the end of the last of our original 7 runs that launched back in May and June of 2019. Kory's adventures as the latest emerald ringslinger have been an enduring and exciting part of our world for over five years now, so we would love to congratulate and thank Jack for his contributions and all of his hard work.

We hope you enjoy what we have in store for you.

October 2nd:

• Green Lantern #39 - Series Finale!
• New Gotham Knights #10
• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #20
• Shadowpact #17
• Suicide Squad #45

October 16th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #37
• I Am Batman #18
• The Linear Men #22
• The New Titans #14
• Nightwing #19
• Superman #29
• Wonder Women #55

##Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 36:‌ ‌ A Midnight Conversation

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ Predaplant

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The Binding Seeds‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

Tefé didn’t know what to make of the man in front of her, the man who would take the job she wouldn’t… the Seeder. To her surprise, he was smaller than she expected, cloaked in entirely mundane clothing that made him stand out from the more royal looking robes of the Sureen. If it wasn’t for the moss growing all across his body, he would’ve looked like any other person. He was older than Tefé, but certainly younger than her father when he became Swamp Thing. Levi kept his hand outstretched, waiting for Tefé’s handshake.

“It’s alright! I don’t bite, really!” Levi smiled, like a door to door salesman hoping to sell something you didn’t really need. It wasn’t the smile of a shark, but the smile of someone who was just a little desperate.

Capucine placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Levi retracted his hand. “No need to get hostile, we’re just talking.”

“For now,” Capucine remarked. It was clear to Tefé that the woman had less than zero trust in Levi. Even with his friendly demeanor, she didn’t disagree. She had no clue what kind of man Levi was.

But Maxine, ever the peacemaker, stepped in front of Capucine. “Right, talking! We’re just talking!”

Capucine’s grip tightened around her hilt, but as Maxine shot her an earnest look that screamed ‘Please, let’s be civil about this,’ the warrior snorted and let go of the weapon. Levi nodded, satisfied. “Well, with that squared away. I’d like to get back to the topic at hand. What do you know about the Green?”

“What do we know?” Tefé raised her eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be training to be the Avatar of the Green. Isn’t it the Parliament’s job to teach you these things?”

Levi winced, then looked down, avoiding Tefé’s gaze. “I… I should be more clear. I’m not looking for an explanation of the Green in any academic senses. I’m looking for your perspective.”

Tefé cocked her head. “My… Perspective?”

Levi nodded again, compacting Tefé’s confusion. She had not heard from the Green since rejecting their offer to be Avatar, which she presumed would sour her relationship with the force forever. They could not cut her off from the Green; that much was evident in the fact that she still had her powers, yet they also seemed to have no interest in having anything to do with her. Was Levi trying to re-establish contact on their behalf, or was this more of an independent gesture?

Capucine huffed. “Why should that be given freely?”

Tefé and Maxine glared at Capucine, fearful that she was about to start something. However, she held up her hand to silence them, then locked eyes with Levi. “I mean no offense, Seeder, but we know nothing of who you are, what your intentions are, where your loyalties lie. I believe it’s pertinent that we know these things before we divulge any kind of information, even those of the personal variety.”

Maxine and Tefé looked at each other, silently acknowledging Capucine’s point as they turned to face Levi. He frowned. “So you want to get to know me then? Afraid I’m going to tell other people what you think?”

“We came to your camp, to your home turf, even with the possibility that it might have been a trap, which it very well could have been given our group’s relationship with the Green,” Capucine said. “We’ve humored you plenty just by being here. Return the favor and humor us.”

Levi grimaced, then stretched his shoulders before turning his back on the trio. “Follow me.”

“Why?” Tefé asked.

“If we’re going to talk, I’d rather do it in private, away from the rest of the Sureen,” Levi whispered.

Tefé glanced back at Capucine and Maxine, who both silently approved the action. Seasoned as she was, Capucine didn’t seem to detect any deception on her end, and so the trio walked after Levi, keeping pace behind him. As they walked through the camp, members of the Sureen regarded Levi continually, bowing and addressing him in a reverent fashion, yet every time he simply waved them away with a smile. He seemed quite humble, even uncomfortable with this sort of worship. Eventually, the four of them made their way out of the camp and down the road, until the chants of the camp were almost inaudible.

