Chapter 4

Darkseid bowed low as the Master strode past, not deigning to dignify the presence of his progenitor with a glance or a scowl. Apparently, the once Lord of Apokolips had fallen too far to be worthy of his glorious notice.

The parademon generals, once in awe and fear of their Master, Darkseid, would not look at him. It was as if they were worried his disgrace and debasement might be contagious. A few nodded slightly, only a little, but enough for Darkseid to understand that they were concerned: the once Master might once again become the present Master. More though, and these Darkseid noted and memorized, openly smirked; laughing at the fallen state of the being they'd once held in abject terror.

They would pay for their insolence.

Or so Darkseid promised in the silence of his mind.

The generals and their aides marched past and the hall outside the throne room was empty but for a few lowly servants.

Such as Darkseid.

It had been more than a month, and Darkseid was no closer to understanding how Kalabak had turned the tables. How had the spawn removed knowledge of the Omega Beams from Darkseid's mind?

Darkseid had ruled Apokolips for millennia, and once, he had had the patience of the ages to wear away at his enemies and bring them to slow ruination.

In this matter, however, the matter of his humiliation, he was not so patient.

He realized that the over-whelming confidence that had carried him through all battles, be they victory or not-victory (defeat was a word he never allowed used as a descriptor of his wars), had fled.

He shivered. He blamed Granny Goodness. Again he was struck by the ludicrous nature of her name. A month under her tender ministrations had riven a bolt of fear into him; a cantankerous boulder, slowly spilling its foul effluence and wearing away at his pride.

Granny Goodness.

She was very good at what she did: debasing a person utterly and completely. She should be. She had been Darkseid's most apt pupil. She had been especially energetic and inventive when the mighty Darkseid had fallen into her lap.

Apparently, she had dreamt of just such a scenario for many decades.

Darkseid shivered again. He feared her touch.

Just today, he had been informed that the Master had promised that Darkseid would go back to the Pit in two weeks.

The days of Darkseid's life was written thus: serve as a slave to the Master for two weeks and be tortured by Granny Goodness for a month.

It was intolerable!

But what could he do? Darkseid was still powerful, but Kalabak was moreso. That alone was reason enough for Darkseid not to step out of line. The Master could just as easily kill Darkseid as send him to the Pit.

Still, Darkseid did not want to ever be a guest in the Pit ever again, but he couldn't think of a way to get out of it.

"Lord Darkseid," a sibilant voice whispered in his ear. "I look forward to our next meeting."

Darkseid spun around.

Standing in all her naked glory was Granny Goodness herself. Once she had been beautiful and proud, but Darkseid had cured her of that. Now, she was a bloated and ugly woman with warts and leaking pustules all over her leprous body. She had ceased wearing clothes centuries ago, no doubt to horrify all who saw her.

"Fill my womb with a child, and perhaps it will go easier on you," Granny said with a chuckle, knowing Darkseid would rather wade through a river of shit than enter her. As disgusting as was her exterior, it was said that her birth canal was a cesspit of corruption and disease.

Granny saw the expression on her face, and rather than grow angry, she was amused. "When I'm done with you, you'll beg to couple with me," she said, licking her lips lasciviously. With that, she walked away, her fat body jiggling in time to her steps.

Darkseid stumbled back to his room; the one over-looking the offal pit and nearly collapsed in tears.

Humilations piled atop degradations.

Through his fear, though, at his core, he raged at his weakness. He had suffered through far worse as a young man. Where was his pride? Where was his fury? Crying? He? Darkseid? It was revolting.

He viewed himself in his smoky mirror with self-loathing.

Wait. What was it about the mirror…He blinked and the thought was gone.

"You're doing it wrong," Wally said.

Bruce frowned at him. "I've done it a thousand times," he said. "I think I'm pretty good at by now."

They sat in Shayera's room in Watchtower.

Zatana glanced over. She was doing a crossword puzzle. "What's a six letter word meaning 'scared'? Starts with a 'C-R' and ends with an 'N'."

Wally and Bruce frowned in concentration.

Shayera rolled her eyes. "Craven," she said, sounding disgusted. "Honestly, you two, English isn't even my first language."

Zatana snapped her fingers in excitement. "Meaning that twenty down is 'vintner' and seventeen across is 'twin'. And…yes! Finished it." She grinned in triumph.

Just then, John burped.

Bruce smiled at Wally. "See? Told you I knew what I was doing," he said. He lifted Shayera's son, John, off his shoulder.

