The drive to Winnipeg is long and dull, but even taking back roads to stay off of the more heavily patrolled Trans-Canada Highway, we’re making good time. Veering north to go around Calgary added more time than I’d like, but we made up for it once we crossed into Saskatchewan. The pace of our little road trip is gonna be a difficult one to manage. Try to go too fast, and we draw too much attention to ourselves. But we’ve only got four days now to get to Westchester. If we’re still out here on day five, and he catches up with us…

"So those guys on the radio,” Kitty begins yet another attempt at getting a conversation going, "talking about what’s been going on with the super-heroes? That got me thinking.”

"’Super-heroes?’” I ask, scoffing a little at the corny-sounding term.

"Yeah, you know,” she continues, "after Superman, that guy in Metropolis? There’s a few more of them running around now– the Flash in Central City, the Spider-Man in New York, that fire guy they’re calling The Human Torch. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”

"Kid, I live alone in the middle of a forest,” I tell her. "I go out of my way not to pay attention to the news.”

"Right, yeah, sorry,” she nods. "But it got me thinking. These super-hero people, maybe they’re Mutants like us. Or even if they’re not, they do a lot of the same things we can do. And people aren’t nearly as scared of them as they are of us. So….why don’t we just, y’know, be super-heroes?”

"You mean Mutants in general, or you an’ me in particular?”

"Either, both, I don’t know,” Kitty says, "but think about it! There are so many of us who feel like we have to hide who we are, act like we’re ‘normal,’ because everyone will freak out if they see us use our abilities. But then here comes a guy in a big red cape lifting an overpass over his head, and half the world wants to throw him a parade! So what if, like, we just change the presentation? People aren’t afraid of Superman because he’s out in the open, where everyone can see him, he’s not hiding who and what he is. So why don’t we do that?”

I sigh. "It’s a nice thought,” I tell her, "and I know there’s more than a few Mutants who’d agree with ya. Big flashy costumes, masks, code-names, give the public something friendly to cheer for and maybe they’ll trust you. But I’ll guarantee ya, that Superman guy, that Flash, that Spider-Man? They’re out in the open right now because they don’t know what kinda people are gonna notice them. The people after you, I’ll bet you good money they’re already workin’ on ways to bring in every one of them and make them into…well, someone like me. And for every super-type who puts on a mask so they can pull cats outta trees, there’s ten more who’ll put on a mask to do things they’d never show their face doing. I oughta know.”

"What do you mean by….ohmygod, do you have your own costume?!” Kitty’s eyes light up. "That’s so cool! Why didn’t you tell me you were already a super-hero?”

"Because I’m not,” I grunt. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly built for helpin’ old ladies across the street. I was a soldier, not a boy scout.”

There’s a long pause while Kitty thinks, then finally counters "You can be both. Ever read the old comics about Captain America?”

"Hate you break it to ya, kid, but comic books are just comic books,” I tell her. "Captain America’s just a story, Steve wasn’t….” I trail off, wondering where the hell I pulled that name from.

”’Steve?’” Kitty raises an eyebrow. ”Who’s Steve?”

”...I don’t know,” I say.

The air smells like spent gunpowder, churned earth, and fresh blood….

Between the angry snarls of the machine guns, there are voices shouting…some in English, some in German…

My blood is pumping as we charge up the ridge line, only stumbling as I take a stray round that catches me in the chest. I stagger to my knees…and a hand grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me to my feet.

The man in blue gives me a reassuring nod, then he takes his place at the front of the line.

Every one of us, we’d gladly die for that man. Even those of us who can’t…

As we charge towards the enemy, I hear joyous laughter at my side. The man in blue, I’d follow to the gates of Hell. But the man running side-by-side with me, he’d be the first in line, and the last to leave, and then he’d convince me to go back with him…

"Logan? You…you all right there?” Kitty nervously nudges my shoulder. "You, uh, you kinda spaced out.”

I blink a few times, shake my head, and I realize my claws are out. "Yeah, I’m…I’m all right,” I say as I retract them.

"Gotcha,” she says, looking at me skeptically. "I’ve, erm, I’ve been driving for a while. Think we should pull over for the night?”

"Yeah, think so,” I nod. "Find us somewhere with a land-line phone. I’ll get in touch with Forge and let him know we’ll meet him in the morning.”

"Forge? That’s your contact?”

"Yeah, he’s the one that’ll get us what we need to get you back into the States,” I answer. "He’s another Mutant, has a knack for making things. A couple of fake IDs and a new set of wheels should be a walk in the park for him.”

"And he’s got a cool code-name,” Kitty says. "It tells you everything you need to know about the guy in just a word. See what I mean about how useful that is?”

I grunt.

"Sooo, you said you’ve got a costume,” she keeps prodding me. "and you said you’ve got a mask. So what’s your code-name?”

---

"Wolverine,” said Colonel Rick Flag, displaying the face of a hard-faced man with wild hair and thick stubble, "I’m sure many of you have already heard the name in your particular line of work, and any stories you’ve heard about him are very likely true.”

Floyd Lawton felt a lump in his throat, taking his first look at the face of a man he’d only heard about in legend. Anyone who’d spent any amount of time doing wet-work had heard of the Wolverine, and even though most of the campfire stories surrounding him were decades old, most still considered him the standard by which professional killers measured themselves.

"Birth name unknown, age unknown,” Flag read off the target’s statistics, "Five foot three, approximately 300 pounds. S.H.I.E.L.D. classifies him as an Alpha-level Mutant. His primary offensive capabilities are with a set of retractable claws, making him extremely dangerous in hand-to-hand combat. Highly enhanced senses means he can see, hear, even smell most targets just as well as state-of-the-art detection equipment, if not better. He can also regenerate damaged tissue near instantaneously. It’s believed this regeneration has extended his lifespan significantly, giving him decades–if not centuries– of combat experience. Field reports also suggest surgical enhancements, including lacing his skeletal system with an advanced meta-material armor resistant to any known weapons.”

"Five foot three? Really?” scoffed the red-haired man Flag had identified as Clint Barton, alias ‘Hawkeye.’ "You’re telling me the scariest Mutie alive is a half-pint?”

"That’s what you’re focused on?” asked Abner Jenkins, the scrawny, nerdy-looking man that Flag ID’ed as the techno-criminal ‘Beetle.’ "They’re sending us against a bloodthirsty wildman who’s impossible to kill, and you’re cracking short jokes?”

Barton shrugged. "If we can’t kill the guy, I’ll settle for hurting his feelings.”

"No one’s ‘impossible to kill,’” growled Benjamin Turner, the assassin known as ‘Bronze Tiger,’ "especially not an unskilled beast. He must have a weakness that we can exploit.”

"He’s got armor, enhanced senses, and retractable claws,” listed Eric Needham, the contract killer who went by ‘Black Spider.’ "My combat suit has all that shit and more.”

"Any weapon your suit doesn’t have,” added Paul Norbert Ebersol, aka ‘Fixer,’ a skinhead whose face was criss-crossed with surgical lines from cybernetic implants, "I’ve got covered.”

"I didn’t hear him say anything about not needing to breathe,” sneered Christopher Weiss, aka Slipknot. "All the regenerating meat and unbreakable bones in the world won’t mean a damn thing if I choke him out.”

"Not if I fry the bastard first,” said Lester Buchinski, aka ‘Electrocutioner,’ his voice filled with bravado he very clearly wasn’t actually feeling.

"You won’t have the chanssssse,” hissed the short-haired tattooed woman identified as ‘Copperhead.’ "My toxinsss can kill even the ssstrongesst prey…”

"Is that hissing a speech impediment thing, or do you just do it for effect?” Hawkeye smirked.

"Enhanced senses,” mused Melissa Gold, the pink-haired metahuman killer who went by ‘Songbird,’ "Probably means he’s vulnerable to sonic attacks. I can have some fun with that.”

"An I ‘ave yet to meet ze man who can come back from being blown into ze smizzereens,” grinned Bette Sans Souci, the French-Canadian terrorist who simply went by Plastique.

"That’s all well and good,” Deadshot spoke up, "but I don’t think we’re addressing the elephant in the room here.”

"Forget the elephant,” scoffed Hawkeye, "How about we address the giant goddamn shark-man in the room first?”

"KING SHARK,” said the enormous, hulking form with the head of a great white, "IS A SHARK.”

"Yes, great, thank you,” Lawton nodded, "but the question is: if the Wolverine has been running around unaccounted for all this time, why are we going after him now?”

"Good question,” Flag responded, "and the answer is you’re not. The Wolverine isn’t the target; he’s just the obstacle. There’s a significant chance you’ll have to engage him, but ultimately all you have to do is keep him busy long enough to apprehend the real target.”

The screen showing Wolverine’s face switched to a different image: the face of a skinny brunette girl with a bright smile and her fingers making a peace sign.

"Katherine Anne Pryde,” Flag introduced the target, "Age eighteen, freshman student at the Massachusetts Academy. Began displaying signs of Mutation at age thirteen, and has dabbled with Mutant Rights activism, including possible contact with radical elements. She’s displayed the ability to make her body physically intangible, occupying the same space as solid matter. This also appears to include objects on her person. S.H.I.E.L.D. currently classifies her as a Beta Level Mutant, but it’s suspected that with further development, she would classify much higher.”

"I don’t get it,” Slipknot said, "Why send us after some schoolgirl who can walk through walls?”

"The combat applications for someone like that are tremendous,” Bronze Tiger mused. "There would be no fortification in the world she couldn’t infiltrate, and no prison she couldn’t escape. If she can extend that ability to a weapon, she could penetrate any armor in the world….or any metahuman. They say the Superman in Metropolis is impenetrable to bullets. With the right training and psychological conditioning, that girl could reach through his invincible skin and pull out his heart.”

"Okay, so to recap,” Deadshot said, "We’re all being pulled out of our holes in the wall to go fight an unkillable assassin, hoping we can distract him long enough to capture an untouchable girl, so the shadow-government can use her to kill demigods. And if we try to run, you blow our heads off.”

"A bit reductive,” Colonel Flag nodded, "But more or less, yeah, that’s right. You’ll be granted access to all of the equipment and weaponry you were captured with, and authorization to use whatever means necessary to bring Pryde in alive and in one piece. Any questions?”

The enormous shark-man raised a meaty finned hand.

"Yes, King Shark?”

"KING SHARK IS A SHARK!”

"Very good. The chopper takes off in sixty. Til then, make whatever preparations you need.”

As the members of Colonel Flag’s suicide squad stood and were shuffled to the prison yard where their gear awaited them, Hawkeye nudged Deadshot.