Levi found himself a stump to sit on, and made himself comfortable, “I don’t hate the Sureen. They’re actually fairly helpful, teaching me about the Green and making sure I know what I’m doing. It’s just that they can be… overeager.” Levi glanced back towards the camp. “And no matter what they say, they serve the Green before they serve me. I got the sense you would prefer them out of earshot.”

“You’re right about that,” Tefé remarked. “So? Gonna tell us your deal?”

“That’s a bit… vague. Could you be more specific?”

“Could you turn down the snark?” Tefé grumbled.

Levi smirked at the comment, only to realize he was being rude. He coughed into his fist. “Sorry… yeah.”

Ready to get on with the conversation, Capucine took a step forward. “Let’s get straight to business. Who do you serve?”

“The Green… or at least that’s my job,” Levi remarked. “I find that a lot of what I do tends to be restoration of ruined places. I haven’t had to fight anyone… at least not yet.”

“Then you are clearly quite lucky,” Capucine said.

“Or we’ve been keeping the peace so he doesn’t have to,” Tefé said.

“In that case, thank you. I uh… I’ve never had to fight anyone,” Levi gulped. “And I hope I don’t have to for a while longer.”

Capucine furrowed her brow. “So the Green has set you to work, but it doesn’t trust you with anything truly important. Good?”

Levi frowned. “You saying I’m bad at my job?”

“I’m saying the Green doesn’t think you’re ready, and that means it hasn’t had time to truly get its hooks into you,” Capucine crossed her arms. “It means you’re more trustworthy.”

Levi sighed. He didn’t know what to make of that statement, but settled on it being a net positive. Scratching at some of the moss on his skin, he looked to Tefé. “You’re… staring.”

Tefé blinked. She hadn’t realized she was so fixated on Levi. In a way, it was just… strange. The Green had talked her up, spoken so highly of her abilities, about how she was the only one who could ever succeed her father. Three years later, and they’ve finally chosen his successor, and the man they chose was… Levi Kamei? A man unaware of the world he had stepped into, and unprepared for it all still. He was putting on a brave face, but she could tell the fact that he was older than her, she’d seen far more of the dangers the forces could conjure up than he had.

“Why?” Tefé asked.

Levi shook his head in confusion, “Why… what?”

“Why did they choose you?” Tefé asked. “What makes you so special?”

Levi stared blankly at Tefé, and in that moment she knew that she wouldn’t get the real answer from him. He was just as lost as she was. He grimaced. “I don’t know. I can’t say I had some special love of plants before I became the Seeder. I was a real estate agent. None of it really makes any sense. For what it’s worth, they didn’t force me into anything. I chose this life.”

Tefé hung her head, then managed a weak smile. “Well, thanks for being honest, for what it’s worth.”

Levi smiled back, then looked to Maxine. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any burning questions?”

Maxine glanced down the road, almost as if she was searching for any prying eyes, then returned her gaze to Levi. “I didn’t get much of a choice when I became Avatar of the Red… but I keep doing it because people depend on me. Why choose this? Why choose Seeder?”

Levi opened his mouth to answer the question, then closed it just as promptly. Maxine watched as he looked away, his hood hiding much of his face in shadows. He had a sense of the answer… yet he seemed almost ashamed to tell her. Eventually, he put up a smile. “It seemed like the right thing to do… and it was better than being a real estate agent… even if it didn’t pay as well.”

Maxine nodded. It was a half-truth, she was sure of it. Levi wasn’t telling her everything, but what he did tell her was enough. Maxine turned to the others. “I’m done.”

Levi looked expectantly at the three. “Have I earned that perspective?”

“I don’t know.” Tefé leaned towards Capucine. “What do you think?”

Capucine scowled. “He has given… satisfactory answers. But I must ask one more… Why our perspective?”

Levi sighed. “Because I feel like I don’t have the whole picture.”

Standing up, Levi stared into the dark forest. “I’m working for a primordial force of nature. I know it’s important, but I don’t know what it wants, not really. The Sureen give me noble answers but… they’re biased. I can’t take their answers honestly. But you guys… you’re divorced from all of that. You don’t revere the Green. That’s something I can use.”

“We don’t like the Green very much either,” Tefé remarked. “Who says we won’t be just as biased?”

“We’ve established a level of trust here, so I know you’ll give me your honest account,” Levi said. “That and… well, even if it is a bunch of horseshit, I can just compare everything you say to what the Sureen spoon feeds me and pick out fact from fiction.”

