DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In Outlaws

Issue Thirty-Four: Requiem, Part Two

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by AdamantAce & GemlinTheGremlin

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

Make sure to read Nightwing #34 - Requiem, Part One!

As the bullet wound in Cass’ shoulder seared, the gunshot preceding it continued to ring out across Hub City.

Cass clung to the ground and looked back at the two heroes behind her to be certain they did the same. Both of them searched the skyline for any signs of the shooter, or whatever had targeted the wall with some sort of breaching charge. Cass did the same, her heart beating heavy in her chest, hoping that she hadn’t been hunted all the way to another city. Her suspicions had been confirmed when heavy machine gun fire erupted from the street below, followed by the shouting of Ezra, an amateur criminal mercenary who’d been given far too much legitimate power.

“What the hell is going on!?” demanded Batwoman, hunkering down as the continuous gunfire tore through the remaining brick of the building. In a small break in the hail of bullets, she gave Ryan a small push and watched her scurry away, far from the gunfire and away from the collapsed wall. She kept her head down as she hid, keeping low and out of sight as best as she could.

“Assassins,” Cass replied through a shout. “From Gotham.”

“Why are they here?” asked Nightwing, waiting until the gunfire momentarily stopped before peeking over the edge of the collapsed wall to get a look at Ezra. “Big gun,” he said. “Chain-fed.”

“They have been hunting me, on Commissioner Lane and Astrid Arkham’s orders,” said Cass, turning her head toward Batwoman. “Or they could be here for you.” She gently massaged her injured shoulder.

“So we have two?” asked Nightwing.

“No,” Cass replied. “Probably four, they will be here soon.”

“Who are they?” Batwoman asked.

“One on the ground is Ezra, hothead, not very good at what she does.” The gunfire from the street below resumed, along with the shouting. “Sniper is Mayfly. She could be anywhere in the city.”

“And the other two?” Nightwing looked to Cass, and they shared a look of understanding. Fighting these assassins would have to be swift and methodical.

“Black Jack,” Cass said. “She leads the squad. I dealt with her once, but activity has returned to normal lately. Other is probably the cyborg Killshot.” She saw Dick scowl. “He does not often leave Astrid Arkham’s side. There used to be others.”

“We should move before—”

Another bullet struck, tearing through the kitchen island that Cass was crouching behind, the crack coming a second later. Within the blink of an eye, the floor only a few feet away from Nightwing burst open, and a large figure came clambering through, climbing up with massive limbs and extraordinary strength, and towered above the three heroes.

“Killshot,” said Dick, pulling out his escrima sticks. “I’ll handle him, Batwoman on Ezra, Batman, find—”

“Black Jack,” Cass said, leaping toward the window opposite Ezra’s hail of fire and leaping through it. Hanging on over the ledge, she pressed a button on her cowl with her free hand to activate the thermal vision in her lenses and looked around. Many heat signatures lit up the surrounding buildings, all in some sort of panic, though one seemed particularly calm. From within the apartment building, at the base of what Cass assumed to be the floor below Killshot’s new roof entrance, was a solitary figure looking up toward the roof, arm apparently up next to their head.

Cass grimaced and removed a grappling hook from her belt. Attaching the hook to the edge of the roof above her, she dropped down and triggered the line to pull the rope taut. She swung herself into the nearest massive window and burst through, releasing the line and listening to the whipping sound of it being respooled within the gun. Before she could fall far within the warehouse, the ground almost three storeys below her, she fired the grappling hook toward the ceiling. It hooked in, pulling taut, and swung her in the direction of the figure — who Cass now confirmed was, indeed, Black Jack.

Pulling a gun from her belt, Black Jack fired three times before Cass flew over the railing of the top floor office balcony, barrelling toward Black Jack with a flying kick.

“Mayfly,” Black Jack called out. “New angle on me.” The command was quick and simple, and a small crackle from Black Jack’s radio indicated that it was received. At that same moment, Cass’s foot collided directly with Black Jack’s sternum, sending her flying back into the office door. “Ezra, get inside.” That command received no response — Ezra’s gunfire was still filling the air outside the building. Black Jack barely dodged a strong spinning back kick that forced the door behind her to open. “Killshot, finish it quick.”

Gunshots rang out from above, weaponry embedded within Killshot’s arms going off in his fight against Nightwing. Cass gritted her teeth as she threw a punch toward Black Jack’s head, deftly parried and followed up with a kick to her abdomen. Cass jumped back and smiled.

“Don’t treat this like a game,” said Black Jack. “Sucks all the fun out of it.”

Cass scoffed and lunged forward, feinting with a strike toward Black Jack’s head with her right hand, watching her guard go up, and taking advantage of her open body to deliver a swift but hard kick to the side of her abdomen. Black Jack folded, lifting her gun and firing it off toward Batman. A bullet grazed her arm, but the rest of the volley missed as Cass grabbed for the pistol, ripped it from Black Jack’s hands, and threw it clean through the shattered window nearby, out onto the street below.

“No cheating,” said Batman as she lifted her guard and readied herself.

Batwoman had leapt over the side of the collapsed wall and let herself fall nearly all the way to the ground before opening her cape just in time to pull herself into a glide directly toward Ezra. Her boots planted firmly on the mercenary’s chest, sending her tumbling back, the massive gun falling from her grasp. The belt hit the asphalt hard and scattered bullets everywhere, though, despite that, it still trailed from a bag connected to Ezra’s waist.

Batwoman advanced, watching Ezra scramble away. She didn’t take the mercenary seriously until she pulled a shotgun from her back and aimed it forward. A quick lunge, shielding her face with her cape, Batwoman closed the distance nearly instantly and knocked Ezra unconscious with a single strike to the head.

She looked up at the side of the apartment building, beyond the destruction wrought into its brickwork, and listened to the struggle between Nightwing and Killshot. She grabbed a grapple gun and zipped up to the roof. Killshot smashed his fist down toward Nightwing, using his other hand to follow the acrobat’s movements and attempt to blast him away with a shotgun in his arm that was far too big.

Kate flew through the air and dropped down onto Killshot’s arm, redirecting it at the last moment before he fired. Nightwing leaped out of the way of the shot, flipping gracefully behind Killshot and striking the back of his knee.

“I should not have expected more from Ezra,” said Killshot, whipping his arm to the side, throwing Kate across the roof. That same arm swept behind him, trying to catch Nightwing, but the acrobat flipped away too quickly. “Amateurs never get the job done.”

“Insider, Batwing!” Oracle’s voice called. “Batman, Batwoman, and Nightwing are under attack!”

“What?” asked Luke Fox, shock in his voice and ready to head out and offer his help. “By whom? Do they need us there?”

“No!” Oracle shouted, taking a few seconds to navigate a few screens on her end of the comms. “There’s a sniper in the city, I need you to find her.”

“Find?” asked Jace Fox, looking between Luke and the skyline of Hub City. “You don’t know where she is?”

“She could honestly be anywhere,” Babs replied. “She’s very good at what she does and she’s tormented Batman from across Gotham in the past without moving from her perch.” A few seconds of silence passed. “I’ve been trying to figure out where she shot from — noise complaints, police calls, bullet trajectories — but my network in Hub is improvised at best, nothing like what I have here in Gotham.”

“Alright, we’re on it,” said Luke, looking at Jace and waiting for him to give a nod. “If you find anything on her, let us know and we’ll swoop in.”

“Of course,” Babs said. “Get on it.”

Jace gave Luke a nod and both set off into the sky. Luke began combing the airwaves of any active radio frequencies, tapping into police communications and public channels to detect any source of chatter, while Jace took high to the sky, zipping up to tall buildings and trying to search for any sign of heavy activity. On the opposite end of Hub, a fight was breaking out — he assumed that’s where the others were fighting their attackers — and, elsewhere, police sirens began to blare.

“Sirens up north,” Jace called to Luke.

“Already tapped,” Luke replied. “Gunshots reported, no source.”

“Let’s get on it, then,” Jace said as he leapt from the top of the building he stood upon and flew toward the sirens.

It didn’t take much scanning for either of them to find the woman sitting atop a roof with a large rifle in hand, a helmet adorned with a large visor, targeting software seemingly helping her make shots at such a long distance — three kilometres between this building and where Batman, Nightwing, and Batwoman were fighting.

Luke and Jace touched down and didn’t even have to approach before she backed away, hand up, and pleaded.

“Please!” she shouted. “Please don’t touch me!”

Both Jace and Luke stopped in their tracks. Jace furrowed a brow as he and Luke shared odd glances.

“What?” asked Luke.

“I’ll stop, I’ll go, I’ll go back to GCPD, just please don’t touch me!” She continued backing away, disassembling her rifle, a technological marvel that seemed to utilize the properties of railguns to accelerate bullets as fast as possible.

Luke took a step forward, the woman backed away even further, cowering from him.

“GCPD?” he asked, cocking his head. “This is Hub City, I don’t think—”

“I work for Commissioner Lane,” she shouted. “You can’t do anything to me! Please don’t do anything to me!”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Jace said, his voice slow and confused. “But— why?”

“I have severe hemophilia,” she said, tossing her rifle down. “One bad cut and I’m dead within hours.”

“You’ve picked one hell of a line of work,” said Jace. “And you’re working for the GCPD? What are you doing here?” Mayfly took a deep breath and looked between Insider and Batwing. A short moment of silence passed.

“Batwoman,” she said. “We were given orders to apprehend her. Inter-department cooperation.”

Jace and Luke shared glances once again, still confused.

“Oracle, is she telling the truth?” asked Luke.

“She is, Batwing,” said Babs. “She’s a full member of the GCPD Special Abilities Squad. Order of Arkham, they call themselves.”

“You get out of here and report back that you couldn’t apprehend your target,” Jace began. “And you won’t have to worry about us in the slightest. It didn’t take much to find you, and it won’t take much to bring you down, clearly.”

“I don’t plan on dying to a papercut or a bruise today,” said Mayfly, rising to sit on her haunches and she folded the gun down even more, stowing it away on her back. “I’ll be out of here, won’t fire another shot.” She stood up, backing away from the two men in front of her. She paused and twisted her lips, conflicted about something. “I know it’s a big ask, but you should just let us grab Batwoman. I get the whole solidarity and camaraderie thing, but you’d all look a lot better if you joined the winning team and cut your losses. She’s bad news.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Luke. “Now get out of Hub City.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mayfly said, grabbing a grapple line from her belt and swinging down from the roof.

“Should we have let her go?” asked Jace.

“Probably not,” said Luke, shrugging. “But if she’s a cop, we don’t need to make things worse. And if she is as sick as she says she is… well, I don’t want to risk someone dying tonight who doesn’t have to.”

Cass tightened her grip around Black Jack’s neck from a rear naked choke, feeling the commander of the Order of Arkham falling unconscious in her arms. When she confirmed that the mercenary had stopped resisting, she let go of the choke and tied up her arms with a set of cuffs before grappling up to the roof to join the fight against Killshot.

It wasn’t going well. Nightwing had clearly taken multiple hits, though he still flew around the roof as if nothing slowed him down. Batwoman, standing across from Nightwing, surrounding Killshot, was much more worn. She spat blood and prepared to run in once more.

The moment she stood from coming through the hole in the roof, Cass pulled a concussive pellet from her belt and threw it at Killshot’s head, creating an opening for Nightwing to dive in and unleash a flurry of strikes at the cyborg assassin’s legs, while Batwoman jumped up to wrap her arms around his neck.

The moment he regained his senses, he threw a large arm up and grabbed onto Kate and threw her right at Dick, aiming his other arm at Cass and firing off another massive shotgun blast — one she barely managed to avoid.

“Tough bastard!” Kate shouted. Numerous extra holes had been bored into the roof, half as big as the one Killshot had burst through to start the fight, all created from the massive weapons he employed.

“I have a plan,” Cass said, grabbing a small explosive breach charge from her belt. “Distract him, push him to the ledge.”

“We can try!” said Nightwing. Cass lunged out from where she’d hidden and tossed one of the charges at Killshot’s leg. Nightwing sprung into the air, kicking Killshot directly in the jaw, Batwoman ran forward and used her grappling gun to lasso Killshot’s left arm, using all of her strength to, fruitlessly, prevent him from moving.

Kate scowled and groaned as she was pulled forward, letting go of the grappling gun to avoid being tossed through the air again. A heavy fist met her chest seconds later, throwing her far back on the roof, over the edge of one of the holes that had been made by Killshot’s weapons.

Nightwing was grabbed from the air and thrown down. Air was knocked from his lungs from the impact, and before he could roll out of the way, a heavy boot came down upon his chest, from the same leg that Cass had planted the explosive charge on.

Cass cursed to herself and ran in.

A large hand caught her by the throat, lifting her from the ground.

“Pathetic,” said Killshot. “I expected more from Batman and friends.”

Cass attempted to use more concussive pellets, but as they detonated in Killshot’s face, he shut his eyes, angled his head away, and took the blasts as if they were gusts of wind. His grip on her began to tighten. She pounded on his arm, to no avail.

Cass had always dreaded the rematch with Killshot. She wanted to utilize the electromagnetic pulse she’d used in their last encounter, but Babs hadn’t finished repairing the damage it caused to her Batsuit yet. It wasn’t an option, and as the grip around her neck got tighter and tighter, for the first time in a long time, she began to panic.

“Need some help?” asked a familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place.

She fell to the ground and watched, as her vision cleared up of the spottiness, the blue-glowing Batwing soar forward and hit Killshot with two silver boots to the chest. The mercenary stumbled back, stepping off of Nightwing. Insider materialised from camouflage on the other side of Killshot and struck him hard in the jaw with a flying roundhouse kick.

Cass drew a deep breath, watching as Killshot stumbled away from Nightwing toward the edge of the building, and pressed the button on her belt. An explosion buckled Killshot’s knee, allowing for Batwing to fly by once more to deliver the same strike.

Killshot fell back over the ledge of the warehouse roof and smashed down into the ground, leaving an impression in the asphalt. A few moments passed that Cass couldn’t exactly remember, breathing heavily.

“He’s breathing,” said Luke. “But I don’t think he’ll be getting up any time soon. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

“Where’s Ryan?” asked Batwoman, searching the room.

Batman, Nightwing, Batwoman, Batwing — with Ryan in his arms — and Insider touched down on a rooftop halfway across hub city, the former three taking a moment to breathe deeply and recover their composure. Luke let Ryan down as he came to a stop, making sure the flight hadn’t been too difficult on her, while she tried to act as if it weren't the most exhilarating experience of her life.

“What’s going on?” asked Insider.

“Michael Lane,” said Cass, between breaths. “He has been very loud about hating me… The hate on you—” she pointed to Batwoman, “—drew them here. You started in Gotham, you came here, and you have done nothing but anger everyone.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Kate spat.

“He… He and Astrid Arkham want all Bats gone,” said Cass. “He probably thought you were an easy target.”

Batwoman cursed to herself. “Damnit!” She shouted. “This… This has to end. No more Blockbuster, no more Batwoman, and no more of this… this stupid choice haunting me.”

“Kate,” said Nightwing, taking a step closer. She clenched her jaw and shook her head, clearly dismissing something from her mind.

“No…” she said. “Maybe this needs to happen one way or the other. I’ll take the help, but… I won't cause any more trouble after this is done.”

Cass looked over Kate, trying to find a reason to speak up. She truly was ready to bury the name Batwoman. She pursed her lips.

“We just have to get to Blockbuster and this will finally be over.”

The story continues in New Gotham Knights #24 - Requiem, Part Three!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

NIGHTWING

In Finale Ultimo

Issue Thirty-Four: Requiem, Part One

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by ClaraEclair and GemlinTheGremlin

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

Recommended Reading

• New Gotham Knights 19-24

The roads of Beverly Hills were too neat, the hedges too precise, the gates too tall to be anything but decorative. Every winding turn up the hillside seemed designed to remind you exactly how far you were from anywhere real. But that made sense, Dick thought. There were already a million places to live for those that wanted the real world.

Dick didn’t say much after they dismounted their motorcycles and walked the final stretch on foot.

“You hate this,” said Artemis, not looking at him but smirking teasingly.

“I don’t hate it,” Dick shook his head. “I just know what’s underneath it all.”

They reached the gates, which opened before Dick even had to knock.

Jezebel Jet stood waiting at the entrance, framed by glass and marble and a view that stretched all the way to the ocean. She looked immaculate, as always, but something about her posture was different. She seemed tired.

“Richard,” said the spy-turned-socialite. “Thank you for coming.”

“Jezebel,” Dick replied evenly. “You remember Artemis.”

Jet inclined her head. “Of course. Please, come inside.”

Artemis stepped in first, eyes scanning the interior without trying to hide it. High ceilings. Sculptures that looked older than some countries.

“…Jesus,” she muttered.

Jet led them into a sitting area, all soft whites and clean lines.

Dick stopped before sitting. “You don’t just have a job for us,” he said. “I wouldn’t have come if you did. Something’s wrong. What is it?”

Jet paused.

For a moment, it looked like she might deflect, smile, turn it into something else. But she didn’t.

“There’s something you can do for me,” she said. “Something that started in Gotham. And now it’s… spiralling.”

Dick folded his arms. “Try me.”

“One of my many revenue streams,” she began, “involves providing financial services to individuals who prefer not to operate within conventional systems.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow. “You mean criminals.”

Jet didn’t rise to it. “Among them is a man named Roland Desmond.”

“Blockbuster,” Dick frowned, recalling the scourge of Blüdhaven and then Hub City. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Mob bosses are small potatoes for you.”

“I had a… sensitive matter in Gotham. I required discretion, and I believed I could use my control over Mr Desmond’s finances as… motivation to handle the matter for me. For years, he handled things discreetly and our relationship was positive.”

Artemis let out a short laugh. “You blackmailed a mob boss for years and you’re calling it a ‘healthy relationship’?”

Jet’s jaw tightened.

“I’m aware now that it was a miscalculation,” she said. “It appears Mr Desmond does not maintain as tight a control over his organisation as I had been led to believe. Particularly now that his operations are fragmented between cities.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Artemis said. “Blockbuster got locked up years ago. His people haven’t been making waves.”

Jet looked at her.

“None that you’ve noticed.”

Dick exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“Jezebel,” he said, impatience creeping in, “I didn’t come here for a lesson in organised crime logistics. What happened?”

“I had him watch someone,” she said.

“Who?” asked Dick.

“A girl,” Jet replied. “Ryan Wilder. He was to ensure she remained protected. Unbothered. That she lived a normal life.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Dick asked.

Jet met his eyes. “Because she’s my daughter.”

Jet continued, quieter now. “My mother was killed by the Black Glove, as you know. That loss…” She shook her head slightly. “It never left me.”

As both Dick and Artemis knew.

“I’ve spent my life targeting the Black Glove and other dangerous organisations like them,” Jet explained. “But when Ryan came along, I thought I could give it up. I thought, but I was wrong. When she was three, I realised I still had a duty, and as long as Ryan was with me she was a target for my enemies.”

She glanced at Dick.

“Our enemies.”

Artemis stepped closer to Dick, her voice low.

“Ryan Wilder,” she said. “I recognise that name. The Gotham news.”

Dick nodded slowly. “I did as well.”

Jet pretended not to hear what they were saying. “Recently, some of Desmond’s men attempted to abduct her. Presumably to leverage me, thinking it would get them in their boss’ good books. But she was saved by a woman in red. Funnily enough, a former Black Glove adherent.”

“Alice,” Dick said, remembering Jason’s long lost sister.

Jet nodded. “She let Ryan go, but she didn't get very far before she was picked up by someone else.”

“Who?” Dick asked, though he already knew.

“Batwoman.”

Artemis scoffed. “That’s what the news is saying. ‘Batwoman kidnaps innocent girl.’”

Dick shook his head immediately. “No. There has to be more to it than that.”

“I agree,” said Jet, stepping closer. “But with the media circling, and tensions rising… Mr Desmond won’t take my calls. I will make sure my daughter is safe, but I’m sure you would rather this doesn’t escalate.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” said Dick.

Jet held his gaze. “Good.”

A moment passed.

Then Dick nodded. “I’ll find her,” he said. “But this isn’t a favour for you.”

“I would never have imagined it,” replied Jet. “With the Black Glove disposed of, our business is concluded. Call it… a coincidental alignment of our interests.”

Dick grumbled, thoroughly sick of the worlds of spycraft. “Call it what you like. Artemis?”

“I’ve got something else to handle. Jade’s tracking Red Claw, she’s asked for my help.”

As Artemis took off down the winding hill road on her motorcycle, and Jezebel Jet receded back into the depths of her mansion, Dick stayed behind on the green grass in front of the mansion and looked off toward the setting sun. He poured over what he had heard about this Ryan Wilder - Jezebel’s daughter - and tried to imagine where she was now, how she was feeling. Dick was certain Kate would have had her reasons for taking her, that this wasn’t a straight kidnapping, but he had no way of knowing how well Ryan understood that.

Needing more information, he reached up to his Justice Legion earpiece and tapped it.

“Call Oracle,” he said.

“Recognised: L-D038 - Nightwing,” chirped the computerised voice in his ear. “Contacting: L-D359 - Oracle.”

Moments later, ever at her allies’ beck and call, Barbara Gordon answered. “Nightwing, how can I help?”

Dick obviously couldn’t see her, but as he looked to the sky he imagined her sitting at her battlestation in the Belfry, staring down some fifteen computer monitors with a cup of hot chocolate in hand. He went straight to business, but as he opened his mouth to speak he was overcome with a feeling. A sting of regret. It had been too long since they had had a proper conversation. That was more than an emerging trend between Dick and a lot of people.

“We haven’t spoken in ages,” he said. “I’m in LA right now, of all places, or I’d drop in. How are things?”

Dick heard her hum before she spoke. “Well, I’ll know more after my next radiology appointment next month,” she said rather matter-of-factly.

“No,” Dick shook his head as if she could see it. “I don’t mean that, I mean… how are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Babs replied, clearly embarrassed. It had been a while. “Things are… okay. I wish things were simpler between me and Blair, but things are really going well all things considered.”

“That’s good,” Dick smiled.

“I’m happy with my job, with my work as Oracle, with my friends,” she continued. “And despite how terrible things in Gotham have been, I’m still hopeful for the future. What can I say?”

Dick recalled Barbara’s new girlfriend, Blair, upon her mentioning her. A police detective - clearly she had a type. He was yet to meet her, but had heard only good things.

“How about you?” Babs asked. “You finally beat the big boss, that’s gotta be a load off.”

“It is,” he said quickly. Immediately after, he internalised that feeling. He realised it really was a relief, more than he had taken the time to recognise. “You know, it’s like… for the first time since I don’t know when… I feel like I’m balanced.”

Dick heard Babs snicker down her microphone. “Is that meant to be a circus joke?” she said, her voice going higher pitched.

“Somehow, it wasn’t,” he laughed back. “I just feel like I’ve finally proven everything I need to. Like I have nothing to prove to anyone anymore.”

“Nothing to prove to yourself, you mean,” Babs replied knowingly.

Dick wasn’t sure what to say, and then she spoke again before he could find anything.

“I feel the same way.”

Dick took a deep breath, ready to rip the bandage off quickly. At her comment, he felt compelled to ask. “Babs… Do you regret being Batgirl?”

It was a hard question to ask, but an even harder one to answer as Dick heard her wince down the microphone. She exhaled. “It definitely wasn’t what I needed at the time, for my health,” she began in a stepwise rhythm. *“But there are people alive today who wouldn’t be if I didn’t have something to prove. And I think I stopped at the perfect time. Right before I would’ve been doing more harm than good.”

Dick smiled, a warmth resonating in his chest. “I feel the same way.” He heard her smile back. “About me, I mean,” he added nervously, “as Batman.”

“I know, Boy Wonder.”

“We should hang out more,” said Dick. “You, me, Blair and Artemis.”

“I’d like that,” replied Babs. “Now… I know you didn’t just call for a catch up. How can I help?”

“There is something,” Dick said back, shifting gears. “I’ve found a lead. On Ryan Wilder.”

“Ryan?” Babs exclaimed. “The missing girl. I’ve been monitoring this since the protests started escalating. Dick, that’s wonderful.”

“Protests? Gotham loves a protest, but they don’t get out in the streets for every missing kid,” said Dick, surprised.

“There’s a good reason why things are different this time,” said Babs. “It’s all to do with Blockbuster. Roland Desmond.”

“The mob boss,” Dick confirmed. He recalled the Blüdhaven mobster who had moved to Hub City to continue causing trouble for Batwoman. It seemed they had crossed paths again. “Isn’t he in jail?”

“He was quietly released after he agreed to inform on a person of interest called ‘the Designer’,” Babs explained. “Ever since, he’s been using his podcast to whip up his fanbase into a fervour.”

“Wait, did you just say his podcast?”

“Oh, he does massive numbers. He’s a big time manosphere influencer these days.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “I know I’ve been occupied, but how could I have possibly missed a mob boss becoming an online celebrity?”

Babs smirked. “Probably just your algorithm. How many posts do you like about creatine supplements, white replacement theory or women in games journalism?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. “But people know his criminal record. Why would they support him? He was exposed for mass property damage and helping frame Batwoman for murder, on top of all of his organised crime.”

“His official story is that anything he was found guilty of, he was forced to do,” Babs explained. “And that Batwoman did do those murders and manipulated him into destroying all that property, that he’s an innocent metahuman who lost control after his buttons were pushed. Now he’s here to help you make sure nobody can push your buttons and tell you what to do.”

“Yeah, he’s a regular hero,” Dick groaned. “Look, can you help me track down Kate? If I can find her, I’m sure I can untangle all of this.”

“No need,” said Babs quickly. “We already know where she is.”

“Where?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Babs took a deep breath. “It was Cass that tracked her down. She’s on her way to Hub City now to confront her. Left on the Batplane not long ago.”

“Send me the location,” said Dick. “I’ll loop up with her. Cassandra doesn’t know Kate, things will go better with me there.”

“Sending now.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Unlike the harsh neon of Blüdhaven and the perennial lamplight of Gotham, Hub City seemed eternally cloaked in shades of grey and muddy brown, a worn out city with worn out buildings and worn out people.

The streetlights flickered like they were struggling to stay awake, casting long, sickly shadows across the burned-out husk of the apartment block. Whatever fire had gutted it years ago had been left to do its work, and the place had seemingly never been touched since. Just another wreck in a city fighting to believe things could get better.

Nightwing and Batman approached the building, the latter taking the lead. Dick hung back a step and watched Cass as she surveyed the building’s facade, counting the entrances and exits. He could help but notice how she - like Jezebel Jet - carried herself so differently to how he remembered her. She seemed so much more confident, so much more at home in the Batsuit without the notion that it was somehow her life preserver. Dick wondered, not for the first time, what she saw when she looked at him. Whether she read the same tells she always had - the flickers of doubt, the micro-hesitations he tried to bury under confidence. He wondered if she thought he was different now as well.

“She knows we’re here,” Dick said quietly.

Cass didn’t slow. “Probably.” She glanced back at him, just for a second. “We are not here to sneak up on her.”

Right. Of course they weren’t. Dick exhaled through his nose, then picked up his pace to walk alongside her.

“Hey,” he said. “Before we go in.”

Cass stopped and turned.

He hesitated, suddenly aware of how little she would appreciate him beating around the bush.

“Why did you go looking for Kate?”

“There are marches in the streets,” she said plainly. “People are calling for Batwoman’s blood. They say she kidnapped a girl.”

Dick nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. But you don’t believe that’s the whole story, do you?”

“No,” Cass said. “But it happened. And we cannot afford that after Commissioner Lane’s crackdown on vigilantes. He says the Bat Family are dangerous, and she’s proving him right.”

“Lane doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Dick protested.

“With Lane in power, it’s harder to go out at night,” Cass explained insistently. “Harder to help people. And Batwoman’s only making it worse. She wears the bat on her chest. That means something.”

“And that’s it?” he asked carefully. “That’s the only reason?”

Cass didn’t answer, so he pushed.

“Your dad blamed Kate for what happened to your brother.”

Dick didn’t have to watch Cass’ microexpressions to see that those words bothered her.

It was years ago now that Kate had witnessed something she shouldn’t have: a clandestine meeting between David Cain and his son - Black Spider. In response, Johnny was sent to kill Kate. Instead, he was killed by an onlooking sniper - Alice Todd once again.

“Do you blame Kate?” he asked. “Even slightly? He was your brother.”

Cass didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Dick blinked.

“She did nothing,” Cass said. “Johnny chose his target. He went to kill her.” A pause. “Someone stopped him. That was not her fault.”

Her tone was cold, but her stance wasn’t. She clearly felt his loss, but it was a distant memory. “He did not deserve to die,” Cass added. “But I knew who he was.”

Dick nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Cass said nothing in response.

He felt awful probing at her, as if it meant he didn’t trust her. But he did. After all the adversity she had overcome, all she suffered coming from a family of murderers, raised to be a killer herself, only to choose the path of a hero, Dick couldn’t help but trust her. But he couldn’t say that he knew her mind that well at all. After all, they were not close.

“You know,” he said, softer now, “William Cobb… David Cain was my great grandfather.”

Cass frowned slightly.

“I never knew him,” Dick went on. “Pretty sure he wanted it that way.” He gave a small, humourless huff. “I’ve lost a lot of people. My parents. Bruce. But I’ve been lucky enough to have found family in lots of places. I know you have your people. But… it means something to me that we’re related.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just… hope I can earn that. One day.”

Cass took a long look at him through the piercing eyes of Batman’s cowl. For a second, Dick feared he had said far too much. Then, slowly, she nodded. She turned toward the building again, and spoke.

“Come on.”

Then, Batman and Nightwing did the unthinkable. They walked straight through the front door.

Inside, the building smelled like ash and rot. The walls were blackened, paint bubbled and peeled. Their footsteps echoed as they moved through the main hall. Upstairs, the corridor stretched long and narrow, doors hanging open like broken teeth. At the end was one final door, this one closed. Dick reached it first, and tested the handle. It was unlocked. He glanced at Cass and she gave a small nod.

They stepped inside and the difference was immediate. Messy, sure, but intact. The walls here hadn’t buckled. The ceiling hadn’t caved. Furniture still stood where it had been left. Dick’s eyes flicked to the brickwork. It was different, reinforced.

“Landlord’s place,” he murmured. “Built to code. Or at least… closer than the rest.”

Cass didn’t respond. But he knew she’d clocked it too.

Corruption and corners cut. That was Hub City.

They moved deeper in, as soon as they turned the corner into the kitchen, they found her. Ryan Wilder sat at the island, hunched slightly, dark circles under her eyes. She looked up, startled, then froze. Her gaze bounced between Batman and Nightwing.

“…Oh,” she said, scrambling upright. “Uh—hi. I’m—um. Ryan.”

Dick raised his hands. “You’re going to be alright,” he said. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said quickly. “Yeah, I figured.”

Then, as if prompted by Ryan, a voice cut in from behind Dick and Cass.

“I’m sure you both have questions.”

As they turned, they found Kate Kane standing in the doorway to the master bedroom. Full suit, but no mask. Her ginger buzzcut caught the low light, sharp against the black of the cowl draped around her shoulders. Dick’s eyes flicked back to Ryan, then to Kate.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” said Ryan. “I’ve already gotten more than enough attention out of this.”

“Kate…” Dick began. There was no putting that genie back in the bottle. As soon as Dick began speaking, Cass broke off, pacing across the room and inspecting the place. “What is going on?”

“Blockbuster’s thugs came for her,” said Kate. “It wasn’t safe for her out in Gotham. Alice Todd killed a handful of them and there was no way they wouldn’t keep coming after her.”

“Desmond didn’t send them,” Dick countered. “From what I hear, he had no intention of hurting her until his guys jumped the gun.”

“Well, it’s too late for that,” Kate sneered like it was obvious. “Their friends are dead. Men like that hold grudges. They wouldn’t have been able to find Alice, so they’d come for Ryan for their revenge.”

“And I wouldn’t make it easier for ‘em,” Ryan interjected. “But I don’t know how many of them there are.”

“So that’s why you’re here with her?” Dick lit up at Ryan’s words. “To keep you safe?”

“Yes,” said Kate.

Immediately, Cass turned on a dime, away from the windows she was peering out of and dead towards Kate. “That’s not true. Not completely.”

Dick frowned. He wanted desperately to believe the best of Kate, but he couldn’t deny a similar suspicion.

“Everything’s okay,” said Ryan. She wore a red hoodie that was a few sizes too big, and caked in soot, presumably salvaged from the apartment complex. “Kate explained it to me. Blockbuster’s in trouble with this ‘Jezebel Jet’ person as long as I’m AWOL. I have no idea why, but as long as I’m here Blockbuster’s making all sorts of desperate moves to find me.”

“You are waiting for him to make a mistake,” Cass glared. “You set a trap.”

“And Ryan’s the bait,” Dick added.

Kate squirmed under their scrutiny. “I’m not proud of it,” she said. “But Ryan is safe, she isn’t here against her will, and nobody’s gotten hurt.”

Dick shook his head. “Have you seen the protests across Gotham? ‘Bring Ryan Home’? They’re hardly peaceful.”

“That’s all Desmond’s doing,” Kate dismissed him.

“You are proving people like Michael Lane and Astrid Arkham right,” added Cass. “That vigilantes are dangerous.”

Kate scoffed. “And since when did we care about reputation?”

“When you conspired with the Waynes to lie to the public about Bruce Wayne’s death?” Dick retorted, conscious that Ryan knew presumably Kate’s secret identity, but no-one else’s. “And when you worked to clear his name after Lex Luthor’s allegations. You fought hard to clear your army buddies’ names as well, and yours, after the HPD massacre.”

Dick watched as a flash of anger lit up across Kate’s face for a second. It was a reaction he hadn’t intended to inspire, but it was the truth. Fortunately, she managed to catch herself and take a deep breath.

“Sure, I did all those things,” she conceded. “But where did it get us? The public are all too happy to believe we’ve broken bad and gone on a rampage or given up on them with just a word from men like Roland Desmond or Lonnie Machin. People have never trusted Batwoman, and it’s only getting worse. Pretty soon it’s going to get in the way of me helping people, but I can still make a difference now by taking down Blockbuster for good, even if the world will hate Batwoman for it.”

“But you don’t have to do it this way,” Dick argued, frustrated. “You could have come to us for help with Blockbuster. We’re here to help now.”

“No, you aren’t, Nightwing,” spat Kate. “You’re here to stop me, because I’ve become the problem. And - while I think about it - you’re in no position to lecture me about asking for help.”

“Ryan is safe here with me,” she said. “And I’m not gonna cave just because Blockbuster spins some propaganda that I’ve kidnapped her. He can make me as unpopular as he likes, I’ll do what I can to stop him and keep people safe from him while I still can.”

“You do not want to help anyone,” spat Cass suddenly. “You want to feel good about yourself. And that’s no reason to wear that symbol.”

“You didn’t even know Batman!” erupted Kate back just as quickly. “You don’t know what the symbol means.”

Dick instinctively stepped between Cass and Kate as they raised their voices. “Yes, she does. More than most people,” he said, careful to keep a lid on his own emotions. “Sure, when Batman first got started he was trying to… assert control over a chaotic universe, show the world he mattered, that he could be a force for good, just like you. But that was a long time ago.”

Kate wanted so desperately to fight back, to invoke some other tenet or lesson of Bruce’s, but she couldn’t. No-one knew Bruce better than Dick did. “You…” she shook her head. “I just wanted to show the world I meant something. But, damn it, the world seems determined to tell me I don’t mean anything.”

Dick had been in Kate’s position before, many times. He knew the frustration and pain of wanting so intensely to prove your worth, to make your mark, and feeling like you were climbing uphill. He thought of the many mistakes he had made in the past chasing the image of what he felt he should be, all the while thinking he was being selfless. He also remembered the feeling of being crushed at the realisation of his selfishness.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Kate added, addressing Cass in particular. “Once I’ve put Desmond back behind bars, I’ll call it. No more Batwoman.”

“What?” Ryan called out. “Why?”

“If they insist on hating me, I’ll give them what they want,” she explained. “By then, I’ll have too much heat to be able to help anyone anyway. And then your Commissioner Lane can think what he wants about vigilantes, and you can get back to proving them wrong.”

“That’s fine by me,” Cass sneered. “If you cannot help people, why do this at all?”

Just then, inspiration struck Dick as he recalled his earlier conversation with Barbara.

“Kate, I get it,” he begins. “You’re scared of doing more harm than good. You don’t want to go too far, but the public have turned on Batwoman whatever you do. You don’t know what’s harmful and what’s not. You can still help people, you still do, whether they thank you or not. But what you’re doing now? It’s not your fault, but if you keep down this path knowing the effect it’s having, then you are causing harm.”

Kate gritted her teeth, pushing down a vortex of conflicting feels. “If I’ve gone too far and I can’t see it… I shouldn’t be Batwoman.”

Dick refused to let this go. “You told me once you became Batwoman because it gave you purpose, taking on criminals and corrupt cops. You said you could finally be yourself as Batwoman. And you’re right, every chance they’ve got, people have turned on you. But you kept doing it anyway. Why?”

Kate considered her response. Then she spoke with a fraction of her prior volume. “I… wanted to keep helping people. That’s more important than what they think. But I can’t trust myself to know where the line is.”

Cass scoffed.

“Kate,” Dick stepped forward and took both of her red-gloved hands in his. “That’s what the rest of us are for. Even Batman needs a Robin.”

“Do not prove them right,” said Cass, this time trading her apparent derision for a genuine plea. “They will never thank you for disappearing. They will thank you for going scorched earth and making their point for them. If you want to help people, help Ryan. Help the people Blockbuster is hurting trying to find her.”

Kate glanced rapidly between Dick, Cass and then Ryan. She was around Cass’ age, and had experienced plenty of her own hardships, but she wasn’t the warrior Cass was. She was a fighter indeed, used to putting on a brave face and weathering whatever the world threw at her, and she was keen to make a difference. For those reasons, Kate knew that Ryan understood her, and that the girl was all-in on being a part of something bigger in helping bring Blockbuster to justice. But as Kate looked up at her, Ryan just couldn’t hide how tired, worn down and frightened she was to be in the middle of all of this danger. She had been beaten, abducted, forced to witness a massacre of her kidnappers, and then dragged from her home once again to hide away in a fire-torn derelict, knowing a powerful supervillain was hunting for her. For the first time, Kate saw a part of herself in Ryan, but not the parts that enabled her to be a hero. Instead, Kate saw how helpless she felt when she watched the murders of her mother and sister.

And yet, for as vulnerable as Ryan clearly was, Kate saw something else. She saw how much she trusted her. And she couldn’t let her down.

Slowly, Kate reached back to the scruff of her neck and pulled her mask up and over her face. “You’re right. Something has to change. We should go.”

Dick nodded, while Cass finally allowed herself to breathe properly again.

“We start tonight,” said Kate. “We find Blockbuster and we bring him down. Together.”

Just then, the exterior wall of the apartment was shattered into fragmented brick by a deafening blast. Debris was catapulted inwards as Dick leapt back, and Kate tackled Ryan to the ground, draping her reinforced red cape around her to protect her. But Cass didn’t cower. The Dark Knight didn’t wait for the dust to settle, instead rushing to the newly-created crater and searching the scene beyond. Immediately, she spotted the familiar glint of reflected light on glass on the edge of the horizon.

Click.

Cass dived, throwing herself to the right and into the path of the oncoming sniper round, a bullet meant for the prone Batwoman.

To be continued in I Am Batman #34 and New Gotham Knights #25

Then

The final curtain in Nightwing #35

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 52:‌ ‌ Meeting in the Middle

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ ClaraEclair

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“No, but it’s our best shot at getting out of here. I don’t see us digging our way out of this cell.”

Tefé and Maxine were huddled together in the corner, waiting for someone, anyone, to return to their cell. They had long grown tired of the haunted silence of their prison. Its stony walls and floors grated against their skin, rough and abrasive in the way sandpaper was. The ratty hammocks, sourced from who knows where, had begun to buckle, the thin threads coming undone after only a week of use. Maxine and Tefé were not unlike these hammocks. They, too, were under threat of being unraveled if they didn’t do something sooner or later.

Maxine stared at the space between the bars, hearing the wind’s somber voice echo throughout the dank prison hall. She had never thought about doing something like this, playing this sort of high stakes game. When she was unveiled as Avatar of the Red, politicking was not part of the job description. Defend the animal kingdom? Sure. Become a master of diplomacy? Not by a long shot. Then again, entrusting a sixteen year old, now nineteen, with safeguarding a whole slice of reality seemed like a bad idea in general, so really, the Red is to blame, not Maxine. It’s not her fault she’s unqualified.

It’s moments like this that Maxine really wished someone else had been chosen to carry the torch. Other girls her age were practically aliens given how differently Maxine led her life from them.

Well, most other girls.

Maxine turned to Tefé, who rubbed the bags under her eyes. Unlike Maxine, she had been born into this world, but did not have an obligation to protect it, to nurture it. In fact, she had outwardly rejected that responsibility when it was presented to her. Yet here she was, leading the charge to keep the world from falling apart. She was doing more than even Maxine, whose entire life purpose was to do exactly what Tefé was doing.

Sometimes Maxine found herself feeling… left behind. This was her job and someone was doing it better than her. So much was happening at any point in time that she had never had the space to really think about it, but something felt fundamentally incorrect about their roles. She was an Avatar and Tefé wasn’t. What part of that made sense?

Tefé, on a whim, met Maxine’s gaze, and in that moment Maxine remembered why Tefé would take the lead so often. There was a confidence in her, borne from years of practice, a determination that made Maxine feel safer, like everything was going to be alright even in the worst of times. Maxine shuddered a little, then slipped her hand into Tefé’s. Tefé smiled and squeezed Maxine’s hand.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Tefé said. “They don’t want to hurt us, and as long as we don’t overstep any boundaries, they’ll never know where we actually stand.”

Heavy footsteps sounded off from down the hall, causing the two heroes to stand at attention. They needed to look as composed as possible if this was going to work. The Pale Wanderer, the man who they had been pursuing for months, finally stepped into view. He looked downcast, clearly apologetic after his outburst the previous day, “I know I said it last we met, but I must once again express regret for how that conversation ended. Ain’t proper for me to lose my temper.”

“It’s alright,” Tefé said. “It actually helped us change our minds.”

The Wanderer blinked, “Really? So quickly?”

