3.

By now the storm was nothing more than the far-off rumblings of distant thunder; fading echoes that rolled their way around the outskirts of Centropolis, like the marbles of the Gods, before finally falling silent.

The city had weathered the storm, as it had many a storm before and would many more to come. It was a strong city. Powerful. But in the final analysis, it was just a city, just like any other; walls erected against the night, fortifications to separate the darkness within from the darkness without.

For while the storm had receded, light had not yet come to the city of Centropolis. Dawn was still an hour away; that awful twilight hour, suspended between the night and the day. Between life and death. It was the Hour of the Wolf.

And the Wolf was indeed at the door…

Superwoman stalked through the Brownstone apartment she shared with her husband. Or at least, that she usually shared with him; after all, he had been missing as of late, had he not?

Oh sure, he had disappeared for long stretches at a time before, they both had; caught up as they could get in their various enterprises or their extra-marital dalliances… It was all part of the game they played with each other, the dance in which no matter how many times they swapped partners, they always, always, circled each other.

But it was different this time. Had been for quite a while, in fact; ever since they had met their Positive Matter selves, the Justice League of America, it had felt as if their entire world had been set off-kilter. Like they were ghosts, haunting their own lives. Phantom Strangers, passing in the night.

On this particular night something had awoken her from her sleep; some deep unease that had caught her completely off-guard, slipping in like a thief in the night to stab at her heart of hearts. She was always alert to her surroundings, always on edge – a necessary survival mechanism for one such as her, living in a world such as this – but this was a different feeling, more primal; a feeling she hadn't allowed in herself for a very, very long time.

Superwoman, daughter of Ares, last of the Amazons and one of the most powerful beings on this – or indeed, any other – planet, felt afraid of the dark.

"There's no need to afraid, Lois, the dark won't hurt you. Not yet, in any case."

The voice cut across her thoughts; cold and earthy, like something from the grave, but unmistakable none the less. It was her husband's voice, the voice of the man that she, despite all that had happened between them, still loved; the only man she could ever love. As he spoke, the pre-dawn shadows that still clung to the living room of their Brownstone apartment seemed to shift and separate, like fingers on some great giant's hand, opening to reveal his figure in all its dark majesty. He stood framed in the doorway which opened from the living room onto the balcony; on the threshold between the world outside and the world shared within.

Ultraman, the Tyrant of Steel, had come home.

"Clark?" Superwoman replied, her normally imperious voice catching slightly as she spoke. She took a halting step forward, then stopped. Could he read her mind? His words had spoken to exactly what she was feeling, if not thinking; could he see right through her? See the little girl, shivering in the dark, alone and scared?

In that moment she suddenly hated him; for disappearing, for coming back, for making her feel weak. For some reason, everything about him now made her sick to her stomach. "Where have you been?" She asked, letting some of that anger into her voice. "You disappear for a month, then show up in the middle of the night like nothing has even happened? You know the rules, Kent…"

"There was a crisis," Ultraman replied, cutting her off. "A final crisis, as it was called… but then, aren't they all final, in their own way?"

"What are you talking about?" Superwoman asked, her anger falling away; in its place returned that sense of unease she had felt earlier, of crawling dread. There was something not quite right about it all, not right about the man who was her husband, in a way that was different to the usual ways in which he wasn't quite right. "You're not making any sense…"

"My dear, sweet little Lois," he replied, taking a step towards her. As he did so, she involuntarily drew back, shrinking away from him. She realized now that his figure, like his voice, was different somehow; changed in some subtle, but important, way. "Nothing makes sense. Not yet. But it will."

Although no longer shrouded in shadow, he still seemed to carry the darkness within him; the blue of his bodysuit appeared almost black, while his cape was the color of blood, thick and congealed. And then there were his teeth, the way in which they seemed to catch the light, even in the darkness...

"I have been to the end of all things and beyond… and I've come back, changed by my experience," the thing that had once been her husband continued. Because that was what he was; a thing. A dead thing, masquerading as the man she loved. "I have heard the word of the one, true, God; the Black Gospel of Mandrakk! And he has remade me in his image, as his Vampire Superman! I am become his First Knight of Terror! But not the last, not by far."

"What do you want from me?" Superwoman asked, her voice almost a whisper. "Why have you come back?"

"Isn't it obvious? Despite all the betrayals and the backstabbing, we're still drawn to each other. Still love each other – or as close to love as beings such as us can ever feel. We're flip sides of the same coin – we complement each other. We need each other." As he spoke he drew closer and closer, and this time she didn't back away. "Join me. Drink deep the blood of Mandrakk and let us end this world together!"

And she was tempted. God below, but she was tempted; because even now, knowing what he had become, there was a power about him. An irresistible pull. She closed her eyes as the Vampire Ultraman leaned towards her, breathing in the sickly sweet aroma of Death that surrounded him.

"Give me your choice," he whispered in her ear. "Say it. Out loud. Say it!"

Because in the end, they always circled each other, did they not? That was the dance they were trapped in. The Death Dance. Death as Life. Life as Death. But for her, there could only be one choice. For while she reveled in death, while she caused death…

"Life!" She cried out. "I choose life!" Opening her eyes, she expected to see him standing before her, his true face revealed in the moment before he sunk his teeth into her neck to suck the life from her veins, the precious life that she would fight until the very end to hold onto. But instead she saw…

Dawn. After being washed clean in the storm from the night before, the city of Centropolis practically gleamed as the first few fingers of light groped at the horizon. Of the thing that had been her husband – of the Vampire Ultraman – there was no sign he had ever even been there as anything more than a particularly vivid dream. A waking nightmare, given form and power in that awful twilight hour, in the Hour of the Wolf.

But it hadn't been a nightmare. The Wolf was still at the door, waiting for its chance to strike.

Despite the promise of a new day, Superwoman found little comfort in the coming of the dawn; for now she couldn't help but feel that all the light did was give the darkness places in which it could hide…