"So,” he said, "how dead do you think we are?”

"Scale of one to ten?” Deadshot did a quick head-count. "I’d say twelve.”

Sinestro and Hal stood outside of the door of the house and rang the door bell. They were both wearing black suits. May was at the house of the other victim. A woman answered the door. Hal took out the Interpol Badge that S.H.I.E.L.D. used for overt operations like this. "Ohayo Gozaimasu, my name is Agent Green, this is Agent Gold, we need to come in and ask your son, Kamina a few questions about a recent incident he experienced?" The woman nodded.

"Yes, yes of course." When she talked it looked weird to Hal, her lips were moving, but the wrong sounds were coming out. It was like a badly dubbed movie from the 1960's. As they entered, Hal took his shoes off and motioned to Sinestro to do the same, before Mrs Hideyoshi lead them to another room and sat them down. "Would you like some refreshments? Tea?" Sinestro looked at Hal, who subtly nodded to him.

"Yes, i will have some Tea." He said, somewhat confused by all of these Earth drinks. Hal also nodded to her with a smile. A minute later, Kamina entered and his mother brought the drinks to them. Hal took out his phone and placed it on the table, pressing Record for everyone to see.

"This is Agent Green and Agent Gold, the time is... He checked his watch "17:07 JST, please can you state your names for the official recording?" He asked.

"Mrs Hideyoshi Yuki" The mother said.

"Hideyoshi Kamina" The son responded.

"Thank you. Now, the incident, 3 day ago, can you please give me an official record of what happened?" Kamina swallowed, then looked at his mother who looked back reassuringly.

"I had gone to school. It was a fairly uneventful day. After school, i met with Morita Burai."

"Mr Morita Burai. Is this a friend? A colleague?" Kamina looked at his mothers disapproving stare.

"He is... Was... My..." Kamina looked down.

"Your lover." Sinestro said, recognizing the fidgety look of explaining forbidden love in front of a disapproving parent. Hal was taken aback a little, having sudden flashbacks to the looks of several of his colleagues back in the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" classes when he first joined the academy. Kamina nodded.

"Please..." Hal was going to ask him to confirm, but he could see this was difficult enough as is, so better to just move on. "Mr Hideyoshi has nodded to confirm that Mr Morita Burai was his lover. Please continue."

"I had met with Burai in order to go to town to the Arcade. There was a brand new Undead Rampage machine going there, but Burai showed me 500,000 yen. He had been working a part time job and saving up the money. It was enough to get us down to Tokyo and maybe rent an apartment for long enough for us to get jobs and support ourselves." His mother looked on the verge of tears. Hal looked back and forth between them for a second.

"Would you feel more comfortable if your mother wasn't in the room?" He asked. Kamina looked at his mother, he had a look that said he had brought her enough pain that he would not ask her to bare the indignity of being dismissed.

"No, i am perfectly fine, thank you. I would rather she stayed." He replied. "Burai and I argued. I was..." He looked at his mother again. "I was very tempted by his offer. I have always dreamed of moving to the big city to explore a career in train operation. Whereas Burai was looking to become an Actor. But i also thought of my parents. My Father would be very disapproving and Mother would be heartbroken by such an action. I decided that we should save some more and wait for the end of the school year. But Burai was... Burai's parents were less understanding." Hal was taken aback by that. This woman looked ready to disown him from what he was saying. Whatever Burai's parents were doing had to be a lot worse. "Burai wanted to go now... Then... He was insistent on leaving immediately. I suggested that he go down by himself. His money would support himself far longer than both of us anyway and i would join him at the end of the school year. That's when he..." He looked at his mother who looked back in shame. He made a kissing motion with his lips.

"He embraced you?" Hal asked.

"Yes. And as i did, i saw him... Change..." Kamina looked a little uncomfortable. "His clothes changed into a pink... revealing outfit..."

"Did he say something? A rhythmic chant?" Hal asked. Kamina nodded.

"Yes... He said something... I can't remember quite. It was something about a long lost heart. Maybe joining a fight?

“For hearts long lost and full of fright,

For those alone in Blackest Night,

Accept our ring and join our fight.

Love conquers all with Violet Light...” Sinestro recited.

"Yes, that was it, how did you-" Kamina began, but Hal butted in.

"It doesn't matter, please, is there anything else you remember?"

"Burai started glowing brilliantly and then i saw a joy in him i had never felt before. He looked at me, there was a ring on his finger. It... It split into two rings, not down the middle or anything, it just... Became two, full rings and it floated towards my finger. I wanted to run or scream or anything, but... I heard that chant... And then it all goes fuzzy." He was definitely trying to remember something. Hal had seen the reports. They had trashed a whole street, including an office block. But they were stopped just after people reported a blue light.

"There were a number of reports that your... Episode... Finished just after a blue light appeared around the area. Is there anything you remember about this blue light?" Sinestro asked. Sinestro had been the one to insist on putting the Blue ring on the backburner, but any information about him would be useful. So far, everyone elses brains had been too scrambled by the experience to remember anything of any real value apart from him being big and wearing blue. Kamina seemed to wrack his brain, before he looked at Hal.

"I think... Wait a second, i saw him in class today." Hal and Sinestro both looked shocked. A good bit of luck. If the Blue Lantern were in the area, he could be either recruited or at least made to surrender the Ring so they could find the true champion. Either way, they were moving closer. Kamina ran out to his bedroom, before running back with his rucksack and beginning to pull books out. Finally getting a Religious Studies book out, he flicked through the pages and stopped on a page, before turning the book to Hal and Sinestro. It was on the Shinto deities that had been adopted from other religions and there, center stage was him. Kangiten in Shinto, he was more commonly known as Ganesh in the Hindu faith. "That's him, that's the one who was in blue." Hal and Sinestro looked at each other. "Could it be that the gods are returning? I saw someone talking about on a forum that someone had seen the Norse god Thor battling monsters in America. Perhaps Kangiten is here to help us as well?" Hal looked sceptical, but Sinestro's poker-face hadn't changed even slightly.

"Was there anything else? Something he said? Any information you can provide would be much appreciated." Kamina was looking a lot more chipper since he thought he had been saved by a god.

"Yes, i remember, after that warm, fuzzy feeling left me, he said to us...

"All Will Be Well" Kamina and Sinestro said in unison. Sinestro leaned over to Hal and whispered in his ear.

"It's a phrase the Blue Lantern is known for. It was definitely him." Sinestro finished his drink and got up. "Thank you very much for he drink." Hal also got up.

"Yes. Uhhh... Mrs Hideyoshi, do not worry about the damage, we are satisfied that your son was not in control of his actions and consider the matter regarding your son closed. If you have any further information that helps us, please call us." He handed her a small business card. He bowed to her before walking back to the foyer and putting his shoes back on with Sinestro in tow. As soon as they were outside, he uploaded the recording to S.H.I.E.L.D. "And now we play the waiting game." He said. Sinestro started walking back to the car. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, where are you going, buddy?" Hal asked. Sinestro looked at him, confused. "This is Sapporo, the Beer capitol of Japan. We are now waiting for the nerds back at base to analyze what's going on. You and me, on the otherhand, have a few hours." He smiled. "We are going to go and enjoy ourselves." Sinestro turned and continued to go to the car.

"Green Lantern, we have bigger problems to deal with right now." Sinestro replied dismissively.

"Yeah we've got bigger problems. Ever since this INSANITY began, i have had a week in a holding cell being the only time i have not been chasing these things is when i'm sleeping after a long day of chasing these things. I need to sit down, have a beer in a stationary place without having to worry about the weight of the world being on my shoulders." He stormed up to Sinestro and grabbed him by the collar of his suit. "We are going out, we are getting minted and we are going to have FUN. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?!?!" Sinestro looked Hal up and down. Yes, this was most certainly a man on the edge. Better take the opportunity before he finally snaps.

"Ok." Sinestro relented.

It has been awhile since Slade has been to New York City, the city that never sleeps. The last time he was here, he was a teenager on vacation with his adoptive parents. Those were the times, and it seems like the city has not changed much since his last visit. But unlike last time, when it was for fun. This time, his reason for coming back to the city is for personal business.

It did take some time for Slade, and with help from Wintergreen, to figure out which boat had the shipment that he discovered on his last mission. Now, while he was late in finding the ship at the docks, he did manage to figure out where the shipment was going. It was at a warehouse, and after doing some subtle recon during the day of the warehouse. It was time to see what was in it.

It was about midnight in New York City when Slade, wearing his armor, got through a locked gate, a back entrance to the warehouse, and proceeded to the main storage area. He navigated past the guards and cameras, and once he was inside, he began his search.

Luckily, Slade had the shipment information and had just had to locate the right shipping container. Still, in a warehouse full of shipping containers. It took some time to find it as he walked past container after container before finally stopping at the right one. "There you are," Slade said under his breath, and he slowly opened the shipping container and he discovered where long wooden crates. Seeing how the crates were sealed shut, he looked around and found a crowbar, which he used to open one of the crates.

What Slade found were weapons, specifically rifles, he put the crowbar aside and picked one of them up. It was a type that he was not familiar with, which is surprising considering his military background. But it did look somewhat advanced, "now, what are you?" He wondered as he gazed at it. Slade would put it back in the crate and took out a device. A small but expensive device, a tracking device that Slade had bought just for this occasion. He placed it deep within the open crate and closed it.

It should be small enough that it would be hard to find, but the fact the crate was clearly opened at one point would draw attention, and people would know that something was up. But Slade does not have much choice in finding out where these weapons are heading, so he does the best he can. After leaving the container and closing it shut. Did he leave the warehouse quietly, and now it was the time for the waiting game.

On the Road // USA

It took Iris nearly a minute to get to the edge of the city, heading west for Illinois following signs for Chicago. She allowed the speed to take her, breathing deeply and calmly as the lightning flowed through her veins. She was in a world of her own as she crossed into Indiana.

Feeling a familiar pang in her stomach she hopped up and over the barrier of the interstate and off to the side of the road. Searching her pockets for anything to eat she only found a rather melted and disgusting chocolate bar. She attempted to open it, purely for energy. Barry had explained to her that due to her speed and metabolism, she had to have a far greater calorie intake. On the bright side, she wouldn't need to diet for summer next year.

Sighing and placing the bar of disappointment back in her pocket Iris pulled her phone out of her other pocket. Then frowned after pressing the button to unlock it, and all she was met was a black screen that read [NOT AVAILABLE].