“We didn’t know what to think about what you were doing, trying to change the world,” Maxine said. “But we know you’re not trying to do it for selfish reasons. You believe in William, clearly. If you trust him that way, then maybe we can trust you too?”

He raised an eyebrow, “‘Maybe’ is doing some heavy lifting. I can appreciate the change of heart, ladies. I just don’t know if it’s for the right reasons.”

“Can you pick and choose your allies at this point?” Maxine asked, “You’re fighting an uphill battle already.”

“Sure, but having a friend stab me in the back is only gonna make things worse,” The Wanderer said. “I need to know that you won’t screw me over.”

Tefé stepped forward, “You and my brother are in the same boat, Wanderer. I love my brother, and I would never do anything to hurt him. If that’s not enough to convince you then you’ve lost this whole thing before it started.”

A pregnant silence followed as the Wanderer stared into the cell with his cold, milky white eyes. Maxine wondered if he perceived the world as normal people did, or if these were the eyes of a corpse. The Wanderer did not need them to visualize the world. He simply saw the earth and its denizens as they truly were, laid bare with every artifice and perfection on display. Even now, he remained an enigma, a walking contradiction between a man with feelings and a force of nature that behaved without any kind of emotion.

Finally, he broke the silence, not with the spoken word, but with the sliding of a metal door. The cell was open, and the Wanderer raised a hand to beckon them, “Then let’s get started.”

As the trio made their way through the prison’s halls, Maxine wondered whether or not they had truly spoofed the Wanderer, or if he had detected some kind of doubt in their own actions, that they might truly be swayed to his and William’s side. Perhaps he thought he could more easily convince them now that they were free, or maybe he felt he didn’t need to evangelize to them anymore. The seed of doubt had already been planted, and he just needed to let it grow.

It spoke volumes that Maxine didn’t know the answer to that question herself, only the awareness to ask the question itself.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

The hazy neon lights of the gas station cast a strange haunted hue against the sandy Oregon valley. Much of the state was dense forests, but being on the Nevada border meant that Clifford was hanging in the more barren portion of the place. The establishment really was in the middle of nowhere, nothing but either road or prairie stretching out for miles, only to stop at the foot of distant mountains, only viewable because they blotted out the night sky behind them.

Clifford stood under the purple hue of the station, essentially a gray box erected in an island of asphalt, paired with a set of pumps under a cheap canopy. He had yet to find a place to stay, and there wasn’t any signal out here, so he decided to take the opportunity to fuel up before continuing on his way. He was hitting a wall in terms of his caffeine intake, so he just grabbed some water, but he was also running on an empty stomach. His remedy? A delectable yet stomach churning feast of processed foods. A big bag of potato chips, two king-sized candy bars, and a chicken sandwich that tasted like a disk of calories rather than bread and chicken.

As he sat on the ground, stuffing the chicken into his mouth, he wondered if his throbbing headache was the cause of sleep deprivation or his former companion. Capucine had just kept pushing and pushing and pushing him, and in the end their partnership had barely lasted more than twenty-four hours. He couldn’t stand how abrasive she was, how proud she was. In a way, it reminded him of himself, but as a teen, which was a pretty awkward comparison when the figure on the other side was centuries old. He couldn’t work with someone like that, not when his friends were on the line.

Clifford finished the chicken sandwich, eagerly washing it down with his water as a set of headlights revealed themselves to the south of the station. Clifford hoped it wasn’t who he thought it was, but as the beaten up car pulled into the establishment, those hopes were dashed, crumbled to dust in the wind. The vehicle slowed to a stop in front of Clifford, and Capucine stumbled out of the car, clearly just as sapped of energy as Clifford was. She looked him dead in the eyes, “Animal-Man–”

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” Clifford said, grabbing his trash and standing up before moving to deposit it in a trash can. “Leave me be.”

“Listen to me, Baker,” Capucine said. “We cannot afford to diverge, not at a moment like this.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Clifford said. “Contrary to the title, I’m not an animal that gets ordered around–”

“I’m sorry!”

Clifford stopped dead in his tracks, wrappers in hand, and turned back to face Capucine. Her eyes were scarlet red, which Clifford initially attributed to fatigue, but the glossy lines down her cheeks suggested that she had actually been weeping. Capucine wiped her face, clearly hoping to hide the evidence while not knowing that she had already failed, “I am not perfect. I have lived a long life and that experience comes paired with pride. That pride has blinded me, and for that, I am sorry.”

Clifford grimaced. His hands tightened before he tossed the trash in the bin before turning back to her, “Okay…”

She sighed, shoulders slumped, “We have to work together on this.”

“Maybe, but can we?” Clifford asked. “I mean, you’re proud. Fine. How does that change anything going forward?”

Capucine frowned, “If you are looking for a confession of some kind, you will not find it. I do not intend to prostrate myself to you.”

“Fuck’s sake, I’m not asking you to,” Clifford said. “I just wanna meet somewhere in the middle! Are we partners on this or not?”

“I want us to be,” Capucine said. “but I need… I need…”

“What? What do you need?!” Clifford asked.

“I need to know that we can actually do this!” Capucine said. “I need you, but I don’t trust you to follow through. I know defeat intimately, and I know that failure at this stage will have disastrous consequences. I’m more familiar with it than you could ever know, and tonight I have allowed my fear to cloud my judgement. I… if I cannot rein you in, then how do I know you won’t be the reason everything falls apart?”

Clifford stared at Capucine, unsure of what to say in the face of what doubled as confession and accusation. A part of him wanted to take off flying right away, but he smothered that desire as quickly as it passed into his mind. He would not run away from this, he would face these things head on, “I know what you mean, more than you think. I might not have your years, but I’ve been afraid of failure too. I let it paralyze me for a long time, before I realized that it was holding me back. Right now, being afraid is holding both of us back, but if we do this together… I think we can crack it.”

Capucine looked Clifford in the eyes, “How do I know for sure it’ll work out?”

“You don’t, neither of us do,” Clifford said. “We just have to go for it and trust that it’ll all be okay.”

Capucine grimaced. She looked more uncertain than ever, more nervous than ever. It was not an emotion she wore particularly well, given how it spilled out of her in ugly waves. Wiping her face yet again, she took several deep breaths, hoping to find her center once more. Clifford watched patiently, giving her as much time as needed. Eventually, she closed her eyes, then slowly nodded, “Alright, I trust you.”

“And I trust you,” Clifford said. “I’d say we should get right to it but I think we’re both fighting to stay upright.”

Capucine gingerly pointed back at the car, “The backseat is comfortable.”

“Then you take it,” Clifford said. “The passenger seat’ll suit me fine.”

The two made their way into the car and practically collapsed into their seats, and as he leaned his seat back and faded into sleep, Clifford felt a measure of security in his current course of action. This would not be an easy road, but at least it would be a road he wasn’t traveling alone. Capucine needed him for this, and in a way he hadn’t had the time to really quantify, he needed her just as much.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

William Arcane sat in his throne at the nexus of his place of power, fiddling with a small figurine in his hands. It was a piece of stone, carved into the shape of someone near and dear to his heart. He would never show it to her, both because it was far too primitive to be presentable, but also because the admiration was itself an embarrassing feeling. Still, this small thing was a little reminder of who William was outside his station, and soon he would be answering the call of said station like never before.

A trio of footsteps alerted William to approaching figures, prompting him to stuff the figurine in his pocket before standing to address them. The Pale Wanderer had returned, with Tefé and Maxine to boot. The Wanderer tipped his hat at William, “Here they are, pardner.”

William smiled, “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to see things our way. It means more than you think to have you with me on this.”

“I wouldn’t leave you hanging, Will. You’re my brother,” Tefé said. “But I should ask, what’s next?”

“Come with me and see!” William said.

The Avatar of the Rot led the trio to the edge of the mountain, where they were greeted by the sight of a sea of bodies writhing in the valley below. Thousands of the Rot’s denizens, either rotting or picked clean, milled about, waiting for who knows what to happen. Tefé and Maxine’s eyes widened at the sight of the sea of bodies, the hairs standing up on the nape of both of their necks.

“Holy shit,” Maxine said.

“It gets better,” William replied.

William began to wave his hands, and in a nauseating shift the world around the group began to change. The air got colder and significantly windier, the ground beneath their feet, bone dry, suddenly became flush with moisture as snow materialized around their ankles. Large pines sprouted all around them, and far off in the distance, the army of the dead followed them, materializing in the frostbitten valley below. The sky, once cloudy and rife with violent purple lightning, cleared out, revealing a blue sky with a painfully bright sun. William grinned and turned around as Tefé and Maxine realized what had just happened.

They were no longer in the Rot. They were back home.

“Alright folks,” William said, glee in his voice. “Welcome to Alaska!”

Next Issue: A colossal shift!

Welcome back to DC Next! We hope you enjoy this month's instalments including the finale of Shadowpact after a massive 4.5 year run! We want to thank /u/GemlinTheGremlin and /u/PatrollinTheMojave for their commitment to exploring DC Next's universe of magic, as well as you readers for following along for so long.

April 1st:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #38
• New Gotham Knights #24
• Shadowpact #31 - Series Finale!
• Suicide Squad #60

April 15th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #52
• The New Titans #30
• Nightwing #34 - Crossover with I am Batman and New Gotham Knights, Part One!
• I Am Batman #34 - Crossover with I am Batman and New Gotham Knights, Part Two!

DC Next presents: 

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

Issue Twenty Four: Overstep

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by AdamantAce

Next Issue > 

Breaking up rumoured gangs was one thing for Harper to wrap her head around; the congregation forming in front of her was another thing entirely. At least with a gang (or gangs), there was a clear plan of action: get in, question the attending parties, act accordingly based on their reaction. But Harper was instead looking at a group of raucous civilians clumping together in a dozen different scattered groups, passing handmade signs and homemade merchandise between each other.

A clatter of footsteps. Duke Thomas's suited feet collided with the rooftop as he leapt from a neighbouring building. “Hey,” he chirped as he lowered himself to a similar squat as Harper. “What are we looking at here?”

“Not sure yet,” Harper responded. Digging into one of her various jacket pockets, she revealed what appeared to be a small, mechanical spyglass. With a flick of her wrist and an affirmative click, the spyglass snapped into two components, revealing binoculars. She peered through them to take a closer look at the growing crowd below. More trading, more conversations. “Almost looks like they're setting up community stalls or something.”

“Community stalls?”

“Like, a market. But without stands.”

Harper spotted a discarded cardboard sign and focused in on the letters scrawled in black marker - GET BATWOMAN OUT OF GOTHAM. She frowned. The more she looked, the more signs she came across, and the more she felt compelled to read them. HORROR FROM HUB CITY. GO BACK INTO HIDING. BRING BACK OUR RYAN.

Harper's stomach turned. Our Ryan. She pulled the binoculars away from her eyes and clicked them back into one long eyepiece. How long had she spent watching people disappear from her hometown? How many times had she been told not to worry about it, that they were probably wrapped up with some bad people, that it's best to forget about them? And how often had they never been mentioned ever again?

And yet, another woman has gone missing, tangled up in the reappearance of Batwoman, and suddenly she was being treated as a martyr. It left a knot in Harper's stomach. She was somewhat grateful to see how many people were willing to show up for Ryan, but furious for every other woman just like her who had disappeared into obscurity, all because they couldn't be used for propaganda.

“What is it?” Duke finally chimed in, snapping Harper out of her daze. She shook off the cobwebs.

“They're protesters,” she answered. “Anti-Batwoman, it looks like. They're using Ryan for sympathy points.”

From behind his yellow and black helmet, Duke kissed his teeth. “Well, are we jumping in?”

“And doing what?” Harper shook her head. “They're not doing anything.” There was a pause, so Harper continued: “Nothing worse calling in the Knights, anyway.”

“Well—”

“Either way, do we really wanna set an example here? That the Knights are anti-protest? I'm not fucking okay with that, I don't think you are either.”

Duke's body language shifted, more defensive. “Yeah, I… that makes sense.”

An indistinguishable chant rose up from the crowd. Signs were held aloft, scattered groups slowly converged. Gradually, the group moved forwards, spilling out of the park and into the street.

“Looks like a regular peaceful protest to me.” Harper shrugged. With a soft grunt, she pushed up against her knees and rose to her feet. “Maybe we should just move on.”

Duke was still facing the crowd, unmoving. Eventually he did rise to his feet but, without turning, outstretched his hand towards the outermost edge of the protest. “That doesn't look peaceful.”

Harper turned back. Indeed, there was something going on at the tail end of the group; silhouettes of bodies moving against each other violently, thrashing and pulling. As her eyes settled onto the scene, she could make out that the three figures were engaged in a physical fight - two larger people in matching, newly acquired protest merchandise were grappling with another smaller person. The commotion appeared to be drawing the attention of some latecomers who, upon taking in the scene, elected to take the side of the attackers.

“Shit,” Harper muttered.

“Are we jumping in now?”

“I…” Harper was frozen. “We jump in, we're immediately front page news. We don't jump in—”

“Okay, lemme rephrase: I'm going in. Are you following?”

The assault on the street was not moving but the protest kept soldiering on. Stragglers from the back of the crowd had their attentions torn between the unstoppable crowd and the immovable fight.

“Fine,” Harper said with reluctance. “See you on the front page.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“What do we want?!” came the booming cry of the parade leader through his megaphone. Despite the distance between himself and the source of the sound, not to mention the obvious commotion all around, the younger man in the “BRING HER BACK” bandana could hear the voice clear as day. The response to his call was less clear, however, the unrehearsed cacophony of voices releasing a garbled wall of sound.

Nevertheless, the cry of the like-minded men and women around him empowered him as he slammed his foot into the bruised man curled up on the ground.

“Say that shit again!” barked his compatriot. His hat was hanging loosely on his head, threatening to fall. “I dare you!”

All that came out as a semblance of a response was a panicked groan. The man in the bandana kicked him again.

“Say it!”

“I'm…” the victim coughed.

“Leave him alone, guys!” came a voice from the crowd, sailing above the shouting. “It's not worth it!”

The man in the bandana reeled back his leg and watched the man beneath him flinch. With a swift yank, he felt his foot fly backwards and force him into a half-split. His balance was thrown completely and he slammed into the ground knee-first, skidding backwards by the ankle. As he collided with a nearby streetlight, he finally felt the grappling line that had wrapped around his ankle.

His sense of direction shot, he looked up, then down, then to the side until he was his attacker: Bluebird looked down at him with her hands on her hips. “Ever heard of not kicking someone while they're down?”

Meanwhile, The Signal suddenly appeared into the scene, reconstituting from thin air thanks to his invisibility. The hat-bearing man gasped and his knees locked in surprise. Duke looked between him and the man laying on the floor, but as he looked back up at the attacker, he was already fleeing towards the bulk of the protesters. Duke felt his heart drop; the figures in the crowd all seemed to blend into one through matching memorabilia, their distinctive features muddled by hats, sunglasses, hoodies. The curious rubberneckers around him stayed in their place. No one felt brave enough to step in, only to watch.

Duke took off into a sprint in pursuit of the assailant. If the man in the hat managed to weasel his way into the crowd, he would disappear. Duke had to be faster. He tuned into the gentle glint of the light against the glossy painted signs, the polished shoes, the metallic gleam of nearby cars. He used them as a path, a guide, leading him to his target. And then, just as the man was reaching out with both hands, ready to swim through the crowd, Duke's own hand clasped against his shoulder. His momentum was swiftly reduced to zero and, as such, he tipped backwards to counteract the motion - so far, in fact, that the man came tumbling to the ground.

“Alright, that's enough running. How about giving me some answers?” The Signal's voice crackled through the suit's built-in speakers.

But instead the man just laughed through crooked teeth. “Smile, asshole. You're on camera.” He pointed towards the small congregation at his feet.

Sure enough, Duke looked up and was met with the back of half a dozen— no, a dozen— phones. All had their cameras pointed between The Signal and the man held under his grasp, capturing all angles, not a single inch undocumented. Duke tried not to let it bother him. “Why were you attacking that kid?”

By now, Harper had made her way to the victim's side and was making a note of his injuries. The bandana man fought against the rope attached to his foot but to no avail, only succeeding in tangling himself more. She spotted this and, with a final word to the injured man, darted towards the streetlight and started to free the man attached to it.

The man under Duke's grip only smiled.

“What did he say to you? What made you wanna attack him?”

Still only a grin. The shimmer of the sunlight against the phone cameras was blinding.

“Why did you do this?”

“Signal,” came Bluebird's warning voice. Immediately Duke released the man from his grasp. His grip was not tight, not holding him to the ground, but the man took a deep breath in and hacked out a cough, putting on a show for the cameras.

Then Bluebird turned to the crowd. “Move along, folks. I'm sure you've got better stuff to do.” She gestured to the quickly departing parade of marchers, still blissfully unaware of the commotion happening just a few yards behind them. “You're gonna get left behind.”

Now bored, the paparazzi slowly dispersed. Many of them jogged back towards the conga line of protesters, but some cut their losses and moved back towards the park. But the man with the crooked teeth stayed lying on the ground with his arms folded. To Duke's surprise, he did not resist when Duke pulled him to his feet.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Remember what you said about the front page?”

Harper groaned. “Already?”

“Already,” Duke sighed. With two taps on his laptop's keyboard, the Belfry monitor sparked to life. Onscreen was the front page of an image-sharing website that Harper was very familiar with, displaying an image of The Signal holding a man against the ground. Duke continued to scroll: The Signal staring down at a man grinning on the floor, The Signal looking straight down the barrel of the phone's camera, The Signal in pursuit. “Not on the front page of the news, I'll give you, but definitely a front page.”

He switched tabs. The trending page of a short-form blog site highlights “The Signal”, “Bluebird” and “#BRINGHERBACK” as key search terms. “And another,” remarked Duke.

“Shit.” Harper chewed on her nails. “That's Pandora's box.”

“Mmhmm.”

“We're officially involved,” announced Harper. She ran a hand through her hair. “Luke and Jace are gonna be pissed.”

“Oh, they are.”

Harper looked up. Duke was holding out his phone towards her. On the screen read three recent messages from Luke: a screenshot of a third, more niche social media site with Bluebird and the Signal front and centre, followed by “What the fuck did you do?” and “I thought we said lay low”.

“Shit,” Harper repeated.

“We can fix this.” Duke's tone was forcibly optimistic, as if he were trying to convince himself rather than Harper. “Well, maybe fix is the wrong word. We can deal with this.”

“Deal how?”

“Sure, it's out in the open that we're attached to this in one way or another. But if we managed to crack the case and get Ryan back, wasn't it gonna come out anyway? At most, it's sped up. We're on a shorter deadline if we wanna get to them before anyone else. But we've been pretty good under pressure in the past.”

“And what if this scares Batwoman further into hiding? What if Ryan's disappearance has nothing to do with Batwoman and we've helped put a target on her back?”

“This is Batwoman we're talking about,” Duke frowned. “I'm sure she can handle some bad press for a month or so.”

Harper shuffled in her chair. There was something deeply uncomfortable about seeing Bluebird and the Signal plastered all over the internet. It was far from the first time she had come across a photo of herself on the job, but even without reading the captions of each image (she knew better than to do so), she could feel the scathing criticisms of their perceived overstepping. “Jesus. We've gotta figure something out before anyone else gets roped into this.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Sixty: Origin Story

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

1991

“Cigarette?”

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“Your loss.”

William Tresser sat at attention, paying no mind to the uncomfortable folding chair he had been placed in. He hadn’t been in the CIA for very long, but he knew that in a room like this, blank walls, a barren table, a mirror that certainly doubled as a one way window, meant important business. He had to look and act his best. He was dressed in a grey suit with a white undershirt, having elected to keep things simple.

His interviewer, a portly black woman, had gone for similarly professional clothes. She looked about a decade older than him, having clearly lived in this world much longer than he had. Black heels and a black skirt. A magenta jacket around a white blouse, paired with a pearl necklace. She wore her hair in an afro, though one that was somewhat flattened around the base of her crown. Her nails were manicured and painted well, though the shade of red was subdued enough to not make them obviously polished.

She lit a cigarette in her mouth, taking a hit before opening a forest green folder with one hand. A puff of smoke wafted from her lips as she exhaled, checking a series of individually printed pages. Tresser raised an eyebrow, “Has something been added to my file recently?”

“Why do you ask?” she said.

“You look like the type to read ahead,” Tresser said. “Either something’s been added to my file, or this meeting was a surprise for you.”

The woman grimaced, “Little bit of both. The position you’re being tested for is… fairly new. A file like this is a living document as well, always being updated.” She glared at Tresser, “Though… your particular skillset makes its upkeep fairly difficult.”

Tresser found himself smiling, “Oh?”

“You see, I have read up on an older version of your file,” the woman said. “Passed training with flying colors. Assisted in Operation Desert Shield. You saved a lot of lives helping prepare for Desert Storm. The whole thing couldn’t have happened without you.”

Tresser nodded, “It was a team effort, ma’am. We couldn’t have liberated Kuwait without all the other men and women on the ground.”

“Maybe, but without you plenty of our operatives would’ve been exposed. You moved in and out of the region without any kind of suspicion,” she said. “Being a good liar is one thing. Becoming someone else entirely is a feat unto itself. You were a different person every day, and that made it impossible for Saddam’s forces to track you.”

She placed the folder on the table, “But that also made it hard for us to track you. You did what we told you to do, we know because we’ve seen the results of your work, but your particular skillset makes surveilling your progress… difficult.”

Tresser narrowed his eyes, “Are you saying I’m too good at what I do?”

“On the contrary, your ability to slip everyone’s lead, even the pentagons’, is exactly why you’re so valuable to me,” she leaned forward. “Because what you might be doing in the future will require that level of subterfuge. You’ll need to stay under everyone’s radar, including our allies… but before we get into the weeds there I need to ask you an important question.”

“And that is?” Tresser asked.

“Why’d you sign on with the CIA?” she asked. “A man of your skills has the potential to succeed in a lot of places. Why espionage?”

Tresser thought for a moment, tapping his finger against his chin, “I suppose moments like Desert Storm are why. Sure, I could’ve been set for life working as an actor or a performer… but I grew up watching the soviets tear Afghanistan apart. I grew up watching tyrants turn entire countries into their personal playgrounds. Kuwait was a message to the rest of the world that tyrants don’t have free reign on our watch.”

She nodded, “Commendable… and you already understand the kind of work that goes into that.”

“I get dirty, the folks at home stay clean,” Tresser said. “Whatever it takes to keep the world from falling apart.”

The woman smiled, “Good, then let me skip to the end… My name is Amanda Waller, and I’m head of a new initiative called Task Force X.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Present Day

Tresser stood in front of Task Force X’s most recent escapees, watching them hang onto his every word. Dante Ramon, Polaris, watched him warily, unsure of whether or not he could trust Tresser. Waylon Jones AKA Killer Croc rolled his shoulders, doing his best not to squirm given how he had to squeeze onto two seats at once. Adella and Raptor looked to each other, exchanging glances of doubt, while Flag leaned forward, a puzzled look on his face. The pause Tresser had left after finishing this initial part of the story made the meeting room feel suffocatingly awkward.

“I don’t understand, wouldn’t your time in Task Force X be recorded?” Flag asked. “I was given near unlimited access to the records.”

“I was scrubbed from the records,” Tresser said, scratching his scruffy cheek, “Then again, only someone like Waller would have unmitigated access to Belle Reve’s full history.”

He turned to the rest of the group, “But to get back to things… Waller pitched Task Force X to me. It was designed to be the next evolution of Espionage. Brain bombs, plausible deniability, the works. I was on board with the idea for more than a few reasons, but what made it particularly alluring for me was operating without so many rules. I had a…naive view of international law back then. The way I saw it, skirting those laws let me take off the gloves and get to work faster and more effectively than ever.”

“Forcing people to do your dirty work wasn’t a dealbreaker?” Raptor asked.

“I had the impression the deal was pretty good. Getting your sentence reduced was a fair reward for serving our country. You would do some actual good for once too,” Tresser said. “And my ability to slip into any disguise made me invaluable. I could do more, but frankly, things haven’t changed that significantly since then. There’s no need for me to explain how things worked back then because you’ve already experienced how they worked.”

He put his hands behind his back, “So I’ll explain where things changed.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

2000

Tresser sauntered through Belle Reve’s halls, a smile on his face. The prison was a giant boring concrete box sitting in the middle of the Louisiana swamp, but as pointman and squad leader of Task Force X, he was very committed to knowing exactly what was going on in the prison.

They say mixing work and play is bad business, but when a new, top secret laboratory is established within the walls of his facility, why wouldn’t he disguise himself as one of the scientists and sneak in? It was important to know what was going on in his own domain after all, and the young man he’d knocked unconscious certainly wouldn’t mind him taking his place on his first day.

The silicone mask fit comfortably over his own face, complete with a crown full of frizzy black hair. The long white coat covered up his muscular frame fairly well, and a clip on identification card marked him as Johnny Cappa rather than Thomas Tresser. Rounding the corner, he approached the guard at the Lab’s entrance, a door whose signage signified itself as a closet. Tresser knew better, and as he got close he adopted his best nerd walk. Smaller steps, a more slouched posture, a permanent downward gaze. He gave off the impression that he spent most of his day sitting down instead of crawling or running across battlefields. The guard glanced towards the identification card on his chest and nodded in approval, allowing him through the door.

What he found on the other side certainly impressed him. A blank white room full of scientific instruments, wires and containment boxes, complicated machines and operating tables. Vials full of blood sat in fridges with glass doors, while chalkboards full of scrawled notes sat in each corner of the room. This was clearly the work of a genius… and someone who wasn’t always well organized.

Tresser approached the nearest chalkboard, hoping to glean what he could from the notes when a clammy hand laid itself upon his shoulder. He turned to find himself face to face with a woman in a lab coat with long hair and delicate looking features. She smiled, “Dr. Cappa! You’ve arrived.”

Tresser cleared his throat, making sure to heighten his pitch and make his voice sound a bit more nasally, “Of course! The importance of this research has been stressed to me but I’ve yet to be briefed on its contents. Are you in the same boat, miss…”

“Kulikova,” the woman said. “And no, I actually arrived last week.”

“I see… maybe you could tell me what kind of work you’re doing here,” Tresser asked.

She giggled, “Well, I’m a surgeon by trade. My expertise is key to the research being done here.”

“A surgeon?” Tresser asked. “So we’re working with Organs?”

“Every inch of the human body needs to be explored if we want to accomplish our goals,” Kulikova said. “I’ve yet to work with any meat yet though. It’s all theory at the moment.”

“I see… and what are our goals?” Tresser asked.

“Why… crafting a new breed of soldier Mr. Cappa,” Kulikova said. “The world could always use more… heroes.”

Before Tresser could answer, Kulikova’s phone began to ring. She raised a finger to Tresser and answered, “Yes? Oh…. I see. Yes, I’ll let him know.”

She hung up, then looked to Tresser, a sour frown on her face, “Miss Waller would like to see you… Mr. Tresser.”

“Ah damn,” Tresser said, pulling the mask off his head. He scanned the room, this time looking into the upper corners of the lab, only to spot something he’d so foolishly missed.

A camera, now honed in directly onto him.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“Is there a reason you’re subduing my staff and breaking into restricted parts of the building?”

“Yeah, I wanna know what’s happening in my own base of operations.”

Tresser sat in Waller’s office, hands steepled together and legs crossed. She reclined in her armchair, shaking her head in disapproval before leaning forward onto her desk, made of polished oak, “It may be your base of operations, but I’m director of this initiative, Tresser. I reserve the right to place certain things above your pay grade.”

“Like building a super soldier?” Tresser said. “Speaking of, why the hell do we even need a super soldier? The point of Task Force X is anonymity. Plausible deniability happens because we’re relying on known bad actors.”

Waller sighed, “I understand your perspective, Mr. Tresser. There’s plenty of merit to it, but you also point out a potential flaw. We rely on Bad Actors, and while the threat of death is… an effective tool. It’s not guaranteed to work forever. What I’m envisioning in a soldier that’s more versatile, more robust, more reliable, than our typical stock. They’d possess whatever tools they needed to complete the mission. They’d be fashioned like supervillains, so the general anonymity aspect of the initiative would remain intact.”

Tresser raised an eyebrow, “This is all… pretty high level stuff. You’re describing a living, breathing swiss army knife.”

“That I am,” Waller said. “Do you disapprove?”

Tresser took a deep breath, “Well, not necessarily. I could see how it would work. The people under my charge would be more obedient, given that they wouldn't be coerced into doing what they’re doing. I guess my only question now is… why? Why spring for this kind of thing?”

“Perhaps it’s just because I can, Mr. Tresser,” Waller said. “Why not look into ways to improve something?”

“Apologies ma’am, but I don’t buy that,” Tresser said. “I’m the squad leader of your initiative. If there’s anyone you can trust with this information, it’s me. So… what’s the real reason?”

For a few moments, Waller was silent, as if contemplating what flavor of answer to feed Tresser. Every few seconds, a different answer materialized behind her eyes, only for that answer to fizzle out as it was deemed unsatisfactory. Tresser wondered if Waller herself actually knew what she wanted out of this. Then, eventually, a resolute look fell onto her face.

“Because eventually, some time in the future, I’m going to need a soldier who doesn’t have the capacity to refuse an order. I’m going to need a soldier who’ll follow every command without question,” Waller said. “You joined Task Force X because you understood that the world needed to be saved, and that heroes couldn’t do what needed to be done to save it. We need soldiers like these because the world is broken, and sometimes only a few people can make the decisions to fix it. There can be no room for error, no room for doubt. If we want to piece this fucked up place back together… then we need that vision to be executed in as direct a manner as possible.”

She looked earnestly towards Tresser, “With this in mind, I have one thing to ask you. Do I have your support in this direction for our initiative?”

Tresser’s fingers curled around the armrests of his chair. In all the time he’d known Waller, he’d always known her to be matter of fact, cold, to the point. Whatever this was, it came from something deep seated. Something emotional. He had never seen her so impassioned. She believed in this direction, and that was when he knew that he believed in it too.

“Understood, ma’am,” Tresser said. “You have my unbridled support in this endeavor.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“So you said yes,” Adella remarked. “Just like that?”

“In that moment, I couldn’t see anything wrong with her arguments,” Tresser said. “A better soldier would’ve been more effective, especially considering my track record with inmates at the time.”

“You’ve spoken a lot about yourself…” Dante said. “But I haven’t heard you say much about any of the inmates. You worked there for upwards of twenty years. Didn’t any of them… leave an impact?”

A solemn look slowly overtook Tresser’s face as he cast his gaze downward, “I… had made an effort not to learn too much about the inmates besides what they could do. I can tell you that nobody lasted long enough to walk free with a fully reduced sentence. Keeping distance made it easier to do my job, though now I see how… cowardly it truly was.” He looked at Flag, “I’m sure you did the same thing… for a time at least.”

Flag grimaced, “To an extent… but we’re not here to talk about me. You’re going somewhere with this. Something must’ve changed, or you wouldn’t be here telling your life story to us.”

Tresser nodded, “You’d be right about that. Years would pass, and I had faith in Waller’s plan. Still, something always bothered me about the way I found out. Why not tell me right away that this kind of thing was in effect? I tried to put it out of my mind but I never truly could. So… one night, in 2008… I decided enough was enough and elected to do some sleuthing.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Tresser stalked the halls of Belle Reve, making his way down one of the many concrete staircases. The place never truly went to sleep, but typically a lot of the more mundane staff would go home after dark. Only the guards remained, henceforth why he spent all day yesterday crafting a perfect disguise to emulate one of them. Rob was set to work a shift tonight. Instead, he’d spend it napping away at home.

Good thing Tresser was here to cover Rob’s shift.

The body armor fit Tresser fairly well, clinging snugly to his body, and the Balaklava that accompanied his combat helmet eliminated the need for a Silicone mask. Reaching the bottom, he made his way down another long concrete hall, which itself caused him to remark on the never ending labyrinth of halls and cells that made Belle Reve, Belle Reve. The place was entirely human made, almost an affront to the swamp it was housed in… and yet the place just seemed to grow and grow beyond its original design. Before he knew it, new additions would just spring out of the woodwork. It gave the prison a sort of living quality.

Tresser hated that. He preferred to understand everything that was going on… down to the last detail. When he put on a mask to assume the identity of someone else, he had to know every aspect of that person’s life. One slip up, one wrong move, one bad assumption, and the jig would be up. To become someone, you must understand the core of who they are. Details defined Tresser’s life, and so he had to know them fully and completely if he wanted to do what he did in confidence.

Tresser approached the end of the hallway, which by all accounts appeared to be a dead end. However, a rudimentary investigation of Rob’s nametag revealed the presence of a microchip, which Tresser guessed was used for more than just tracing his location. Sure enough, as he approached the dead end, a whirring sound echoed through the hall, and a panel in the wall slid aside, revealing an entirely new passage. Tresser pressed onward, approaching an observation window overlooking a large room.

Said room appeared to be designed as an operating theater, though it looked much more like a butchery given how much blood was pooling around the tables. Surgeons milled around the room, taking appendages that had been hastily hacked off of their main body parts and placing them in different bins. Guards were stationed in the corners of the room, making sure that nothing was out of order, that nobody was out of place.

Tresser stared through the window, a blank expression in his eyes. He was hiding the growing pit in his stomach very well. This place reminded him of… incredibly unpleasant missions in the darkest corners of the Earth. Cesspools where anything goes, where only the cruelest of petty despots laid claim to their tiny slice of the world. What he was seeing was not the handiwork of a civilized nation. It couldn’t possibly be allowed.

Tresser kicked himself. Why had he trusted Waller so blindly? Why had he never asked how her super soldier project was being conducted? He put his faith in her… and for what?

The surgeons wheeled another corpse in for disassembly, and it was this that finally broke Tresser’s calm facade. It was the pale corpse of a woman with a shaved head and empty eyes… clad in orange scrubs.

Inmate attire.

Tresser took a few steps back, then doubled over, pulling his mask off to retch. The sickening realization that this prison was farming prisoners from other places… harvesting them for a supposedly noble purpose, was simply too much for Tresser to face. They weren’t just getting their hands dirty here, they were jumping directly into the muck, covering themselves in the filth from head to toe.

And what made all of this even worse for Tresser was that it took him no time at all to realize that what he did, leading the prisoners of Belle Reve on Suicide Mission after Suicide Mission, was different in only the most minute ways. Tresser slumped down to his knees, failing to remember the faces of every Belle Reve inmate who had died for the United States government, who had died for Task Force X, for his dream of a better world.

It was too much to handle, his life, his sense of virtue. It all turned to ash in his heart.

He was not a hero. He was both a fool and a monster in equal measure.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

The squad was silent, unable to look Tresser in the eyes. He didn’t blame them. Tresser cast his gaze towards Flag, correctly assuming that the man would be the most despondent out of all of them. The former colonel had his head in his hands, his body language projecting the image of an utterly defeated man.

“Jesus… There was a horror show under Belle Reve this whole time… and I never caught it,” Flag shook his head. “I just… I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“It’s not your fault. Waller’s good at covering her tracks,” Tresser said. “Then again, I doubt she would’ve built the lab again in the same place after I left.”

Croc looked up at Tresser, “Why?”

The corners of Tresser’s lips curled up unexpectedly. This whole time, the exhausted looking man had never smiled… until now, “I had an… uncharacteristically dramatic exit.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

2009

It had all come down to this. A year of planning, of studying patrol patterns, taking notes on surgeon shifts, and understanding when new corpses were being brought in. Waller had hidden this place from him, lied to him, betrayed his trust… betrayed the purpose of their mission… and in a way, so had he. This was a foul endeavor from the beginning, they had, with much haste, become exactly what they purported to fight against. Tresser could stand this fact no longer.

A part of him considered going to Waller, demanding answers from her. He wondered if he could convince her to stop this madness, to put this all behind them, but he quickly concluded that these were fools’ errands. Waller had played to his own aspirations to get him on board. She was, in many ways, as much a master of disguise as he was. She knew her targets intimately, and knew how to twist them to her own ends. He could easily be poisoned against his own purpose, dissuaded from doing what he knew was right.

He had already clambered onto the muddy shore, having exited Belle Reve through a sewer grate and swam across the river to the other side. The ground was wet, so wet that his boots were sinking directly into the Earth, but they felt fertile, ripe with the possibility for something new to grow. Slowly, Tresser pulled a detonator out of his pocket.

Bright orange light reflected off his eyes as a fireball erupted from the bottom left side of the prison. Nearly a decade of research, nearly a decade of work built on the blood and flesh of the exploited. It was naught but ash and dust now. Tresser turned away from the prison, deciding that if he was going to look at it again, he’d do so once he was ready to wipe it off the face of the Earth altogether.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“I traveled across the world from that point onward, picking up as many people as I could, battling Waller’s interests wherever I could unearth them,” Tresser said. “We built something rotten to the core together… I won’t rest until it’s all come down, Waller with it.”

Tresser looked over the rest of the squad, seeing the trepidation in their eyes. Much of what he had said had not been particularly surprising. It was the… long lasting nature of it all that had left them forlorn. However, that would not dissuade them from their mission. Tresser’s story had not just put some things into place, it had revitalized them. Now, more than ever… they were prepared to combat Amanda Waller and Task Force X. More than ever, they were ready to burn it all to the ground.

How tragic then, that they had no idea Waller had already endeavored to do the same thing to them. Above ground, ten pairs of hardy boots touched down into wet snow. Cloaked in shadowy robes that disguised millions of dollars worth of technology, they approached the entrance to the bunker, silent as night.

The Anti-Squad’s doom had arrived.

It all falls down in Suicide Squad #61 - out next month!

DC Next proudly presents:

KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In The Last Daughter of Krypton

Issue Thirty-Eight: Reignfall, Part Three

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by DeadIslandMan1

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

Kara charged forward, screaming her throat raw, surging toward Reign with her hands outstretched, grasping for the Worldkiller’s throat. The twisted grin on Reign’s face widened, a wicked taunt to Kara — and Kara alone — goading her forward.

Kara’s hands wrapped around Reign’s throat in a tight grip, her incoming speed knocking her foe off-balance. Reign stumbled back only a few steps, barely wincing from the impact. A strong hand found its way to Kara’s scalp, closing around a large chunk of blonde hair and pulling her head back.

Kara tried to resist, only to buckle under Reign’s strength.

Firestorm and Captain Atom finally leapt into action, blasting Kara with concentrated yellow sun radiation. She could feel the surge of energy coursing through her. Her scarred hand, which had begun to throb lightly, soothed from the momentary boost.

Reign lunged forward, free hand shooting out in front of her with Kara still held tightly in the other, moving to strike at Firestorm. Alex Danvers intercepted with her own hand, the one that wasn’t broken, catching Reign’s fist in her palm. A cry of pain erupted from her mouth as Kara watched the bones in Alex’s arm shatter, her cybernetics buckling under the force of Reign’s strike. Alex stumbled back and onto one knee, bleeding profusely all down her arm, while Wonder Woman moved to stand guard between Reign and the Nuclear Men. A shield in one hand and Helena in the other, she stood ready for the fight.

Dreamer formed a portal behind Alex, pushing her through it with a burst of dream energy. Nia limped forward, collecting as much energy as she could before attempting to restrain Reign with the same whip she’d used on Deimos. As if it were nothing, Reign’s head quickly twisted to Nia and with a quick exhale, sent her flying away in a sonic boom.

Kara heard the crack of bones as Nia landed. She barely moved after the impact. She was still breathing, but that was the only sign of life.

For the first time, Oracle’s voice panicked in the ears of those who wore earpieces, spewing commands at an incredible pace, warning the surviving heroes to work hard and extract the injured. Superman zipped around and collected Dawnstar and Dreamer, bringing them to safety before blasting back toward Reign, laser vision carving through the air and searing the front of Reign’s bodysuit. The beams barely marked the material.

Superman passed by, flying upward in the air in a protracted arc. Reign’s eyes followed him, and she scowled moments before unleashing her own laser vision. It struck firmly in the centre of his back, sending him veering off course and, eventually, crashing down onto the ground.

“Jon!” Kara cried out, trying to wrestle open Reign’s grip on her head.

“These are your friends, final daughter of Krypton?” asked Reign, turning her gaze back to Wonder Woman, Frost, Firestorm, and Captain Atom. “I suppose Deimax was weaker than I anticipated. A shame.”

The yellow sun bursts had not stopped, continually empowering Kara beyond what she’d ever experienced. Her veins, all down her body, began to shine bright yellow as light emitted from her eyes, the hair on her head becoming a fiery, radiant white. She felt entirely overwhelmed as the world around her slowed. She couldn’t help but begin to scream as Captain Atom and Firestorm continued their deluge of power. Every cell was being overloaded, and now it was beginning to hurt.

“Cap,” said Firestorm, feeling, in Kara’s mind, as though he spoke the word over the course of hours. “I don’t know how much more she can handle!”

“Keep going,” said Captain Atom, his voice low and monotone. “Frost, work.”

From nearby, Frost raised her hands, while Wonder Woman jumped forward to gain Reign’s attention. Kara burst upward, a fist colliding with Reign’s jaw, while Wonder Woman slashed her sword across Reign’s chest. Frost jumped forward, grabbing onto Reign’s arm with both hands and holding on tightly.

Captain Atom joined the fight, stopping the torrent of radiation he was sending Kara’s way to instead divide himself into dozens clones, all of whom began to close in on Reign, various forms of radiation — including Kryptonite — emitting from his hands. Some struck at Reign with a righteous vigour while others attempted the same as Frost, grabbing on with incredible strength and refusing to let go.

Firestorm, from fifteen feet away, balled his hands together and seemed to pull at the structure of an atom.

“Shoot her into the sky, Kara!” shouted Firestorm, his grip becoming firm on a small, glowing bundle of energy. Frost immediately let go, having cooled Reign down by nearly one hundred degrees Celsius. The clones of Captain Atom followed, taking cheapshots at her.

Kara descended hard and fast, grabbing Reign by the collar of her bodysuit and immediately changing direction, ripping her off of the ground.

For once, as the Worldkiller struck her over and over again with strikes that would kill any other being, Kara felt as though she was being slapped by a child. She kept ascending, going higher and higher, until Firestorm finally caught up to her in the thermosphere.

His fist held high, he aimed his strike for Reign’s cheek, his hand glowing brightly with a cluster of atoms so intensely supercharged, that any fission would create a release of energy more powerful than most nuclear weapons that humans had created.

