Disclaimer: This is a cross between JLA (Season 5) and Rorscharch’s Blot’s Make A Wish Story.
Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and various publishers. Henchgirl, The Professor, and other such objects are Rorscharch’s creation. DC Comics own the Justice League and associated characters/plot devices. The lack of plot, however, can be attributed to me.
So, Who Is He, Really?
At the start of their shift, the Dark Knight sought out the
puzzling Mr. Black who – much to Bruce’s private horror –
appeared to have developed a taste for engineering. At least,
that was the only logical explanation for finding the man
energetically pestering the docking bay’s technicians for
details on how the landing area could be pressurized and left open to
space at the same time.
Interrupting the impromptu lecture on electromagnetic fields,
Batman did his accustomed appearing act right behind the other man.
He was just preparing to speak up when – without looking around – he
heard, “Good afternoon, Batman. You don’t happen to
know anything about this electrical field stuff, do you?”
Wondering what genetic trait granted black-clad males with a
penchant for British slang their preternatural ability to know
exactly where he was, Batman instead answered, “You have more
important things to occupy your time. Come with me.”
Shrugging, Harry bid the attendants goodbye and followed the other
man to one of the space station’s workrooms. Upon
entering, Harry noticed that both Superman and Wonder Woman already
occupied the small conference room.
Before he could inquire further, Batman explained with a terse,
“You’ll be working with us today.”
Harry shrugged lightly and greeted the other two heroes.
“Fair enough,” the wizard answered amicably. “What
are we doing?”
“Until a mission becomes available, reviewing reports,”
the cowled man answered as he sat himself in front of a computer
console.
“Any ideas on how long that will take?” Harry asked
politely.
“An hour,” Batman grunted. “Maybe two.”
Harry just nodded, mentally sighing at the lack of things to do in
the dreary space – the room didn’t even have a clock, for
heaven’s sake! Resolving to keep himself occupied in the
interim due to his unfamiliarity with the Watchtower’s computer
systems, Harry fished out one of the more promising books from
Henchgirl’s collection – So You Want To Be An
Animagus? – and settled back in his chair.
The elderly sensei roused himself from his half-trance. A
furtive sweep of his aged eyes confirmed what his other senses had
already reported. None of his brother monks had disturbed his
meditations within the temple’s inner sanctum – at first
glance, the shrine was populated solely by himself and the plethora
of requisite candles. And yet, he definitely detected an
unexpected intrusion.
Bowing his head again, the aged monk calmly stated, “I know
you are here, Boston Brand.”
As if his words were a summoning incantation, a pale specter
appeared from the golden statue in front of him. “What’s
the point of bein’ a flippin’ ghost if you can’t
even sneak up on people?” the now visible spirit demanded.
Not waiting for the living – and still seated – monk to
answer, Boston added, “For that matter, what’s the point
of me bein’ a ghost period? It’s been a year since
I caught the man who murdered me.”
The Master slowly turned his head and looked at the vexed ghost.
“So,” he finally said, “your work here is done.
You are ready to pass on to the next level.”
“I don’t know what ‘ready’ means,”
the ghost confessed, “but I feel like I’ve done my time.”
Dipping his head again, the venerable monk noted, “And yet,
here you are…”
“’Here you are’?” Boston repeated
disbelievingly. “What kind of lousy wisdom is ‘here
you are’?”
“If you seek knowledge, you have but to ask,” the
Master offered sedately.
“I’ve avenged my own death,” the spirit
exclaimed resignedly, “so why am I still here?”
With his eyes still closed, the elderly cleric replied, “Your
destiny is not to avenge your own death. Your destiny is
to avenge mine.”
“What?!” the ghost demanded bewilderedly.
Outside of the monastery’s walls, a sudden flash of intense
light drew the attention of the sentry. Drawing his fur coat
together in a vain attempt to retain a little more body heat, the
freezing monk stepped forward as the light coalesced into a portal of
some kind and began disgorging several strangers.
“This humble one begs your forgiveness,” the monk
addressed the apparent leader of the party, “but to enter this
sacred place, the right must be earned.” Having given the
customary challenge, the rather muscular cleric drew a wicked-looking
broadsword.
Devil Ray, who was the first to appear, raised one forearm and
quickly dispatched the challenger with two swift darts. Walking
past the already cooling corpse, the costumed villain chuckled and
mockingly replied, “Keep the change.”
The group made their way up the wintry path until they came upon a
pair of locked wooden gates, which Rampage quickly removed.
With the obstruction cleared, Lex Luthor took the lead and strode
confidently towards the ornate temple in the center of the compound.
His progress was interrupted, however, as one of the smaller resident
monks deliberately stood in his path.
“This humble one begs your forgiveness,” the slight
figure offered with a bow, “but no outsider is permitted in the
Temple of Nanga Parbat.”
Exchanging glances amongst themselves, Atomic Skull took the
initiative and marched up so that he towered over the adolescent
cleric. “That’s cute, kid,” the villain
growled, “now get out of the way or I’ll spank you.”
The man with the flaming skull launched a haymaker at the much
shorter figure – only to have his fist grabbed easily by one of
the robed child’s hands.
“This would also not be permitted,” the young monk
offered with the slightest of smiles. The villain attempted to
punch the offensive individual again with even worse results –
the cleric twisted into a full back flip and judiciously introduced
one booted foot into Atomic Skull’s jaw. While the man
was still in the air, the boy elbowed the bigger figure in the
midriff and sent the criminal flying across the compound.
Chuckling at the display, Devil Ray observed as the Skull
unsteadily climbed back to his feet, “Looks like little Bruce
Lee’s got your number. Lucky thing you’ve got us
for backup.”
“This humble one would not presume to fight you alone,”
the monk replied, before over two scores of his fellows appeared to
help repel the invaders.
Rampage smiled darkly. “Now things are getting
interesting…,” she noted.
“Take them down!” Lex Luthor ordered his companions.
The other villains were very happy to oblige and, between the efforts
of the various metahumans and the human shock troops, the skilled
martial artists were quickly being overrun.
Taking a moment to revel in the chaos, the bald master criminal
finally resumed his earlier journey, only to be interrupted once
more. This time, however, the interruption came in the form of
the elderly sensei standing in the doorway to the temple.
“Stand aside or you’re dead!” Devil Ray
threatened.
Leaning his weight upon his accompanying staff, the Master
replied, “In the fullness of time, we are all dead.”
Not appreciating the old man’s rebuttal, the masked criminal
proceeded to fire several poison darts at the obstruction.
Miraculously, however, not a single dart connected. Whirling
his staff as if he were much younger, the elderly cleric caught each
projectile in the polished wood of his walking stick. After
several failed attempts, Devil Ray stopped his actions in
bewilderment.
“This is not the way to end my life,” the older man
offered with a smile.
Getting a sudden – and vicious – idea, Devil Ray
shifted both arms to aim at the heavy stone roof above the monk’s
head. Firing swiftly, the criminal succeeded in burying the old
man in an avalanche of rubble.
While the unified criminals renewed their offensive against the
remaining monks, Lex Luthor and Tala proceeded to enter the temple.
Boston Brand, the so called ‘Deadman’, stayed out of
the way as he watched the Master meet the invading force’s
challenge and swiftly counter it. His merriment increased
further when the ancient monk concisely rebuked the costumed man’s
actions.
His joy turned to sorrow only moments later, however, when the
treacherous villain succeeded in burying the monastery’s elder
beneath several tons of broken rock. Shaking his head sharply,
Boston’s awareness returned to the present as the renewed
sounds of combat resounded across the compound.
Glaring sharply at the orange-skinned woman throwing his friends
around as if they weighed only ounces, the ghost screamed, “I’m
gonna make you pay!” As was usually the case when no
‘gifted’ individuals were around, his words went
unnoticed.
His prompt and complete possession of the villainess Rampage did
not.
With his ‘borrowed’ corporeal body, the spirit began
laying waste to the attacking criminals before his attention was
drawn to the two villains who escaped into the temple’s
interior. Redirecting his charge, the possessed Rampage began
marching purposely towards the remaining criminal elements in the
monastery.
Unfortunately, the ghost’s plans hit a snag when the
purple-haired sorceress discovered his unauthorized appropriation of
the metahuman and forcefully exorcized him. Now trapped in an
intangible prison, Boston was powerless to intervene as he witnessed
the sorceress retrieve her objective – the Heart of Nanga Parbat.
Once the artifact was freed from its resting place, the glowing
golden sphere began absorbing the souls of the monks sworn to protect
it.
