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.
The Great Blackout
“So… this is your folks’ place, then?” Harry asked after the two women led him through an ornate gate and into an ethereal space filled with crystalline structures. “Very nice,” he finally commented, “especially the mountaintop motif.”
Artemis shrugged. “It works for us. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to keep clean, though.”
“I can imagine,” he replied ruefully. “Our beach is always being littered with flotsam, jetsam… bloody pissed Australians and their ruddy ward-penetrating boats… Anyway, where to first?”
“My brother’s place,” the redheaded archer decided, “since you did such a number on those two. He’s a Healer.”
Harry smiled slightly. “What can I say? People trying to kill my friends always put me in a bad mood for some reason.”
The party walked—or was dragged—to a resplendent house where the redhead’s brother apparently lived. The ornate chariot parked in front of the residence not only peaked Harry’s curiosity, but also informed the group that the Healer was present. Shortly thereafter, he met the acquaintance of her brother Apollo, who pledged that he could reverse his relations’ condition. After the new addition to their party gathered his satchel, Harry followed the trio to their parents’ house, where the couple was brought up to speed.
“And you say that the effects of the Lethe lingered that long after exposure?” the older man introduced as Zeus asked as he stared hard at the two men. “Something must have catalyzed their condition. Perhaps something they ate, or were exposed to.”
“Like a few bolts of lightning?” Artemis voiced helpfully.
Harry rubbed his neck as the gray-haired man affirmed her suggestion.
“How did this come to pass?” the gray-haired man demanded.
“I might’ve had something to do with it,” Harry reluctantly admitted. “They did let an undead army out of…” he groped for the dimension’s name, “Tartarus before trying to kill my girlfriend and daughter, not to mention several of my friends. I was… upset.”
“So I gathered,” the other man announced dryly. “Why lightning?”
The wizard shrugged. “Pure chance, I suppose. It seemed to bother them more than most of my other tricks, so I used it. I’ve always had good luck with that one.” He demonstrated by creating a small ball of black lightning in one upturned hand, which snaked up his arm, crossed his shoulders, and dropped into his other cupped appendage. “I guess it’s like the flying thing. I’ve just always been able to do it.”
The old man blinked oddly. “And you can’t explain your… proficiency?” the self-proclaimed Lord of the Sky and wielder of elemental lightning questioned.
“Not a clue,” Harry confirmed. “Now, if it isn’t too much trouble, can we contact everyone involved and get started? It’s been a very long day.”
No one objected to the suggestion, and one of Flash’s cousins—named Hermes of all things—zipped out to gather a few more people.
One incident which helped to improve his mood occurred after he had returned the two souls to their proper location. While Apollo was attempting to reverse their induced amnesia and unconsciousness, a dark-haired woman in a purple dress approached the huddle.
“My, isn’t this delightful!” she nearly purred. “And who do we have to thank for this lovely spectacle?”
“That would be me,” Harry admitted. “Joe Black,” he introduced himself.
“Eris,” the woman replied. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” She studied the two indisposed gods for a few moments more. “You know, it’s a real shame to waste such an opportunity as this.”
“Oh?” the wizard inquired. “How so?”
The woman began whispering in his ear, and he was soon grinning as widely as she.
Within a few minutes, their messenger had returned with news that the party was gathered in the main conference room.
“Thank you, Hermes,” Zeus replied. “We will be there directly. Apollo, when those two are revived, send them to us. I am eager to learn firsthand of their latest transgressions.”
“What in the name of Olympus hit me?” Ares groaned.
“From what I’ve gathered, a great many things,” his half-brother supplied. “Easy now,” Apollo cautioned as the other blonde struggled to his feet, “you’ve had a rough time of it.”
“What happened?” Hades asked groggily as he unsteadily made his way to his feet. “And why does it smell like wet dog in here?” He looked over at his nephews and started laughing.
“What?” the god of war demanded sharply.
“Y-you’re bald! And purple! And wearing a little girl’s dress!” He broke down in laughter again. “And those ears! You look like an ass!”
Ares reviewed his own appearance in increasing fury. “Looked in the mirror lately?” he sniped back at the older man.
The former brunette did so, and promptly bellowed expletives as a result.
“Who did this?” Hades demanded. “Eris? Hermes?”
“Actually,” Apollo interrupted with as much solemnity as he could muster, “I believe that a certain Mr. Black is responsible.”
“Who?” the Lord of the Underworld asked in confusion.
“Black?” the ranting Ares echoed. “I’ve heard that name…” Recognition finally dawned. “No doubt this is Athena’s work!”
“According to both Athena and Artemis, he’s the newest Death from another dimension,” the healer replied. “I believe he’s standing in for Teleute at the moment.”
This latest tidbit was sufficient to derail Ares’ ongoing tirade. “You mean… Hades decked his own boss? Bwahahahahaha.”
“Please do remember, Nephew, who assaulted him with Pandora’s Urn,” the elder god interjected.
Suddenly somber, the other man replied, “Good point. Why’d he back off then, if he had us beat? Are they turning out Deaths that cowardly these days?”
Seizing the opportunity for all it was worth, Apollo smiled before stating, “Artemis convinced him that it wasn’t worth the hassle of taking your lives.”
“Alright,” Harry announced sometime later, “we’ve heard from all three sides of the issue. To summarize, Hades’ chief concern is that too many individuals from certain… groups have been granted excessive freedoms—multiple resurrections and whatnot—which have upset the balance between Life and Death. Zeus, however, maintains that such liberties are necessary, due to so few heroes existing in the world today. For similar reasons, Ares agrees that there aren’t enough champions in this day and age. So… what do you think should be done?”
The ensuing silence was broken only by restless shifting.
Harry rested his head in one upturned palm. “I need a drink,” he muttered. His ears were soon greeted by the sound of a full mug being slid down the table. Glancing gratefully at its point of origin, the wizard added, “Thank you, Bacchus.”
Draining a good portion of the odd beer, he stated, “We all agree that the root problem is the lack of champions to handle the big issues… right?” At gaining the tentative affirmations of the majority present, Harry continued, “So why not recruit more?”
“And how, precisely, do you intend to do that?” Ares demanded.
“And you’ve been waging war for how long?” Harry replied derisively. “That’s the easiest part. My friends and I recruited a small force over the course of a summer back home. There would be several willing people among the populace, if they were only given some direction.”
“You’re talking about ordinary mortals,” Zeus protested. “Even a large group wouldn’t have the raw power to defend against the current magnitude of threats.”
The wizard shrugged. “So equip them. The Green Lantern Corp recruits nothing but ordinary people—but give a few ordinary beings weapons granting limited magical powers, and you’ve suddenly got a force to be reckoned with. You can even go a step further and give them enchanted armor—like that autonomous suit that caused so much trouble recently,” he added with a glare at the once-more-blonde god of war.
“While that sounds promising,” Hades admitted, “there is the small matter of the mortals no longer believing in either us or magic.”
“You can always do what my friends and I did,” Harry mentioned. “We started a company with fronts in both the magical and non-magical worlds. For the non-magic side of things, we just tack on some electrical parts and the Muggles think we’re selling high technology.”
Ares seemed to be thinking over the concept. “Even if we somehow managed to pull this off, the mortals would just slip back into slothfulness if they aren’t constantly kept off-balance.”
“So schedule routine tournaments,” the wizard supplied. “It worked with the old knights in the Middle Ages. These modern knights could be organized into regions or teams or something, with each division regularly scheduled to compete against their colleagues for prizes or awards. That would be much more constructive than some meaningless war between two factions the rest of the world barely knows exist.”
“He has a point, Ares,” Athena stated primly. “Your efforts have been rather… wasteful of late.”
The aforementioned individual ground his teeth, but withheld further comment.
“Hmm, an Olympian corporation,” Zeus mused allowed, “perhaps even The Olympian Corporation. Our own planetary security force… among other things.”
“And with a large enough source of new members so you won’t be tempted to continually upset my affairs,” Hades added with no small amount of relief.
“This could work,” Ares admitted finally.
“Excellent,” Harry said with a note of completion. “Since it seems like you three can haggle over the fine details without killing each other, I’ll take my leave.”