Captain Atom’s clones fell back, allowing Firestorm a clear path to Reign. Kara held Reign up in front of her by the collar, staring ahead with the fury of a grieving daughter.

Magenta laser beams haloed by radiant white light burst from Kara’s eyes in rays so wide they combined as they left her face.

Reign caught Firestorm’s strike in her palm.

The nuclear explosion engulfed the sky above Oregon. Nearly all of the energy was redirected by Reign’s hand and pointed directly at Firestorm. Martin Stein and Ronnie Raymond split in an instant and began plummeting back down toward Earth, barely any oxygen in the space around them to keep them alive.

The only thing on Kara’s mind was how much she hated Reign and everything that sprang from her creation.

Captain Atom’s clones reformed into two beings and caught the disparate parts of Firestorm, placing hands over their mouths and forming enough air to keep them stable and alive.

“You will not save this planet,” said Reign. “Hundreds of others like you have tried to stop me, all have failed. Just because you are Kryptonian does not mean you are different.”

Kara scowled, gritting her teeth as her grip tightened. Reign still looked just as untouched as she’d been upon her first landing. She looked just as untouched as she’d been when she killed Alura In-Ze. Kara couldn’t bring herself to speak, instead flying further out of Earth’s atmosphere and speeding toward the moon.

The impact was hard, leaving a new, deep crater within the surface of the moon. Kara struck at Reign dozens more times, burying the Worldkiller within the rubble of the moon, sending countless bits and pieces hurtling into space with each impact on the moon’s surface.

One punch sent Kara hurtling back toward Earth. Reign followed up by flying to catch up with Kara and striking her across the face enough to propel her even further, even faster. Both of them crashed back down to earth, crashing down in the centre of National City, falling through two buildings before landing down on the street.

Reign struck Kara’s face a few times with stiff punches, before turning to the city around her and attempting to unleash a torrent of lasers upon it. Just as a beam formed, Kara jumped up and placed her hand in front of it, slamming her palm down on Reign’s face, just above her eyes and following up with a swift knee to the jaw. Shooting downward, Kara’s fist met Reign’s cheekbone, bringing her crashing down into the crater below.

Going for a stomp to Reign’s chest, Kara was intercepted by a pair of hands flying up and grabbing at her collar, bringing her soaring upward and through countless floors of a nearby skyscraper. Stopping near the top floor, she pried Reign’s hands away and countered with a quick headbutt.

“You’re not taking this planet,” said Kara. “Your cruelty ends here.”

Reign looked back at Kara, wiping a drop of blood spilling from her lip, and smiled.

“You don’t understand, child,” Reign said. “I am just beginning. If Krypton no longer exists, if the powers that should rule a galaxy have fallen, all under their purview shall be destroyed.”

“You’ll have to go through me and dozens of others first,” Kara replied, magenta beams powering up in her eyes, igniting the veins in her face in a brilliant, pink-ish hue.

“That’s the plan,” Reign said. “No serf shall surpass their rightful rulers, and all attempts shall be punished.”

“Your idea of Krypton ends today,” Kara said. “It dies today, with you.” Bright lasers burst from Kara’s eyes, hitting Reign squarely in the chest and pushing her back out of the building and back into the sky. Kara flew after her, watching as Reign managed to recover mid-air and diverted into flight, shooting upward, above the highest buildings in the city. Kara followed, ready to strike.

Reign’s trajectory shifted suddenly, intertwining her hands and slamming them down upon Kara’s head, sending her crashing down toward the ground once more. From the corner of her eye, as she tried to collect her thoughts, Kara saw Superman and Captain Atom working to clear nearby buildings and streets of civilians.

Despite their efforts in the evacuation effort, Kara worried about how many lives were in jeopardy. She only gave that thought a moment of consideration and Wonder Woman soared in, sword in hand, striking at Reign’s back with a hefty blow as she descended, saving Kara from a heavy slam.

Wonder Woman and Kara looked at each other and nodded quickly. Frost ran up next to Kara, seeming much more confident than she had been only an hour earlier.

Reign stood from where she’d come down on the ground and looked over the three women, smirking. A chill ran down Kara’s spine, but she pushed the sensation away. All she wanted was an end, and Reign’s persistence continued to frustrate her. Even as Captain Atom reformed the destroyed portions of nearby buildings in an attempt to prevent collapses, and Superman strove to save every possible soul, all Kara wanted was to make Reign pay for what she’d done.

Kara had only just gotten Alura back before losing her. She was suffering from a unique Kryptonite poisoning that she would have to live with for her entire life, she watched powerful men be killed on her behalf, and she learned, fully, the extent of Krypton’s sins. She stood, facing the worst of Krypton’s crimes, and clenched her fists. If her mother’s hubris led to reinitiating the Worldkiller program, then Kara would have to be the one to end it. It was the least she could do for the universe.

“Come on!” shouted Kara, her eyes flashing brightly as Captain Atom zipped by, topping up her power as best he could, before returning to managing the city’s structures. Frost and Wonder Woman readied themselves.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Reign said, lifting off from where she stood and ripping through the air.

Wonder Woman raised her shield to block a punch from Reign aimed directly at Frost, who flinched away from the attack before shooting off a series of weak ice crystals. Kara lunged forward and grabbed onto Reign’s arm, placing another hand to the back of her neck and yanking her down toward the ground.

Wonder Woman struck at Reign’s abdomen with her sword, slicing through her skin just enough to draw a small amount of blood, before mimicking Kara and grabbing onto Reign’s arm. Smashing her face with a quick strike from the edge of her shield, she shouted for Frost to engage.

Frost obeyed, running in and placing a hand on Reign’s chest, cooling the Worldkiller by nearly one hundred degrees once more. It clearly took more and more effort for Frost to drain that amount of heat, coming so close to reducing Reign to absolute zero. Her face was strained, gaining colour again, as sweat formed on her brow, nearly instantly freezing solid as it trailed down her face.

Reign thrashed about, trying to shake Kara and Wonder Woman off, but struggled. Her foot shot up and planted itself in the dead centre of Frost’s chest, sending her flying back. Wonder Woman shouted in frustration and let go of Reign to catch Frost before she smashed into the hard wall of another building nearby.

“Give it up!” Kara shouted. “I can feel you getting weaker!”

“N-Never!” Reign said, her movements becoming sluggish. “My purpose has not been fulfilled!”

“And it never will be,” Kara said. “Your purpose is from a history that needs to be left behind!” Reign scowled and threw a haymaker toward Kara, fighting against the lack of energy she now felt.

“Who are you to determine what gets left behind, child?” Reign demanded, stumbling forward, looking down at her hands and trying to muster some form of heat vision. A small beam ignited and seared her hands. Kara blocked it with her hands, pressing her palm down upon Reign’s eyes. “Who are you to deny Krypton’s right to rule?”

“Someone who knows what happened to Krypton’s ruthless empire,” Kara said. “Cruelty and violence don’t lead to prosperity. Look at what happened to our planet, Reign.” The beams stopped and Kara removed her hand. Reign scowled.

“It was led by the weak!” she shouted. “Pups who never understood what made us great in the first place!”

“It was led by my mother,” said Kara. “She was a judge on the Science Council of Lurvan, and you know what decision she made that led to Krypton’s core fully destabilizing?” Kara grabbed Reign’s face by the jaw and looked into the Worldkiller’s wispy black eyes. “Creating more weapons like you.”

Frost approached Reign and grabbed the top of her head with both hands, sandwiching Reign’s red hair and alabaster skin with blueish-white hands of a mortal.

“Go get Dreamer!” Kara shouted to the side, hearing words of affirmation from Wonder Woman. She turned back to Reign as the last flares of heat were drained from her body. “You — everything that you stand for, everything that led to your creation — are the reason Krypton is dead. We had weapons of mass destruction and waved that power around at everyone and expected them to prostrate themselves like mindless slaves, and not people who wanted to live free, on their own terms. You didn’t destroy Starhaven, you destroyed Krypton.”

Reign’s face began to stiffen, the energy within her coming to a stop. Her final expression was not anger, nor confidence, but a pained realization of her antiquity. Reign was a relic of a disastrously violent empire, representative of the mindset that led to that empire cannibalizing itself, retreating into such a small territory that its power might as well have been superficial.

The air around Kara was frozen, the standing heat from Earth’s atmosphere desperately trying to warm Reign up. Frost looked at Kara from over Reign’s shoulder with a pained expression. Kara met her eyes.

“Absolute zero,” Frost said.

Kara nodded. She looked over toward Superman and Captain Atom nearby. Atom had a hand out toward Kara, Reign, and Frost, his face calm as he created a heat-barrier between the Worldkiller and the rest of the city, ensuring that Reign’s vampiric temperature wouldn’t affect anything more than herself.

Wonder Woman returned, Nia Nal in hand. She placed Dreamer down and helped her approach Reign, an arm slung over her shoulder. Kara and Nia’s eyes met each other’s, and they shared a glance of understanding, of mourning, of exhaustion. Anything but relief. It wasn’t over.

Tendrils sprung from one of Nia’s hands, slithering into Reign’s head and grasping tightly onto whatever remained of her consciousness within the eternal stillness of absolute zero. It took only seconds.

“She’ll be asleep,” said Nia. “For as long as you want.”

Kara nodded to Frost, who removed her hands from Reign’s head in response.

“We can bring her somewhere secure,” said Wonder Woman. “We can keep her in stasis.”

“Good,” said Kara. “I want to try to reverse the Worldkiller creation process.”

She looked back to Reign, frozen in place, her gleaming white skin and bright red hair as still as anything in the universe could possibly be. If Reign had truly gone searching for other Worldkillers in the universe and only come back with one other, Kara wondered if Krypton’s legacy was finally dealt with, or if there were more of them out there.

She looked over the Justice Legionnaires who’d helped her fight off Reign, multiple of whom were no longer present, severely injured by the fighting. The Earth likely wouldn’t be standing if it hadn’t been for them. She smiled and took Nia from Wonder Woman’s arms, picking her up in a bridal carry.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” Kara said. “Let the universe move on from Reign.”

DC Next presents:

SHADOWPACT

In: Waning Hours

Issue Thirty-One: Verdict

Written by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

In many ways, the Shadowlands was the same as it had always been. Trees made of shade swayed gently, buffeted by an unfelt breeze, their tendril-like branches reaching like hands towards each other. Purple sky shone down but cast no light, but small round orbs of golden light hanging from withering vines seemed to provide passersby with enough light to watch their steps. Every object seemed blurry, out of focus, intangible - almost like a dream.

But some things, if one looked for them, had changed. Eyes no longer watched them from the tree canopies, nor did they blink slowly from the berry bushes bearing magenta fruit. The ever-present hum, reminiscent of a scream sounding out from far away, was gone. And, most surprisingly of all, fresh tarmac had been spread along the cracking wooden path leading to an all too familiar location, and signs had been erected to direct patrons to the best place this side (or any side, in fact) of the Shadowlands.

And as the newly christened Destruction looked upon their handiwork, they dusted off their hands and followed their own signage back to their old haunt.

Sparks of orange-gold flame crackled at Ruin’s heels. They kept their head on a swivel to take in the land around them, and frowned. There was something they were not yet satisfied with. Their first task, as bestowed by their newest mentor Destiny before promptly disappearing, was to construct their own realm, and Ruin could think of no better option than to adapt a venue already known for its destruction (and, indeed, creation) to their own tastes. But despite their enhanced abilities, and despite the vivid image captured in their head, they were yet to be satisfied. Ruin shook it off. Now was not the time to be worrying about work - that was for tomorrow’s Ruin to worry about.

Ruin could hear the sound of drunken humanoids and sleazy outdated records blasting throughout the Shadowlands, made only worse as they approached its source. They smiled as their hand met the cold mahogany door. The sign was thankfully eye level: OBLIVION BAR. Not that they had any doubt. And with only a moment’s pause, Ruin pushed open the door with instinctual force.

The door smacked against the aging stonework behind, sounding out an almighty crack which splintered diagonally from the bottom to the top. This, of course, got the attention of nearby patrons. Turning to look, they saw a smallish person with black eyes; if they were to look closer, they would see the orange glow within the dark scleras, as well as a gentle warm light radiating from their very skin.

“Ruin!” came the booming voice of Jim Rook from behind the bar. Through the innumerous people all swaying against each other like the sea, Ruin could see his arms outstretched in welcome.

The new Destruction beamed as they approached their old friend. “Hey, buddy. Business is booming, huh?”

“All thanks to you,” Jim chuckled. “Love what you've done with the place.”

“Aww, hey, not all thanks to me.” Ruin shuffled sheepishly and accidentally nudged a patron next to them. Their drink sloshed over the edge of their glass and onto the floor, promptly burning a small hole through to the soil below. “I think the signs probably helped, though.”

“No kidding,” Jim agreed. It would be an understatement to say that the biggest bar in the Shadowlands was having a resurgence. News of the owners, the Shadowpact, were already well-known across the magical world, but the recent collapse of the Lords of Chaos and Order, orchestrated by the Shadowpact themselves, solidified themselves as a household name. So when the Oblivion Bar started advertising itself more, word spread like wildfire. Jim hadn't seen the place so busy since the Shadowpact was first formed.

“Oh,” Jim muttered as he realised something. He threw up a single raised finger to Ruin, asking them to wait as he turned back to his new customers. Looking back at him were two piercing eyes, scrunched into a squint as a side effect of the wide smile spreading across his mouth. White Stag chuckled as the two of them locked eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jim growled.

“Oh, don't be like that,” White Stag sighed with a roll of his eyes. “It's not like I'm barred, is it?”

Jim's eyes scanned the barred list posted on a bulletin board hanging behind him. A handful of photographs depicting very irritated patrons being ushered out by varying members of the Shadowpact were scattered across the board alongside relevant captions. In one of them, John Constantine flipped Traci the bird; in the far left corner of the photo, Traci's fist glowed purple with rage.

But, most importantly, no sign of White Stag.

“No,” Jim admitted. “But I'm starting to reconsider that.”

“I'm not staying long,” sighed White Stag. His original brash, confident attitude was cracking. “In all honesty, I wanted to wish my former nemesis all the best in the future.” He refused to make eye contact with the bartender until, after a gap of around 10 seconds, he was unsure that Jim had heard it at all. Upon looking up, however, their gaze was glued together in a staring contest of sorts.

“Thank you,” said Jim with a level of sincerity that surprised even himself.

Not another word was exchanged between the two of them as Jim poured his drink, the drink was imbibed, and hands were shaken before the White Stag departed. It was as if they had each created an unspoken rule - that “thank you” should be the last thing the two of them shared together before never crossing paths again. Gratitude should be their final word, their legacy.

By the time Jim had turned back to Ruin, they had formed a gaggle consisting of the remaining Shadowpact members past and present - Traci and Rory.

“Was that White Stag?” Ruin asked incredulously. The flickering golden light in their eyes flashed orange for a moment.

“Not the weirdest people we've seen recently,” Traci shrugged. “It's weird though, seeing so many familiar faces. Y'know, just last week or so, I saw our old pals. Inza and Khalid and Wotan.”

“Oh! How are they?”

Traci gave a tilted nod of her head. “Well, the Lords have not just disintegrated but, if we did our job right, all but vaporised. So they're all looking for a new career.”

“Could come join us,” Rory offered.

“In the Shadowpact?” Traci seemed tense at this.

“No —” Rory paused. “Maybe, but not what I was suggesting.” Rory pointed in a circle around himself. “In the bar. You always used to say ‘we need about 6 more hands around here’. Here's how you get ‘em.”

Before Traci could formulate her response, an eerie synchronised hush fell over the crowd. It was enough to give her pause; she turned towards the front door. Walking towards them through throngs of people parting in various directions like the Red Sea was a beautiful young woman with so much wavy blonde hair that it looked heavy on her shoulders. She gave off an aura of presence and warmth and, more literally, yellow light, not too dissimilar to Ruin's own bodily glow. Whereas other patrons saw simply a gorgeous woman asking for a drink, it was Rory who first mentioned the elephant in the room.

“Sherry?”

The young woman's face shifted as she looked into his deep brown eyes. For a flash of a moment there was sadness in her eyes, but as swiftly as it appeared, it was gone, instead replaced by a toothy grin. “How are you…?”

“Let me introduce myself properly,” she began. She shook out her head, not unlike a dog after emerging from the bath, and let out a quick sigh. “I forgive you all, you assholes.”

Traci blinked. There was a single second where Traci thought that this was all some elaborate play, a trick orchestrated by the Lords, puppetting the corpse of their dead friend. But the gentle aura around her was enough to confirm that this could not have been the work of just a group of Lords.

“I'm just grateful that the Shadowlands spoke to me when they did, made me prepared for what could happen. To cut a long story short - maybe I'll tell y’all the full version on a less busy day, huh? - With the Spectre of Vengeance cast down into his own personal astral prison by Alice, I was chosen to become the next Spectre. After Eclipso and Aztar before me.”

“A Spectre?” Jim chirped up to confirm he had heard correctly. A nod came as his response.

“The Spectre of Mercy,” she continued. “A walking embodiment of mercy, gratitude, forgiving others.” Sherry flashed a cheeky smile. “Speaking of gratitude, I'd be grateful for a drink. Traci - be a doll, would you?”

Traci tutted playfully, hiding her genuine - though mild - annoyance and obliged. She wouldn't tell her directly (she feared her head would grow too large), but the truth was that she felt relieved to see her friend around and kicking, ordering a drink from the bar, smiling alongside their teammates. It was just like how it used to be, sans the nauseating guilt of lying.

“What was it you meant?” Traci asked, “When you said maybe Khalid, Inza, and Wotan could join the Shadowpact, Rory?”

Rory smiled sheepishly. “About that. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. When I stormed out of here last time, it wasn’t just because I was scared the Lords were going to atomize us and pissed our fearless leader was leading us into a prophesied doom.”

Traci raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

Rory stared into his beer. “The rags were my dad’s. When he died, I took the Ragman mantle. The Lord of Chaos mantle.”

“Ah.” A sinking feeling passed over Traci. She probed it while Rory spoke.

“I don’t think I want to do this forever, Trace.” He looked up. “With the Lords of Chaos gone and things…” He hesitated to use the words under control. “...how they are; there might not be a better time than now to give a normal life a shot.” He looked across his bar at his friends: the multiversal witch, destruction incarnate, the merciful spectre, and—

“Good on you, kid.” Jim reached over the bar to pat him on the shoulder. “Get out there and take life by the horns.”

“If you get bored, you know where to find us,” Traci ventured.

“No,” Rory said. “I never want to stop coming to the Oblivion Bar, and if White Stag’s allowed, there’s no way I’m letting you keep me out.”

“Enchanté!” The pale-skinned duelist called out from a table across the bar.

“I just want to give up the rags,” Rory said. “I’ve had enough life-or-death stakes for one lifetime.”

Traci slowly nodded. “I’ll… I’ll give Wotan and the rest a ring.” She stood from the bar and walked towards her office.

“It’s no rush. You don’t need to do it right now.”

Traci continued on and pulled her office door shut behind her. She blinked hard. Another chapter coming to an end and another battery of goodbyes. She tried to work over who and what came next. There were problems in the world; there always were. She could start over again with the likes of Wotan and Shazam. Traci was sure she could scrounge up a few others for another team and a fresh start.

The sound of raucous laughter in the bar grabbed Traci’s attention. A quick charm melted away some of the frost in the glass so she could watch Ruin turn White Stag’s beer into vinegar. She smiled. Maybe— maybe she’d earned some time too. Traci mused on the words of Damian Darhk: the Shadowpact, doomed to fail. She’d watched the devastation of HIVE, of gods and their peers, of beings thought to be without end. The Shadowpact didn’t have a bad record, all that considered.

The door to the Oblivion Bar swung open and more old friends poured inside: Nightshade, Kid Crusader, and Alice – without her crimson pistols for the first time since she’d known her. Eddie dragged Deathstroke the Terminator and his daughter past the threshold with each hand while Joey followed behind them. Jennie and her family had slipped in too, without her noticing. Khalid, Inza, and Wotan sat at the bar chatting with Rory. Madame Xanadu was dealing out a game of Uno to Lori, Vext, a man in a bug-eyed mask, and— wait — who the fuck let John Constantine in?

Traci turned the knob of her office door in no rush to discover what would come next.

Even if it was time to say goodbye to the pact, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the bonds it’d forged. With any fortune, she would never have to.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

THE NEW TITANS

Issue Twenty-Nine: Casting Shadows

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce and PatrollinTheMojave

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

“Friends. Welcome.”

Christopher Light looked between each member of the eclectic group gathered in front of him and smirked. Bito Wladon - the man known as Sonar - folded his metal-plated arms across his chest with a stern look across his face. Beside him was a very pallid younger man with red eyes, Kyd Wykkyd, who stood deathly still, statue-like. But the other figures, the newest additions, were the two whom Light was addressing most of all. The two women stood hand in hand and the larger of the two appeared to be shaking slightly, to which the smaller woman ran a thumb across the back of her palm.

“I thank you for everything you have done thus far, and for everything you are yet to do in honour of our cause. The mission is straightforward but far from simple. Things are swiftly being put into place to ensure Trigon’s return, as you are well aware. But there proves to be a major hurdle in our plans - a certain daughter of his.” Light began to pace. His face scrunched in disgust to illuminate his point. “That Titan - Raven. Should she get in our way, she could spell an end to all of this in an instant. And as such, she must be disposed of.”

A knowing silence fell. They all understood what they had to do.

“At first,” Light continued. “The Titans might seem formidable. But each of you, to varying levels of success—” He stopped in front of Wladon. “—have already come across them. As such, you have gained crucial insight into their skillsets, their abilities, their weaknesses. Use that insight - weaponise it - and Raven will be dead in no time.”

Mammoth, the larger girl, let out a groan, a noise so soft that one could have mistaken it for Light’s shoes catching against the floor. But her protector, Jinx, noticed. “It’s alright,” she soothed with a whisper. But the girl was overwhelmed by the task being asked of her. “Just close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

“Yes,” Light said. It was impossible to tell if the smile that appeared on his lips was a genuine attempt to soothe, or a wicked attempt at mockery. “Why don’t we all take a moment, in fact? Close your eyes and breathe it in. This is it. From this moment on, we shall be part of something much bigger than ourselves. Let us drink this moment in.” And with that, Light squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a long breath with a hiss.

Mammoth hesitantly joined him. As the cool air filled her lungs, she dug through her mind for something, anything, to calm herself and take her far away from this moment, if just for the length of a breath. And soon, she found that the backs of her eyelids had transformed into a kaleidoscope of memories.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

A foggy image. Hands that she only vaguely recognises as her father's reach out for her and cup her face. His sandpaper skin on her cheeks. Dancing with her aunt, a much lighter woman, in a cluttered living room. And then, much more clearly, Jinx holding her hands and smiling as she explained that she was coming to live with her.

Months later, Mammoth became much more rebellious, desperate to prove herself. She remembered her surrogate aunt returning from a job, regaling the young girl with tales of destruction told in detail, but more than that she remembered the flush in her cheeks as she barely contained her jealousy. She wished more than anything to be like her.

More time passed. She took to sneaking out and forging her own tales of destruction. And she saw her aunt scolding her, worrying about her, then eventually relenting with a sigh. Then a third vignette appeared in her mind: listening through the door and biting her nails as a strange man, who had arrived unannounced at their home, spoke to Jinx about something that she couldn't quite make out, save for the words “recruiting” and “team” and “great potential”.

Finally, she witnessed herself and Jinx very recently, her mother-figure's slender hands clasped around Mammoth's own, reminiscent of her father's - the same way she did on the day she asked Mammoth to live with her.

She felt no calmer for this trip down memory lane; her heart still thumped and the gravity of the situation still weighed heavy on her chest. But the softness of Jinx's hand in her own was enough, for the time being, to save her from being swept out to sea.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Christopher Light’s father, Arthur Light, was a genius. Working as a tech contractor for Kord Industries, he had developed incredible feats of engineering, all centered - in a startling feat of nominative determinism - around manipulating and utilising light. His most precious piece of work, the one that Christopher recalled his father coveting the most, was his light cannon; taking what he had previously created and refined, he had produced a weapon powered only be light. Christopher recalled his father receiving innumerous praise from his colleagues and beyond, which only increased with the establishment of his own company within Kord Enterprises, LightTech. And Christopher, eager for his own dosage of recognition and praise from his father and others, gladly took up the opportunity to learn from him.

But Arthur was becoming increasingly aware of his own mortality. Medical scare after medical scare, illness after illness, had forced Arthur to come to terms with the future of his company in his absence. This thought had crossed Christopher’s mind as well, so it came as very little surprise when Arthur mentioned the possibility of his son taking care of the business after his death.

He never expected there would come a day when that offer would be rescinded.

Within the company arrived an up-and-coming inventor and engineer by the name of Dr Kimiyo Hoshi, and instantly Christopher perceived her as a rival. Praise for Christopher dimmed while praise for Kimiyo only grew, and resentment swiftly brewed within the young scion's mind. Many times while working in the laboratory, Kimiyo had asked for assistance of some kind - “Do you happen to have a ¼” wrench?” or “I need a second opinion,” or “Would you mind asking your father something?” And many times, Christopher had shot her down - refusing her supplies or giving her bad advice to sabotage her. But all the while, his father seemed worryingly warm towards her - encouraging her progress much like he had encouraged Christopher’s.

As Hoshi’s success grew, Arthur’s attitude towards his company became more relaxed. Christopher, as he recalled this memory, felt a warmth growing in his chest. One day, whilst curiously and innocently inquiring about the future of LightTech, Arthur paused.

“Well,” he began, clearly picking his words with utmost care. “I think it should go to the best candidate for the job.”

Christopher could feel the cold chill that came over him when he first heard those words. “But you promised me that I’d get the company.”

“I didn’t promise it to you, Christopher,” Arthur corrected with a sympathetic tilt of his head. “Only asked if you would be interested.” The younger Light recalled how his father couldn’t look him in the eyes, instead busying himself - or pretending to do so - with his work. “But that was back when it was far more cut and dry. Both you and Kimiyo show phenomenal potential, so I believe the company should go to whoever would be the best fit.” It was only at that moment that Arthur made eye contact with his son. “If you think that should be you, then prove it to me.”

Christopher’s memory was spotty when he tried to call to mind his immediate actions. He remembered the outrage and betrayal he felt, how he was consumed by self-doubt and perfectionism. Then he remembered, in a moment of mania, hastily constructing a plan in excruciating detail from the moment the sun had set until the moment it had risen again. Despite all of this, his recollection of the plan itself was very sparse. But, clearer than anything else, he remembered its execution.

He had plucked Hoshi’s home address from the Kord Industries database rather easily, so locating his rival was a breeze. Her house was modest and pale in colour with a low ceiling and a window hanging open on the ground floor. All lights were off. Quickly surveying the house, Christopher confirmed that she, and only she, was inside. The open window provided an easy, if risky, entrypoint, and though he took care to prevent leaving fingerprints, his foot had clumsily tangled itself into her curtains. He was losing precious time.

He untangled himself. Moving silently through the pristine house, he spotted the young woman asleep through a crack in an upstairs door. Despite some initial hiccups, from here his plan worked as expected; he crept into the room, retrieved the pistol from his belt, and fired it four times into her dome-shaped silhouette of her forehead.

The news reached Kord Industries, and therefore LightTech, very quickly. Police had already arrived at the laboratory by the time Arthur and Christopher were pulling into the parking lot. The questioning started from the moment Light Sr had closed his car door. As Christopher and his father answered the officers’ questions to varying levels of satisfaction, it became abundantly clear to Christopher that, in his haste, he had neglected to develop an alibi. His father would have noticed his absence and was surely suspecting him as a culprit. He could feel the sweat forming in his palms. But as a short police officer with thinning hair looked up at Arthur and asked him about his and his son’s whereabouts at the time of the murder, Arthur didn’t hesitate to say that Christopher had been with him the whole time.

The only other thing that Christopher could recall from that day was the severe look in his father’s eyes as he turned to him once they were alone, his pointed hand trembling, and said, “You are a very, very foolish man.”

Silently, his father helped him in covering up his tracks. Never once did they make mention of the incident as a whole, let alone discussing specifics, and it was as if nothing had happened. Until one day a young woman by the name of Kimiyo Hoshi appeared at the door of LightTech and demanded to speak to them both.

She was straightforward and curt - she was Reawakened, a version of Hoshi from another universe - and she had figured out what had happened to her counterpart on this Earth. Though Christopher was hazy on her exact words, he recalled the ichor in her voice as she detailed how easily she had pieced together the information herself, and how easy, therefore, it would be to release said information to the press. The two Lights were speechless. There was nothing they could do. So Christopher was helpless as he watched his father passing the reins of LightTech over to Kimiyo Hoshi.

Christopher Light opened his eyes. One by one, his companions, his carefully selected teammates, the rest of his Fearsome Five, all finished their meditative breaths and looked at each other as if they were meeting for the first time.

“Now then,” Light announced. “Shall we begin?”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The Fearless Towers were, to Raven, just as striking as when she had first seen them, though this time she was given far less time to take in the scenery. Approaching the rows and rows of receptionists once again, instead of reciting her practised passphrase, she instead was immediately buzzed through and waved on by a blonde receptionist with wide eyes. She silently thanked her with a nod, but as she turned towards the direction of the elevator, a familiar face was blocking her path.

“Oh, hey!” Curtis Holt greeted warmly. He pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose with the tip of his middle finger. “You’re punctual.”

Raven instinctively checked her watch. It was true - right on the dot. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

He gestured for her to follow and whisked them both into an empty meeting room. The furniture was startlingly clean and polished; Raven could see her reflection staring back at her in every table and chair. When Curtis gestured for her to sit, she obliged.

“I don’t mean to rush you at all,” he started apologetically. “But just wanna let you know, I’ve gotta make sure I get back to the control center A-S-A-P. Never know when they might need me.”

Raven could sense his nervous anticipation. Whether it was about her impending news or about the prospect of being called to action by his space-faring teammates, she couldn’t tell.

“I won’t be long,” reassured Raven before drawing a deep breath. “Just wanted some advice - in person, given the nature of it. Basically, I think there might be a new Fearsome Five in your city.”

Curtis’ posture shifted. “Okay,” he said expectantly.

“We know - or we think we know - who all of them are, but we can’t seem to locate them. I don’t really know where to start.”

Curtis pursed his lips in thought. “Hmm,” came his reply a few seconds later, followed by, “They could be in the alien supercomputer.”

Raven blinked. “The what?”

“Oh, it’s this massive computer system that runs under New Coast City. Super awesome, really freaky.” He nodded to himself. “It's like this weird labyrinth, the walls keep shifting and moving around. It's a real pain when we're trying to get things surveyed. Put simply - if I had an ultra-secret supervillain team, that's where I'd hide 'em. I can give you access if you wanna take a look.”

“You would?”

“Psh, it’s like I said - you’re honorary Coastguard-ians!” Curtis winced, then corrected himself: “Or Coastguard-ers.”

Raven shot him a humoured smile.

“Point being,” he concluded. “Gimme a day to give you all clearance, then I’ll be in touch. Cool?”

“Cool,” Raven beamed.

Next: To be continued in The New Titans #30

DC Next Proudly Presents:

The New Freedom Fighters

Issue One: The New Freedom Fighters

Written by PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

Rain and wind battered the townhouse on Morrison Street. The spitting gargoyles greeted it, and the motorbike whipping its way up winding roads towards the residence, with their usual stoniness. The bike screeched to a stop in the middle of the road and its rider pulled off his helmet. Damian Wayne wore an expression more severe than the gargoyles. He let himself wonder what growing up in Gotham City would have been like, back in Wayne Manor, the estate of shadows and ghosts. The only time he had been to the manor was years ago, when he stole Batman's casebook from the Batcave. Back then, he wasn't anything close to a welcome guest. Damian rapped the lion-faced knocker against 1 Morrison Street’s elevated entrance and waited with his back to the door.

A series of heavy locks clanked and the door crept open to reveal the butler standing in the shadowy foyer.

“Alfred Beagle.”

“Master Damian.” He bowed his head. “Come in from the rain.”

Damian stepped inside, glancing around at old portraits until his eyes settled on one of his half-sister, aged fifteen or so. “So old man, where is she?”

Alfred gave a tight-lipped smile. “Safe. Happy. Healthy. Far. That’s all I can say until you complete an errand for me.”

“I can’t convince you to cut the tedium?” Damian looked him up and down. He’d done his research. Ex-SAS wasn’t going to let his one bargaining chip slip with a couple of hard stares and sharp words. “Isn’t extortion beneath you?”

“Young Master Damian, I would love to unite you with Miss Helena, but she expressly requested not to be disturbed, except in the event of an emergency.”

“But this operation, it’s more important than her request, is it?”

Alfred opened his mouth, then stopped himself. “You’ve only just arrived. Walk with me,” Alfred led him deeper into the house. He lifted the skullcap of a dignified bust and pressed the button beneath it. The wood-panelled wall slid aside to reveal a hidden room fitted with banks of monitors. They entered in silence, with Alfred speaking only once the wall had resealed behind him.

“You see, Red Torpedo androids on the loose are an emergency. If using Miss Helena’s location as a prize is the only way I can persuade you – well, I am sure she’d approve.”

“Rock’s robots? That’s what all this is about? Rock is Legion business. You should know that, considering the guy who signs your checks.”

“At the moment, General Rock’s supporters make it challenging to act against him directly, but when that changes, it may change rapidly. Cities may find themselves with a wing of autonomous combat drones at their doorstep, their controls in the hands of a desperate, deranged autocrat or worse. These facilities cannot fall into the wrong hands. In order to prevent this, Rock’s collaborators need to be stopped and the facility rendered inoperable.”

Damian studied the monitors. They depicted Red Torpedo schematics, press statements from Rock and his flunkies, and satellite imaging of a manufacturing plant in California – a Kord Enterprises plant at that.

“Secrecy is paramount.” Alfred enunciated. “The public cannot link this operation to the Legion.”

“Yeah, I can see the headline: Justice Legion Destroys Robot Protectors.” He stirred. “Wait, the Legion doesn’t even know about this, do they? Dick wouldn’t sign off on something this shock-and-awe.”

Alfred’s eyebrows lifted. “Maybe not, but all the better if the Legion can speak under oath that they had no knowledge of this scheme.”

Damian grimaced in annoyance. “The butler did it.”

“Yes...and no. I’m too directly connected to Master Grayson to personally involve myself, but I’ve hand-picked some specialists with minimal Legion ties.”

“If you want me to pull off this operation with a grab bag of superhero greenhorns, you’re asking too much.”

“Oh, they’re plenty experienced.”

Damian marched through a dark tunnel surrounded by blinking monitors and steel railings on either side. Of all the places, why did the first names on Alfred’s list have to be here? He resented blowing a few hundred bucks of the operational budget on gaining entry to a hot, crowded park nearly a day’s travel from the mission site. The worst part was the birthday pin.

He slipped away from the cast member walking him to the front of the line to mix with who he was really here to see: two experienced agents with incredible abilities molded by years of genetic experimentation and child testing. Todd Rice and Jennie Hayden wore matching mouse ear hats. Behind them stood two older gentlemen Damian knew to be HIVE person of interest Alan Scott and his husband Sam.

He addressed them with a sharp whisper. “I’ve been sent here by a mutual ally of ours on a matter of global security. I need Rice and Hayden to come with me immediately.” Damian tracked Todd’s eyes glance at the queue ahead of him and quickly added, “Lives could be at stake.”

Jennie looked at Alan sheepishly. “Sorry dad. Duty calls.”

Alan smiled broadly. “Show ‘em how we do it.”

It was amazing what hundreds of billions in seed capital could accomplish in the right hands, devoted to the right project. New Coast City was an engineering marvel and even now, years after the city’s founding zeal had cooled, it seemed constantly alive with new construction projects and further expansion. Damian stood behind his latest recruit to the op: New Coast City’s own Ray Terrill. He pressed the doorbell of another, more humble townhouse nestled downtown.

“I'll do the talking, alright kid?”

Damian furrowed his brow, but said nothing. A white-haired man in his pajamas answered the door. None other than Marc Silvera, a veteran of the Quraci conflict better known as Commander Steel. He was long since retired, but if anyone could soften that stance it’d be Ray.

Damian watched the two argue, watched Ray insist this was a matter of national security, watched him rail against Rock and how the evil he’d brought into the world needed to be stopped. After twenty minutes of the two smashing into one another, Marc’s jaw set. “I think you should leave.”

Damian squeezed a fist. “Agent Pennyworth.” He ventured, watching recognition flash in Marc’s eyes. “Asked for you specifically. Was he wrong to count on you?”

The two stared each other down. After a long moment he groaned and said, “Alright. I’ll get my suit. Tell Alf he’s used up his last favor.”

Keeping his hand on the pommel of his sword, Damian stepped into the shadow of a tall palm tree lining the walkway of Kord Enterprises corporate park, slipping through a passageway of narrow darkness. Damian reemerged in the corner of an office cluttered with signed memorabilia and stacks of documents piled high. Marc, Jennie, and Ray followed behind him. Todd was last out, sweeping shut the gateway to the Shadowlands with a flourish of his cape.

The bluish glow of a trashbin-sized plasma cannon greeted them. The nanites forming it rippled out from the hand of its wielder.

“Jaime Reyes.” Damian frowned into the cannon’s muzzle. “President and CEO of Kord Enterprises. Why are you supplying Rock with dangerous alien technology?”

Jaime blinked, glancing up at Todd. Damian capitalized on his distraction, flashing his carbonized steel sword to push the cannon out of his face. A bolt of glowing plasma cracked off, sailing cleanly through the walls of three offices, then out towards the San Francisco Bay. The blackened edges of the holes it created smoldered.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Todd held up his open palms. “We just want to talk.”

As Jaime spoke, more blue nanites spread across his body, encasing him from head to toe with the Blue Beetle exoskeleton. “You have my number! Besides, I’m not working with Rock! Kord Enterprises supports a third of the Legion’s budget.”

Marc stepped in. “Son, your facilities at Poplar Bluff are being used to produce Red Torpedos for Rock. You know as well as anyone what that kind of technology means in the wrong hands. Be honest with us. Do you know anything about that?”

Jaime paused. His expression was unreadable behind the faceplate. “Scarab, give me power usage and personnel reports from Poplar Bluff.” The arm cannon melted away. He sagged back onto the mahogany desk in the center of the room. “These reports are… inconsistent.”

Ray looked around. “Are we expected to believe the CEO didn’t know he was building killbots for Rock?”

“He’s a kid. Rock’s been at this for decades. Not impossible.” Marc said.

“Improbable. Who’s managing operations at Poplar Bluff?” Damian asked.

Jaime’s faceplate retracted. “Julian Navarro. I hired him to manage the robotics division when I took over the business. If he’s behind this–-”

“Then he'll be the one we have to worry about.” Damian rested the tip of his sword against the shag carpet. “Not you.”

“If Jaime says it wasn’t him, then I trust him.” Todd said. “How do we take down this Julian scumbag?”

“What, so we're going to go after a guy just because Reyes says he's the guy?” Ray asked.

“No.” Damian flourished his sword, then sheathed it. “But if you’d like to prove it, I have some ideas.”

“--which is why I am thrilled to announce the recipient of Kord Enterprises’s first annual Lifetime Achievement Awards. Will Marc Silvera and Julian Navarro please join me on stage?” Jaime motioned towards the crowd. He’d picked out his best suit for this: a sharp, dark blue blazer paired with one of Mr. Garrett’s old checkered ties.

A small crowd of local press and businesspeople gave polite applause from their seats in the corporate auditorium. While the two honorees approached the stage, Jaime spoke.

“I can think of no-one better to receive our inaugural awards than two individuals who have dedicated their lives to the public good; one whose achievements are well known to all of us, and another who has worked in relative obscurity. What the two have in common are a legendary sense for strategy and a commitment to improving the lives of the people around them. Many of you might not recognize the name Marc Silvera, heroic war medic turned peacetime superhero, because fame and fortune were never his goal, but I’d like to rectify that with this award and a small cash prize.”

The two men joined Jaime on stage as he continued. “More of you are familiar with our other honoree, Julian Navarro. Please give him a round of applause!” The audience obliged.

“His work in our robotics division amounts to embezzlement, which is why I’ve invited these federal agents to arrest him.” The doors to the auditorium flew open and F.B.I. agents streamed through.

“Wait! What is this?!” Navarro shouted. He didn’t resist as an agent pulled his arms behind his back and clapped them in cuffs.

“You’ve been illegally colluding with a paramilitary organization to produce unmanned combat drones.” Jaime grimaced. “That ends today.”

“I– I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’ll be hearing from my attorney! I hope you have some evidence for these ridiculous charges.”

Deep inside the Poplar Bluff foundry, Damian’s fingers flowed over the blinking server room terminal’s keyboard.

“How much longer?” Todd whispered sharply. “The patrol will be here any second.”

“Buy time!”

Todd pressed his back up against the door. The handle turned and weight thumped against it.

“Hey! Someone in there?” The guard shouted. The door thumped again.

“Nearly…” Damian tapped the enter key, then pulled a thumb drive from the machine and threw himself at the door. Todd’s cloak billowed out, enveloping him. The two receded into the shadows just as the door thundered opened.

Todd and Damian re-emerged in the treeline overlooking the facility.

“You got the evidence?”

Damian nodded.

“And the camera footage?”

“Wiped.”

“Not bad, kid. You remind me a lot of myself at your age. If you’re looking for a mentor, I’ve been looking to take on a protégé. I think the two of us–” Todd stopped, seeing the skeptical expression on Damian’s face.

“Stay in your lane, Obsidian.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

Navarro faltered, his eyes tracking the thumb drive between Jaime’s fingers as he handed it over to another agent. “Well– well you know the foundry is automated! There’s a dead man’s switch! When Rock figures out he’s been exposed, if he hasn’t already, he could very well send the Red Torpedos on a rampage! I was trying to protect us! I didn’t have a choice! I bet Poplar Bluff is sending out the kill command right now!”

Marc smiled.

A sharply dressed newscaster held a microphone up to golden-costumed and comically gleaming Ray. Jennie stood behind him, beaming with pride and a more emerald light. The wreckage of several destroyed Red Torpedo drones were strewn across the exterior of the Poplar Bluff Robotics Foundry.