“We have what we came for,” Tala supplied once the
item’s dark task was complete. “It’s time to
leave.” With that said, she opened another portal, this
one fanning out to collect her teammates. Once the other
villains were transported, Tala gave once last glance towards the
still restrained ghost before stepping through the vortex. An
instant later, the purple field of energy disappeared, taking
Boston’s restraints with it and allowing the ghost to
pointlessly search for survivors.
Exiting the portal last, Tala allowed the spell to collapse in
upon itself. Striding past her sometimes teammates, the
sorceress kneeled before a patiently waiting primate.
“I have done as you asked, Lord Grodd,” the woman
announced as she held the glowing orb aloft.
Rolling his eyes, Luthor muttered, “Get off your knees,
woman.”
Not even sparing the bald criminal a glance, Tala replied, “Not
until my master says so.”
“Excellent work, my dear,” Gorilla Grodd praised as he
inspected the spoils of the evening’s attack. “You
may rise.”
As the female mage did so, Lex grimaced as he noted, “You’re
pathetic! Debasing yourself like that…”
“I owe Grodd everything,” Tala insisted in a breathy
voice as she leaned against the furry mastermind. “I’d
still be trapped in that mirror if he hadn’t freed me.”
“When Giganta gets out of prison, she ain’t gonna
appreciate you hanging onto her boyfriend like that,” Devil Ray
observed idly.
“That’s her problem!” the magician fired back.
“Giganta’s not nearly enough woman for Grodd.”
“True,” said primate replied smugly.
Lex heaved a sigh before exclaiming, “If you’re quite
finished demonstrating what an alpha male you are, maybe you’d
care to explain just what you intend to do with that thing.”
“I already told you,” Grodd replied tiredly, “but
you won’t accept it. You don’t believe in magic.”
“It’s not a matter of belief,” Luthor
clarified. “I’m just unaccustomed to working with
something I don’t fully understand.”
“As long as the amplifier you built for me works-” the
gorilla started, only to be interrupted.
“It does!” Luthor inputted sharply.
Grodd smiled at the interruption. “Then consider this
an exotic power source,” he explained. “You don’t
need to understand anything more.”
“You can’t produce a carrier wave of the amplitude
you’re talking about with this building’s cloaking
field generator!” Luthor protested.
“So you’ve convinced me,” Grodd admitted as he
continued studying his ‘prize’. “I don’t
intend to use our field generator.”
Raising a questioning eyebrow, Lex proposed, “You’re
planning to build one?”
“Luthor, Luthor, Luthor!” Grodd patronizingly chided.
“Why build when we can take what we want?”
Turning to address the other gathered villains, the gorilla prompted,
“Gentlemen, shall we go?”
Having spent several agonizing minutes sifting through the
scattered debris, Boston came to a tragic realization: every one of
the monks – his friends – had perished. Forcing
himself to return to the ruined edifice of the temple, the ghost
collapsed in a heap at the base of the granite steps. His
grieving was interrupted, however, by a vortex-inducing phenomenon.
An extremely familiar vortex-inducing phenomena.
“Rama Kushna,” Boston greeted duly, “just like
you to show up too late to help.”
“Your impertinence is as refreshing as always,” the
Hindu goddess noted calmly, “but have a care – the gods
are capricious.”
“What do you want from me?” Boston demanded.
“The Master is dead! They’re all dead!”
“Do not presume to lecture me on the nature of reality,”
the goddess rebuked. “The monks have not yet passed from
this plane.”
“They’re in some kind of coma?” the undead
spirit half-stated, half-questioned.
“That is as close to the truth as you are capable of
comprehending,” Rama Kushna agreed. “You must
retrieve the Heart of Nanga Parbat,” the goddess suddenly
ordered, “or they will remain in their current state for all
time. I have spoken!”
An instant later, Boston found himself floating in the empty
temple with no trace of the deity in sight. “How the heck
am I supposed to do that?” he asked himself aloud.
“Is that really everything?” Superman asked tiredly
nearly an hour later.
“We’re done,” Batman confirmed. “All
reports filed.”
Hearing the affirmative reply, Harry marked his page before
stowing the book in his coat once more. As he expected, the
volume held several helpful hints on the Animagus transformation and
Harry could hardly wait until he had some time alone to discover
whether he had a form. Standing up, a yawn escaped as the
wizard stretched, creating a series of popping noises.
“Good book?” Diana asked.
“It seems promising,” Harry confirmed. “The
author’s theory on magical creatures having multiple forms is
very interesting.” Glancing down at his watch, the mage
discovered that lunchtime had come and gone. “So…
who’s hungry?”
“I know that I am!” Diana exclaimed. “What
do you guys say we get something to eat?” she asked the other
two males present. “We hardly ever spend time together
when we’re not working, and since the scopes are clear this
evening…”
“Sounds good to me,” Clark seconded, “but I’m
tired of commissary food.”
“I’d like to, Diana,” Bruce declined, “but
I’ve been away from Gotham for too long.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “Come on, Bruce,” Clark
pleaded. “I know a burger joint in Metropolis that has
the best fries on the East coast! And the milkshakes are so
thick-”
A slight flicker of movement from behind Superman alerted Harry to
a potential hazard. Drawing his wand, Harry calmly pushed the
Man of Steel out of the way and pointed the short rod at an – to all
but Harry – unseen threat. Noticed only by the mage, a spirit
had entered the room and was creeping up behind the Man of Steel for
unknown reasons. Harry quickly cast a binding charm for such
intangible entities to ensure that the ghost did not escape before
letting his voice cool a few degrees.
“What is your business here, Spirit?” the wizard
demanded.
Diana looked around rapidly but failed to perceive any changes in
the area. “Who are you talking to?” the Amazon
asked.
Still looking at what appeared to the other three to be thin air,
Harry replied grimly, “An excellent question. Well?”
he prompted when the strange looking ghost remained silent.
“My name’s Boston Brand… but when I’m
working, people call me Deadman,” the specter finally admitted,
all the while squirming in the intangible bonds Harry conjured.
“Bats knows me!”
“He says his name is Boston Brand, and that Batman knows
him,” Harry relayed.
The room’s occupants turned to the Caped Crusader as one,
awaiting either confirmation or denial.
“You… know this ghost?” Diana asked her
teammate.
Batman gave a barely perceptible nod. “Yes. I
helped him solve his own murder a few years ago.”
Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement and released the binding
spell. “All right, that answers who you are,”
he conceded. “Now, how about explaining why you’re
here?”
“I need your help on a mission of vengeance!” the
ghost informed. Harry then relayed this information to the
others present.
“Why are you still around?” Batman asked, looking in
the same direction as Harry. “I thought that, after your
murder was solved, your exile was ended.”
“Yeah, you and me both,” Boston said resignedly.
“You know how they say ‘no good deed goes unpunished’?
I guess I shot my mouth off to the wrong deity.”
“What is this about?” Diana demanded after Harry had
distributed this latest information.
“A bunch of super villains busted into Nanga Parbat and
stole a mystic totem filled with the souls of hundreds of monks,”
the ghost explained heavily, “and they killed the Master.”
“Oh, really…?” Harry asked grimly while visions
of the helpful monks at Shangri La meeting a similar fate plagued his
mind.
The other Leaguers were unable to hear the ghost’s comment,
but they certainly felt the chilly reaction of their companion.
“Is something wrong?” Superman offered.
“It would appear that a group of misfits broke into Nanga
Parbat, murdered the sensei, and used an artifact to steal the other
monks’ souls,” Harry said levelly. Summoning his
most commonly used weapons from within his coat, the wizard began
fastening them to his person for quicker retrieval. “I
find this act… offensive,” Harry explained as he
prepared to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe
that I shall go rectify the situation.”
“I will be joining you,” Batman said gruffly,
countering his earlier comment of returning to Gotham. At the
curious looks from his teammates, the detective supplied, “The
Master was one of my Martial Arts teachers.”
Diana laid a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder before
changing the subject. “Let’s get up to Ops and see
if you can’t pick the bad guys out of a photo array,” she
offered the ghost.
“Hmm… the first sign of Luthor since he escaped from
the Black Hawk Island imprisonment,” Superman mused after the
culprits had been identified.
“I believe this is bigger than just Luthor,” Batman
contradicted as he looked over the roster of suspects. Chief
among them were Luthor, Devil Ray, Rampage, Bizarro, and Atomic
Skull.
“I think he’s right,” Diana agreed. “Agent
Faraday told me Devil Ray escaped from prison. And Bizarro
showing up again? And all the odd teams of assorted villains…”
she trailed off suggestively.
“Whose brains keep conveniently shorting out when we
question them,” Superman remarked.
“Remember the one piece of information that J’onn was
able to retrieve from Giganta’s mind before it shut down?”
Batman mused.
“Grodd!” Diana muttered. “Do you think
he’s put together a new secret society?”