He donned his hat and prepared to Apparate, before turning back to the group. “Oh, one last thing,” the wizard mentioned while staring levelly at both Hades and Ares. “If either of you ever so much as look at either my family or friends in a threatening manner, I will destroy you, and no pleading on your behalf will change my mind. It will be thorough, it will be painful, and it will be talked about in every dark corner of this universe for centuries to come.”
Harry quickly withdrew the pair of swords that he had confiscated from them earlier and rammed the blades into the tabletop.
Smiling grimly, he insincerely added, “Have a nice day,” before Apparating back to the Watchtower and, hopefully, some uninterrupted rest.
“Well, I think that went rather well,” Hera spoke up in the sudden silence.
“He had some good ideas,” her husband admitted, “but his behavior cannot go uncorrected. It is inexcusable.”
“You know, you may have something there,” the queen of the gods admitted surprisingly easily. “Now that I think of it, I know of another young man who challenged the rightful rulers of the world. He, too, went into Tartarus on behalf of his family and flew in the face of tradition. And, when the gods refused to accept their own folly, he led his family in battle and deposed them. Whatever shall we do with these renegade immortals?”
Zeus narrowed his eyes at his wife. “That was an entirely separate set of circumstances,” he protested. “The Titans were a bunch of murderous, selfish tyrants who upset the natural order of things and used everyone weaker than themselves to satisfy their own perverse amusements! They had to be stopped!”
“And how do you think he perceives the three of you?” Hera asked archly.
The elderly-appearing man looked at two of his daughters. “Athena, Artemis. You have spent the most time with this ‘Mr. Black’. Do you believe that he would mount an insurrection against us?”
Athena had been expecting such a question since extending their recent mediator an invitation. “He has no interest in ruling either gods or men,” she replied firmly, “and so would have no such desire borne from greed. He has inherited Nemesis’s… zeal… in pursuing the guilty, however. Should those he holds dear be harmed directly by our hand… he would fight every last one of us by himself, if he had to.”
Artemis chuckled darkly. “And you know something else? Even if he fought by himself, I’m half afraid that the kid would still win.”
Fortunately for a certain dimension-traveling wizard, the universe plodded along without suffering another potential apocalypse, and he was allowed several hours of uninterrupted rest. Once he awoke, the idyllic scenario remained, as he learned from Mr. Terrific that the League’s trouble radar was mercifully clear. Finally allowing himself a sigh of relief, Harry thanked the multitasking genius and proceeded to the commissary for breakfast.
No one’s luck is perfect, however, much less that of the universe’s spittoon. With his attention entirely riveted to the impossible act of spearing bacon, eggs, and sausage with a plastic utensil, the wizard was virtually blindsided by a babbling, blonde whirlwind. An obviously excited Kara grabbed Harry by his coat and dragged him away from his breakfast, chatting a million miles a minute about something in the Watchtower’s Research and Development section. Staring glumly at the quickly receding table, it took all of his enhanced reflexes to snatch the remains of his bagel, which he munched on while being literally flown through the crowded corridors. Fortunately, the ever useful Summoning Charm once more saved his life—or, at least, his breakfast— as his plate and glass obediently floated after the speeding Girl of Steel and her hostage.
The duo soon arrived in a large workshop, and Harry noticed that several members of the League were present and observing some sort of experiment—chief among them Green Lantern and the Flash. At the center of their interest lay a large mass of wire and other technological bits, which the techs fawned over with a multitude of strange tools and diagnostic implements.
Using his Occlumency training to review Kara’s super-gushed expose, Harry looked to the bemused John Stewart and asked, “New engine for the Javelins, huh? Any good?”
The taller man nodded firmly. “Power output’s up nearly fifteen percent, consumption of fuel only increased by three. There’s precious little that will be able to out fly the Javelins once we get these babies installed.”
Kara nodded eagerly, before leaning over the diagrams on the nearby table. Harry looked back at her, noticing her lean forward intently and then shake her head slightly. The barest trace of frustration leeched into her scent.
“Kara?” Harry questioned, drawing not only her attention but also the bored Wally West’s as well. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh… nothing! Nothing at all!” she chirped, clearly trying to cover up something.
Harry shook his head with a half-smile. “What did I tell you before we took off for Avalon?” he asked mock-sternly.
The cryptic comment drew the Flash’s attention, his head jerking around serving to draw Green Lantern’s attention as well.
Kara blinked, confused for a moment before the conversation came back to her. “Heh.” The girl grinned before dropping her voice to mimic Harry’s lower tones. ‘Just because I had to grow up in the Stone Age doesn’t mean you have to as well,’ she imitated mockingly.
Harry grinned back. “Good girl,” he praised while patting her on her head—much to her annoyance. “Now, go fix the techs’ problem.”
Kara grabbed the plans and slipped over to the people in question, motioning to a particular part on the test engine. The conversation quickly degenerated into techno babble—which was clearly the techs’ primary language, as the whole group was shortly yammering away left and right to the confusion of most everyone else.
Kicking back in a conjured recliner, Harry smiled as Kara started buzzing around the experimental drive system, her engineering entourage in tow.
The Flash swallowed hard, and caught Green Lantern’s eyes. “So, Joe,” Flash got out in an overly casual voice, “the Stone Age?”
Harry chuckled ruefully as he suppressed the rising memories of his stay with the Dursleys. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it was very lonely, not to mention boring. Very poor conversationalists, they were, not good for much beyond grunting and bellowing. Being dumped off in the arse-end of nowheresville didn’t really help things either. It felt like an eternity before I got back to civilization.”
“’Being dumped’?” John got out in a strangled voice.
Harry nodded. “The big nasty behind ole Lucy had grown powerful enough that even the Old Man couldn’t do much more than stalemate him—well, not without breaking his own rules, anyway.” The wizard made a dispelling gesture. “In any event, the evil bugger knew before I even came on the scene that I would be even stronger than him—so the dork lord tried to destroy me first. Long story short, his various schemes all failed and, once I escaped the neanderthals, I made sure to dispatch the old troublemaker.”
He snorted at the memory. “Really anticlimactic battle, too, for all the noise and effort he expended. Thirty seconds after coming face-to-face with the git, I was walking away with another item checked off my ‘to do’ list.”
“Well, at least the dinosaurs were cool… right?” the Scarlet Speedster finally offered
Harry blinked at the abrupt change in topic before shrugging dismissively. “I’m not sure if ‘cool’ is the appropriate term. They were noisy, smelly, and always invading a bloke’s campsite. Heh,” he chuckled, “amazing what a ten-mile-wide piece of rock crashing into a planet can do, isn’t it? Come to think of it, the demons didn’t much appreciate the new ice age, either. Let me tell you, nothing looks quite like a flash-fried-frozen prehistoric demon.”
Kara, having finished discussing the modifications with the technicians—and gaining their exuberant permission to visit again—wandered over to the group and informed them that the engines had gained an additional fifty percent increase in power while actually dropping the fuel consumption to less than the original requirements. The blonde powerhouse concluded her bubbly speech by ordering Harry to take her to the beach—immediately.
Looking at the other two men, Harry shrugged before the shorter—and infinitely more exuberant—figure dragged him away once more.
Wally and John stared at one another and swallowed hard. An evil force, powerful enough to stalemate the Almighty Himself and command the obedience of the Morningstar… was defeated by Mr. Black in under thirty seconds. Right before he proceeded to kill off nearly three-quarters of every living thing on the planet via orbital bombardment—simply because they were poor neighbors.
Both men agreed that the other original League members needed to know this latest apocalyptical update… just as soon as they could free themselves from the paralyzing grip of total terror.
“Bah!” a stout and balding man cursed as he studied a couple of strained items. “I don’t see why they have to rush it! Any idiot can see that both pieces are still flawed—they need time and tempering.”
Hephaestus sighed at the same old story. His cousins, aunts, and uncles were rushing things—again—and he could already see how things would ultimately end. Like always, he would have to pick up the pieces and re-forge them, along with devising a plan to do things properly. Despite the many, many times in which he had attempted to educate his family, they still worried about irrelevant quirks while overlooking the real flaws.
The long-lived smith decided that—this time—he would provide a bit of preventative maintenance. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, and it was long past time for him to intervene—before the pieces were tempered too fine and too brittle and became worthless. Looking around his workroom, Hephaestus pondered his strategy before stomping over to his table and sketching his latest idea.
