I hadn't intended to publish this chapter for a while, yet. My plan was to keep it in my back pocket and work on CJWO until I had a bit of a backlog built up there again. However, I just couldn't wait to put this out there. Call me impatient, but if this story is going to sit on the back-burner for a bit, this is the chapter I want to leave with.
Fair warning, I made some story and character choices in this chapter that I imagine might be a controversial, at least with some of you. I've made decisions like this before, and I'll do it again, but this time I thought I'd warn you. Please, give me feedback if you disagree with what I did. Or if you agree with it. Or if you have no idea what I'm talking about and think I'm being weird.
In light of who my country elected as our president again (because apparently we don't learn very fast), it's more important now than ever to donate to Ukraine and the Ukrainian people. They've probably got some tough times coming, but just because world leaders want to treat their survival as a political football doesn't mean the rest of us should. If you haven't donated, please do. If you already have, please do so again if you can. Thank you.
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Chapter 15
March 25, 07:13
Circe's Palace, Aeaea
Circe hummed with dissatisfaction as she surveyed her home. She couldn't put a finger on what exactly annoyed her, but she couldn't shake the feeling of persistent irritation that had plagued her the last few days. By rights, she should have been happy. Excited at the least. After decades of stagnation and months of waiting, she was finally ready to walk astride the world once more. She was ready to take Odysseus, Vandal, up on his offer to join this cabal of his.
The Light. Such a pretentious name for such a dangerous group, but she would expect nothing less. Her erstwhile lover had ever had a penchant for the dramatic, yet he wasn't one to commit himself to foolish causes. Any group he assembled and led, and he was the leader, no matter how he protested, would be as competent and dangerous as he was himself. She had seen a hundred such groups come and go over the centuries. A thousand. Fat old men who sat around tables guzzling wine and pretending they were still the warriors they had been in their youth. Criminals who lurked in smoky hovels and whispered plots they would never dare put into motion. Fools, all of them. She had long since sworn off such banal organizations. Circe of Aeaea needed no partners. Only minions.
So why had she agreed to Odysseus' invitation? She frowned and one razor sharp nail scratched a pattern in the balcony's stone. Her reasons were complex, even to her own mind. Boredom was certainly part of it. She had languished on her island for over fifty years now, ever since her last clash with Doctor Fate. Sure, she'd taken a few half-hearted shots at Wonder Woman over the decades, but mostly she had licked her wounds and let herself stagnate. Now, it was time to remind the world why her name had once engendered worship and despair alike.
Revenge was no small factor, either. Wonder Woman had humiliated her, as had her mother before. The Amazons as a whole were an insufferable bunch of self-righteous sheep, blindly following the Olympian gods. She meant to see Olympus razed and its gods cast down for what they'd done to her. That meant the Amazons would have to die, not that she wouldn't have killed them all anyway for their queen's crimes.
As for Sirius, she would make him suffer. His death would last for years if she had her way. Just the thought of what he'd done to her, what he'd dared do to her, Circe, daughter of the Sun, sent tendrils of power slithering down her arms. The pattern she'd scratched into the stone, a menacing dog, glowed orange and shifted. It came alive beneath her fingers and cowered from the goddess who had given it shape. She pressed her nail down hard enough to dig through the granite, and the carved dog howled piteously. Pity was not a concept she'd ever had a use for, however, and she dug her nail in further. The howls turned into whimpers and then whines before they finally faded in a last death rattle.
"That is merely a taste of what I will do to you, Sirius," she hissed. "The gods themselves will tremble at what I will unleash upon you."
Yes, revenge was definitely a factor. So too was the promise of power, a promise she had every intention of holding Odysseus to. Odysseus himself, or Vandal Savage as he now preferred, was another reason. During his first stay on Aeaea, he had impressed her. Fascinated her, even. Lost, destitute, worn down from years of war and travel, his crew in the power of an all-powerful witch, and he had still turned the situation to his favor. She could still remember the thrill when he'd held her pinned to the wall, his sword at her throat, enough of her magic in his belly to turn a dozen men into swine. That a powerless mortal could evade her spellcraft had so intrigued her she'd been unable to bring herself to smite him with her magic. There had been something about that scarred face and those dark, calculating eyes. Something she'd felt compelled to explore.
So she'd surrendered to his demands and sworn the oaths he'd asked of her. Then she'd seduced him to her bed, and in doing so he, unlike so many others before and after him, had grown more interesting rather than less. The mind that lurked behind those brutish features was unlike any she'd ever known, mortal or god. Even after he left, the sons she'd borne from their time together had become kings and legends in their own right. None had eclipsed their father, however, and now she knew why.
Odysseus had been no mere mortal. It had been the weight of over four hundred centuries of life that had stared at her from those eyes. It had been the mind that had already conquered the world more than once that had slipped her noose. Had she but known the truth of him back then, she would never have let him slink back to that quim Penelope so easily. No, he would have been hers. Side by side, they would have brought the gods themselves to heel. That opportunity had slipped between her fingers once. She wasn't about to let it go again.
She didn't love him. Or perhaps she did. She had, once. Maybe. She wasn't a woman who loved easily, nor was he a man to be easily loved. It didn't matter, however. He fascinated her as much now as he had then. More even, now she knew his true story. Love meant nothing next to what he could help her accomplish. Together, they would sit atop the universe in glory.
So what was it that vexed her so, now, on the eve of her march to triumph? Vandal had kept to his word and given her the time she requested. Now she was finally ready to leave Aeaea and formally join the Light. She should be aglow with the joy of impending victory. Instead, some growling, primal part of her wanted nothing more than to stay. She gouged another set of furrows into the stone beneath her hands. What was wrong with her?
"Mama! Mama!" The pitter-patter of small feet on stone accompanied the shouts from the hall behind her. "Mama, look!"
