It took me several tries to get the office phone operational and three rings after that for my supervisor, Hallie Greene, to answer my call.
"Hello," she said pleasantly.
"Hi, it's Diana."
"I know," she said. Then, by way of explanation, "All the internal lines have caller ID. Anyway, what's up?"
"Actually, I wanted you to see something. You know those files I've been working on?"
"The charity ones? Diana, I thought we agreed—"
"Yes," I interrupted, "I know, but I figured I would just finish that one small job. You know, sort of like a challenge."
"And?" she prompted.
I looked back down at the financial statements arrayed across my desk. I suspected this yesterday, but had only just now confirmed it. "There's a lot of money missing."
"Missing?" Her voice sounded concerned now. "Explain, Diana."
"Well, there's money that was allocated for various charity and community service projects by Wayne Enterprises that simply vanishes in the paper trail. I really don't quite know what to make of it myself, so I was wondering if you might help me figure this out. Because as far I can figure, there are multiple thousands of dollars missing from each program."
"Hold on," said Hallie, "I'll be right down. I still think you've made a mistake, but the sooner this is cleared up, the better. Where are you?"
"My office," I told her. "I just carried the drawer labeled '3' in here."
"OK, well just wait for me down there." She paused. "Hopefully Jeroh will actually show up for work tomorrow. God knows I have twice my workload when he doesn't show up like this."
"Understood." I hung up the phone, wondering what that would mean if my suspicions turned out to be true. If that was the case, I was fairly certain Hallie was innocent (she wasn't high enough in the management system to have gotten away with funneling such large amounts of cash). Any one of her direct superiors was certainly suspect though.
Oh well, I thought, leaning back in my desk. Regardless, Bruce would take of it. He always did.
Bruce
"You're late," said Artemis smugly as I entered the Watchtower's Conference room.
I ignored her, taking my seat next to Superman and all of the others recently returned from their various space missions. "So tell me," I began, facing Clark. "What's so important that it required me to meet with all of you up here?"
"I can answer that question," replied an ominous voice from the side. I turned my head to see Dr. Fate sitting (or rather, hovering) in the air about seven feet to my left. I hadn't even noticed him when I came in.
"Fate," I muttered, wondering what he could possibly be doing here. Given his rather unique skills and perceptions, Dr. Fate tended to be less of a team player than even I, holed up in a monastery somewhere rehabilitating special individuals. My personal contact with the man was limited and (loathe as I am to admit it) his mystical abilities spooked even me at times.
Fate turned to me, no emotion whatsoever peeking through his faceless gold mask. "It's nice to see you again too, Batman," he replied.
"Tell him what you were telling us," prompted John, his glowing green eyes pulsing with energy.
"Ah, yes. Well, to put this simply, I have sensed certain…malicious entities at work in the mystical planes. This is nothing new, of course, but the extents to which the powers of magic are being tapped into are astounding and unprecedented."
"So basically, you feel a disturbance in the Force," Flash paraphrased.
"Yes…" said Fate hesitantly, although I had the feeling he had completely missed the pop culture reference. I glared at Flash, hopefully preventing a string of even worse follow-up jokes, and then turned back to Dr. Fate.
"Malicious entities?" I asked, frowning. His ambiguities never failed to annoy me. "Explain."
Fate spread out his hands, palms up. "I cannot," he said simply. "The power that this person or persons possess is enough to block even my strongest locating spells. They may not even be in this dimension, but the effect of their tampering can still be felt here. My guess is that if you talk to any other magic user, they will have felt this series of disturbances as well."
"Why bother?" The question came from Artemis, startling everyone including me. I turned around to find her sitting with her back slouched and her arms crossed.
"Artemis," Superman began.
She cut him off. "Correct me if I am wrong," she said, "but we were just informed by the most powerful magician in the League that some mysterious force is tampering with the magical plane."
"It's a bit more compli—" Fate began, only to be interrupted—just like Superman.
"In my view," Artemis continued, "The League has better things to do with its time than sitting around worrying about some mystical force out there that Doctor Fates here claims is causing 'disturbances.'"
Fate's voice was almost amused. "You question my honesty?"
"Of course not." There was a little too much sarcasm in her voice to be believable. "I do wonder why you felt the need to call a big meeting when—assuming there's a problem at all—you have no solutions. You can't say who this person is, where they are, how powerful they are, or what their motives are."