Capucine chuckled at the comment, showing a rare sense of amusement. All the while, Tefé took a deep breath. She didn’t know Levi inside and out, but from what she could tell, her perspective was only going to benefit him. He had a healthy level of doubt when it came to the Green, and that meant that she could tell him what she was about to tell him without any threat of retribution.

“Well, Levi… I’d say you’ve earned our perspective,” Tefé stretched her shoulders. “And it’s not complicated. My father served the Green faithfully for decades. Years of his life were spent being at their beck and call. He did everything they asked of him without question, and when he finally said no, they stripped him of his power.”

“You say he said no… What’d he say no to?”

Tefé bit her lip. “My brother was connected to the Rot, I’m sure the Sureen have told you about it. They were afraid of him, a fourteen year old boy. They wanted my father to murder him.”

Levi’s eyes widened. He was silent, yet Tefé could tell there was a potent mix of disbelief and anger simmering beneath his blank expression. In some way, this reveal struck a personal chord with him. Tefé continued, “The Green are authoritarian and absolutist. They have their way, and they accept nothing less than exactly what they want.”

Capucine chimed in, “The Green is ancient. They have more than earned their reputation as a force to be reckoned with, but their methodologies can be blunt… outdated.”

Levi closed his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself before sitting back down on the stump. “Thank you… I think… I think that’s all I needed to hear.”

Maxine raised an eyebrow. “Really? We could tell you more.”

“No… I think I’m quite alright. Thank you for this though, for going out on a limb for me,” Levi looked up at the trio, then stood up abruptly. “It’ll be morning soon. The Sureen and I have places to be. You should get going.”

Levi began to walk away, leaving the group alone in the woods. He made it a few strides before Tefé called out to him, “Levi!”

Levi stopped, then turned back. “Yeah?”

Tefé glanced at the others, then back at Levi. She didn’t know why she was doing what she was doing, but she felt it was a good idea anyways. “How do we contact you, if we need you?”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “And why would you want to do that?”

Tefé shrugged. “You never know.”

Levi stared for a moment, surprised at the request. Eventually, it registered to him that he should give some sort of answer. He dug his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a small slip of paper before tossing it to Tefé. She stared at the paper, identifying it as a business card of all things. It read ‘Levi Kamei, Real Estate Agent.’

Levi winked at Tefé. “Not in the business anymore, but the phone number still works.”

Tefé pocketed the card, and with that gesture Levi left to rejoin the Sureen, leaving the three of them alone in the dark. With nothing left to do, Tefé began trudging back to the car, flanked by Capucine and Maxine.

Yawning, Maxine stretched her arms. “Any chance I could catch some Zs in the car?”

“I’ll keep her steady, Max. Don’t worry,” Tefé remarked.

“Are you sure we should keep in contact with him?” Capucine asked. “He could be trouble.”

“He’s trying to figure himself out. For now, I don’t think he’s a threat to any of us,” Tefé said. “Besides, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Right… the cowboy,” Capucine grumbled.

The three set off into the early morning, sunrise only a couple of hours away. While they were unsure of where they stood with the Green, even now, they did know one thing. Levi Kamei was not their enemy, at least not for the moment. Only time would tell if the decision they made tonight was the right one.

For now though, they set off into the unknown, even more unsure of where their journey would take them than before.

Next Issue: Checking in on William!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##NIGHTWING

In Blood in the Water

Issue Eighteen: Knight Promoted

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin and PatrollinTheMojave

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue >

Dick Grayson gripped the steering wheel tightly as the rental car hummed along the winding British country road. The dense, overhanging trees formed a canopy that filtered the fading afternoon sunlight into fractured patches on the asphalt. Jason Todd - now in civilian gear rather than his Shrike disguise - sat in the passenger seat, glancing out at the landscape, which was vastly different from the concrete sprawl of Gotham. Here, the countryside stretched out like an endless green quilt, dotted with hedgerows and ancient stone walls that seemed to divide the land with an almost ceremonial precision. The narrow road twisted and turned, barely wide enough for a single car at times, making every blind corner feel like a potential collision.

“This is cozy,” Jason muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm as he looked out at the grazing sheep on a distant hill. “I feel like we’re driving through a postcard.”