Holding the button, the screen went black as it turned off. Holding it again the Trask logo briefly appeared, before displaying nothing but [NOT AVAILABLE]. Perplexed, confused and a little bit lost - well, she knew what led to Springfield and back to Central City. Iris decided that the best thing she could do was to push on a little bit farther to a town, or a rest stop. Somewhere she could find out what was happening, get something to eat and figure out what was happening.

Just a passing car slowed to take a look at her, she took off again. Leaving nothing but a trail of dust as she once again sped down the motorway. As she got closer and closer to Springfield, she surmised that whatever was going on with her phone wasn't an isolated incident. Iris had passed several electric cars that had seemingly just stopped in the middle of the carriageway, thankfully nobody had been hurt but the resulting traffic jam and people milling around did make travelling more awkward. Making her way into the city she tried to remember her way, coming to a stop to try and get her bearings she turned when she heard a scream.

"Somebody do something!"

"Oh my God the train is coming!"

"They can't get out!"

Sat on the level crossing was the latest Trask EV. It had stopped in the middle of a crossing, its occupants trying to beat open the windows as in the distance a train could be seen gaining speed heading straight for it. Without a second, or more accurately without a nanosecond, of hesitation, she jumped into action. A nearby garage had its shutters open and she ran in, grabbed the first heavy looking tool she could find - not entirely sure what it was called, but it was heavy and made of metal, and went towards the car.

The panic and fear in the occupant's faces and eyes burned their way into her brain. "Cover your faces!" When they didn't react fast enough she took a deep breath, trying to slow herself down. Very consciously slowing her speech. "Cover, your, faces."

As soon as they had ducked down she struck the window, it slowly bent in before bouncing back. A second strike, third, fourth, tenth, fifteenth, thirty-fourth, sixtieth. It was a crash-resistant crash but everything had its breaking point as her arm became a blur, and eventually, the glass caved. Disappearing again in an instant she returned the slightly warped, and possibly broken, tool to the garage and grabbed a pile of rags and brought them back to the car. Covering the broken glass to allow the occupants to climb out without shredding their hands. As she was reaching in to help pull the people out she felt a tap on her shoulder, turning to see a man there with a very concerned look on his face.

"Hey I'm just trying-"

He interrupted her pointing at the train. "The people on the train!"

Iris turned to look at it before turning back, not quite getting what he meant. Surely they would be fine. It was just one little car - that's when she noticed he was pointing down the track now in the opposite direction. at an oncoming freight train.

"Oh hell."

---

“Jesus FUCK.”

“Can you keep it down? This is a library.”

Rachel didn’t even look up from her tome as the woman who gave birth to her came into their home’s private study. The shock faded from the older woman’s face before being replaced with anger, then apathy. Angela Roth demanded: “What are you doing back here?”

Rachel mused, “We haven’t said more than a sentence to each other in over four years. I don’t have a problem keeping it that way.” Out of the corner of her eye she looked over her mother’s slovenly appearance: long unkempt hair, a once beautiful face locked in permanent scowl, skin paler even than Rachel’s, a T-shirt in need of cleaning and sweat pants even in the middle of the day. To think this pitiful shell had once found Trigon’s embrace…

“Shouldn’t you be out dooming us all? You know that doing what he wants is just going to leave you dead.”

“I know, and I don’t care. You’re the one who abandoned me in spirit: why should you care who picked me up? Or are you just mad that I haven’t ended your pitiful life yet?” Angela’s scowl was etched more deeply onto her face. “Blessed with a greater purpose and you just spat on it.”

“Greater purpose? Greater purpose?! He’s a termite. An oversized bug acting out. There’s no depth, no secret, no greater meaning.” The room darkened. Rachel’s cloak drew across her body. “He just does whatever he wants because he has the power to do it. You’re just another fucking pawn in his game.” Rachel’s form seemed to swell, the shadows consuming all. Tendrils drew up from beneath her cloak as she turned on Angela, who backed away. Her venom still spewed out. “You think you matter to him? You’re a speck of dust. He’ll forget you long before he leaves this universe a graveyard.” Rachel loomed over Angela. Her eyes glowed red, and two more appeared, then another two. Angela’s scowl broke, fear evident in the trembling of her legs. She backed against the next bookshelf as Rachel drew ever closer. “I’d have killed you if I could. I should’ve, but I didn’t have a choice.” Rachel reached her arm out, and Angela flinched, dropping to the ground. She grabbed a book that had been a little outside of her reach and floated back, Angela collapsing to the ground as the room returned to normal light. Her breath came too fast for her to get any air, tears rimming her eyes. Some trauma resurfacing, Rachel assumed, but she didn’t care.

She flipped through the pages. “Did you think I was going to kill you? No. I’m going to let you live to see dear father again. I’ll just have to imagine your horrific death until then. Maybe I’ll have him tell me what he plans on doing to you so I won’t have to imagine it.” While Angela started to gather herself, a handful of books flashed dark, Rachel pulling them close and stacking them up. Some magic tomes, some normal literature, all of interest to her and her mission.

Starting for the same window she entered in, her mother spoke from her spot on the floor, her voice still weak. “I didn’t have a choice. You still do.”

Rachel scoffed. “The illusion of meaningful choice runs deep, doesn’t it?”

---

Approaching the hotel, ducking from building to building, phasing through structures, and floating over vacant streets to avoid any annoyances, as she approached she realized that Garfield’s emotional presence was gone. On one hand that meant her trip had been partly wasted, unless she stumbled across another familiar candidate later. On the other hand: good riddance.

Floating into her window, she plopped her books down before using her magic to scoop up the remote, uninterested in whatever news program Garfield had rudely left on before ghosting her. Or at least, that’s what she thought as she moved to the power button, stopping to watch the coverage of a live superhero situation elsewhere in town, the streets soaked from a collapsed water tower. A familiar green animal shifter was in the think of it, one of three unidentified agents of the situation’s chaos. Finger hitting the red power button, even when the TV was off, she couldn’t stop staring into the black reflection of the room on screen. She looked to the pile of books, then back to the screen, unable to run from the high probability that Garfield hadn’t run away from her at all, but run into that situation as soon as he noticed it. Nails digging into her palm, that thought irritated her to no end. Throwing her hood back over her head, she floated right out the window from which she came and streaked through the sky into the day.

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

---

Duncan hit the ground with a roll, tumbling over his shoulder and up to his feet, mace in hand as he scanned the area for any Ghul. Mehdi and Omar weren't far behind him, weapons in hand as they attempted to make out any shapes in the darkness. The thick, stale air echoed with the noise of horrific, pale monsters clawing their way up the walls and out into the desert. The only light that seeped into the pit was from the moon, only illuminating a small circle around the trio.

Mehdi held his rifle in one hand, kneeling down and patting around in the darkness for anything that could give them some light. His hand finally brushed against a torch that had seemingly been sucked in by the moving maw. He tossed it to Duncan, who picked up a stone from the ground, glancing briefly at its jagged edge, and struck it against the head of his mace. The spark flicked off, igniting the torch with a sudden, fierce blaze.

The room flared to life, shadows leaping away from the walls as the torchlight revealed ancient stone walls etched with strange, indecipherable symbols and carvings, marks of a long-forgotten civilization. The pit felt older than the sands above them, a remnant of a time that even the desert had tried to bury. The carvings seemed to pulse in the torchlight, as if reacting to their presence. But there was no time to study them, the Ghul were ascending, their vile shrieks growing more distant as they neared the surface.

"The camp can't hold on much longer." Omar said, his voice tense, eyes fixed on the walls. "We need to hurry."

Duncan nodded, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Since descending into the pit his body had felt strange, like he was being pulled forwards deeper into the cavern. A pain shot through his heart, and he fell to one knee clutching at his chest. The agony was sudden and sharp, radiating from his core and spreading outwards like sharp claws gripping his ribcage. He gasped for breath, the torchlight flickering as his grip on it faltered.

"Duncan!" Mehdi rushed to his side, eyes wide with alarm. "What's happening? Are you alright?" He said as he held his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Duncan struggled to speak, the pain twisting through him, but he forced himself to nod. "I'm fine" he managed to say through gritted teeth. "Just...give me a moment." But even as he spoke, he knew something was terribly wrong. It wasn't just the physical pain, it was as if something within him was being drawn toward the center of the pit, to the very heart of whatever dark power lay here.

He stood up straight, steeling himself against the pain emanating from within, waving Mehdi off as he spoke. "Let's start looking, we don't have time to wait around."

His two companions looked at each other, obviously concerned for Duncan. Omar cast him a worried glance but didn't argue. Instead, he moved to one side of the chamber, examining the carvings on the walls, while Mehdi did the same on the other side. Duncan took a shaky breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the pull in his chest was growing stronger, almost unbearable. It was as if the very air in the pit was alive, thrumming with energy, and it was calling to him.

He lumbered forward, his eyes drawn to a giant circular stone at the far end of the pit. The pain in his chest intensified with each step he took toward it, but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if his body was acting on its own, driven by an unseen force. As he got closer he held the torch high, illuminating it.

It was a door. It had to be, he still felt his body pulling him beyond it. It was an imposing presence in the dimly lit chamber, standing nearly twice the height of a man and carved from a single slab of dark stone. Its surface was adorned with intricate patterns and symbols that spiraled outward from a central point, each groove filled with dust from centuries of stillness. The stone itself was weathered, its edges smoothed by time, yet the craftsmanship was undeniable, every line and curve had been etched with purpose and precision.

At the center of the door was a massive relief of a serpent, coiled around itself, its head and tail meeting in an eternal cycle. The serpent's eyes were set with small, glinting stones that seemed to flicker in the torchlight, making it look almost alive. Around the serpent, ancient runes were arranged in a circular pattern, their meanings lost to time but their presence ominous, as if they held a warning or a spell to keep something contained.

The door had no visible handle or hinges, appearing as an immovable part of the cavern itself. It was as though it was designed not to be opened but to be a barrier between two worlds. The surface of the stone was cold and unyielding to the touch, and a faint vibration could be felt when Duncan pressed against it.

He felt along the face of the stone, reaching the edge with his fingertips he ran them around the curve, wiping off dust as he did. As his fingers traced the stone's edge, Duncan's heart skipped a beat, there was a section where the dust was conspicuously absent. His mind raced, realizing that someone had already moved the stone before them. His brow furrowed. It could only have been Mordred.

"Found something!" Mehdi's voice called out from across the chamber, breaking his trance. Duncan turned sharply, nearly dropping the torch as he did. His eyes were drawn away from the door, the strange pull weakening but not disappearing entirely. He forced himself to focus on Mehdi, who was crouched near one of the walls, his rifle slung over his shoulder. "There's some kind of...inscription here. I think it might be a clue."