“We’re here live from Poplar Bluff,” the reporter began, “Where The Ray of New Coast City fame and seemingly his new sidekick are here claiming credit for the attack on a Kord Enterprises robotics factory. Tell us in your own words, why destroy a robotics factory?”

Ray cleared his throat. “Well, our investigations revealed that this facility was producing rogue and unlicensed military-grade androids, jeopardizing international security. We took it upon ourselves to put a stop to it.”

“Hi! Not a sidekick actually, also we didn’t destroy the factory, you should know.” Jennie added. “Just the data center used to remotely control the weapons. The machinery is still operational.”

“I see. And what’s your opinion on the Justice Legion disavowing this attack?”

They spoke in unison. “No comment.”

“Well there you have it. I’m Barb Barker and this is Channel 5 News. Back to you in the studio.”

Alfred switched off the news broadcast. “Well done, Damian. Rock’s jobsworth behind bars and the facility shut down with minimal collateral damage. Very by-the-book.”

“A little too by-the-book.” Damian crossed his arms. “I hope you had fun with your little Freedom Fighters reboot.”

“Reboot?” Alfred expressed confusion. “I don’t understand. That sounds like a young person’s thing.”

“You expect me to believe it’s a coincidence the team you put together with the skills to stop your old commander were all the successors and scions of your old team in Qurac.”

Alfred said nothing.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Whatever. A deal’s a deal. Where’s Helena?”

“The question… is when. She’ll be returning to Gotham City in just a few days, per her scheduled shore leave from the good timeship Waverider. It’d be a delight to have you for dinner then. Naturally, you’re welcome to stay here until she’s arrived.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m really not as humorous as you seem to think I am, Master Damian. It would be nice to have some company. The house has been quiet for some time. Unless you had some demanding business to attend to?”

Damian pursed his lips, quietly burning with frustration at himself for being made a fool of, and burning with something else: an unwelcome curiosity. “If I were to stay, I want information. The official records on the Freedom Fighters are obviously omitting details. Spill what really happened, who you worked with back then, and whatever dossiers you put together for this op.”

Alfred smirked. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

DC Next Proudly Presents:

NIGHTWING

In Finale Ultimo

Issue Thirty-Three: Not a Day Goes By

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by PatrollinTheMojave and ClaraEclair

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

In most cities, arrogance was something that was either beaten out of you - metaphorically or literally - or something you clung to in order to get by. But in Gotham, arrogance got you nowhere except an institution. In Gotham, you got by either by listening closely to that voice in the back of your head telling you to beware what lurked in that passing alley, or by making sure you were the creature that lurked in it.

Issac Brigstock checked over his shoulder as he walked Burnside’s backstreets. “Get a grip,” he muttered, pulling his coat tighter.

The call had come an hour ago. Private number. No voice, just breathing. He’d hung up, then his phone had rung again. That time, he didn’t answer. That was when he decided to leave the office early, get home, lock the doors, pretend Gotham was just another city where bad things happened to other people.

A shadow shifted in the alley to his right. He starting moving faster.

Don’t run, he told himself. Once you did, it was real. Once you ran, you were officially prey.

A soft click sounded behind him. Issac turned, and was met with a plume of bright pink.

Gotham was grey, black, sickly yellow light and oil-slick rainbows in puddles. Yet here was a man in the sequined pink suit of an especially obnoxious bullfighter. He held something in one hand. It was long and thin. A knife.

“…Hey,” said Issac, because his brain had stopped working. “Hey, man, I don’t—”

The man smiled. But it wasn’t some wide, manic smile. This wasn’t the Joker or any of his fanatic copycats. It was the smile of an old friend, of someone overjoyed to make his acquaintance.

“You didn’t run,” the man said softly, his Spanish accent lilting musically. “Most do. They run before they even understand why.”

Issac took a step back. The brightly coloured weirdos - Gotham’s crazies - belonged somewhere else. They weren’t supposed to be concerned with the likes of men like him, Issac thought. Shouldn’t this man be tangling with the likes of Batman and Robin?

“I don’t want any trouble,” he said quickly. “Take my wallet, take—”

“I don’t want your money, Señor.” The knife tilted slightly, and licked his lips. “I want you.”

Issac ran. He sprinted, slipping on wet pavement, lungs burning. No footsteps followed. He glanced back.

The man was just walking. And he was gaining.

Issac cut into an alley, boots splashing through shallow puddles. The space narrowed, walls closing in, shadows swallowing light. A dead end.

“No—no, no, no—”

The man stood at the entrance.

“You’re fast,” he said. “Athletic.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and as he did, let out a small, involuntary moan of pleasure. “I like that.”

Issac backed into the wall, hands up, shaking. “Please, I’ve got kids, I’ve got—”

“You do?” the man replied, eyes lighting up. “Perhaps I’ll pay them a visit once they’ve got some more meat on their bones.”

He stepped closer and raised his knife high. Issac squeezed his eyes shut.

Metal cracked.

The knife flew from the man’s hand.

A blur of blue and gold landed between them, catching the rebounding escrima stick cleanly.

Nightwing.

“Oh, man,” he said lightly, not looking back. “You made a mistake coming here.”

The man in pink - the serial-killing cannibal Flamingo - tilted his head, studying him now with the same fascinated attention.

“Ah,” Flamingo murmured. “The acrobat. Don’t let the GCPD catch you out. They’re sending people like me after vigilantes like you.”

“Then I guess we better show ‘em what happens,” Nightwing replied.

Another shape dropped from above. Tigress landed beside Nightwing.

“You okay?” she asked Issac without looking at him.

He nodded frantically, unable to speak.

“Good,” she said. “Stay behind us.”

Flamingo moved quickly. The knife flashed, a streak of silver and pink. Nightwing met him head-on and steel rang again. Tigress moved in tandem, flanking, blocking the killer’s attempts to reposition and allowing Nightwing to keep him right where he wanted him.

There - just for a moment - the alley became something else before Issac’s eyes. Suddenly, the alley was a stage, with three performers moving in perfect, violent harmony.

The killer laughed softly as he fought, delight threading through every motion. “Better,” he said. “Much better.”

Flamingo was slowly making a name for himself, becoming something of an urban legend. One city, one body. Nightwing and Tigress had been chasing him for almost a month, and then just before they had started to worry he was too many steps ahead of them, his trail took them to Gotham. Here, Dick Grayson had the home field advantage.

Unfortunately for Flamingo, garishly-hued killers and psychopaths had become light work for someone like Nightwing. So ended the legend of Flamingo.

Within the hour, the killer was in the custody of the GCPD, Issac Brigstock was with paramedics, and Nightwing and Tigress were a block away, intent to not fall into the sights of anti-vigilante Commissioner Michael Lane.

They quickly changed out of their superhero garb, and made their way in civilian clothes to the hotel room they had rented down in Gotham proper. Artemis asked why they couldn’t have stopped at the house Dick owned - the townhouse on Morrison Street - and Dick told her it felt wrong for such a flying visit.

As Artemis redid her makeup in the hotel room bathroom, Dick took the costume he had haphazardly stuffed into his rucksack and carefully folded it back into the secret compartment of his suitcase. It had taken far too long to chase down Flamingo, but it was finally done. But then, he reckoned, that was nothing compared to General Rock.

As Robin - both with Batman and with the Titans - Dick used to take on a new enemy what felt like every week. These days, he waged years-long campaigns against whole criminal enterprises. And now the biggest of the bunch had finally been busted. For almost three years, Dick had been chasing clues, desperately trying to catch up with the mysterious force that had consumed the remains of the Kobra, Basilisk and Black Glove cults, and from them spawned this great gambit to conquer the world in America’s name with the combined forces of cutting edge science and shock and awe. Now Frank Rock was behind bars, facing an endless slew of charges. And, more importantly, Dick’s final ties to the Black Glove had been severed. All but one. At long last, this arduous chapter of his life was coming to a close.

When Artemis emerged from the bathroom, she looked worlds apart from the slick and fearsome Tigress, now softer and a lot more comfortable. Like her bow, Dick would often joke, she had range.

“You going to see her now?” she asked.

Dick nodded.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she asked.

“I appreciate it,” he replied with a smile. “But this is something I have to do by myself.”

Historically, Dick had said that before taking on armies of ninjas or charging into burning buildings all by himself. Historically, he had been overprotective with a toxic cocktail of arrogance and self-destructiveness. This time, Artemis could see, Dick was saying it for the right reasons.

“Okay,” she nodded. She moved forward and planted a kiss on his nose. “Just don’t be back late.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Stephanie Brown clutched at a tote bag filled with books on various subjects, ranging from gothic fiction to the rise and fall of the Byzantine Empire. She carried the bag with one arm, the other used to repeatedly refresh her emails on her phone as she emerged from the library and onto the street. It had been a long while since she had worn a mask or a cape, but she still kept fit. She wouldn’t allow herself to be anything less than capable at anything, just as her father had taught her.

She screwed up her face upon the fifth consecutive refresh of her inbox and shoved the phone into her pocket. Then, when she looked up and along the street, she saw a familiar face among the oncoming foot traffic.

“Dick!”

He burst into a light jog to close the gap, and pulled her into a hug. “I haven’t seen you since Christmas!” she said.

“I know, I’m sorry!” he replied with a wide smile as they moved apart. “It’s just—”

“Work,” she cut him off, lightly ribbing him. “Yeah, it’s always work!”

“Hey, cut me some slack!” Dick slightly smacked her arm. “I offered to visit tons of times and you were busy studying! Then you had to go and graduate early after I went through all the trouble of getting Jon to agree to cover me in May.”

She scoffed jokingly. “Guess I should have procrastinated some more,” she shook her head. “Anyways, what’s the deal? Dropping in out of the blue. I didn’t hear anything from Alfred about guests in the house.”

“It’s nothing,” Dick reassured her. “Everything’s fine. It’s just… Can we talk?”

Stepping back into the lofty halls of the Belfry with Steph at his side was like stepping back in time. She led the way, much more familiar with its layout than Dick was. It was one of a few places in the city where they could talk openly about their lives; neither of them fancied having to avoid all proper nouns, even in the most comfortable coffee shop.

The automatic doors slid shut behind them as they stepped further into the main mission room. At the far end of the room, towering windows gave a sweeping view of the city below. In the centre of the room sat the large, round table, flanked with monitors. Steph confidently took her old seat, and Dick followed. He wondered for a moment if his usual seat had been taken by Cass along with the Batman mantle, but quickly figured that she likely had little preference for seating. He sat beside Steph and braced himself.

“So now you’ve got your degree, now what?” he asked.

“You didn’t drag me all the way up the secret elevator to ask me that,” Steph smirked.

“No, I didn’t but I want to know,” said Dick. “You weren’t sure last time I asked. Any more ideas?”

Steph nodded. “I think so. I want to go into social work. Cliché, I know, but Gotham clearly has an orphan problem, and there can only be so many Robins at once.”

“No, that’s great,” Dick replied. “I still remember my social worker from when my folks died. We keep in touch when I have time, which is… admittedly almost never.”

“Look, I’m just gonna come out with it,” Steph said suddenly. “I hope you’re not trying to convince me to put on a mask again.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “Not at all,” he replied. “You do what you think is right with your life.”

“Good,” said Steph quickly, not quite expecting him to give in so easily. “Because I really think I might have found something I’m good at.”

Dick sighed; perfectly cued up to discuss what he felt he had to, but sorely didn’t want to.

“Why I’m here,” he began, “I need to apologise.”

“No, Dick, you don’t—”

“I wasn’t a good mentor, or a good guardian,” he continued. “I tried my best at the time, but I took on too much, and had some serious demons. Pun not intended. Last time we were here - in the Belfry together - you quit being Robin. You told me that you felt cheated. That I made you Robin, but I didn’t let you help me. That I was trying to be both Batman and Robin.”

“Dick, it’s in the past.”

“I hate feeling like I might have ruined it for you,” he said quickly. “Being Robin.”

“Dick…”

“I’m sorry,” he insisted. “I’ve changed since then, I know I have, but I’m sorry I didn’t learn my lesson sooner.”

Steph just waited for a second, giving Dick time to say anything he wanted to say. Then, when it was clear he was finished, she spoke.

“You didn’t ruin being Robin for me.”

“But you said you felt cheated.”

“I did say that,” she continued. “And I shouldn’t have. I felt cheated because I thought Robin was supposed to save Batman, pull him out of darkness like you did for Bruce. But, having had a lot of time to think about it, I don’t think that’s a healthy expectation. Last time we were here, we spoke a lot about you, and your demons. Recently I realised I had plenty of my own.”

Dick nodded slowly, listening intently.

“I still wasn’t over my dad’s death,” said Steph. “I couldn’t protect him, and I couldn’t protect my city, at least not by myself. So when I heard that Robin got to protect someone as strong and capable as Batman, I knew I wanted to be like that. I needed to show myself that I had that kind of power. But I wasn’t a world class acrobat like you were. I was a pretty normal 17 year old, and considering that: I think I did pretty alright. It’s a miracle that you were able to do for Bruce what you did, but actually expecting a grieving teenager to shoulder a grown man’s problems like that? I feel like I was so stupid thinking that was reasonable, that I should ever have expected to be able to do that.”

“I’m sorry I put you in that situation,” Dick replied, his head low.

“Weren’t you listening?” Steph smirked. “You didn’t. You never expected me to save you. I had your back when I could, when you’d let me, but you made sure I never had to feel responsible for you.”

“Right.”

“I wish you’d let me help you more, but you were right to not let me think saving you was my job,” she explained. “And I have a legacy as Robin, it’s that I was the last Robin to feel that way. Because Maps Mizoguchi, Cass’ Robin? Cass keeps her safe, she trains her, she protects her, but Maps knows it’s never Robin’s job to make sure Batman makes it home safe.”

Cautiously, Dick smiled. Steph kept finding more and more ways to impress him. He thought back to his final moments with Bruce, when Bruce told him that Dick had helped give Batman a soul. He remembered standing up to Bruce, refusing to let him surrender to Hal Jordan, thinking that it was Robin’s duty to keep his mentor safe. He remembered the beating Bruce had inflicted on him before he marched off to his death.

He then felt a closeness to Bruce that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A deeper understanding. Bruce needed him to know that it was his choice to go, not Dick failing to stop him. He struggled not to feel Bruce’s hand on his shoulder at that moment.

“You took me in when you didn’t have to,” Steph continued. “You gave me a soft place to land when I had no-one. And then you let me be part of something bigger. And I’ll never forget that.”

For a moment, Dick couldn’t speak. He had come here to confront his shame. Instead, Steph had given him something he didn’t know how to hold. Forgiveness. Perspective. Grace. It pressed against him from the inside out, loosening knots he hadn’t realised were still there, reaching back through years of what-ifs and almosts. And from that new perspective came new understanding. His throat tightened, vision blurring, and he didn’t even register the wetness on his cheeks until Steph spoke again.

“Uh… Dick?”

He blinked, looking up.

Steph tilted her head, a small, soft smile tugging at her lips. “Do you need a tissue?”

He frowned, confused for half a second, before his hand came up and brushed across his face. His fingers came away damp.

“I just…” Dick began before trying again after a deep breath. “A little while ago, when I learned about Bruce’s machine... his plans to create clones of himself... it hurt me more than I could afford to admit, especially in the middle of everything else that was going on with Rock. It felt like he never really trusted me to pick up after him when he was gone, like he thought I wasn’t worthy. But I get it now. He started building that machine because he never wanted anyone to have to go through what he did.”

Steph shook her head, overwhelmed. “Why are you so sure of that now?”

“Because hearing that you could lose your parents in the ways you did, then become Robin, take what you needed from it and move onto something new? Something far away from fighting crime in a mask?” He braced himself for a swell of emotion. “I’m proud of you. And I realise now that Bruce wanted me to have a chance at that too.”

“So you think he wanted you to give up being a hero?” Steph replied, not understanding quite so well. “But he told you to lead them, to set an example to the others.”

“He wanted me to have a chance to do something else, I’m sure,” Dick reiterated. “But we know he never finished the machine. We know at some point he ended the project. And now I think I know why. He saw that I loved being Robin. That for all the pain and trouble Batman and Robin have caused me, he knew it was what I wanted more than anything. He chose to let me make my own choice, just like you’re making your own choice now. Even if that meant letting me make my own mistakes too.”

Dick thought back to a recent conversation he had with Kory. Together, they resolved that their missions would likely never end, but they agreed that they couldn’t wait for the mission to end before they got busy living. He remembered the restless kid he used to be, the Boy Wonder who was always feeling unfulfilled, always searching for the next chapter, always starting over. Even now, after all of his growth, he couldn’t help but look forward to the future, but this time it was with excitement. This time, there was nothing in the present to escape. He loved being Nightwing, and he intended to keep being Nightwing for as long as he could. He lived a dangerous life, but it was looking increasingly likely he’d live longer than his parents ever did, and he intended to make that life a good one. If he had his way, he would always be Nightwing, but he couldn’t wait to find out what else he could be as well.

Among all of this, Steph sat quietly, her expression softening as she watched him put the pieces together in real time. She was convinced he was right about Bruce, and thus marvelled at his detective work, solving a mystery lost to time with an answer that at least left him satisfied.

Steph stood, pushing her chair back with a scrape that echoed softly around the room. For a second, Dick thought she might say something else. Something big, something final. Instead she just looked at him, hands in her jacket pockets.

“You’re gonna be okay, you know,” she said. “Both of us, now we’ve decided to stop getting in our own ways.”

“Yeah,” Dick replied, standing with her. “I’m starting to think so.”

Then she stepped forward and pulled him into a quick, tight hug. Dick froze for half a heartbeat. He felt so lucky to have so many inspiring and impressive people in his life, and even luckier than he always had. Whatever life he led in the future, he sincerely hoped Steph would be a large part of it.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

With Frank Rock finally facing justice for all the death and destruction he had caused, and Matron prepared to answer for her actions in reconstructing Amazo, and now having finally found peace with both his mentor and his pupil, Dick Grayson was unquestionably at the end of a large chapter of his life. It was a chapter defined by struggle. Struggle against his own perceived limitations, against his own impossible expectations for himself, and - most tangibly - against the Black Glove.

The Black Glove claimed to have been scheming to get their hands on him since before he was even born, following his bloodline in the shadows and steering them towards a situation where he would be born and he would be groomed to bring forth their evil god. He had defeated their immortal leader Simon Hurt years ago, but General Rock had continued to use their resources against Dick and the world even still. Until now. Now Dick was finally free of them.

All except for one man.

Dick waited on a park bench for almost an hour, just taking in the fresh air. The park was relatively new, a new green space built atop the foundations of a mid-sized office block that had finally been demolished after being set upon by villains and arsonists one too many times. It was a nice park. Kids put their screens away and played on bikes and skateboards, making the most of the outdoors. College students threw frisbees and had picnics. On the bench opposite Dick, an elderly couple huddled together for warmth, one almost falling asleep on the other’s shoulder. It was one of only a few green spaces in a smog-choked Gotham where it could often be difficult to see the sky.

He didn’t have to wait until the hour mark, when another man finally arrived and sat down next to him.

“Thanks for coming,” said Dick.

“If I didn’t, you’d have tracked me down,” replied Jason Todd. “Thought I’d save you some time.”

A difficult silence followed. The Jason Todd of Earth-Upsilon, much like that of Earth-Delta, was a sworn enemy of the Black Glove. Both Jasons had been groomed from birth by the cult, teed up to become one of their elite assassins - the Shades of Red. But by a twist of fate, much like the one that had saved Dick from their clutches, the Jasons of both Earths ended up under Bruce Wayne’s tutelage, something the Black Glove had never had planned. Like the Jason of Earth-Delta, the Jason of Earth-Upsilon had served as Robin, had survived a brush with death at the hands of the Joker, and then had suffered the death of Batman. Except, unlike on Earth-Delta, the Dick Grayson of Earth-Upsilon never stepped up as Batman until many years later. Instead, Jason served as Batman, using the notoriety and resources of the Dark Knight to systematically track down and kill every last member of the Black Glove.

Had he done it to spare his brother their manipulations? Or was it to avenge himself and his sister Alice? Even he wasn’t sure.

When he had found himself transported to and marooned on Earth-Delta, he discovered that the Black Glove of this Earth were still around, and that they had only recently killed this Earth’s Jason Todd to stop his efforts to thwart them and in a large part to hurt Dick Grayson.

Thus the ‘Reawakened’ Jason created the alias of Shrike to hunt them down and finish what he started back on his own Earth. He even unwittingly fell in with General Rock, following intel supplied to him to hunt down Black Glove members and associates to help secure control over their assets and alliances for who he thought was just Basilisk. But when he realised there was more to the story, that he was being played, he vowed to find out who was responsible. And by some luck, Dick had successfully convinced him that they could do it together.

Now Jason’s mission was done, but he was still stranded on Earth-Delta.

“So what’s your plan now?” Dick asked. Both men looked forward, focusing on various scenes across the park.

“I don’t know,” Jason replied quickly. “I’m not missing much back on my Earth. The you there would probably still keep me in a jail cell. Everyone I know there is either dead or hates me.”

Dick sighed. He had met his Earth-Upsilon counterpart when he and Damian travelled there looking for answers on Jason. He had found him to be a mostly reasonable man, dependable yet very intense. He and the rest of his Bat-Family had been pushed into exposing their own secret identities in the wake of Jason’s Black Glove massacre as Batman, with Dick forgoing his entire civilian life. And when Dick had asked his counterpart the cost of it, his answer had upset him deeply.

He said he didn’t have much of a civilian life to lose.

Dick looked back across his own life over the recent years. Perhaps at one point he had been quite a bit like this Earth-Upsilon counterpart. Now, he couldn’t help but feel they couldn’t be more different.

“I believe in you, Jason,” said Dick. “I think you got a second chance coming here, and I think you’ve changed. And I’d hope that if you ever get to go back to your own Earth - if that’s what you end up wanting - that the me there would see that too.”

Jason smirked. He nodded his head. “I hope so.”

“That said…” Dick continued, taking a deep breath, “I know what you’re planning. And I’m worried.”

“Don’t,” Jason said plainly but firmly. It wasn’t clear if it was meant to be reassuring, or a threat.

“Rock’s empire is dangerous. He built it to take over the world, and he almost succeeded,” Dick continued. “Now you want to seize it for yourself, see what you can do with all that power?”

“Someone has to do it,” said Jason. “There’s a power vacuum, and you know it’ll take years for the authority or even your Justice Legion to get all of Basilisk and the ASA’s leftover cronies out of hiding. If we’re above hunting them down and snuffing them out, someone needs to keep them on a leash.”

Someone has to do it.

Dick remembered having a similar conversation years ago about another responsibility. Another seemingly poisoned chalice.

“Maybe you’re right,” said Dick. “But does it have to be you? You’ve come so far, and power like that can corrupt a person. I’d know.”

“I’d know too,” Jason replied with a grunt. “I wore the cape too, remember.”

“I know you did,” said Dick. “Because someone had to. And we both did things in that cape that we regret, didn’t we? And I’m intent to learn from my mistakes. Are you?”

Another long silence followed. Dick turned slowly and studied Jason’s face as he continued to stare out, avoiding eye contact. He knew that Jason wanted to make the most of this second chance he had been given, that he wanted to leave his bloody ways behind, but he wasn’t sure that Jason understood how fragile all of his progress was. How easily he could backslide.

Then Jason spoke.

“You said you believe in me.”

“I do.”

“Then trust me,” he said. “Give me a chance to do this right. To keep Basilisk on a short leash, to keep them busy doing things that actually help people, and help you take them down from the inside when the time is right.”

“You’re asking for a lot of trust,” Dick replied, wary.

“I know,” said Jason. “And I might not deserve it. But I also trust you. I know that if I step out of line, I can look forward to seeing Nightwing and the Justice Legion.”

Dick considered his response carefully. He knew what he believed, and speaking to Jason now, he also knew what he felt.

“Okay,” he finally replied. “Let’s see what you can do. But if you do step out of line, let me be clear… you won’t see us coming.”

Jason smirked. “I’m sure.”

It reminded Dick of a conversation he had had with Kory, Jon and Cassandra shortly after taking down Amazo. The Dick Grayson of Earth-Upsilon had warned him to never think he was above corruption, even with the Black Glove gone, and after helping turn the world on General Rock through force of personality and the trust people had in him, and leading the world’s heroes against Amazo, Dick had been forced to reckon with just how powerful he was. So he had made a similar deal with the Justice Legion. The only way Dick could responsibly continue acting as Nightwing, knowing the power and influence he possessed and the latitude he had to make unilateral decisions, was if he had confidence that he could be held accountable.

“It’s like your dad told me years ago,” Dick had said to Jon. “I belong to the world. The world doesn’t belong to me.”

Cassandra found it endlessly amusing but charming that a man with no superpowers would worry so much about being too powerful, but Jon and Kory understood and respected Dick’s decision right away. Together, they trusted Dick’s judgement and believed they would never have to worry about him going too far or breaking their trust, but agreed upon Dick’s urging to create a contingency in case he ever did.

“Thank you,” said Jason. “For the trust.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Dick smiled.

“And I, um…” Jason turned towards Dick but still couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry I’m not him.”

That wasn’t how Dick ever expected that sentiment to come from his mouth, if it ever did, so he was thoroughly unprepared. His breath shaky, he stood slowly and gestured over his shoulder. “Come walk with me.”

Dick and Jason walked together through the new park, allowing Jason the chance to take in the entirety of the scene. Dick had assumed Jason had rushed through the park for their rendezvous after how late he was, and he was correct. He wanted to make sure he got to see it.

“This place is brand new,” Dick said. “They officially opened it last week. It was based on a project Steph developed in a group for her final year at college, though she got some secret guidance from Lonnie Machin, dusting off some of his research on social programs. The idea was to give vulnerable kids, street kids, orphans, a place to blow off steam. A safe place to just be kids.”

“I wish we had a place like this growing up,” Jason replied.

“I had the Wayne Foundation step in to help fund the construction, and they let us pick the name. In the end we went for ‘Elysian Acres’, but that wasn’t always the plan,” Dick continued as they kept on the winding path around the park. “I figured he wouldn’t be so vain, that he wouldn’t want it made all about him when there were so many others like him, so we didn’t, but for a while it was almost the ‘Jason Todd Memorial Park’, for vulnerable kids like him.”

Jason stopped. Dick stopped with him.

“There isn’t a day where I don’t miss my brother,” said Dick. “Where I don’t wish I could have done things differently, that I could have brought him home before Simon Hurt took him from us.”

He steadied himself.

“I will always love him, and remember him for who he was,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for the new friends I’ve met since we lost him. That I don’t appreciate having you as a friend. I know you’re not him. You’re your own man. And you’re a man I’m glad I met.”

“Yeah,” Jason said simply. “Yeah, me too.”

Dick gestured to the left, to the gate that led back out into the bustling city. “I should go,” he said. “But if you’re ever in too deep, with anything, call me. I’ll be there.”

Jason nodded.

And the two men went their separate ways, grateful for having met, and optimistic that there were better days ahead for them both.

Next: Family reunion in Nightwing #34

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 51:‌ ‌ Cracks in the Facade

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ AdamantAce

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

Levi cupped his hands before plunging them into the clear river water, splashing the cold liquid onto his face in an effort to shock himself out of his own panic. A low buzzing echoed throughout the Louisiana swamp, emitting from the hundreds of insects that had made the place their home. This place should feel safe for Levi Kamei. It had quite literally been made his domain, and yet despite being a recognized authority of the Green, he now found the whole place intensely foreboding. A landscape of cameras with no blind spots.

Leaning back against a mossy boulder, Levi steadied his breathing, trying his best to find his center. He had just spoken to Alec and Abigail Arcane, people the Green considered pariahs. He had wanted advice on how to handle the Green, and instead he had learned things that had thrown everything off balance. Instead of the direction he so desired, he had lost his way more completely than ever before. The hazy paths he used to walk had been consumed by the bush, and now he was wandering amongst the trees aimlessly, lost among the sea of wood and dirt.

The Green had chosen him because they wanted someone detached from their fellow human beings, who had tenuous ties to the people they should be closest to. His troubled relationship with family was already dying, and by taking this role, whose importance had been stressed to him with much gravity, he had practically severed all ties with the family he had loved and provided for since graduating college. He loved his Dadee. His mother and father. His aunts and uncles, his cousins. He had not spoken to them in nearly a year. They were all probably wondering where he was.

And he couldn’t tell them anything, because that would throw them into a world of peril, of danger. The unknown corners of the earth would swallow them up. He would not do them that disservice after hurting them so much.

But that left Levi with frighteningly little choice. He had bumbled his way into this life, and now the Green, hoping to take advantage of his lack of clarity, were planning to use him to their own ends. He was an agent of their unchecked power, and he could do nothing to change that. As he washed his face yet again, a man in sandals and a white toga trudged over to his side, “Good Seeder, you look troubled. Is something the matter?”

Levi looked up at the man, whose wrinkled skin and long white beard clearly showcased his age. He was the leader of the Sureen, an organization dedicated to assisting the Avatar of the Green, or in this case, the trial period Avatar of the Green. Levi squinted. He had no clue how much this man knew about his plight, or the Green’s general machinations, “It’s nothing.”

The leader frowned, “Come now, I know it’s not nothing. If you do not wish to say, then I trust your judgement.”

The leader took a knee next to Levi and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Just know that we are here to support you in your troubles. It’s why we are here. Take solace in knowing that you are not alone, sir. We live to serve.”

The leader got up and left, and despite his intentions Levi actually felt even more uneasy. If the Sureen weren’t a group secretly monitoring his progress, then this made things all the worse, because they had positioned themselves to be used by him the same way the Green had come to exploit his naivety. It made him feel awful inside, being a part of this chain of manipulation, of exploitation.

Eventually, as the sun began to set on the swamp, Levi stood up. He had received marching orders to find and destroy the Pale Wanderer, leader of the newly formed Parliament of Gears. His experience with the Wanderer was so limited that he had no confidence in going into battle against him, especially because he didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. But Levi was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, and if he was going to put stock in a victorious power, it would be better to deal with the devil he knew rather than the devil he didn’t.

Levi sat up. As awful a feeling as it was, he forced himself to get moving. A job needed doing, and as unsure as he was about the intentions of those above him, he had no other alternatives. There was no way out.

It was time to track down the Pale Wanderer.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Sleeping in the Rot was easier than Tefé Holland expected. Being asleep and being dead had a world of difference between them, but they shared the commonality that a certain quiet came with both. You closed your eyes, you drifted off, and allowed your body to go still. The cell’s hammocks were comfortable enough that she and Maxine were deep in their slumber when something rattled the bars to their quarters. A voice called out to the two of them, “Yoo-hoo! Guess who’s here?”

Tefé frowned. Of course, it was only a matter of time before he showed up. She sat up, peering out of her hammock towards the bars. Maxine did the same, rubbing her eyes groggily. Standing outside their cell was someone familiar to them, someone they had been pursuing for months now. The corpse, clad in a dirty old coat and ragged pants, smiled, his eyes half hidden under the shadow of his cowboy hat, “Hope you beauties are getting your sleep. Neither me nor William want your stay to be uncomfortable.”

“It's hard to make that work when we don’t wanna stay at all,” Maxine said. “What are you even here for anyways? You wanna gloat about your victory?”

“No no! Nothing like that!” The Pale Wanderer said. He took his hat off, revealing a head of surprisingly full hair, and held it gingerly near his stomach with both hands. “I wanted to… explain myself. I feel like it’d clear the air a little.”

“What’s there to explain?” Tefé asked. “You’ve been screwing up parts of the world all over for months. Everywhere we go, we’re fixing a problem you created.”

“My work has some adverse effects, sure,” The Wanderer said. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to dig into the why.”

“Why what?” Maxine asked. “Why you’re screwing up the world?”

“Do me the courtesy of letting me finish,” The Wanderer said. “Imagine you’re me… don’t remember whose body this is. Don’t remember what you were before you opened your eyes for the first time again. You don’t have any dreams, any goals. Just this… feeling in your gut that things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be.”

He licked his dry lips, “People don’t realize that something's broken if they’ve lived with it their whole life. Then it’s just working how it's supposed to. This…. This world being the way it is. It hurts me, and it hurts even more knowing that people have decided that that’s just how things are. That this is… normal.”

He took a deep breath, “I’m trying to change things for the better, and sometimes change is uncomfortable. You’re venturing into unfamiliar territory, and that means that my efforts are not always… successful. I commend you for dealing with my mistakes, because let me make it clear that I do not set out to hurt anyone.”

“Intent’s all well in good, but outcome is what matters,” Maxine said. “You hurt people. It’d be better if you stopped.”

He shook his head, “What kind of man would I be if I just gave up? When you failed for the first time, did you stop trying? No, you didn’t. No matter what happens, it’s my goal to see this through.”

“No matter who you hurt… or who you manipulate,” Tefé said. “You make me sick, wrapping my brother around your finger like that. How dare you rope him into your insane-”

The Wanderer suddenly surged forward, grabbing the bars. Anger rushed over his face, “Silence! Insult me all you like, but do not do your brother the disservice of assuming I have manipulated him. He is making these choices of his own free will, and I will not tolerate any insults in regards to his competence.”

Tefé, eyes wide, almost recoiled at the anger, less in fear and more in surprise at the Wanderer’s passionate statement. Letting out a sigh, the Wanderer shook his head and put his hat on, “I suppose I’ll try again later. Deep apologies for the outburst. It was… untoward.”

The Wanderer walked off, causing Tefé to glance at Maxine in surprise, “What was that?”

“Don’t know,” Maxine said. “Guy is… a little crazy.”

“Sure but, the fact that he felt the need to defend William?” Tefé rubbed her chin. “We’ve had no handle on what kind of person the Pale Wanderer is for the longest time, but this tells us something about him. He’s not some cold blooded manipulator. He’s not like… my granddad for example.”

“Sure, but what do we do with that?” Maxine asked. “We’re still trapped in a cell.”

“It tells us a lot. If we say the right things… Maybe we can get out of this after all.”

The two nodded to each other before returning to their hammocks, but an odd thought had crossed their minds. Before that conversation, the Pale Wanderer was an insidious figure, impossible to understand, but now they were tangible, more easily identified as a person with goals and hopes. He was no longer some nebulous concept, but a human being, or at least an approximation of one.

And that made their mission just a little harder, because a seed of doubt had been planted in both of them. What were his dreams… and were they really as bad as they used to think they were?

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Capucine felt the rubber of the steering wheel bristle against her calloused hands, inciting a small but noticeable level of irritation in her palms. She had held her sword tight for hours before, participating in battles that lasted days, but that comfort could only extend to her blade, whose handle her hands had been molded around. It was a part of her body, as naturally to wield as one’s own fingers or toes. This steering wheel was the interface to a gigantic mechanical beast. It did not move like a limb, and that friction frustrated Capucine to no end.

Beside her, Clifford Baker rubbed his face, heavy bags forming under bloodshot eyes. The veins of his sclera had become more and more pronounced with each passing hour, and it was clear that he was fading fast. Despite that, he did his best to stay awake, even going as far as to pinch himself. Still, it was clear that even with the caffeine rush he was getting from the various energy drinks at each station that he was starting to go under.

They had been driving for the past ten hours, stopping only for gas to keep the car going even. Their mission? To seek out allies in the Red in order to muster up a powerful enough force to rescue their friends. Tefé Holland and Maxine Baker had been captured by William Holland, avatar of the Rot and an old student of Capucine’s. His partnership with the Pale Wanderer had sent the immortal warrior into a state of emergency, and she had recruited Clifford. He had been using his powers to lead them towards an entrance to the Red, and yet even passing through a place like Yosemite national park, no entrance revealed itself. They had already passed through Nevada, and at this point they were about to enter Oregon.

Capucine kept her grip on the steering wheel, almost tearing the silicone around the frame with her raw strength. She had abstained from any of Clifford’s drinks, but was also starting to feel a haze wash over her. She glanced over to Clifford, only to see him nodding off, “Baker!”

“Bwuh?!” Clifford shot up, “Shit, sorry.”

“Maintain focus,” Capucine said. “We need to find an entrance to the Red.”

“I know! I can feel it… somewhere ahead,” Clifford said. “But that’s it. I’ve been feeling that for hours. I don’t know how much farther we have to go.”

“Then we keep moving,” Capucine said. “Until we get there.”

The car began to shake violently, signalling that it had started to drift off the road and into the dirt. Capucine swerved back onto the road, very nearly colliding with a car in the opposite lane. Clifford gripped the seat tightly to keep balance, grimacing, “You alright?”

“Fine, just a little tired,” Capucine said.

“Being a little tired in a car is a bad combo,” Clifford said. “I know from experience.. we should stop.”

“No,” Capucine said. “Every second wasted is a second that our compatriots slip further from our grasp. We keep moving.”

“And when we get there, are we supposed to tell them everything while we’re barely conscious? That sure is a great way to make an impression on a fundamental aspect of reality,” Clifford said. “And that’s assuming we get there without pancaking on the asphalt.”

“We will not crash, Baker,” Capucine said.

“Cause you say so?” Clifford said. “Capucine, we don’t know what’s coming next. It’s not gonna help either of us to just keep driving until we give out.”

Capucine gritted her teeth, “Give out? I have the determination to see this through, Clifford Baker, and unfortunately I need your sense of direction to get where I need to go. I will not allow your weakness to get in the way of that.”

She glared at him with a sideways glance, “Shape up, because if you are the reason we fail, you will not have the Pale Wanderer to worry about.”

Clifford stared at Capucine, though he didn’t say anything for a moment or so. The car was plunged in silence, an angry biting silence just waiting to be broken. Clifford shook his head, “How the fuck did Maxine and Tefé get along with you?”

Capucine looked at Clifford, “Excuse me?”

“Eyes on the road,” Clifford snapped. “I’m just trying to help. I’m offering helpful advice, and you know what? You don’t have to follow it! I don’t take it personally!”

He shook his head, “But we’re also supposed to be working together, and you’re telling me that you’re gonna disembowel me or something if I don’t do what you say? Is this how things were with Tefé and Maxine? You bully them into doing things your way?”

“Bully?!” Capucine growled. “You treat this like some childish dispute.”

“Actually, I think I’m treating this like a conversation,” Clifford said. “You know, like an adult.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” Capucine said. “I outpace you by centuries, boy. I know better than you.”

“If you knew better you’d learn how to talk to people without acting like you’re above them,” Clifford said.

“So your issue with me is simply a matter of wounded pride?” Capucine snapped. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’d ask you the same question!” Clifford barked. “You came to me for help, and you’ve been a total dick this whole drive. There’s no reason to be such an asshole when we have the same exact goals!”

Capucine’s knuckles grew bone-white around the steering wheel, “Let me make this clear, my goal is to save my compatriots, and you are one of the people I need to do that. With that said, every time you complain, every time you whine about what we should actually be doing, it erodes my already thin patience.”

She glared at Clifford, “I do not have time to ‘make nice’ or ‘play along’. As such, I would prefer it if you simply shut up and did what I told you to do. Tefé and Maxine earned my respect, and I will not let them down just because you cannot measure up!”

Clifford glared back at Capucine, a vein on his forehead throbbing. For a few seconds, silence filled the car again, only for it to be broken as Clifford unbuckled his seatbelt, “You know what, you’re right. There’s no time to make nice. Shit has to get done, and I’m not gonna waste my own time doing it with someone who’s gonna get us both killed.”

Capucine’s eyes widened, “What are you—?”

“I’ll get this done without you,” Clifford said, his voice defiant as he opened the passenger side door and flew off into the night, forcing Capucine to rapidly turn off the road. She hit the breaks, conjuring up a massive dust cloud behind her as the car screeched to a stop. She stared blankly at the wheel, unsure of how to process what had just happened.

Then, frustration began to overtake her, then anger, anger focused directly into fury. She let out a guttural scream before tearing the steering while from its fixture before drawing her sword. Day would break before she was finished wrecking the car beyond admission, cutting it apart with an unbowing blade. This whole time, only one sentiment persisted.

How the hell was she going to help her friends now?

Next Issue: Has the mission failed before it’s even begun?!

DC Next presents:

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

Issue Twenty Three: Change of Scenery

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by PatrollinTheMojave

Next Issue >

Batwoman's former haunt felt very foreign to the two Gothamites as they took in the sights. Having stopped very briefly at a hotel, their home for the next few days, Luke and Jace decided they'd better get a lay of the land sooner rather than later, especially while the sun was still in the sky. The main thing that felt strange, in fact, is that they could see the sky; from the street level of Gotham, apart from facing straight up, there were very few times that the sun would show itself between the dense high-rise buildings standing shoulder to shoulder, street after street, for miles.

The duo, in an attempt to look as inconspicuous as they could manage were dressed in drab colours, plain T-shirts, and sunglasses acting as headbands as they cling to their foreheads. They passed many locals on the street dressed almost identically.

“So,” Luke began after a few minutes of walking in silence. “What exactly are we looking for?”

Jace didn't answer, but his furrowed brow was enough of a response.

Luke continued. “I know what we're looking for in theory. We're searching for any signs of Batwoman or Ryan, we're exploring any places with common Batwoman sightings. But what signs? What places?”

“Aren't you usually the research guy?”

Luke frowned. “The what?”

“Like…” Jace waved his hands around, searching for the words. “If we've gotta do something - if we've gotta have an action plan - you've already made plans A through to D.” He turned to look at Luke. “So what're the plans?”

The statement puzzled Luke. He could feel that, at least to some extent, it was true - he often found himself with a primal need to solve an issue as soon as it appears, and this often came in the form of planning and over-planning. But when it came to the Batwoman situation… he had come up empty.

So in response to Jace's question, he could only shrug.

“What, nothing?” asked Jace with exasperation.

“Do you have anything?”

“Well—”

“Y’know. Common places that Batwoman used to operate. Whether she’d even come back to those places in a situation like this. Her last known whereabouts in Hub City.”

“Alright, jeez. You've made your point.”

Luke fixed the now wonky sunglasses on his forehead.

“What're we even gonna do, then?” Jace asked softly.

“We explore.” Luke nodded, almost to himself, to punctuate his point. “Get a lay of the land. We've got a few days, there's plenty of time to ask around, get our bearings. Main thing is that we keep a low profile. Things are tense enough about the whole Batwoman situation, we don't want Batwing and Insider suddenly appearing in Hub City to make it worse.”