Doctor Fate turned a glare on her that, despite his mask, made even me feel uncomfortable. "The powers of magic are nothing to scoff at, Amazon," he said in a reprimanding tone. "The entity behind these incidences I refer has already begun to affect our dimension and the physical world we live in. That such a sorcerer even exists, one whose powers dwarf even mine, should be troubling to all of you."
"One question," said Flash. "How do you know this person's a baddie?" He glanced around, half expecting a remark telling him to stop asking stupid questions. None came; even I wanted to know the answer to that one.
"Magic is different than a sword or a hammer or any other physical tool," Fate explained. "When you tap into and manipulate its powers, the manifestation is influenced in part by your heart, your motives. Every spell cast carries with it the taint of the emotions, motives, and character of the spell caster."
"That makes no sense," said Flash.
"If you were a student of the mystical arts, it might," said Fate. "Nevertheless, be warned. I sense great menace, and I fear that your paths and that of our unknown magician will cross. Soon."
And then Fate vanished. Gone, just like that, leaving his trademark ankh symbol shimmering for a few more seconds in the empty air.
"And now you're up to speed," said Lantern. "What do you make of it?"
I turned to him. "Have the Oans picked up any strange energy signatures?" I asked.
"No, not like what Fate was talking about."
I nodded. "I have access to every satellite orbiting earth as well as hundreds of other probes in space. I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary either. Until I see something that convinces me otherwise, this is a threat that only has ramifications in the magical realm. If there is someone or something preparing to attack, then we'll have to deal with it when the time comes."
Superman nodded. "I would agree with your assessment," he said. The others, even Artemis, nodded.
Despite my words though, I was not about to ignore Dr. Fate's cryptic warning. So I began making plans to visit an old friend.
Prizm leaned against the wall, waiting for Diana to move to the left so he could get an optimum angle. His killing device would probably have some effect from where he stood if he estimated her position correctly, but he wanted a guaranteed kill.
It occurred to him then that he could just open her door, step in, and do the job if it took too long to get a good angle. He had some time, but he didn't want to risk staying in the building for too long. His light-block technique was by no means perfect, after all.
He waited ten seconds, counting them off one by one. Diana still hadn't shifted to where he wanted her. Sighing he straightened and walked to the door handle.
Then something, or rather someone, destroyed his entire plan. That she was blond and probably pretty was all he was able to determine before her hand brushed against his as they both reached for the doorknob.
"What the—!" Hallie exclaimed as her fingers hit his invisible ones she reached out. And before he could react her hand had trailed up his arm and over his shoulder, onto his chest. Her eyes went wide and he saw the telltale inhalation of air that nearly always preceded a scream. That would be extremely bad.
So in one smooth move, he grabbed her arm, twisted her around, and slid an arm around her throat, simultaneously fingering several nerve clusters in her neck. She struggled for a few moments before promptly passing out.
On a very lucky day, all of this would have simply gone on with Diana being none the wiser. This was not a lucky day. Indeed, she had now changed positions and was standing up, a shocked look on her face as she saw her friend seemingly suspended unconscious in midair. Prizm backed away, his mind whirling, only to see his reflection in the mirror, something he should not have been able to do. His concentration must have faltered—bits and pieces of him were shimmering into visibility. And if he could see this, so could Diana.
He dropped the blond woman like a dead weight and brought up the transmitter. One way or another, his assignment would be completed. A press of the button and—
CRASH! He heard the sound of breaking glass an instant before the pain of the paperweight glancing off his jaw dominated his attention. He stumbled and toppled over, his hand coming to his cheek. Diana had thrown the simple yet heavy transparent cube at him through the window!
He stood up, taking his hand away from his cheek. It was warm and sticky with blood where the paperweight's corner had cut a gash from his left cheekbone to the corner of his eye. It hurt like hell and some of the blood was running into his left eye. It was mostly with his right, then, that he saw Diana running out the door, fist cocked back. In spite of everything that had happened the previous night, Prizm still had a hard time believing she would actually punch him.
His disbelief ended when her fist connected with the underside of his chin, sending him sprawling back and into the wall
Last night had not been a fluke. This woman was trained in something—what he didn't know—but something damaging. Maybe she had been a marine. That might explain how she was able to do so much damage in so little time.