“Except this time he’s doing a better job of keeping
the secret,” the World’s Greatest Detective replied
dryly.
“So how do we find them?” the Amazonian Princess
demanded while crossing her arms and huffing irritably.
“I wish I could help,” Boston said desperately, “but
all I can pick up from the psychic vibrations are the monks’
screaming souls and pictures of Africa.”
“Africa?” Harry questioned.
“Yeah, I know, that doesn’t narrow things down all
that much…” the specter replied, depressed.
“Gorilla city!” Diana exclaimed suddenly. “He’s
going home!”
Batman quickly strode to the communications array and contacted
General Solovar in Gorilla City. “Solovar, this is
Batman!”
“What a coincidence,” a strained voice replied through
the overhead speakers. “I was just about to call you!”
“We wanted to give you a heads up,” the Caped Crusader
responded. “We have reason to believe that Grodd is
headed your way.”
“You don’t say!” the gorilla replied drolly.
“That might explain the armies of super villains attacking the
city!”
“How bad?” Batman questioned.
“They’ve taken over,” the ape admitted.
“They already hold the central control building! We could
use some help if you have any to spare.” An explosion
echoed over the connection. “Can’t chat; signing
off!”
“Well, that covers where the punks are hiding,” Harry
said in a satisfied manner. “So, if you’ll be so
kind as to point me in the direction of this ‘Gorilla City’,
I can get on with smiting the wicked and retrieving lost souls.”
“The location is pre-programmed into the teleporter,”
Diana supplied, “and we are coming as well.”
Harry shrugged resignedly. “As you wish.”
The four League members teleported down to Earth and arrived in an
arid region surrounded by mountains. Deadman made his
appearance known a few moments later as he glided down to hover near
the group and made a wise crack.
“Ya know, when those guys on the TV beam down, they never
miss!”
Wondering much the same thing, Harry engaged his Mage Sight and
immediately craned his neck upwards. Directly in front of the
group was a glowing dome, hidden from the naked eye but seemingly
guarding something within its boundary.
Whistling softly, Harry noted, “Nice wards.”
Walking forward a few steps, Diana began patting her hands against
the invisible perimeter. “It’s a force field,”
she answered unnecessarily, “but it also hides the city from
prying eyes.”
Batman cocked his head to the side and ordered, “Deadman, go
inside and find the central control building. Shut down the
field generator.”
Thinking of a similar ward he had read about and how it could be
siphoned off to create temporary passages, Harry drew his sword.
As it twisted back into its intimidating scythe form, Harry
interrupted. “Don’t trouble yourself; I’ve
got it.”
Extending the scythe forward, the wizard began using the medium to
absorb the concentrated energy from the immediate area of the force
field. The weapon glowed a vivid emerald color for a few
moments before the image in front of the group wavered and dissolved,
revealing a sophisticated metropolitan area.
“Impressive,” Diana praised as they made their way
inside.
Harry smiled as he laid the weapon over one shoulder. “Never
leave home without it.”
The noise of gunfire and explosive charges broke up the moment of
levity.
“That’s our cue!” Superman noted as the group
rushed towards the downtown area where the fight was still going
strong.
“The most logical place for Grodd to be is the control
tower,” Batman advised as the Leaguers battled yet another pack
of the various criminals running amok.
“That’s as good a place to start as any,” Harry
agreed before banishing a pile of rubble into the forces that
Superman and Wonder Woman were subduing. When the two
meta-humans looked in his direction, the wizard asked,” Shall
we be going then?”
The group approached what Batman identified as the city’s
control facility just in time to witness an odd energy discharge
emanate from the structure and head directly for them. The
fast-paced wave quickly overtook the group of Leaguers, but it seemed
to simply slide off Harry’s coat, leaving him to ponder the
purpose of such an impotent weapon. Scratching his head in
puzzlement, Harry looked over his shoulder to question his teammates
about its purpose only to draw up short.
On the positive side, the wizard no longer wondered as to the odd
energy weapon’s intended function. Unfortunately, this
knowledge brought a new challenge – namely, how to transfigure
three costumed gorillas back into their original humanoid forms.
“Oh, come on!” Diana complained as she studied one of
her new furry appendages. While neither of her male companions
spoke, Harry could tell that neither of them were particularly amused
by this latest turn of events. Seeing the aqua-colored energy
wall continue on its course away from them, Harry took in the
unguarded state of the control building before returning his
attention to his teammates. As it stood, the wizard was faced
with two entirely separate but equally important problems. On
the one hand, the soul thieves were likely in the citadel ahead of
him; on the other, his three teammates had just devolved into an
entirely separate species. The two conundrums warred against
each other in Harry’s mind for a mere instant before he reached
a resolution regarding the tasks’ priorities.
The Wizarding instant camera announced its presence with a series
of audible clicks as the mage sufficiently photographed the entire
incident. Once he finished recording the Marauder-level
transfiguration, Harry returned his camera to its proper place within
his coat and fired a Reductor curse at the building’s
entrance. “Well,” the wizard replied sedately as he
strolled into the facility, “let’s get this over with.”
His entreaty broke up the other leaguers’ impromptu revenge
plotting and the three costumed heroes hurried along behind him.
Inside, they found three peo… apes surrounding a suspicious
piece of machinery. If their clothing was anything to go by,
two of the three primates were recently Homo sapiens. Harry
immediately launched several curses at the group, all of which were
deflected by a projected shield.
“Get us out of here, Tala!” the likely Grodd ordered
the purple-haired ape. An instant later, the three mammals
disappeared, leaving a very angry wizard in their wake.
“Why do they always run?” Harry grumbled to himself.
Meanwhile, Supermonkey – who had noticed the increasingly
unstable behavior of the machine – charged over and began
punching the device or forcibly tearing off components.
Unfortunately for the transformed Kryptonian, he also succeeded in
initiating a massive explosion as the device went critical.
As Diana ran over to the dazed – and newly restored – Man
of Steel, Harry fished the glowing orb out of the machine.
Holding it under one arm, he made his way to the unsteady
Kryptonian. “You know,” Harry said idly, “you
really should look before you leap; you’ll live longer.
Trust me on that.”
“Okay…” Clark said uneasily, still not
completely comfortable with their new team member’s…
occupation. “Is everyone okay?”
“Well…” Diana led off with a sigh, “I’m
sort of missing Flash’s obligatory joke about how Grodd made a
monkey out of us.”
Superman smiled slightly. “Just couldn’t let it
go unsaid,” he noted wryly.
“Obligatory,” Diana agreed mischievously as she helped
the Man of Steel to his feet.
“It appears that we are in your debt yet again, Justice
League,” a voice called out from the building’s
entrance.” Harry looked over and spotted a white ape
making its way towards them.
“If only Luthor and Grodd hadn’t gotten away,”
Superman said in a disappointed tone.
“If it’s any consolation,” Solovar offered, “we
captured nearly a dozen of his super powered cronies – with
more to come, I’m sure.”
A flicker of motion over the snowy primate’s shoulder roused
Harry’s attention. He immediately recognized that Devil
Ray had snuck in behind the ape and had just fired one of his poison
darts at Diana’s unprotected flank. Harry instinctively
cast a reflective shield around the Amazon, which made a slight
pinging noise an instant later as the projectile struck it and
rebounded. The wizard watched its new trajectory morbidly as it
sailed back across the room and tore into the antagonist’s
helmet. The masked figure lurched backwards, impacting against
a bared electrical panel and effectively electrocuting his self.
Batman strode over to the downed figure and removed the helmet.
A quick check confirmed the fatality, which he reported to the
others.
Supremely unconcerned, Harry shrugged. At seeing the others’
apprehensiveness at the sudden death, he added, “If it was his
time to die, then it was his time to die. Besides, he was a
murderer and a thief and – in the last twenty-four hours – he has
attempted to kill Diana no less than three times. He is hardly
worth your sympathy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Boston interrupted, “it’s a
real shame that the chump has bitten the big one and all, but can we
get those souls back to Nanga Parbat now?”
“Yes, I would imagine that there are several monks waiting
on us,” Harry agreed.
“Well, where is this… Nanga Parbat?” Diana
asked.
“Western end of the Himalayas,” Batman informed her,
“just south of the Indus River, in the Diamir District of the
Northern Areas of Pakistan.”
“Okay…” she said hesitantly, “so how are
we going to find this place?”
Harry concentrated on his burden and felt a slight pull to the
northeast. Realizing what the sensation truly was, he
mentioned, “I can take us directly there. Grab on.”
The others bid Solovar farewell and grabbed onto Harry’s
coat, some more reluctant than others. The wizard then
Apparated the group to the destination he sensed from the Heart of
Nanga Parbat.