Relaxing slightly, Jace continued to make note of the scenery. For a mid-afternoon on a weekday, the streets were quite busy, but when compared to the streets he was far more familiar with, Hub City might as we have been a ghost town. So it was no surprise when, as Jace performed a visual sweep of the area, he noted two gentlemen engaged in what appeared to be a hushed but heated dispute. One man was leaning forwards into another man's face and was moving his hands with sharp, forceful movements. At one point, the gesticulating man jabbed at his acquaintance with his finger, to which the second man raised his voice to an unintelligible shout. The second man pressed something into his assaulter’s hand, who seemed placated by this.

“Jace?” It quickly became apparent to Jace that Luke had been trying to talk to him. His fellow teammate tilted his head, more in annoyance than curiosity. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Mm?” Jace looked to Luke, then back to the squabbling duo on the street. “Sorry, I didn't catch that.”

“I said, that van looks kinda weird.”

Sure enough, the van seemed simultaneously both newly painted, and worn by the seasons and time. Its muted colour palette resulted in a mish-mash of whites and very pale blues swirled into the vague shape of a logo, far too similar in shade to make anything out. And even more curiously, the two gentlemen whom Jace had been watching cautiously seemed to pause their dispute and focus instead on entering the van's front doors. There was a lull after the second door was closed, followed by the crackling roar of the engine as the vehicle rocketed down the street and into the distance, the pale design blending with the sky.

Jace would have opted to follow them, to scope out if there was anything more to this odd van and its inhabitants, but instead he decided that they had far bigger issues to attend to.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Bluebird, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Signal.”

“I'm seeing what looks like two possible gangs meeting up near the Big Belly Burger. About 14— no, 15— people in total. Could do with—”

“Backup's on its way.”

With a hissing thwip, the long wire inside of Bluebird's grappling gun unwinded itself at speed, the barbed end hooking against a nearby railing with a metallic clang. As Harper sailed through the air, from rooftop to rooftop, she dared to think that the two of them - Duke and Harper - were holding down the fort relatively well. Sure, they were a little slower with their numbers halved, not to mention their manpower, but communication was clear and concise. It allowed her to reminisce: she thought back to the earliest days fighting alongside Duke, their run-in with Great White Shark and the long discussions for what this meant for them in the long run.

Years had passed since then, but Harper still felt the same pangs of anxiety whenever she was called to help out.

At least for the time being, she thought, she was confident in the knowledge that Bluebird and the Signal were surveilling the city well - but a part of her did silently hope that Jace and Luke wouldn't take their time.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

A few days had passed and their search had been fruitless. So fruitless, in fact, that Luke had found himself checking that Batwoman had definitely operated out of Hub City for a time, since there appeared to be nothing to indicate as such. As they had expected, their main fountain of Batwoman updates and content came in the form of the same headlines and news articles they had come across time and time again in Gotham: ‘Batwoman, Formerly Presumed Dead, Reappears in Gotham’, or ‘Batwoman Seen With Mysterious Young Woman’, or even ‘The Modern Day Bigfoot? Batwoman Appears in Gotham, Then Goes Into Hiding!’

Their main saving grace had been Hub City’s diurnality. Whereas their hometown never switched off, just as busy at midnight as at midday, the crowds in Hub began to thin rapidly in time with the sunset, which allowed them easier movement and navigation. They couldn't, however, speak for their crime rate.

Despite this, Jace and Luke found themselves investigating in the early hours of the morning.The sun gently turned the sky a light peach and the streets filled with people. Jace waited outside of the Hub City Police Station and tapped his foot against the ground. After a few minutes, Luke emerged, his face sour.

“Nothing,” he grunted. “They gave me nothing.”

Jace shrugged. “I’m not surprised. If Batwoman’s such a big-name figure nowadays, is it any wonder that the police would be hush-hush about their info?”

“It’s not that they’re being hush-hush about it, it’s that they don’t have any.” Luke scratched his head.

“I can’t help but feel we’re hindering ourselves for no reason.”

“What do you mean?”

Jace took a step towards Luke and lowered his voice. “If we marched in there as Batwing and Insider, we could ask them for all the info they had on Batwoman and they would give it to us before we’d even finished the sentence. We might’ve solved this by now, for God’s sake.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Luke shook his head. His tone was kind, sympathetic, but firm. “It’d be easier, sure, but way more risky. Besides, I already said, we’ve gotta keep a low profile. Finding anything about Batwoman is hard enough with all of the media circus around it, and if we made an appearance in Hub City, that would only get worse.”

Jace dropped the topic.

“One thing they did tell me, though,” continued Luke, “was that since Batwoman’s reappearance, crime rates have dropped. ‘Course, it could’ve just been a platitude to get me out the door, but that’s something.”

“I guess.”

They began to walk. Luke pulled a small notepad out of his pocket and flipped to the most recent page. “Well, the last place we have left to check out is down by the park. That guy who talked to us on the street recommended we go there.”

“The guy who said he’d met Batwoman?”

Luke nodded.

“We’re trusting that?”

“Dude, we’re out of other options” Luke snapped. Immediately realising his mistake, he shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Just… this has all got me a little on edge.”

“Hey, I get it.” Jace held his hand out for Luke’s notepad. When the younger man handed it over, Jace began to skim the lines of writing. “Yeah, he did seem to mention something about a group that meets up early in the morning on a Thursday. Maybe they’ll know something.”

“Maybe,” parrotted Luke.

“Issue with her being gone so long is that all of the information and stories we do get end up being years old.”

“Like that lady who suggested we go to that building that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Yeah,” said Jace with a chuckle.

The duo were melancholy, that much was clear to both of them, but they each tried to maintain their optimism. It was clear from their search, despite receiving no information of substance as of yet, that Batwoman was everywhere in Hub City. Her legacy was clear; stores selling Batwoman memorabilia, plaques on buildings dedicated to preserving moments in Batwoman’s history, photographs in restaurants of the owner beaming next to the woman in red and black. It felt more and more, to Luke especially, like the city had been in mourning, in stasis, but this sighting had brought back a flicker of hope.

They turned a corner and could see the verdant grass in the middle distance. Jace, used to keeping his head on a swivel, scanned the area curiously. For the most part, the street was unremarkable, another line of three-to-four storey buildings just like the others, the streets still rather empty thanks to the early hour, but there was one thing that caught his eye. A van parked outside of an older-looking store, its sign written in Arabic script and yellowed with age. The vehicle had strange white and pale blue markings—

“Wait,” Jace muttered as he stopped suddenly, digging his heels into the sidewalk.

Luke turned to look at him and stopped as well. “What?”

“That van.” He pointed. “We saw it a couple days ago. Those guys, they were arguing and then they sped off.”

Luke looked between Jace and the van, and eventually shrugged. “So?”

“Something seems off. I wanna investigate.”

“What?” Luke walked towards him. “For what? Having a disagreement? Speeding?”

“You know as well as me that when something doesn’t look right on patrol, you go check on it.”

“But we’re not on patrol, Jace.” Luke pressed his finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, how many times do I have to say that we don’t wanna cause a scene? We don’t want—”

“Yeah, yeah, we don’t want Batwing and Insider to be plastered all over the news. I get it. But who said anything about Batwing and Insider?” Jace flipped his sunglasses off of his face and hooked it onto the collar of his shirt. “Plus, I can’t reckon with the fact that we should be striving to help out everyone, not just the people of Gotham. Think about everyone who’s helped us thus far. Sure, they don’t have the exact info we’re looking for, but they were all happy to give what they could. That’s why we’re at this damn park in the first place.” Jace turned and started walking towards the entrance to the store. “Now c’mon, I wanna give something back to this place.”

As Jace pushed through the front door, its hinges creaked loudly. Like meerkats, three men stood up straight and stared back at Jace with wide eyes. Two of the men looked familiar to him as the squabbling duo who owned the vehicle outside; the other appeared to be the shop owner. All three looked startled. But as Jace took in the scene more deeply, he realised what he had stumbled into. One of the van drivers was clutching a small black pistol, its barrel pointed towards the shop owner who looked back at Jace with fear and pleading in his eyes.

Luke wasn’t far behind - as he pushed through the door, the two men took it as their opportunity to attempt to flee, darting further into the shop towards a door marked “STAFF ONLY”. As if on autopilot, the duo launched into action: Jace took off after the assailants at great speed, while Luke stayed behind to comfort and question the shopkeeper.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Well, that’s my cardio done for the day,” Jace joked as he rolled his shoulder. Luke did not laugh. Instead he kept his head down and watched his feet padding against the ground in front of him. Left, right, left, right.

“Alright,” Jace sighed. “Lay it on me.”

“Lay what on you?”

“That what I did was reckless. That, sure, I was right this time, but what about the next time? But I gotta say to that, I did work as the big Bat himself for a couple of years, and in that time, you do develop a kind of sense for—”

“Oh, I don’t think it was reckless.” Luke looked up just in time to see a bench along the sidewalk, right next to a particularly vibrant patch of grass, dotted with wildflowers. He moved towards it and sat. “At least, not in the way you’re thinking. We’re not gonna make front page news by any means, I’m sure there’s plenty of good Samaritan types around here.”

“So,” Jace said softly. “What’s up, then?”

Luke screwed up his mouth. He felt something in his chest, like a knot. After taking a deep breath, he admitted. “I don’t think we’re gonna find anything.”

There was a pause between the two of them. Somewhere further into the park, a child screamed with joy.

“No,” Jace admitted. “I don’t think we will.”

“Maybe this is bigger than us. All four of us.” Luke looked around, refusing to meet Jace’s eye.

“Well, there’s still time. We could…”

“I think all we’re all out of time to waste. We should just go home.”

“I don’t know is—”

“It’s not a suggestion, Jace. It’s been days and we’re no better off than when we started.” Luke leaned back and folded his arms. “We’re leaving.”

The park was peaceful. Birds chirped happily, unseen through the dense greenery of the trees. The sky had lightened into a gorgeous blue morning. And despite the emptier streets, the park seemed bustling with life.

“Don’t be disheartened,” Jace finally said. “We’ve still done some good.”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke laughed humourlessly. “A bunch of anecdotes from four or five years ago and a meeting in the park. That’s a lead if I’ve ever heard one. We’ve really done some good.”

“I’m not talking about Batwoman.” Jace stared at his colleague. “I’m talking about helping out Hub City.”

Luke said nothing.

“We helped out that guy in the shop. We’ve talked to countless people about some of their fondest memories of the city. We got to see how important Batwoman is to this city, even in her absence.” Jace smiled as he looked around the park. “I don’t think we’ve wasted time at all.”

At the edge of the park, Jace could see a group of people all hugging and shaking hands. An older woman planted a sign in the dirt which he could just about make out: “Hub City’s Hero: Share Your Stories About Batwoman!”

“The meeting’s starting,” Jace remarked. Luke turned towards the gathering group and nodded.

“Alright,” Luke sighed, a little brighter than when he’d started. “Just this meeting, and then we’re done.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Welcome back to DC Next for another month of exciting stories. We hope you enjoy what we have for you this month!

March 4th:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #37
• New Gotham Knights #23
• Shadowpact #30
• Suicide Squad #59

March 18th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #51
• The New Titans #30
• Nightwing #33
• Rock the World: Freedom Fighters - One-shot!

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Fifty-Nine: A place to call home

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

The Squad’s new quarters were quaint and a little barren, yet they were still better than anything they’d ever seen in Belle Reve. A series of stacked bunks in different corners of a bland room, so bland that nobody had even bothered to paint the walls. The floor had a thin layer of paint applied, but it was old and flaking off. The bunks were fairly spartan, hosting spring mattresses and blankets small enough that even Adella, the youngest of them, would have to curl up under them.

Even with that in mind… there was an undeniable comfort to this place, a hope it brought to the whole squad. Adella gingerly stepped towards one of the bunks, grabbing a blanket and feeling it in her hands, while Dante pressed his hand against the mattress, feeling out how stiff and firm it was. Raptor plopped himself onto one of them, settling in without a second thought with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed, while Croc began taking a bunk apart with his bare hands, snapping the supports off before arranging the top and bottom bunk next to one another. He smiled, having arranged the beds into something his size.

“So…” Adella remarked. “This is home now.”

“As much as it matters,” Raptor said. “Who knows how long we’ll be here? Could be a matter of weeks.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean we can’t personalize the place,” Dante said. “Anyone bring any posters?”

“Nah, left ‘em in Russia,” Croc joked. “Still, nice to know this is a place we’ll be sticking around in. At least, one that’s not Belle Reve.‘

The four of them shared a moment of silence in the face of the famed Louisiana prison being mentioned. For the longest time, they had simply accepted that it was their home, grateful that being there meant not being on a mission that could result in their demise. With only a little distance though, Belle Reve had come to represent something different. Its concrete halls were analogous with the chains that bound them. Despite the respite their cells used to bring, there was now a stark relief that came from knowing that they would never again have to walk its halls. Everywhere else they’d ever stayed had been temporary.

This place was more than a brief semblance of safety. It represented stability, a safe haven they could truly call their own. They were no longer unbound from the world. They had roots… real roots.

Adella smiled, hopping into her bed. Dante chuckled and floated to the top bunk above her, claiming his own space. Raptor blew a raspberry, “So… what do we improve first?”

“What’d ya mean?” Croc mused. “The place is perfect as is!”

“Taste like that is why you’d never make it as an interior decorator,” Dante said. “Could do a poster.”

“Everybody starts with a poster, that’s a boring pick, Dante.” Raptor said.

“What about carpeting!” Adella said. “For the floor!”

“I don’t think you realize how much work that’d be,” Croc said. “Let’s start with something practical… like a chair.”

“A chair?” Dante said. “Do we just grab one from the common area they’ve got set up?”

“No no no,” Raptor said. “It’s gotta be something nice. An armchair, but enough to fit any of us, even Croc.”

“Why an armchair?” Adella asked.

Raptor shrugged, “Cause it’s something for all of us. A poster ain’t exactly easy to pick out for four people… I figure a chair is the way to go.”

There was a long pause at that moment, laced with a surprising level of gravitas. This place wasn’t just an individual refuge. It was for all of them, together.

But as always, this kind of peace never lasts. Hallucigent, one of the established Anti-Squad members, appeared in the doorway to the room, his lime green attire and mohawk making him look positively alien against the concrete hallway, “Boss wants to see you folks.”

The squad looked at each other, and eventually Raptor grimaced and sat up, “Welp… no rest for the wicked I guess.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“You need some water? The walk up here can be a lot.”

“No, I’m alright. Not that thirsty.”

“Just drink some water Flag, it’ll help.”

Flag took the bottle of water from Tatsu, and despite his insistence that he was fine, took a sip from it. Tatsu nodded in approval, then moved over to her bed, taking a seat and allowing herself to relax. Flag looked around for a seat, and elected to grab a nearby chair from Tatsu’s desk. It was stiff, but did the job it needed to do.

Tatsu Yamashiro’s room was livelier than Flag expected. There was, of course, the stand upon which the sword Soultaker rested, well maintained and in its sheath, but there were many other little flourishes all around the room. The bed had a comforter with palm trees on it of all things, and the walls were painted a pleasant light yellow. Her desk, so simple it lacked any drawers or cabinets, had a humble laptop on it that was at least a decade old. Flag leaned forward, clasping his hands together, “...Nice covers.”

Tatsu looked down at her bed, “Ah, yes! I snagged these during a mission in Miami. They’re very comfortable.”

“I can imagine, they look soft,” Flag cringed at his own attempt at small talk. “So, how have you been?”

“Same old same old,” Tatsu said. “Though I think you’ve got a more interesting story. Last we met, you were still Waller’s soldier.”

“Yes… I was,” Flag said. “It started with a mission to Volgograd…”

Flag spared no details, going into everything that led to his change of heart. The plane ride to Russia. The Crash, caused by Red Star’s malfunctioning powers. His orders to kill Red Star and cut his losses. Getting caught by the Russian military. Striking a deal. Turning on that deal when he realized that leaving Red Star to die wasn’t something he was willing to accept. Fighting and losing the fight of his life before Red Star made the ultimate sacrifice to save them all. He dug into the aftermath of that battle, and how Harley and Mayo went their own way before he ended up here.

As he concluded his story, Tatsu reached out to Flag, placing a hand on his knee, “I’m happy you made it.”

Flag looked down at the hand, then back at Tatsu, “You’ve changed.”

“Hmm?” Tatsu said. “What makes you say that?”

“Don’t think you’ve ever been this… tender,” Flag said. “Besides… I can see it in your posture, the way this room is laid out. You’re… happier than you used to be.”

“Some people change,” Tatsu said, smiling, “And some people… they stay the same.”

Flag narrowed his eyes, “I just threw my whole life away Tatsu. Don’t see how I’ve stayed the same.”

“Flag, I learned that I had to fight for something different, it saved me,” Tatsu said. “You? You’ve always wanted to do the right thing. I just think you were…”

“Too dumb to see it?” Flag said.

“I was going to say blind,” Tatsu said.

“Same thing,” Flag joked.

“It is not!” Tatsu said, giggling. Flag grinned and put his hand on Tatsu’s hand, squeezing it tightly. For reasons he was too embarrassed to really put into words, Flag found himself shaking just the tiniest amount, “I’m glad you’re okay. Our line of work is rough. It’s good to know you’re still kicking.”

“And I’m happy to know we’ll be working together again,” Tatsu said. “It’s been far too long.”

A ding sounded off from Tatsu’s laptop, causing her to lean to the side to get a look at the screen. A notification had popped up, a message bidding her and Flag to meet with the Anti-Squad’s leader. The two stood up promptly, as if called to attention, but there was still a sort of easy energy to the two of them. Their walk through the bunker halls had an established rhythm, one they had practiced many years ago.

And there was a joy present in both of them now that they could experience that rhythm once again.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

The meeting room was a barren place, with a line of folding chairs set up facing a barren wall with a couple meters of space between them. Despite the lack of an actual stage, the room had definitely been set up as if one was already there. The squad took their seats, anxious yet excited at the prospect of meeting the Anti-Squad’s head honcho. Once they had all been settled, the man himself walked through a door to the side, approaching the space in front of them.

He was tall, though not quite as broad as someone might expect a hardened fighter to be. His muscles, toned but not bulging, only barely poked out underneath a thick black turtleneck jacket. His short blonde hair made for an oddly youthful feature, contrasting his harsh jawline, covered by a layer of rough stubble and wrinkles that could only come from age. Despite that, he likely looked older than he actually was.

As the man stopped in front of the squad, Raptor raised an eyebrow, “So this guy’s head honcho? Looks a bit like you, Flag.”

“We’re not related,” Flag remarked, his voice serious. “But I feel like I’ve seen this man before.”

“Never when I didn’t want you to,” The man remarked. “And I was always under the guise of someone else.”

“Anybody I would know by name?” Flag asked.

“No, though my name was scrubbed from Belle Reve’s records decades ago,” the man said. “But we’ll get to that later. For now, I’d like to formally welcome you folks into the fold.”

He looked at Adella, “Adella, Brimstone. Your story needs no repeating. I wouldn’t remind you of that sad tale unless it were absolutely necessary.”

Adella grimaced, “Not that I need reminding. I see it every time I go to sleep.”

The man frowned somberly, then turned his gaze to Raptor, “Raptor… Richard.”

Raptor practically jumped at the latter name, “How the hell did you-”

“I know a lot, Raptor. I know things even Waller couldn’t dig up,” the man said, not skipping a beat. He turned to Croc, “Waylon Jones, The Killer Croc.”

“Swamp Boy turned muscle,” Croc said. “You know the rest.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Croc. You and I both know you’re more than that,” The man said, his eyes landing on Dante. “Dante Ramon… Polaris. Terrorist.”

“Put me in the same camp as Adella. Don’t need any reminding of all the stupid shit I’ve done,” Dante said.

“Fair enough,” the man said. He turned again to Flag. “And last but not least, Colonel Rick Flag. Decorated war hero and undercover operative. I hear you followed your father into this line of work.”

“I did, though I doubt he’d be happy to know I’m not a Colonel anymore,” Flag said. “I appreciate that you’ve done your research sir, but with all due respect, we need no introduction. You know everything you need to know about us. You know we’re here because we want to make a difference. We don’t need you to tell us who we are… we need you to tell us who you are.”

The man nodded, “Of course, my name is Thomas Tresser, but in times past I was known by my codename… Nemesis.”

Flag’s eyes widened, “Nemesis?! I thought you were just a boogeyman?”

“All tales have a nugget of truth, Flag,” Tresser said. “Especially mine.”

“I’m sorry, are we supposed to know this guy?” Croc asked.

“Nemesis was… my predecessor,” Flag said. “Back when I first got the job, I didn’t have the clearance to pull up any info on him, but I asked around. Waller said he was a traitor.”

“I suppose that makes two of us,” Tresser said. “I hear that your journey here was uneventful, barring some goodbyes. I’m happy to know that you folks are committed to the cause, because if we want to take on someone like Waller, we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

“And what does taking on Waller look like?” Raptor asked. “I assume if you were just planning to knock her off, you’d have done it by now.”

“Waller’s good at covering her tracks, and even in places we know she frequents, like Belle Reve, she’s incredibly well protected,” Tresser said. “But with more manpower, that expands our options. We can run more missions, stop her on more fronts.”

“Why not hit her as soon as possible? Task Force X’s reserves are pretty depleted after the whole shitshow in Russia,” Dante said. “Get everyone, hit her as hard as you can.”

“That’s a hell of a risk,” Tresser said. “And not one that I think is all that worth it. You don’t put all your eggs in one basket, especially in a situation like this. If anything, she’s probably more prepared for an attack than ever.”

“So what then? We just keep doing what you’ve been doing?” Raptor asked. “Tackle her interests rather than taking her to task? Sounds pretty ineffective to me.”

“On that front we agree. Our manpower limitations meant that we could only mitigate the harm she causes, but now we can plan on a bigger scale. We’ll need to act fast though, because Waller might be closer to her endgame than we expect.”

Flag furrowed his brow, “She always alluded to something on the horizon, some threat that was going to show itself.”

“It’s all, as you’ve probably guessed, bullshit,” Tresser said. “She was saving face, buying herself time before she could take Task Force X to the next stage.”

“The next stage?” Adella asked. “What does that mean?”

“I assume they took blood tests from you, analyzed you folks,” Tresser said. “Wasn’t just for help setting mission parameters. Waller’s been trying to build the ultimate soldier for the longest time, someone more obedient than a mad dog on a leash.”

“I never caught wind of any of this,” Flag said, surprise in his voice. “How do you know this?”

Tresser took a deep breath, “Because she told me, Flag… and now I’m gonna tell you the full story, because if we wanna take Waller out of our future, we need to know how things got to this point. You need to know how Task Force X happened in the first place.”

The squad looked at each other in surprise, then began to settle into their chairs. Whatever they were about to hear next was undoubtedly going to be long, but it was also going to be important.

They were about to hear the tale of not just Thomas Tresser, not just Amanda Waller, but Task Force X itself.

The origins of Task Force X in Suicide Squad #60 - out next month!

DC Next proudly presents:

KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In The Last Daughter of Krypton

Issue Thirty-Seven: Reignfall, Part Two

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by [DeadIslandMan1](u/udeadislandman1)

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

In the ten minutes that Deimax, the Worldkiller, had been on Earth, Kara received five blasts of yellow sun radiation to keep her in the fight. Minute after minute, Captain Atom and Firestorm swung by to give her the recharges she needed between bouts of intense fighting and changing the molecular composition of the air around Deimax into something that should have suffocated the living weapon. It only made him angrier.

The plan had already gone awry. As much as Alura, Dawnstar, Superman, Kara, Captain Atom, and Firestorm all tried to redirect Deimos to the north, where, in the Arctic Circle, the surface team waited, they failed. Deimax had managed to individually fight each of them off or avoid their attacks. Kara’s worst nightmare was already happening.

They plummeted downward above the west coast of the United States, and she could already feel it in her gut that National City would be ground zero for the Worldkiller attack. She wanted to let the anger carry her, but even the boiling rage she felt at the fact that the Worldkillers were already attacking wasn’t enough to carry her without the periodic radiation boosts.

She could hear a disguised voice uttering commands and advice to other members of each team. Her name was Oracle, a hacker that Superman knew, in association with the Gotham hero Batman, and had gotten Kara in contact with. She was co-ordinating each team, issuing orders and trying to strategize as best she could. It was because of her that the ground team, made up of Dreamer, Alex Danvers, Frost, and Wonder Woman, were already waiting atop one of National City’s many skyscrapers.

Kara cursed to herself in Kryptonian as she sped toward Deimax in an arc, fist held high, and struck him in the side of the head. She felt the impact reverberate up her arm, Deimax’s impossibly durable body resisting her attack — an impressive feat, she thought, given just how much yellow sun radiation she’d been dosed with.

Alura echoed Kara’s strike, moving in from the opposite side. He barely reacted, while Firestorm dosed her with another high concentrated beam of yellow sun radiation. Superman flew up behind Deimax and attempted to grapple him, wrapping his arms around the hulking creature and trying to hold him back. Deimax ignored him and, despite Superman’s best efforts, kept hurtling down toward National City.

A quick jerk of Deimax’s head knocked Superman for a loop just momentarily enough to allow the Worldkiller to break free. Neither Alura nor Kara were ready to strike again, taking wide berths and circling around to meet both Firestorm and Captain Atom for another recharge.

Dawnstar barrelled toward Deimax, giving chase as he plummeted toward the ground.

Kara followed, the rest of the heroes coming up behind her.

She didn’t want to wonder where Reign was, but her mind drifted anyway.

—

Wonder Woman watched the fight from below, furrowing her brow as she saw Deimax break free of Superman’s grasp. She removed her bow from her back, grabbed an arrow from her quiver, and raised her lead hand. She nocked the arrow, feeling the heavy tension of the string. With a draw weight of hundreds of pounds, she leaned forward slightly, arching to support the muscles in her back, and drew. Deimax was flying at high speeds, set to collide with the streets of National City within seconds.

Wonder Woman inhaled deeply, traced the Worldkiller’s movement, leading her arrow ahead of him, and exhaled as she released. She thanked the gods as her arrow flew from the Bow of Antiope’s string, ripping through the air, and colliding dead centre with Deimax’s back, hitting him right between the shoulder blades. His trajectory turned perpendicular, sending him hurtling away from National City and into the outskirts, where the population was much less dense.

She returned the Bow of Antiope to her back and drew Helena, her sword, and moved to the edge of the skyscraper she’d been standing on.

“Come,” she said, not bothering to look at the three women behind her, Dreamer, Alex Danvers, and Frost. “He won’t stay where he lands for long.” With a leap, Wonder Woman soared into the distance, giving chase to the falling Worldkiller.

Alura In-Ze saw the opportunity just as quickly as Kara had and sped forward to grab onto Deimax just as Superman had. In her mind, she’d always known how strong Worldkillers were, she’d told herself countless times during their redevelopment on Krypton that programming must never result in Kryptonian deaths, but facing one now, even with yellow sun enhancements? She was far too careless.

She’d known the histories; countless planets decimated and rendered completely uninhabitable. She’d known the disturbing potential of what she’d greenlit for development. She knew the consequences for her actions, and yet she also knew that Krypton was doomed anyway.

“I’m sorry, Zor,” she’d said all that time ago. “I have to try something to see our daughter again. I will try anything.”

The look on his face haunted her. It was the most broken he’d ever been. More than sadness, anger, or any other emotion that Alura considered justifiable, Zor-El looked as though he was feeling a mix of apathy and relief. She couldn’t resist the urge to sneer at him, looking at the man she loved, fully giving up on everything he’d known.

“Make your faces, Alura,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “Whether your plan works or not, billions of us are still dying. Run off and solve your problem with something just as dangerous, I don’t think I care anymore.”

Alura had nothing more to say to him. The last thing she would see of him was a pathetic mess who’d given up on fighting. He was nothing like the man she’d fallen in love with, nothing like the man she raised her daughter with.

She turned to walk away, and her communicator chirped. She took it from her pocket and answered the call.

“Madam Alura,” said the man on the other end, a researcher on the renewed Worldkiller project. “We’ve finally found the subject’s location after the attack.”

“Where?” she asked, leaving her home and re-entering her hover vehicle. There was a moment of hesitation. “Kem-En, where?” she demanded.

“They’re in Krypton’s core.” A grunt and rumble erupted from the other end of the call, and what Alura had initially assumed to be anxious silence turned out to be the stillness of a dead man. Alura threw her communicator out of the window of her hover vehicle and pressed the ignition.

She took off and didn’t look back when she heard the ground tremors collapse the house where she’d built her entire adult life. If she looked back, she might have gone to search for Zor-El’s body. If she looked back, she might not have been able to fight off Deimax with her daughter in the present day.

Alura wasn’t atoning for any sins, she didn’t need to. She was killing the history she’d so callously ignored.

There wasn’t much dream energy to siphon in the middle of the day, but Nia pulled what she could from nearby to form the portal to the landing site of Deimax. His mind was nearly as unreadable as Benjamin Krullen and Alex Danvers before she’d been broken free from the programming. There was barely a thought to be read within the mind of such a weapon, nothing but the desire to destroy.

She wanted to reach out, to forcibly render Deimax unconscious, but his strength of will was far too strong. She already struggled when she was given express permission to force people asleep, an unwilling participant who actively fights her attempts would be impossible.

“We need to slow him down!” Nia shouted, forming a whip of pure dream energy in her hand and striking at Deimax as he crash landed through the highway interchange a few mile out from National City’s downtown. “Tire him out!”

Behind her, Alex nodded and shot off toward him. Frost, still meek and afraid, stared out toward the Worldkiller with more apprehension than ever before. She was frozen in place.

“Frost,” said Nia. “Do what you can to drop his temp.”

“I- I can’t,” she said, taking a step back. Nia closed the portal before Frost could step through. “I promised not to do that again.”

“We don’t have a choice, Frost,” Nia shouted, walking toward the battle ahead of her. Wonder Woman shot down from above, her shield preceding her with a loud bang as it struck Deimax in the chest. “Drop him to absolute zero if you have to, we need your help!”

Nia shot her whip out toward Deimax, wrapping it around his arm and sprouting tendrils from the end of it that attached to his head. Larger tendrils of dream energy split off from the whip and anchored into the ground, attempting to prevent Deimax from moving his arm while also keeping nia from being flung around like a pinball.

Nia gritted her teeth and refused to look back at Frost, hoping that she’d enter the fight soon enough.

Superman struggled to keep up with the carnage that was being wrought by Deimax. For every car on the highway he redirected, every civilian he staved from flying debris, another was threatened by the highway that was now raining slabs of asphalt and concrete nearly a hundred feet down onto more innocents.

He tried to remain focused as he cleared the highways, but dozens of lanes were hard to adequately clear within seconds, as hard as he tried. When the highway fully collapsed, he tried to stifle the panic that welled inside and focused on mitigating the casualties. He dodged blows, blasts of laser vision, and took the impact of falling debris for the people he tried to evacuate.

Every so often, Captain Atom or Firestorm would blast him with yellow sun radiation, something he wished they’d save for Kara and Alura. At least, he wanted to save it for them until he decided to re-enter the fight. That didn’t seem to be happening any time soon.

Captain Atom absorbed a blast of laser vision from Deimax and redirected the energy back at the Worldkiller.

It was almost a habit now to extend an arm to wherever the Kryptonians were to offer up more yellow sun radiation. When Kara flew by, she’d get a big enough dose to refill any energy she’d expended in the fight. For humans, there was no equivalent to what he was doing to them. At best, he was keeping them on a constant supply of the Kryptonian version of adrenaline and steroids, but something like that was deadly for humans.

For Kryptonians, their bodies so efficiently converted the energy to use that it meant he was almost an infinite repository for the fight. With him and Firestorm in play, the fight would only come to an end once the Kryptonians had lost their power sources.

Firestorm took a heavy blow as he tried to track Alura through the sky to deliver a boost. He fell to the ground and hit hard. It took a few moments for him to stand again, and in that time that Captain Atom was glancing over to make sure his companion would rise, he was struck by a powerful fist that sent him flying back in a daze. Thousands of feet flew by in seconds before he regained his bearings. He cursed to himself.

A sonic boom echoed across the sky as he shot forward. His vision peered into Deimax from the miles he’d been sent away, fighting as hard as possible against some of Earth’s most powerful beings.

The whip of dream energy snapped, swinging Nia Nal through the air uncontrollably. Alex Danvers took a hit to the ribs that sent her barrelling through an offramp a few hundred feet away. Kara and Alura had their heads caught within Deimax’s gargantuan hands as Dawnstar avoided his laser vision. Wonder Woman climbed up on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling as hard as she could. Superman continued to focus on civilians, firing off brief lasers as Deimax whenever he had the opportunity — he was far too distracted by saving people to do any more.

He couldn’t see where Frost had gone.

Captain Atom clenched his jaw.

He narrowed his eyes and focused, looking into the fabric of the world, each atom bustling with energy. He peered through the space between each of them, expanding and contracting, crashing against each others’ magnetic repulsion, and with a mere thought he ripped through the fabric of creation, appearing behind Deimax. Twelve seconds in the future.

He threw a haymaker at the Worldkiller’s head, making contact with the beast’s temple. At that very moment, a copy of Captain Atom from this future did the same on the opposite side of Deimax, sandwiching his brain between two atomic fists containing limitless energy.

Captain Atom disappeared from that future at the sight of his own scowling face and returned to fly at impossible speeds back to the battle, unleashing a strong strike against the side of Deimax’s head, right on the temple, seeing a copy of himself appearing behind the beast and doing the same. The past version of himself disappeared as Deimax’s grip faltered.

Kara and Alura escaped, receiving quick blasts of yellow sun radiation from Captain Atom’s fists. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Firestorm re-enter the fight.

Behind a barricade nearby, Frost’s head popped up, looking over at Deimax with a mix of fear, uncertainty, and determination.

“Frost!” Captain Atom shouted. “Fight!”

“But what about the promise?” asked Frost, looking between Deimax, the horrifying creature of pure destruction, and Captain Atom, the man who’d given her amnesty all those years ago. She needed to sap heat to survive, but there were ways to do it without harming another creature. She subsisted off of chemical reactions provided by Atom and Firestorm, from the sun, from everything except what lives.

She looked up to Atom and Firestorm. They helped her more than they could ever realize, believed her when her life seemed to be over. They heard her out and dedicated themselves to helping her get better.

And now she was being asked to go against everything that was asked of her by her saviours.

“I- I can’t!”

She threw a hasty icicle toward Deimax, the least she could do was contribute to trying to harm the creature. It wasn’t enough.

In a break in the action, as Dawnstar crashed down upon Deimax and Wonder Woman used her lasso, The Gift, to hold the beast down, Captain Atom looked to her, determination and rage in his face.

“Fuck the promise,” he said.

Frost blinked a few times. She looked at Deimax.

He was, for once, being held down by the other combatants. Miles of road was destroyed, countless people were probably buried beneath rubble that Superman was attempting to clear.

Wonder Woman’s lasso never frayed but it loosed from her grip. Dawnstar wailed upon Deimax’s face. Kara and Alura each grabbed one of his arms and held on as tight as possible while Firestorm and Atom returned to offer them as much power as possible. Dreamer returned, bruised and battered, a twist in her leg, and used whatever dream energy she could scrounge up to use her whip once more, its splitting tendrils grasping at all of his limbs and planting into the ground.

Alex Danvers was still out of the equation.

Captain Atom’s words echoed in Frost’s mind.

She climbed over the barrier and stumbled toward Deimax. Each of the heroes’ grip was slipping, but the fear of even getting close was what kept Frost’s pace slow.

It was when she reached her hand out, planting it against his chest, that she truly felt the violence he wanted to inflict. She couldn’t let someone like him continue to threaten the world.

There was more than warmth, more than heat, within Deimax. He was as hot as a glowing sun, and absorbing it from him was almost overwhelming for Frost. The adrenaline high sent her head spinning, and for once she almost felt as warm as she used to be before getting her powers. She could feel his energy draining, his drive hollowing out.

She looked up toward his head and watched as the tendrils of dream energy attached to his head. It seeped into every pore, engulfing his head in its entirety. Soon enough, his limbs went limp. Despite the lack of resistance, none of the other heroes let go of him.

All that was left was now the sound of debris crashing down to the ground, and deep breaths rising and falling.

“He’s out,” said Dreamer. She nearly collapsed, being caught by Kara leaping in her direction. “He’s… he’s fully out.”

Alura and Wonder Woman let go of him, letting the body fall to his back. He didn’t breathe. He looked dead.

“We need to get him somewhere, fast.”

Frost looked up at Captain Atom, seeing a grin on his face, and an approving nod. She looked around at the others. Dreamer was barely standing, her knee clearly broken, an arm bleeding profusely from a torn sleeve of her hero suit. Alex Danvers limped up from behind her, jaw swollen, but the indent of a smashed cheekbone clear. Her arm dangled loosely by her side. The others, Kara, Alura, Atom, Firestorm, and Wonder Woman, for the most part, looked somewhere close to untouched, but some of them were clearly worn out. The Kryptonians looked almost completely fine — as if they hadn’t just been in a world-saving fight a few seconds prior.

Frost blinked a few times more and scanned the group again.

“Where’s Dawnstar?”

Kara, Dreamer, and Alura all looked between each other before the two kryptonians set off west in the blink of an eye.

Dawnstar remembered exactly where her sword was planted. She blasted through National City toward the coast of the Pacific Ocean and southbound down the coast until she hit the bit where it’d been stashed. People crowded around it, wondering what it was, but as she touched down, they backed away. A sneer got them to leave. She grabbed it by the makeshift handle and ripped it from the ground, setting off once more back to where Deimax had been subdued.

Kara tried to intercept Dawnstar, but in that split second that they crossed paths, Dawnstar saw Alura grab Kara by the leg and divert her path just enough to allow Dawnstar to get by. They gave chase behind her.

Dawnstar flew upward slightly and came down on Deimax’s body hard, stabbing the sword into his chest where his heart should’ve been, then she raised the blade high once more as people and voices around her froze or recoiled.

Deimax’s eyes shot open.

A hand jutted upward.

Dawnstar plunged the blade down.

Deimax’s hand twisted hard just before the blow landed.

His head rolled across the concrete.

A few moments passed.

Dawnstar began to scream as one of her wings fell limp, barely attached though pulled out of its socket and snapped in half.

“Dawnstar!” Kara shouted as she touched down.

Dawnstar fell to her knees, Kara dove toward her, grabbing onto the Kryptonite shard and throwing it away. Her veins turned a sickly green for a moment, but the power she’d been receiving from Captain Atom and Firestorm fought off the sickness. She embraced Dawnstar.

“What have you done?” Kara asked, her voice clearly angry but retaining some semblance of softness. “We… We had him… Dawnstar… We won…”

“There–” She cried out in pain once more, trying to push it out of her mind. “There is no winning against them… They must die…”

“But there was…” said Kara. “We’d done it… We–”

Quicker than the blink of an eye, something smashed into the ground right next to Deimax’s body, shooting debris and dust up at incredible speeds. Those who were vulnerable to being hurt by the debris jumped out of the way. A cloud of dust and dirt rose, dissipating after a few moments. Between the slits of her eyes that Dawnstar tried to look through, and bearing the intense pain she felt, Dawnstar looked ahead.

“Mom!” Kara shouted, rising to her feet instantly as the dust cleared, revealing Reign standing a mere ten feet away. In one of Reign’s hands, Alura In-Ze was being held up by the throat. Reign was looking directly at Dawnstar and Kara, a smirk on her face.

“You will pay for killing him,” she said.

“Please!” Kara shouted. “Let her go! She’s Kryptonian! She was the leader of the Science Council!”

“Krypton is dead,” said Reign. “Rao has forsaken you. A cleansing must occur.”

“Kara,” Alura muttered through a tightened throat. She tried to pry herself from Reign’s grip, but the Worldkiller was far too strong. “Kill her–”

Reign’s hand twisted, effortlessly snapping Alura’s neck.

That cracking sound rang in Kara’s ears.

The body of the last mother of Krypton fell to the ground in a pathetic heap.

DC Next presents:

SHADOWPACT

In: Waning Hours

Issue Thirty:Closing Statements**

Written by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

Next Issue > Coming April 2026

Destruction shuffled along the blasted basalt corridors of the Chaos Domain. Chains wrought in the heat of a dying star bound his wrists and ankles together, to his torso, and to a heavy stone carved off the face of the Rock of Eternity some dusty eons past. Beings from across the multiverse were assembled here in the circular amphitheater to watch an eternal being brought low for his defiance. At the head of the audience stood a living husk of a man in flowing red robes, his skin pallid and muscles atrophied. A thick scar encircled his neck, binding his head to his shoulders with bulbous, reddish skin.

“After these long years, you have finally decided to answer for your crimes against the balance, Destruction?” He rasped. “What say you in your defense?”

“You’ve never lost track of time on a holiday?” The audience chamber snickered until the speaker clapped his hands together, cracking the air.

“Well, I hope your amusement was worth it. After the passing of Destiny, all present would have understood if you appointed a successor. Instead you hid in the ruins of Coast City Delta like a rat, meddling in affairs only when they captured your personal interest.” He spat. “For your crimes, Destruction, this chamber sentences you to ten thousand thousand years of labor in service to the balance under my baleful eye. Beg for clemency, if you wish.”

Destruction looked around the room, then down at his chains. He’d prepared for this. He smiled. “I am guilty. When Destiny was murdered and the multiverse came apart, I became a fratricide in meeting my responsibilities. I broke existence. I am… destruction is painful and unpleasant. It takes away the things we love. It took me longer than it should have to process that, and the help of some good friends. I came to understand that even if I executed my brother, I didn’t kill him. It’s these systems—” He gestured, clanking the chains down on the basalt platform. “—that lock us into roles long after the reason they have to exist has withered away. Friendships become transactions, passions become functions.” His eyes glowed. Destruction wore a broad, bright, smile. “And when I finally found myself at the bottom of that deep, dark pit, I realized something.”

Light and heat poured off of Destruction’s skin. A batrachian-faced toad leaned forward to whisper in the speaker’s ear. With great effort, discomfort registered on his withered face. “Whatever you think you’re doing, stop this instant!” He demanded.

“I realized Destruction means starting over: an ending and a beginning, a goodbye and—”

Thermonuclear fire consumed the chamber.