Shouts in the background reminded Prizm that he and Diana were not alone in the building. He'd been lucky so far in that no one had stumbled across this bizarre scene, but his luck ran out when a matronly, older woman in her fifties exited the elevator on their floor.
Diana
"RUN!" I screamed, frantically searching for anything I could use as a weapon against Prizm. "He'll kill you! Run and call 911!"
The other woman needed no further prompting, practically diving back into the elevator with a speed she probably hadn't enjoyed since high school. I had no idea how Prizm had located me, but it was good to know that the police would be coming soon.
My hesitation cost me. Enraged, Prizm (now fully visible) clocked me with an arcing haymaker that made me see stars momentarily. I reeled back, only to be brutally punched in the stomach. He reared back for a third blow, but this time I saw it coming. Artemis may have taken my powers, my armor, and my job, but I still had lifetimes of combat experience.
Case in point: Prizm let loose with another wild blow, one that would have ended the fight immediately if it had landed. I batted it aside just enough to let it sail harmlessly past my face, then kneed him in the one area where I have heard men do not like to be hurt.
I had heard right. One solid knee in the crotch and Prizm could barely stand, his face going white with pain. I punched him again, this time breaking the skin on my knuckles. Hopefully, if I could keep him on the defensive, he would forget about using his powers.
That was when the SWAT team arrived.
Bruce
The last time I visited Zatanna, Diana was turned into a pig and I was forced to sing. Neither one was going to happen this time. Especially not the latter.
She was in her dressing room, out of costume, wearing a blue terry cotton robe. Her dark hair was still wet and stringy from a recent shower, and she had a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. She still hadn't noticed me at this point. Not many people did.
"Zatanna," I said simply to get her attention.
She turned around and arched an eyebrow. "Bruce," she greeted me, a smile spreading over her face. "It's so good to see you."
"You as well," I said sincerely.
The magician nodded, clasping her hands together. "I heard about Diana," she said.
"It's not a good situation."
"I figured as much. If you see her, tell her I think that Artemis lady isn't half the Wonder Woman she was."
"If I see her, I'll tell her," I said.
She gave me a sly glance. "Am I being too naïve in assuming this is merely a pleasure call?" she asked.
"Afraid so," I said. "I was wondering what you could tell me about the magical realm."
This really got her attention. "Bruce! Don't tell me you're considering taking up sorcery."
"I'm not," I assured her. "I did, however, have an interesting meeting not too long ago. Dr. Fate was there."
Zatanna whistled. "Big leagues. What'd he say?"
"He said that he was detecting 'evil' resonances in the magical realm, something like that. It was a warning, a very ominous one. I was wondering if you'd picked up anything similar."
"Ah. Well, you should know that I'm nowhere near the magic-wielder that Dr. Fate is. However, now that you mention, it, yeah, I've been picking up some weird feelings. Vibes is probably the closest word I could use to describe it."
"Are these sensations menacing or evil?"
Her brow furrowed in thought. "Certainly not benign," she said. "Yeah, I guess you could call them that. I only get them every once in a while, and the sensations are so faint that if they weren't recurring, I would have chalked it up to imagination by now."
I nodded. It was more or less a confirmation of what Fate had said, albeit from a drastically less powerful sorceress. Still, Zatanna's perceptions were nothing to ignore.
"Was I any help?" wondered Zatanna.
"Yes, thank you," I told her.
She cocked her head to the side. "You know, I have a show in about a half hour or so. I could use some of your talents."
"Criminalistics?"
"No," she laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of your vocal abilities. A song or two in the interlude? Whaddya say?"
It took me a few moments to realize she was teasing me. Despite myself, I actually cracked a smile. "No more performances," I said. "I have a reputation to maintain, after all. How am I supposed to go around scaring criminals if it gets out that Batman moonlights as a blues singer?"
She chuckled as she organized her desktop. "And they say you don't have a sense of humor."
When Commissioner James Gordon saw the federal agents enter, he knew his day had just gone from bad to worse.
"Commissioner, said a man of medium height and nondescript features who wore a long, sweeping black trenchcoat. "A moment of your time please."
"Later fellas. Right now I'm busy with my hostage situation here."
"You mean our hostage situation," corrected the man. He extended a hand. "I'm Rick Levin, by the way," he continued, flashing an unfamiliar, yet clearly authentic badge.