Dick gave a faint smile, keeping his eyes on the road.

The car entered a small town in Wordenshire, its centre clustered around a cobblestone square with a small church that looked older than Gotham itself. The buildings were brick and stone, their roofs steep and dark with the weight of centuries. It felt like stepping back in time.

“Ghost-Maker and Damian were supposed to handle this, you know,” Dick said, glancing over. “Of all the possible leads, why is this the one you’re so hard pressed on following up on?”

Jason didn’t immediately answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the passing scenery, the quaint cottages with their stone walls and ivy-covered roofs - so different from the American cityscapes they both were used to. Finally, he shrugged. “Because Ghost-Maker’s an ass.”

Dick smirked. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not an answer.”

Jason turned his head slightly, catching Dick's eye. “Alright, fine. We need more intel on the Force of July.”

Dick frowned, shifting gears as they drove past a small village centre. “And we don’t need more on Talia, or Hurt, or Lady Eve’s death?”

Jason's expression hardened. “The Force is one big, ugly loose end. They’re supposedly all about stopping Basilisk, but no one knows who’s pulling their strings nowadays. And now, they’re out here killing heroes? That doesn’t add up, Dick.”

Dick sighed, still unconvinced. “And you think Beryl can help us piece it together?”

"She was there, wasn’t she?” Jason replied plainly.

Dick didn’t reply, his thoughts focused ahead as they drove deeper into the countryside. Ghost-Maker had his reasons for wanting to handle this himself, and Dick had his for insisting otherwise. He hadn’t exactly told him, or the others, who would be accompanying him to the United Kingdom. He knew better than to expect them to take it well that he had joined forces with Shrike. Either way, they were here now, and there was no turning back.

They turned down a quieter road that led away from the town centre, towards a more residential area. “You sure you remember the address?” Jason asked.

“Bruce kept meticulous files,” Dick replied, glancing at the scribbled note on the dashboard. “And so do I. Now, it’s here somewhere… just ahead, I think.”

As they rounded a bend, Dick spotted the semi-detached house that matched the description. A modest, red-brick building with a small, overgrown garden and a cracked stone pathway leading to the front door. The curtains were drawn, and the paint was peeling off the window frames. “That’s it,” Dick said.

They pulled up to the curb, the car’s engine rumbling to a stop. “Ready?” Dick asked, turning to Jason.

Jason’s eyes were sharp, focused. “Always.”

They stepped out of the car and walked up the uneven path. Dick knocked on the door, hearing the faint sound of movement inside. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing the exact woman they were looking for. Beryl looked tired, with shadows under her eyes and her hair tied back in a loose bun, but her face brightened when she saw Dick.

“Mr Grayson,” she greeted with a warm smile. “Long way from Gotham, aren’t you?”

Dick smiled back. “It’s been a while, Beryl. Thought we’d drop by and say hello.”

Beryl’s eyes shifted to Jason, her smile faltering for a second before she regained her composure. “And you must be… Jason Todd, right?”

Jason gave a curt nod. “In the flesh.”

Beryl chuckled lightly. “Well, don’t just dawdle. Come in.” She stepped aside, holding the door open for them.

They entered the house, stepping into a narrow hallway cluttered with books, newspapers, and knick-knacks. The air smelled faintly of tea and lavender. “Sorry about the mess,” Beryl said, waving a hand toward the disarray. “I’ve been a bit busy.”

“No worries,” Dick replied, glancing around. The house felt lived-in, comfortable in a way that reminded him of Alfred’s kitchen back at the townhouse. He followed Beryl into the living room, where she gestured for them to sit.

“Cuppa?” she offered, moving toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she muttered to herself with a smile before disappearing.

Jason looked at Dick, bemused. “‘Cuppa’?”

Dick grinned. “You never had a cuppa tea?”

The sound of the kettle boiling filled the room, its whistle sharp and clear. Jason leaned in closer to Dick. “So, how come you two are so friendly?”

Dick shrugged. “We’re not, actually. It was Bruce and Tim who helped her and Knight solve a murder a few years back. Bruce was always kind of… amused by them.”

“Amused?” Jason scoffed. “Are you sure he wasn’t embarrassed? They’re hardly faithful imitations.”

Dick felt a twinge of irritation. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “Knight was… he was a good man. And now he’s dead. Besides, they’re nothing to laugh at. They’re agents of the Crown, like James Bond.”