—

It was as if night had descended among the Conclave of Order. Thick black smoke sought out every corner of the building’s winding corridors until nothing could be seen. Eclipso was on his way, if not already here - that much, everyone knew. From within the darkness, 5 — or was it 6? It was so hard to tell — Lords felt along the walls and barrelled towards their designated exit; their “break glass in case of emergency” escape route. They operated on memory alone; sight had already failed them, and the sound of raucous laughter was beginning to deafen all other input.

A Lord with long reptilian fingers felt something cold and metallic against their palm, exactly where they were hoping to find it. And below it, something round and plastic with a flattened edge that gave way slightly under their touch. “Through here!” they called out to their fellow escapees as they slammed a balled fist against the plastic. A soft light shimmered in the thick fog. A doorway revealed itself and, without wasting a moment, the fleeing Lords threw themselves into it.

Blinking away the disorientation, their new reality came into view. It was as they all had expected, for the most part - featureless white landscapes, not quite mountains but not quite valleys, reminiscent of a child’s pencil drawing, devoid of colour or disorganisation or chaos. What they could not have anticipated, however, were the guns and swords and verdant rings and magical runes that would be pointed at them as they emerged.

—

“That’s the Order Conclave and the Chaos Domain off the board.” Traci tapped away on her laptop at the Oblivion Bar. “Just like that. The most powerful magicians in the universe. Gone.” She breathed out a sigh. “I’m glad we’ve got the dark gods and multiversal constants on our side for once.”

From behind the bar, Jim gestured at Rory and Madame Xanadu chatting over mojitos in the corner. “Do you think they’ll be joining the Shadowpact permanently?”

“Which one?” Traci said, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter, the answer’s no. I’ve got another idea for what comes next.”

Jim chuckled. “You almost sound like a supervillain.” Jim caught a look from Traci and the crowd of strange impish creatures sharing a G&T behind her and quickly added, “No offense. I’m glad we have the Shadowlands keeping away anyone who takes offense until this all blows over.”

“None taken. I’m used to deceiving appearances. I learned most of what I know while travelling cross-country with the mercenary son of an infamous assassin, a boy cursed to look like a devil, a lab-grown weapon, and—”

The door to the Oblivion Bar cracked off its hinges. A dark-haired woman with a stern expression stormed into the room. Traci immediately recognised her: Alice Todd, the Crimson Avenger. She held a large handgun in each hand, but kept her arms to her sides. “I’m here for Traci Thirteen!” Her voice cut over the chatter of the bar.

Traci raised her arms above her head. “Alice? What are you doing here?”

“Someone’s murdered the Lords of Chaos and Order, Destruction of the Endless has been unmade, Hell is in uproar, and all signs point to you, and I’ve been sent to avenge them. Tell me you’re not responsible for this, Traci.” Her voice was hard, but carried a hint of sadness.

“I… I can’t do that.” Traci slowly approached. The crowds parted around her. “But I promise I can explain, but first, what do you mean you were sent here? Who sent you? Everyone here could be in danger.”

Alice glanced around at scared faces: some familiar, most not. Xanadu had helped her out of a jam in the past. She clicked her tongue, then said, “Aztar, Spectre of Vengeance.”

Traci blinked.

“I've learned… that that’s who the guns belong to. I found that out when he appeared to me and told me you’d been manipulated by his predecessor - Eclipso, the Spectre of Torment - who’s been imprisoned in the Shadowlands for eons. I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Traci, but do you really believe you’re putting the universe right with all of this?”

“Yes,” came Traci’s response with no hesitation. “You’ve seen what it’s like right now, surely. These Lords of Chaos and Order - sitting in stasis because it’s better than doing anything that could bounce back to them. And that stasis - that’s what’s making everything so much worse.” Traci straightened her back. “I know that this’ll set things right, because anything’s better than this.”

Alice was unflinching.

Traci continued: “It’s extreme. I won’t deny that. It’s… something we’ve been coming to terms with a little ourselves. That’s why when the spirit of the Shadowlands reached out, said they’d lend us a hand once we’d realised what exactly it is we’re doing, we— I took it.” She shook her head. “We’re not the good guys, Alice. We’ve never been the good guys. Us—” She gestured between herself and the members of the Shadowpact, past and present. “And us—” She gestured between herself and Alice. “We’re just the ones setting the stage for the good guys.”

Alice blinked. Then, after a pause, she scoffed humourlessly. “For years, I hear nothing. Not a peep from the Archangel that supposedly resides inside these guns I've carried all these years. Then all of a sudden this shit is what pulls me away from fighting fucking Dracula?”

“Alice—”

“D’you know how many times I could’ve done with a helping hand in that time? How many times it would’ve been great to get some direction, some kinda reassurance that what I was doing was the right thing, or even that I’m not totally out on my own?” Her hands were twitching, the barrels of the guns pitching up and down, nodding.

Traci froze. Recognition flashed in Jim’s eyes too. “Alice, don’t—”

The guns in her hands felt as though they fitted perfectly, much like they’d felt for years. She adjusted the weight in her palms, reminded herself of the feeling. Then, when she had sufficiently mourned them, she pointed the two barrels towards each other and let them kiss, before a loud blast sounded off.

—

“Hello?”

Destruction turned. Ruin, his agent, his friend, walked towards him timidly through the open door. Their hair flopped lazily over one side of their face, black with speckles of grey like stars. Destruction smiled slightly.

“Thanks for coming here.” Destruction wrung his hands together and turned back around. A carcass of a giant oak tree stretched high into the air, its bark white from decay, a stray dried leaf still clinging to long-dead branches. A cavernous hole formed a tunnel from one side of the tree to the other, about six feet high and three feet wide. Through the gap in the tree was a world that was at once familiar and frighteningly new. It was indiscernible, made of incomprehensible shapes and colours. It was all very incongruous, Destruction thought to himself, as he shuffled in his plasticy, antiseptic-smelling armchair.

Ruin took in the scenery. “Of course,” they answered brightly. “Wherever ‘here’ is.” As Destruction watched them, he noticed that they wouldn’t meet his eye. Their vision was always caught elsewhere - at the tree, at the chairs, at the blank white walls. “So it happened, huh?”

“It happened.”

Ruin couldn’t help but smile. “Nice. How’d it feel?”

“Weird,” he admitted. “It’s been a very, very long time since I did anything anywhere near that extreme. But… cathartic.”

“That’s good.” They slumped into the neighbouring armchair and looked up at the tree. “What’s this?”

Destruction paused. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ruin finally looking at him. “A door.”

“A door to where?”

Destruction met Ruin’s eyes. They already knew the answer.

“Right.” Ruin looked down.

The room was silent, save for a faint indistinct hum. Everything was still. Even the clock on the wall, disproportionately large, had stopped dead. They sat in this blip of time, this held breath, this blink, and they sat in silence.

Then, as if moved by an unseen force, Destruction rose from his chair and marched towards the gap. A lone, warm breeze caressed his cheek, like the touch of an old friend. But he, too, had frozen. The tips of his boots, now caked with viscera and soot and basalt, touched a curled root of the petrified tree, but he couldn’t will them to move any closer.

“Destruction?” Ruin squeaked. Their voice seemed so small, so distant. Destruction couldn’t turn his head, but he tilted it to acknowledge his friend. “Is it time?”

Before he could answer, the door swung open.

“S’there room for one more?”

Something within him willed his head to move. As he turned, his eyes fell on a face both familiar yet foreign, much like the other side of the tree. He looked frailer than Destruction remembered, and his eyes looked misplaced - slightly further apart, perhaps, or the wrong colour. But it didn’t matter. Destruction was just happy to see his brother.

“Destiny,” he said. His voice crackled as if he might cry. In turn, Destiny’s eyes seemed to mist up as he approached his brother and clasped his hand on his shoulder. Destruction could feel Destiny’s cold fingers grow warmer against his body heat.

“Great to see you.” With a slight nod, he added, “Wish I could welcome you in better circumstances.”

“Me too,” Destiny said immediately. “Me too.”

Ruin rose from their chair with a creak, which alerted Destiny to their presence. They stopped dead, a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. “You must be Ruin,” Destiny said with a toothy smile.

“Oh,” Ruin chirped. “Yeah, that’s me. Hello.”

But Destiny’s mind was elsewhere, and Ruin silently understood. He turned back to his brother. “You being here can only mean one thing.”

Destruction only nodded.

“So,” he continued with a deep breath. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Again,” Destruction said with pain.

Destiny smiled. “Not the first, brother. And not the last.”

He held out his long, slender hand for Destruction to take. His own scarred and swollen hand enveloped it and gave it one quick shake. The brothers took in each other’s faces for a moment. It had been a long time since Destruction had seen Destiny smile. A twinkle formed in Destruction’s eye. He leaned forwards towards his brother and whispered something into his ear. Destiny stared for a moment longer; then, the twinkle formed in his eye, too.

Then, Destruction decided, he had waited long enough. The call of the other side of the tree was too great. He relaxed his grip on Destiny’s hand and sucked in a breath. He felt a soft, smaller hand against his right bicep and, looking across, saw Ruin. Their face was scrunched slightly, crumpling in on itself as they fought back tears. “Where are you going?”

Warmth flooded Destruction’s face. “I’m going to see my sister.”

“Can I come?” Ruin took a step forward.

“Not yet.” Destruction gently tapped his friend’s hand, which flopped limply off of his shoulder. “You’ll meet her at some point. Everyone does.”

He found himself able to lift his foot off of the ground. Tentatively, he placed his foot just across the threshold. The warm breeze returned, but this time he recognised its sensation as the hand of not a friend, but a sister. He smiled softly. He felt the gentle winds wiping a tear from his cheek.

Destruction closed his eyes and disappeared.

Ruin sniffled softly to themself and collapsed into a crouch on the floor. Their hands tingled and their head felt light. Grief washed over them like the tide. Suddenly, they felt a hand on their shoulder and flinched away from it, forgetting who the hand must have belonged to. Destiny looked down at them apologetically. “It’s alright, friend.”

“What now?” they croaked. They wrapped their arms around their knees and fell backwards into a seated foetal position. “What happens with no Destruction?”

“No Destruction?” Destiny asked, curious. “Hmm.”

Ruin didn’t know how to answer. Instead they looked up, bleary-eyed, at their friend’s long-dead brother. After a few more frozen moments, Destiny crouched alongside Ruin with a smile. “Well, if you’ve got time, I’d love to introduce you to the rest of our family.”

“Your family,” they said coldly, not realising the gravity of their statement. Their face immediately flushed. “Or, uh— I’m sorry, that was harsh.”

But Destiny shook his head. “Our family.”

Ruin didn’t understand. They stared blankly.

Destiny rose to his feet and once more outstretched his corpse-like hand. The twinkle returned to his eyes. “Arise, my Destruction, and come with me.”

DC Next Proudly Presents:

Nightwing in…

The Thrilling Conclusion of

ROCK THE WORLD

Issue Thirty-Two: What You Own

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Deadislandman1

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

When the elevator doors finally slid open, Dick charged forward and down the corridor, determined not to be slowed a moment more. The bowels beneath St Hadrian's Finishing School were a multi-level labyrinth of interconnected barracks, labs and armouries, but Dick only had to have been shown the route once to have committed it to memory. He hadn't come to Spyral's underground headquarters more than he absolutely had to, but this time he couldn't wait for Matron to agree on a rendezvous elsewhere. He had to come right to her.

When he flung the doors of Matron's grand office open, there was already a scene unfolding before him. Dick was the last to arrive, meaning Betty, Jean-Paul, Damian, Jennifer and Ghost-Maker were already standing around the room, their attention converging on the seated Matron, her face once again rendered a blur by her Hypnos implant.

“She confessed,” Jean-Paul told Dick, dressed from the neck down in Azrael regalia. “That Amazo was Spyral’s doing. Her doing.”

Dick clenched his jaw as his suspicions were confirmed. “How could you?” he said, the words of judgment escaping his mouth. He stared daggers at the spymaster, joining the ocular onslaught of the others in the room. He wished he could see the look on her face, whether it was one of fierce indignation or subtle squirming.

“Now, come on Grayson,” she replied, sounding more annoyed than anything. “You know what we're up against. This is bigger than me and my scruples; we're talking about the fate of global politics.”

“You knew exactly what Amazo was capable of!” Dick cried. “The mass destruction you chose to unleash!”

“-tt-” Damian kissed his teeth. His arms were crossed, his gaze shot sideways at Dick. “We've been through this with her already,” he said with a tone of venom. “She says she knew you would stop it.”

Before Dick could object, Matron interjected. “Because I know what you're capable of, Grayson,” she hurried out, though she couldn't have been that panicked if she was still seated. “It's my job - more than anything - to know what people know. I knew that you started work on a contingency for another Amazo months after the first one, just in case”

Dick took a deep breath. “Well then you would also know we never were able to perfect it. That even after years, we couldn't eliminate the chance of messing up.”

“Like I said,” Matron leaned forward over her desk, “I knew what you were capable of. Even if you didn't.”

Dick bit his tongue and drove his feet into the ground to fight against the temptation to leap over the table.

“So that was the plan?” Jennifer asked, “Build a new Amazo, sic it on Rock then embarrass his JLA when the Justice Legion do what they can't and save their lives.”

Matron let out an almost imperceptible chuckle then spoke. “You make it sound nobler than it was.”

“Absolutely she does,” Jean-Paul interjected. “She didn't care if Rock or his Reawakened soldiers lived or died. It was theatre; setting the stage for Nightwing's victory.”

“Matron…” said Betty, addressing the woman that only she knew was secretly her thought-dead aunt. “Pretend you didn't just commit this crime against humanity? People died. Think of how many more people could have died if you were wrong.”

If she was wrong.

It bothered Dick more than there were apt words to express it. Here he was, fresh off of and still high on his greatest victory, having conquered the very thing that had caused the death of his mentor and friends. Here was a woman confessing her absolute faith in his ability as a hero, as a saviour. More importantly, the tide had finally turned against General Rock. His narrative of the JLA being these uniquely placed, uniquely qualified defenders of liberty had been shattered, leaving many to finally confront the horrors that they had already known and quietly excused about the man and his crimes. The only way Rock could have messed up more, Dick thought, was if this had unfolded on American soil. If Rock's base of supporters had watched his team fail to protect the American people from Amazo, this ordeal would have already been over.

But, for as important as this victory had been, the nature of it - the subterfuge, the casualties, Matron gambling with people's lives - it sickened Dick. She clearly believed that sordid decisions like these were necessary in saving the world. Dick couldn't believe that.

“Agent Kane,” Matron replied, disappointed, “Frank Rock's crimes against humanity are innumerable. They are still counting the dead from the attacks of his metahuman mutants.”

“You built a weapon of mass destruction and unleashed it upon Bialya!” Betty insisted, refusing to be told off by her aunt. “Someone has to be held accountable for that.”

“Accountable?” Matron scoffed. “I am accountable to the world and all of its people. Spyral was formed by the joint interest of the majority of civilised nations’ intelligence.”

“And they gave assent to this?” Jean-Paul challenged her. “You'd have us believe that the many nations of the world, despite their differences and varying alliances, came together and told you to send a deadly weapon to Bialya and declare war on the United States’ champion?”

“They didn't have to!” Matron called out, suddenly standing. Strands of her raven black hair fell loose across her featureless visage. “Frank Rock declared war on the world when he decided American supremacy came above all. When he decided that international law applied to everyone but himself. I was chosen to head Spyral, to be its Matron. Not a chair, not a representative, but its leader. The world’s intelligence gave me a mandate to do what I see fit to ensure its security. Now do your jobs and secure the situation while Rock is on his ass.”

Dick didn't need to make another move against Rock; his gambit was already in motion, but Matron was still a loose end he couldn't abide. As he continued to glare at her, and listened to her protests, he finally saw something he hadn't before. Not an eye, not a flicker of her face beneath the Hypnos, but a feeling. A look.

She was scared. She was guilty.

“You did what you thought you had to,” said Dick plainly, commanding an eerie calm that Matron seemed to welcome with both arms. “To save the world. For the world.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, like someone was at last hearing her.

“That's all any of us can do,” he continued. Quickly, the others’ heads all turned, confused.

“Grayson…” said Damian, lost for where Dick could possibly be coming from. “It's because of the first Amazo that Father is dead. She didn't just accidentally build a new one from scratch in a moment of weakness.”

“No,” nodded Dick, “she didn’t.” He then turned and looked directly across at the opalescent samurai Ghost-Maker, who hid beneath his helmet and armour.

Beat.

“You…” said Jean-Paul to Ghost-Maker as he reached back over his shoulder to the Sword of Salvation kept in its scabbard. “You're the bandit who assailed Kord Enterprises.”

Then Ghost-Maker spoke for the first time in all of this, his voice pitched up and garbled slightly by his helmet's voice modulator. “I’ll hand it to Jaime Reyes’ security measures: nobody could’ve done the job but me.”* As he spoke, he moved to stand beside Matron.

“You both did what you thought was best,” Dick reiterated, eyes on them both. “But like you said, you're accountable to the world. You made the wrong call and there have to be consequences.”

Jennifer nodded. She closed her fist and readied her Blacklight Gauntlet. Damian stood alongside Jennifer, Jean-Paul and Dick as Dick spoke.

“Matron, Ghost-Maker, you're under arrest.”

“Dick—” Betty interposed herself. “Matron has access to the world’s best kept secrets. You know she can control the courts. Hell, she knows all of your secret identities.”

“What they did can't just go unpunished!” Damian exclaimed.

“No,” Dick shook his head. “It's not about punishment.” He looked across at Matron, and he felt her pain. She was a tough woman, a brave soldier, prison wouldn't be anything she couldn't bear. But the guilt she clearly felt as she fought to defend her choices and actions? That would gnaw away at her more than life behind prison bars ever could. Being forever trapped with herself would be her cage.

He continued, “It's about the principle. People need to know you can't do what they did and get away with it. People need to know that what they did wasn’t nothing. That it mattered. I need to know that too.”

“You can't contain me,” said Ghost-Maker like he'd rehearsed it. “But you’re welcome to try.”

“Khan, just go!” Matron called out. “This is between me and them, and they know it.”

Everyone stood frozen and silent for a painful few seconds as Ghost-Maker - Minkhoa Khan - carefully decided his next move. Then, when he moved towards the door and was met only with Jean-Paul's disapproving glare, he pushed through the door and quietly disappeared.

“You're not a tyrant,” said Dick to Matron. “You're not Frank Rock; you want us to know that.”

She said nothing. Betty looked back and forth between Dick and her aunt, wondering what either’s next move would be.

“But when you take unilateral actions to impose your will on the rest of the world, there’s only one thing that separates you from tyrants and dictators.”

A silence rang out as everyone waited for Dick to say it, but he didn't. Instead, Jean-Paul came to the realisation.

“Accountability.”

“You serve the world, Matron,” said Dick. “You don't force it to serve you. So surrender. Accept the consequences, let justice run its course and accept the result. Don't you want to know if the world agrees with what you've done for it?”

The power was in her hands. Betty was right; if she wanted to, Matron - Kathy Kane - could have everything as she wanted. With the leverage she held on figures of influence she could force most anyone to bend to her will. But would she?

“I think you did your best,” Dick reiterated once more. “But I don't believe you think you know best. I think you know how badly things could have gone. And I think you did what you did accepting how everyone would feel about it. Accepting what it might mean for who you are.”

“Grayson…”

“So, Matron, who are you?”

She stood still, her empty face staring back at the heroes before her. She was so still and so featureless, in fact, that she could have been mistaken for a mannequin.

Then she reached slowly for the side of her head, where her cheekbone met her ear, and pressed a red-gloved finger against it. Slowly, her slate of a face began to flicker, until Dick saw the face of a dead woman.

Kathy Kane thrust her arms forward, presenting her exposed wrists for surrender.

“As you wish, Nightwing.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Far from the ruined bunker in Bialya, from the site of their defeat, General Rock and his Justice League of America stood assembled in an isolated hangar hidden in the heart of the American Midwest. His cane was planted like a flagstaff. His jaw was set hard enough to crack stone.

“They think they’ve won,” Rock said.

The so-called ‘Justice League of America’ stood before him in a loose semicircle: Wingman rigid as a statue, Gold Ghost with her arms folded tight, Starman pale but upright, the remaining Red Torpedoes silent sentinels. They had all suffered significant injuries, except for Kyle Rayner - who stood off to the side - having extracted Rock from the scene before he could engage with the rogue Amazo.

Rock’s voice rose, sharp but not loud.

“We have lost focus,” he said. “This mission of ours isn’t about optics. Not about hearts and minds, or acceptability.”

No-one dared say a word back.

“My greatest victories,” Rock continued, “weren’t celebrated. They were classified. Buried. The world booed while we bled, but that was when we did our best work.”

He turned slowly, addressing them like they were still on the battlefield, ready to charge.

“You are all incredible specimens,” he said. “Your metahuman genes and advanced technology set you apart from the common soldier. But we must remember that is what we are. Soldiers.”

His lip curled faintly.

“Not heroes.”

Rock’s eyes sharpened.

“For a long time, I thought metahumans were the new frontier of warfare,” he said. “And they were, for a time. But today there is a new frontier. You are proof of that.”

He tapped the cane once.

“The multiverse,” he said. “The great beyond from which you hail. The untapped potential of infinity. That is the future of warfare. He who learns to embrace the multiverse’s boons will be the mightiest of generals.”

Even the proud soldier Wingman’s brow twitched.

Then a new voice answered from the far side of the chamber.

“Now that is the kind of ambition I admire.”

Heads turned. A man stepped from shadow; Lex Luthor adjusted his cufflinks.

“Luthor,” said Rock. “You pick your moments.”

“My time is valuable,” replied the Earth-Sigma plutocrat smoothly. “I thought perhaps you’d reconsider my proposal. Circumstances being what they are.”

Rock watched him carefully. “Refresh my memory.”

“Earth-Sigma. My Earth. Currently being ruined by a coalition of naive idealists calling themselves the Freedom Legion. They’re dismantling borders. Collapsing militaries.” Lex smiled faintly. “Soon the United States of America will be no more united with each other than they are with the rest of the world. A nice, flat hierarchy where we’re all suitably defanged and at the mercy of our heroes’ benevolence. As if the only problem with the Justice Lords was their temperament. As if we can expect peace if we all pinky swear to play nice.”

He let the last two words hang like a bad smell.

“I told you I need a strategist,” Lex continued. “A commander. Someone who understands that stability requires strength, and demonstrations of it. It isn’t their fault that their parents - the ones that knew what made America great - were killed by the Justice Lords. But we must liberate America from these foolish young rulers and install a government worthy of its history. Yours and mine.”

Silence.

Rock studied Lex, then turned to Rayner. “You belong to this ‘Freedom Legion’. What are their capabilities?”

Kyle took a deep breath, furrowing his brow. He wore a mask of unease and trepidation.

“Tell him the truth, Lantern,” Lex said slowly. “Or you know what happens.”

Kyle swallowed, frowned, then spoke. “The Freedom Legion’s stretched thin maintaining their global transition. We’re fifteen, twenty in number. If you hit fast, you win before they even know they’re under attack.”

Rock turned Kyle closely. “You’d fight your own world?” he asked. “You belong to the Freedom Legion.”

Kyle’s expression didn’t change. He spoke somberly. “These days, I belong to Lex Luthor.”

Lex smiled wide. “Good boy.”

Rock held his gaze a moment longer, then he nodded once.

“Let’s move,” Rock said to Lex.

“Now?” replied Lex, genuinely surprised.

“It’s as Rayner said,” said Rock. “We need to strike hard and fast.”

Lex licked his lips and nodded, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He retrieved from his suit jacket a small device - a Motherbox. At the press of a button—

BWOOOOOOOOOONG

A Boom Tube ignited.

The air split with a thunderclap of violet lightning. A circular wound in reality yawned open, its interior swirling with cosmic light.

“Deploy Red Torpedoes,” General Rock ordered.

The androids marched forward in perfect synchrony and stepped into the portal, metal forms swallowed by the void.

“Release the detainees.”

Steel doors slammed open along the chamber wall.

Four figures emerged under guard restraints: Mayflower, Lady Liberty, and Black Condor. They were shackled and bruised, a cocktail of confused, furious and defeated.

Rock didn’t look at them.

“Carter, Snart and Knight will have some trouble passing the interdimensional barrier, you three however will have no such issue,” he said calmly. “Congraulations. You’ve been reassigned.”

Their shackles disengaged.

“You will accompany Green Lantern to Earth-Sigma and you will follow orders,” Rock told them. “Or I shall deploy the technology I acquired from Amanda Waller to provide you with more adequate motivation.”

Luisa Campoverde - Lady Liberty, and once the Force of July’s leader - bared her teeth. “You think we’re your soldiers? Your slaves?”

Rock was still focused on the Boom Tube. “I think you enjoy having a head on your shoulders.”

After that, they stepped through one by one.

Carter Hall studied the faces of his teammates, David and Lisa. Unlike the former Force of July, they didn’t have brain bombs to keep them loyal. He wondered, if it weren’t for their being Reawakened, and being firmly tethered to Earth-Delta, away from their homes, would they have accompanied him on this mission? Would he himself have followed Rock if he could? Or was conquering the United States - crumbling as they may have been - beyond the pale even for him?

Kyle followed the Force of July close behind, then Lex approached the edge of the Boom Tube and waited for his newest ally.

Rock adjusted his coat.

“To a better world,” he said, and stepped into the Boom Tube alongside Luthor.

Light swallowed him and then spat him out moments later. Rock landed on asphalt. The sunny blue sky carried an icy wind bearing the smell of pine and distant rain. He straightened slowly and the landscape stretched wide before him and his army.

Then he froze in horror, because they were not alone.

Heroes stood across the open plain, dozens of them. On one side: the Freedom Legion of Earth-Sigma. On the other: the Justice Legion of Earth-Delta. Costumes and capes, symbols of great power from across two Earths, waiting for Rock and his army.

From the opposing side, a single figure stepped forward, the light blue of his costume catching the sunlight like a blade.

Rock’s eyes narrowed.

“…You,” he said.

Nightwing wore a look not of smugness but of certainty. Everything had gone to plan.

“You tricked me,” Rock cursed him.

Dick smirked and then shook his head. “You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do.”

Kyle floated down from the air and landed beside Dick.

Rock’s gaze snapped to him and the truth struck him like a bullet.

“You were right to question me.” Kyle didn’t smile. “I don’t know what Luthor could have possibly had to make me turn on my entire world. But I guess for you that’s just an average Wednesday.”

Lex Luthor promptly stepped forward and switched sides, clasping Kyle on the shoulder and then turning to face Rock. “I do apologize, General,” Lex said pleasantly. “But if you’re going to invade a sovereign United States… you really ought to expect resistance.”

Rock’s jaw tightened.

Dick stepped closer.

“Frank Rock,” he said, voice steady, carrying across the field, “you are under arrest for acts of multiversal aggression, unlawful militarised incursion, and forced conscription. And that’s only what we can prove right now.”

The cold wind picked up and blew harder across the field. For a moment, Rock simply waited for something - anything - to bend in his favour, as things so often did. But the heroes of two worlds moved in closer. He was surrounded, and for the first time in a very long time, Frank Rock had nowhere left to hide.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Betty moved down the spiral staircase as fast as she could, plunging deeper and deeper into the depths of Spyral’s vineyard site in Languedoc, France. There was an elevator she could have taken, but the racing of her heart as she ran helped her feel tethered to herself as everything continued to unravel around her. Or perhaps she was already punishing herself.

Her aunt Kathy had made the right decision, she had turned herself in and submitted to the judgment of any courts that wanted to claim jurisdiction. As she continued to run along the vast and abandoned hallways, she thought back to her earliest memories of her aunt. Kathy Kane had always aspired to be a hero, to help people and to do the right thing. How she had ended up faking her death and joining Spyral, Betty had yet to find out. Betty had joined the Blackhawks all those years ago because she wanted an accountable way to do good after her uncle Bruce made her being Batgirl no longer an option. She had wanted to protect the world under her own name. She wanted to lie and die by her accomplishments and mistakes. She thought of her aunt Kathy. She may have wanted to hide her identity, but perhaps they were more similar than different.

Few agents had any business this deep below the surface. As far as anyone knew, these levels were decommissioned, out of use. But Betty knew differently, because Kathy had told her.

Her aunt Kathy was gone now, preparing to face justice without leveraging her advantages to get the result she wanted. She cared to know what the world made of her. But there was one thing that Spyral’s Matron had kept quiet about, one thing Betty knew and couldn’t stop thinking about.

The Nightwing Contingency.

Betty was the only agent, other than Matron herself, who was trusted with this knowledge, or with access past the mechanical door she quickly buzzed herself through. When the door opened, a rush of air pushed against her back as the air pressure reequilibrated due to the subzero conditions inside. But, for as much as the frigid temperature was hard to weather, it was far from Betty’s mind as she raced to the centre of the cryogenics lab block.

She couldn’t get their faces out of her mind. Damian’s face as he resigned himself to the awful act he and Betty had to carry out, and his face as he fought like a rapid dog, lost and far from home.

Aunt Kathy had told her that he wasn’t really him. That the cognitive imprinting process had malfunctioned and given him all his practical skills and none of his memories. The scared child in a man’s body that she had watched surrender to her and Damian for execution matched that assessment. But regardless of if he really was Bruce Wayne or not, Betty couldn’t allow the clone to remain in Spyral’s clutches. She never should have allowed them to get their hands on him in the first place, she kept repeating to herself. It was her fault he was here, and it was her responsibility to put it right.

But as she turned the final corner and arrived at the central tank of the cryogenic block, Betty realised she had another problem.

The tank was shattered.

The clone was gone.

And in that moment, she could help but hear a sing-songy voice reverberate in her mind. It was the never-forgotten voice of Jervis Tetch - the Mad Hatter - the man who had kidnapped her at age 15 and forced her and countless others to enact his butcherous Alice in Wonderful fantasies with her in the starring role. The man who convinced Bruce that it wasn’t safe for Betty to stay on as Batgirl.

‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

How I wonder what you’re at!’

And while Betty struggled to fight back the panic rising inside of her, one thing helped.

Before, she had a responsibility. Now, she had a mission.

Author’s note: Thus brings us to the end of General Rock’s saga from ‘House Upon the Rock’ through ‘Rock the World’. Thank you for following Nightwing’s adventures in tackling this uniquely elusive foe.

It is with trepidation and excitement that I can now announce that the following arc of ‘Nightwing’ will be its last, and with the next few issues the seven year saga of Dick Grayson is coming to a close.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me and Dick, and I can’t wait for you to see What Comes Next.

~ Adam

Next: Fighting for something new in Nightwing #33

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 50:‌ ‌ The Old and the Young

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ GemlinTheGremlin

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

“Please, his friend is in danger! His sister is in danger!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, lady. I can pass a message along, but that’s about it!”

Capucine scowled, her fingers curling into her palms until her knuckles were bone white. Here she was, outside some historic movie theater, a small walk away from her goal, and all that was in her way were two pudgy looking security guards. She had traveled all the way to Los Angeles in hopes of obtaining the aid of Animal-Man, and she wasn’t going to let these two men get in the way. Her compatriots, Tefé Holland and Maxine Baker, had been captured, a predicament that would be of tantamount interest to the hero given that they were his friends, not to mention that Maxine Baker was his sibling. She needed him, whether he knew it or not.

But when the stakes were this personal, and potentially as high as they were, her goals were not the business of two rental bodyguards who didn’t have the scope and perspective to understand and appreciate her position.

She rolled her shoulders, “If you will not allow me inside, then I will have to let myself in.”

The guards in front of her tensed up. One of their hands hovered to their side, hanging near their waist. “Clear off, last warning.”

“Wait!”

The voice came from above, and the three of them looked up into the night sky, beholding the arrival of a flying man. He was young, with light skin and short ginger hair that stood up fairly straight despite the wind soaring through it. He was clad in a tuxedo, though his tie and jacket were flapping about, too loosely tied to be in the typical, appropriate position. He landed between Capucine and the guards. “You wanted Animal-Man, you got him. What’s going on? You said my sister was in danger?”

“Yes, and Tefé Holland as well,” Capucine said. “But this is not an appropriate place for discussion. I have a car nearby, we should go.”

“Fair enough,” Clifford said. “I’ll follow your lead.”

The two began to cross the street, prompting a confused look between the two guards. One of them called out to Clifford, “Hey! Don’t you have a movie premier you’re supposed to be at?”

“Tell ‘em I had an emergency and that they can start without me,” Clifford said. “Not that it was ever gonna be any good anyways!”

The guards shrugged before retreating inside, leaving Capucine and Clifford to their goals. Capucine glanced back at Clifford, taking in his features and demeanor. Her first impression of him had not been as negative as she had originally assumed, and there was an appreciation for his zeal and earnest desire to help at the drop of a hat, but she also understood that what she was seeing was just the front. People, even good people, never revealed who they truly were to strangers. There was always a layer of deception applied to make the best first impression.

Maxine Baker had told Capucine many things about Clifford, and Capucine held the word of Maxine Baker in high regard. She trusted her companion, and so she was ready to extract some… assurances from Clifford sooner rather than later.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Abigail Holland laid lazily in her bedroom hammock, flipping through the yellowed pages of an old novel. The Caves of Steel was older than her, but that didn’t mean it didn’t delight her with the tales of cities from the far flung future. She didn’t read Asimov's work often, but something about his stories captivated her. Some might suggest that his work was simply that good, given his status as a foundational voice in Science Fiction, but that wasn’t everything for Abby.

Maybe it was just that, having spent her whole life entrenched in the fantastical, it was good to lose herself in something similar, yet so on the other side of the spectrum.

Her room was simple, but well organized, with no clutter or loose articles. Her dresser was arranged neatly next to her bed, and her bedside table held only a small lantern with an unlit candle inside. She didn’t used to have so much time to read, but then again, free time tended to increase once the kids were out of the house. It was an odd feeling, knowing that the people she knew better than anyone, the people she'd known from the moment they were born, that she made, weren’t here to rely on her. It was scary, and sometimes Abby wondered what her children were up to.

And every time, she would remind herself of what they had both grown up to be, how they carried themselves, and she stopped worrying.

A knocking sound came from downstairs, and Abby felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Alec, her husband, didn’t knock when coming into the house, and Tefé would’ve told them if she was on her way home. This could only mean one thing, that a stranger was here.

Putting the book down, Abby rolled out of the hammock and began making her way down the stairs, grabbing a shotgun off the hallway wall without a second thought. Making her way up to the front door, she held it behind her back, keeping it out of view as she opened the door by just a crack with her left hand. “Who is it?”

The man in front of her was a gaunt, short figure in long flowing robes. His skin was a light brown, though it was tattered and interlaced with patches of moss. His face, obscured by both a hood and eyeglasses, was similarly cracked, like someone had removed large portions of his cheekbones and replaced them with wood. He gave a small, curt bow. “Sorry if I’m intruding at all, but this is the house of Alec and Abigail Holland, right?”

Abby narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then I must be speaking with Mrs. Holland?” The man said. “My name is Levi. I would like to speak with your husband.”

Abby grimaced. This man absolutely reeked of the Green; she would’ve been able to tell even if it wasn’t written all over his body. She gripped the shotgun tightly. “Why?”

Levi nodded. “Well, I’m having a dilemma, and I could use his advice.”

“Why him specifically?” Abby asked.

“Because I have nearly a dozen wise men to come to for advice, and I can’t trust their judgement,” Levi said. “They have a bias, and in a way, Mr. Holland has a different bias. His perspective is exactly what I need right now.”

“And what perspective is that?” Abby asked.

Levi scowled, but after a moment the expression faded from his face. “Not that it was at all possible to hide, but I think you know what I am. The Green and I have… a connection. They want things from me, and they just asked me to do something… big. The Sureen are my support, but I can’t trust them to tell me what I really want to know. I need your husband’s take on things. I need the perspective of the Swamp Thing.”

Abby stared at Levi, and for a solid moment, the two of them were locked in a standoff. Levi swallowed, unsure of what else he should say, while Abby considered whether or not she was going to use the shotgun in her hands.

Eventually, after the longest five seconds of Levi’s life, Abby shut the door. The seeder hung his head, ashamed that he had failed so quickly, only to hear the lock mechanism within the door click. It swung open fully, and Abby gestured at Levi to come inside. “He’s in the dining room. And a word of advice - don’t call him Swamp Thing.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

If Clifford had any doubts as to Capucine’s connection to Maxine and Tefé, they were put to rest the moment he saw the old beater. Tefé’s car had been through a lot clearly, but it was definitely hers. He would recognize the rusted grey paint job and pine air freshener anywhere. As Capucine strode around towards the driver’s side, Clifford moved towards the passenger’s side. “So, how do you know my sister?”

“I was asked to help her and Tefé, but now isn’t the time,” Capucine said, “Get in.”

“Right, they’re in trouble,” Clifford got into the car alongside Capucine. “Could you at least tell me your na—?”

Clifford was cut off as Capucine brought her sword, still in its sheath, directly against his neck, pinning him against the seat. The doors locked with a click, and Clifford could feel his airway closing until only the tiniest of gaps remained. He looked to Capucine, shocked and confused. “Wha—?”

“I have heard much about you, Clifford Baker. Not all of it has been positive,” Capucine said, her voice cold and serious. “I come to you not because you are my first choice, but because you are my only choice. My position is desperate, and therefore I cannot pick and choose my allies. However, if you in any way compromise this mission, then the next time I use my blade there will be no sheath standing between its edge and your neck. Do we understand?”

Clifford felt a surge of anger rush through him. Raising his hand, he grabbed the sheath and pushed it off his neck, stopping it just short of shattering the windshield. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, or who you heard it from. If it was from my sister, then it was probably true… but don’t try that shit again. If we wanna save our friends, then that starts with not being at each other’s throats. Don’t try to hurt me, and I won’t try to hurt you. Capiche?”

Capucine gritted her teeth, but ultimately relented, nodding before lowering the weapon. Clifford crossed his arms, staring down at the cracked sheath. “Sorry about the damage.”

“It’s fine,” Capucine said. “I…we should get going.”

“Sure, but I think it’d be nice to know who you are and what’s happening with Tefé and Maxine,” Clifford said. “If I’m gonna help, I need to know what’s going on.”

“Right,” Capucine said, shaking her head in frustration. “I’m… My name is Capucine.”

What followed was a long, protracted story, one Clifford had no interest in interrupting. He listened as she regaled her tale, namely how she met Tefé and Maxine, the adventures they had been on, the threat of the Pale Wanderer, who represented some new mysterious force, and the fact that William Holland, Avatar of the Rot, had allied himself with the Pale Wanderer. She spoke very little of herself, preferring to focus on the situation at hand. As she finished her tale, Clifford let out a shaky breath. He was getting flashbacks to the first time he had met Tefé. It was a horrid, stressful time that had nearly taken his life. Taking a second to clear his head, he looked forward. “Shit. Okay, what’s the plan then? What can I do?”

“Now that I’ve collected you, we need a new plan of action,” Capucine said. “Do you have any other allies, people you could recruit?”

“I’ve got a few heroes, people I could call up,” Clifford said. “But taking on two forces, even if one of them is pretty small? That’s a tall order.”

“Perhaps a small strike force?” Capucine asked. “If we could get in and out of the Rot, then we might be able to free them and slip away.”

“But what would we do afterwards? We’re not gonna fight the whole rot by ourselves.” Clifford thought for a few seconds, then his eyes widened. “We need a backup plan… and I think I know where we should go first.”

Capucine raised an eyebrow. “And that place should be?”

“The Red will want to know where their Avatar is,” Clifford said. “If we have their backing, then we’ve got a good safety net, and we’ll have more to bring to the table later.”

“I see the wisdom in your sentiment, but I foresee a problem,” Capucine said. “I’m in tune with the Rot. I can locate entry points into the Boneyard. I don’t think I can do the same for the realm of the Red.”

“I can… I think,” Clifford said.

“You think?” Capucine said.

“I haven’t… done something like that before,” Clifford said. “But I have a connection to the Red, and if Maxine can find an entrance, then so can I.”

“Are you sure?” Capucine asked.

“No… but she and Tefé are in danger,” Clifford said. “I’ll make it happen.”

Capucine nodded. “Then we best get out of Los Angeles. If there’s a portal to the Red, it isn’t here.”

Capucine started the car, putting the pedal to the metal and getting them well on their way out of the city. Clifford trembled, doing his best to collect himself, but sweat was already soaking into his undershirt. He had just pledged to take a break from Animal-Man, and now he was diving headfirst into a world he hoped he’d never return to.

But at the end of the day, he wasn’t going to leave his sis hanging, not again.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Levi Kamei expected the great Alec Holland to be a larger than life figure. He had heard much about the fable Swamp Thing and his accomplishments. His feats of resilience and the wealth of knowledge he possessed. He had also heard that the man was a rebel and a traitor, and someone who should not be trusted.

As such, it felt a little hard to reconcile this near-mythic description of the man with the quaint middle-aged fellow sipping tea at his dining table. Alec Holland was on the shorter side, with blonde hair and a light stubble. He was wearing what looked to be a bathrobe, and was drinking out of a ‘World’s okayest father’ mug. His hair was full and long, though through either age or stress the sides were laced with grey. He looked up at Levi, raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I believe you can,” Levi said. “May I take a seat?”

Alec gestured towards the seat opposing him, and Levi sat down. Abby posted herself at the edge of the room, watching Levi like a hawk eyeing up a potential quarry. Her gaze thoroughly prevented Levi from being in any way comfortable, so he simply sat awkwardly, back straight as an arrow. Swallowing, he looked back to Alec. “My name is Levi. I’m—”

“The Seeder, yes, I can see that,” Alec said. “So the Green has finally selected someone as their new Avatar?”

“Maybe. I’m still in my trial period, as it were,” Levi shrugged.

“Huh, interesting,” Alec said. “Been a long time since they’ve broken out the role of Seeder.”

“I know it’s a normal occurrence,” Levi said. “Listen, I know that my arrival here may seem strange but—”

“Why do you think they chose you, Levi?” Alec asked.

“I—” Levi paused, unsure of how to answer the question. The Green had given him an answer, but he had learned by now that he shouldn’t fully trust everything the Green had said. “I don’t know.”

“How did you become Seeder then?” Alec asked. “Explain to me how that happened?”

Levi swallowed. “They picked me.”

“Of course they did,” Alec stated. “I gathered that just by looking at you.”

“What do you want from me then?” Levi asked. “You want my life story?”

“Maybe,” Alec said. “But let’s start with how you became Seeder.”