She turned around, already knowing what she would see. Sure enough, running barefoot down the hall, arms outstretched, was a little girl. By outward appearance, she was perhaps five or six years old. Her thick black hair had escaped the golden band meant to keep it pinned back and now formed a midnight halo around her smiling face. Said face was ruddy and streaked with sweat from what had obviously been a long sprint from where she'd been to where she was. She wore a plain white tunic and pants, both heavily grass-stained and torn in places. In her hands she clutched a spear, sized for her child's body but with a very real, very sharp bronze tip. Circe's heart did a strange twisting, lurching motion when she saw the child, and a smile tried to crawl across her face, but she fought it off. Instead, she adopted a look and tone of sternness she didn't feel.
"Donna!" She snapped. "What are you doing here? You should be at the training ground. And why are you running around with a spear? You could hurt yourself."
If Donna had noticed the displeasure in her voice, she ignored it. The girl skidded to a stop in front of her, stood to attention, and snapped off a crisp salute. Her excited bouncing rather ruined the effect, however. She shook with eagerness, and Circe once again had to fight off a smile. When she'd asked Vandal to give her a child, this child, she had forgotten what it was like to raise a child. Of course, Donna was no ordinary girl, and raising her had been no ordinary experience. For starters, appearance aside, she'd been born barely 3 months ago, at least as time passed in the world. Accelerating her pregnancy had been child's play for Circe, as had manipulating the flow of time on her island. Aeaea was only loosely tethered to the physical realm to begin with. It didn't take much to stretch an hour into an afternoon, and a day into a week. Her skills with potions had also come in handy. With a few clever brews, she'd sped up her daughter's physical and mental development, to take maximum advantage of the temporal compression she'd managed. From there, it had simply been a matter of implanting false memories to fill the gaps in her psyche. Such tricks had allowed her to begin molding Donna for her intended purpose far sooner than otherwise. Unfortunately, it also seemed Donna was determined to pack an entire childhood's worth of both cuteness and mischief into what was really a brief span of time. Somehow, though, her antics never sparked as much anger in Circe as they should have.
"I wanna show you something, Mama," the girl protested. Her pout could have melted the hearts of Frost Giants. "Look, look, look!"
At the sight of her painful earnestness and innocent excitement, the smile she'd been fighting finally won. Her lips twitched upwards, and she relented.
"What, what, what?" She teased, and Donna stomped her tiny feet with a huff. Adorable didn't begin to describe it. "What's so important I have to see it, hmm?"
"I threw my spear this morning, and I hit the farthest target," she bragged, puffing her chest out with the pride only a child could feel. "Right in the center. In the bowls… the bull-thingy."
Circe felt her smile widen a hair. "The bullseye?"
Donna nodded so fast her hair flopped into her eyes. "Yeahyeahyeah! It was so awesome. Wanna see?"
"Of course." She snapped her fingers, and a target appeared in midair 500 yards away. At that distance, without using magic, she could barely make it out as a human figure. Donna, she knew, could see it clearly. "Do you know who that is, darling?"
"Mmhmm. That's Wonder Woman." Donna made a face. "She's a meanie, isn't she?"
Circe ruffled her daughter's hair. "Yes, dear. She and her friends want to hurt us. But that's why you train, so you can hurt them first."
"So I can kill them!" A bloodthirsty smile turned her into the spitting image of her father. "No one hurts my Mama!"
Circe chuckled and bent down to press a kiss onto Donna's forehead. Warm pride filled her heart at her daughter's words. Such loyalty was a gift only children could give. Moments like this gave her a precious glimpse of the woman her daughter would soon become. The weapon Circe would craft her into.
"You're very sweet. Now, why don't you show me that throw you were bragging about? In the heart, if you would, Donna."
Donna's grin was pure childish delight, but when she spun her spear into position, it was with the fluid grace of a warrior. She took a moment to set up the throw, adjusting her angle and grip. Then, with a war cry, she hurtled the spear as hard as she could. It left her hand as a golden blur. No human could have hoped to hit such a distant target with a spear, but Donna was no mere human. She was the daughter of Circe and Vandal Savage. With her magic and the blessings of Hecate, Circe had ensured her daughter possessed strength, speed, and endurance to surpass the Amazons she would one day kill. The spear cut through the air so fast her eyes lost track of it, until it slammed into the target, exactly where Wonder Woman's heart would have been if it were truly her. A moment later, the muted crack of the impact reached them.
Donna whooped and danced around in exultation. "See! See! I told you I could do it."
Circe swept the girl up in a hug and hummed, pleased that her efforts were paying off. She wasn't inclined towards physical violence herself, but what was the point of being an immortal witch-goddess if you couldn't get others to perform those tasks that were beneath you? Kidnapping a living Amazon to train Donna would have been impractical, but there were plenty of dead heroes in the Underworld. Summoning their shades was difficult, even for her, but not impossible. Having Donna train under the likes of Aeneas, Theseus, and Ajax more than made up for the trouble of calling them from their rest.
Dreams, too, were a potent means of acquiring knowledge on the sly. Many a woman on Themyscira had awoken these last months from dreams of training a precocious young girl in the arts of combat. Once, it would have been dangerous to take such liberties with dreams. Once, the ruler of the Dreaming would have cast a jaundiced eye at anyone traipsing so cavalierly through his realm. These days, however, such things were easier. She didn't know where Oneiros had disappeared to, nor did she care. Just so long as he didn't return.
Donna squirmed in her arms and she pressed a noisy kiss to the top of her daughter's head. The girl giggled at the noise, and like the darkness at dawn, her morbid thoughts and irritation melted away. For a few golden seconds, there was nothing in the universe but the precious baby in her arms. Instincts she hadn't felt in millennia roared to life and demanded she shelter and protect the life she held; demanded she wrap it in safety and joy and set fire to the rest of the universe to keep it from hurting her daughter.