The incongruity of Bruce Wayne, the Batman, patting a small baby's back to make him burp never ceased to surprise Wally. It wasn't the act itself, but the utter look of contentment on Bruce's face whenever he was caring for John. Wally shook his head. Batman had always been the bad cop in the League; the tough hombre with a spine of steel. The man who never backed down from any challenge; even, or especially when any sane person would have.

Yet, here he was holding John, babbling baby talk to him. What would the world think if they could see him now?

Bruce didn't notice Wally's bemused expression. He had eyes only for John. The baby was only seven months old – to Shayera's dismay, Thanagarians had pregnancies of fifteen months – and John probably had no idea how easily he had this most dangerous of men wrapped around his plump, pink pinkie.

"Daddy's wittle baby feel all better getting the burpies out?" he cooed. "Does he want to go nightie-night?" He shifted John to his lap, rocking him.

John cried for a few seconds, but soon had thumb in mouth, sucking contentedly. His eyes closed.

Bruce stared at John's face, imagining what the baby might be thinking. To Bruce, he looked like an angel with his shock of blond hair, just like his father's. Bruce sighed. It was really too bad Hal wasn't the one doing this.

In one of life's cruel ironies, Bruce lost his humanity when his body died in the Zone, but he'd become more human when he'd become involved with Shayera, and especially after she gave birth to John.

Would any of his current happiness have happened if Hal lived? It was a question Bruce didn't want to think about. No one should ever consider whether their life might be better since a good friend died.

Shayera watched as Bruce held her son. She knew how lucky she was to have his help. Shayera knew that Bruce loved her, and it embarrassed her and filled her with guilt that she didn't love him back. It had been two years since Hal died; a pain she still was coming to grips with. Thanagarians didn't love easily, but when they did, they loved with every ounce of their being.

Losing the man who'd won her heart wasn't a hurt she'd get over easily.

Still, she was fond of Bruce. Of that, there was no question. And maybe love would bloom again in the arid desert of her heart.

She wasn't sure what would happen, though, if Bruce ever discovered that she didn't love him. Would he leave her? That didn't bother her as much as the thought that he would leave John. The baby adored Bruce.

Zatana observed the tableau, almost as an outside observer. The truth was that while she was a member of the League, there was still a tightness to the original seven – now down to four – that the newest members – she, Dinah, Steel, and Atom – had yet to breach. The original members had shared so much pain and heartache and adventure. It was the kind of bond that only those in war might experience.

The walls between the two groups were cracking, though.

She looked at Wally, smiling as he watched entranced by the absurdity of Batman gently rocking a baby. It was a scene Zatana would have found impossible to envisage a few short months back. Batman had always been the most hardcore of their group. In fact, if truth be told, he'd always scared her a bit, and that was when he'd just been human.

Now, with the power of parademon general…she shuddered. It didn't bear thinking if he ever went rogue.

Although, looking at his face, the peace expressed upon it, she doubted that would ever happen, so long as his family was safe. And it was a family, though Shayera's feelings for Bruce probably weren't quite what he wished. Zatana was a magician – a true one – but it didn't take magic to see the truth of Bruce and Shayera. It only took Zatana's woman's intuition to recognize unrequited love.

Zatana stood and joined the others, placing her hand on Wally's shoulder.

He glanced at her, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky. He squeezed her hand tenderly.

"Let me put him in his crib," Shayera whispered, lifting John off Bruce's lap. She tiptoed to the nursery. A few moments later, she carefully and quietly closed the door, not wanting to wake up the baby.

When she was done, Bruce spoke. "We have things to discuss," he said, suddenly all business.

Wally nodded. "Things can't go on like this. We need to expand the League again."

"Or, we need to find a way to restore…" Shayera began.

"We've been trying to do that for the past month and half," Zatana said. "I don't know what else we can do."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "We may have to expand," he said, nodding to Wally, "but before we do that, we need to understand what truly happened to Clark and Diana." He put up a hand at Zatana's objection. "Bringing them back is apparently beyond our power, but we still need to understand what happened, whatever it was. It can't be allowed to occur again. Someone is behind this. We find that someone."

"It's got to be a god," Wally said.

Zatana nodded. "Only a being with that kind of power would be able to take down either of those two."

Shayera reddened with anger. She hated gods. All of them. They were worthless as far she was concerned. Diana's especially. "It's probably one of the Greek ones," she said. "They're probably still pissed at Diana for killing Ares, and at us for threatening to kick their fucking asses."