"I'm James Gordon, and this is my case."
"Your department lacks the necessary meta-human training required to—"
"My department has fought every freak out there from Clayface to the Joker," snapped Gordon. "We're experts on metahumans and psychotic whack jobs. This is Gotham you're in, gentlemen."
"Good point," said Levin. "But see, you really have no choice. My boys and I will be overseeing any hostage situation that may arise, orders from higher up than you c'n probably see. If all goes according to plan, this should be wrapped up in no time."
"Mind filling me in on what this plan is?" asked the Commissioner sarcastically.
"Certainly. We neutralize Prizm. With extreme prejudice. Nothing left to chance with these metas. Then we cover it up and everyone plays nicely." The way he said it was almost as chilling as the words. "Questions?"
Diana
The first SWAT officer got the brunt of Prizm's blinding flash, which despite the flare-resistant goggles he wore rendered his eyes useless. He managed to roll over out of the way before dropping to the floor, disoriented.
The other five members currently on the floor were stunned, but only for a few moments. And when Prizm raised his hand to unleash another flash, they opened fire. Four 9mm Heckler & Koch submachine guns and one M16 all unleashed their respective projectiles at Prizm now that he was far enough away from me to avoid any collateral damage.
The sound was deafening, almost as overpowering to the auditory senses as Prizm's powers could be to the eyes. Prizm could only stand there stunned for the fraction of a second before the bullets struck.
He was knocked off his feet. Instantly. The force of the bullets literally carried him into the air and back, depositing him some five feet away. Once the last of the gunshots sounded, Prizm lay still on his back. I oddly wondered what would be done with the body.
One of the officers rushed over, kneeling beside me. "Are you hurt, miss?" he asked, scanning me for anything that looked like an injury.
I shook my head. "No, no I-"
"Its okay, ma'am," he interjected. "The metahuman has been neutral—AAAGH!" I watched in horror as his face went aglow with a searing hot light. Then he toppled over on his side, his features charred and blackened, and the sickening odor of burned flesh wafted up.
The other officers were shocked too, their gazes going back to Prizm, who miraculously was not dead. Not by a long shot. He was standing up, his fist outstretched and glowing with potential energy. "Die," he said, aiming at the remaining SWAT officers. He then unleashed another blast, far more powerful than the paltry light shows he had limited himself to up to now. The hiss of ozone precluded the blinding flash, which claimed another officer victim, literally burning a hole through his body and into his chest. He teetered, his mouth open in disbelief. It stayed open as he toppled to the ground. Dead.
The crash of windows briefly grabbed my attention. I watched, riveted, as reinforcements arrived, having swung in from helicopters outside. At the same time, the ceiling to my right caved, depositing dust and broken glass among other things all over the place. Out of the hole, even more specially trained cops came pouring in from the floor above. All hefted their weapons and began firing as soon as they landed on the ground.
Prizm ran. He had managed to trick the first wave of cops with his optical illusions, but that same trick wouldn't work twice. Besides, the money to be made from killing Diana was worthless if he was too busy rotting in jail to spend it. Casting as many duplicate illusions of himself behind him as possible, Prizm sprinted desperately toward the window at the end of the hallway.
The helicopter pilot picked up his radio. "He's heading down the east wing," he reported. "Straight towards me—I don't think he knows I'm here."
"Take him out before he does," Agent Levin replied from the other end. "He gets enough time and he'll have you seeing purple manatees flopping around; he's got optical illusion powers, you know. Can you take him out without collateral damage?"
"Depends. I would move everyone out of the floors below—these rounds could penetrate all the way to the basement and then some before stopping."
"Already been done."
"Well then, yes sir. I can."
"Do it."
The pilot brought up the targeting reticule on the chopper's display screen and tapped a quick code followed by a slight toggle on the joystick controls. On command, the large double-barreled M2 .50 machine guns in the copter's underbelly sprang to life, swiveling in position to target Prizm, who looked like was going to actually try and jump through the window. Their intelligence hadn't indicated any flight powers on the part of Prizm, but then again who knew what he could if he really wanted to badly enough.
Wasting no more time, the pilot stroked the trigger. The guns fired in perfect unison, sailing through the glass windows and into Prizm. And unlike the submachine gun fire he'd taken earlier, these were dead on target, as Prizm hadn't had time to create more illusions. The rounds killed him instantly.