Then her eyes caught sight of the target falling to the ground, a perfect image of Wonder Woman with a spear through her heart, and the moment of insanity passed. Reason reasserted itself. She buried those feelings, those weaknesses, under her desire for revenge. That drive, to see those who wronged her brought low beneath her heel, had propelled her for millennia now. It had let her topple entire civilizations and send gods running from her wrath. She would not surrender it, nor the power it gave her, for the sake of a single child. Donna wasn't just her daughter, she reminded herself. She was the instrument of her vengeance. A tool for her to hone and unleash. It wouldn't do to let maternal love ruin her plans.
'She will understand,' Circe told herself. 'When this is over, I will reward her loyalty and her love. I will give her all that I must withhold for now. She's a dutiful daughter. She'll understand.'
She gave Donna one last squeeze, which elicited another giggle. The girl made an exaggerated face and stuck her tongue out like a dead lizard.
"Mama, you're squishing me," she whined. "I'm gonna die."
"Don't exaggerate," Circe admonished. "If Ajax couldn't crush you when you two wrestled, I certainly won't."
She still set the girl down and quashed the part of her that mourned even that tiny loss of intimacy with her daughter. Donna pouted, but she knew better than to complain too much. Childish antics aside, her training had granted her the sort of discipline found only in professional soldiers. When she chose to use it, that was. Which, Circe had to admit, was less often than she would prefer, but more often than she probably had a right to expect. For now, Donna was still a child, which made what she had to do next that much harder. She kneeled down and put a hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Donna, Mama has to go away for a while. I have to leave the island, and you won't see me for some time."
Donna didn't miss a beat. She had her arms crossed and a frown on her face before Circe could blink. "No," she huffed. "I'm coming with you."
"Absolutely not!" Circe's words came out harsher than she'd meant them to, and Donna flinched. She took a deep breath and pushed on, calmer this time. "You're not ready to leave Aeaea yet. For now, I need you to focus on your training. Okay?"
"No! I wanna come with you." Tears welled up in Donna's eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "It's not fair!"
Circe took another breath and drew herself up to her full height. "Donna Troy, why do you bear that name?"
Donna didn't stop sniffling, and the tears didn't stop flowing, but she spoke between her wet gasps. "Because the legacy of Troy became Rome, and it rose from the ashes to conquer the world."
"And what is your purpose?"
"To protect my mother and kill her enemies." She rattled off the words as if they'd been drilled into her since birth. They had, of course, through endless repetition, not to mention magical and psychic reinforcement. The mantra was as much a part of her as her lungs or her eyes.
"That's right." Circe nodded and tousled her hair. Donna refused to be placated, however.
"But how can I protect you if I'm stuck here? You can't go. You can't, you can't, you can't!"
"I will be fine for now," Circe assured her. "I need you to focus on your training. How can you protect me and kill our enemies if you don't get strong? Do you understand?"
Donna sniffled again and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "I- I guess so."
"Good. When you're ready, you can join me. Until then, don't look so sad. I'll be back as often as I can manage. After all, I wouldn't want to miss out on my little girl growing up."
"You promise?" There was such a poignant blend of trust and vulnerability in those two words. Circe felt the weight of ancient, sacred magic fall upon her as she nodded.
"I promise." She leaned down and gave her daughter one last kiss on the nose. "I love you very much, Donna. Make me proud."
"I will. I love you too, Mama."
Circe felt a sense of kinship with Atlas as she stood up and turned away from her daughter, though she suspected hers was the weightier burden. Nevertheless, she turned, and with a thought and silent spell, she was gone.
Vandal had spent weeks sailing the sea to reach Aeaea, an effort she had appreciated. It was not one she felt any need to replicate, however. She had no one to impress, and the spells distorting space and time around her island parted at her touch. He had told her to meet a representative of the Light in Athens, and so it was to Athens she teleported herself. Specifically to the Acropolis, in the shadow of a pillar of the Parthenon. Her heart lurched to see the state of the ancient temple. She remembered when it had been new; a shining monument of marble and art, filled with tapestries, supplicants, and priestesses. At the center of it all had stood the Athena Parthenos, perhaps the only statue ever to approach the true glory of an Olympian goddess. She had hated the sight of it then, but now, seeing the crumbling ruin it had become, bereft of art, tourists in place of worshippers, she felt an inexplicable sense of loss. A monument to her enemy it may have been, but even she had never denied its splendor.
'I am getting old,' she thought. 'And the world has changed around me, while I have sat immutable in my palace. That changes, starting today.'
She shifted her chiton into a stylish blouse and trouser combination. Her hair unraveled from its intricate plait and fell loose down her back. A pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses materialized on her face, and a sunhat appeared atop her head. By the time she stepped out from behind the pillar, she looked no different from any of the other rich tourists who milled around and gawked at the ruins of the civilization of Plato and Pericles.
Vandal hadn't mentioned who she was to meet, nor where. Athens was a large city, and full of ten million different spots for a discreet meeting. Even with magic, she could have spent weeks searching the city for the Light's representative. Longer if they had even a fraction of Vandal's skills in subterfuge. Just the thought of such menial effort made her grimace. So, rather than root about in the mud of humanity for who knew how long, she found a sufficiently elegant restaurant, ordered food for two, and waited. She didn't have to wait for long.
No sooner had her waiter placed the food on the table than a man joined her at the table. He looked to be in his early middle years, and tall as mortals reckoned such things. His hair was graying at the temples and a few wrinkles added texture to his leonine face. He sported a pair of neatly trimmed mustaches that hung below his chin. His silk suit, though perfectly tailored, was somehow ill-suited to his powerful frame. She could imagine him in armor, or kingly robes, but the trappings of modernity did not fit him. Piercing green eyes stared at her from beneath heavy brows. Those eyes, she thought, had seen more than a typical mortal's share of years. That, combined with the apparent plethora of weapons concealed about his person, left her in no doubt as to who she was speaking to.
The man nodded respectfully to her, but did not wait for an invitation before he pulled out a chair and sat across from her. She raised an eyebrow at the subtle, but pointed, message. This man considered himself her equal. Of course, if he was truly the Light's chosen representative, she would expect no less. Vandal would know better than to send a lowly servant to greet her.
