Chapter 33

Earth-36

2044

Mount Olympus

"Come to say goodbye, daughter?"

When Diana was thirteen and brought to Mount Olympus against her will, she avoided two people. Her father and his wife, Hera. Her father was the source of her pain, of her loneliness, of the heartache she felt at having been ripped away from her mother, her sisters, and her island paradise. And Hera, well, the goddess hated Diana. For all the obvious reasons a wife would despise the offspring of her perpetually unfaithful husband. The woman had never been kind to Diana, no more than her daughter, Eris, had.

Awful conditions for a young girl to find herself suddenly, thrust into the complex and capricious world of the gods. If not for Hermes and Ares, Diana would've drowned in melancholy and anger those first two years away from her mother and Themyscira.

But there had also been Zeus. The father she'd never known existed. Thinking herself born of clay and Hippolyta's desperate prayers to the gods and their gracious benevolence. But the origin of her birth had been nothing but an elaborate lie to cover the conception of a child of lust and sin. And maybe a touch of love, as well. For Diana did believe, for the short time they were together, that Zeus and Hippolyta did love each other.

Yet Zeus always returned to Mount Olympus and Hera, no matter how many women he seduced. And no matter how many of those women bore him children. In the end, he was a god whose immortal life was among other gods. His fidelity, only to himself and Mount Olympus.

Diana walked the short distance from the base of the dais, on which Zeus perched on his throne, and up the stairs. The throne was made for two. A plush bench style seat made to accommodate the King and Queen of Olympus. Once, Diana had made the mistake of joining her father on the throne, sitting in what was Hera's seat. When the Queen heard of this, from Eris Diana always suspected, Hera went into a rage.

For three days and three nights, Zeus and Hera argued. All on Mount Olympus privy to the marital fight, Diana the center of the disagreement. Simply put, Hera wanted Diana banished from Mount Olympus and Zeus refused saying, "She is my daughter. I will not turn my back on another child of Zeus. For once in my long-lived life, Hera, I'm going to be a real father to at least one of my children."

That had been day one. The argument raged for two more days. Hera crying and accusing Zeus of all sorts of crimes against women and marriage. And Zeus had roared back at her, arguing that a god could not fight their nature, no matter how much they may sometimes wish it. On and on they went until thunder crackled and lightning skidded through the sky, bringing silence once more to Mount Olympus.

By the morning of the fourth day, Hera was gone. As she'd been known to do after she and Zeus fought. The difference, this time, was that Hera stayed away for years. Not returning until after Diana had grown to adulthood and left Mount Olympus for the mortal world. In fact, Hera's return to Mount Olympus coincided with Diana's conception of Athos. From that point on, their relationship improved. Although Diana didn't think Hera liked her any better today than she did when she was a girl of thirteen. Crying for her mother and wanting nothing more than to go home.

Diana sat beside her father on the throne. No longer that frightened girl wary of her mean step-mother.

"It's time I stop hiding here and return home, don't you think?"

"Do you actually care what I think, Diana? Will you not do as you wish, regardless of my opinion?"

Diana laid her head upon her father's strong, broad shoulder. "I do care for your opinion, Father. But yes, I will make my own decision. It's how Mother raised me."

An arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her in close. Zeus' scent was unlike any other. Diana had never been able to define it, to capture its rich flavor in a single, paltry word. Now, however, at the prospect of no longer being this close to him, of moving away and back to the mortal world, one word came to mind.

Regret. Zeus smells of regret.

"You knew. All this time you knew what Athos had done to Mother. That's the reason why you wanted to kill Athos, why you helped Kal imprison him."

"The heart is a fragile beast, daughter. Vicious and cruel yet vulnerable and tender. Until you, I'd forgotten that even gods have hearts. We love. We hate. We regret."

"What do you regret, Father?"

Zeus kissed the top of Diana's head. "So many things, my girl, so many. But never your mother … and never you."