Duncan moved over to him, each step feeling heavy as the draw of whatever was behind the gate tried to prevent him from walking away. He knelt beside Mehdi and leaned in to examine the inscription. The carvings were intricate, etched into the stone with a precision that belied their age. The symbols were unfamiliar, twisted and complex, but there was something about them that felt disturbingly familiar, as if they were tugging at the edges of his memory.

"What do you make of it?" Mehdi asked, his voice hushed as if the very walls were listening.

Duncan traced a finger over the symbols, his touch hesitant. The moment his skin made contact with the cold stone, a spark of energy surged through him, his fingers felt like they were burning as he brushed over them. Somehow he felt like he knew what the inscriptions meant, like the meaning was already present in his mind despite not knowing the cipher for this strange language.

"It's...a warning," Duncan said slowly, the words forming in his mind. "This place was meant to be sealed, to keep something from escaping."

Omar joined them, his face pale in the torchlight. "The Ghul," he said, his voice edged with fear. "They're what was sealed, aren't they? Whatever this place was built to contain, it's getting out."

Duncan rose to his feet. "Whatever the source of this is, it's behind that door. I can feel it, dragging me towards it."

Duncan’s gaze locked onto the massive stone door once again, the pain in his chest intensifying with every moment. The strange force pulling him toward it was growing stronger, and it felt as though the air itself was suffocating, thick with ancient energy.

"We have to open it." Mehdi spoke, standing up next to Duncan. "But how? It looks far too big for us to move, even with Omar." The three moved towards the giant stone, each examining its intricate carvings silently.

"There has to be some kind of mechanism, this was meant to seal these things inside, brute force won't open the way." Duncan studied the carvings closer, raising his hand to trace them once more and yet again feeling the burning sensation against his skin. Once more, the answer was given to him. "These symbols, they're not just a warning, they're instructions. A way to unlock the door."

Mehdi raise a hand to his chin as he stepped closer to the door. “The serpent... Ouroboros it’s a symbol of cycles. Life, death, rebirth. We need to turn it, align it with the right symbols.”

Omar nodded. “Then let’s do it. No time to waste.”

Without hesitation, Duncan placed both hands on the serpent’s head, feeling the stone’s cold resistance beneath his palms. Together, Omar and Mehdi moved to help him, their hands pressing against the ancient carving. Slowly, with a low grinding noise, the serpent’s body began to shift, rotating along the carved lines in the stone.

“Keep going,” Mehdi urged, his voice strained with effort.

The serpent’s body twisted in a slow, deliberate motion, the symbols around it beginning to pulse with light. As the serpent moved into place, the ancient markings glowed brighter, filling the room with a dim, eerie glow.

Suddenly, there was a deep, resonant click. The entire door shuddered, and the ground beneath them trembled, sending dust and small stones raining down from the ceiling. The carvings glowed brighter, their light casting long shadows across the pit. The door began to move on it's own, slowly rolling out of the way with a loud deep groan.

Mehdi stood back, rifle at the ready, his eyes locked on the widening space. “It’s opening.”

Cold mist seeped through the gap, swirling around their feet. A low, ominous sound echoed from beyond the door, like a distant, mournful wail.

Omar, eyes fixed on the opening, took a step forward, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “Whatever’s back there, it’s what’s causing all of this. We need to face it.”

Duncan’s chest throbbed with that familiar pull, stronger than ever. The pain was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to stand tall, the torch still flickering in his hand. He moved closer to the door, readying his mace as he peered through the gap and into the darkness. Preparing himself for what was drawing him deeper into the void.

FORMER SOVIET PRISON // UNKNOWN LOCATION

0817HRS The change from the comfort of his usual routine was meant to be another form of punishment for the little stunt he pulled the day before. The fact that the Red Guardian came passed his door and knocked every hour through the night was a clear indication that the super soldier may be holding a grudge about both the blow to his ego, and the loss of the shield. Not just a Soviet Trophy, but also a sign of status and authority.

Steve had already heard a couple of his fellow inmates calling after Krylenko with, from their tone, taunts and jabs. With any luck Steve would be out of here before there was any true retribution. If the scientists were confident on the stability of Krylenko and his serum, there was every chance that Steve may be just about outliving his usefulness. Which is why the questioning was a bit odd.

As Steve sat upright on the bed, the man sat before him was an unassuming man. He was certainly not military and clearly uncomfortable, which implied he wasn't prison staff. His long and unkept hair hung loose and free, which further supported Steve's theory that the Warden was a meticulous man who believed in everything being well kept and neat.

The two men sat in awkward silence, the man rubbing his hands together.

"Did you -" Steve stopped himself and offered the man his hand. "Steve Rogers."

The man shook his hand, his grip weak and palms sweaty. Clearing his throat as he shook Steves hand. "Stikk." Finishing the handshake he sat back down in his chair, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket before handing it to Steve who recognised the service photo of Jim Hammond instantly.

Jim had went by the alias 'The Human Torch' during the second world war, and as such was part of the Invaders. A top secret team of enhanced individuals who, like Steves own Howling Commandos, completed impossible missions in the face of impossible odds behind the Axis front lines. Steve had worked with Jm on numerous occasions, and had even been part of a search and rescue party the winter of '44 when Jim had went missing.

He had later learned that Jim had been taken prisoner by the Nazis and experimented on, and Steve had been questioned about him before as it turned out that when the Russians had 'liberated' the prison they had been selective on who they released. During one of Steves escape attempts he had gotten caught as he had found papers suggesting Jim was somewhere in the very same prison that held Steve, and he had decided to look for him. Once he had been caught the Warden had taken great pleasure in telling him of the Human Torches death.

So why this man was bringing a picture of a dead man, was a mystery.

"Did you know Jim Hammond?"

"I did, but I'm afraid you'll get no more out of me than the Russians did."

"You misunderstand me, I don't care about what happened during the war. My employer has records that indicate you were involved in the search and rescue effort for Jim Hammond - any luck?"

Steve arched an eyebrow and then shook his head. "What does it matter, this is ancient history?"

Stikk obviously knew something Steve didn't, and he took pride in it. His entire posture changed as the younger man repositioned himself. "My employer has recently acquired something for the Russians, in exchange for something we want. With the added exchange of information, part of that information is asking you why Jim Hammond failed. Both his hardware and software were state of the art especially in the forties. There's no reason-"

The man trailed on, while the wheels in Steves brain were turning. He had little experience with computers, or the technological world but he knew some of the terminology.

"Are you implying Jim was some form of... robotic man?" The smile on Stikks face grew into a grin as thunder rumbled outside the window.

"More bionic really, didn't you know?" From meek to smug, while the young inquisitor was able to refrain himself from laughing, Steve knew that it was there. "My employers first prototype, he's since made improvements on the design obviously-" Obviously. "-but there are just some important questions about the prototype that need answered before we can begin the next phase. Think of Jim as the Alpha Test, and this would be the Beta. We hope to have most the bugs worked out-"

Steve shook his head, in one part disbelief and two parts confusion.

"I don't understand what you're saying, let alone what you want from me-" A crash of thunder, a flicker of lightning. "-I didn't even know."

Stikk stood up and walked to the door, knocking once. The door opened momentarily, a bag was passed through. Stikk took it, placed it on the table and opened it before stepping back, revealing the detached head of one Jim Hammond. If there was ever any doubt and about what he was before, that was quashed. His eyes looked slightly duller than normal, but he could have been staring into the distance from the look on his ace. No signs of pain or distress, if his head hadn't been in a box with wires coming out of the bottom he would have looked perfectly healthy.

KRRRRAAAAAAAAKOOOOOOOOOOOOM

The lights flickered and flashed, what felt like the entire prison shook. The smugness and confidence on Stikks face vanished, a sly smirk on Steves face. He placed a hand on the other mans shoulder, who flinched but by the grip put on him understood that now wasn't the time to scream, shout, or move away. Steve spoke quietly, and with purpose.

Gunshots could be heard farther away in the facility. "I don't want to hurt you-" Stikk let go an involuntary wimper. "-I'm going to take this head with me, and I'm going to leave. You don't want to get hurt though do you?"

Stikk didn't speak for fear that his words would betray him, instead he merely shook his head.

"Good. I need you, to call for help. No matter what the guards are doing, young Miss Sokov is going to be outside this door, and lets just say I don't really have time for a prolonged engagement."

"S...s...s...so just yell?"

Steve nodded. "I'm going to fall on the floor, you'll shout for help. When she comes in tell her I've had a fit, and that I'm not breathing. Do you understand?

Stikk nodded meekly.

"Now remember, we have a deal - you do this for me and I'll leave you alone." to drive his point home Steve jabbed a finger into Stikks chest. As the man nodded, Steve let his body go limp falling to the floor with a satisfying thunk. It hurt, but he had endured worse.

Closing his eyes, he tried to tune out the sounds of gunfire, alarm and the various symphony of voices from both inmates and guards alike.

"Guards! Help!"

The door opened, followed by heavy bootsteps and the thick Russian accent of his personal shadow - as Stikk knelt beside Steve. Two fingers on his throat checking for a pulse, his cheek down near Steves mouth to check for breath.

"What is wrong?"

The first part of his plan was going so well, or so the storm raging outside would seem to suggest anyway, he just needed her to take the bait.

One step, two step, three steps. He just needed her to get a little bit closer. Four, five, six. That was her at the foot of the bed.

"We were talking and he just collapsed when the lights flickered, I think it was a fit please he's not breathing!"

Swearing in Russian the next steps were more hurried, she might have been well trained but there was still some naivety to take advantage off.

Seven, eight, nine.

Steve swept her legs, as she barely got out a yelp. Stikk screamed, grabbed the head and bolted for the still open door. Steve swore but he didn't have time to grab for the man, instead he sprung up onto his feet and then twisted elbow first to follow Sokov on her downward fall.

A Crimson light emanated from her before her head slammed down on the floor. He followed her landing with his elbow into her ribcage, but where he hoped to come into contact with flesh he came into contact with something hard. As he rolled with his momentum he was suddenly catapulted on a beam of red energy, crashing through the door, and rolling down the hallway. He tucked himself in, making himself as small as possible as he bounced along.

Other than the gunfire and alarms blaring farther down the hall, all the prisoners who could see this wing suddenly went quiet. Looking between Steve Rogers and the door to his cell. Sokov walked through the door as a woman with purpose, her military fatigues burning away to reveal a sleek black costume beneath. Red lines spread out from a central point, a circle with a Crimson Flame in the middle of it.