"Greetings, Lady Circe," he said in flawless, though accented, Greek. "I am Ra's al Ghul. Welcome to the Light."
"The demon's head?" She frowned as a faint memory, from almost 500 years earlier, stirred at the name. "I once heard that name in conjunction with the Siege of Malta."
Ra's smiled a viper's smile. "Ah, yes. Dragut. The expansion of the Ottoman Empire into Europe ran counter to my plans for the region, so I arranged for the Corsair's untimely death. A pity, too. He was a worthy foe. We clashed several times over his life. For a time, the world was a duller place without him in it."
She took a few bites of food while she turned the information over in her mind. He had arranged it, he said. Not his predecessor, nor his ancestor, but he himself. It seemed her initial impression had been correct. Vandal wasn't the only immortal in the Light. Not too surprising. There were plenty of the deathless walking the Earth, though fewer now than when she had been young. Most were reclusive, uninspired beings, stuck in the ruts they'd worn for themselves. A few, however, apparently still had greater ambitions. She had heard other stories of the mysterious Demon's Head. Darker, wilder stories, which she had dismissed. Tales of a shadowy monster who had puppeteered world events for centuries. A being, perhaps divine, perhaps demonic, whose reach extended into every throne room, every chamber of power. Now, she thought her skepticism had been premature.
Across from her, Ra's ate quietly, by all appearances content to let her dictate the pace of their conversation. She had little interest in sitting idle, however. There had been too much of that in this last century.
"It seems I have a great deal to learn about the Light," she hedged. "Vandal made mention of his grand plans, but gave few specifics. I hope you can prove more informative."
Ra's inclined his head a fraction. "That is my intention. To that purpose, I have taken the liberty of arranging a private jet for us. The flight will give us a chance to talk in private."
"And where would we be going?"
"To the United States," Ra's answered. "There is a project of ours in Washington, D.C. that would benefit from your knowledge." He paused and studied her face. "Of course, if you have a different destination in mind, you need only speak it."
"No," she said after a moment's consideration. "I would see this project you believe I can help with. It may give me some idea of how deficient you are in arcane expertise."
He nodded, unoffended at her slight against his magical knowledge. They spent the remainder of the meal in near silence, exchanging only the bare minimum of pleasantries to avoid drawing attention. When they stood to leave, Ra's made no move to pay for the meal, nor did he wait for her to do so. To her surprise, their waiter gave him a respectful nod and made no protests. He didn't even comment.
Now that she was looking at him more closely, his stoic silence wasn't the only oddity she noticed about him. He had an unusually athletic physique for a man in his profession, and his hands didn't look much like the hands of any waiter she'd seen before. They were weathered and calloused in a very particular pattern, one she'd only seen on expert swordsmen.
'He's been Ra's al Ghul's man this whole time,' she realized. A chill crawled up her spine. He'd served her food and drinks. It had never occurred to her to check them for poison. There were few poisons that could do her any harm, but they were out there. Had Ra's wished it, she could very well have found herself disabled, or even dead. What's more, he wanted her to know it, or else he wouldn't have drawn such attention to his servant.
'I am walking amongst lions.' A smile tugged at her lips. 'And I mean to rule the pride.'
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July 1 2010, 09:32
Tower of Fate
Sirius watched as Harry practiced flying. Not flapping as a bird nor hovering on a platform of arcane energy or even manipulating gravity, but proper, magical flight. It was a fiendishly difficult skill to master, hence why, for all its uses, few practitioners bothered. Those that did often took years to gain any proper skill, and decades to attain true mastery. Harry had started yesterday, and he was already making it from one side of the clearing and back without falling. He was far from an expert, yet, but based on how he flew on a broom and as Gwaihir, Sirius estimated he'd be a master in the air within a few months. It was yet another reminder of the terrifying raw potential that lurked within his godson's gangly form.
Harry's whoops of delight were all the confirmation he needed the lesson was well in hand. Really, the kid only needed practice. He'd gotten the theory down in an hour, despite his endless protests that he wasn't good with the academic side of magic. He could only handle a few seconds of flight at a time, so far, but already he had doubled that since they'd started in the morning. However, as much as Sirius would have loved to while away the morning watching his godson enjoy himself, there were matters which demanded his attention. Matters Harry, despite his protests to the contrary, was better off unaware of. Subtly, to evade Harry's growing magical senses, he formed a simulacrum of himself, gave it enough power and intelligence to summon him back in case of an emergency, cloaked his true form in illusion, and left to go kill things.
It didn't take him long to find his latest prey. They had made it past the more obvious defenses, but hadn't escaped his detection spells. Not people this time. It hadn't been people in weeks. Those he faced now looked, at first glance, like people, but they weren't. Not even a little. Behind the bland faces and ordinary bodies, he could see the truth. There was no unity of shape to give them name, but that alone was enough to name them. The distinct smell of their bloodline, their mother's legacy, only confirmed it.
"Lilim? What interest would your ilk have with- ah. I see." And he did see, now. Lilim they were, but only in form. Their minds were not their own. Behind the first rank of Lilith-spawn stood another being. It too wore the shape of a person, in its case a flabby Asian man in his middle years. To the eyes there was nothing to give away the lie, but Sirius' senses went far beyond the physical. There was no hiding for something like this. Something that had been ancient before creation. Something so wrong that space-time tried to recoil from its touch.
"You recognize us, meat?" The thing asked. Its voice belonged in nightmares.
"I do. Might I inquire what one of the Jin En Mok is doing here? And what shall I call you, Old One?"
The Jin En Mok smiled, and the wicked expression stretched far beyond the boundaries of its stolen face. He suppressed a shudder. He'd faced its kin before, but it had been a long time. Long enough to forget how foul they were. Its every act oozed decay, its every thought radiated putrid hate. It was a wrong thing; a being that didn't fit. The fabric of the universe unspooled around its presence, leaving a hole it could occupy without vanishing into non-being. As a former champion of Order, just the sight of it made him nauseous.
