Before I get on with the story, it is necessary to clarify several
continuity issues. This story began way back about a year and a half ago.
As a result, particular issues, at least with regards to the DC side of it,
must be clarified. Donna Troy is still dead, and YJ has been disbanded.
The new Titans and Outsiders exist. Aquaman is still out of touch with
Atlantis, which is run by Gamenae followers. Luthor is President, but the
issues arising from the Batman/Superman comic, where the World's Finest are
going head to head with Luthor have not happened. Lets just say its
because Superman has been obsessed with taking out Apocalypse. Kyle Rayner
is still a member of the JL, as he believed he needed to stay close to the
JL after his excursion into Marvel-verse, and instead put John Stewart as
special liason between Guardians and Lanterns, due to his experience as a
Darkstar and as a Corpsman from before Parallax. Nightwing is still doing
his dance with Oracle, and is still employed by the BPD. I think that
about covers it, but if the natural flow of the story uncovers some other
problem, let me know. Now. On with the story.
************************************************************************
Superman stared out into the vastness of space. It had been about 36 hours since the Titans and Nightwing returned from their otherworldly excursion. While the public still did not know about what was coming (What would be the point? There was nothing they could do, except panic, which would be counterproductive), the Justice League had been busy; mobilizing for the war that they were told was going to come. No, they stayed blissfully unaware. Oracle had been calling/communicating with anyone who had ever worn a suit on earth, while members of the Justice League were communicating with all of their allies in space. Wonder Woman was currently on New Genesis, hopefully getting Orion, Barda, and Mister Miracle to come back and lend support. Green Lantern was on Oa, preparing the Corp. J'onn was on Rann, and Flash was pulling Monitor duty and acting as central, as his reflexes could deal with all of the incoming messages. Batman was working with all of the other thinker-heroes, such as Ray Palmer, to devise as many contingencies and devices as possible. That left Superman alone in the Tower, his first rest since hearing the news from Nightwing.
He didn't want to go home...Clark Kent had managed to convince his wife to visit his parents until the war was over. Normally, you needed more than the powers of Superman to convince "Bulldog" Lane to miss out on a story, but something in Kent's bespectled eyes told Lane that maybe just this once she better stay out of this one. It was a look she had only seen once before, and had hoped to never see again. So she went to Kansas, to weather the storm with the Kents.
However, Kal-El was not thinking about his human wife or his adoptive parents, but on a being that he had met months prior. They had fought, and both had gone to the limits of their power, testing their endurance. They were a study in contrasts, one representing the light and the possibilities of life, the other darkness and the cold embrace of death. Hope and despair. Mercy and violence. Good and evil.
Superman thought of Apocalypse.
It was rare that Superman felt true rage. Few could drive him to it. Luthor was one. Darkseid another. However, what Apocalypse tapped into during their limited time together was more primal than the Man of Tomorrow had ever experienced. Apocalypse had haunted Kal-El's nightmares since the incident, and Superman had driven himself harder than ever on the occasions he trained. He had taken a decidedly more "Bat" approach in studying his moves and actions, and kept trying to devise a means to beat Apocalypse should they ever meet again.
Superman had been compelled to kill twice, both times to save a world from a threat where there was no other option. Superman was now prepared to do it again for the third time in his most remarkable life.
Superman clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Murmuring what some might consider a silent prayer and reopened his eyes and whispered one word.
"Apocalypse."
************************************************************************
It was 10 o'clock at night at the grounds outside of the Xavier institute. There was a full moon out, and Wolverine was on the prowl. On night's like these, Wolverine was not out to hunt or kill, but to clear his head. If you were to suggest he was "communing with nature," he would hit you in the gut, he would hit you, but it was essentially true.
Wolverine's past 36 hours had been busy. Since Cap and Webhead had returned, the mansion had been turned upside down. Everyone who had ever been an X-Man, or had ties with the team and no other, had converged on the property, rallying to the call issued.
So it was to be war. Logan could accept that. He had been in war before, and if he survived this one, he was sure he would go through it again. And yeah, he would be on the same side as the Batpansy, but hey, he had been on the one-eyed boyscout's team for years, so Wolverine was sure that he would be fine.
Beside, Wolverine would have a chance to do what he did best; brawl. From the description he got from Cap, this was going to be the biggest brawl ever. And the gloves were coming off. No more stopping after first blood. It was to the finish. Wolverine made no distinctions like Chuck did; he was not misunderstood and he was not a product of a hurtful, corrupting society. He was a killer, and now he was going to return to what he did best, and satiate a thirst he had not quenched for decades.