“I don’t think that I’ll ever get used to that
feeling,” Diana muttered as the group suddenly appeared in the
middle of a rustic monastery. “It’s like someone is
bulldozing me over with a mattress!”
Catching her comment, Harry smirked and replied, “I always
thought of it as being stuffed through a straw.” The
wizard shrugged and continued, “In any case, our target is in
that direction,” while gesturing towards the damaged temple.
Absentmindedly repairing the collapsed foyer as he went, Harry left
the elderly monk in Batman’s custody and strode inside the
shrine.
The orb gradually grew warmer until it peaked just as he reached a
giant Buddha statue. Seeing its outstretched and empty hands,
the mage mentally flipped a coin before placing the orb between the
statue’s palms. As soon as he did so, the totem erupted
in great flashes of light. Hundreds of balls of concentrated
energy came barreling out of the sphere as they headed towards their
rightful place. Within a matter of seconds, the device seemed
to be empty and the monks were slowly stirring. Seeing no
reason to tarry further, Harry exited the shrine just in time to
observe Batman and Diana helping the elderly cleric to his feet.
“Well, that’s that!” Harry exclaimed as he
sensed Deadman approaching their location.
“T-the Master’s… okay, right?” Boston
asked anxiously as he swirled around the smaller man.
“I am well, Boston Brand,” the slight monk offered
before looking closer at his rescuers. Squinting at the cowled
visage of the Bat, the older man suddenly smiled. “It
would appear that you have found your purpose, Lost One,” the
old man pronounced in a satisfied tone.
The Caped Crusader dipped his head slightly before adding –
reluctantly, it seemed – “I have, Sensei.”
The robed figure’s smile drew even wider. “It
would also appear that you have found kindred spirits along your
journey.”
This time, Harry was certain that the infamous Batman
paused before something forced him to answer. “As you
have foretold – repeatedly -, Sensei,” he grudgingly
announced.
At the monk’s behest, both Clark and Diana introduced
themselves. “Well met,” he greeted the two
superheroes before catching sight of Harry patiently studying the
various carvings around the temple’s entrance. “And
who is your other companion, my student?” the old man prompted,
a suspicious gleam in his eyes.
Hearing himself addressed, Harry took it upon himself to handle
the introduction. Patterning his overture after the formal
statements of the Shanghai monks, Harry said, “I am known as
Black, Old One.”
The wizard quickly discarded any hopes that he harbored for an
uneventful trip when his greeting translated into the monks’
native tongue. While Harry was certain that his attire would
draw some attention from the robed figures, he certainly did not
expect every one of them to fall on their knees while crying
‘Krishna’ and ‘Vishnu’. The fact that
some were quietly inquiring of their fellows the reasoning for his
pale skin was also a source of confusion for the dimension-hopping
mage.
“Not again,” Harry groaned despairingly under his
breath. His volume was apparently still too high,
however, as he heard a snort from Superman’s direction.
Wonder Woman’s shoulders seemed unnaturally tense as well, he
later decided.
Placing his hands under the elderly man’s arms, the wizard
hauled the monk back to his feet. “Rise,” Harry
entreated the other monks. “Please,” he added in a
low key, sparking another reaction from the two metahumans.
“How may we serve, Great One?” the head monk inquired
respectfully.
“By continuing your good work,” Harry answered.
“News of your condition reached me and I wished to aid you.”
“Your timely assistance is much appreciated, Divine One,”
the old man praised, nearly causing Harry to wince.
“I don’t suppose that you’d consider just
calling me ‘Mr. Black’, would you?” Harry asked
hopefully. “I’m sort of trying to stay under the
radar this time around, if you catch my meaning.”
“As you wish, Sri Krishna,” the monk acknowledged with
a bow.
Shaking his head in dismay, Harry noticed that Boston was still
floating around and chose to change the subject. “I was
under the impression that your business was complete, Boston.
Why are you still here?”
“You got me, man!” the ghost replied with a shrug.
“I guess Rama Kushna’s just like every other woman –
always making the guy wait!”
Harry snorted at the ghost’s response and was rather
grateful that the pro-feminist Diana was unable to hear the spirit.
Before he could ask any other questions, however, the group was
interrupted as a purple vortex quickly spun into being.
“Boston Brand,” an ethereal voice pronounced, “your
actions have led to the death of another.”
“Hey, it wasn’t my fault!” Boston pleaded, and
Harry felt his sometimes annoying saving-people-thing activate.
“He speaks the truth, Rama Kushna,” Harry blurted
before he could stop himself. Feeling the intangible female’s
attention on him, the wizard continued. “The individual
in question had thrice attempted to harm the wellbeing of my friend.
It was his own actions that ultimately destroyed him, not any force
under Boston’s control. Should you choose to look more
closely at the matter, I believe that you will find that the man had
sufficient opportunities to repent and he spurned them all.”
The goddess was silent for a few moments. “It is as
you say, Dark One,” the goddess finally replied. “Yet,
the scales of Karma are still unbalanced; the person who began this
chain of events remains unpunished.”
“Allow Boston to continue on to his next destination,”
Harry entreated. “I accept the task of bringing this dark
witch to justice.”
“Such a chore is Boston’s duty, not yours,” Rama
Kushna replied, “yet you would assume the burden anyway.
Why?”
“Boston’s powers have proven… insufficient to
the task of capturing this woman,” Harry explained shortly,
“and her crime offends me.”
Another moment of silence fell as the other immortal considered
his proposal. “So be it.”
“Yeah! Woohoo!” Deadman cheered. “Thanks,
man, you’re the best!”
Harry smiled slightly at the ghost’s exuberance.
“Goodbye, Boston,” Harry bid. “Tell everyone
‘hi’ for me.”
“You got it, Mr. Black!” the spirit’s voice
called out as he entered the swirling portal. The purple vortex
rapidly shrunk in size and, a moment later, it was gone.
Attempting to avoid the awestruck gazes, Harry glanced at his
watch and noticed that it was definitely past lunchtime. “Well,
I am glad that you are all feeling better,” Harry told the
attending monks, “but I must be going. Duty calls, and
all that. You take care of yourselves.”
The others made their own farewells before the group withdrew
outside of the monastery’s boundaries. Before Harry could
offer a return trip, however, Diana quickly suggested, “How
about we just fly to that restaurant?”
Harry rather poorly hid a grin. For some reason, he found
the notion that the Amazon warrior – who frequently shrugged
off heavy artillery fire with ease – shied away from Apparating
to be exceptionally amusing.
“As you wish,” the wizard replied before concentrating
on Henchgirl’s flight charm. He had practiced extensively
the night before and could now fly in the direction he was facing.
With a greater effort, he could even maintain a flight path in a
straight line. Silently casting the charm, Harry encircled the
three other League members in a transparent shield and took to the
air.
After the three Leaguers recovered from the sudden relocation, the
Kryptonian reporter could not help but ask, “So… I take
it that that sort of fanfare happens a lot?”
Harry looked at the metahuman out of the corner of one eye.
“More so than I would like,” the wizard admitted after a
few moments. “Now… where is this burger shack
again?”
“Is all this for real?” Gallatea demanded as she
tossed the classified dossier down on the polished desk.
“As far as we are aware… yes,” Amanda Waller
reluctantly admitted. ‘The plan had started so
promisingly,’ the Director of Metahuman Affairs
reminisced. Just as she had planned, the Cadmus-created clone
literally jumped at the opportunity to free herself from the dingy
confines of Belle Reeve. In exchange, all she had to do was to
infiltrate the Justice League and ferret out the truth regarding one
of their new recruits. ‘Perfectly acceptable, no
questions asked’ was the blonde woman’s response.
All was right with the world.
That was, until she began reading up on the target in question.
“So, let me get this straight,” the shapely powerhouse
grumbled. “The guy’s name is Mr. Black, he’s
reported to be immortal – if not invulnerable -, and so far has
demonstrated virtually every superpower that any metahuman has ever
possessed. In addition, the League suspects him as being either
the personification of Death or some as-yet unidentified god.
Did I pretty much cover everything?”
“More or less,” Waller agreed calmly. “Besides
the various reports from the League and Agent Faraday’s own
observations, we also have unconfirmed reports of Black’s
involvement in a few… unsavory matters.”
“Oh?” Gallatea asked impatiently. “How
so?”
“I’m sure that you’re not aware of the fact,”
Amanda expounded, “but the Pacific Tsunami Warning system
started picking up reports of large-scale storm activity in the
Pacific late last night.”
“Yeah, so,” the taller woman impudently replied, “that
sort of thing happens all the time.”