The Jin En Mok were relics of a sort. The last surviving denizens of the period before creation came to be. They were beings of formless nothing, given shape only by devouring their victims and assuming their form. If gods could go rancid, they'd end up as something like a Jin En Mok, though not half as foul. This one had evidently dominated a pack of Lilim for use as backup. Or cannon fodder. Or snacks. The Jin En Mok weren't picky, and they were always hungry. Always.
"I am called Elim by some," the fiend said. "As for my purpose here, is it not rude to ask questions when you already know the answer?"
Sirius let his congenial facade drop. If he didn't have to banter with an eldritch horror so early in the day, all the better. "My godson is off-limits. Leave now, or you will never leave."
Elim let its own smile fade away, and with it went much of its false humanity. The limbs stretched and bent like reeds, while the face melted into a mass of fangs and eyes and raw flesh. "Mortal meat. I have feasted upon gods and made snacks out of worlds. I am Elim the Skin-Weaver. Grist Who Feasts in the Night. Ul-Ulun of the Thousand Profanities. I hunger. Your godson is my next meal. But worry not, frail one. I shall keep you alive only long enough to see his cracked bones. Then you shall join him."
Well, that was that. He'd challenged and given terms for withdrawal. Elim had refused them. Just as well. He'd never had any intention of allowing this group to live, and it would have been bothersome to cook up some other pretext for killing them. With a heavy sigh, he set to work.
At a mental command from their master, the Lilim pounced forward; fangs, claws, and various other appendages poised to rip at his throat. Their bloodlust grated against his senses. Slavering jaws drooled spittle onto the leaf-litter and dull eyes came alight with animal fury. These were the monsters that had haunted mankind's dreams since the first dawn. Spawn of demons and the first woman. Builders of the Silver City and first to murder angels. A second later, they started to die.
It wasn't a long battle. Like most ancient beings, Elim had made an art of arrogance. The Lilim fell, or splattered, in moments. He wished he could have saved them, but after so long as thralls, there would be nothing left of their minds. Better to put them down quickly. Spears of golden light tore through some. Others shredded themselves on invisible blades of air, or found the ground they stood upon transfigured into lava. He felt sick at how simple they were to strike down. They deserved better. For all their bitter evil, the Lilim were proud and cunning warriors. With their wills intact, they would never have fallen so easily, but as thralls, they were mere animals. It took only a minute to wipe them out. Then he turned his attention to their master.
Jin En Mok were difficult to kill. In many ways, they predated such concepts as life and death. However, they were ultimately beings of chaos, and not a single person alive knew more about fighting chaos than Sirius Black. Elim barely had time to comprehend it may have miscalculated before he fell upon it like a meteor. The Skin-Weaver lasted longer than its servants, but not by much. Its strength was in its ability to change, to defy the laws of reality. He bound it in chains of pure Order, restricting it to a single form, defining it into an existence it couldn't escape. Then he systematically tore its body to tiny pieces and set them on fire. For an entity older than the bones of the universe, it died much the same as any other beast. Screaming and afraid.
"I hope I'm not interrupting you," a voice said from behind him as he wiped the offal from his coat.
He snorted. "As if you haven't been here the whole time, Jim." He turned and raised an eyebrow at what he saw. "You brought a guest, I see. Not like you to invite a Stranger to one of our little talks."
A little ways from him, in a circle of forest that had somehow escaped the carnage all around, stood two men. One was of average height, with pale skin and auburn hair. A single streak of white stood out against the darker red. He wore an old-fashioned, dark green suit. Next to him was a taller man, though his height was the only remarkable thing about him. He was painfully average, neither handsome nor ugly, fat nor thin, young nor old. His dark complexion could have belonged to any of a dozen ethnicities. He wore a blue suit under a darker blue traveling cloak, and a necklace of silver discs hung across his chest. A blue hat obscured most of his face, but his featureless white eyes shone out of the shadow.
"Corrigan did not invite me, Black," The Stranger said. "I came because it is fitting we should meet at this time."
Sirius nodded and inclined his head towards Jim. "Seeing as it's you here and not your other half, I assume I'm not in trouble."
"You'd know it if the other guy was upset with you," Corrigan said, which was an understatement of such magnitude it deserved a prize. "Mind if we move this somewhere less… bloody? Dry cleaning prices are insane these days."
Sirius glanced around and grimaced. There were shredded limbs and bits of viscera strewn everywhere. Without the powers of Doctor Fate, he'd had to fight dirty, and fighting dirty made a mess. A quick spell saw his clothes clean, and he gestured for the other two to follow him. "This way. I know just the place."
They walked for a dozen steps, and they were somewhere else. The sounds of the forest vanished, and the clamor of a city took their place. They were standing outside a cafe and people in old-fashioned clothing around them gabbled in Italian.
"Naples?" The Stranger asked. "The mid-twentieth century, by my estimate."
"Good eye," Sirius said. "1956. A Wednesday, I think. I came here a lot with Anna. We both loved the place so much, I kept the memory for future use. Come on, let's sit down."
Five minutes later, they were seated with steaming cups of coffee and a plate of assorted sweets in front of them. Sirius sipped his coffee, closed his eyes, and sighed, letting memories of lazy summer mornings with his beloved wash away some of the darkness that had marked the day. The memories came with a stab of longing, an acute awareness of the void in his heart where his wife had once been, but also with the warmth of almost seven decades' worth of good days. After a few seconds, though, he opened his eyes and centered himself on the present.
"I assume the two of you are here about Harry," he said. He kept a careful eye on their expressions, but it was pointless. They were both at least as good as he was at keeping a poker face, and the Stranger was, in all likelihood, light-years better. He didn't think they meant harm, but he didn't take much on faith these days. Not when it came to his godson's safety.