It was the pre-war maneuvers that were killing Wolverine. Who was going to be grouped with who. Chain of command. What to expect as threats (which was funny cause no one really knew.) Who was good and who was not. That last question utilized a bunch of reports containing names, photos, and powers of beings from Bat-pansy's world, sent over on, what Wolverine assumed, was the cosmic version of a fax machine.
But Wolverine didn't care about that anymore. He stared up at the full moon, and unsheathed his adamantium claws. In mere days, he would once again get to do what he was best at.
And if he could save existence that would be fine to.
************************************************************************
Craig Hendrickson took a breather at Picadilly Circus in London and looked around. While he may have the powers of....well he did not like saying the "G" word, but lets just say of something REALLY powerful, he still did not know what they all were. Craig knew that he had to use some of his powers if he were going to save his home (the instantaneous travel and ability to slow down time were REALLY cool), he was really hesitant to see the extent of them.
As he read the map, Craig again went over the thought process in his head. There was a reason that he was not given superpowers on his homeworld, he thought. Good reasons, and he had to respect that. While he understood he was in an unusual situation with unusual gifts, Craig did not want to tempt himself. Power corrupts and all that.
Hell, to be blunt, he was terrified, Craig admitted to himself as he walked down a particularly dark street. He had no idea how to use these powers. He could accidentally nuke Idaho or something if he sneezed. Really, he was only using the powers that had come to him instantaneously. He figured that that would be all he needed.
However, he felt that there was there. He felt forces stirring inside him that terrified him. Sometimes, it took all of his strength to hold it in, and it hurt him to do it. This just reinforced that he could never tap into whatever was inside him, unless he had no other choice.
And Craig was working hard to make sure he would never have to tap into those forces. Over the past two days, he had been making contacts and researching the opposition. He had ferreted out one spy (one that disappointed him as he had been one of his favorite characters) and got one stop gap measure to help fortify his plan. Craig thought it was a good plan. But he needed one more thing. One more ace in the hole that would allow him to pull this off.
Craig walked into the bar, definitely on the wrong side of the tracks. No one looked up from their beer, and he didn't expect them to. He looked around the bar, and found who he was looking for and walked towards him.
Moving towards the figure in the smoky haze, Craig saw the figure in the trench coat finish his pint, and pull out one of his trademark cigarettes and light them up. Waving the match out, the man took a long drag and blew the smoke out through his nostrils, enjoying the sensation. Noticing the young man besides him, the man turned and looked at him.
"And what the bloody hell are you supposed to be?"
"John Constantine, we need to have a talk," said Hendrickson, pulling up a stool.
************************************************************************
Superman stared out into the vastness of space. It had been about 36 hours since the Titans and Nightwing returned from their otherworldly excursion. While the public still did not know about what was coming (What would be the point? There was nothing they could do, except panic, which would be counterproductive), the Justice League had been busy; mobilizing for the war that they were told was going to come. No, they stayed blissfully unaware. Oracle had been calling/communicating with anyone who had ever worn a suit on earth, while members of the Justice League were communicating with all of their allies in space. Wonder Woman was currently on New Genesis, hopefully getting Orion, Barda, and Mister Miracle to come back and lend support. Green Lantern was on Oa, preparing the Corp. J'onn was on Rann, and Flash was pulling Monitor duty and acting as central, as his reflexes could deal with all of the incoming messages. Batman was working with all of the other thinker-heroes, such as Ray Palmer, to devise as many contingencies and devices as possible. That left Superman alone in the Tower, his first rest since hearing the news from Nightwing.
He didn't want to go home...Clark Kent had managed to convince his wife to visit his parents until the war was over. Normally, you needed more than the powers of Superman to convince "Bulldog" Lane to miss out on a story, but something in Kent's bespectled eyes told Lane that maybe just this once she better stay out of this one. It was a look she had only seen once before, and had hoped to never see again. So she went to Kansas, to weather the storm with the Kents.
However, Kal-El was not thinking about his human wife or his adoptive parents, but on a being that he had met months prior. They had fought, and both had gone to the limits of their power, testing their endurance. They were a study in contrasts, one representing the light and the possibilities of life, the other darkness and the cold embrace of death. Hope and despair. Mercy and violence. Good and evil.
Superman thought of Apocalypse.