"Do you kiss John with that mouth?" Wally asked, ingenuously. Shayera glared at him, and he smiled back at her all sweet innocence.

"Possible," Bruce conceded. He frowned when Wally snickered. "I mean about the Greek gods, jackass," he said. It was a possibility, but one he didn't think was likely. He waited until Wally had his giggles under control. It took a sharp smack to the back of his head from Shayera to do the trick.

Zatana rolled her eyes. There was that tightness.

Bruce continued. "There are only twelve or so gods left, but from what I've been able to ascertain, none of them have the skill or power necessary to do this."

"Someone new then," Wally mused, rubbing his chin. He shared Shayera's dislike of gods. Puffed up humans with more power than sense. The world was better off without them.

"Or someone old who's come back," Zatana said.

Bruce nodded. "Whoever it is, we're going to have to do some serious digging to find him or her."

"I'll go ahead and get started downloading some files on ancient gods and their myths," Shayera said, heading for the control room of Watchtower.

A slight whimper came from John's room, followed by a plaintive wail.

Bruce sighed. "Sounds like he's got a dirty diaper."

Wally suddenly stood. "Er. I think I'll go help Shayera." He buzzed out of the room before anyone could speak.

"Me too," Zatana said, hustling after Wally, who, by now, was long gone.

Bruce gaped at their hasty departure before a wry smile spread across his face. "Well, looks like it's just you and me, little guy." A louder cry. "I'm coming," Bruce called.

The brute grinned. He missed all but his two front teeth. It gave him an oddly childlike and dull smile, but there was nothing childlike in the heavy punches he could land.

The last one still had Kal-El struggling to breathe. So far, every time Kal tried to close with the brute – name of Colder, he'd been told – the muscle-bound oaf had nearly taken of the Kryptonian's head. If not for Kal's speed and reflexes, any one of those blows would have laid him out for sure.

Kal considered the fight thus far. Colder was slow but powerful. Kal was used to closing with an opponent and using his greater strength to take the enemy down and pound him.

That wouldn't work here.

Time to change tactics.

Kal leapt in, landing several hard jabs, straight to Colder's face. He feinted right, and hit Colder with a left, easily avoiding the counter-right. Two quick kicks to Colder's lead leg. Kal stuffed a laughable takedown attempt, landing a solid knee to Colder's head while in the clinch. Another series of jabs and kicks to the leg. Colder was already slowing further. The brute was even favoring his lead leg and switched stances to southpaw.

It didn't help him.

Kal waded in, landing heavier punches, pushing off when Colder tried to clinch. A heavy kick to the back of Colder's knee, had the brute land straight on his ass.

Kal jumped, landing a straight knee to Colder's head.

Eyes rolled up and Colder was laid out.

That was easy.

Kal sauntered to the door and left with five minutes left on the clock.

Too bad for Colder.

Later, back in his cell, Doom offered praise.

"Colder always was a dunce," Doom said. "It's not surprising you were able to defeat him so easily."

"Yeah, well, my ribs are going to be sore for awhile," Kal said, wincing as he tried to lift his arm above his shoulder.

"After your dismantling of Colder, the Mistress doesn't think you need any rest before your next trial. It begins soon. If I were you, I would eat your lunch as quickly as you can. Broke should be back soon."

Kal had a brief moment of surprise. He'd always had a week, or at least a few days to recover first.

He shrugged. He didn't make the rules here.

Kal dug into his meal.

He thought about the coming trial while gulping down his food. The next test was likely to involve flight. He tried to imagine what that might mean, but there were so many possible scenarios that he finally gave up in disgust. He'd learn what he had to do when it was time.

Just as he was finishing the last bite, a sour looking Broke opened the door. "Come," the small man said, not bothering to wait and see if Kal would follow.

They went the same route as always, down the same halls and in through the same door at the end.

Within, the rectangular room was unchanged, except for the addition of a rope hanging from the ceiling.

A creature, buzzing with six overlapping wings like that of an insect, hovered above the ground. Its eyes were multifaceted like that of a fly, and thick short hair covered its two arms and legs. Kal assumed it was a she since she had breasts.

"Good luck," Broke said with a sour grimace, obviously not meaning it.

"Climb the rope to the top for the exit," the creature said. She pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling before tossing him a watch.

This time he only had five minutes.

Kal jumped to the rope, but didn't bother climbing. The end of it hung slack, and looped on the ground for an additional fifteen or twenty feet. Kal took the rope and made a loop at the end of it. He twirled his makeshift lasso.