‘Hmm… perhaps if that almost fatally flawed piece there was inserted here… then those two items could be reworked over there. That would allow these supports to be introduced here…’ He looked back on his plan and smiled. If executed correctly, there would not longer be several disconnected and broken items, but rather one strong, supported structure.
Harry was enjoying the strange multicolored drink bearing both a questionable name and a paper umbrella. Upon Apparating the girl to her desired destination, he had discarded his cloak and shifted his robe into a suitable pair of swimming trunks. The girl immediately proceeded to acquire a small patch of real estate on the sunny and rather crowded beach—which lay conveniently adjacent to a cocktail bar, the origin of the odd beverage. On the average, Henchgirl’s blend of cola was still better, but the colored concoction was more than acceptable.
While his vampirism was distinctly uncomfortable in the ultraviolet-rich environment, Harry had no plans on vacating the premises anytime soon. One good reason was the fact that suffering a crowded beach and having sand in his hair were part of being normal, a sensation he desperately craved. Ergo, he strived to act like any other ordinary person on vacation.
Or, at least, an ordinary magical person. The beach was packed with lounging adults and rowdy children, after all, and the suspiciously empty fifteen foot radius surrounding his and Kara’s towels was not that abnormal, right?
Harry was willing to admit—to himself, at least—that there was a second valid reason for remaining on the sandy beach for as long as possible. Kara deigned to debut some rather revealing swimwear from a recent purchase, and the wizard found himself enjoying their second date tremendously.
Of course, several other male bystanders had similar revelations, hence his impromptu bit of warding—and a few discreet hexes. Normality, he decided, was highly overrated in certain extreme situations.
After another circumspect bit of spell casting—a cheeky bugger had the nerve to walk right past them, look at Kara, and whistle— Harry leaned back on the towel with a satisfied smile.
“Was that really necessary, Joe?” the aforementioned extraterrestrial inquired amusedly.
His grin grew larger as the target stumbled across the path of an upset crab—which proceeded to clamp itself to the offending bare foot in retaliation. Manfully suppressing a giggle, Harry asked, “Was what necessary, Kara?”
“That.” She indicated the increasingly painful spectacle with a tilt of her head. While hopping on the non-crab-infested foot, the other man had somehow stepped in a plastic sand bucket. His new cylindrical footwear apparently lacked traction control, however, as the individual promptly fell face first onto a jellyfish that had just washed ashore.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Harry protested self-righteously.
The bikini-clad super heroine lightly swatted the wizard’s shoulder. “Of course you—oh, she just didn’t!”
“Come again?” her bemused boyfriend asked confusedly.
“Miss I‘ve-gotta-bend-over-backwards-to-reach-my-purse,” the short meta human fumed as she glared at a new arrival. Sure enough, an attractive and apparently limber woman was setting up her spot not far from the pair’s own towel. “Please, those are so totally fake! And that hair? I’ve seen a more convincing shade on cheap dolls!”
Harry chuckled. “Easy, Kitten. How about you retract those claws before you heat vision the poor woman or something?”
The Argosian did a poor job of affecting disinterest in their new neighbor as a corner of the woman’s beach towel caught ablaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she unconsciously echoed his earlier sentiment.
“Sure you don’t,” he agreed teasingly. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.”
“Shut up, you,” she replied before stretching in a feline manner across his lap. “Now, how about you concern yourself with putting that suntan lotion on my back?”
Harry glanced down at the young woman questioningly. “You’re physically invulnerable to harm and are powered by the yellow sun. There’s no way that you can get a sunburn.”
The blonde looked up at him patiently. “Are you gonna pass up an opportunity to feel up your girlfriend?”
“Good point,” he agreed immediately as he reached for her bag.
Hera walked into her son’s cluttered workshop. Blacksmithing was hardly the career that she would have chosen for her physically handicapped progeny—in fact, she did not find the messy occupation even remotely appealing. Historically, her inventive son’s experiments—which he insistently referred to as ‘solutions’—could often be considered even worse than the original problem.
Still, of all of the various gods and goddesses, Hephaestus was one of the few who felt it necessary to physically work for a living, literally carving out his own domain amongst both mortals and immortals alike. In fact, it was this kinship he shared with both classes of sentient creatures that sent the queen goddess to his realm so often. She had received some confusing news by way of Thanatos and hoped that the worldly smith could help explain the matter.
As near as she could tell, the various Deaths from all the Pantheons were holding their centennial union meeting—which was hardly newsworthy. After all, the Death Union regularly held such a gathering to coordinate scheduled leaves and whatnot. What she did find strange, however, was the unusual absence of any designated Death to remain in the mortal realm and handle the transitions from life to the afterlife. The information she gathered from Bacchus—who was once again denied admittance to the eclectic forum—suggested that every Death was to attend, with no designated ‘substitute’.
Hephaestus was right where she expected him to be, tending his blast furnace. “Hello, Son,” the Greek queen of the gods called out to the smith.
“Hello, Mother,” he replied as he withdrew a glowing sword from the fire and began hammering it on his anvil. “Is there something wrong?”
“Can’t a mother come visit her son every once in a while?” Hera asked with a smile.
Sighing, the smith finished his adjustments and thrust the blade back into the forge. Grabbing a towel, he blunted stated, “You were here only a month ago, and you’re not due for another visit for at least six more. That means that either something’s gone wrong, or something’s about to.”
Rolling her eyes, Hera sat down at the table. “I suppose that it’s a bit of both, depending on how you interpret this event.”
The smith sat down opposite his mother. “What situation concerns you?” he inquired.
The elder goddess conjured a pot of coffee and two cups. “The Deaths have begun sequestering themselves for their centennial union meeting,” she began, pouring two servings from the pitcher.
Hephaestus snorted and accepted the proffered cup. “That’s news?”
Sipping at her own mug, she replied, “That’s part of it. What troubles me is that all the Deaths seem to be attending this time, rather than just the first shift. With no one remaining behind, no mortal will die until the conference concludes. It will be nearly as bad as the time when Thanatos was chained.”
“They did leave someone minding the shop,” the smith nearly growled. “That’s the real problem.”
Hera looked confused. “Whatever do you mean? Surely that’s a good thing.”
“It means that I now have to repair the mess that all of the others are making of young Harry’s life,” he replied shortly before upending the cup.
This revelation surprised the elder goddess. “Harry? I thought we agreed after the council to not induct him for a few more centuries, so he could acclimate to his current position in the world as a protector before learning of his other… potential.”
Hephaestus grunted in affirmation. “We did. Unfortunately, several busybodies are rushing to build a pantheon around the boy before he’s ready for it.”
“Well, I admit that it is perhaps a tad sooner than normal for such actions, but I don’t see the harm,” Hera stated when she saw the expression on her son’s face.
“I’m a smith,” he stated. “In modern terminology, that means a combination of scientist, inventor, manufacturer, and businessman. Between all those roles, I can generally comprehend why our family members behave as they do, as well as predict the results of their actions.” Pausing to ensure that his mother followed his reasoning, Hephaestus continued, “Well, someone went too far and too fast. For example, they are putting Harry and that extraterrestrial Kara In-Ze together—along with a readymade family—when every single one of them has flaws that could conceivably destroy them all.”
“What flaws are these?” Hera queried anxiously as she considered the smith’s assertion seriously. While it was not unheard of to promote mortal descendants as reward for great deeds on Earth, it was rare to gift one so far removed from the line with immortality before they proved themselves. Of course, after his masterful performance in bringing her husband and brother-in-law eye-to-eye, most of her family believed that Harry already had proven himself.
‘Eris certainly seems to have taken a liking to him…’ she thought to herself amusedly.
Hephaestus thought for a moment and began, “Well, the Argosian girl has already lost her family, her friends… pretty much her entire civilization. While she’s slowly making progress, my research shows that she still has abandonment issues, which has left her more than a little epicurean as a result. This flighty demeanor could very well lead into trouble in the future unless she can confront her fear and prove it groundless. Not only that, Aphrodite tells me that the girl has a slight fear of our recent guest finding her wanting, due to her unfamiliarity with the occult.”