It was rare that Superman felt true rage. Few could drive him to it. Luthor was one. Darkseid another. However, what Apocalypse tapped into during their limited time together was more primal than the Man of Tomorrow had ever experienced. Apocalypse had haunted Kal-El's nightmares since the incident, and Superman had driven himself harder than ever on the occasions he trained. He had taken a decidedly more "Bat" approach in studying his moves and actions, and kept trying to devise a means to beat Apocalypse should they ever meet again.
Superman had been compelled to kill twice, both times to save a world from a threat where there was no other option. Superman was now prepared to do it again for the third time in his most remarkable life.
Superman clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Murmuring what some might consider a silent prayer and reopened his eyes and whispered one word.
"Apocalypse."
************************************************************************
It was 10 o'clock at night at the grounds outside of the Xavier institute. There was a full moon out, and Wolverine was on the prowl. On night's like these, Wolverine was not out to hunt or kill, but to clear his head. If you were to suggest he was "communing with nature," he would hit you in the gut, he would hit you, but it was essentially true.
Wolverine's past 36 hours had been busy. Since Cap and Webhead had returned, the mansion had been turned upside down. Everyone who had ever been an X-Man, or had ties with the team and no other, had converged on the property, rallying to the call issued.
So it was to be war. Logan could accept that. He had been in war before, and if he survived this one, he was sure he would go through it again. And yeah, he would be on the same side as the Batpansy, but hey, he had been on the one-eyed boyscout's team for years, so Wolverine was sure that he would be fine.
Beside, Wolverine would have a chance to do what he did best; brawl. From the description he got from Cap, this was going to be the biggest brawl ever. And the gloves were coming off. No more stopping after first blood. It was to the finish. Wolverine made no distinctions like Chuck did; he was not misunderstood and he was not a product of a hurtful, corrupting society. He was a killer, and now he was going to return to what he did best, and satiate a thirst he had not quenched for decades.
It was the pre-war maneuvers that were killing Wolverine. Who was going to be grouped with who. Chain of command. What to expect as threats (which was funny cause no one really knew.) Who was good and who was not. That last question utilized a bunch of reports containing names, photos, and powers of beings from Bat-pansy's world, sent over on, what Wolverine assumed, was the cosmic version of a fax machine.
But Wolverine didn't care about that anymore. He stared up at the full moon, and unsheathed his adamantium claws. In mere days, he would once again get to do what he was best at.
And if he could save existence that would be fine to.
************************************************************************
Craig Hendrickson took a breather at Picadilly Circus in London and looked around. While he may have the powers of....well he did not like saying the "G" word, but lets just say of something REALLY powerful, he still did not know what they all were. Craig knew that he had to use some of his powers if he were going to save his home (the instantaneous travel and ability to slow down time were REALLY cool), he was really hesitant to see the extent of them.
As he read the map, Craig again went over the thought process in his head. There was a reason that he was not given superpowers on his homeworld, he thought. Good reasons, and he had to respect that. While he understood he was in an unusual situation with unusual gifts, Craig did not want to tempt himself. Power corrupts and all that.
Hell, to be blunt, he was terrified, Craig admitted to himself as he walked down a particularly dark street. He had no idea how to use these powers. He could accidentally nuke Idaho or something if he sneezed. Really, he was only using the powers that had come to him instantaneously. He figured that that would be all he needed.
However, he felt that there was there. He felt forces stirring inside him that terrified him. Sometimes, it took all of his strength to hold it in, and it hurt him to do it. This just reinforced that he could never tap into whatever was inside him, unless he had no other choice.
And Craig was working hard to make sure he would never have to tap into those forces. Over the past two days, he had been making contacts and researching the opposition. He had ferreted out one spy (one that disappointed him as he had been one of his favorite characters) and got one stop gap measure to help fortify his plan. Craig thought it was a good plan. But he needed one more thing. One more ace in the hole that would allow him to pull this off.
Craig walked into the bar, definitely on the wrong side of the tracks. No one looked up from their beer, and he didn't expect them to. He looked around the bar, and found who he was looking for and walked towards him.
Moving towards the figure in the smoky haze, Craig saw the figure in the trench coat finish his pint, and pull out one of his trademark cigarettes and light them up. Waving the match out, the man took a long drag and blew the smoke out through his nostrils, enjoying the sensation. Noticing the young man besides him, the man turned and looked at him.
"And what the bloody hell are you supposed to be?"
"John Constantine, we need to have a talk," said Hendrickson, pulling up a stool.