Times like these often made Diana forget that the man holding her so lovingly could be, had been, and still was an insensitive philanderer at best, a seducing rapist at worst. And, like Athos, she loved him, despite his many unforgivable faults. Which made Diana question the state of her heart, as well as her mind.

Zeus kissed the top of her head again. "The Kryptonian is lucky to have your love."

She shook her head. "No, Father, it is I who is lucky to have his. I put him through much, these past ten years."

"You were acting as any good mother would. Sometimes, Diana, a mother must put her child before her husband, even before herself. Your mistake wasn't in loving Athos but in having me for a father."

Diana raised her head, not understanding her father's words. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," he said. Then gave Diana a beautiful but fake smile. The kind of smile that told Diana Zeus knew something she did not. More, he had no intention of telling her. "So, how is that baby god of war you brought here?"

Diana didn't react to the obvious topic shift. Zeus was a god of many secrets and lies. Few of which she'd managed to pry out of him. Her father could keep his secrets. That was always Diana's philosophy. The problem with that stance, however, was that some of his secrets involved her. Like the one he and Kal had shared about Athos' murder of Hippolyta. The secret he was keeping from her now, felt quite personal, which set Diana on edge.

When everything with Athos was done, she would have to talk to Kal about Zeus. Right now, they had enough to deal with, without adding her Father's secrets to an already stressful time. Maybe, if they were around, she could speak with Hermes and Ares before she returned to the Fortress to prepare for her date with her husband.

"You saw Wonder Woman in your scrying pool?"

"I did. But I first sensed her when she was within landing range of Mount Olympus. The godly energy confused me at first, because it closely mirrored that of Ares' magic."

"Close? Not exactly?"

"No, not exactly. There is a difference between a born god and a made god, Diana. Great similarities but also great differences. Made gods aren't as bound by the natural pull of their god powers as born gods are. Made gods have a greater range of free will and control. But it's a struggle for them, if they choose not to give in fully to their godhood. I sensed that struggle in Wonder Woman. She's conflicted. Her godhood doesn't match her soul or her spirit. So she's afraid to give in completely and find out what's on the other side."

"What is on the other side?"

"Insanity for some, gluttony for others. It depends on the strength of the mind and heart of the person. I watched the two of you fight."

Diana knew that meant Zeus had used his scrying pool. She also knew it had been Zeus who had transported her from her bedchamber, where Kal was trying to calm her and keep her away from Athos, and to her son's prison. For reasons he would never share, Zeus had wanted Diana to confront Athos. Maybe he thought she should be the one to take revenge for Hippolyta's and the Amazons' deaths. Or maybe he wanted her to finally see Athos for the beast he was. Whatever Zeus' motivation, her father had been watching her, watching over her. And Diana couldn't help but wonder how often he used his scrying pool in that way.

"And that baby god didn't lose control once. But she also didn't rely on an ounce of her godly powers. She fought you as an Amazon. As an equal she had a tremendous amount of respect for. When the baby god finally matures into and accepts her place in the pantheon, she'll rival all others."

"Perhaps that's what she's afraid of."

"She's afraid of the unknown, which may cripple her when she most needs to be the god of war. When the people she wants to protect needs her to be the god of war. But, as I said, she's yet still a baby god made. She will learn, grow, and adapt. Just as you did when you came here—wide-eyed and ignorant of the ways of the gods. A demigod who only wanted to be an Amazon."

"I am an Amazon."

"You are. But you aren't only an Amazon. You're more and so is Wonder Woman." Zeus pressed a kiss to Diana's forehead. "So, when will you next visit? Or will you forget about your father once you have that Kryptonian back in your bed?"

Diana slid to the other side of the throne, to get a better look at her father. "We are not talking about my sex life."

"Of course we aren't, Diana. In order for us to talk about your sex life, you would actually have to have a sex life. And you don't. For an inconceivable decade, no less." Zeus shot her an appalled look. "Which I never understood." He looked her up and down, as if seeing Diana for the first time. "Sometimes, I can't believe you're my daughter. Do you have any idea how many men and women lust after you?"