The smith huffed irritably. “Not that our recent mediator is any better. Whether by accident or design, he takes on every responsibility that comes along, despite how much he might grumble about doing so. Harry reasons that he can best prevent harm coming to his friends by taking the risks himself. Because of the abilities he’s already mastered and his success at resolving the mortals’ issues for them, more than one world is becoming increasingly reliant on him—and with his tacit approval, no less. For Tartarus’s sake, even we’re relying on him now! Then you have the Deaths and how they’ve dumped the responsibility for an entire universe in his hands before skipping off to their little party. When you combine that with his other burdens… well, none of us is strong enough to bear that much strain indefinitely, but he seems unable to act otherwise. Considering the Deaths’ slipshod introduction, the kid’s not even totally accepted that part of his destiny—which leads to his biggest flaw. He sees himself as some sort of mixed-breed freak, and is simply waiting for everyone around him to reach the same conclusion.”
Hera frowned thoughtfully. “But he’s doing fine! He got those two old goats to finally agree on something and end this millennia long stand-off; he’s bringing honor to his post and name; he’s got a supportive girlfriend and attentive friends. He’s got a good head on his shoulders; I think he’s going to make it.”
“Is that the Hera the Queen of Olympus saying that? Or is that Hera I’m-glad-my-family’s-not-feuding-anymore saying that?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mother, you’re taking the easy way out, just like everyone else has regarding him. You glanced at the surface and found a reason not to get involved. Harry’s a natural-born fighter—maybe even one of the best—but he’s been hit too many times. One blow after another, too hard and too fast and the next blow could put him down and keep him down. Pride and wishful thinking won’t change that—not even yours.”
Hephaestus shook his head dismissively. “Anyway, the two children have their own problems, mostly self-worth and identity crises. Granted, it’s nothing that Harry and Kara together couldn’t address—if they weren’t distracted by their own problems, that is. It’s the same story with the rest of his hangers-on, like Kara’s clone sister or that plant elemental girl that Demeter was going on about the other day. They all need help in one form or another—and Harry is trying—but there are some problems that he’s simply ill-equipped to solve.”
Hera reviewed his words as she sipped her drink. Her son had brought up several very well considered points—as always. “What is your solution, then?” she finally asked.
Hephaestus grinned and pointed to an opened box. “Well, I just so happen to have an old pair of cursed shackles lying around collecting dust. Suppose that those shackles found their way to Earth and somehow encountered one of the chief instigators of all these problems. Then suppose that the cursed articles give Harry some well deserved rest while forcing his little clique to rely on themselves to solve the problem and eventually free him. There’s no need for any elaborate solution, perhaps just a small quest to gather the components for the key,” he suggested while holding said key out for her inspection. “Nothing too rigorous… maybe just a short trip to an out-of-the-way Temple or two—something like that.”
Laughing, he continued, “I mean… it’s not beyond the bounds of reason that his little family might even realize some self-worth on the journey, not to mention that my nephew might finally accept that he’s a good person doing a good work, but that he isn’t required to hold all of creation together single-handedly.”
Hera snorted at her son’s display of glee. “And from the conversations you exchanged with your wife earlier, I suppose that you’re also looking forward to ribbing Diana’s choice of romantic interests during her upcoming visit, as she’s the only capable guide for this little quest?”
There was a large grin from Hephaestus as he gestured towards the side of the shop. “Who do you think I’m marking that armor for? If her mortal intended keeps getting involved in these matters, he’s going to need it. A few golden apples from time to time probably wouldn’t be amiss, either.”
The goddess shook her head before becoming serious once more. “Why have you gone to such efforts, Hephaestus? You must have gone through considerable trouble to amass all of this research so quickly. What about our uninformed descendant has so garnered your interest?”
Smiling in a satisfied manner, he asked, “Isn’t it obvious? After the blonde airhead’s public defeat and shaming, Aphrodite’s lost all interest in pursuing Ares romantically. Even ignoring our relation by blood, that feat alone earns Harry and his little family my undying gratitude.”
Hera just nodded, deciding against informing her son of his wife’s sudden interest in a certain young incarnation of Death.
The pocket in Harry’s transfigured swimming trunks started to vibrate, causing the wizard to frown in thought. He then realized that his Zippo was to blame and quickly retrieved the device.
“Black here,” he answered.
“Hi, Mr. Black,” Pamela Isley greeted, the sounds of a scuffle nearly rendering her inaudible. “I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a problem with one of the applying stage performers.”
The wizard rubbed his temples before inquiring, “How so?”
“Well, this purple-haired sorceress came in a little while ago, looking for a singing job. Everything was going smoothly until Zatanna and Wonder Woman suddenly appeared—literally. As soon as the Amazon caught sight of Circe—the singer I mentioned—the pair started really going at it. Then Harley and Roxy got back from their errands, and now they’re cheering on the other two!”
He groaned again. “Fine,” Harry grumbled, “I’m on my way.”
“I better come, too,” Kara offered. “Maybe I can reason with them.”
Harry just looked at her blankly.
“Anything’s possible, right?” she asked with a shrug. “Besides, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can come back here.”
He snorted at her optimism before accepting her outstretched hand and Apparated the pair back to the Leaky Cauldron—where Zatanna, Pamela, Harley and Roxy were taking cover behind the counter as Circe and Diana did their very best to destroy the building and each other.
“Well, you’re up,” Harry told the blonde girl at his side as he leaned against the counter and seized a beer for himself.
Kara strode over to the feuding females and attempted to interrupt them. Her diplomatic efforts were ultimately in vain, however, as she received a glancing blow from Diana as the Amazon swatted at Circe with a confiscated support column. Harry thoughtfully snatched the Argosian out of the air before she could collide with anyone else.
“Fine!” she spat. “I give up! They’re all yours.”
Harry tipped his hat and told those standing near him to cover their ears. Wandlessly casting a Sonorous Charm on himself, he loudly ordered, “Enough! You are behaving like children! Now, Diana, put that column back where you found it. Circe, extinguish those tables while there’s still something left to salvage.”
Much to everyone’s amazement—especially that of the two women in question—both the Amazon and the sorceress did as instructed.
“Thank you,” he continued when they were finished. “Now, one at a time, tell me exactly what started this fight. Diana, you may go first.”
“Zee and I teleported down from the Watchtower,” the raven-haired warrior began. “She’s supposed to meet Tim here for a… tutoring session, I think, and I was relaying a message for Raven from Mother. She had expressed an interest in training Raven, in light of her new abilities.”
Harry nodded at the woman’s sensible suggestion, as Raven’s new physiology would necessitate a different fighting style than she had been previously accustomed. Who better to teach her the female side of the martial arts than the Amazons, who practically wrote the book on empowered immortal women?
Upon hearing mention of Hippolyta, the purple-haired sorceress started to interrupt, but a sharp glare from Harry curtailed her response.
“When we got here,” Diana continued, “I saw Circe talking with Pamela Isley.”
After several ensuing moments of silence, Harry prompted, “And…”
“That’s when I engaged her in battle,” Wonder Woman concluded.
On second thought, perhaps he could find his daughter a different hand-to-hand instructor. Hopefully, a more even-tempered one.
Turning to the other combatant, the wizard prompted, “Alright, Circe. Anything you want to add?”
“Just that I was minding my own business when this Amazon harpy jumped me.”
“Like we would believe that!” Diana spat. “There’s no telling what nefarious plot you were concocting here!” Turning back to Harry, she continued, “The last time she showed her face in Man’s World, she turned me into a… something.”
Harry raised a hand to get her attention. “Actually, she was responding to our advertisement for stage performers,” he supplied. “From what I’ve heard, she’s quite the vocalist.”
“She’s something, alright,” the Amazon princess retorted quietly.
He sighed resignedly. “You know, we really need to address your society’s impulse control problem—this is the second feud in as many days that’s dropped itself in my lap. Still,” he allowed while glancing at the purple-haired sorceress, “I can understand your reasoning.”
Harry shook his head disbelievingly. “I’ve got to ask… why settle for a simple transfiguration? Hardly the route I’d choose for revenge.”
She shrugged. “I’ve always been good with pigs. Besides, I knew that it’d get Hippolyta all wound up. She’s the one I had a grudge with, after all.”
“To each his—or her—own, I suppose,” the wizard finally acknowledged. “I’m rather particular to albino ferret transfigurations myself.”