The creature had watched, simply observing what he was done. Once she saw, she lifted off the ground and flew out range.

Fine. As long as the creature maintained its distance, Kal would be able to climb without interference.

Kal wrapped his long, powerful legs around the rope and pulled himself up, making sure to have the loop ready at hand. It was awkward, but he managed.

The creature came close, but a shake of the lasso convinced her to retreat.

Finally, with the door only a few feet away, the creature had to try and stop him. She drew close; hovering and unsheathing a knife, apparently preparing to cut the rope.

A flick of Kal's wrist, and the lasso settled neatly around the creature's shoulders. A hard tug and the loop of rope tightened, trapping her wings.

No more flying.

Kal carried the weight of the creature for a moment, finally letting go when he needed both hands to open the trapdoor.

The creature plummeted to the ground, hitting with a thud. Kal pulled himself through the trapdoor, glancing down as the creature undid the rope.

Too late, and he still had a full minute left.

"I'm sure you are feeling quite full of yourself now," Doom said.

Kal shrugged. Thus far, he'd only done what he had to. Once he understood the nature of the challenge, spotting the weakness in the test was simplicity itself. That didn't mean he was enjoying himself, but he was grateful that he was still within the Prison and not in the cold, cruel embrace of the Croatoans.

"When's the final challenge?" Kal asked.

"Soon," Doom said. "And to win it you will need something more than yourself."

Kal paused. He had been about to wash off his face in the small sink in his cell. He wasn't sure where the fresh water came from, but he was thankful for it. "What do you mean?" he asked.

For the final challenge, you will need to find a quiet and still place. It is there that you may commune with God; in the center of your being."

Kal rocked back, slightly. "Didn't figure you for a religious type," he said, speaking to cover his own troubled thoughts. "Or that the notion of God would have penetrated this hellacious place."

"Stranger things have happened," Doom said. "By the way, I'm your next challenge. You cannot defeat me without His aid."

Kal paused. Was that true, or was Doom just trying to throw him off his game? He decided it didn't matter. "Why are you telling me this?"

Doom hesitated. "Because I want you to win," Doom said. "Remember what I said: only through Him can you know yourself."

Kal pondered Doom's words. It was true. He'd never been party to any overt religion, but that didn't mean he wasn't religious. He believed in a singular and loving God; a beautiful being and one worthy of worship.

How long had it been since he'd thought of his Lord? How long since he'd thought of service to others; of being the servant that he always considered himself? Servitude: had once been his highest ideal before all…all this happened.

Viewed from a distance of six weeks, it seemed so unbelievable now. How had he come to murder the woman he loved? The second part of his soul? The events from that wicked night blurred in his mind, and it was hard to recall them in their entirety. Unusual since he had an eidetic memory and was able to recall all events and emotions with perfect recall.

Possibly even stranger, where was his grief? He was so focused on surviving that he hadn't even given much thought to his loss.

Yet another mystery to what had happened.

At that moment, he even questioned his memory, but the cold harshness of his cell and the cruel reality of his situation convinced him otherwise.

He shook his head. What was done was done. He had to accept it.

Kal wondered, though. Would the Lord still accept a sinner like him? Would He even speak to Kal? Christians said there was no sin too great for God to forgive, but Kal wasn't sure that applied. Jesus had died for Humanity's sins, not Kryptonians.

Maybe what Kal had done was truly unforgiveable. If so, then what hope would there be for him?

Kal sighed. His thoughts were racing aimlessly when they should be still. He was still a believer, and it had been too long since he had prayed. What better thing to do than to pray for Diana's soul. It might even bring Kal some peace. Bring his heart to rest.

How long had that been?

Too long.

He stared at his reflection in the cheap and smoky mirror.

How could he have ended up here?

Lord, let me find my way back to your service, he pleaded. Into the mirror he stared, preparing to further pray. He blinked and the words left him.

Diana of Themiscyra flew in low over the island of her birth. Her face, usually serene and beautiful, reflected her inner turmoil. She was anguished and more than that, she was furious.

She had made the mistake of telling Kal about Damien. She didn't desire the new Lantern, but he was a handsome man and attractive in other ways. Any woman could see that. Simply acknowledging the truth about another's physical appearance wasn't a sin. At least that's how Diana viewed the world.

Apparently, her husband did not.

Kal had accused her of cheating on their marriage; of having intercourse with Silva. It was an outrageous accusation, one that filled Diana with disgust, but nothing she had said would change Kal's mind.