"Indeed," the Stranger confirmed. "We have concerns for you to address."
Jim snorted. "Don't know about this 'we' malarkey, but I won't lie. Harry's the topic of the day in just about every circle."
Sirius grimaced. "No need to remind me. I've been up to my elbows in bodies, trying to keep him alive. Last week it was the Church of Blood. Before that, Nergal made a move. That shitstained worm has got it out for my whole family. There were some twats calling themselves the Cold Flame two months ago. I've had to deal with vampires twice. Both Mab and Titania have made plays for him, though they were at least smart enough not to let me trace it back to them directly. I even heard from Diana that her mother tried to order a watch placed on him, though she got her to call it off. Now I've got the bloody Jin En Mok to deal with. And on top of all that, he insists on being a hero. I go to Asgard for a few hours to meet with Grimnir, and he goes and gets himself kidnapped by the Joker. As if spending half my time butchering the monsters after his skin wasn't exhausting enough."
"Yeah, you've made quite the impression on the nasties," Jim said. Then his eyes glowed green, and he spoke in a different voice. A voice of Power. "It Is A Worthy Thing You Do. But Beware, Helm Bearer, Lest You Stray From The Righteous Path. None May Escape Judgement."
As the Spectre spoke through its host, an awful weight passed over the area. The air turned to iron and the light to glass under the ghost's attention. Sirius squeezed his cup so hard it shattered, and even the Phantom Stranger sat straighter in his chair. Then the green faded from Corrigan's eyes and reality softened once more. The babble of Italian resumed around them. Sirius forced his hand to relax and silently vanished the mess from his broken cup.
"So much for your other half not having anything to say," he mused in Corrigan's direction. He hadn't missed the veiled threat in the Spectre's words. No one was immune from Judgement, and that included Harry just as it included him. It took an effort similar to bending boat anchors not to bring his own power to bear, but common sense won out. Just. Jim wasn't the one making threats, and even Sirius wasn't mad enough to get cheeky with the Spectre. Not yet, anyway.
Corrigan shook his head. "I just said he wasn't upset with you. That doesn't mean he's not his usual paranoid self. But, whatever old spook face and the interdimensional man of mystery here thinks, I'm just here to offer some help to an old friend." He raised his cup to Sirius. "I'm not much without the Spectre, but I've been around the block a few times. If your boy ever needs a slightly dead NYPD detective who can't cook worth a tinker's damn, give him my number. I'll stand in his corner, for whatever it's worth."
Sirius opened and closed his mouth a few times before he pushed past the lump of emotion that had lodged in his throat. "That's… very kind of you, Jim. You're a good friend. Truly. I appreciate it."
Corrigan waved it off. "Don't mention it. You've done more for me, more for the world, than I can ever repay. Besides, from what you say, he seems like a good kid. Anyone who can drive your blood pressure up this much must have something going for them."
"I take it back," Sirius said flatly. "You're a cranky old bastard and you smell."
Jim just raised his coffee to his lips, one finger extended. It wasn't his pinkie. Sirius, who considered himself a wise and mature man, much removed from his wild youth, turned his mnemonic espresso into pickle juice with a flicker of will. Jim Corrigan, undead detective, former JSA member, and host of the greatest font of divine power anywhere in the physical plane, made a sound like an imploding weasel and dissolved into spasms of coughing.
"Now, I've heard what the smelly old crank wanted to say to me," he remarked as he turned his attention to the Phantom Stranger. "It's your turn. What brings the Wandering Jew to my table? And speak plain, for once. I don't have the patience for riddles today."
"I speak as plainly as is allowed to me," the Stranger said in his eternally calm voice. "Whether you wish to hear my meaning is another matter."
Sirius favored him with as stony a look as he could muster. "Do you want what he got?" He asked, pointing to Corrigan, who was still doing his best impersonation of a seagull trying to turn itself inside-out. "Because I can think of much nastier things to put in your cup than pickle juice."
As ever, the Stranger remained unperturbed. "Peace, Sirius Black. There is no cause for ire. I bring advice, nothing more."
"Uh-huh. Let's hear it then."
Not even his most dismissive tone could elicit a frown from the stranger, though when he spoke, his voice took on the ghost of an edge.
"As you will." The Stranger leaned forward and stared into his soul with those eerie white eyes. "Beware your godson, Sirius Black. You go too far, train him too fast. He is not ready for what may come of such power."
Sirius closed his eyes and let the words wash over him like so much smoke. Calmly, very calmly, he took a sip of his coffee. The bittersweet liquid helped quell the taste of bile on his tongue. With exquisite care, to keep from smashing the porcelain, he set the mug down, took a breath, and opened his eyes again.
"What, exactly, would you have me do? Lock him away? Bind his powers? Strip him of magic altogether?" The whole time he spoke, he never once looked away from the Stranger's eyes. "Please, dispense your wisdom."
"You mock me, but it is not from malice that I speak. I bear Harry no ill will. Regardless, your current path courts disaster."
"And what path would that be?"
The Stranger narrowed his eyes, and the edge in his voice grew sharper. "You know better than to ask such of me. I may not stray beyond my limits. But know this. Harry is not ready for the challenges he will face if you continue to let him race ahead, heedless of caution. Already he begins to touch his potential. Should he seek out greater responsibility, and greater power, I foresee calamity."
Sirius took another sip of coffee, but made no effort to interrupt the immortal sage.
"Reign him in, Black. Teach him caution and prudence before you teach him power. When he is ready, he can be trusted to wield his magic freely. Again, I say this not out of malice, nor fear, but foresight. For all our sakes, heed my words."
The silence around the table stretched long after he finished, with only Corrigan's wheezes to break it. Sirius drummed a finger on the table and gathered his thoughts. At the same time, he fought the urge to forcibly boot the Stranger into a convenient hell dimension. It wouldn't do much more than irritate the man, anyway.