Jason rolled his eyes, sensing he’d touched a nerve. “Yeah, like if Batman worked for Uncle Sam,” he muttered.

Before either of them could say more, Beryl returned with a tea set. She carefully set it down on the coffee table, and Jason immediately reached for the teapot, his hands moving with surprising care, as if this was the first calm moment he'd had in days. He poured the tea, steam curling upward, and started preparing his own, adding a generous spoonful of sugar. Beryl watched him with a small, amused smile.

“So,” Beryl said, settling into her chair, “what can I help with?”

Dick offered a reassuring smile. “We’re here to follow up on Ghost-Maker’s conversation with you. I know he’s not the most… sensitive soul.” As they sipped their tea, Dick glanced at Jason. He could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked around the room, never settling on one thing for too long. There was a lot they needed to talk about, but for now, they had a job to do.

“Oh yeah, Ghost-Maker clearly doesn’t know the meaning of the word sensitive. Nor did the boy.” Beryl shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But I’ve had worse interrogations.”

Dick nodded, his tone softening. “I also wanted to say I’m sorry about Cyril. He was a brave man.”

Beryl’s smile faded, replaced by a more sombre expression. “Thank you. I’m happy to do whatever I can to help bring the people who killed him to justice.”

At the mention of the killers, Jason leaned forward. “And you’re sure you saw Hawkman, specifically?”

Beryl scoffed. “Oh, it couldn’t have been more obvious. He swooped in with that bare chest of his, giant golden wings, and a mace that looked like it could take down a tank.”

Jason nodded. “And you mentioned Hourman?”

Beryl sighed. “Yeah, but he was younger than I’d ever seen him. Seemed… hesitant. Kept his distance. Now that I think about it, he didn’t seem like he wanted to be there.”

Dick leaned in. “We believe him to be part of their team against his will,” he explained.

“Really? Shit. Poor kid.” Beryl’s eyes widened slightly. “Who is this team anyway?”

“I’m surprised Ghost-Maker or Damian didn’t tell you,” Dick replied. “They call themselves the Force of July, or at least they did. They’re sworn enemies of Basilisk.”

“Basilisk?” Beryl repeated, furrowing her brow. “As in the terrorists?”

Jason put his tea down and sat forward. “Yes. What about them?”

Beryl took a deep breath. “Since Ghost-Maker and the lad came to see me, I’ve been going over everything from our investigation with Ubu. Right before the attack, Cyril, Ubu - like days before - we found evidence that Red Claw was working with, or at least in close proximity with, Basilisk.”

Dick looked puzzled. “Why didn’t you tell Ghost-Maker and Damian this?”

Beryl shrugged. “I didn’t get the impression they cared about the finer details of the Red Claw investigation. And I just assumed Hawkman and his team were there for Ubu, for his connection to the League of Assassins.”

Jason’s demeanour shifted, his eyes narrowing with renewed interest. “Did you or Ubu have any contact with Talia during your hunt?”

Beryl frowned, thinking. “No, not directly. But Ubu was incredibly loyal to Talia. If he found out anything about Red Claw and Basilisk, he would’ve reported it to her.”

Jason leaned back, nodding slowly. “And you’re certain?”

“I’m certain,” she confirmed. “Why?”

Jason’s eyes flicked away, suddenly evasive. “No reason.”

Dick observed him carefully, sensing something deeper at play. “Jason, everything alright?”

Jason gave a curt nod but seemed lost in thought. “Yeah, fine.”

Dick turned back to Beryl. “Jason, could you start the car? I have something private to ask Beryl about.”

Jason hesitated, caught off guard, but then gave a reluctant nod. “If you say so.”

Then, as Jason left the room, Beryl’s posture shifted immediately. Before Dick could ask her anything, she pushed forward in her chair and called out. “Okay, so how the hell is Jason Todd alive after the Black Glove blew him up?” she asked, then caught herself. “Sorry. That was… insensitive.”

Dick sighed, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

“Is he Reawakened?” she pressed.

Dick took a breath, surprised. “Yes.”

“Like the Hawkman who killed Cyril?”

Dick nodded again. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re the same.”

Beryl bit her lip. “Look, it’s not that I don’t get it… but how can you trust him? You don’t know what kind of universe he came from, you know? Like, what if it’s one where everyone’s a Nazi?”