She'd left him in the sky, still railing away, unable to stand listening to his ridiculous charges for a minute longer.

He'd followed her from their apartment all the way to Themiscyra's borders, still shouting his disgusting suspicions.

Thank the gods he was unable to breach the island's magical defenses.

When had Kal-El turned into…a man a secret part of her whispered. She turned aside the thought, but it wasn't as easy as it would have been a few weeks ago; when she was secure in Kal's underlying goodness.

Now…she didn't know what to think.

There was also the fact that she was her mother's daughter, and Hippolyta warned her incessantly that, in the end, all men were the same. Not a surprising attitude given the violence and violation her mother had endured violation – as had the entire Amazon nation – at the hands of Hercules and his men. It certainly had made it worse that the demi-god had been Hippolyta's great love.

Given that, it was understandable how little love her mother had for men.

It was a view that Diana did not share. Kal had seemed to be the most obvious answer that her mother was wrong in her outlook. Now, though, Diana couldn't wonder if her mother had been right.

Kal's behavior was utterly irrational and so unlike him.

Her mother entered Diana's chambers. She took one look at her daughter's face and her lips pursed in disapproval. "Tell me what happened," the queen commanded.

Diana glanced at her mother. She wasn't in the mood to have this conversation. Not now. "Nothing," she said, turning away. She slipped behind her paneled room divider and changed into a simple, white Grecian-style toga.

Hippolyta raised a questioning eyebrow. "Really," she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You seem to forget who I am. I am your mother. I have seen all your hurts."

Diana stepped out from behind the divider. "It's nothing," she said, forcing all stress and anxiety from her voice and face. "I had some time off and thought to visit Themiscyra. I'm simply tired." If she told the truth, she knew her mother would go on a rant about the evils of men. It wasn't a speech Diana cared to listen to right now. She had more distressing matters on her mind.

Such as what had gotten into Kal. It was like he was a different person.

Hippolyta carefully searched Diana's face. Finally, she either grew bored or was satisfied that nothing was amiss. The queen grunted in disgust. "Themiscyra is your home and, God willing, will always be open to you. Let me know when you are ready to speak of what truly troubles you."

Diana was about to take a book to hand – reading always took her mind off her troubles – but she replayed her mother's last words in her mind. The queen had said 'God willing' not 'gods willing'. Diana turned to the door from which her mother had exited, stunned and pensive.

Her mother's words…what did they mean? Had it simply been an innocent slip of the tongue? If so, her mother was lucky no one else had heard it, especially one of the gods. Had one of them done so, or learned of Hippolyta's blasphemy, they might have struck the queen down, right then and there.

In many ways, the gods of Themiscyra were cruel and capricious , but they had also been very charitable and kind – for the most part – to the Amazon nation.

For their generosity, thought, the gods did not simply frown upon the worship of other gods on Themiscyra; they forbade it. Certainly, their gods recognized that other gods existed, but thus far, none of them had proven to be the Greek pantheon's superior. The Universal God of humanity's monotheistic religions was something altogether different, though. The gods of Themiscyra denied His existence, but they were oddly defensive whenever His topic was ever even broached. In fact, rumor had it that the One God did exist, and that He was a power so far above the other gods that they might as well have been insects staring at the sun, unable to even comprehend His glory.

It was an odd and unsettling thought. Did her gods serve a greater power, Diana wondered.

She paused, stopping herself from pursuing that line of thought. It led to dangerous ground.

She scowled.

Just what she needed: another problem.

There was still the issue of Kal-El of Krypton. Only a few weeks back, she would have gladly told anyone willing to listen what an honor it was to be his bride. Over time, though, he'd changed. It hadn't been sudden, but it had been startling nonetheless.

When had he become so cruel and suspicious? In prior times, he had always been a generous and loving and kind soul. Not childlike. He understood the hardness and evil in the world, but he had always made a conscious decision to look for the best in people; to see them as they wished to be and not as they were.

It hadn't always worked out, but it was a good and lovely way to view the world.

Or at least it had been.

She glanced at the mirror hanging from her wardrobe. How ironic: her image in the mirror seemed to echo the warped nature of her life.

She leaned in closer. Odd. It was smoky whereas it was usually perfectly reflective.

Was there a stain?

She stepped closer, distracted by her thoughts. How could this be happening? Her reflection was dull and distorted. What was happening to Kal? She peered closer. It almost felt like a…She blinked and the thought left her.