Circe nodded. “I tried to do a ferret a time or two; never could get the feet proportional to everything else.”
“That part is rather tricky,” Harry agreed. “I had to practice it more than a few times myself.” At the witch’s curious look, he elaborated. “I saw it used once and thought it an amusing spell to learn. Still, that’s hardly sporting of you, attacking someone with virtually no defense against magic.”
“Hey, I’d just gotten paroled from Tartarus—which was due to her dearest mommy,” the witch explained with an indignant huff. “After a few millennia of hanging by my ankles and having my fingers gnawed each night by weasels, I was… upset.”
“It was the will of the gods that punished you for your crimes against humanity, witch!” Diana protested.
“Wait a second!” Harry interrupted as the two women seemed ready to renew their battle. “Let me get this straight. Circe was sentenced to thousands of years in Tartarus… for transfiguring people into animals?”
The sorceress hurried to confirm his query, while the Amazon just as rapidly added, “She aided Hades’ attempt to overthrow Mount Olympus.”
Harry nodded. “I know—we’ve discussed the matter. Circe did the right thing, Diana. Zeus was dangerously close to upsetting the balance between life and death. Had he succeeded, the universe itself might have collapsed.”
The wizard looked thoughtful for a few moments. “By any chance, was Zeus the one who sentenced you?” he asked the purple-haired goddess. At her nod, he groaned. “No wonder Hades was fit to be tied,” he muttered. “Alright,” he continued in a louder tone, “I’ll go talk to them again and see if we can’t get you some sort of compensation for your wrongful imprisonment. If you would, give me a list of any other incidents like this one, and I’ll resolve them all at once.” The wizard shook his disbelievingly. “I can’t believe that he had the audacity to misuse the underworld for this!”
“But what about all those things she did?” Diana protested.
“She did behave more than a little juvenile,” Harry noted reprovingly, “but it sounds to me as nothing more than a prank taken too far. I assure you, if Circe had seriously meant anyone any lasting harm, she could have done something far worse than a few spells taught to children.”
“That’s right, Princess Piggy,” the female magician said smugly.
“Still, it did get out of hand,” Harry reminded her. “You might consider apologizing for your part in this mess.”
“Apologize?!” Circe demanded. “To her?!”
Harry nodded. “To Diana, her people, Zatanna here, and Batman,” he specified.
Reluctantly, she agreed, on the condition that she received similar treatment from the involved parties.
“Lovely,” he concluded, “so… have you auditioned yet?”
“No, the world’s strongest harlot interrupted me,” she answered. At his warning look, she dropped the line of conversation and took the stage. Her interview took the form of a riveting ballad, which even Diana had to admit was well delivered.
After discussing the matter, Harry informed the performing goddess that she was hired. “I also have a second proposition for you,” he continued. “My son Tim is a natural at Transfiguration, you see, while my strong suit is more towards wards and hexes.”
“And running off to face overwhelming odds by yourself,” Kara added helpfully, still miffed over being cut out of the recent brawl.
Ignoring the blonde extra terrestrial, Harry continued, “So I was wondering… have you ever considered a career in tutoring?”
Dumbfounded, the purple-haired woman just blinked at him.
“Well, Amanda?” President Langley prompted once the remaining Cadmus staff advisors were gathered. “Has your team validated the recovered artifact yet?”
“We have, Mr. President,” the short Department Head replied. “Once obtaining the mysteriously donated relic from the Smithsonian’s Department of Admissions, we ran the full battery of tests. Carbon dating places the manufactured item in the right era, and the excavation site certainly lends credence towards this being the genuine article. If the legends are to be believed, these could very well be the famed shackles that Sisyphus used to bind Thanatos millennia ago. However, the only definite method to prove their authenticity is to use them.”
Langley nodded approvingly. “Good, good. When can they put in play?”
“Mr. President?” Waller questioned disbelievingly. The former Cadmus supervisor would be the first to admit that the immortal… whatever he was… was a potential threat—every single report she could scan indicated previously unheard of abilities, as well as a vengeful mindset to use said powers. In fact, it was rumored that the so called ‘Mr. Black’ was even more dangerous than the whole Justice League space station and all its metapowered tenants combined.
When she locked eyes with the enigma in human form after Eiling’s rather embarrassing demise, it was quite evident to her that Black was not someone one should have as an enemy. True, if the Presidential advisors’ shoddy plan actually worked—a possibility so low that it was, quite frankly, laughable—an enormous threat to America would disappear. But, as was far more likely, if it failed…
Perhaps the Almighty would be inclined to intervene on their behalf, because it was doubtful that anyone else could save them.
Waller quickly composed herself. “Mr. President,” she repeated, “I must advise against this course of action. Not only is the projected likelihood of success abysmally low, but my people have also analyzed all available information on this relic and modeled a few of the most probable scenarios. First, based on the existing data, we cannot even be certain that Mr. Black will be stopped. The accounts only state that Death’s power was halted while the shackles were worn, not that Thanatos himself was affected.”
“But as you said,” the elected official addressed, “there is no way to be certain of their effects upon him without using them.”
“That is correct, Sir,” the woman replied, “but we can predict the consequences of employing the shackles. If these chains are what we believe them to be, then Death itself would be stopped, not just Black. Perhaps even for the entire country, or the world. Heck, for all I know, maybe even the whole universe would be affected. If such a thing ever came to pass, we would effectively doom ourselves. With our current resources—food, shelter, basic necessities—we could not withstand the ensuing population boom for more than a couple weeks. And then you have to factor in the health issues of clinically dead bodies still walking around, generating waste… Mr. President, this course of action is not simply unwise. It’s insane.”
The room was silent for a few moments. “Thank you, Amanda,” President Langley finally replied. “We will shelve this option to be used as a last resort. Unless there is any new business, you are adjourned.”
“Sorry, Waller,” Dr. Emil Hamilton muttered to himself from within the confines of his secured laboratory, “but I signed on to neutralize the metahuman threat, and this Mr. Black could be worse than an entire army of Supermen.” Pocketing a device he had hoped to never use, the scientist paged his all-but-adopted daughter.
Within a few moments, Galatea sped into the laboratory. “Sorry I’m late,” the cloned Argosian greeted. “There was an earthquake out west that I was helping to clean up after. So… what’s up?”
“It’s good to see you again, Galatea,” Hamilton greeted, “but this wasn’t a social call. I have a task for you. You see, there was an artifact recently donated to the Smithsonian museum that was apparently unearthed some time ago in the ruins of a Greek temple. Research has pointed out that they possess a kind of energy field, with some interesting results.” He paused. “The original box they were found in had an inscription on it, naming it the Sisyphus Box.”
“So?” the white-clad woman shrugged. “What do you want me to do? Go get you a refund?”
“Not a fan of mythology, I take it?” Emil stated, rather than asked. “Let me tell you a brief story.” He went on to relay as much information as he had on the Sisyphus myth, focusing chiefly on the manner in which the wily Greek managed to bind Thanatos and halt death.
Galatea saw where this was going. “No. I’m not going to do it.”
Hamilton pretended that he did not hear the woman’s refusal. “It isn’t such a big leap of faith to think that they are the shackles of legend. If the tale can be believed…”
“No! I refuse! Not only is Joe my friend, he’s also dating my sister! I will not betray—”
“So they’ve corrupted you, too,” he sighed. “Galatea, you’re going to help me stop the threat to normal people whether you want to… or not.” Hamilton reluctantly withdrew his contingency plan and pointed the specialized remote at the woman, activating a dormant module of her implanted neural inhibitor. “Now, this is what you are going to do…”
Once it became obvious that some higher power decreed their day at the beach to be continually interrupted, the pair decided to spend the rest of their day engaging in some other activity. Kara’s vote, which Harry quickly discovered carried more weight than his own, was for shopping. Again. Her chief argument seemed to be that a boyfriend who could carry an infinite number of bags was an advantage to be used at every opportunity. Protests that she had gone on a spending frenzy not twenty four hours earlier for new shoes were immediately countered with an expressed need to find matching accessories for the aforementioned footwear.
The Argosian further used the arrival of a strangely reticent Galatea to gain the majority vote—not that the young woman seemed to require such a thing only moments prior. The wizard submitted to the inevitable and the three soon found themselves in yet another shopping center, much to his disgust.