Umm, well, she had no idea. And Diana didn't want to know.

"How could you possibly know …?"

Zeus' eyes traveled to the scrying pool, in the middle of the room.

"How often do you use that pool, Father?"

"Whenever it serves my purpose? Why?"

Diana jumped to her feet. "Can you find Athos for me? Can you tell me where he's gone?"

They flew to the pool, hovering over its still waters.

"I've tried several times since I learned of his escape."

"What did you see?"

"I only saw him once. And that was yesterday morning."

When he'd gone to the Batcave, more than likely.

"And now? Today? Have you been able to locate him?"

Zeus held his hands over the pool and closed his eyes. Diana watched and waited for the pool to come to life. Nothing happened. Even after Diana asked Zeus to try again, nothing changed. The waters revealed no Athos.

They lowered themselves to the floor, and Diana's heart sank. A small part of her had hoped Athos hadn't left the planet, hadn't gone to one of those other Earths. But the scrying pool showed the King of Olympus all—the moral and the immortal realms. No one could hide from Zeus, if he chose to turn his godly eye to them.

"He's beyond my reach, daughter."

"I know. Thank you for trying."

"Will you be leaving now?"

The way Zeus said that made Diana feel as if she were abandoning him and Mount Olympus in favor of Kal and the Fortress of Solitude. Which wasn't true, but gods could be the most selfish and jealous of creatures.

"There is something I need to retrieve from my bedchamber." Bruce's dimensional watch. She didn't know if Wonder Woman and Superman would need the extra watch. And no one had any intention of going back to Wayne Manor. The less Bruce Wayne knew about their plan, the better.

"Then you'll be leaving?"

Diana grasped her father's hand and pulled him away from the scrying pool and out of his throne room.

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular. I thought we could walk and talk. The corridors in this palace go on for miles."

"You should know. You used to fly that damned winged beast everywhere, including the palace."

Diana laughed. "Pegasus was a fourteenth birthday gift from you, remember? An attempt to bribe your way into my heart."

"Hah, a lot of good it did me. And the beast wasn't even house trained. Ares has yet to let me live that down."

Diana smiled sadly. Despite Zeus' many failings, there was goodness within him, something redeemable that made Diana grow to love her father. So why did it seem as if there was nothing redeemable about her son? There had to be. Even with the Doomsday infection, surely her and Kal hadn't produced and raised a child that was so unlike themselves. It simply made little sense to Diana.

Yet …

Fortress of Solitude

At the same time …

After speaking with Kal and Diana, Clark and Diana were back in the guest room, preparing to leave. Even though she had tossed out at Athos, at the end of her fight with his mother, that she would erase him from existence, Diana hadn't really meant it. It was a hollow threat that would soon become an undoing of the current and past realities.

She and Clark sat on the floor, backs propped against a wall. They'd been like that for the greater part of an hour, quiet and in their own world. It hadn't helped that Kal and Diana had agreed to their plan, as much as Diana had hoped it would. Kal had been more reluctant than Diana, but Diana appeared no less saddened by the plan than her husband. For all intents and purposes, they had sanctioned the killing of their son. No matter how one looked at the situation, that was the reality. By preventing Athos from being conceived, an Athos that had already been born into the world, Diana and Clark was, in essence, taking his life. And they may have to do it three times over.

The thought troubled Diana. But not as much as the alternative. She could learn how to deal with the deaths of Athos Kal-El, but she refused to bear the weight of the slaughter of millions of people because of misplaced guilt. They had to do this. Diana could see no other way.

Diana covered Clark's hand with her own. "Are you ready?"

They had agreed. They would travel to Earth-44 first. While Clark spoke with the Clark Kent of that Earth, Diana would pay a visit to Eirene. From the files on the USB, Diana knew the little girl's date of birth and where she resided. She also knew the date of Eirene's mother's death, which was no more than a month after the girl was born. That had to be tough on the girl. The anniversary of her mother's murder so close to a day that celebrated Eirene's life.