As Steve pushed himself to his feet a glimmer of recognition crossed his face, he was sure he had someone with that emblem emblazened upon his chest before. He just couldn't quite place it, and now wasn't really the time.

Sokov lowered her hands to her waist and opened her hands, palm out. Red energy started to glow and coalesce in her hands as she walked towards him like a predator stalking her prey. Steve raised his fists toward her.

"You know I've never hit a woman, I'd rather not fight you. If you just let me go, I promise I won't hurt - HOLY -" Steve ducked, dropping to the floor as twin streams of energy lanced out from her hands, twisting along the floor before propelling himself back onto his feet to stay away from the sustained beam. Turning to look at the trail of burn marks along the floor he winced. Regretting sending the shield to another realm as a cry for help.

---

Krylenko walked passed the soldiers who stood at either side of the door, rifles at the ready. They had already heard the talk on the radio, fear on their faces. Someone was attacking the prison, someone who laughed in the face of their guns and their bullets. No matter how many of them there seemed to be. This prison held its fair share of mutants, however all of them were on a derivation of the mutant suppressing formula that the Americans had given to the world. At a high cost.

Krylenko kicked the doors opened just as the long haired interloper held up his shield, demanding to be taken to the whomever the shield belonged to. Krylenkos blood boiled, his noise still aching from earlier. A hint of excitement coursed through his body with the adrenaline, if this intruder was as strong as the radio calls suggested then he would be a perfect test for his physical limits. No holding back.

"I think you will find that the shield is mine, comrade. It would do you well to surrender it, and yourself, to me.

WADE WILSON/DEADPOOL

Issue 4: Bad Guy

Location: A Divebar In New York City

Over the past few days, Wade has been in the city doing more jobs for various criminals and the occasional civilian who needed his help. But for the most part, he has been hanging out with Vanessa. Learning more about what a mutant is and that there were others like him. The thought of it sparked a memory in his head. During the Weapon X program, he was sure he had met a few other mutants. A name came to mind, but he wasn’t sure. “Aogan, Bogan, Hogan, Sogan, Rogan.” Was the name he could think of, trying to remember the mutant’s name. Maybe this guy wasn’t that remarkable; it was best not to think about this loser. However, he did remember another mutant, a girl named Neena. She seemed very nice when they could chat. Most of the time, they would speak via notes. He always wondered where she was and if she was okay. Looking at his phone, he noticed he had a text from Vanessa that they would meet this Sunday for dinner. He was responding by saying that he would be there. However, he didn’t remember where they would be having dinner. He was sure that he’d remember it eventually. In the meantime, he had contacted someone who would need his services. The contact was a mother looking for his son, who her husband took. Her husband has been freebasing with various drugs and seemed to have gone off the deep end when she wanted to divorce him. He kidnaps his son and is hiding somewhere in the city. Having taken this job pro bono because he felt sympathy for the mother.

Wade’s first place he was going to investigate was the local bar the husband liked to hang out at. Wearing some casual clothes as he entered, his nose was filled with the smell of cigarettes and booze. He sat down at the bar and ordered a Molson. Scanning the room of all the patrons that were sitting and drinking. Noticing a group of men who were talking loudly. Wade was watching them while sipping on his beer. Wondering if they knew anything about the missing kid. An older woman sat beside him, ordering a J&B on the rocks. Looking over at the bartender calling them over.

“Hello, my name is Wade Wilson. I am a private investigator looking for a missing boy. I was just wondering if you saw this boy anywhere or if you have seen his father hanging around here.” He showed him a photo of a young boy. Also, showing them a fake identification that he is a P.I. "I heard his dad, who had kidnapped the boy, likes to hang around here.” The bartender took the photo and stared at the picture. The bartender looked pretty concerned looking at the picture.

“I've seen him before; he gives me the creeps. Been ranting and raving about how mutants would rule the world or something. What the hell is a mutant anyway. That guy must be gacked out of his mind. Said his son was the key to taking over the world.” He said, handing the picture back to Wade. The bartender then gave Wade a brief description of the father's appearance.

“What is his name? Do you know where he lives?” Wade asked which one of the men had responded.

“His name is Jeff, but I don’t know where the guy lives. You might want to check out the local drug dens in Hell's Kitchen. He had mentioned Hell’s Kitchen and some guy named Bubby.” The bartender was now attending to other patrons. Wade meanwhile thanked him before leaving the bar and heading towards Hell’s Kitchen.

Hal and Sinestro had gone to the city center. Hal had been to Japan on a few assignments in the past, but never really learned the language, so mostly stuck to the places near the US bases where most of the locals spoke enough English for him to get by, but it was a completely new experience when he actually was able to communicate with them in their language. And it had been with that full understanding that a pair of "Gaijin" had come to be accepted at a small bar.



A cheer went out as Hal, Sinestro and 4 of the locals raised their glasses in a toast. So far, they had drank several bottles of a local beer and were now helping the 4 locals finish their second bottle of Sake. Sinestro let out a wheeze, not particularly used to his alcohols being served hot.

"See, i told you we needed a night off." Hal coughed after his 4th glass of the hot booze.

"The disunity of humanity is most perplexing to me." Sinestro said "Out in the cosmos, most civilizations that have gotten to your point in development have either fully or a least MOSTLY unified, maybe 4 or 5 factions AT MOST and yet there are 195 factions, 237 if you don't count factions that are ruled by other factions and too many religious orders to count, some of which are quite literally a joke to make fun of the other factions. Although i'm surprised about those of you who worship Shuma-Gorath as some kind of joke." Sinestro then raised his cup "Kampai"



Another inebriated cheer went around the bar as Sinestro drank another glass. Hal finished his cup as one of the other patrons cracked another bottle that had been left on the radiator and began pouring it around.

"Who the heck is Shuma-Gorath?" Hal asked. Sinestro looked into his cup and swirled the sake around a little

"A weird flying tentacle monster me and Abin once found a bunch of cultists on Koord worshipping. Ooh boy, they gave us some trouble, but." He made finger guns and playfully shot at Hal a few times.

"Oh dear, someone can't handle their Earth Booze." Hal laughed. At that point the door to the bar opened and people looked around to see Agent May walk in. "Ohayo gozaimasu fellow Gaijin!" Hal laughed at her.

"There you are." May frowned.

"Here we are!" Hal giggled. "Got us!"

"And you're drunk." She sighed. Hal and Sinestro looked at each other, shocked at the accusation.

"No you're drunk!" Hal said, spilling some of his drink. "OH NO, I AM SO SORRY!" He yelled, licking the table. The other patrons laughing as he did so.

"Are you sure you should be talking about..." She made a vague guesture towards Sinestro, who was continuing to stare into the glass

"Going to be honest, Agent May, i doubt i'm going to remember this tomorrow, let alone this lot." He groaned. He then looked up at her, his eyes drifting across her. "You know, Agent May, you remind me a lot of Ar..." He then stopped himself as he trailed off, before looking at her knuckles. "What happened to your hand? Looks like you punched someone SUPER hard." He then lapped his tongue a little. "Punched... Punshed... Punched... That's a really weird word. Rhymes with table...

"What? No it doesn't. Not even close." Hal laughed.

"Does in my language." Sinestro sneered back sarcastically.

"Turns out Morita's dad didn't appreciate my questions or his sons actions and had some strong feelings on the matter. I convinced him not to act on his strong feelings again." She said, flexing her knuckles.

"You need to be cut off. Agent May, take his keys." Hal ordered. He then quickly patted himself over before pulling the keys from his pocket. "Oh wait... Hey, Sinestro..." He jingled them, before May grabbed them from him with one swift swipe of her hand. Hal looked forlornly into his empty hand "My keys..." He moaned quietly. He then grabbed another glass. "Kampai?"



Came the response as everyone drank their glasses. May then sat down with them and grabbed a glass. "Kampai!" She sighed, resigning herself to joining in on tomorrows hangovers. Just as she was about to bring the drink to her lips, she suddenly heard something outside. Screaming, mass screaming, something was coming. Then she heard the tell-tale sound of a weapon revving up, jumping across the table, she grabbed Hal, just as the wall behind her exploded. As she dived she saw Sinestro instantly stand up and form a golden barrier around everyone in the bar. As the smoke cleared, a tall, physically intimidating man stood in silhouette as the smoke whisped around his cloak. A very large gun in one hand and his other hand seemed to be a... Well, a Mace. Metal from head to toe, a large red cape, blue and yellow robes around his torso and very large, metal teeth protruding from an underbite jaw that looked like it could bike straight through a battleship hull.

"You value your lives and those around you?" It said in a loud, booming, gutteral voice. "Then hand over your rings and maybe you and them stay healthy, yes?" The intimidating man said, lowering the gun to point at Hal and Sinestro.

---

“Hungry?”

Leech damn near jumped out of his shoes. Scrambling around in the dark, he blinked as his eyes struggled to take in the new light from that mutant bitch turning on the lantern in his home.

“Fuck you! Get out of my house!” It had been two days and this bitch was back to darken his fucking day.

She gave a non-committal shrug, holding up a brown bag with grease marks showing through. “Guess I’ll have to enjoy my midnight snack alone.” She started to move past him, the scent of meat and oil catching his nose. His stomach cried out. He’d eaten, stumbling across one abandoned Happy Meal left on the bench, ice cold. His home wasn’t exactly freezing, but a bit of warm food made plenty of difference in comfort. “Leave that.”

“Uh-uh,” she chided. Leech lunged a hand out to the bag but she carefully kept it away. “We talk or I walk.”

Moments later, Leech took a bite, meat and tomato juices drizzling through the edge of his lips and down his chin. He took a moment to let the warmth soothe him, his eyes closing as he savored the taste. He knew it wasn’t much of a good meal: the oil and fat and salt was a decadent pleasure, one he’d had plenty of times before. Every Friday night his family had gone out for food, and he always treasured those times, even if the recollection was inevitably followed by pain. But that was then and this was now. In his dingy room littered with rat shit and the constant underpinning smell of dirt, sweat, and mildew, to have that all overwritten for even just a moment was heaven.

Swallowing, he looked to see the woman watching him, smiling lightly. “Fuck you.” She smiled and giggled into her food, which only pissed Leech off more. But he did have a question. “Did you just fucking get here? How is this food still hot?”

Cheek full, she replied, “I can make fire with my brain.” She nodded to the edge of the room where a couple cockroaches had curled up, roasted to death. “I’ve been scaring off the rats too.”