Dick felt a tightness in his chest, realising he didn’t have a good answer. He’d been afraid to find out what kind of man his Jason had become after his escape from Gotham. Dick had searched high and low for him, yes, but maybe he hadn’t searched hard enough, afraid of what he might find. Now, he was determined not to make the same mistake twice. “I have to trust him, Beryl. He’s my brother.”

Beryl studied him closely, then gave a small nod. “Just… be careful, Dick. Don’t play with fire.”

“I know,” Dick exhaled. “Believe me, I know.”

That was enough to satisfy her, but just barely. Even so, it wouldn’t be enough for Dick to explain himself to Jean-Paul.

“Look, if you think of anything else, anything that might help us find these Force of July guys,” Dick began as he stood up from the padded sofa chair, “You know how to contact me.”

“That I do,” Beryl smiled.

“And,” Dick stopped himself just shy of the door. “Well, how are you holding up?”

The British agent managed a small smile. “Thank you for not leading with that. ‘Better when I focus on work’ is what I like to say.”

Dick nodded. “And what’s next?”

“Well, Knightsmen are already getting the ball rolling on dubbing me the new Knight,” Beryl replied with a grimace. “They already got… six candidates for my Squire.”

Dick grimaced also in response. The British agency had their own bureaucratic ways of doing things - ways that were alien to the American acrobat - but he could still relate. “And is that… you know… what you want?”

A smile burst through onto Beryl’s face. “I’ve wanted to be Knight someday ever since I first met Cyril,” she explained. “But… not right now. Not until I’m better. Not until I’m… me again.”

Dick nodded. “Then it sounds like you’ve got a conversation to have with Knightsmen. Tell ‘em exactly that. And if they really want you as the next Knight - which, let’s face it, they will do - then they’ll have to listen. Tell ‘em they can have you as Knight in six months, or they’ll have to find someone else.”

Beryl laughed, finding the American’s cocksureness rather cute. Then she realised he was being sincere. “Well… you know what, I might just have to take your advice,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

The life of a superhero naturally encouraged a certain degree of warped perspective. Earlier, Dick was driving through an British village and feeling completely out of his element; now he sat facing the unrivalled vista of the entire Earth up from orbit aboard the Watchtower as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Monitor duty. Every Legionnaire had a shift, no exceptions. From within the main mission room of the Justice Legion’s satellite, Dick watched several audiovisual feeds across dozens of hard light-projected screens, tuning in and out of various skirmishes and humanitarian efforts of the Legion’s many heroes across the globe. It was a simple job, but an important one. It was also something he hadn’t done for a long time.

While it was true that every Legionnaire was summoned periodically, when he was Batman, Dick was one of a few heroes kept off of summons unless absolutely necessary, as not to pull them away too often from their other responsibilities. He had been offered the same exception when the Legion formally redesignated him as Nightwing, but he had turned it down. He wanted to make sure he stayed in touch with the average Legionnaire’s experience: as a founding member, it was too easy to get out of touch. That was the reason he gave the others when they asked.

The other reason though, the one Dick kept to himself, was that he knew he needed to keep up a presence in the Watchtower and the hero community. Bruce’s last words to him still rang fresh in his ears, compelling him to lead. He had to lead by example, if not always from the front. The truth was that he was disappointed - part of why he took to travelling the world after leaving Gotham to the new Batman was so he could lend a hand to those in need, civilians and Legionnaires alike, anywhere in the world. And while Nightwing had dropped in to help other heroes here and there plenty of times, he was getting increasingly distracted and preoccupied with his own business, his own loose ends. The Black Glove’s remnants. His alternate timeline daughter. His parallel universe brother.

Occasionally, requests would come in for back up, and it would be Dick’s job to coordinate the available heroes and direct them to wherever they were needed. But tonight was a quiet night. So, to be efficient, Dick had brought his laptop and had begun drafting a report on his meeting with Beryl for his colleagues at Spyral, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could with his omission of one important detail. Jason. Or, rather, Shrike.

But then, Dick heard the Fatherbox’s computerised voice ring out, proceeding a thunderous clang, announcing an arrival to the Watchtower via Boom Tube.

“Recognised: Y-B-6-5-5. Aethon.”

So much for keeping up with the superhero community.