It probably wasn't one of Diana's finer ideas. And it most certainly was one of her more emotionally-driven ones. But she had to go. Had to meet Eirene. And though Diana wasn't the girl's mother, something told Diana Eirene needed to meet her. And why not on Eirene's birthday? Which was the date Diana had programmed into her watch. It would transport her to Earth-44, 2040.

"The Clark of Earth-44 has the most to gain and the most to lose."

Gain a wife returned but lose a daughter. Yes, Diana had thought of that. "They may still have Eirene, Clark. We can't be sure."

"I know."

Diana wanted to ask Clark what his decision would be, if he were in the other Clark's predicament. But it would've been a pointless, unfair question. More, Diana didn't even know what she wanted his answer to be. Or what his answer would tell her about Clark that she didn't already know. Your wife or your children? No man should ever have to choose. And Clark had taken the harder of the missions to Earth-44. Willing to shoulder that responsibility like he did all others, with strength of character and protective kindness.

He was doing it for Diana. So she could meet Eirene. Although it was clear Clark wanted to see the girl as desperately as Diana did. "We don't want to overwhelm her," Clark had told Diana. "So you go. We both don't need to. I'll speak with her father. Find out what he wants us to do."

And that was their plan. Yet there they sat, watches on and programmed.

He pulled her in for a hug. "Tell me everything about Eirene, when we get back. Okay."

"I will."

"Every little detail, Diana. What she looks like. How she speaks. What she had on. If she's happy and talkative or quiet and shy. Everything."

"I will. Promise."

"Thank you."

The embrace stretched and neither spoke. Lost again in their own brooding thoughts. The past, present, and future converging into an overpowering vortex capable of consuming them—mind, body, and soul.

"It's time to go." Clark released her on a hesitant sigh. "Be safe, Diana, and I'll see you again soon."

With a quick kiss to her lips, Clark pushed a button on his watch and was gone. Disappearing right before her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Diana pushed her own button. But there was no one around to see her disappear, just a faint ripple in the space-time continuum.

Wayne Manor

Hours Later …

Athos stood in the dining room, a mere twenty feet from the man he'd come to kill. Bruce Wayne. The old man was slumped on the large, mahogany table, smelling of Bengay and alcohol. Empty wine and vodka bottles littered the table. And Athos saw no glass, which meant the old man had taken his fill directly from the bottles.

Athos turned to Death, who sat in a chair behind Athos. "He's passed out."

"You have a way of stating the obvious, brother. Wake him."

"Wake him? I don't even want to touch him. He smells of vomit." Athos scanned the floor. And, sure enough, right under the old man's feet was dried vomit. "He's disgusting."

Death stood. "He's more than that, Famine. He's a murderer. He killed our sister. Now we have to make do with a substitute. And Amazons can be such a pain in the ass. Too stubborn by half. But well worth it, if you can break them first."

Death had a way of speaking that had never set well with Athos. Even at twenty-four, being around his brothers still had Athos feeling like that sixteen-year old Death had rescued. He was bigger, stronger, and faster now, but Athos felt no more prepared to undertake tonight's mission.

"You think killing one old man will break War?"

"No. The woman I met in my cell is made of firmer stuff than that." He stalked to the old man and sneered down at him in abject revulsion. Then he kicked the table, sending it and the bottles flying.

The bottles fell and broke.

And the old man collapsed to the floor, right into his vomit.

"The death of Bruce Wayne is just a warning, a prelude of things to come. War will get the message, loud and clear. And, on the off chance she doesn't, there's always the letter. Make sure to attach it to his dead body when you're done."

The old man groaned then slowly rolled over and opened his eyes. And groaned again when he saw Death snarling down at him. "I knew you would be back, monster."

"I'm sure you did. Did Madame Xanadu foretell our arrival and your death in that crystal ball of hers?" When the old man made to sit up, Death used his foot to press Wayne back down. "Did the crystal ball also tell her she's our next stop?"