“Just fucking kill them.”

The lady got awkward. “I know they’re just pests but, like, it’s different with mammals. I remember when I first discovered that power and I was just lighting little fires and putting them out. I did it to a cat and the cry it let out still haunts me too this day.”

Leech’s jaw dropped. “You lit a cat on fire?!”

“No! I mean it got a little singed, it was just a little spark! I put it out as it ran away, I’m sure it was fine!”

“Literal sociopath.”

She huffed at his remark, burying her face in her food. After she swallowed, she admitted, “I know your story. It was an accident. It happened when I read your mind last week.” Leech felt his skin crawl. “I try to keep from going any deeper than surface thoughts. I can tune them out, or even quash them pretty heavily if I focus, but back then I was pretty desperate. I’m sorry.”

Leech felt his eye twitch. “Be sorry then.”

“Have you ever thought about trying to find your parents?”

“Nope.” He said firmly, hiding the lie behind a wall of disdain. Of course I have you stupid bitch. He’d imagined ideal senarios that wouldn’t come true, because if they’d been possible he’d have never been abandoned in the first place. He imagined the worst cases. He imagined finding them dead, killing them himself, finding that he had a new younger sibling, one who hadn’t been cursed with the X-gene like himself. He’d wondered if they did have another kid only to abandon it when it turned out to develop an inescapable mutation. If he had someone else like him, maybe he didn’t have to be alone. He looked up to the woman, the only human he’d really talked to in what felt like a lifetime and realized that’s exactly what she wanted, the mind reading cunt. “You really think anything would change even if I found them?” He felt like spitting, but that’d waste the flavor.

“I think something has to change. I hate that this world is like this. I teach 4th grade and some of those kids are barely literate. Some of them are so terrified of going home and I can’t call Child Protective Services because without good evidence or timing I might only make it worse. The drug problem, the housing problem, the Key Bridge… God did you hear about Stark and Trask?” Fucking who? “War Machine? Sentinels? No?”

Leech sneered, “Just put on your cape and go fix everything.” He put his attention on his fries, his desire for warm food outweighing the fullness of his stomach.

She let out a long sigh. “I can fix some things. I was looking into shelters. If you don’t feel safe going to a youth homeless shelter, there’s an LGBTQ+ shelter that might be safe. I can talk with the owner on your behalf if you want.” Leech visible cringed. It was like worms were running down his spine. The woman glared at him. “Really? You’re in a position to be a bigot? It’s not like there are any mutant shelters around here. People prefer to act like they don’t exist.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that dumbfuck.” She winced, running the back of her wrist on her forehead. “This is the best I can get, right here.”

“Good enough to shoot up a school over?”

Leech felt his insides roiling. For all the anger he could muster when he worked himself up, he did realize that in this moment he was able to relax. He hated to admit that. Crumpling up his paper and shiny wrapper with the last tidbits of his food, he sneered, “Food’s gone, talk’s over: get out.”

She took the last bite of her burger, her fries still on hand. Swallowing, she said, “Just...can you please try? Just give it a shot? Even if it doesn’t go perfectly it’s better to try.”

“Easy for you to say, Supercunt.”

She closed her eyes, before scooping up her food and heading out. Stopping in front of him, she calmed herself before saying, “My name’s Jean.” She left. Leech fumbled into a seated position, clicked off the lanturn, his anger not calming. In fact it only seemed to get worse as he ran through everything he’d said. Even his gross, flat, green nose could still smell, and the grime still remained, the food largely reminding him that there were other things in the wider world for his senses to enjoy than what he’d settled for here.

---

Outside, Jean had floated a ways away, finding the rooftop of a closed shop, situating herself in a spot guarded from the wind before finishing off the rest of her meal. Brushing against her jacket pockets carrying a couple doses of naloxone, her mind raced with possibility as she considered the endless problems with a city as impoverished as Baltimore, so much well beyond what someone with a cape could solve. But she could solve some. Despite talking up her goal to Scott, she was still waiting for the day she’d put on her costume and go into action. Sure, she was constantly busy with work and child rearing and domestic duties and trying to help ‘Leech’, but when was she going to make her debut? Was there just going to be a convenient fire or accident or supervillain attack for her to swoop in and help with? Was she just going to wait forever for the ‘best opportunity’ until her goal became a shameful, embarrassing memory she never acted upon? There was a lot to be afraid of. She’d never really been one for violence, and had no idea how she’d respond to a gun pointed at her. She’d never tested the limits of her powers. They only had so many savings, so if her exploits lost them one of both of their jobs they were going to be in a bad place. But her own words echoed back at her, rebounding in her head during her flight home.

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

---

Duncan led the way as the trio entered through the door. The passage was pitch black, save for the torch lighting their way. They crept slowly along the sandstone, none of them saying a word for fear of beckoning something from the darkness. The air was cold and stale, it caught in their throats like dust. Their careful steps were well advised as they felt the ground beneath them begin to gradually turn and lower, turning in a spiral downwards for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally relief, Omar felt a brazier on the wall brush his shoulder as they moved, Duncan quickly lit this, illuminating the space around them. He turned to Omar, handing him the torch silently before tearing a sizeable part of the sleeve from his robe, bunching it up and lighting it on fire before dropping it down the centre of the spiral. It fell for an anxious eternity before finally hitting the ground. Mehdi peered over, making sure to not stand too close to the edge. The walkway went down for 6 or 7 rotations. Mehdi had lived in these sands all his life, seen Petra, Jerash, the lot. But he had never seen anything like this. Who had made this? Who had lived so deep beneath the surface to craft such passages?

The three finally reached the bottom of the room. They hadn't said a word since the stone door had opened. Nothing had felt right since they entered this room. It was like they were being watched, no it was like some malovolent force knew they had crossed into its domain, like it had been expecting them.

Another passage lay open at the end of the room, a long, sloping passage that carved from ancient stone, its walls lined with large, weathered bricks. The corridor was dimly lit by flickering torches mounted at regular intervals along the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced across the uneven surfaces. Omar tried to mask the feeling of worry that threatened to overwhelm him as he spoke up.

"The torches" He spoke pointing down the hallway. "They're lit this time, who has been down here?"

Duncan paused, his eyes narrowing at Omar's words. The flickering flames down the passageway were impossible to ignore. Freshly lit torches deep beneath the desert sands, where no man should have walked for centuries meant only one thing, they were not alone.

"Stay close." Duncan muttered, his voice low, wary. His grip tightened on his mace, the cold metal grounding him in the surreal moment. He could still feel the residual pain in his chest, but now it was coupled with an instinctual dread. The air here felt wrong, heavier than before, as if thick with something ancient and malicious. Something was drawing him deeper.

Mehdi’s eyes darted nervously between the torches and the passage ahead. "If someone, or something lit those, then they know we’re coming," he whispered, gripping his rifle tighter.

"Then there's no point sneaking around anymore" Duncan said, forcing himself to move forward. The pain in his chest flared again as they made their way down the hallway, sharper this time, but he pressed on. The corridor seemed to stretch forever, but as they ventured deeper, they began to hear a faint hum, low and rhythmic, like a heartbeat reverberating through the walls. It was almost imperceptible at first, but with each step, it grew stronger. Duncan’s heart ached in sync with the sound, pulling him forward despite every sense telling him to turn and run. None of the three mentioned the noise to each other, and the only words spoken in this corridor were by Omar, his grip tight on his blade, muttering something under his breath in Arabic; a prayer, or perhaps a curse.

Finally, the corridor widened into a vast circular chamber. The ceiling was impossibly high, vanishing into the blackness above them, and the floor was covered in strange, glowing, intricate carvings that seemed to form a large, spiraling pattern. At the center of the chamber, bathed in a faint, eerie glow, stood an altar. Resting on it was a set of armour, unlike anything Duncan had ever seen. This what was drawing him beneath the sands, what had called him here.

Mehdi and Omar cautiously followed Duncan into the room, their eyes scanning the area for any danger, both with their hands ready on their weapons, every fibre of their being was calling out in danger within this room. Their eyes traced the carvings and patterns decorating every inch of every surface in the room. Duncan, however could not take his eyes off of the armour. It was like he was hypnotised. No explanation was forthcoming but it felt like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, the first familiar face since waking up in his tomb.

The armour resting on the stone altar radiated a dark, ancient energy, and the closer Duncan got to it the more intense the feeling of pain in his chest grew. Its surface was sleek yet jagged, the blackened metal etched with intricate designs that flowed like the muscles of a lithe predator. The plates curved and contoured to mimic the body of a fierce creature, its power coiled beneath, ready to spring into lethal action.

The helmet was angular and fierce, its design exuding a silent, menacing power. The faceplate extended into a tapering snout-like shape, its sleek, jagged lines hinting at the primal savagery of a beast without fully committing to its image. Its narrow eye slits glinted faintly in the dim light and subtle ridges ran across the crest. The whole helm carried an air of viciousness, a visage that invoked the image of a wolf. Around the collar, thick tufts of dark gray fur spilled outward, completing the sense that this armour was more than just metal, it was the embodiment of something wild and dangerous, waiting to be unleashed.

The pauldrons flared out to the sides, their shape recalling powerful shoulders built for quick, precise movement. They curved down like haunches poised to spring, the plates layered in a way that allowed for swift action while still providing formidable protection. The chest piece was ridged and contoured, crafted with overlapping segments that mimicked the sinew of a predator’s body.

The gauntlets extended into sharpened, claw like points at the fingertips, and the legs of the armour were similarly crafted for both speed and power with similar overlapping segments to the chestpiece.

Draped over one shoulder was a tattered red cape, once vibrant but now dulled and torn as though it had been through countless battles. The crimson fabric clung to its side, torn in long, ragged strips, flowing down just before half of the length of the armour.

Mehdi and Omar noticed Duncan approaching it. The two looking at each other before quickly moving over to Duncan and placing a hand on his shoulder. Omar spoke first.

"Duncan, brother that...thing. It doesn't feel right let's ready ourselves before getting any closer." Mehdi nodded.

"Yes, for all we know it's what's been causing the Ghul to rise, it could be dangerous."

Duncan broke from his hypnosis only partially, stopping in his tracks but his gaze could not break free from the armour.

"It's alive."

"What?"

"The armour. It's alive. It's what's been calling me down here."