Dick bolted upright in his chair, and swivelled around to see none other than Damian, the 14-year-old scion of both the Waynes and the al Ghuls, fast approaching. He wore a slate grey tunic over a skintight black bodysuit, all wreathed with a black and red cloak that draped over his shoulders and to a point at his breastbone. A black domino mask clung to his face, much like those of the ones he could one day call his brothers.

“Damian!?” Dick exclaimed. “How could I, but… I didn’t realise you were…”

Seeing him now, it seemed so obvious. But he had missed it entirely. When exactly had the boy traded the robes and armour of an assassin for the uniform of a hero?

“Why shouldn’t I be part of your clubhouse, Grayson?” asked Damian as he approached. He looked past Dick and to the Earth slowly turning beyond him. “The Justice Legion’s intelligence is… I won’t say unmatched, but certainly unique. And it certainly provides a wealth of opportunities to… keep busy.”

Dick smiled. He knew the kid well enough to know that ‘keep busy’ was Damian for ‘do good’. “Hey, I’m not judging,” Dick clasped his hands together. “Just, you know… I didn’t exactly predict this when you first stole Bruce’s casebook and Diana’s sword.”

“Hm,” Damian looked back to Dick, smothering a smirk. “Well, if pleasantries are over, how about we jump to the part where you explain why you’re conspiring with that butcher Shrike.”

Damn it. Goddamn it. Of all the people to find out first, why did it have to be him?

“Damian, look, I can explain,” Dick began.

But to no avail. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll tell me he’s your brother,” Damian interjected, “Seeing as you were both scooped up by Father, on one Earth or another. But the face of Jason Todd as you knew him is no less of a mask than that lousy plague mask he insists on wearing.”

“He has valuable information, valuable insight,” Dick replied. “He’s been studying this whole conspiracy - if we can even call it that - the whole time we have.”

“So, that’s your Plan B then is it, Grayson?” asked Damian, cocking his head. “When Valley asks why you’re cavorting with dark forces again, and the sympathetic angle doesn’t work? You’ll go for pragmatism?”

Dick could barely take a breath, let alone think, before the boy began again.

“I was assigned to get information out of Squire, not you,” he said. “Did you really think I wouldn’t get curious when you suddenly insisted you take my place?”

Dick sighed. “Look, this whole situation… it’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” Damian replied. “You watched Jason Todd die, and now here he is again, forsaking Father’s path just like old times. But this time he’s cutting down your enemies. It’s the perfect cocktail to make you feel responsible for him.”

“Damian, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Damian refused to relent. “Because who killed Jason Todd? The Black Glove. And which enemies of yours is this new Jason Todd after? The very same enemies he seems to have some kind of working relationship with?”

Dick understood the implication, and didn’t appreciate it. “No. That’s not it.”

“How can you be sure he isn’t some walking bat-cult trap to pull you back in?” Damian continued. “I’m sure you can’t resist the urge to try and save him. How do you know they don’t have you right where they want you?”

“Because the Black Glove is dead!” Dick cried out. And in that moment, as he spoke those words, he noticed something that he immediately reviled: the words’ not entirely unpleasant taste in his mouth. He pushed himself out of his chair and to his feet. “There’s hardly any of them left. They can’t hurt me anymore.”

He watched as Damian, for the first time, hesitated, contemplating his response. “Right…” he exhaled, easing off as much as he could allow himself to. “Even still, what’s your plan? How are you going to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into with him?”

Dick had nothing.

“You do have a plan, right?” Damian added, genuinely asking. “Otherwise… and I hate to say it… I’ll have to get Valley and the others involved.”

“I have a plan,” Dick replied quickly.

Damian took a step forward. “So…?”

“We know who Shrike is now,” Dick began to explain, putting things together. He thought back to Beryl’s warning. “But we still know nothing about the Earth he came from. So…”

Dick gestured to the surveillance computer’s desk, where a porcelain cup slightly stained with English breakfast tea sat. He lifted it carefully with his blue-gloved hand. “Shrike drank from this, so with it, I should be able to figure out which Earth he originated from.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m going to pay a visit, see what kind of world he left behind,” Dick explained. “And what kind of man he really is.”

“Not exactly,” Damian added, plainly.

“Excuse me?” asked Dick.

“You’re not going to a strange new world alone,” the boy replied. “I’m going with you.”

Next: Go one step beyond in Nightwing #19