“Not without them having some advanced notice, it doesn’t,”
the Director noted. “And if they had somehow missed a
storm building, the National Weather Service or any of our other
organizations should have caught sight of it – except that they
didn’t.”
Gallatea looked mildly confused. “Don’t you
people have satellites watching for stuff like that?”
“Of course we do,” Waller agreed. “According
to our experts, however, the findings are… inconclusive,”
she finished humorously.
“Okay… so what?” she demanded.
Waller took a deep breath before replying, “According to a
NSA report filed this morning, the tracking beacon we installed in
Black’s submarine was determined as being in the area at the
time in question.”
The blonde clone looked lost. “And your point is…?”
she asked.
“My point,” Amanda stressed, “is that at
0108 hours the ‘Lucky Duck’, a container ship –
which was apparently smuggling military-grade arms into the country –
was capsized just inside international waters. There were no
survivors; in fact, we wouldn’t have even known of their true
cargo had a secret manifest not been recovered by Coast Guard divers
as they searched for survivors.”
At the shorter woman’s pointed look, Gallatea snorted.
“Coincidence,” she protested.
Waller smiled smugly. “At 0127 hours, a separate
disturbance was reported over a hundred miles away from the original
site. Another ship, the ‘Pride of Neptune’, was
also capsized. Unlike the ‘Duck’, however, the
‘Pride’ was transporting a boatload of young American
children, not weapons.”
“I don’t get it,” the blonde admitted.
“They were kidnap victims, Gallatea, and were intended to be
sold as slaves on the Black market,” Amanda explained slowly.
“The ‘Pride’ was part of the slave trade and was
transporting the kidnapped children to a distribution center
overseas. The strange part is that while the ship itself was a
total loss and the crew drowned to the last man, every single young
man and woman aboard were found completely unharmed – there was
not even a case of mild hypothermia reported from the chilled water
temperature. None of the children witnessed anything, and no
evidence has been found of foul play as of yet.”
Galatea shook her head. “Are you telling me that you
believe that this guy somehow tracked down this pack of cretins,
conjured a storm strong enough to tip two freighters, and was
able to pick off an entire crew of slavers – all without
harming a single hostage or being seen – inside of a half-hour?”
The shorter woman leaned back in her chair and placed her hands in
her lap. “It’s certainly one explanation, and the
one that the White House wishes investigated immediately.”
“Impossible!” Gallatea blurted. “No one is
that powerful – they just can’t be!”
Her hostess chuckled wryly. “You know, ten years ago I
would have said the same thing about cloning an extraterrestrial.
I’ve learned to not dismiss ideas right off the bat just
because they don’t seem feasible at the time. But, ”
she offered, “if you need further proof, I have a simulation
showing the storm’s activity along with our best guess of
Black’s trajectory during the same timeframe.”
The short woman entered a few commands into her attending
computer, causing a wall-mounted display to come to life.
“Watch carefully,” she cautioned.
An overhead view of the Pacific Coast was present, along with
three computer-generated markers. A second later, the
presentation began running and the ‘Mr. Black’ icon began
moving along a westbound arc. Just as it caught up with the
‘Lucky Duck’ symbol, however, the map darkened as the
computer began rendered increasingly turbulent conditions. The
ship’s marker suddenly disappeared as the ‘Mr. Black’
image showed a marked increase in velocity. Waller then
advanced the time until ‘Black’ had nearly overtaken
‘Pride’ on the map before events slowed to a crawl once
more.
Gallatea watched disbelievingly as the turbulent surface
conditions rammed into the second ship, causing it to wink out of
existence as well. An instant later showed the map completely
clear of adverse conditions and a slower moving submarine casually
making its way further out to sea.
“How accurate is this?” the blonde clone demanded
quietly.
“Our computers regard this scenario as being 98.7%
accurate,” the Director supplied seriously. “Your
mission,” she continued, “is to discover all available
information on Black. We must know what else he is capable of,
as well as his intentions regarding the United States. Needless
to say, the President is more than a little concerned at the portents
this situation holds for National Security. The possibility of
a Justice Lords’ scenario was terrible enough but this –
this man could potentially unleash Armageddon.”
“You have a point,” Gallatea admitted resignedly.
“So, how do we play this charade?”
“Just leave everything to me,” was the distinctly
un-reassuring reply.
After the group had dined, Harry had departed for parts unknown,
leaving the other three Leaguers to return to the Watchtower via the
teleporter. Once the trio had sequestered themselves in a
vacant conference room, the Man of Steel started the post-mission
debriefing. “Alright, what exactly happened at the end
there?” the Kryptonian asked. “I know that I’ve
heard something about a ‘Krishna’ before.”
“The term Krishna in Sanskrit has the literal meaning of
‘black’ or ‘dark one’,” Batman
explained. “Krishna, or Sri Krishna, is also reported to
be the 57th name of Vishnu.”
“My ancient folklore is a little rusty,” Clark
responded sarcastically. “Help me out here.”
“Krishna is one of the Hindu gods,” Diana supplied.
“They believe that the Earth was originally overrun by demons
called Asuras. According to legend, the Earth called for help
from Brahma, who sent all the gods to battle the Asuras and restore
truth and virtue.”
“Correct,” Batman agreed and added, “Krishna is
allegedly credited with killing hundreds of armies led by the
extensions of the demigods’ enemies. Supposedly, he
descends into this world whenever it becomes obstructed by the
demoniac to deliver the righteous and annihilate the miscreants.”
The Man of Steel collapsed heavily into his seat. “So…,”
he began tiredly, “not only is Mr. Black the Grim Reaper –
who’s taken out entire armies for the Israelites -, but now we
find that he’s an ancient Hindu god who repeatedly reincarnates
on Earth whenever it is endangered by ultimate evil and wipes out
armies for another populace?”
“Apparently so,” Diana agreed.
“So… who is he, really?” the Kryptonian finally
demanded. “I mean, he can’t be both of them…
can he?”
“You’re asking the wrong question,” Batman
countered levelly as he began to exit the room.
“Oh? How’s that?” Clark asked.
The Dark Knight paused at the threshold. “The issue
that should be concerning you is – if the Master is correct
about Black’s identity and this Krishna only shows himself when
the Earth is imperiled by demons – why is he here now?”
With that cryptic comment to mark his retreat, Batman headed back
towards his own city, leaving behind two suddenly worried metahumans.
In the Secret Society’s headquarters, the mood was grim.
Every member attended the emergency meeting and the gathered super
villains anxiously awaited the arrival of their de facto leader,
Gorilla Grodd, and the explanation for their earlier transformations.
“Well,” Lex Luthor began as soon as Grodd made his
appearance, “since there’s only one monkey left around
here, I’m assuming that the Justice League found a way to stop
the carrier wave.”
“There’s more than one way to peel a banana,”
Grodd responded sharply. “Next time…”
Luthor suddenly grinned as he rose to his feet. “I
wasn’t going to do this for another few weeks, but seriously…
turning all of humanity into apes?” he demanded mockingly.
“That was your master plan?” Without waiting
for a reply, Luthor drew on of his pistols and fired, smoothly
catching Grodd in the sternum.
The thud that the furry body made as it impacted against the floor
brought many of the gathered criminals to their feet. Ignoring
their distraction, Luthor holstered his weapon and strode to Grodd’s
former position at the head of the table. “Listen up,”
he demanded, “from now on I’m in charge of this
operation. Anybody got a problem with that?” he asked
insultingly.
The vast majority of the villains offered no response whatsoever,
but a few offered Luthor a slight smile.
“No problem at all… baby,” Tala confirmed as
she began rubbing against Luthor’s side, much like she had
formerly done with Grodd.
Luthor smiled in a satisfied manner, both at the woman’s
fickle nature and the situation in general.
The Question stared at his bulletin board cluttered with
interconnected scraps of paper in growing confusion as he attempted
to massage away the beginnings of another headache.
It was all Batman’s fault.
Only days ago, the supposed ‘World’s Greatest
Detective’ had come to him with a seemingly straightforward
objective. The assignment was to simply shadow a character
named Mr. Black and find out more about him.
That was where everything began going wrong.
Given that the suspect could teleport anywhere he desired – and,
for some unfathomable reason had never been issued a communicator -,
tracking the dark clad individual’s whereabouts was
challenging. Fortunately, the Question’s sleuthing skills
were up to the task and he managed to follow the elusive Mr. Black –
along with a quartet of League women – to Las Vegas, where he had
apparently accomplished two objectives: collected a verifiable
fortune from one of Vegas’ premiere casinos, and neutralized an
elusive serial killer.
Unfortunately, the Question’s good luck ended there.
The lack of success was, in fact, maddening. The few meager
clues that he had managed to retrieve were both confusing and
contradictory. The results of the League-administered blood
test were even worse, spawning a multitude of arguments and
counter-arguments.