While Kara was admiring a fluffy white sweater, her sister approached the bored Harry. “Joe, can I talk to you for a moment—in private?”
“Sure, Tea.” Harry smiled at the young woman before following her to an uninhabited portion of the store. “What can I do for you?”
Seeing that Kara was sufficiently distracted and not paying them any mind, Galatea made her move. “Could you close your eyes for a second? It’s a surprise.”
Again, Harry could detect something decidedly different about the girl, but her scent was undeniably that of Kara’s sister, so he ignored his misgivings. He was at a loss, however, to explain the slight tremor in her voice or the nervous pounding of her heart. While most people behaved similarly around him, he had thought that Galatea had outgrown her discomfort of his presence. Shrugging to himself, Harry closed his eyes. Protesting would only make her even more nervous, after all.
He felt her take his hands and pull them together between them. There was a slight sound of metal rattling against itself before Death’s ring sent a sharp exclamatory thought straight into his mind—as if warning him of something. He opened his eyes a moment too late, as a pair of ancient-looking shackles closed around his wrists and flooded him with a cold sensation.
“Why—?” Harry tried to ask before the obviously magical binds rendered him unconscious.
Her mission complete, Galatea’s inhibitor chip disengaged, and the realization of what she involuntarily did to one of the few people who treated her as an actual person sent her to her knees, bawling.
The commotion drew Kara’s attention from the sweater. Recognizing her sister’s voice, she quickly followed the discontented sounds to their source —and stopped cold, unable to believe her eyes. Her sister was kneeling on the store’s floor, with Joe’s head pillowed in her lap. There were chains locked around her boyfriend’s wrists, and she belatedly realized that the man was unconscious.
No, he was not merely unconscious—he was not even breathing.
“What happened?” Kara demanded as she dropped to her knees as well.
“I-I didn’t mean to!” the distraught Galatea blurted. “It was my fath… Emil Hamilton. He wanted me to put these Sisyphus shackle things on Joe. I refused, and he pulled out this weird r-remote and pointed it to me! I saw what was happening, but I couldn’t stop myself! I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear!”
Kara struggled to break the shackles, only to find them resistant to her best efforts. Even the two women combined were unable to damage the nefarious devices. Struggling to remain rational, Kara decided, “We’ll deal with Hamilton later. First, we need to get Joe back to the Watchtower. Maybe the mystics or one of the League’s medics can get him fixed.”
The shorter blonde woman picked up Harry’s inanimate body even as her sister called the space station for an emergency teleport.
“He can’t die,” Kara whispered disconsolately as the trio disappeared in a flash of light. “Not him, too.”
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bacey,” an annoyingly cheerful voice called. Harry groaned and opened his eyes and, for a split second, he thought that he was looking into a mirror. Right after that observation, however, his mind began picking up subtle little variations, such as a lack of scarring, different colored eyes, and mono colored hair.
With a jolt, he finally realized that he was not seeing his face, but his father’s.
“Am I dead?” Harry eventually asked.
“That’s pretty funny coming from you,” James Potter replied with a smile. “To answer your question… not exactly. I guess this is what you’d call a ‘near death’ experience, ‘cept of course that you’re not near you at the moment if you know what I mean. Not that I’m complaining, mind you—Lils and I’ve wanted to properly meet you for a while now.”
Harry nodded slowly and sat up on the… well, for lack of a better word, bright mist. His surroundings were not so much hidden by cloudy vapor as the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white as well. It was neither warm nor cold, but simply there—a flat, blank something on which to be.
“I’m going out on a limb here, but since you look a whole lot like me, I’m guessing… James?”
“You are correct, Sir,” his almost doppelganger nodded.
“But I was under the impression that you were dead?”
The identified James Potter nodded in a manner eerily reminiscent of Dobby. “Oh, I’m very much dead.”
“But… I’m not?” Harry repeated.
“Not entirely, no.”
“Any chance you want to tell me what the frack’s going on?” the latter generation Potter demanded.
“Good thing your mother isn’t here,” James professed. “You’d get smacked for that one.”
“Why isn’t she here?” the other wizard asked confusedly.
“Oh, she’ll be along. Your mother’s still berating that fairy Viviane for saddling you with another set of problems—has been for a while now, actually.”
Harry frowned. “So… you guys know about that, then?” he asked resignedly.
“Oh, yeah,” his apparent father answered cheerfully, “we get to check in on things now and then… As hard as it is to admit, I think you’ve topped all the Marauders put together with as much trouble as you’ve gotten in over the years. I know Padfoot’s impressed.”
“So Sirius is here as well?” Harry asked before another thought struck him. “How’d you all get here, anyway? Last I checked I was in another dimension.”
“Oh, all the Afterlives are connected together; that’s how Lils got to the fairy’s little everafter for their… talk. I think Padfoot’s off chasing nymphs at the moment, in case you were wondering, but I left him a note to come meet us.”
The two fell silent and just stared at each other in the misty nothingness.
“So…” James finally spoke, “Seeker, huh?”
Unfortunately, the combined efforts of the League personnel were unable to free Harry from his restraints. Clark had no more luck breaking the device than the two girls did—nor did John’s ring, Shayera’s mace, Bruce’s array of gadgets, or even the combined efforts of Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Jason Blood, and the Atom. The desperate group even brought the crew from the Leaky Cauldron, reasoning that Raven, Tim, and Pamela possessed a portion of Harry’s power and were therefore more likely to affect the restraints.
“Too bad we can’t just wake him up,” Tim commented to the Mistress of Magic. “I bet he could tell us how to remove them.”
Zatanna nodded. “Probably, but how would we—?”
“Would that work?” Jason Blood asked as he walked over to the nurse’s station and retrieved their coffee pot.
“It’s worth a shot,” Supergirl voiced as several of the Leaguers eyed the glass container warily. Fetching a funnel, the blonde woman proceeded to pour the caffeinated substance into the comatose magician.
Her actions did garner a response, though not one she desired. Harry did seem to rouse slightly, but did not wake. Instead, he seemed to be in the grasp of some horrid nightmare. The bound man shifted restlessly on the hospital bed as he grimaced, spouting off unintelligible comments in a range of foreign languages.
“What’s happening?” Kara demanded worriedly. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s… experiencing a nightmare, I think,” Diana finally answered. “Or a memory. I don’t recognize all the languages that he’s speaking, but the bits I can translate appear unrelated. Right now, he’s speaking in Coptic… Sanskrit… Avestan… I can’t even guess at what the hissing means.”
“It’s something about fighting a Dark Lord named Voldemort,” Raven quietly informed the group, garnering more than a few odd glances.
Harry’s ramblings suddenly changed intonation again. “Now what is he saying?” the Argosian asked.
“I think he’s reliving a fight with some demon,” the Amazon hazarded a guess. “He’s saying something about… Auschwitz…?”
The group exchanged concerned glances as the room’s temperature rose inexplicably. “Hit the decks!” Jason Blood yelled in warning. Immediately following on the heels of his admonition, a ring of flame burst out of Harry’s muttering form. The fiery torus expanded violently, searing a line of devastation five feet off the ground in a radius of about fifty feet.
“Sedate him—now!” Batman ordered sharply.
Wally attempted to comply, but the syringe’s needle failed to penetrate the wizard’s skin. “It’s not working!” the Fastest Man Alive yelled worriedly as the air around Harry began to heat up again. “I can’t get the needle to go in!”
“Let me try,” Pamela Isley interposed. “Everyone hold your breath,” she warned as she—for lack of a better word—pollinated the air directly above Harry’s head with golden dust. Fortunately for the Watchtower’s structural integrity, however, the pollen seemed to have a calming influence on the distressed magician, and he once more slipped into the dead-like sleep. Once the golden cloud had evaporated, the queen of Green announced, “Okay, its safe.”
“What was that?” Batman demanded.
“A highly concentrated combination of Kava, Valerian, and Passion Flower,” the redhead supplied. “I made it strong enough to knock out a human for the better part of a month—hopefully, it will keep Mr. Black asleep long enough to remove those shackles.”
“I can’t believe this!” Kara fumed. “Nothing works!”