"You're an idiot," he said at last. "A fool. A moron. An absolute, unqualified, indisputable buffoon."
"Black-"
"Nope," he cut him off. "I'm using the words now. It's your turn to listen." He placed both hands flat on the table and leaned across it to speak right in the Stranger's shadowed face. "You don't know the first thing about Harry. Not the first thing, understand? I'm not training him the way I am because he asked me to. I'm doing it because I trust him. I trust him a hell of a lot more than I trust you."
From under the table, Jim gave a muffled sound of what he chose to believe was assent. It may well have been a cough, or possibly a death threat, but he chose to interpret it as support.
"That boy spent 10 years being treated like a damn House Elf by those relatives of his. Locked up in a cupboard, beaten down, belittled, half-starved." Sparks of magic rolled off him, and the memory began to fray at the edges. He took a moment to bring his temper back under control, but smoke still curled up from under his hands. The knowledge of what Harry had suffered under the Dursleys still filled his heart with murder, even a century after he'd found out. "Then he gets to Hogwarts, only for the bastard who murdered his parents to show up and try to kill him again. And again. And again! He's faced death a dozen times since he was eleven years old! And do you know what that did to him?"
He leaned even closer until his nose was just a hair's breath from the Stranger's. "It made him kind. It made him selfless. It made him a hero! When he was twelve, he faced down a basilisk to save a girl he barely knew. A year later, he saved me from a pack of dementors, after he'd known me for barely an hour. He hates being the center of attention, hates the idea of being in charge, because he's terrified he'll let people down. But when his classmates needed someone to teach them how to protect themselves, he stepped up. The woman who should have been his teacher tortured him for it, but he did it anyway. Then he risked his life again to save me. Are you starting to see a pattern?"
He didn't wait for the Stranger to answer. "Do you know what he did just a few months after he came here? After he lost his entire world? He fought an army of demons to save a bunch of strangers. He'd barely gotten control of his magic again, didn't have the faintest idea what he was doing, and he still didn't hesitate. Not even for a second. And then, when I finished telling him how dumb he was for doing it, how close he came to dying, he said he wants to be a superhero." Sirius shook his head as he recalled that conversation in the hospital. "Fresh from nearly getting his soul eaten and his body used as a meat suit, and he wants to sign up for more. Because he couldn't bear the thought of not helping people when he had the power to."
"I know all this, Black," the Stranger sighed. "What is your purpose in repeating it?"
Sirius leaned back and crossed his arms. For a moment, he wished he was wearing something a bit more impressive than his everyday suit and coat. He could project authority wearing just about anything, but it was easier with something like the armor of Doctor Fate. Even his old Hit Wizard robes had been more regal than his current garb. Nevertheless, he made do.
"My purpose, you sanctimonious prick, is to let you know why I won't be listening to your advice. I thought I owed you that much. But I'm not about to put Harry on a leash just because you foresaw some possible dark future. No one knows more about fate than I do, and I know just how fickle and changeable it can be. So, if you say there's a calamity coming, I agree with you. I've seen it too. But I have faith in my godson. He's risen to every challenge and then some. He'll rise to whatever is coming. And I mean to help him." He grinned a wolf's grin. "You want me to slow his training down? I'm going to speed it up."
The Stranger regarded him for a long minute. His face was sphinx-like; an immutable mask of stone. There could have been anything behind those blank eyes. Rage. Contempt. Amusement. Even respect. There was no way to tell.
No one could ever know the Stranger. That was as immutable a law as any in the universe, and a good deal more so than most. To every sense; mundane, mystical, and psychic, he appeared utterly unremarkable. Barely even present. Yet Sirius had seen him pull off feats of magic that even Doctor Fate would have deemed impossible. And he knew things about the man. Dangerous things. Whispered rumors that spoke of his origin, his curse, and what he had done to earn it. It was no small thing to ignore his warnings, but Sirius didn't see he had a choice. Even if he did, he would choose Harry every time.
Finally, after two full minutes of silent staring, the Stranger spoke. "What happens when you die? Well you know that day is coming. What then, Black? When you have handed this boy secrets and weapons and are no longer here to guide him in their use. When he has lost the only family he has left and anger fills his heart. What then?"
It was a good point, and the Stranger delivered it with all the cruel accuracy of an assassin's blade. Fortunately, it was also a point that had occurred to Sirius almost a year ago. Still, he grimaced at the reminder of his encroaching mortality. For a moment, his voice stuck in his throat, and he had to swallow a lump before he could speak.
"When that day comes to pass, Harry won't be alone. He'll be surrounded by people who love him. People I trust to look after him." Emotion made his voice hoarse and his eyes watery. "I'm confident I've imparted my values to him, and I'll keep on doing so until I kick it. But I'm going to die no matter what. You're right about that. It will hurt Harry deeply. You're right about that, too. But I'm going to make sure I'm not the last family he has by then. And that is all I intend to say on the matter."
He subsided and found himself strangely out of breath. Saying those words out loud had drained him. The Stranger looked ready to retort, but Jim, who had finally recovered from his unexpected pickling, cut in before he could get a word out. "My friend said the conversation is over. That means it's over. Probably time for you to move along, hmm? Before tempers start fraying." There was something predatory in the lines of his face as he smiled. "Just a suggestion."
The Stranger regarded both of them with the same impassive stare. They regarded him right back. After a few seconds, he stood without a word, turned around, and was gone. There was no spell signature, no magical resonance. He simply vanished and left nothing to indicate he'd ever been there at all.
"Dramatic sunnava bitch, isn't he?" Corrigan shook his head. "You sure that was a good idea? He's not wrong about something ugly coming down the pipe."
Sirius scoffed. "That doesn't mean he's right about Harry. I'm not about to treat my godson like a ticking time bomb just because the pantheons are getting jumpy. It's my fault that boy grew up like he did, and making that right is more important than appeasing some celestial bigwigs."