The first issue, as the Question saw it, was the toxicity of the
blood sample. All of his tests concluded that Black’s
blood was exceptionally volatile, and was continually becoming even
more toxic with every new compound that it encountered.
However, the current sample’s toxicity index would seem to
disprove the theory that Black was a spy for the British. Had
the mysterious man been a secret agent, it should have contained a
much wider array of both toxins and neurotoxins. As it was, the
latter was completely nonexistent and the former did not even come
close to reflecting the number of toxic substances that such an
individual would have encountered over the past few decades.
The next complication involved the supposition that the subject
was immortal. Basic genetic theory stated that a human being
continually replaced dead cells with new ones spawned via mitosis
throughout the course of their lives. As a person aged, this
process became less and less efficient, resulting in both
insufficient copies and quantities of cells. His preliminary
analysis – which substantiated the League physicians’ claims –
indicated that Black’s system was turning out perfect cellular
duplicates in excessive quantities. Such a result seemed to
confirm the hypothesis of immortality and hinted at the presence of
an advanced regenerative ability.
However, further evidence would suggest that, while Black might be
immortal, he certainly was not invulnerable.
Devil Ray’s success with the poisoned dart attack proved that
the man’s skin was at least partially vulnerable to
penetration, signifying that perhaps Black was not immortal –
per se – but merely healed at such a rate as to reverse the
passage of time. The most conclusive test that the Question
derived was to stop Black’s heart entirely and observe whether
his other life processes continued.
Needless to say, the chances of this plan ever being enacted were
approximately equal to that of porcine pilots obtaining their FAA
certification.
Despite the exact methodology of Black’s longevity, there
was overwhelming evidence to suggest a lifetime not less than two
thousand years. Unfortunately, there was no mechanism in place
to verify this claim as any scars Black might have accrued could have
been repaired by his theorized regenerative powers.
Additionally, any telltale battle scars that might have remained
would most likely be concentrated on the torso and arms – areas
that Black seemed to cover with either his omnipresent coat or via
various mystical means.
Each of these contradictions and counter-arguments continued to
muddy the quest to unearth Mr. Black’s secrets, especially
since every single piece of information provided by his teammates’
recollections failed to match up to the rest of the available data.
After staring at the jumble overtaking his workspace, the Question
finally reached a single bedrock conclusion: Mr. Black had not one
single verifiable connection outside of the League itself. It
was as though he was created the very day they met him.
Yet another of Mr. Black’s many anomalies seemed to jump out
at the seasoned investigator as he lounged in his worn desk chair.
The article in question was a newspaper clipping from one of the Las
Vegas’ rags announcing that ‘The Black Cat’ was
closing its doors. The publication went further to explain that
the premiere night spot – which just so happened to be visited
by Mr. Black – had been raided and condemned due to the presence of
illegal equipment tampering. The police’s investigative
team discovered various mechanisms designed to cheat the former
casino’s customers, such as rigged slot machines and roulette
tables. The corruption was so complete that even the playing
cards were sabotaged, having been marked with an infrared ink to
allow the establishment’s employees to track individual cards
via special contact lenses.
And yet, Black had walked away from that casino with a large
amount of cash.
Rubbing his face again, the Question put the finishing touches on
his report and sealed the file before sending it to Batman’s
secured terminal.
‘Let the Dark Knight solve his own problem,’
the tired detective spitefully decided.
Batman finished reading Question’s report before carefully
ensuring that the document was saved on his system in the Cave.
Once he was positive that the Batcomputer had the data archived, the
World’s Greatest Detective leaned back in his giant chair and
started to smirk. The smirk grew progressively larger and he
began to laugh, increasing in volume until Nightwing, who was
maintaining some of his equipment in another portion of the Batcave,
came to investigate.
Grabbing a syringe that the Bat family had on hand for such
obvious exposures to Smilex gas, Dick Grayson rushed to his adoptive
father’s side. Immediately, Bruce’s adoptive son
removed a small piece of Bruce’s armor and prepared to inject
the antidote when a black gauntleted hand stilled his movements.
“N… no need, Son!” the Caped Crusader got out
as he continued to laugh.
Nightwing, inheriting all of his father’s stubbornness, was
far from convinced. “You need this!” he protested
and made to try again.
Batman exerted his will and brought himself back under control,
drawing Dick’s attention away from the syringe.
“Alright, Bruce, what’s going on?” Dick
demanded.
“I finally understand an old saying,” the older man
answered amusedly, his lips still twitching.
“What saying?” Nightwing questioned, completely
baffled by his father’s unprecedented good mood.
“I know you discovered our recent… guest’s
identity,” Batman replied. “You did leave a number
of empty bottles cluttering the living room, after all.”
Dick, remembering that night, did not deny the allegation and
merely replied, “So?”
“Mr. Black visited a casino in Las Vegas recently, where he
informed certain League members that the gambling devices were
rigged,” Batman explained. “To prove his point, he
started placing winning bets – and kept winning all night.”
“I fail to see the humor,” Dick admitted.
“Read this,” Bruce demanded while pointing to the
screen. When his son had finished skimming the document, he
supplied, “I was reminded of the old adage: ‘You can’t
cheat Death; he’ll always get his due.’”
Having taken his leave of the League’s ‘Golden Trio’,
Harry wandered around Metropolis for a while until his journey led
him to the industrial-grade wharf. Having run out of ideas for
further amusement in the big city and feeling the sea’s call,
the wizard discreetly headed to a secluded section of beach.
Once there, he launched his submarine and set a lackadaisical course
across the Atlantic. On a lark, he headed in the general
direction of Britain.
After a few hours of idly exploring the Atlantic’s scenery,
Harry found himself off the coast of his home – or rather, this
world’s version of Britain. Thinking of his faraway abode
began to sour the wizard’s mood – to the point of calling it
quits for the evening and returning to the Watchtower. In fact,
Harry was preparing to do just that when he suddenly sensed something
powerful in his vicinity. Killing the engines, the dimensional
traveler engaged his Mage Sight and searched for the strange
disturbance.
Seeing a glowing blue object off the Starboard side, Harry cast a
Bubblehead Charm on himself and slipped through the submarine’s
sidewall. In a matter of seconds, Harry reached his target and
was amazed to find a pale – if fact, nearly translucent –
woman hovering in place and watching his approach. On closer
inspection, the wizard could clearly see that this woman –
whoever she was – was not entirely human. She seemed to
possess the same attractiveness as the many Veela he had encountered
over the years while, at the same time, still maintaining a certain
sorrow reminiscent of ghosts longing to pass on.
Closing the remaining distance, Harry stopped in front of the
faintly glowing female. “Good evening, Miss,” the
wizard greeted, “my name is Mr. Black. Can I help you?”
“I am known as Viviane,” the woman announced in an
echoing voice, “and I hath anticipated thine arrival for many
years.”
“Oh…?” Harry asked, suddenly wary of this
Divination drivel. “Why is that?”
The woman seemed – if possible – to grow even more
melancholy. “I have been charged for many seasons to
safeguard an heirloom of great power. Humankind hath needed
mine burden many times in thine world above, but none hath possessed
the necessary ability to wield its might. Mine brothers and
sisters hath long since passed from this world which hath forgotten
them, but I am forbidden from following whilst mine task remains
undone.”
Thinking back to Boston Brand’s similar predicament –
which he resolved just a matter of hours ago -, Harry nodded that he
understood and replied, “My condolences for your loss, Miss
Viviane, but I am unclear as to how I am involved.”
“Only when a suitable champion presents himself might I
yield mine encumbrance and rejoin mine kindred,” the submerged
female explained. “Only he who is pure of heart, strong
of mind, and mighty of body may wield mine burden with impunity.”
Harry still looked on, confused. “I understand what
you are saying,” he confirmed, “but I am unclear as to
how I can assist you. Are you wishing for me to help find this
champion?” the wizard hazarded a guess.
“Thou art the champion I seek,” the woman said
firmly.
“Me?” Harry demanded incredulously. “I’m
not a ‘champion’ of anything, and I’m certainly not
‘pure of heart’! You must be mistaken!”
Viviane looked less than convinced. “Thou doth
possesseth the gift even more so than the wizard Myrddin, but thine
heart doth not hunger for power. Thou doth safeguard the
helpless in times of need, but never hast thou desired recompense.
Thou art the champion I seek,” she finished resolutely.
“Listen,” Harry pleaded, “I’m hardly that
noble. Yes, I’ve got something of a ‘saving people
thing’, but I just did what anyone else would, given the same
choice.”
“Thy supposition is incorrect,” she disagreed.
“Thou wert made unique among men for a purpose. Thine
purpose will be aided by mine charge.”