The perfect definition of ‘courage under fire’, Batman looked her way. “Calm down, Supergirl. Your histrionics will not aid this situation.”
“But look at him!” she ordered worriedly. “He’s clinically dead!”
“Umm… isn’t that normal for him?” the until-now forgotten Roxy Rocket questioned aloud. “I mean, him being dead hasn’t been a problem before now.”
“Well, this certainly is,” Wally spoke up, drawing the group’s attention to a live television broadcast. A panicking news anchor was on part of the screen, while the other portion was playing clips from some horror movie. The Fastest Man Alive increased the volume.
“—assure you that this is not a joke,” the worried televised man announced. “It seems that the ‘Day of the Living Dead’ is no longer just a movie. We’re receiving reports from all around the globe; while the cause is currently unknown, all living things are no longer able to die. Victims of disfiguring accidents, burns, and drowning— it seems that ailments that once proved fatal not so long ago are deadly no more. People with the most gruesome injuries remain ambulatory, unable to escape their unending pain. Eyewitness reports claim—”
The League stared at the screen as the morbid clips aired uncensored: people who carried their own decapitated heads under their arms, people and pets with only half a head, people with the blue complexion of someone who suffocated. The situation was the same in every instance. People were screaming, yelling, crying, and begging for the pain to stop—to no avail.
The newsroom anchor reappeared on the screen, mercifully interrupting the montage. “As more and more incidents are being called in, there is only one question on everyone’s lips—does this global calamity signal the end times?”
“We have to do something,” Clark blurted, reflecting the entire League’s opinion on the matter.
“I’m with ya, Big Guy,” Wally said, “but in case you haven’t noticed, we only have one Death on the payroll, and he’s not going to be much help at the moment.”
Raven looked up at the Scarlet Speedster’s comment. “That may not be entirely correct,” she said. As everyone turned to her, she continued, “When we were attacked yesterday, I accidentally ordered a group of animated skeletons to stop attacking us and they obeyed. If Father gave me that ability, then I might be able to help… if I had his scythe, anyway. But I don’t know where he keeps it.”
“Check his pockets,” Kara suggested. “Rao knows he keeps everything else in there. Meanwhile, someone needs to contact his family. Maybe one of them can suggest something.”
“I’m on it,” the youthful Tim Hunter agreed before producing a Zippo and following her instructions.
“You coming?” Raven entreated Zatanna before ducking into the comatose wizard’s inner coat pocket.
“I just know I’m gonna regret this,” the other woman grumbled before removing her top hat and following the younger witch into the pocket dimension.
The Caped Crusader turned to the Amazon at his side. “What more can you tell us about these shackles?” he asked. “Are there any other methods of removing them besides the key?”
“I don’t know much more than what’s already been said,” Diana admitted regrettably. “The last time they were used, it took the god of war to unlock them,” she admitted, “and Ares is probably still smarting from the beating Mr. Black gave him and Hades. It’s doubtful that he’d help us.” She paused for a moment. “I might be able to… extract… the answer from the god who made them, though.”
Shayera smiled viciously and slapped her mace against her other hand. “I like the sound of that,” the Thanagarian woman announced.
“Count me in,” Kara seconded, closely followed by Galatea’s own voiced desire to make amends.
Waller irritably turned off her television after watching the physical consequences of her unheeded warnings. “I wonder which one of those fools is responsible,” she muttered as she withdrew one of the secured telephones from its hiding place and dialed a long-distance number from memory.
“Wayne Manor, this is Alfred Pennyworth speaking,” a distinguished male voice answered.
“I need to talk to your boss,” she stated bluntly. “Put him on a secured line.”
“Master Wayne is currently in a vital meeting, Madame,” the butler replied, “and left instructions not to be disturbed.”
Amanda snorted. “I’m sure he is,” she agreed sarcastically. “Call him anyway and tell him that Waller needs to talk with him—now.” The Secretary of Metahuman Affairs replaced the phone in its cradle abruptly.
“Well, Rich Boy,” she sighed, “I hope you’ve got another miracle on that belt of yours. I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to need it about now.”
“Ouch!” Zatanna cried as she stubbed her toe against more of the pocket clutter. “How can he ever find anything in all this mess?”
“If you think this is bad, you should see Beast Boy’s room sometime,” the younger witch rejoined. “What did you trip over?”
“A bunch of crates of… something. Shine your light over here.”
Raven complied and read off the container’s label. “East India Trading Company? It looks like… tea.”
Zatanna snorted. “I had wondered why we sailed out of Boston on the Avalon voyage. Why am I not surprised that he had something to do with the Boston Tea Party as well?”
“Hey! Look at this weird car,” the girl called out from further in the pocket.
The elder witch carefully made her way past the chaotically stacked beverage to inspect the latest find. The silver two-door sedan was a strange looking vehicle to be certain, what with the collection of exposed electrical cables, jet engine exhaust, and hideously complex instrument panels inside the machine.
“Any ideas why your dad has a weird De Lorean in his pocket?” the Mistress of Magic inquired.
Her companion just shook her head and continued to visually explore the apparent vehicular section of the pocket. She could only identify a few of the various ships, cars, and planes haphazardly parked around them.
“Let’s look over this way for Mr. Black’s scythe,” Zatanna called. “I saw something glowing.”
“If you’re talking about the golden glow coming from behind the pile of road signs, then forget it. It’s just an old ram’s pelt.”
Zatanna was silent for a few moments. “No, I mean the golden glow coming from the other way.”
“What way?” Raven asked shortly as she studied the burned husk of a giant zeppelin.
“Just follow the path between the World War II biplane and the stuffed Tyrannosaurus Rex,” the other female advised.
“And where’s the T-Rex?”
“Behind the giant frozen robot,” Zatanna supplied. “I’m almost to the… never mind. False alarm.”
“What was it?”
“An ornate golden box with a bunch of Hebrew words carved in it,” Zatanna answered in an obviously forced calm tone.
That caught the girl’s attention, causing her to swiftly fly to the other woman’s location. “You don’t think that’s really…”
“Well, history does say that it mysteriously vanished despite being a closely guarded relic,” the top hat-wearing woman allowed. “And look at that wooden cup he has next to it… if that’s what I think it is, mankind’s been searching for it for over two millenia now.”
“Hey, I think that we’re getting closer,” Raven announced. “There’s an ancient spear over here… looks to be Roman, I think. I’m getting a weird feeling off it.”
“Right,” Zatanna uneasily announced, “let’s try a different section.”
“I contacted Henchgirl,” Tim announced. “She’s sending a care package to help us out. It may be a few minutes, though.” He stuck his head in the coat pocket and called for Zatanna and Raven to return. Once they had complied, he continued. “Raven, our… aunt, I guess, said that Joe keeps his weapons in those gauntlets, but that they only respond to some unique magical signature of his. Supposedly, he can just will his weapons to appear.”
“That would explain why we couldn’t find anything in his pockets,” Zatanna groused.
“I’ve got some of Father’s powers; maybe that will be enough.” The purple-haired girl tentatively placed her hand on one of the aforementioned gauntlets. “Umm… I really need the scythe…?”
Nothing happened.
“Now!” she ordered, both verbally and mentally.
The familiar bladed weapon immediately popped into existence before promptly falling to the floor with a clatter.
“Oops,” the young witch said, embarrassed, before retrieving the tool. “I really hope that I don’t get grounded for this.”
“I’ll explain it to him when he wakes up,” Kara promised.
Raven smiled briefly before frowning again. “But I still don’t know how to find the people who need help.”
Tim looked thoughtful. “I’ve got an idea. Mortis?” he called. The translucent horse appeared next to his owner. “Joe’s asleep and nobody’s dying anymore. Raven thinks she can help, but we don’t know where he keeps the list of people to visit. Can you find them?”
The ghost stallion nodded his head.
“Great…” his step-sister said dryly, “except I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“Wait a minute!” the redheaded stuntwoman interjected. “Hey, Silver, can you turn into a bike by yourself, or does the boss gotta be awake?”
In response, the Pooka transfigured itself into its black motorbike form.
Roxy smiled brightly. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Sweetie, I’ll handle the transportation. You just figure out how to work that thing,” she pledged while gesturing to the softly glowing scythe.