"Hey, you won't see me arguing. I hope it works out for you two." Jim's eyes burned green again and the sky turned to stone. "For The Sake Of All."
Then he faded like an old photograph. In less than a second, he had vanished completely. Sirius shivered as the weight of the Spectre's presence lifted. For a few idle minutes, he stayed put, however. Some inertia had settled in his bones and kept him from leaving.
The memory of Naples, as it had been six decades ago, continued to play out around him. Now that he was alone, though, it felt hollow. As he looked at the old-fashioned clothes and vintage cars, he was acutely aware of his wife's absence. It gnawed at his heart like an old rat, whose teeth were duller for the passage of time, but no smaller. He stared at the chair where she had sat, back when this had been real, and tried to remember what she'd been wearing on that day. He remembered it had been beautiful. The sight of her had stolen his breath and left him stumbling over his words like a teenager. Try as he might, though, he couldn't remember what it had been. Her face was still as clear to him as it had been on the day, but everything else, her clothes, what they'd talked about, what they'd eaten, was a washed out blur. Hot, stinging tears welled up in his eyes and he made no effort to stop them. His sight turned as blurry as his memory.
"God, I wish you were here, Anna," he whispered. "I could really use your help. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. Please tell me I'm doing the right thing. I'm fumbling in the dark here without you. You were my light."
No one answered. No one ever answered. Silence and memories were all he had left of her. A sob burst from his lips.
"I miss you so much. Wherever you are, darling, I'll be with you soon. I've just got a few things to finish here first."
He let his tears peter out, then scrubbed his eyes and stood up. He took one last look around the little cafe. The wobbly tables. The wrought-iron chairs. The people. Even the smell. Nothing more than memories brought to some semblance of life with magic. It wasn't real, but as he folded the memory back up and put it away, one last tear trickled down his cheek. He let it fall.
The forest was much as he'd left it. Gore still stained the dirt and spattered the trees. Some braver ravens were already pecking at the Lilim corpses. None of them went near the spot where he'd killed the Jin En Mok, though. Even in death, Elim still polluted the world. It would be his last crime, however, and Sirius let himself feel a trickle of pride at that.
Much as the ravens probably deserved the meal, he couldn't leave a pile of bodies for anyone to find. Especially not Lilim bodies. That could attract all kinds of attention he didn't want to deal with. To his knowledge, the Lilim had no standard funeral rites, so he settled for a simple disintegration spell. He raised a hand and golden light flashed amongst the trees. Every trace of them, from their bones to the smallest speck of blood, turned to dust. The ravens squawked in indignation at the loss of their meal, but he shooed them away.
"Go on, get out of here. Find something better. That meat would have made you all sick, anyway."
They took off, and he made his way back to the Tower. It was harder to evade Harry's magical senses now than it had been just a few months ago, but he still slipped in unnoticed without too much trouble. The projection he'd left took a single stop back just as he walked out of the shadows, and they merged seamlessly while Harry wasn't looking. A rush of memories flitted through his mind before settling in place. It was a disorienting experience, but one he'd grown used to over the years. By the time Harry turned around to fly back towards him, he had regained his composure.
"Alright, that's enough for now," he said. "Get back down here and take a break."
Harry shook his head. A wide grin practically split his face in two. "I can keep going. I'm fine."
He rolled his eyes. "Sure. That's why you're all pale and sweaty, is it? Get down here before you fall out of the air. I told you, you have to work on your endurance for flying. It takes a lot out of you at first, and if you pass out, I'm leaving you here all night."
Harry sighed, but he drifted back to earth. His legs only supported him for a moment before they buckled, though. Sirius was already moving to catch him before he stumbled. He grunted as he took the weight of his godson, who had somehow gotten even taller over the last few months. With quite a bit more strain than his ancient joints found comfortable, he lowered him to the ground and propped him up against a tree.
"Ahh. See what happens when you don't listen to me. You wind up slumped against a tree like a pile of moss." He tapped Harry's numb legs with his shoe. "While you're just sitting around, listen. Do you remember that thing Robin and the other sidekicks are going to at the Hall in a few days?"
Harry nodded, and then Sirius got to see the metaphorical lightbulb go off in his head. "You don't mean-"
He grinned. "I do mean. Congratulations, Harry. It's time you took your first step in joining the Justice League."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
Right off the bat, let's talk about the biggest change to DC lore I made in this chapter. Donna Troy. Yes this is THE Donna Troy. First Wonder Girl, original Teen Titan, dispenser of the world's best hugs Donna Troy. As far as I'm concerned, the show didn't feature her at all. I know the show had Troia as her counterpart, but I wanted the real deal. I just wanted it with a twist.
First of all, I must confess that my knowledge of Wonder Woman lore is relatively limited compared to Batman and Superman lore. However, Donna Troy has had a shifting mess of a backstory since the very beginning, so it was in that spirit I felt justified in adding another to the pile. Also, I had this idea long before Absolute Wonder Woman made Diana the daughter of Circe, and I'm still trying to find DC's spy equipment.
Seriously, though, I based this mostly on an origin where Donna was created by the Amazonian sorceress Derinoe as a weapon to use against Wonder Woman. In the comics, they stopped her from going through with it and wiped Donna's memory to raise her as Diana's sister. Obviously, I'm going in a different direction.
Regarding Circe, my initial plan was to have her treat Donna as little more than a slave. She was going to be cold, distant, and cruel. All the usual tropes. I realized almost as soon as I began writing, however, that not only does having her be a caring mother make this situation so much worse, but it also fits better with how complex and messed up Circe is as a character. Yes, she's petty, vengeful, and murderous, but there's more to her than just that, both in the original myths and the comics. Read The Witching Hour and Justice League Dark (2018) to see what I mean.
As far as Sirius' part goes, I'm starting to expand the magical side of things. Sirius is the best vehicle for that right now. He has been around for a long time and basically knows everyone. This also isn't the last time you'll see Jim Corrigan or the Phantom Stranger. Just something to look forward to.