Harry shook his head again. “Surely you’ve
confused me with someone else,” he offered feebly.
“There existeth no error,” she remained adamant.
“None other among the living possesseth the right, and none
other shall be born to taketh thine appointed place. If thou
doth not taketh mine burden, I shall be imprisoned here forevermore.”
‘Great!’ Harry groaned mentally. ‘Even
in another universe, the bloody prophecy manages to haunt me!’
Sighing to himself, the wizard conceded and announced, “Very
well. What is this ‘burden’ you keep mentioning?”
The woman’s constant melancholy seemed to abate as a long
and slender object formed above her outstretched hands. “Behold
Caledfwich, the sword of Champions!” she announced in ringing
tones.
Harry blinked at the Summoned object which Viviane held in her
slight hands. Looking closely at the sheathed sword, the wizard
noted a design of two serpents engraved on its golden hilt. The
scabbard itself was plain in design, consisting of tanned leather
wrapped in golden wire. Holding the tool of war out to him,
Viviane instructed, “Draw forth the weapon, for it is now
thine.”
Even without using his Sight, Harry could feel the power
restrained within the artifact. Carefully, he accepted the
sword and gingerly separated the weapon from its sheath.
Holding the tremendous slab of iron single-handedly, Harry nearly
dropped the device when it suddenly burned brighter than the sun.
Blinking away the spots in his vision, Harry instinctively wished the
sword to assume a milder illumination – and was once more
surprised when it instantly complied.
With the lighting at a more comfortable level, Harry inspected the
magical object. Even at its current radiance, it seemed as
though the two serpents upon the hilt possessed rivers of fire
flowing out of their mouths. Along the massive blade itself, he
spied a set of runes decorating its length. Unfamiliar with the
language, the wizard fetched his eyeglasses and looked again.
This time, he was able to clearly read the phrase ‘To Him
Unconquered’ along both sides of the blade.
Harry’s inspection was interrupted as the ethereal voice of
his companion announced, “At last, mine task lies complete.
I may finally rest.”
Looking up, Harry was astonished to find the woman quickly fading
from sight. “Wait!” he shouted. “Come
back! I don’t know what it is you expect me to do with
this thing!”
“Thou doth already possess all the knowledge thou needeth,”
her whispery voice informed. “Thou wilt know what thou
must do when the time is right.” With that parting
comment, the ghostly figure faded completely, leaving Harry treading
water in the middle of an ocean all alone.
Looking back down at the sword again, another sigh escaped from
the wizard.
“Why can’t I just take a normal vacation like
everybody else?”
Commissioner Gordon shook his head as he waited near the
Batsignal. He had dealt with many strange situations over the
years when it came to the Bat and his many foes, but the purpose for
this current Bat-summoning had to be close to the top of the list in
terms of strangeness. So engrossed in the situation was Gordon
that he hardly even startled when the familiar voice came out of the
shadows on the rooftop.
“You wanted to see me, Commissioner?”
Turning, Gordon gave the cowled figure a wry grin. “Oddly
enough, I’m merely passing along a message this time.”
Batman’s voice held the slightest trace of what might have
been humor had it been anyone else as he replied. “That’s
not a job that one would normally associate with a person of your
standing, so I take it that this is a special message, then?”
“In a manner of speaking. It involves Pamela Lillian
Isley,” the Commissioner announced. “As you are no
doubt aware, it’s been nearly a week since she was poisoned by
hitherto unknown means. We couldn’t just lock her up again;
since her last release from Arkham, she hasn’t committed any
crimes…”
“That you know of,” Batman interjected. “Ivy’s
not one to rest on her laurels; she always has an agenda in
the works.”
His friend shrugged. “You and I both know that but, until
someone comes forward to press a complaint or new evidence of a crime
is uncovered, she’s a citizen in good standing in the eyes of
the law. The anonymous caller who tipped us off as to her
location just reported a suspicious person in the park, and has
refused to press any charges.” He jammed a hand into his
pocket and fingered his pipe before sighing and leaving it where it
was yet again. Blast his promise to his daughter!
“Be that as it may,” Gordon continued, “she’s
been in a coma in the Bio-Isolation Ward at Gotham University
Hospital since the incident. Until she woke up a little over an
hour ago, that is.”
“I’ve been monitoring her case,” came the
baritone reply. “Ivy’s too dangerous to not keep
tabs on, especially in this case. The doctors still
don’t have a clue as to what infected her system, but there
were a few changes; the green tint to her skin deepened a few shades,
the sclera of her eyes changed to an almost neon-green tint, and that
blossom in her hair is now apparently a natural outgrowth from her
scalp.”
“There’s more to it than just the visual changes, but
I suspect that you’ve already read the rest of the doctors’
reports,” James commented. “The important thing
right now is to find out why her first coherent words after waking up
were what the duty nurse described as a very polite request to speak
with you.”
The rooftop was silent for a moment before the Dark Knight
replied, “Well, since she asked so nicely…”
The Bio-Isolation Ward of Gotham University Hospital, Pamela Isley
decided, was entirely too sterile. Oh, they tried – what with
the patterns on the walls and the soothing natural sounds played over
the room speakers – but the room really needed a more natural touch.
She pressed the button on her bed controls and raised her head level
just a bit more for comfort. Picking up the small disposable
water pitcher on an adjacent table, she filled her cup before
considering the remaining contents of the container.
“Distilled,” she muttered resignedly, “not even a
touch of mineral for taste.”
Shrugging, she plucked a hair from her head and dropped it in the
pitcher before adding some pollen from the flower above her right
ear.
“Mixing a mischief cocktail, Ivy?” The voice was
deep, familiar, and not entirely unexpected, but Ivy still startled
slightly regardless. When she looked up, a familiar cowled
figure stood by the observation window of her chamber.
The lighting was low enough to support the twilight dusk that the
Detective preferred, but not so dark as to fail to reveal the
presence farther away of several other individuals in the observation
area.
Offering her viewers a cheery wave, Ivy placed one hand over the
top of the pitcher. “I see you got my message, Batman.
I appreciate you taking time out of your busy evening schedule to
visit a shut-in.”
“You did ask politely,” her frequent opponent
responded. His voice dropped almost to a growl as he continued,
“Now, why don’t you tell me the reason behind your request?
And stop playing with that concoction before something happens that
you probably won’t enjoy.”
“Harley’s right,” Ivy noted, “you do
have socialization issues.” Nevertheless, she took her
hand off the pitcher’s top and slid the vessel across her swing
table to the far side. “Would it kill you to have a talk
with a beautiful woman that didn’t involve implied violence?”
Batman failed to rise to the bait. “You wanted to
talk; I’m here.”
Pamela sighed. “Fine. I’ll admit that I
didn’t ask to see you just to mention the fact that most of the
girls in our little circle think that the thing you need the most is
to catch someone and spend a weekend or two relaxing in the bedroom…
or exercising, as the case might be.”
She couldn’t be certain but she thought she detected a touch
of frost on the observation window.
“Any way,” she continued sedately, “I was out in
the park one night a week or so ago and I met someone I think might
be an associate of yours. Long black cloak, sort of messy black
hair, green eyes, rides a ghostly stallion… any of this
ringing a bell?”
“I might know the individual you’re talking
about,” Batman admitted gruffly.
“There was something about him that immediately attracted
me,” Ivy admitted while toying with her cup. “He
was just standing there by his horse, and I felt that I just had
to get to know him. He was so flustered that I was showing
interest in him that he practically froze solid when I gave him a hug
and a kiss.”
Her fingers trailed across her lips. “His lips
certainly ought to be registered as lethal weapons.” She
paused, unsure. If she did not know better, she would have
sworn that she just heard a faint snort escaping from Batman’s
lips. Continuing, she said, “I mean, everyone hears tales
about people who can send you off with just a kiss, but this guy
really managed it.”
Her fingers absently reached up and traced the edges of the petals
of the flower over her ear. “It was so strong that I
thought I was going to die.”
“I suppose there must be a reason why they call it the
‘little death’,” Batman muttered quietly, but still
loud enough for the microphone to carry the comment into the
isolation chamber.
Ivy shook her head, lost in the memory. “I really
don’t remember much after that. I know I fell down, but I
didn’t really even see him leave. Everything was sort of
hazy and gray, and I couldn’t really feel my body at all.
That’s when it happened.”
“What happened?” Batman demanded while subtly
double-checking his recorder in case this information might prove
useful later.
“Do you remember the Swamp Thing talking about The Green?”