“Fine,” Batman acknowledged as he swept back into the crowded medical bay. “I just spoke with Amanda Waller; Hamilton apparently went rogue with those shackles after she convinced the President to mothball them.”
“Did she have any suggestions on how to open them?” Superman asked.
The Dark Knight shook his head. “There was no key or means of unlocking the shackles the dig site. We’re on our own,” he advised the group. “I will go with Diana and attempt to recover the key from its maker. Mr. Terrific, scramble everyone else to the major hotspots to maintain order while Raven… fills in for Mr. Black. Let’s move, people.”
“That’s weird,” Harry commented as he faded back into existence again. “Am I supposed to do that?”
“Someone was attempting to wake you up,” his mother replied anxiously. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine… Mum,” he replied awkwardly before attempting to change the subject. “So, Sirius, you’re saying that the Veil really is a portal to the Realm of the Dead?”
“A one-way portal for most of us,” the former Wizarding convict affirmed, “but… yeah. I’d imagine it’s nothing more than a door for you.”
“So… you’re not really dead, then?” Harry pressed.
“From what I’ve gathered, it’s one of those ‘points of view’ things,” the Black-by-birth explained. “My body never actually died, it’s just… well, dead.”
Harry nodded distractedly. “When I get back… would you like me to pull you back out of the Veil, then? You know, let you continue your life?”
His godfather considered the proposal. “Maybe someday,” he allowed, “but the Wizarding World already has one Mr. Black to prank it. I’d just be redundant. Besides, it’s nice up here. Plenty of stuff to do, loads of awkward first meetings to watch.”
The other Mr. Black felt an eyebrow elevate. “Like what?” Harry asked.
Smiling far too brightly, Sirius pointed over his godson’s shoulder.
Following the appendage, Harry caught sight of a swiftly approaching blonde woman. The aforementioned flaxen female looked suspiciously like a middle-aged Kara clothed in alien attire, and she apparently had her sights set firmly on Harry.
Recognition apparently dawned for both Blacks at the same time, as Padfoot snickered and gleefully exclaimed, “Looks like someone’s in for the high jump!”
“Bugger!” Harry muttered before being smacked upside the head. “Oww!”
“Language,” his mother calmly corrected.
“Hello, Diana,” Hephaestus called out jovially as he quenched the glowing sword hot off the forge. “It’s been… what? Two… three years now? How’s things? And look, you brought company.”
“We didn’t come here to discuss old times,” the Amazonian princess interrupted. “There’s a set of ancient shackles bearing your mark that’s currently binding your relative and halting all death on Earth.”
“Ah, yes, Sisyphus’s old toy,” the smith acknowledged with a grin. “I had wondered where those had gotten off to.”
Kara stepped around Diana’s taller frame. “How do you open them?” the blonde girl demanded.
Hephaestus made a show of looking her up and down. “Cute kid,” he said in an aside to Diana. “Spunky, too. Reminds me of the missus when she gets her dander up. I can see why he likes her,” he explained. “It’s not really all that complicated, Sweetness. You just need the key.”
“And obtaining the key will entail… what, precisely?” Batman inquired. “I’ve learned that magic always has a price.”
The Greek god of the forge nodded. “Wise man,” he noted. “I’d hang onto this one, kiddo,” Hephaestus advised the Amazon. “To answer your question, it’s rather straightforward. You just have to reassemble the key and you’re all set—kind of like that piece I made for the Tartarus gates. That reminds me, Diana. Did you really have to break that key to stop Hades? Do you have any idea how long it took me to make a replacement?”
“Where are the pieces?” Diana questioned tiredly, ignoring the smith’s inquiry.
“Well, let’s see.” Hephaestus made a show of recalling a hazy memory. “There’s a total of four pieces; three of which are hidden in sacred temples, and the fourth one is kept right here,” he finished, fetching the key fragment from a chest. “It works a lot like how you found the Tartarus key,” the god of the forge continued. “Carry this piece with you; the jewel in the handle glows brighter as you get closer to one of the other parts; assemble the four together… yada yada yada. Get the picture?”
“Thanks,” the Amazon answered shortly. “If that’s everything, we’ll just be going.”
“That’s not quite everything,” he informed the group as he put the finishing touches on the now-cooled ebony sword. “If you’re determined to go on this little odyssey, you may as well do it right. Each of the temples is protected by elemental guardians. Now, Diana’s equipment is more than sufficient—it’s my work, after all,” the smith stated with something less than complete modesty, “and Miss Wings here is okay, what with that magic-disrupting mace of hers, but the rest of you aren’t really equipped for the trip. You girls check over there,” he pointed Kara and Galatea over to another worktable. “You ought to find something a little more suitable than your bare fists.”
The short man turned to his male guest. “And that brings us to the mortal Batman,” Hephaestus stated unnecessarily. “Heard a lot about you,” he admitted. “You’re supposed to be pretty inventive; we’ll have to talk after you finish this piece of business. Now, this little baby is for you,” he stated, turned the black sword over to the Gothamite. The weapon was as black as night, and the hilt bore an embossed bat identical to the insignia across his chest.
“It goes with that,” the god gestured to the finished suit of black armor, which looked similar to the partially metallic suit his Justice Lord counterpart wore. Hephaestus pitched his voice low and added, “Consider it an early wedding present.” His tone once more normal, he finished, “It ought to help even the playing field with your friends here, powers wise. Considering all of those metahumans running around causing trouble these days, why you never built power armor is beyond me. Anyway, it should stack the odds in your favor.”
The smith turned around and stomped back to his forge. Thrusting another ingot into the fire, he called out, “Now, if you’ll kindly get a move on, I have orders to fill.”
The ringing of a large hammer accompanied the five Leaguers’ exit. After he heard their aircraft take off, Hephaestus put his hammer back down and turned to one corner of his shop with a grin. “What did I tell you?”
“Oh, don’t act so smug,” Hera chastised fondly as she became visible once more. “It’s unbecoming. How Aphrodite puts up with you is a mystery—even to me.”
The smith’s grin widened. “Love is blind,” he asserted with a shrug. “You know,” he mused, “this has been rather fun. I need to have company over more often.”
“I don’t get it,” Shayera admitted as the group hovered over a clear expanse of water. “First, the key leads us to that abandoned mountain temple that was nearly frozen shut—one of those Oracles you mentioned.”
“Where we had to bash that enchanted armored suit while it did its best to freeze us,” Kara added, before complaining, “I hate the cold.”
“That was nothing compared to the next stop,” Galatea interjected. “What would possess you Greeks to build a temple inside a volcano?”
“It was dedicated to Hephaestus,” Diana supplied. “It makes sense that it be used to hide part of his spare key.”
“Yeah, I can sorta see that,” Kara allowed, “but now the thing has sent us to the middle of nowhere. What’s the deal? Is the temple floating on the ocean invisibly or something?”
Batman, who had remained silent up to this point, finally contributed to the discussion. “No, not on the ocean—under it.”
“You have got to be kidding!” Shayera complained.
Turning to the resident expert on Ancient Greece, he continued, “Diana, I recall a myth that mentioned Hephaestus was originally banished and was found by a woman named Thetis.”
“Yes, the sea goddess,” the Amazon agreed. “After Zeus threw Hephaestus from Mount Olympus when he was defending his mother Hera, Thetis found him crippled and lying on a beach. She took him to her undersea grotto and raised him with the help of Eurynome, the mother of the Graces.”
“Well, it looks like we’re going to be getting wet,” Kara said resignedly.
Bruce retrieved the set of rebreathers from their compartment and passed them out to the Leaguers requiring them. “After you,” he invited amusedly.
“I hate you,” she asserted before sticking her tongue out at him. Pressing the door release, she dived out of the plane and into the ocean, the rest following directly behind her.
A/N: Sorry for the long delay in publishing this chapter. Hopefully, the 12,500-word length makes up for it.
I decided to split this chapter into two parts, so expect the second half to be posted soon. After that, I’ll write the two-part conclusion and—possibly—the epilogue.
A couple omakes and suggestions were implemented in this chapter, namely Shackled by Callide_Mori.
Many thanks to James and Chris for proofreading this chapter, and to all the CaerAzkaban group members whose suggestions appear in this update.
Thank you for your interest, and please remember to review.