Before Mehdi could react, the ground beneath them trembled. From the walls, stone began to crack and fall away, revealing movement beneath. Slowly, two grotesque figures broke from underneath the carved stone. They were massive creatures, hunched and twisted, their flesh grey and mottled, with glowing eyes. Their bodies were wrapped in chains, ancient shackles that clanked ominously as they clambered up. The three knew what this place was meant to keep out. The Elder Ghul, what those things on the surface would grow into if they didn't stop them. The source of this invasion.

The three readied their weapons as the hulking monstrosities grew to their full height. Even hunched over they towered like goliaths over the three men, heaving and breathing heavily as black drool dripped from their gnarled fangs. The creatures lunged forward, snarling, their chains whipping through the air as they bore down on the trio.

The three moved quickly, dodging and rolling out of the path of the two as they readied a counter attack. Mehdi fired his rifle, the bullets hitting their targets but barely slowing the creatures down. Omar swung his blade, catching one of the monsters in its calf, but it barely flinched, instead bringing its massive chained fists down toward him. Duncan lunged at the other and swung his mace overhead at it, colliding with its shin. It quickly swung its head around to him, and swiped at him with its long pale arm. Duncan couldn't react in time, and was sent flying across the room, colliding with the altar holding up the armour.

He clutched his leg as he pushed himself up with gritted teeth. He tried to stand and fell back again, his leg was fractured, if not broken. He looked up at his allies, Omar was doing his best to hold up the fist of the giant beast, but his strength was faltering, he would be crushed soon. Mehdi was struggling to reload through constant dodges of the other behemoth's attacks, he was panting heavily and tripping more and more as he made sloppy ducks and rolls.

Duncan's resolve was wavering. Did he spend that eternity in the darkness just to return to it after such a short time awake? Just to watch his friends die again? He couldn't let it end here, not in this tomb buried thousands of miles away from his homeland. He knew what he had to do, using his hand to force himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as his bad leg tried to give way.

Using his hands, he steadied himself against the alter and turned himself around to face it. With one last look over his shoulder at the desperate situation behind him he made his decision. He was going to give the armour what it wanted.

Duncan’s vision blurred as he reached the armour. His heart felt like it would explode, but he couldn't fight the urge any longer. He reached out, his hands trembling, and grasped the helm. To his shock the armour grabbed back, turning into an almost quicksilver like substance and melting its way up his arms and around his body. He felt it tighten around him as though the metal itself had a life of its own. The cold steel pressed into his skin before warming, fusing with his very flesh. The pain in his chest flared, but now it was as though the power within the armour was awakening in response, amplifying his strength. His heartbeat pounded in rhythm with something deep and primal, an ancient force that thrummed through the metal, waiting to be unleashed. In the dim light of the chamber, Duncan stood transformed, a dark figure, his silhouette sharp and predatory, no longer the prey of these foul beasts.

A moment lasted eternity as he felt his spirit lift from inside the armour, to heights he had never seen and to a time that felt even further back than the one he came from. In an instant his mind was transported to another place, while his body remained in the tomb.

It was a place of eternal blackness, darker than dark. For a moment a sense of fear shook him, had he banished himself to another lifetime of darkness? Would this be one he'd never escape? And then the small twinkling lights of distant stars began popping into his view, before they were almost blinding.

His spirit hovered in the void for what seemed like an eternity. The stars around him pulsed like dying embers, but as his gaze lingered, they grew brighter. The shimmering glow began to coalesce, forming jagged, fracturing shapes. He saw it then, the Ebony Blade, or what was left of it, floating before him in fragments, its pieces scattered like shattered glass across the infinite sky. Each fragment pulsed with a heartbeat that resonated within Duncan’s own chest. His heartbeat thudded, sending a wave of pain through his body, as the realization struck him. One of the shards, the largest and most jagged, was missing from the blade. He felt something in his chest, burning like a sun and pulsing in time with the shards in front of him. Then he realised, the last piece was lodged deep inside his heart. The moment he had woken in his tomb, that shard had been there, embedded in his flesh, its cursed power intertwined with his own life force. That was why the pain had worsened the closer he came to the armour. The blade and the armour shared the same ancient power, both forged from the same malevolent starstone, both part of the same dark curse.

The realization hit Duncan like a hammer. Every ridge, every etched line in the dark metal armour he had adopted pulsed with the same ancient energy that had once flowed through the Ebony Blade. In his mind's eye, Duncan could see flashes of what the armour could do, movements too fast for the human eye, blows strong enough to shatter stone, and a ferocity that rivaled even the most savage of predators. But the cost of such power was steep. Just as the blade had thirsted for blood and battle, the armour demanded a toll. He could feel it now, pulling at his mind, dulling his senses, its hunger an unyielding force that could devour him if he let it. The more he wielded the armour's strength, the more it would take his body, his mind, his soul, until there was nothing left but the beast within. He could not defeat the curse last time, he would make sure he would learn to control it now.

His chest throbbed as he reached out to the floating shards of the blade in the void, and they vanished, reabsorbed into the armour. The stars winked out, one by one, until only darkness remained. The void receded, and Duncan’s spirit crashed back into his body with the force of a tidal wave.

The tomb came back into focus, but everything was sharper now, the darkness less oppressive. He could see the faint shimmer of the chains on the ghuls as they moved, smell the acrid stench of their rot as they clawed toward Mehdi and Omar. He could hear their labored breaths, every strained movement, as if time itself had slowed. Duncan’s vision pulsed red, his heartbeat now in perfect sync with the armour's thrumming power.

With a roar that reverberated through the chamber, Duncan surged forward. Each step felt light yet powerful, as if the armour was pushing Duncan forward, almost urging him into a hunt. His mace felt weightless in his hands now, swinging with the force of a mountain behind it. He slammed the weapon into the first ghul’s chained arm, the sound of cracking bone and metal filling the chamber as the creature staggered backward and let out a guttural yell. Duncan didn’t hesitate, he lunged forward, driving his armoured fist into the creature’s chest, the claws at the tips of his gauntlet ripping through its flesh with a sickening tear. Blood sprayed across the chamber floor as the monster howled in agony.

The second ghul barely had time to react before Duncan was upon it. He ducked under its sweeping chains, moving with a speed that left it flailing in confusion. With one swift, fluid motion, he leapt forward, grabbing the chains with his hands and yanking them downards. The beast fell to the ground with a crash and Duncan sped forward just as fast, wrapping the chains around the goliath's throat and snapping it's neck with a torque of his grip.

Breathing heavily, Duncan straightened, the armour's power coursing through him like fire in his veins. He could feel its hunger, its insatiable thirst for more violence, more bloodshed. The beasts lay broken at his feet, but deep within the armour, something still stirred. Something that wanted to keep fighting, to keep killing, until there was nothing left to stand against it.

Omar and Mehdi stared in stunned silence, their weapons still raised, but it was clear they were no longer necessary. Duncan turned to face them, his chest heaving, his heart still pounding in time with the armour's dark rhythm. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, a mixture of awe and fear, but he couldn't focus on that. Not now.

"The camp. There's no time to spare, without the Elder Ghul their numbers will dwindle. Let's end this."

"So, we're going to be doing this the hard way, yes?" The metal man said. "I am Deaths Head. I think it's always appropriate to let my prey know who it is that's going to be bringing them in." The laser cannon in his hand glowed again. "The only question is how warm you are going to be when you are brought in. Usual body temperature? Or extra crispy...?"

Hal was up on his feet quickly. He looked around at the others. The barman had already dived down, while the rest of the people in here were a little too inebriated to really care and... Damn he really wanted to watch Robocop right now... No, stay focussed. In a flash of green light, his suit came on, Sinestro followed them, his skin turning rose and his Gold Lantern outfit appearing on.

"Oh, Sinestro?" Deaths Head said, realizing exactly who it was. "Been a while. Last time i worked with you was that nasty business with Atrocitus. He did not go down easy, you remember yes?-" At that point, Sinestro burst towards him in a flash of gold light and with one powerful, solid gold left hook, sent Deaths Head flying straight across the street and into a closed flower shop.

"Friend of yours?" Hal asked. Sinestro turned around with a look of purest thunder. "OoOoOoOoh! Sorry i asked." Hal said, waving his hands condescendingly.

"Are you competent enough?" Sinestro asked. Hal looked at his hands.

"I got 2 hands, 1 ring and one alien jerk to punch into next week!" Hal said, stumbling a little from all the booze he had consumed. "Although when we get home, i am showing you Robocop and you are GOING to like it." He then flew out and floated just above the street to see Deaths Head slowly pick himself up and fix his jaw.

"A little unsportsmanlike of you, yes?" He asked. "Alright, extra crispy it is." He pointed the gun at Hal and a purple blast of energy shot out. Hal instinctively shot his hand out and a green bank vault door appeared to intercept the blast. The vault door exploded and the shards of green construct flew past Hal. "Impressive" Deaths Head laughed.

"TAKE THIS YOU METAL TIC-TAC!!!" He yelled, the ring creating an A-10 Thunderbolt on each of his arms and he pointed them at Deaths Head, before the distinctive BRRRRRRT!!! Rang out through the streets and green bullets began spraying Deaths Head. The Robot man then rocketted into the air with the boosters in his boots. Hal was far too drunk to effectively track his shots. But it was keeping him on the move. Deaths Head dodging left and right, keeping moving and taking advantage of the inebriated humans state.

Meanwhile, Sinestro was watching from the street bellow while May was helping people to safety. "What are you waiting for, Sinestro, get in there!" She asked him. She only had her side arm on her and she knew enough to know that it would do nothing against that alien cyborg.

"Look at Green Lantern for a second..." Sinestro said. "I've not see him do that before."

As Deaths Head dodged some more of the shots, he put the laser cannon away and his other hand turned into a mass of blades that began to spin. He then launched himself towards Hal at Breakneck speed. As he did, the A-10's on Hals wrist suddenly had large chainsaw blades shoot out of them for Hal to bring up and block the the spinning blade from Deaths Head, then swinging the chainsaw Warthog on his left arm to block the incoming Mace from Deaths Head's right arm. The blades revved loudly, but they were unable to cut through Deaths Heads thick armour. A comically large boot then appeared on the end of Hals foot as he reared it back, before delivering a devastating shot between Deaths Heads legs, right into the crotch. A loud CLANG! rang out and he was pushed up a few meters in the air, but Deaths Head looked down at Hal, slightly confused.

"BAD FORM, HUMAN LANTERN!!!" He roared.

"Don't believe that Star Trek crap about Human Valor, when it comes down to a fight, we do what it takes to win." He said, dancing from side to side in the air with the chainsaw A-10s.

"An almost admirable trait." His blades began to spin again. "Almost..." He said, before launching at him again, as he did, Hal flew backwards and the ring created a large, green human in front of him. On the ground, May facepalmed as she watched the sight.