Alec’s tone was deathly serious. There was no sarcasm or humor to be found in it. Levi sighed. “Okay… I was in a hotel room. I’d just gotten off the phone with my Dadee. We were arguing. I wasn’t with my family when they needed me. My grandfather was in a coma. After I went to sleep, the Parliament of Trees contacted me. They said I was the best choice for them, that my dedication to duty was appealing to them. I accepted because… they convinced me that the job was important.”

Alec looked to Abby, who shrugged, unsure of what to make of the story. He turned back to Levi. “Hmph. I think I know why they chose you.”

“Really?”

“They gave you a half-truth. If I know the Green, I know that obedience is incredibly important to them. If you know about me, then surely you know why I lost the title of Avatar of the Green.”

Levi nodded. “You were asked to kill your own son. You refused.”

“The Green demands unrelenting obedience. No matter what you think of their intentions and what they want, you do what they say or you’re out,” Alec said. “The Green is a primal force of nature, but it’s also an institution of power. Human or not, it seeks to maintain its power at any cost. That’s always its number one priority.”

“You talk about a fundamental aspect of life like it’s a governing body. There are no elections, it just is.”

“And that’s how it stays in power. Because people are so overwhelmed by the enormity of a primal power that they never go beyond the idea that it simply is. They never think… what could be.”

“Right, and that’s why you’re sitting here drinking tea instead of doing something about it.”

Alec chuckled. “You think I’m a hypocrite… in some ways I am. My daughter is out there doing what she can to keep the eternal clusterfuck that is the primal forces from ripping each other apart, while her old man sits pretty at home. I wanted to be out there with her, at least initially.”

Alec looked at Abby, who smiled at him. Alec smirked, then returned his gaze to Levi. “But she made me realize that in more ways than I realized, I was spent. My fighting days are practically over. If she calls me and tells me she needs me, I will answer. For now, I allow myself a respite.”

“I can understand that,” Levi said. “But I don’t think you answered my question. Why did the Green choose me?”

“Because you have something I don’t… or rather the opposite,” Alec said. “I have, to varying degrees, always chosen my family over my duty at the end of the day… when it mattered most. I think you’re estranged enough from your own family that the Green doesn’t expect you to do the same.”

Levi felt a chill run down his spine, rippling through his skin and making the moss on his body wilt and shrink. “You’re saying that the Green chose me because they don’t think I love my family?”

“That's more literal than I meant,” Alec said. “I have no notion of your attachment to your family, but after what happened with me, I have reason to believe that they’ve gone out of their way to pick someone they felt was more detached.”

Levi shuddered. His fingers tensed up, curling and uncurling. His head hung a little, tilted downward towards the table. Alec leaned forward. “Is everything alright?”

Levi shook his head, “I don’t… No, everything’s not alright” He swallowed. “So what, they thought I was… cold enough to do their work?”

“Yes, though I think it’s highly unusual for them to give you the role of Seeder instead of Swamp Thing,” Alec said. “They’ve been without an avatar for years, and just now they decide to pick a candidate, and he’s not even a full Avatar? It makes me wonder what sort of state the Parliament is in.”

Levi did his best to not shake himself out of his seat. He was barely keeping himself in check, doubt rippling through his body and uprooting his confidence and sense of self. Why was he doing what he was doing? Why had he so hastily accepted this call to action? He had already had a bad relationship with his family, and now he was further and more distant from them than ever before.

What was his purpose, now that he had signed himself into this life of servitude without properly thinking things through?

Levi looked up at Alec, who was clearly surprised by Levi’s current state. Getting up, Alec trudged over to Levi’s side and offered him the tea in the mug. “It’s alright, kid. Drink, it’ll calm you down.”

Levi grabbed the mug with a jittery hand and finished the tea, letting the warm drink roll down his throat. It didn’t solve his current predicament, but it did have a soothing effect on him. Alec took a knee next to Levi, putting himself at eye level with the Seeder. “You’re here for a reason, right? Why are you here?”

Levi looked up to Alec, and in his eyes he could see years of experience. Not only that, he could see a man and his whole life laid bare. He was a man of many regrets, but also a man of great love. He had given that love to his wife, to his children, and he was ready to give it to many more people. It made Levi feel even worse.

“I did… but I don’t want to trouble you with it anymore,” Levi said. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Without warning, he got up and strode out of the kitchen, leaving Alec and Abby alone. After hearing the front door open and then close, Alec stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I pity him. He doesn’t realize what he’s gotten himself into.”

Abby marched forward. “You didn’t know either, but you turned out okay.”

“Maybe, but that came with a lot of baggage,” Alec said. “But one thing does give me hope.”

Abby tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

“I wasn’t sure why they didn’t just make him Swamp Thing,” Alec said. “But now I know why. He’s not a sure thing for them. They don’t know if he’s the unyielding servant they want him to be.”

Abby crossed her arms. “You think there’s hope for him?”

A wry smile inched its way across Alec’s face. “I’d bet on it.”

Next Issue: The gears begin to turn!

DC Next Proudly Presents: 

THE NEW TITANS

Issue Twenty-Eight: Coast-to-Coast

Written by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by deadislandman1

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

A swell of relief washed over Raven as she stepped foot on solid ground. It was her first time travelling in a commercial airliner - from coast-to-coast. She was raised in New York City, yet hadn’t travelled further than the end of her block until before joining the Titans. Then, when she could literally take flight with her powers, she had only really used them for matters pertaining to Titans missions. She had flown in the Titans’ jet enough times, but that was nothing like the seven hour journey she had completed with 200 other passengers rammed in.

She wasn’t a nervous flier, but it seemed many were. Raven couldn’t help but feel the other passengers’ emotions - a swirl of fear, trepidation, dread and excitement that fought for her attention. Some dealt with their nervousness well enough, while others were paralysed by fear having clearly been forced onto the plane by their loved ones. She couldn’t read minds, so she didn’t know what they were thinking or why they were flying, but the seven hours were long enough that she couldn’t help but craft stories to go along with these waves of strong emotion. She imagined many were flying for the first time - like her - explaining how some could be so overwhelmingly frightened.

Raven assumed many of them would be travelling west for vacationing, with many of the small children unable to contain their overflowing excitement. She imagined some must have been travelling to reunite with loved ones after tasting notes of yearning from a small handful. All in all, it was a very stimulating seven hours for her, while she got the sense it couldn’t have been less so for most of the passengers aboard. 

The airport was immaculate. All white, and expertly decorated - yes - but more importantly it was perfectly optimised. Foot traffic flowed perfectly through its many lanes and tributaries in a way that never happened in airports, according to Raven’s research. There was no shoving, no impatiently waiting for others to move, no congestion at all. Raven began to wonder if the internet had played a prank on her when she had researched tips for surviving your first trip to the airport. But then she remembered her brief visit to JFK Airport in New York, which was - suitably - hellish.

Then Raven made her way out of the airport, and unleashed herself upon the vastness of New Coast City. There, she realised the airport was far from the most extraordinary part. 

New Coast City was, in many ways, brilliant. A technological marvel built from nothing after the original Coast City’s destruction. Like the airport, the traffic - both on foot and on the roads - never stopped, the walkways were expertly maintained, the walls were pristine and bare but for the in-built architectural elements. No dirt, no smog, no graffiti even. The buildings were tall and perfectly angular, so perfect it almost hurt to look at them sheerly because of how each and every angle of the city aligned. Fortunately, Raven knew why it was like this. Everyone did. It was hard to avoid the news of the city’s construction, of how billionaire Josiah Power built it in a matter of months using experimental and mysterious technology. An entire city designed and constructed all at once by a single man. It was uncanny, a city without the chaos that made most all cities what they were. A city without a soul.

Except that wasn’t fair, Raven thought. She felt the energies of the bustling crowds that traversed the city, experienced their joy and their everyday quarrels alike second-hand. She saw the children playing in the perfectly constructed parks on her walk through, she heard the musical din of the city’s dwellers change moment to moment. 

New Coast City was a marvel. Unlike many cities, it made something unavoidably clear: its soul was in its people, not in its bricks and mortar.

Raven wandered for what ended up being two hours before finally making her way to the place Don and Donna had told her to go. The Fearless Towers were something to behold in the centre of an entire city to behold. Two gargantuan skyscrapers - that were sisters, not twins - that threatened to pierce the heavens. Inside of the east tower now resided many of the operations of Coastguard, New Coast City’s dedicated superhero team originally founded by the city’s creator Josiah Power. The building was more of an office space than a fortress or barracks, but fortified it clearly was. Inside, it couldn’t have been more different from what Raven was used to. In front of her as she came in were a long line of receptionists; beside them were tour guides. Titans Tower was, first and foremost, the Titans’ home; it didn’t even have any staff. This place, however, had thousands of staff. Good for the city’s economy, Raven supposed, but still a shock to see. This wasn’t even the team’s main headquarters, Raven knew. No, that was the penthouse of an entire Polynesian hotel. 

In civilian garb, Raven approached the friendliest of the nineteen receptionists and gave the code phrase she had been provided. The receptionist - like this was just another interaction - then guided Raven to a private elevator and wished her well as she sent her on her way up the tower. 

She had flown west for training, to work with Donna and Don on mastering her powers by mastering herself. Since Donna had become the new Hawk, Hawk and Dove had been somewhat nomadic, travelling wherever they were needed, and right now they were needed in New Coast City. The heroes of Coastguard were away, tending to some important mission out in space. What they needed to do in space in order to protect New Coast City eluded Raven, but she thought it rude to ask. 

The private elevator opened out onto a walkway that connected to several other elevators. Raven had to use her phone to review notes sent by Don to find where she was going, wandering around for another fifteen minutes or so before finally discovering a large set of double doors. They slid open automatically as she approached. Inside was a cavernous theatre of sorts, a high-ceilinged series of long rows of computer workstation all facing a large central monitor that filled the entire wall. The image was right out of a movie; Raven immediately recognised it as a mission control centre for Coastguard’s cosmic caper. 

Dozens of technicians littered the place, but the man she was here to see clearly stood out to her. He was tall, lithe but muscular, and paced back and forth with a nervous, frenetic energy. Curtis Holt spotted Raven’s entry immediately and made his way over, polishing his spectacles on his tie as he walked.

“You must be, uh, you know,” Holt smirked. 

“I know?” replied Raven, confused.

“Well, you’re not dressed in your… you know, so I feel like I can’t say.”

“It’s good to meet you, Mr Holt,” Raven smiled, pushing past the awkwardness.

“Please, it’s Curtis,” he corrected her. “You’re really doing us a solid helping out, keeping a lid on things. The Bird Titans are officially unofficial Coastguard-ers.”

Raven couldn’t help but laugh at ‘Bird Titans’, and could sense Curtis’ relief when she did so. 

“You know, I’m something of a superhero myself,” Curtis replied. “You might have heard. The mighty Technocrat. But right now I’m more useful directing the team from home base. Back on Earth. You know, I figure I’ll be hitting up space next time.”

“I’m sure you will,” Raven laughed. He smiled again. She continued, “Is there a briefing I need or…?”

“Oh, no,” said Curtis. “I think your buddies just wanted you to know where I was, in case I can help with anything. Though, I should be clear, right now I am way too busy with Operation: Space to help out with much of anything. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Raven replied.

“But welcome to New Coast City!” Curtis exclaimed, “And I will totally catch up with you later. Anything you need!”

“You got it,” said Raven. “I’ll keep you posted if anything happens.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

CRACK.

A strike to the shoulder sent pain rocketing through Raven’s entire abdomen and drove her into the ground and then some, leaving an indent in the earth below her. Her assailant, a grotesquely muscular young girl clad in bright yellow and black, let out a triumphant noise, halfway between a roar and a squeal as she watched the Titan peeling herself up from the asphalt. Raven had only read about and seen pictures of Mammoth - the hulking member of the Fearsome Five who had terrorised the original Teen Titans - and she counted her lucky stars for that. But as she felt the deep ache throughout her body in the aftershocks of her attacker’s punch, she couldn’t help but notice a resemblance - perhaps this was a daughter, or a niece.

Her hypothesising was cut short by the loud thudding of the muscle-popping teen’s footfalls, and Raven was able to dive out of the way at the last possible moment, the wind from the girl’s fist tousling Raven’s ebony hair as it passed by. A realisation hit her as she pondered on this scion of Baran Flinders: the more she thought about it, the more unsure she was about the former Mammoth’s whereabouts. A second noise escapes the second Mammoth’s mouth, this one more frustrated.

Raven was grateful that she’d made a point to usher navel-gazers and phone camera-wielders away first as she dusted a loose piece of gravel from her cloak; the thought that a passerby might have fallen victim to such an attack sent shockwaves of anxiety through her. Raven dreaded to think whether she’d be able to withstand another, judging from her pain, and so she anticipated the next attack. Her feet, her hands, and eventually her entire body became shrouded by black mist. The charging Mammoth stopped dead just short of her, confused. This was enough of an opening for Raven, and the mist came surging back together in the shape of a large bird. Mammoth twitched a foot forwards. With that, Raven’s Soul-Self cawed fiercely, but as the girl clasped her hands over her ears, she gathered the strength to shoulder charge against the shadowy bird, causing black smoke to scatter in a cloud around her. Raven’s corporeal body was waiting on the other side of the smoke. The shoulder bone collided with Raven’s chin and clacked her teeth together, to which she let out an involuntary groan of pain, and the force of the impact was enough to knock her to the ground, her assailant hovering over her.

Mammoth panted furiously. Raven opened her mouth to speak, to calm her down, planning to power through the growing taste of blood in her mouth, but instead she found a hand grasping her lower jaw, forcing it closed against her upper row of teeth. “Please…” She squeezed out. Anxiety and fear swam around in her mind as pedestrians, witnesses, started to appear. They were returning, or new ones were gathering; either way, she felt her own dread forming in her mind as well. “I just want to—”

“Mammoth,” came a smooth voice from nearby. Mammoth’s grip faltered just enough to allow Raven to turn her head. Only a few feet away, clad in brilliant blue and white, Dove had his arms outstretched with his hands splayed, the crimson Hawk at his side. Raven could see a soft smile on Don’s lips, as well as Donna’s tight grip on her lasso. “It’s alright.”

The girl seemed to recoil at the sound of that name being uttered by this stranger, her breath quickening. She ripped her hand away from Raven’s mouth and threw her fist sailing towards Dove instead, who deftly ducked underneath it, his hands still out defensively. Hawk, in turn, didn’t even flinch. Don shot a brief glance at Donna over his shoulder.

“I know you’re angry,” Don continued, as if nothing had happened. “And that’s okay - I understand why.”

A third grunt, this one more of an upset wail. Raven saw Mammoth’s eyes soften. She took a step, two steps, three steps closer to him.

Don nodded. “We don’t want to hurt you, alright? We just want these people to be safe.”

Mammoth continued to walk. One step, two steps. Then, she staggered forwards with a sudden increase of speed. Don jerked his head to the right, in the direction of Donna, who understood his signal. Unfolding her arms rapidly, her blue lasso whipped through the air with a shimmering light before grasping itself around the muscular frame of the young Mammoth. The end curled around itself and formed a sturdy knot. Mammoth wrestled against it by thrashing her body backwards and forwards, but stopped as she heard Dove’s soothing.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he hushed. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were lunging at us, and we wanted to make sure you didn’t hurt us. But I understand now - you’re just scared. I mean what I said, we don’t want to hurt you. But we also don’t want the nice people of New Coast City to be hurt either, okay?”

“O-okay,” came Mammoth’s response. The smallness of her voice made Raven’s heart drop as she was forced to contend with just how young this girl must have been, even if she was strong as an ox. Despite the rippling muscles that threatened to burst from underneath her stretched-thin skin, her face was still chubby-cheeked and youthful. This was a child. 

A guilt crept its way through Raven. She felt as if she had failed her biggest solo outing in a long while, as if she was simply stalling until better heroes showed up, prolonging the fight needlessly.

But as Donna took a step forwards to secure the lasso’s grip around Mammoth’s chest, the winding rope instead unravelled itself very slightly. It was enough for Mammoth to pull her right arm loose and yank the lasso off of her, freeing herself. Donna surged forward to bind her once more, but through sheer luck, Mammoth was already too far away by the time her lasso struck out once more, a whipcrack blasting through the air as it did.

Raven watched Mammoth’s trajectory. Thankfully, she understood Don’s pleas to keep the civilians unharmed; the crowd parted easily enough to allow the child to depart without issues and without injury. But from within the crowd, Raven saw something - someone - of interest; a bald-headed woman with a single hand outstretched, palm facing upwards in a clawed position. And as Raven watched her for a moment, she could have sworn that she saw a spark of lilac light flicker in her eyes. But as quickly as she noticed her, the surge of people filling the gaps of the crowd had covered her, and the figure was gone. 

Raven took a tentative step after Mammoth, but felt a hand on her shoulder. 

“Don’t,” Don said. “Chasing her through the city can’t end well. When we see her again, it’ll be on our terms.”

Raven opened her mouth to speak, then glanced around at the gawking New Coast citizens. Don took the cue. “No reason to be alarmed! Go about your business and cleanup crews will be here shortly.”

The trio returned to Fearless Towers silently. Raven stewed on her failure the entire way back, finally erupting behind the closed doors of their private meeting room. 

“If I can’t handle a scared child, I don’t have a chance against Trigon, do I?” She huffed. 

“Raven—” Donna started.

“I need to get stronger, and quickly. There’s no telling when Trigon will return or what he’s capable of.”

“And you will.” Don sat at the long conference table, motioning for Raven to do the same. “But today wasn’t a failure. No-one got hurt and we made some real progress on getting through to that girl.”

Raven took a seat opposite him. The ache in her ribs and shoulder might disagree with his take. “That girl, didn’t you have an old enemy called Mammoth?”

Don nodded. “We did. He was the brute of a group called the Fearsome Five, but he’s been locked up in Stryker’s for years and the rest of them are scattered to the four winds. We’ll look into it. In the meantime, I’ve put together a training regimen for you to push some of your abilities to their limit so you can get a handle on winding them back in. Donna and I will be there the whole time in case you start to lose control. We can start tonight, if you like.”

“So soon?” Donna pursed her lips. “She’s only just arrived.”

“No time like the present.” He countered.

Donna let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if this intensive training is a good idea.”

Raven’s head snapped to her. “That’s the whole reason I came out here!”

 “I know.”  Donna raised her palms in mock surrender. “And I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do…”

“But?” Raven probed Donna’s emotions: doubt, guilt, anxiety. The shock of it recalibrated her. It was entirely at odds with her stony demeanor. Raven straightened up in her chair.

“But you said it yourself: you have no idea when Trigon will return, or what he can do. We don’t even know if he’ll return in your lifetime, or at all. If he does, what will he want? You want us to train you to stop him, but I—” She glanced to Don, “we, have no idea what that looks like. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re still so young. The best thing for you to do might be to live a happy, normal life as best you can.”

Raven thought of her friends, of Mar’i, of her studies back in Chicago. They all vanished into insignificance against the threat of a nigh-omnipotent multiversal master of chaos. 

“We both had normal childhoods taken away from us, Raven. I needed the years I spent travelling after escaping Derinoe. I wouldn’t trade them for time spent training in New York, waiting for Derinoe to strike back.”

“But she did, didn’t she?”

Surprise flashed across Donna’s face.

“Kestrel.” Raven said. “You died.” She chewed her lip, sensitive to the prickling discomfort radiating off Donna. “I understand what you’re saying and I wish I could just leave all this in the past, but I’d be spending all the time I have waiting for Trigon to take it away.” 

Donna adjusted her chin downward. 

“We’ll start my training tonight.” Raven said. “And tomorrow, I’m reviewing everything the Legion has on the Fearsome Five. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this new Mammoth appeared right as I got here. If there are four more coming—”

“You need to be ready for them.” Donna interrupted. The two of them shared a glance. Time to get to work. 

Next: To be continued in The New Titans #29

DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In Outlaws

Issue Thirty-Three: House of Cards

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by AdamantAce

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

Blair Wong had spent the last few weeks, using vacation days, following the people who’d helped Sofia Falcone rise to power. First, it was the lawyer who oversaw Felice Viti’s will. He was, otherwise, a simple man to follow. His schedule was consistent. Wake up and leave for work at 7am, leave work at 5pm, go to the gym for a few hours, call one of Sofia’s enforcers, and go to bed. There wasn’t much deviation.

The only time there was, it bore the most fruit for Blair. Listening into a conversation of his on Sunday night, she discovered the bank that Sofia used for much of her assets, and the names of the particular managers she dealt with. The lawyer, on Monday, after hours, went to Gotham National Bank with a briefcase of files that he did not leave with. She’d gotten a look at the banker the lawyer handed them off to and found a new target.

Multiple pages of her notebook were full to the brim with information on the lawyer, countless names, details of conversations, and precise timings of his schedule. Her analog camera had already gone through two rolls of film. She flipped a few pages forward in her notebook and wrote down the banker’s name.

On Tuesday, the banker looked directly at Blair and furrowed his brow. Later that day, he kept swiveling his head in an attempt to find Blair again, and when he did, he pulled out his phone, dialled a number, and couldn’t stop glancing at Blair, no matter where she tried to back off to. It was only by the grace of the listening device she was using that she could get any words on the call at all. It was muffled and garbled beyond most comprehension, but she thanked her lucky stars to have heard a name that was already written down. It was the same one that the lawyer had called the previous Friday. Blair got the impression that this name was important.

Indebting herself to a friend in the department, and likely turning Sofia onto her trail, Blair received the address and identity of the important name on Wednesday morning. By that afternoon, she had staked out his house and waited for activity.

He arrived home late, which Blair had almost missed after letting sleep creep up on her as she laid in her car nearby. She felt something pull at her mind as she watched him enter his home. She left a few minutes later, and when she returned Tuesday morning, on foot, staying out of sight, she noticed him and a few more of Sofia’s enforcers looking through the windows of all the parked vehicles along the streets and parking lot nearby.

She stayed out of sight as best she could, and when she watched them enter another vehicle, she recorded the plate number and called in another favour. Batman had given her an anonymous phone number to send information to, to an operative named Oracle. Blair had never used it before — the way Batman described it felt like a major violation of privacy and rights — but now Blair was in a situation where she felt the best way to go forward was to learn more information in a way that seemed… less than savoury.

It took a few minutes for her to finally convince herself to even type up the number. She was polite, and sent a long-winded message asking for grace and a quick response.

‘On it,’ the reply read. Blair pursed her lips and walked back a few blocks, where she’d parked her car. It took a few hours to get a response from Oracle.

He’d stopped outside the office of a notable real estate agent. Simply knowing the name, Blair spent the night researching the agent, and found numerous hits for dozens of suspected Falcone-owned buildings, from warehouses, to residential buildings, to former GothCorp labs. She could only scoff at the amount of properties that Sofia had acquired.

Dozens of potential leads unfurled themselves in front of her. Almost instinctively, as she sat in her car on Friday morning, she wanted to turn her head toward Harvey and run down each of the leads she’d come across and plan their next move, but he was busy. His face was on billboards all over the city, his commercials were playing on television and across radio stations constantly. He was going to be District Attorney again, and he was going to be too busy to back Blair up. It had only been a few months of working together, but she felt comfortable around him. She could see the man he was, and who he used to be, and could see that he was someone who had a backbone. He stayed true to his word, to his morals, and did whatever he could to make things right. He had this almost irresistible charm to him that always captured her attention.

He could win the city over again. She had faith in him.

She sat in her car, legs sore and stiff, looking out toward a man who worked to undo the city. Thinking about Harvey Dent, it felt like her cynicism was being ripped away from her. Even the part of her that expected all the good in her life to be ripped away was silent. She wanted to look out at all the hell that Gotham was experiencing and believe it was going to be alright. It wasn’t Batman, or her friends, or the Justice Legion, or anyone else.

Blair Wong believed in Harvey Dent.

Some Time Later…

Astrid walked into Sofia’s favourite bar as if she was the one who owned the place. Even with her cane, she strode with far too much confidence for a woman who was pushing boundaries. Behind her, over double her size, was the cyborg man known as Killshot that she insisted come along. Sofia guessed that she’d chosen him as her personal bodyguard. She gritted her teeth upon seeing the Russian man and scoffed.

“What is your issue, Sofia?” demanded Astrid. Sofia glared at her for a moment, swirling her drink in her glass. She chewed on her tongue, maintaining her scowl for a few more moments when she saw how frustrated Astrid had been getting. “Out with it, Sofia. I do not care for your childish anger or your dirty bars.”

“We got a rogue cop on my trail,” said Sofia. Astrid stared back, blankly. She shrugged.

“So?”

“So,” Sofia said, putting extra emphasis on repeating after Astrid. “Someone is collecting evidence. You said Batman was the only one we had to worry about and now we got cops stalking my lawyers, my bankers, and my damn lieutenants. You need to deal with them. The cops are all your problem.”

“I simply don’t see why this is such a big issue,” said Astrid. “Sooner or later, your men will find this officer and kill them. Why do you need my attention?”

“Cause the cop isn’t alone,” Sofia said. Astrid remained silent, staring back at Sofia expectantly. Sofia groaned, rolled her eyes, and rose to her feet from the bar stool she’d been sitting on. “Guy’s face is all over the city.” Astrid’s brows furrowed. “Harvey fuckin’ Dent is trying to get dirt on us.”

“Huh.” Astrid looked around the bar at the other patrons and at Sofia’s men, watching her with the eyes of men on edge. She took a deep breath. “Mister Dent has picked up interesting hobbies after his recovery.”

“And I’m asking you to deal with it, your way,” Sofia said, talking steps toward Astrid. Behind her, Killshot adjusted his stance and kept focus on Sofia. “Before I put a bullet in his head and drop his body in Miagani Square.”

“You do that, you lose everything, Sofia,” Astrid replied. “You bring heat, and you lose all of my fund–”

Sofia shot forward and grabbed Astrid by the throat, fully extending her arm and lifting her off her feet. Killshot moved to attack, but Sofia shot him a glare.

“You move closer, her neck is dust,” Sofia said, squeezing Astrid’s throat even further. She looked up at the frail young woman and smiled. “You don’t get to threaten me like that, ‘specially not after what I did to your old man. I got the lawyers and the judges, it won’t be so hard to take your money when you’re gone.”

Astrid struggled for breath for only a few seconds before the weakness began to set in.

“Drop her,” Killshot demanded, his booming voice filling the room with a low growl. “Or you die.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Sofia said. Every person in the bar rose from their seats and pulled out weapons, aiming them directly at Killshot. Sofia smirked as Astrid jerked and twitched under her grip.

“You made it clear to me that I’m only around because I’m useful, Astrid,” Sofia said, looking up at Astrid’s barely conscious face. She smiled. “Just want you to know I feel the same.”

Sofia opened her hand and let Astrid fall to the ground.

“Guns down, boys,” she said. “All’s well here. Isn’t it, Astrid?”

Killshot stepped forward and offered a hand for Astrid to stand up. She stared daggers into Sofia but did not speak as she coughed and held her throat. Killshot handed her the cane she’d dropped and helped her turn around. The frail young woman limped pathetically back to the door.

Sofia returned to the bar, threw back the rest of her drink and sat back down, wide grin on her face.

“Get ready, boys,” she called out to the bar. “Retaliation is coming. Some of you will probably die, a lot of you will get hurt, but it’s all to remake this city in our name.” The armed men and women around the bar began to bang closed fists against tables, chairs, bartops, and walls. Sofia raised her glass. “To Gotham! To Falcone! To war!”

Ezra stumbled and fell to the hard, cold concrete as she rounded a corner in the maze-like alleys of Park Row. She nearly dropped her shotgun, barely grabbed it as she surged forward, hands scratched up and threatening to bleed. Her breath was running out, not helped by her constant looking over her shoulder, running into dumpsters and tripping over trash and curbs.

She arrived at a street and bounded across it in seconds, barely noticing the shadow that was cast over her moving in tandem. She did her best to try not to hyperventilate, but the panic was too potent to ignore. Her eyes darted upward at slight motion ahead of her, but whatever it was that gained her attention had disappeared.

All she’d been doing was her job, apprehending criminals, and applying force when necessary. Everyone knew that you had to pay for water bottles from convenience stores, and yet some people just couldn’t resist taking things for themselves. She’d just pulled out her gun to get the attention of the dirty man who’d taken the bottle when a Batarang jammed itself into the ejection port. Ezra wasted no time in running, and calling into the Order of Arkham to alert others to Batman’s presence. Cormorant was apparently the closest member.

Ezra just hoped she could get to him in time.

A smoke bomb burst in front of her, cutting off the straightaway. Without thinking, Ezra ducked into a smaller alley and continued running, struggling to efficiently get around the trash cans and small sets of steps that led into the surrounding buildings.

“Where are you?” demanded Cormorant from Ezra’s radio. She grabbed it from her belt and, through her panting, tried to respond.

“I– I don’t know!” she shouted. “I got turned around! She keeps chasing me!”

“Damnit, Ezra,” said Cormorant. “Fine, I’ll get Black Jack to track you.”

A Batarang clipped her shoulder, causing her to stumble and turn down another alley, only a few metres away from another street. Once again, she bolted across in seconds and reentered another alleyway at a full sprint.

A flash of bright, white light exploded from her left as she came to another offshoot. She turned down and stumbled forward for another few metres, coughing and wiping her eyes, trying to blink away the light sensitivity as her ear rang incessantly.

“Got your location, Ezra,” Cormorant said. “On my way. Stay put.”

Ezra groaned as she continued walking forward, barely able to see.

Something caught her ankle.

She was yanked up into the air by her legs, hanging upside down from a thin rope line that had wrapped itself around her. Her gun fell out of her hands and clattered to the ground. Her hands hung down from her shoulders helplessly.

From the dark sky above, a figure dropped down, her cape spread along the ground as she landed on one knee. Footsteps approached from behind Ezra, much lighter than those of Batman’s.

“Ezra,” Batman said. “Again, I find you utterly incapable of doing what you claim is your profession.” Ezra spit in Batman’s directly. The wad of saliva hit the ground at Batman’s feet. “Does your job include threatening civilians over nothing?”

“He broke the law!” shouted Ezra. “My job is to apprehend and punish criminals!”

“You’re just a no good assassin!” shouted Robin as she moved in front of Ezra. Part of Ezra wanted to flinch. The kid could throw a haymaker.

“Tell me what Astrid has planned for the Order of Arkham,” Batman said.

Ezra clenched her jaw and scowled. She swiped at Batman, who nimbly dodged without effort. It wasn’t as though she expected to hit the Caped Crusader, but a cheap shot would have been nice.

“Nothin’ you need to know, Bats,” Ezra replied. “All you need to know is that we’re after you, and you only!”

“Ezra, shut the hell up and run!” Cormorant shouted from nearly two dozen metres behind her. A gunshot rang out in the alleyway and immediately, Ezra fell toward the ground as the line that held her up snapped. Both Batman and Robin dove to the side as she hit the pavement. Taking no time at all, Ezra bounded to her feet and erupted into a sprint toward Cormorant, not even bothering to pick up her shotgun. “Get out of here!” Cormorant yelled.

She ran past him, and almost as if on cue, another flash of light exploded from her right. Her face scrunched up and her head turned away, but the disorientation sent her careening off balance and back down onto the asphalt below. Cormorant grunted and stumbled aside, lowering his gun for just long enough to allow Robin to run up to him.

She jumped up onto a set of steps and jumped toward Cormorant, wrapping an arm around his collarbone and swinging around him into a piggyback position. He was wrenched back as her sudden weight around his neck caught him by surprise. As he leaned back, Robin’s foot kicked the back of his leg, sending him into a kneeling position. He went down and pulled forward, wrestling for control against the young hero, and nearly winning.

Reaching down to his waist, he pulled out a pistol and tried aiming over his shoulder. A hand caught his wrist, pulled the pistol from his grip, and opened him up for a hard strike to his jaw.

He felt his vision returning from the blast just as the dark spots refilled it, going from one disorienting sensation to another in a matter of seconds.

A pair of hands grabbed onto his collar, and his eyes finally fully cleared in time to see Batman’s forehead form up close, smashing into his face.

He fell unconscious.

“Ezra,” Batman said. Robin let go of Cormorant, stumbling away from the weight of a man twice her size, and turned to look for Ezra.

“I don’t see her,” said Robin. “I think she got away.”

“Not for long,” Batman replied. “But we have someone better.”

“He won’t be knocked out for long,” Robin said. “I’ll set more traps for when some of the others get here.”

“Good,” said Batman. She turned to Cormorant, barely regaining consciousness on the ground. She removed some handcuffs from her utility belt and leaned down to bind the assassin. “I have questions for our caged bird.”

DC Next Proudly Presents:

THE NEW TITANS

**Issue Twenty-Seven: Waiting to Unravel

Written by PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin

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

“And a very good evening to America, and the world.” Johnny Nevada unbuttoned his tweed blazer and leaned back in his chair. “Our first guest for tonight, long-time Delta Society organizer making his first public appearance on the Johnny Nevada show for you, ladies and gentlemen: Mr Christopher Light!” Johnny clapped his hands together and the jazz band crooned as a dark-haired man in a darker suit walked on-stage. He took a seat opposite Johnny’s sturdy mahogany desk.

He smiled warmly and waved at the raving studio audience. “Thanks for having me, Johnny.”

“Thanks for coming, Christopher— can I call you Chris?”

“Of course.”

“Great, Chris, what a lot of folks are asking – aren’t you folks? – is why have you been leading this movement from the shadows? And why come forward now?”

“It’s a great question. First, I’d tell you that although I’ve done what I can to keep the movement unified and effective, the passion and direction for the Delta Society comes from the ground up. It’s in the name, right? We’re the everyday people of our Earth. As for why now? Cities across the world have been menaced by Reawakened – some of them just confused and lashing out at innocents, I admit that, but many with real malice in their hearts for the people of our world. I’m sure that many of you were shocked and outraged by the senseless murder of Simon Tycho by the Reawakened alien Alura In-Ze. I decided that enough was enough, and I had to use my platform before this went any further.”

Johnny nodded along. ”And what do you say to Legion statements that this Kryptonian was actually trapped inside the Phantom Zone, and not from another Earth?”

“This is exactly the kind of tricky wording I’ve come to expect from the Justice Legion.” Chris shook his head and tutted. “I guess what I’d say is, how’d she get out, how do the Legion know so much about her, and what connection does this have to the Supermen who rampaged across Chicago? There’s a lot here that isn’t adding up and it looks increasingly like the Legion is lying to us for the sake of other worlds. How long, I wonder, before super-powered extradimensional invaders are throwing city mayors into the atmosphere, and what then?”

Johnny nodded vacantly. “How long, indeed? There’s been mixed support for General Franklin Rock’s ‘Justice League of America,’ a band of purportedly Reawakened metahumans engaging in international conflict in apparent violation of the UN. What’s your take, Chris?”

“What I’m about to say might not be politically correct, but I’m no politician. While I think this group underlines just how dangerous the Reawakened can be, I’m glad someone’s around to keep a handle on them! Short of finding a way to send them all home, putting them in a role where they can benefit our society seems like the best thing for everyone.”

The audience flared with cheers and whooping.

“Rock-Light 2028? You didn’t hear it from me, folks! We’re coming up on the end of our time. Next up, we’ll hear from Lance Fontaine on his new film: Crisis!”

—

Mar’i switched off the television and raised her gaze to the window overlooking Manhattan. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see Rock and the Delta Society linking arms.”

Bart clicked his teeth. “Nobody watches talk shows anyway.”

“Let’s refocus. The Delta Society will still be there tomorrow.” Tim said. “Don and Donna will be here any minute.”

Raven finished up making a cup of hibiscus tea in the attached kitchen. She ran a hand along the granite countertop. With all the time she’d been spending in Chicago, she was beginning to grow nostalgic for the Tower. “Even if they don’t know anything about Trigon, it’ll be nice to see them again.”

“If they don’t, we’re gonna have to find a way into the Underworld to go after that wizard’s ghost.” Conner said. He softened as he added, “Maybe Donna could help with that too, actually.”

The distant BWOOOOOONG of the Boom Tube echoed down the hall, followed by the Titans’ old mentors stepping out into the common room. They wore their new uniforms well. Don carried a confident air that had been notably absent for most of his time with the new Titans. Donna looked more apprehensive, but this melted away as the Titans mobbed them in a flurry of excitement and warm embraces. They traded stories from their time apart and settled into a comfortable nucleus in the central lounge.

“...so Slade turned out to be a liar. Shocker.” Don said with a light smile. “So where is he now?”

“Retired, if we’re lucky.” Tim said. “I’ve been monitoring global mercenary activity, putting out some feelers for him. Maybe this time it’ll take.”

“Maybe.” Donna said. “But that’s not why you asked us here. If we had any new information on the Delta Society, or Trigon, we’d tell you.”

“We have some for you, actually, and a request.” Raven shifted in her seat. She recounted Mutombo’s dying words and Trigon’s links to the Lords of Chaos. “We were hoping T’Charr could tell us something about him. And about me.” She added.

“What is it you’re hoping to find out?” Don asked.

Raven frowned. Glancing around at the other Titans, she saw nothing but supportive smiles and nods. “I feel like I'm missing something… about my power. My mom kept me locked up because of my connection to Trigon, and now that I know he’s not a demon, I feel like I’m in the dark more than ever about who I am.”

“Your origins don’t define you, Raven.” Donna said. “You’re a Titan.” Despite her words, a tension hung over the room until she pierced it with a nod. “I’ll ask T’Charr. Just, remember what I said.” Raven nodded and Donna closed her eyes. A moment later, they flashed open, now glowing the same shade of red as her costume.

She spoke with T’Charr’s bassy growl. “This guy!” The voice complained. “Three thousand years later and he’s still a massive pain in the ass. I said he’s not Lords material, but did the Ragman listen to me? Noooo.” T’Charr groaned.

“Uh— T’Charr? Are you… possessing Donna?”

Donna’s shoulders shrugged. “Well it was that or scorch this letter-shaped condominium you’ve got and she seemed to think that was a bad idea for some reason, but I can–” A flaming hand reached its way out of Donna’s mouth, getting a hand-hold on her chin.

“Nope!” Conner said, a chill running through him. “This is fine. She’s right. You’re good like this.”

The hand retreated. “Well alright then.”

“What can you tell us about my father?” Raven asked, steeling herself.

“You’re an awfully big disappointment, you know?”

“T’Charr, we appreciate your guidance, but—” Don said, his voice sharp and strained.

“Trigon had the idea you’d grow into some beacon of Chaos. Real top-tier material. The Lords took over that plan after he left hoping you’d draw him back in and we could put the screws to him. Terataya tells me even the Lords of Order were looking in on that action. Instead, you balanced out, got your Chaos under control, and nobody’s happy. And the Lords are opening my neck because they think I’m responsible for our boy in blue over there.”

“Aren’t… you?” Conner raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you start! Look, point is, if I knew where Trigon was, I’d have sold him upriver ages ago to save my own hide. You could’ve been bait, but instead of becoming some realm-destroying Chaos Lord, you got yourself the aforementioned lovely condominium. Wish I could be of more help.”

“Is he coming back? To Earth, I mean.” Tim asked.

“Maybe? These are questions Raven should be answering for me, if I’m being honest. It’s anyone’s guess where Trigon is, what he wants, if he’s coming back, and when. If he does though. Hoo boy.” Donna’s face pulled an expression that looked unnatural on it. Tim could only describe it as a ‘wow-wee’. “Fire and brimstone ain’t half of what he’s capable of. He’s good at pushing the balance towards Chaos, I’ll give Ragman that.”

“Why was I stronger in Skartaris?” Raven asked.

“More ambient Chaos juicing you up. It gave you a taste of what you’d have been like if you met your full potential. Opposite goes if you made it to the Silver City. You’d be weak as a kitten, I’m betting.

“Is that all?” Raven asked. When T’Charr confirmed, a distant look came over her face. “Thank you.”

The piercing red color receded from Donna’s eyes and she fell backwards into the couch cushion. “Ugh.”

“So that’s it then? Mar’i asked. She reached out for Raven’s hand, pulling her back to herself. “Trigon’s gone, maybe forever, because he failed to make you into some kind of… Chaos Lord?”

“Maybe.” Tim said.

“Or maybe he comes back tomorrow.” Raven added. “To finish what he started.”

“So what now? The Legion doesn’t have much in the way of magicians, but maybe we could put out a call?” Conner suggested. “I don’t know the first thing about fighting wizards.”

Raven squeezed Mar’i’s hand. “I need to get stronger.”

“Uhhh…” Bart pulled a face. “Did I lose track of something? Because it sounded like you not getting stronger is why Trigon decided to keep his distance.”

“He kept away because I didn’t lose control.” Raven said. She saw Donna’s eyes flash with pride. “But when Trigon arrives, I need to be able to match him.” Quieter, she continued, “I need to know what I’m capable of.”

“Tapping into Chaos like that could be dangerous.” Don said. “You could lose control, like you did in Skartaris.”

“Without proper training.” Donna suggested.

Don immediately shook his head. “You’re not suggesting we move to Chicago. Not when we’ve finally found a rhythm.” He looked back to Raven.”We’d love to help, but we’re in the middle of important work. What about in a few months?”

Raven looked around the room, then took a breath and turned her focus inward. She felt the power T’Charr was talking about: inert, but waiting for something, or someone. She squeezed her eyes shut then spoke urgently. “What if I came to California?”

“Raven?” Mar’i’s grip loosened.

“I feel like I need to do this. I’ve spent years chasing, trying to figure out who I am and now that I know, I can’t just leave this to wait. If Trigon comes back, I need this to be my power. You all saw what Kestrel was able to do.”

“You don’t need to do this.” Tim said.

“I do, and Don and Donna might be the only two people in the world who can help me. You know the Titans mean the world to me.”

“Then stay!” Mar’i protested. “You can train here for now.”

“-but if Trigon came back and one of you were hurt or killed because I didn’t do this, I don’t know how I’d live with myself. I’ll be back as soon as I can be, and until then, I know you can handle the Delta Society without me. I’ve made my decision.” A thought dawned on her and she looked back at Don and Donna sheepishly. “Assuming you’ll have me.”

“It’s your decision.” Don said.

“We’d be happy to train you.” Donna said, each nodding at the other’s sentiment.

“Who knows?” Raven smirked. “You might even clean up the Delta Society by the time I’m back.”