Diana
The word 'overkill' couldn't even begin to describe what happened to Prizm. I and an entire SWAT team watched as a weapon from the outside, one that made the armaments carried by the Special Forces operatives look like popguns, reduced Prizm to a column of pink paste. He was obliterated instantly, the bullets going through him like he wasn't even there, only to thud into the floor and surrounding walls. The sound was almost literally deafening, it felt like the end of the world.
One man, probably the leader of the police forces, angrily took out his radio. "What the hell!" he demanded tersely. "What was that? We had him under control!"
The voice on the other end was, surprisingly enough, Commisioner Gordon's. "He was messing with all your heads," the Commisioner said. "He's an illusionist. I just watched via surveillance camera as the best SWAT team in the state emptied their clips into a statue, then stopped, thinking they'd hit their actual target."
"What?" I saw the officers look at each other. I was a little confused myself. "We saw him get hit by those bullets," the man insisted. "I don't know how he survived, but we pumped enough lead into the guy to kill him three times over."
I agreed with the man's assessment. I'd seen it too—the bullets hitting him, slamming him up and back. His body jerking and convulsing with the impact of each…
My eyes caught on the marble bust, the one Gordon had referred to. I'd never paid much attention to it personally, but it was nice and had added a pleasant mood to the office area.
Now it was just marble. There were a lot of bullet holes in the room, mostly on the floor where the bullets had ripped through after first going through Prizm. That was clearly not what had turned the statue into oh-so-much marble debris, however. The way the rubble was deposited away from the SWATs was a big clue that it was indeed their bullets that had destroyed it and the surrounding wall.
"He's right," I said, half to myself.
Several of the SWAT team members turned to me, eyes questioning. "What did you say?" the leader asked.
"I said that Gordon was right. You didn't shoot Prizm."
"Yes we did—you saw the same thing as us."
I rose to my feet. "I saw the exact same thing as you," I said. "And none of it was real." I pointed to the marble statue.
Bruce
I was on my way back from Zatanna's (now as Bruce Wayne) when I heard the news. At first, it was just garbled interceptions from the police band, but when more of them started coming in and I began hearing words like 'Prizm' and 'hostage situation' and 'WayneTech', I immediately put my new Mazda in high gear. I thought of Diana. That was why Prizm had shown up. Had to be, although for the life of me I couldn't figure out how he'd gotten to Diana undetected.
As I drove, testing the bounds of the speed limit, I pulled out my cell phone. I punched in the numbers frantically. I put the cell phone to my ear, only to hear Diana's pre-recorded voice informing me that she was unavailable and to leave my name and number and she would call back as soon as possible.
I swore, shoving the phone back inside my pocket and forcing myself to slow down. I was an expert driver, but I wouldn't reach Diana any faster by having to stop for a speeding ticket.
God, it hurt. I'd never been so afraid for Diana. For the vast majority of the time I'd known her, she'd been on a par with Superman and punks like Prizm wouldn't have taken her two seconds to handle. Even then, I suspected that none of us, not even she herself, knew how powerful she truly was.
Now was a different story however. She had no powers. Though in superb physical condition for a mortal human, she was still now just that: mortal. She could be hurt, or worse, killed. Easily. My mind flicked back to one of our earlier adventures together, in which she had single-handedly stopped a missile aimed for Gorilla City. I feared it had killed her. We all did.
I remembered digging, through the dirt and soil, all the while looking at this massive instrument of destruction that landed on Diana, wondering if she was alive or dead, if she was severely injured or would ever be able to walk again.
Alfred's serious voice cut into my thoughts, jerking me back to reality. I realized that I was almost at my company building and that up ahead the streets were cordoned off.
"Master Bruce," he began, "I take it you've heard the news."
"Just bits and pieces," I said. "Where are you?"
"The manor, of course. I am, however, monitoring the situation."
"What do you know about Diana?"
His words were uplifting. "I believe she's fine, Master Bruce. In fact, it seems that Prizm has been killed."
I frowned. "Killed?"
"Yes. To get any further information, I would probably have to intercept some government transmissions."
"Government?"
"Yes. A very influential government agency, unnamed so far. They came as soon as they heard the Prizm, most likely."
"How did Prizm die?"