"Did he just make a Construct Captain Kirk?" Sinestro looked at her as the pair helped get people out of the line of fire. Sinestro was only half helping, mostly just watching how Hal handled himself in this drunken state. As the Kirk construct appeared, he locked his fingers together and in one powerful double-axehandle strike, sent Deaths Head plummeting to the ground. Sinestro watched and nodded approvingly. before the giant Kirk Construct rocketted towards the ground for a double-stomp straight ontop of Deaths Head. Tarmac cracked and rubble flew out. The Kirk Construct then shattered again, as Deaths Head punched his way up through it and rocketted towards Hal. Hal tried to create a large shield in front of him, but Deaths Head broke straight through it with his mace, before swinging again towards Hals face. Hal created another shield, but the mace shattered it again, bashing Hal straight across the jaw and sending him spinning towards the ground. A large green trampolene appeared just in time to catch Hal, however, it bounded him straight off and he hit his head on the ground. Deaths Head slowly descended to the ground towards Hal.

"Now, it would have been just so much easier to agree to hand over the ring, yes?" He asked, walking towards Hal as he slowly tried to get to his feet.

"Oooooooh" He groaned, stumbling to his feet. "ngy Jaw..." He grounded, trying not to move his jaw too much. Deaths Heads spinning blades turned back into his hand and he grabbed Hal by the back of his head and smashed it into a wall, A construct of a big pillow appeared in front of his face before e hit the wall.

"The ring in my hand and the pain stops." Deaths Head growled

"Show we the way chu home..." Hal slowly started singing, another smash into the wall beside the pillow, but the pillow moved to once again absorb the impact. "um tiyad ans i wannu go za bed..." Deaths Heads Mace turned into a second hand, he then pushed Hals face into the pillow with one hand and grabbed Hals ring hand with the other, trying to crush it, but the ring glowed and a large shark burst out of it and chomped down on Deaths Head's head. Deaths Head fell backwards, wrestling with the construct

"GET THIS INFERNAL AMPHIBIAN OFF OF ME!!!" He roared, throwing it to the side where the Shark flopped about for a few seconds before smashing into green shards. As Deaths Head rolled over to get away from it, he suddenly felt something in the back of his head.

"Shows over, Robot-head." Hal grinned. Deaths Head slowly got to his feet, he then turned around slowly to see that Hal was no longer in his Green Lantern outfit and the ring was no longer glowing.

"I think not..." Deaths Head grinned.

"Suit yourself" Hal then tried to create something, but nothing happened. He tried it again and again, before looking down at himself. "Ah..." He groaned.

"Ah indeed..." Deaths Head grinned, getting the laser cannon from his back again and pointing it at Hal's chest. "So, you surrender, yes?" He asked. At that point, a large golden fist sent Deaths Head flying. Sinestro floated over to Hal.

"What was the first thing i told you about being a Lantern?" He asked.

"Charge the damn ring?" Hal replied. Sinestro nodded.

"Go help May, i'll deal with Deaths Head. You've weakened him enough that i should be able to take him from here." At that point, Deaths Head shot into the air, screaming audibly as a glowing red aura seemed to be around his head. The pair looked to see Dex-Starr currently latched on and slashing him over and over with his claws.

"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!!!" Was all they could hear in the distance. Sinestro launched himself towards Deaths Head, a large golden clamp grabbing him around the torso and keeping his eyes bound to his side while Dex-Starr continued to attack the face.

"Yield and i will call off the feline." Sinestro said.

"DEATHS HEAD YIELDS TO NO-ONE!!!" He roared as the claws continued to slash back and forth across his face. "I WI-EEEEEEEEE" As he yelled, Dex created a clamp that forced Deaths Heads jaw open and all of the claws latched straight onto Deaths Heads tongue.

"SURRENDER!!!" Dex roared in his demonic voice.

"I think you'd better do what the cat wants." Sinestro laughed.

"U URRUNUR U URRUNRUR!!!!!" He roared while the cat, literally, had his tongue. Sinestro looked at Dex, who let go and slowly floated way. Sinestro slowly reeled in Deaths Head.

"Good job..." He mumbled.

---

“Look, we don’t get many aliens so I’m just a little paranoid okay? It’s not like the Men in Black are gonna swoop in or anything.”

Koriand’r looked down the alleyway they were currently catching their breath in, as though their pursuer might meander by. “Is Lobo not a man wearing black?” She looked up too, as the mention of swooping called attention to the Gloam hawks on her planet that rather liked to divebomb her people in fruitless attempts for food. “But I should reiterate, I still do think those questions tal vez fueron demasiado invasive.”

The was a thump from above, two boots hitting the edge of the building, Lobo looking down on them with his hook in hand. The two got up and started to run for the exit. “Oh, don’t leave on my account. I’m reeeeal accommodatin’.” He leapt from his spot, just a hair too slow as he ended up behind the two as they fled down the road.

“And why are you speaking Spanish! I don’t understand Spanish!” Gar yelled, checking over his shoulder as Lobo levelled his weapon at them.

“¿Qué? ¡Wha!” Koriand’r let out a cry as a chain looped around her ankle. With a jerk, she flopped through the air, Lobo dragging her back. She flew against his pull, but with every pump of his arms she got closer and closer. Her starbolts didn’t do anything but momentarily obscure parts of her vision.

Going ape, Garfield’s four limbs tore across the hot asphalt, two silverback arms slamming right into Lobo’s chest. Bracing against him, Lobo didn’t even budge, slamming his forehead down. It hit the leathery hide of an elephant, Garfield raising his tusks to catch under his shoulders and lift him from the ground. Thrusting his elbows into Garfield’s face and eyes to little noticeable effect, he growled, “Are you a keezy martian? You’re one rock too far and way to deep in my fraggin’ business!” Throwing his hook aside, he raised his fists and slammed them down, Garfield staggering. He lurched his head, tossing Lobo down unceremoniously, the bounty hunter clumsily standing, letting out a few choice curse words as he watched Koriand’r disentangle herself from his chain. In the foreground, Garfield’s size shifted again as he turned into a striped tyrannosaurus rex. Planting his hand on his hips, Lobo sneered, “Try me, bastiche.” Toothy maw wrenching down, Garfield bit down and lifted Lobo up, shaking him like a dog might a favored chew toy. Curling to the side, he whipped his body, flinging Lobo down the road, the man crashing through a window into a 7/11.

“Yeah, how’s that for size?!” Garfield laughed with a smug look. Koriand’r floated to his side while Lobo stood from the wreckage without a scratch on him. Garfield deflated.

“He has proven quite invulnerable, and as long as he has his astronave, no puede escapar.”

“Something something you can’t escape, okay...well shit what do we do then?” Daring to take a few steps towards Lobo, Garfield dared, “Hey big boy, what’s with the made up words? ¿No habla ingles?”

“That’s Lobo to you kid: the Main Man. And guess what? All words are made up.”

“...Touché.”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!” Reaching out, he pulled a streetlight from the ground with a gut wrenching groan, the metal crumpling under his hands. Pulling it back much like as if he were holding a baseball bat, once in the air its circular motion was more like a boomerang. Garfield managed to avoid being a deer in the headlights for just long enough to duck. Koriand’r took it in her arms, twirling with it before her foot found purchase on the ground. She pivoted, the streetlight flung right back at Lobo. It bent against his frame in a way Garfield must have seen in Looney Tunes. He was half expecting Lobo to pick it up and twist into a balloon animal, but instead he brushed it off like it were a chunk of dirt.

“You should be more careful: there are people of your world still here.” Garfield looked around at her words, seeing a car that had tried to pass by the jammed traffic empty itself like so many before it, a pair of men running off. In the crushed front of the building Lobo had come from, a terrified looking store owner gawked at the unfolding scene in horror. Giving the girl a look of aw and respect, Garfield gave a nod, before calling, “Throw me at him! Just don’t let me spin or I’ll get dizzy.”

Koriand’r’s eyes widened as he leapt at her, shifting to the form of a turtle in its shell. Pulling her arm back, she let him loose at the steadily approaching Lobo. He waved his heavy arm to swat him aside, only for him to slow his motion as he shrunk in size, the arm going wide. A small dart frog stuck to Lobo’s face, his red eye glaring down at the green amphibian before his tongue whipped out and smacked him in the eye. “Gah! You Earth bastiches are really-” Garfield turned into a cobra, striking Lobo’s nose and latching on, his long form wriggling. “Annoyink.” Trying and failing to grab at the flailing snake, his grunts turned into growls before he finally found his grip, yanking him off.

Koriand’r leapt in at that exact moment, her fist knocking Lobo square on the nose. Garfield slipped from his grip, landing as a dormouse before turning human once again. Lobo flipped end over end, landing on his front a meter or so away. Massaging his jaw, cobra fangs unable to pierce Lobo, Garfield admitted, “Well, if poison doesn’t work then I’m out of ideas.”

Getting back to his feet, Lobo’s smile was gone. “Good, cuz’ I’m bored.” Garfield felt a mixture of relief and fear, unsure of where to settle. Lobo decided for him, sticking two fingers in his mouth and letting loose a shrill whistle. There was a following silence, the three waiting in standstill.

“Last chance to kiss your keisters goodbye and come quietly.” The revving of an engine could be heard from the next block over.

“Even if my fate is inevitable, I refuse to give in to you.” Koriand’r took a fighting stance. Matching her mood, Garfield took the shape of a cheetah, baring his fangs in a growl.

The space bike pulled up to his side, the eyes facing down his quarry. Without looking, he reached for a long side compartment. “Your funeral.” The blade of a knife stuck out Lobo turning to see as his hand had failed to cleanly grasp what he’d been looking for, only for the knife to lodge itself between his teeth, point jabbing towards his throat. Grabbing at the blade while a bunch of muffled curses flow, the compartment opened, as did the one on the other side, an array of guns and blades floating out and training themselves on Lobo. A black energy enshrouded each and every one of them. Yanking the knife out and getting to his knees, he looked between them, trying to find a the head responsible so he could smash it to a pulp.

“Nice bike. What sound do you think it’ll make when I have it rip through the hole I’m about to make in your stomach?” Garfield’s heart leapt as he saw Rachel. “Don’t be too excited to see me. I don’t care about the girl, I’m just here to protect my investment.”

“Yeah, me too. You ain’t special.”

“Uh, maybe we try diplomacy?”

Koriand’r looked between her aggressor and her fresh faced savior. “With whom?”

“...Gooood question.”