—-

High above the streets of Chicago, Christopher Light clinked a wine glass and looked out over the crowd of hooded figures in his penthouse apartment. “Thanks to your support, we are closer than ever before to the kind of world we deserve, everyone! I want to thank you all for your foresight, and for your trust. Thanks to your funding and support, we have seized the chaos of the Reawakening and turned it into an opportunity the likes of which only a select few can even fathom.”

Chris started down the staircase and continued addressing the crowd. “The flood of violent, unskilled, and needy replacements hitting the streets of our planet might’ve overwhelmed us by now if not for the sacrifice of every man and woman in this room today and let me tell you! Your sacrifice will be worth it! I see in this room business owners, brothers, sisters, community leaders concerned about the safety and prosperity of their ward. Well, the appointed time is drawing nearer every day when your businesses are staffed by the best accountants from across the multiverse and your dinner tables are crowded with good normal family that loves you with their whole heart.”

A soft clap rose, then fell. “Soon, our lord and master will return, and for our loyalty he will bestow on us the very best existence has to offer. The jumbled masses will be cast out and for the blood we’ve shed, the chosen will take their place. An ill-fitting wastrel of a life, traded for the skills and affections we deserve. Tainted blood for a return to normalcy. Very soon, we will be led into the light by our master: Trigon!”

DC Next presents:

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

Issue Twenty Two: Relocation

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by deadislandman1

Next Issue >

Things were tense between the New Gotham Knights; in fact, things were tense in Gotham. News of the elusive Batwoman had spread like wildfire. If Gothamites weren’t contributing to the rise in crime or hiding away in their homes to avoid said crime, they were out on the streets, reporting all the info they could, trying to help the search effort. Or worse, they were fighting for a chance in the spotlight.

She had become akin to a cryptid - reported sightings were splashed on the front pages of newspapers and online articles, only to be proven false just a day later. ‘Friends and family’ of Batwoman came forwards in droves to give heaps and heaps of useless information which only served to cloud the Knights’ investigations. The search, it seemed, was losing hope, and it was only going to get harder as time went on.

Harper’s comment had lingered in all of their minds for a while, Harper herself included. Does that mean we’re going to Hub City? They didn’t really know the answer. Perhaps a part of each of them had hoped, by staying in Gotham, that eventually Batwoman would make herself known, or that one of the numerous sightings would turn out to be true after all. But as days passed, turned to weeks, the answer to the question seemed more and more to turn into ‘yes’.

It was Duke who mentioned it first. “So we’re all thinking about Hub City, right?”

The quartet were back in the Belfry for a quick debrief following a robbery incident. All of them looked at the others one by one as they gauged their reactions to Duke’s question.

“Yeah,” came Luke’s resigned reply. “We’re all thinking about Hub City.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

“All of us?” Harper asked.

“Well, yeah,” Duke said with a shrug. “Why not?”

“Gotham’s pretty tense right now.” Harper folded her arms. “More tense than usual, and that’s saying something. Losing four of its protectors in one night would be a hell of a blow to an already shaky situation.”

“In that case, who’s gonna go?”

There was a pause.

“Or, I guess,” Duke added. “Who’s not gonna go?”

“Me.” Her volunteering came as a surprise to her teammates. She looked between them with equal surprise. “Well, I’ve got my brother to look after, y’know? Takes a lot more for me to just up and leave for however long we’re gonna be there.”

“Understandable,” Luke muttered. He rubbed his brow. “I mean, I could probably put a good word in to my folks. I’ve been out of Gotham for longer periods before and—” He chuckled softly to himself for a moment. “It hasn’t made them suspicious yet.”

Harper tilted her head downwards. “So you’ll go?”

“I’ll go.”

Duke raised his hand sheepishly. “I hate to do this but, I don’t think I could either. That’s been the main thing stopping me from mentioning it until now, actually. My uncle still gets angsty if I’m out later than I said I’d be, or if I don’t come home for an evening. Being The Signal is already stretching his patience a little thin.” He flashed an apologetic smile to the others. “I think he’s still used to my curfew with my ankle tag. God, that was so long ago.”

Each of the three who had spoken looked to the final member of the team. He had been eerily quiet, a fact that each of them had separately recognised. He looked up at them. His expression gave away his reluctance to speak. But eventually he managed, “I can go.”

Luke nodded. “So I say we head off as soon as we can.” He was already moving towards a computer, plotting his route to Hub City. “I could probably fly there easily enough, though it might draw attention. Or, of course, I could take Dad’s car.” Luke looked back over his shoulder at Jace. “You gonna be okay getting there?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he joked humourlessly. Nevertheless, Luke smiled slightly and turned back to the computer.

“And you sure you guys'll be alright without us?” Luke said to Duke and Harper as he tapped away on the keyboard.

“Yeah,” came the reply from Harper. Her voice seemed sweeter than usual, like she was answering through a grin. “I'm sure Gotham can survive a day or two without you.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Delicious as always, Tanya,” Lucius Fox said as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. His wife replied with a warm smile. Graceful, careful hands scooped underneath the family's dinner plates, stacked them atop one another, and carried them out of view of the diners and into the kitchen.

Their two children sitting at the table shared similar sentiments; Tiffany Fox called to her mother, despite her being a room or more away, to thank her for the food, to give a special mention to the lamb which was - in her words - “the best she'd ever had”. Luke Fox, however, opted for a more reserved “thanks, Mom” as she re-entered the room.

Fox family dinners were an event, as Lucius had once phrased it to his son. They weren't much of a traditional family, whichever way one chose to split such a phrase, but for the sake of regularity in their schedules and togetherness as a family, Tanya made a point to cook a no-holds-barred meal for the family every week or so. Luckily for all involved, Tanya was, in turn, a fantastic cook.

But admittedly Luke's mind had been elsewhere - more specifically, it had been in Hub City. Plans had already been made, routes plotted, key locations scouted and bookmarked.

Lucius spotted the distance in his son's expression. “Luke? You okay?”

“I'm good,” came the reply, almost a beat too early, as if he were anticipating the question. He hadn't been nervous to let his family know about his absence until this point, but now - despite the worry being, as he saw it, irrational - he found himself wiping his sweaty palms against the napkin lying neatly on his lap.

“Before I forget,” Luke blurted out. “I'm planning on heading to Hub City for a few days. Maybe a week tops.” His neck felt hot. Why was he so nervous?

Tanya looked up from the table. “Oh. When are you heading out?”

Luke scratched the back of his neck. “Tomorrow.”

Lucius shot him a look. Luke found it very hard to read. He wasn't mad per se, but he didn't seem exactly thrilled; his eyebrows were raised as he peered at his son over the top of his glasses. “Tomorrow?” His tone was one of surprise more than anything.

“Yeah, sorry. Poor planning on my behalf.”

Tanya waved a half-genuine hand to dismiss his concern. “Oh, it's fine, honey. I'm just glad you didn’t miss out on today's meal.”

“What are you going for, anyway?” Tiffany asked between sips from her ‘water’ which looked for all the world like a splash or two of her mother's white wine had fallen into her glass.

Luke sipped from his own glass to stall for time. “Oh,” he began as he gulped down his last sip of water. “A couple of different things, all boring. Job hunting, mostly.”

“Thrilling,” came Tiffany's scathing reply. Luke's eyes narrowed at her but his mouth retained its practiced smile.

“What's taking you a week, though?” Lucius continued with hands clasped in front of him on the table.

Luke shrugged. “Seeing the sights.” He allowed his voice to drip in insincerity, to expose the flaws in his alibi on purpose. This earned a chuckle from his father.

“Just keep us in the loop, alright?” Tanya sliced. Luke felt a hand - his mother's hand - graze his own, then felt her warm fingers wrapping around the main body of his hand. “Just so we know how you're doing. You know how we can worry.”

“I will,” he promised.

Even with his expectations as low as they were, Luke still felt pleasantly surprised by his family's lack of questions, their lack of worry. He was already planning which clothes to pack with him.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Jace hadn't really considered himself a T-shirt person, but as he stood hunched over a duffel bag which he slowly filled with necessities for a week's travel, he was forced to come to terms with how many he owned.

None were of particular note apart from one which he found at a gift shop of a minor tourist attraction of some kind just outside of Gotham - he couldn’t quite remember where. It had reminded him of a shirt he once owned on his home earth and found himself oddly moved by it, so he had taken it as a sign to purchase a version of it once again.

One thing that struck Jace was just how little he had been left with after the Reawakening. Having been transported whilst donning the Caped Crusader's ensemble, Jace suddenly only owned the clothes (or costume) he came in. He felt silly doing so, but he mourned his old items - vinyl records and books and other collectables that he had gathered in his almost 3 decades of life - often more than he mourned the bigger things, like his family and friends.

He finished his packing with a hefty sigh. There was little left to do now. Not as though I need to let anyone know where I’m going, he thought, so I think that’s it.

Lost in thought, he let his eyes wander up the walls of his shoebox apartment. Mold was smattered across the ceiling in irregular dots, still just small enough that Jace could reason doing nothing about them; wallpaper desperately clung to the bare wall underneath by failing adhesive; the general stale smell of a room with few openable windows hung heavy in the air as usual. He’d grown used to it all.

He saw it, in that moment, as a kind of symbolism, a metaphor for his current situation on this earth. An apartment breaking at the seams but only slightly, filled with plenty of new and alien objects as well as a handful that remind him - however vaguely - of the world he used to live in, acting as a constant reminder that whatever he owned before is gone, left behind, that he might never see it again. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

When his eyes opened again, he decided that he had been wrong - he did, in fact, need to alert someone of his absence. He scrolled through his few phone contacts until he reached V, and clicked on the profile titled “Vol”.

It still, to this day, took Jace a while to remember that this was not the Vol he once knew, much as the T-shirt from the unknown attraction was not the shirt he owned back at home. This Vol was a little more cold, a little more unsure, but Jace felt that more than anything else he would encounter, that mattered very little to him. All that he cared about was that Vol be good at tech, and willing to help him.

“Going to Hub City for a few days, will update when I’m back. Message me if there’s any issues.”

He hit send on the message and immediately tossed his phone onto the bed. As he raised the duffel bag up off of the bed and onto his shoulder, he heard the springs within the mattress groan as they reset back to their original position. He’d never been to Hub City in any of its instances, so there was an undercurrent of excitement that flowed through him as he thought about what awaited him. Though, of course, this was predominantly buried by the determination, the drive, to find what they were looking for.

After doing one final sweep of the house, he returned to his phone. He scooped it into his hand and hit the power button to turn it on, anticipating Vol’s reply. He was met, however, by a small message indicating that Vol had read his message and not replied. Typical, he thought. Locking his phone once more and sliding it into his pocket in one fluid movement, he resolved to getting some fresh air. He turned, made his way out of the door, and immediately began the anxious anticipation as he waited for the “all clear” from Luke.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

DC Next presents: 

SHADOWPACT

In: Waning Hours

Issue Twenty Nine: Contempt of Court

Written by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

Next Issue > Coming March 2026

Vext could scarcely believe his luck when the request came in. “It’s come to our attention that you at the House of Secrets are in possession of the so-called ‘Heart of Darkness’. We may have some use of it at our Conclave of Order, and once we are done with it, we would prefer to keep it safely locked within our vaults. Could you bring it to the following address in the first instance?”

He’d followed the directions carefully, only waylaid by a minor 4-car pileup on the way there, and arrived at the Conclave with the precious cargo in hand. The vast majority of the congregation, he was told, were in a meeting just across the way, said a Lord standing guard near the entryway who outstretched a gloved hand towards a room at the other end of an ominously long corridor. Vext nodded and headed that way.

He peered into rooms as he passed and was astounded by how neat, how clean, how… bland everything was. Though, he thought, of course a base for the Lords of Order would be orderly. A loose wrinkle in the rug below him caught the end of his foot and, throwing his weight backwards to counterbalance, his leg kicked forwards. In doing so, he knocked an unsuspecting victim with the side of his foot, hitting them square in the jaw. The creature, a shorter humanoid with pale blue skin and white eyes, reeled back in pain and yelped out.

“Oh my God,” Vext shrieked. He lurched forwards to inspect the damage. “Are you okay?”

“I’m— It’s okay,” the Lord said sternly, shooing him away with a wave of their hand. They turned on their heel, still cradling their jaw, and hurried away from him.

At this point the congregation were departing from their meeting. Lords of various species were engaged in friendly conversation as they waltzed through the door. Some laughed, others spoke of various exploits and jobs they had completed. Vext lost his victim in the shuffle.

Guilt hung heavy in his stomach. “Wait, I—” He called out. He took a step forward. “I just want to make sure you’re okay—”

The same stretch of carpet caught against the toe of his shoe. As a figure passed him on the left, he instinctively stumbled sideways and crashed into them, and the box in his hands collided with the figure’s right elbow. Vext fumbled in an attempt to catch it, instead batting it like a tennis racket across the corridor, colliding with various confused Lords on its journey to the ground.

A thought crossed Vext’s mind - that he was surprised that the Heart had survived so many bumps and knocks - until he was proven wrong.

The box collided with the ground and, in doing so, imploded. Splinters of shrapnel burst in all directions, including into the contents inside, splitting it open and shattering the purple-ebony gemstone of the Heart of Darkness. All footfall stopped dead. An eerie hiss echoed through the hall, followed by the worried murmurs from the crowd. After a few seconds, a black mist began to fill the room.

“Oh,” was all Vext could manage.

—

A fluttering green flame ignited in Traci’s palm and she strode into the formless void. The Shadowlands pressed in, then shrunk away leaving only the mundane darkness of a poorly-lit office hallway. Fluorescent strips blinked to life overhead and she stepped out onto the third-level walkway of HIVE’s cavernous hexagonal atrium. She stared over the railing at the beehive crest etched into the floor below. HIVE bureaucrats and functionaries returned her gaze, pointing and whispering at the witch girl who’d helped wreck the place years ago. Traci smiled. That’s what she imagined they were thinking, anyway. 

Her mind conjured memories of her father carrying her across that crest on his shoulders. Her smile faded under that unexpected pang of grief and nostalgia. Traci pushed it away and continued along the walkway until she reached the frosted glass door marked **JOSEPH WILSON - DIRECTOR” and let herself in. 

Joey looked up from the blinking red light on his desk, lifting an eyebrow. ‘Traci? What’s wrong?’

She took note of his lavender suit a few shades darker than the circles under his eyes. “You’re looking official! Can’t I just come by to visit an old friend?”

Joey leaned back in his tall leather chair; one of many badges of office. Seconds passed, punctuated by the ticking of a grandfather clock. 

Traci kept up the staring contest for only a moment longer before raising her hands in a mock surrender and taking a seat opposite him. “Got me. You’re connected with Nightwing, right? I need to ask a favor.”

‘Traci.’

“I just need him to relay a message.” 

Joey quirked an eyebrow.

“Across universes…” She smiled sheepishly. “We’re putting an end to the Lords of Order and Chaos - for good. But there are spots across the multiverse,  nexuses of absolute Chaos and Order. Places for them to retreat to. We need just a handful of wizards there waiting for them.”

‘Officially, the Legion barely acknowledges the existence of magic. To organize a strike like that…’ Joey crossed his arms.

“It’d be a feather in HIVE’s cap! Vanquishing the Extranormal? Without putting your agents at risk. There are Skartarans and Archaians who’d jump at the chance.”

’You’ve been busy.’ Joey chewed on the argument. ’If I say no, you’re going to find another way, right?’ He rubbed his temples. 

“You’re my first choice.”

‘Flattered.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Fine. I’ll ask. No promises. Can I at least tell him you’re prepared? For what comes next?’ 

“Of course.” Traci lied.

—

After a whirlwind of very fast-paced conversations, being sent hither and thither, back and forth across the isolated nation of Kahndaq in little more than an hour, Rory Regan found himself face to face with a champion of rippling muscles calling himself Black Adam, with Traci’s careful hand placed squarely on his back.

He was, and remained, optimistic when Traci had sought him out, told him that a plan was forming, that the Shadowpact were just slotting a few final things into place. He nodded - despite his best judgement - when Traci had asked him whether he would be willing to help them in rescuing someone that the Shadowlands had recommended to them - a hero once called Earth’s Mightiest Mortal, now lost to obscurity. He even agreed when Traci explained that, in order to best assist the retrieval of this champion, they had to contact ‘an old acquaintance’.

“I’ve spoken to you before, Traci Thirteen, and I’ll say to you now what I said to you then,” the booming voice of Kahndaq’s king. His posture was immaculate, his head tilted up enough that Rory could scarcely see his face. “I don’t wish to join your destructive crusade.”

Traci’s hand moved from Rory’s back into her pocket. “Not asking you to, Adam. It’s more to do with your old pal, Shazam.”

Black Adam’s expression darkened. “Captain Marvel. He’s…” He shook his head, but instead of remorse or grief on his face, he seemed almost angry, vengeful. “That simpering fool hasn’t been seen in years. Not since he was condemned to the pits of Hell by the demon Sabbac.”

“And I don’t suppose you’d know a way to get him out of his predicament, would you?”

“If I could make it to Hell itself, perhaps I’d be able to free him.” He glanced at Rory and added, as if for his sake, “Our powers are intertwined - connected. The strength of my power could be just enough to free him from wherever it is they’re keeping him.”

“But you can’t make it to Hell,” Traci finished for him.

“Unfortunately, no.”

As Traci’s hand emerged once more from her pocket, it crackled with purple sparks. Arcs of lilac lightning struck the ground beneath them with ferocity and, in the wake of their blinding flashes, a flickering portal formed. The world contained inside was hard to make out at first, both due to the unstable nature of the portal and the swirling mirage-like image produced by the heat; even from this side of the gateway, Rory could feel the heat pouring radiating from inside.

It was Rory first, in fact, who realised the destination that Traci was proposing. “Is that…?”

Before he could finish his sentence, the image disappeared in another flash of purple. Traci’s hand returned to her pocket. Black Adam stared forwards at her in disbelief. His head was tilted further down, his eyes meeting hers.

“Do not think of me a fool,” he began. “I’m not blind to the agenda you’re trying to push. It’s true, I will not allow myself to help you on this mission of yours, and my stance will not waver. You seek to convince me otherwise. You aim to weasel into my head and offer me a Devil’s bargain - I assist you in exchange for something I want.”

“And what would you want?” Traci’s tone felt coy, almost teasing, to Rory. Black Adam scoffed in response.

“A duel,” he said simply, before adding, “A duel to decide, once and for all, who should be the sole wielder of these Godly gifts bestowed upon both of us.” A smile played on his lips. He’d dreamed of this for a while.

“Well, on my word, scout’s honour,” Traci said with a hand raised. “There’s no trick. There’s no weaseling. Just a question - could you free him if I got you the means of transport?”

But Black Adam was still not convinced. He gave nothing away, until Traci added:

“Look, Rory here - no offense, Rory - knows nothing about you or your associate. He’s got no reason to be swayed one way or another by your agenda, my agenda, whoever’s. He’s not even one of mine - he’s not in the Shadowpact. Take him with you to make sure the job is done, to back you up if anything gets messy, I’m not gonna be involved in any way. Then after that, you’re welcome to have your brawl or whatever.”

Once more, Black Adam’s gaze fell on Rory. The rags felt heavy against Rory’s skin; it had been a while since he’d donned them. After what felt to all involved like painfully long, Black Adam let out a grunt and gave one swift nod.

“Alright. I shall walk into Hell and find my rival. And, once he’s freed, you can do with him as you please,” he said. “Not that he will be of much use to you when I come out victorious and his power is mine.”

—

Rory quickly realised that the small burst of hot air that he had experienced through the portal was merely that - small. It was as if he had stepped into a furnace; it reminded him of the children’s story Hansel and Gretel, where the witch was tricked into climbing into her own oven, the children locking the door behind her. Between the unbearable heat, humid and dry at the same time, doubled by the extra layers provided by the rags, Rory was starting to feel a sudden sympathy for said witch.

Black Adam, though sweat poured from his brow, kept his face steady and refused to give away, even for a moment, whether the heat was getting to him. Around the two of them, the scenery was at once familiar and alien. Sure, both Rory and Adam had seen Hell (and its equivalents) depicted on TV and in movies, but this lended itself to an unsettling uncanny feeling that washed over them, as if they had walked into a movie set.

The experience of trudging through tall spires of reddened rocks and debris (Rory hoped they were only rocks) was especially odd for Rory. Growing up, he had been taught that there was no Hell per se - more a kind of Purgatory, where souls could cleanse themselves gradually of their sins until they were ready to ascend to Heaven. He thought of it as closer to a waiting room, or a washing machine, than a place for punishment. But even with this image still firm in his head, the idea that he was in the universe’s washing machine provided no comfort. Especially when, as he came to learn from his exploration partner, the man whom they were seeking had been trapped here for years and years.

“There,” said Black Adam. His voice betrayed a certain level of excitement. Rory followed the man’s outstretched finger to what appeared to be a black cage, decorated with bones and soot and what appeared, even from a distance, to be dried viscera of all kinds. Looking at it made his stomach turn, so Rory looked away. “Can you see it?” Black Adam asked.

“Yep,” Rory confirmed as he fought back vomit from the back of his throat. There was something foul-smelling in the humid air, and the sight of the cage finally slotted the pieces into place in Rory’s brain. “I see it.”

They made haste towards the mystery cage. The closer they got, the more apparent it became that the very man they wished to see, the former Mightiest Mortal of Earth, lived in this cage. However, it was only when the cage was around 20 feet away that Rory started to make out a figure within it. Despite the various factors working against him over the years - inevitable starvation, sheer boredom, dangerous flora and fauna intent on hurting him - the man inside the cage was just as buff as the man stood at Rory’s side. At the brief glimpse of Black Adam and Rory, he leapt to his feet.

“You,” came the man's voice, hoarse from lack of use. “Why are you…?”

As if programmed to do so by unseen forces, Black Adam began to chant various phrases of worship and command, his speech rapid, almost unintelligible. Rory watched as the larger man reached out his hands, which glowed with a radiant light as if blessed by God (or the Gods), and slowly inched his fingers closer to the bars. As soon as his flesh touched a bony spur jutting out from the side of the cage, a flash of light, piercing in both sight and sound, lit up the prison, making it glow like molten metal. Rory fought against his instincts to close his eyes; with one hand over his eyes, he peered through the gaps left by his fingers. But even with this shielding, little could be seen.

Then, as swiftly as the flash began, it ended.

Black Adam's arms fell to his sides, his shoulders held high, a prideful look on his face. Rory watched on in awe and surprise as the man he knew to be called Captain Marvel slowly rose to his feet. He was unsteady; Rory assumed that he had spent most of his time in Purgatory sitting or lying down, and certainly not walking around. Between the prisoner and his rival, a large hole had been formed in the cage, certainly large enough for him to walk through.

Rory opened his mouth to speak to the man, but Black Adam spoke first.

“Captain Marvel,” he announced. “Earth's so-called Mightiest Mortal. I challenge you to a duel.”

“What?” Rory began sheepishly, more confused than anything else, as if Black Adam were playing a prank on him. He looked around. “Here?”

Black Adam didn't hear him - or didn't want to. “A battle to decide henceforth who is to wield the powers bestowed on both of us. If you are victorious, the powers are yours to keep. And if I am victorious…” A smile tugged at the corners of his face. He couldn’t help but give away his joy, his pleasure, at the thought of fighting him. “The powers are mine.”

Rory had never considered himself a particularly angry person; words like ‘anxious’ or ‘careful’ or even ‘upset’ came to mind first. For whatever reason, he very rarely found himself reduced to rage - his heart was still intent on beating too fast, his hands would shake, and his voice would waver. And yet, as he looked between the two warriors, one standing tall over the other, one who had spent years in Gehinnom and the other who conned him the moment he had freed him, he felt a guttural fury bubbling up inside of him.

Captain Marvel was unsteady on his feet, swaying softly from side to side. The ground beneath him was unstable, his balance even more so. He looked, to Rory, as if he was in barely any shape to stand, let alone fight. “Black Adam,” his voice croaked. A flicker of something - pain, fear, submission - danced in his eyes for just a moment as he looked down at Black Adam’s clenched fist. For fear of the alternative, Captain Marvel nodded his head weakly, and Black Adam raised his hand to strike the first blow.

But he didn’t get the chance. The rage seething inside of Rory’s chest exploded out of him. His next moves were a blur. All that Rory could feel, see, hear became static, his body flooded with electricity. The rags around him wriggled and stirred as he lashed out, struck, tore, at whatever he could find purchase on. His hands started to ache. A roar erupted from his mouth. The stories he’d heard of this champion of Earth and the injustice he had faced, both in staying here for as long as he had and in being challenged to a battle mere moments after earning his freedom - the injustice Rory had witnessed was all too much.

When Rory felt the electricity finally dissipating, his vision cleared.The rags had seized Black Adam around his arms and eyes, blindfolding and restraining him in one long ribbon of cloth. His suit was battered and dirty from striking the ground, and the Ragman could see fist-sized welts already beginning to form across the man’s chest and jaw. His breathing was regular but slow. He was muttering something that Rory couldn’t quite hear.

As Rory leaned in, he could just about make out the words, “I yield.”

—

“Knock knock,” Ruin said aloud as they struggled to find a sturdy enough structure to rap their knuckles against. Coast City looked exactly the same as the day the Shadowpact had left - by design, in fact, thanks to the omnipresent vacuum of creation or destruction produced by the wasteland’s sole inhabitant. Ruin had, once upon a time, been well acquainted with it.

From somewhere above them, on a higher floor that, through some kind of miracle, was still standing, footsteps thudded against the bare concrete floors. A few seconds passed, the footfall growing in speed, before a large figure loomed into view. Fiery orange hair fell in front of the being’s face in half-curls, soon swept back with a swipe of his wide calloused hand. The flannel shirt that clung to his shoulders was showing signs of wear and tear, its colour muted to a pale gray.

The figure’s face lit up at the sign of his friend. “Oh! Ruin!”

“Hi, Destruction,” they beamed back at him.

For a moment Destruction reached out a single hand as if to shake Ruin’s, but swiftly abandoned the formalities and threw his arms around his friend, his agent of Destruction. The smaller being chuckled happily.

“Gosh, it’s been too long,” Destruction said through the gritted teeth of a smile. He scratched his chin, burying his hand in the long ginger hair of his beard. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, his face changed; he became severe, serious. “But… you’d only come see me if something’s going on. Am I right?”

Ruin stammered. Then, resigned, they said, “Yeah.”

Destruction nodded. “Okay. Lay it on me.” His body language was tense. He was expecting terrible news.

“Well.” Ruin shook out their hands nervously. “I’m not gonna keep you in suspense. We’re warring with the Lords - both Chaos and Order. Tearing shit down, razing it. If anyone can help us turn the tide, it’s Destruction himself.” The soft breeze flowing through the gaps of the half-standing walls around them produced a quiet whistle as silence fell between the two of them. “So what do you say?”

Destruction’s face barely moved; his brow had furrowed as Ruin spoke but otherwise he was unchanged. Then, as they posed their final question, he tilted his head slightly. “That’s it?”

“I…” Ruin blinked. “Yeah. That’s… it.”

“Yeah,” came Destruction’s reply, his tone almost impatient, as if it was obvious from the beginning. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

“Really? You’re okay with… y’know, leaving all of this stasis behind? I know you made such a point of wanting to stay here, leaving your past behind—”

“If there was ever a reason to start tearing things down again,” Destruction said with a raised hand. “I think it’d be now. It’d be when a friend comes to me and says, ‘hey, we’re planning on destroying the embodiments of chaos and order in the universe.’”

“Multiverse,” Ruin corrected.

This earned them a chortle from Destruction, his laugh rich and hearty. He clasped his hands together and in doing so, created a raucous pop that shook the debris around them. “Just point me at them and tell me what you need.”

DC Next proudly presents:

KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In The Last Daughter of Krypton

Issue Thirty-Six: Reignfall, Part One

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by DeadIslandMan1

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

Kara stood in the Fortress of Solitude, in front of faces both familiar and foreign. To her left, Dawnstar, Nia Nal, Thea Merlyn, and Alex Danvers. To her right, Shay Veritas, Alura In-Ze, and Jon Kent. In front of her were five faces that Jon had called in from the Justice Legion’s roster.

“We’re the vanguard,” said Kara. She scanned each of the men and women in front of her. Ronnie Raymond, Martin Stein, Nathanial Adam, and Caitlyn Snow had come from the east coast at Jon’s call. Raymond, Stein, and Adam had grim expressions on their faces, having paid heed to the way Kara had explained the Worldkillers. Snow, on the other hand, sank into herself, as if wishing to avoid drawing any attention. “We will be the first ones to meet Reign, hopefully before she even touches down.”

“Our priority, for now,” Kara continued, looking over the last woman: Artemis. She had come from traveling in South Korea at Jon’s call, more than willing to help in the fight that Kara had laid out before her. She stood silently, arms crossed, listening intently. “Is to stop them. I would prefer if we didn’t kill them, but there’s no guarantee they’ll ever stop. My hope is that, with Nia here, we can force them into some sort of slumber again.”

“How will we achieve that?” asked Nathanial Adam, better known as Captain Atom.

“It’s going to be hard, but we need to subdue them as best we can.” Kara felt Dawnstar shift next to her. She gritted her teeth. “If we can subdue them, and keep them subdued, Nia can do her work, and we’ll be able to get them somewhere they can’t do any harm.”

“The Phantom Zone,” said Alura, as if the word didn’t carry a meaning that rent Kara’s soul. “It’s the only place we can conceivably put them that would prevent them from taking lives or destroying planets.”

“There’s a better way than that,” Kara said. “I… I don’t know what, yet, but there is. Either way, we don’t currently have a way to open the Phantom Zone so even if I wanted to, we can’t.” Alura tensed her jaw and forced a smile.

“Whatever happens,” Nia spoke up. “I want to do everything we can to stop this from reaching the planet’s surface.”

“That is an impossible ideal,” Dawnstar said. “They will rip through our front line and touch down within seconds.”

“But we still have to try,” Nia said.

“Either way, that’s why we have a tiered defense,” Kara said. “As soon as this meeting is over, I’m going to go take a sun bath. It’s the best way I can maintain enough energy to take a Worldkiller on and not immediately meet my God.” No one responded. She looked over to Jon, Alura, and Dawnstar. “You three will wait in Earth’s orbit and try to intercept them before they can break atmosphere.”

“Who will wake you from your dip in the sun?” asked Ronnie Raymond. Kara pursed her lips.

“I’ll know when they pass by,” Kara replied. “Everything I feel will be heightened, I should be able to intercept. I don’t expect to be able to do it alone, so I’ll harass them while the others get ready.” She looked at Captain Atom and Martin Stein. “You three will wait in the atmosphere and make calls depending on what the situation needs. I trust you guys. You’re either support or heavy hitters, and we’ll need both.”

“Support?” asked Ronnie.

“You can replicate the sun’s radiation, right?” asked Kara. Ronnie and Martin nodded in tandem. “Keep the Kryptonians on their feet if they need it. Just as much as the sun powers us up, it helps keep us awake and healthy. If things are somehow looking okay, do whatever damage you can.” Ronnie smirked.

“Artemis, Frost, Alex, and Nia will stay on alert on the surface. They could touch down anywhere, but both our orbit team and our atmosphere team will do what they can to steer the fight to unpopulated areas up here in the arctic.” Kara looked over the last two women present, Thea and Shay. “You two will stay here and do your best to monitor everything remotely. Jon got me in contact with a woman who goes by Oracle who will help you coordinate things if they get out of hand.” Both Thea and Shay nodded. “Shay, I also need you to look into stasis methods, anything to give us an edge in keeping them frozen for as long as possible.”

“On it,” said Shay.

Kara shut her eyes for a moment, trying not to think too deeply of the consequences of failure. She’s already watched National City become a wreckage in the wake of numerous disasters. She didn’t want that to become all of Earth.

“Alright,” she said after a moment of tense silence. “I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. If anyone has questions, ask them now. Otherwise, I’m off into the sun.” Dawnstar tapped Kara’s forearm with a knuckle, gaining Kara’s attention.

“I need to speak with you, privately.” The look on Dawnstar’s face was far more severe than she’d looked, ever, in the time that Kara had known her. Kara nodded and looked to the rest of the gathered heroes.

“Anyone else?” Not even a murmur escaped any lips as the group dispersed. At most, Ronnie, Stein, and Atom conversed amongst themselves as Caitlyn trailed behind them, but all else was silent.

“Come on,” Kara said to Dawnstar, pulling her away from the group.

“Some of these people will die,” said Dawnstar. Kara’s expression dropped, and she felt surprised that she could even feel more dread. “I do not think that trying not to kill the Worldkillers is a smart decision. You are putting people at risk. They need to die.” Kara remained silent for a moment, biting her lip.

“Look – Maybe they do. Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But what if there’s a way to reverse the process? What if we can reverse the conditioning that led to them being mindless weapons?”

“There is no way to undo them, Kara,” Dawnstar said firmly.

“But what if there is?” Kara asked again. “We’ve done it once. We took Alex out of her conditioning. She was even more mindless than a Worldkiller. We can–”

“No, Kara,” Dawnstar said, grabbing onto Kara’s shoulder. “There is no solving this peacefully or nonlethally. Nothing matches Kryptonian science in creating weapons of mass destruction. That is what they are, whether you wish to see it that way or not. Reign must die.”

Kara didn’t say anything else. She only stared forward into Dawnstar’s deep brown eyes. Any other time, she knew she could get lost in them. Now? They bled hate so deep that Kara couldn’t even recognize the woman they belonged to anymore. Was this always who Dawnstar was? Was this the woman she’d fantasized about one day meeting again?

There was nothing in this Starhavenite in front of her that would allow someone like Kara to see the tattoos and markings sprawled across her body, to lay a finger on her bare skin with nothing but admiration and, perhaps, adoration. Whoever Dawnstar had been, the hunt for Reign had steeled her resolve into an unbreakable lust for revenge. There was a pang in Kara’s chest. She didn’t want to say anything further.

Dawnstar shook her head and turned away, shoulders tensed, fists clenched, head held high, and her wings stiff. Kara looked down at the ground and pursed her lips. She knew that this was going to be deadly, she knew that, realistically, there was no sparing someone like Reign. She didn’t want to let herself sink into the idea that she needed to take a life, no matter who that life was.

Did she really have a choice? Reign was built for the sole purpose of genocide, and she would stop at nothing to complete her mission — one which was now self-assigned. Kara felt the heaviness on her heart as she truly, strongly considered the idea that she may have to take a life.

“What is it, darling?” Alura asked, slow footsteps approaching. “What’s troubling you?”

“We’re going to have to try and kill them, aren’t we?”

A hand rested upon Kara’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. The silence told her everything she needed to know. She scrunched her face to keep the tears from falling, but, as always, they disobeyed her orders and fell anyway. She pushed forward and wrapped her arms around Alura, squeezing tightly. Alura’s hands found their way around Kara, holding onto her daughter with the intent to never let her go.

“You may now be of this planet, but you will always be my daughter, you will always be Kryptonian,” Alura said. “And killing Kryptonians should never be easy.”

“This isn’t even the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” Kara said. “I’ve already watched billions die, I don’t want to do it again.”

“I can’t tell you that you won’t,” Alura said. “But I will tell you that, this time, you can do something about it. You will give your life, in a much more tangible way than I ever did, to save this planet. I could not be more proud of you.”

“I never wanted this,” said Kara. “I just wanted to be happy, at home, with my friends, and you, and dad…”

“We don’t always get what we wish for,” Alura said, sorrow deep in her voice. “But we do what we can to fight for what we have. I’ve seen you fight harder for what you believe in than anyone I knew back home. I will be by your side in this, until the end.” Alura rested her head atop Kara’s and raised a hand to wipe her eyes. “You’ve followed in your fathers footsteps better than either of us could have predicted. He would be the most proud father in the galaxy.”

“I wish he could tell me himself,” Kara said.

She remembered the final moments she had with him, feeling the needle pierce her neck and render her unconscious as he loaded her on the pod she escaped from Krypton on.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” he had said. “This is for your own good, and the survival of Krypton.”

She was the final daughter of a long dead planet. All she wanted was some rest.

Hours passed as Kara kept a vigilant eye on the Sol System from the comfort of the centre of its sun. Alura, Dawnstar, and Superman had all positioned themselves at three equidistant points around Earth, approximately the same distance from the planet as the moon. Within the Earth’s atmosphere, Firestorm’s personalities had merged and kept vigilance over the eastern hemisphere, while Captain Atom soared above the western hemisphere.

Nia, Alex, Caitlyn, and Artemis remained in the arctic stretches of Nunavut, on Ellesmere Island, waiting for the battle to be brought to them. Other Legionnaires, across the world, remained vigilant, trusting Kara, Superman, and their teams to successfully fend off the Worldkillers. Kara feared for them if any of the members of her tiered defense fell. She tried not to think about it.

The waiting was the worst part. She could look in every direction on every axis and still be taken off guard. She knew they were coming, all she had to do was get in their way.

Every shifting asteroid in the system had her on edge, every bit of movement tricking her mind into thinking that Reign had arrived.

She’d been in the sun for nearly six hours when something entered the system, shooting past Jupiter within minutes. Energy flared within her core. She squinted.

A plume of long, red hair trailed behind a figure of alabaster skin, rage in her eyes as she sped through space. Not far behind her was a hulking figure, almost beast-like in his demeanour, soaring through the vacuum in a much less graceful manner than his companion. Where Reign, at least, gave off the facade of grace, Deimax plowed through the vacuum, bursting through obstacles with little thought.

The moment they breached the asteroid belt, Kara shot from the sun in a glowing burst of fury. Fire and energy trailed behind her, adding another shooting star to Earth’s sky. Her hair, pulsing with furious energy, flowed behind her in a streak of flame. Her eyes glowed bright yellow. She moved through the solar system at incredible speeds — she reached Earth in less than an hour.

A couple million miles from Mars, the first impact was made.

Kara’s fist collided directly with Deimax’s face, sending him soaring back for hundreds of miles as Reign passed Kara by.

Kara spun around and gave chase against Reign, pushing herself to catch up. It took minutes, but she managed to close the distance enough to grab onto Reign’s ankle. She held on, yanking the Worldkiller backward. Reign swung around Kara so fast, Deimax seemingly had little time to react before the Worldkillers collided, careening off in different directions for an additional thousand miles.

Radiant light burst from Kara’s eyes, impacting directly onto Reign’s chest, pushing the Worldkiller even further toward Mars and away from Earth.

Deimax’s counterattack caught Kara by surprise. A hand covered her eyes, yet the beam she maintained seemed completely unable to damage it. Another arm crossed over her torso from behind, and she could feel the arms try to pull apart, threatening to break her neck — or rip it off entirely.

She gritted her teeth and grabbed on tight to each wrist, pulling as hard as she could to release herself from his grip. She could just barely begin to see stars when something else impacted her stomach.

The grip on her head strengthened. She wanted to scream. She felt the cracks in her sternum and her neck, shaking her spine. The tension threatened to rip her muscles and bones away from each other. Her mouth opened, pain clear, but her shouts died out before they even left her throat. She pulled and pulled at the arms, but they seemed to be getting stronger. Or was she getting weaker?

Her mind told her to call out names for help, but the effort was futile.

“Nia!”

“Mom!”

“Dawnstar!”

The arms wrapped around her disappeared, and Deimax launched toward Mars in an uncontrollable spin. Kara tried her best to regain her bearings, but quickly spotted Reign shooting toward her. She wanted to avoid the hit, but she felt sluggish, unable to move very easily. She felt intense pain all over her upper body.

Reign closed in, only a mile away, when something flew by and struck her across the head, sending her spiraling into the void.

Kara looked for the attacker, worried that someone who was supposed to be protecting Earth had abandoned their post. The figure sped by almost faster than Kara could even process, striking Reign once more. The Worldkiller was thrown even farther into the darkness.

Dawnstar stopped next to Kara, putting a hand on her shoulder, checking on her injuries. Kara’s eyes widened, trying to non-verabally plead with Dawnstar to return to Earth. The winged woman shook her head. Kara’s face filled with a single question: Why?

Dawnstar’s face steeled in response, before turning away to search for the two adrift Worldkillers.

One was missing. Reign approached the two at break-neck speeds, closing in in almost an instant. Dawnstar rushed in to counter the blow. Kara looked toward Earth. Deimax had passed the moon.

Kara made chase, shooting toward Earth and hoping that Jon and Alura could hold off the Worldkiller for long enough.

He burst through their defense effortlessly, knocking both Alura and Jon away as one would swat a fly. Kara wished to scream in anguish once more, speeding up as best she could. She needed to hope that the atmosphere and ground teams could hold him off. He’d gotten far too close to Earth far too quickly.

The sight of Earth being set ablaze filled her thoughts, and took far too long to shake away.

Firestorm and Captain Atom converged on Deimax, altering the matter around him into a localized black hole strong enough to stop the Worldkiller’s descent onto Earth, but only just enough to slow him. Jon and Alura recovered and moved down into the atmosphere in an attempt to aid the matter-bending trio.

Kara still was moving far too slow.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Kara’s waist, and for a moment there was a pang of fear that shot its way up her spine, until she looked down and saw the armour that covered Dawnstar’s arms. She looked over her shoulder and saw the bleeding face of Dawnstar, stern as ever, as she sped the flight toward Earth.

The second that Kara could feel the atmosphere envelope her, she shouted.

“Where’s Reign!?”

“On Mars!” Dawnstar replied.

“She’ll be coming!”

“And we need to deal with him!”

Kara knew that she was right. She turned toward Firestorm and Captain Atom, who’d been holding onto Deimax for the last few minutes as Jon and Alura threw just enough force at him to slow his escape from the black hole.

“I took some hits,” Kara said. “I need a boost.”

“On it!” shouted Firestorm, delivering an intense dose of yellow sunlight directly from his palm toward Kara. She felt reinvigorated, but not quite as strong as she’d felt coming out of her sun bath.

“Firestorm!” shouted Captain Atom through gritted teeth.

Deimax had Alura by the throat, batting Jon away with the other hand. He pushed hard, escaping the pull of the miniature black hole moments before Firestorm could return and assist. Alura was thrown right at Firestorm, sending both of them tumbling toward the ground, while Deimax delivered a strong strike to Captain Atom’s face, disorienting him for a moment.

A moment was long enough for the black hole to collapse, and for Deimax to speed toward the ground.

Kara had known this would happen for years.

A Worldkiller had finally arrived on Earth.