I heard the tapping of a keyboard as Alfred searched for the answer. "A video clip," he said at last, "captured by your company's own surveillance cameras. I suspect this agency also hacked into those," he added. "They certainly have an abundance of resources."
"If it helped them take down Prizm, I don't care," I said. "Show me the feed."
"As you wish." He sent the file to my car's computer, where a window popped up. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, I eased the car onto the side of the street, parked, and brought up the video file.
Even the poor quality didn't hide the slaughter that had been captured on tape. I stared wide-eyed in disbelief as a hail of bullets from some point beyond the camera's range of view shredded Prizm into human confetti, more or less. It was a slaughter. An extermination. And it was unacceptable, no matter what Prizm was guilty of.
There was no audio, but that didn't matter once I saw Diana. Or rather, the upper right hand section of her face, since she didn't step into full camera view. I didn't realize the breath I'd been holding until I released it in one large sigh of relief.
I stepped out of my car and walked down the street toward the blockade. "Excuse me," I said to the two men in dark suits and sunglasses who stood in front of the front entrance.
They each put a restraining hand on one of my shoulders, holding me back. "I'm sorry, you can't approach any closer," said the one on the right, a tall, beefy guy with short, blond hair.
"I'm Bruce Wayne," I began. "I own this building and—"
"We know who you are, Mr. Wayne," said the man on the left. I was beginning to sense that they belonged to the government agency Alfred had referred to earlier. "You still can't approach any closer."
"Well what happened up there exactly?" I asked. "I think I have at least the right to know that."
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Wayne. Please go back to your vehicle and wait until the appropriate authorities have authorized entry."
Arguing with them was useless, and there was really no point now that I knew Diana was out of immediate danger. Still, I wanted to see her. Apologize, maybe, about my failure to protect her from Prizm.
That would have to wait though. In the meantime, I could take care of more pressing business. Fighting my way past reporters who had just discovered that Bruce Wayne had arrived, I finally managed to get inside my car and pull off. I tapped a sequence on the dashboard and the normal looking display panel was immediately replaced by a communications center far more sophisticated than any found in a commercial vehicle.
In a matter of seconds, I had Alfred back on the line, this time with a new assignment.
"You have access to all surveillance camera data from the Batcave, right?" I confirmed.
"I should, yes."
"Perfect. I want you to see if Jeroh Zacherias entered the building today. I also want to you to get some satellite feed of his house from today. See if he's got any heavy vans or trucks showing up, like he's about to leave town."
Alfred contacted me back a minute later. "In answer to your first question, no. Mr. Zacherias never entered the building and certainly didn't check in. As for the satellites, your suspicions turned out to be right on the money. I got several still images of his minivan continually leaving and arriving back at his driveway. He's certainly packing for something."
"Yes," I said. "Jail."
Ares laughed as he watched the drama unfold on earth. The events he'd orchestrated were less than standard fare for both Diana and the infamous Batman. Challenging, sure, but in the grand scheme of things nothing more than a field test so that he could gauge their abilities, their thought processes. Especially Diana. While he had no love for the Dark Knight, it was Diana who made his blood boil with rage. Part of him relished the thought of merely killing her now, weakened as she was. But that wouldn't do. When he did fight her, it would be open. Public. The entire world would be able to watch him destroy the pesky Amazon who had turned the gods against him and foiled his plans. He knew that Artemis especially would not be happy once she learned that the death mark on Diana had been rescinded, now that he knew her assumed identity. It was only temporary though. Long enough for Ares to finish playing with Diana and destroy her personally. He might even let Artemis get in a kick or two at Diana's corpse.
Several things did worry him, however. First and foremost was the involvement of Dr. Fate, who had apparently noticed his subtle influences on Earth, arranging the scenario that both Diana and Bruce now found themselves in. That Fate had warned the Justice League was troubling. Nothing major, but still troubling. Fate would have to be taken care of too.
And Themyiscera. He smiled to himself from the throne of his war-chamber, spinning a globe lazily, stopping it with his finger. It was pressed against the geographical location of the Amazons' island. His plans for that particular piece of real estate were only just beginning.
AN: Hi, long time no see. Sorry for the delay in posting (school and all that). Anyway, tell me what you think of the chapter. Any and all suggestions are welcome, constructive criticism too.
Big thanks to Kasuchi, once again, for being a peerless beta-reader as well as an invaluable source for suggestions.
-Cleric