Batman could hear the capitals in her speech but, before he could
respond, the redhead continuing speaking. “I was starting
to feel colder and the gray was deepening to black when – all of a
sudden – it was like being in the middle of the lushest greenhouse
around. It was like I could feel every plant… no, it was
as if I was every plant. I could feel the sun, taste the
air around me, the water in the ground…”
Her eyes lost focus, as for a few minutes she relived a portion of
her experience. Her hands absently caressed the pitcher’s
sides, causing Batman to tense as his hand strayed to the ‘Ivy’
compartments in his utility belt. “I don’t know how long
I was there – the doctors tell me I was in a coma for a little over a
week – but it was like something there was examining me, the same way
that a gardener checks her garden for problems. It was like I
was both the object of study and part of the study process at the
same time.”
Her hands stilled for a moment before her eyes came back into
sharp focus, meeting and holding Batman’s gaze through the
triple-pane glass. There was a faint greenish glow visibly
backlighting her eyes and, if the Great Detective was not mistaken, a
tear was welling up at one eye.
“Have you ever looked at your life and really known that, no
matter how hard you tried, you were only making things worse instead
of better?” Pamela demanded sorrowfully. “I mean,
here was the great ‘Poison Ivy’, protector of Nature and
punisher of those who despoiled its beauty! Sure, one or two
people who caused problems were taken care of, but the corporations
kept right on going. A girl’s got to eat, so what’s
wrong with a few thefts to support the cause? Bored? Go
out and find a jerk or two and make them pay for disrespecting women
in general. Protect a park and save a few orphans? Great,
but let’s ignore the fact that just being around you is slowly
killing the closest thing to a… family…”
Her voice failed and Ivy swiped the back of a hand across her
face. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Pamela looked up
at her audience again with a faint touch of a smile ghosting her
lips. “Sorry. Harley tells me that I’ve got
misplaced maternal issues or something.”
“Why did you want to share this with me?” the caped
crusader asked. “Harley Quinn aside, it sounds like this
would be a matter better discussed with your psychiatrist.”
He was not about to admit that there might be points of similarity in
their respective situations, even to himself.
At least, not when anyone else was present.
“I sort of got sidetracked,” Ivy admitted as she
finished blotting her cheeks with a tissue – which ultimately ended
up in the pitcher alongside her other material. She sighed.
“I spent a lot of time in The Green and, in the end, they gave
me a choice: stay there, or come back and try to do a better
job of things. I don’t know if coming back was the smart
choice, but it seemed to me to be the right one. The
reason I wanted to see you was to ask if you had a way of contacting
the man I met; The Green seems to think that he has something I
need.”
Bruce kept his face outwardly unaffected, but inside he was more
than a little worried. While he still lacked firm data to prove
the existence of this ‘Green’ that Ivy referred to,
having a second source speak of it seemed to provide at least
circumstantial evidence towards its existence. “I will
see if I can locate him and ask him to visit,” Batman finally
responded, “but don’t expect an instant response.”
This comment garnered a slow smile. “No worries
there,” Pamela answered in a satisfied manner. “If
nothing else, The Green knows patience.” Her hand
caressed the pitcher, causing a small tendril of green to curl up
from its depths and open a tiny leaf. “When you see him,
please tell him it’s a private matter of life and death.”
She gestured to the pitcher and added, “And this is a gift
for him. Please don’t test it to the point that you kill
it. No matter how resilient life is, new growth is always
fragile.”
Silence was her only response.
When Alfred’s monitor alerted him to the return of his
brooding charge, he made his way down to the Batcave, intent on
recharging the used gear and preparing them for their next usage.
Normally, by the time the distinguished butler reached the cave,
Batman was already engrossed in some post-patrol task – such as
entering notes and observations about the night’s activities
into the Batcomputer. In the event of a particularly intriguing
case, the Dark Knight could be found hard at work at one of the
forensics stations, analyzing evidence gathered at the scene of a
crime.
Tonight, however, he found a very focused individual staring
almost angrily at what appeared to be a newly sprouted seedling
enclosed in a bell jar.
“Taking up horticulture again, Sir?” Alfred inquired.
His voice seemed to startle his employer, causing the gentleman’s
gentleman to frown slightly. It was very unlike the
Batman to be so engaged in any matter that his awareness failed to
register another person’s proximity. “May I assume
that Miss Isley is the source of your new plant, then?”
Gloved hands reached up and removed the sculpted cowl as Batman
almost growled in response. “Ivy had an encounter with
Mr. Black last week – as I mentioned – and apparently, he left
an impression on her.”
“One usually does not come away from a direct encounter with
Death unchanged,” Alfred reminded the man. “We are
both certainly living examples of that truism in action.”
He studied the slip of vegetation in the bell jar, and considered the
source for a moment. “Sir, I am certainly no botanist but
that would seem to be some sort of rose, at least by the shape of the
leaf. Is it…?”
“A seedling of a supposedly extinct species of wild rose?”
Batman completed the question. “The Batcomputer is
analyzing the DNA sequence right now but, given the source, I
wouldn’t place any bets on the matter just yet.”
He shook his head tiredly. “Poison Ivy is in the
Bio-isolation chamber at the University hospital. She has no
access to any substances beyond the sterilized contents of that room
and yet, while I watched her, she germinated this plant from a
pitcher of water and substances from her own body. She was
dangerous before, certainly, but her threat level has just gone up an
entire order of magnitude.”
“Miss Isley is hardly the only being on the planet with what
seems to be a direct link to Nature herself,” Alfred pointed
out. “In fact, Gotham has encountered at least one other
such being in the past. Perhaps she was already on the path to
such mastery and her encounter with Mr. Black merely hastened her
strides.”
“There are similarities,” Bruce agreed, waving a hand
towards a monitor that displayed a particular dossier – including a
picture of a mossy green humanoid. “In fact, there is
some indication that Swamp Thing only came into being after the
apparent ‘death’ of one Alec Holland. In their sole
recorded encounter, Alec referred to Pamela as the ‘May
Queen’. Perhaps he recognized a similar being mutating or
evolving into a similar form.” He shook his head to clear
his thoughts. “Right now, there are too many questions
and not nearly enough answers.”
“Perhaps some rest might aid in this matter, Master Bruce?
You have been – as usual – up much longer than is healthy for you,
and that is counter-productive to any sort of investigative regime.”
The lifelong companion to the Wayne scion gestured at the bell jar.
“If you place that in one of the secure sample vaults, I doubt
that we will wake in the morning to find the Batcave overrun with a
new floral decor. Not even the vicious kudzu could manage that
level of growth overnight.”
Knowing that his surrogate parent was only advocating a sensible
direction, Bruce sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,
Alfred… as usual,” he added with a touch of fondness.
Picking up the container, he placed it into one of the sealed
biological specimen cases and ensured that it would remain at normal
atmospheric gas ratios. While he was at it, the detective
programmed an alarm to continually monitor the plant for any
unexpected chemical emissions.
As the cover sealed and the case’s systems whirred to life,
Bruce continued, “Hopefully the analysis will be complete by
the morning and I’ll know better whether I should do what Ivy
requested and give that to Mr. Black.”
“So Miss Isley has decided to gift Mr. Black with a flower?”
Alfred mused. “One has to wonder just what response that
will provoke in Miss Kara when she hears of this – not to
mention the reactions of those other young women of his acquaintance
you have mentioned.”
There was an audible smirk in Batman’s voice as he replied,
“Should such information come to light, I believe that the
confrontation will prove most… amusing. I will have to
ensure that the proper audience is present in the event I do turn
this over to Mr. Black.”
‘Or if any copies of that accursed photo from Gorilla
City ever surface,’ he added mentally, envisioning the
initial stage of a ‘Black protocol’.
As the two made their way up to the mansion, the Batcave returned
to its normal dim lighting. Unobserved by human eyes, the
seedling quivered and a tiny new leaf budded on the slender stem.
A/N: Well, sports fans, this concludes Chapter Six of
Terminal Justice. It’s been a long time coming, and I
hope you found it entertaining.
First, I would like to thank Philip and Chris for their terrific
OMAKEs that made their way into this chapter (namely, “Ivy
Reborn” by Philip and “Who Said You Could?” by
Chris). Additionally, I salute James, Chris, and Dorothy for
their assistance with proofreading this chapter. Finally,
thanks go out to all of you who contributed the inspiring suggestions
that I incorporated into this chapter.
For those of you who are curious, Chapter Seven should include
Gallatea’s reintroduction to the League (and possibly a scene
with Giganta). Additionally, I will cover the events of the TV
episode “Patriot Act”. Finally, for the individuals
curious as to why I gave Harry the ‘deep sea fishing boat’…
well, he’s just got some good out of it, but he’s not
quite done with it just yet.
I hope you found this latest submission to be worth the wait, and
I await your reviews/suggestions/etc.