"Leave her alone. It was all me."

"Yes, I know it was you. But it was also her. Her and those damn Tarot cards. But you're right. You're the one that killed our sister. For that, you'll pay the ultimate price. But your death won't be in vain. It will serve a higher purpose."

Death removed his foot from the old man's chest, then gave Athos a pointed look.

He knew that look. It meant it was time for Athos to officially join the brotherhood. Until now, he had yet to kill anyone other than his mother. But as the weeks, months, and years slid by, Athos knew he would one day have to prove that he was one of the Four Horsemen. Famine to his brothers' Death and Conquest. More, the beast within had grown with each passing season, becoming hungrier and hungrier. It was hungry now. Starving, in fact.

His stomach growled.

Death smiled.

Athos moved closer to the old man. And, with a nod, knelt next to him.

"Which one are you?" the old man asked, fear and resignation in his voice.

"Let me tell you a story, Uncle Bruce. As a man of science and history, I'm sure you're familiar with the tale."

Death grabbed a downed chair off the floor and plopped it on the other side of Bruce Wayne and sat. Next came his feet, propped on the old man's chest as if he were an ottoman made for Death's decadent comfort. Crossing his legs at the ankles and lacing his fingers behind his head, Death looked so casual. Too casual for what would soon be a crime scene.

"One finger to begin with."

That was Athos' cue to begin. His monster, already licking its chops, was pleased. Athos laid his index finger in the center of the old man's head. Then Death began to speak.

"In his introduction to 'The Decameron," Italian author Giovanni Boccaccio captured the uncertainty and fear that accompanied the Black Death's sweep through Europe from 1347 to 1351. It could have been caused by the influence of celestial bodies or by God's wrath, Boccaccio wrote. Physicians had no idea what to do with the tumors and black spots that ravaged victims' bodies. And worse, the people turned on each other. Parents abandoned children. Husbands turned on wives. The streets were filled with the dead, and neighbors sometimes learned of a death next door by the smell."

Power flowed up Athos and out through the finger he had pressed to the old man's forehead.

Bruce Wayne screamed and that little taste of control and forced submission felt better than Athos thought it would have. Better than he wished it did. He had hoped against hope that the pain and guilt that followed the death of Diana was how he would feel if he had to ever kill again. If that happened, Athos would know he wasn't like his brothers, wasn't truly a monster, and wasn't a destined horsemen.

But Conquest had described the scintillating sensation now coursing through him. "It's like getting a blow job from two women. One sucking your rod and the other your balls. It's no greater rush in the world, no better high than taking a man's life."

Athos felt that glorious rush now. An orgasm of murderous proportions just waiting to be had.

"The living didn't have time to mourn," Death continued, uncaring that the man under his feet writhed in agony and likely no longer able to hear his story through his shrieks of pain. "Boccaccio says that due to the large number of dead and the fear of their presence, a dead man was then of no more account than a dead goat would be today."

Death raised his booted feet then slammed them down hard into the old man's midsection. Bruce Wayne spat up blood and tears ran from his depleted blue eyes and snot and blood from his pale nose.

"Two fingers."

Without hesitation, Athos placed his middle finger next to the first. And the old man began to buck and flail about, but Death's feet kept him pinned to the floor. While Athos' awful power did the rest.

"The symptoms of the Black Death were gruesome: Tumors covered the body—some of them as big as an egg or apple, Boccaccio wrote. A large neck tumor might permanently cock a person's head in the opposite direction. Purplish splotches also covered the body. These were nicknamed 'God's tokens,' because God usually took the sufferer soon after they appeared." Death began to laugh. "I bet you wish God would deliver you from this pain, right here and right now, don't you, Uncle Bruce? But you see, God doesn't listen to the prayers and impotent cries of baby killers."

"Three fingers."

Athos closed his eyes and did as his brother said. With three fingers and all the power that now pulsed through Athos and into Bruce Wayne, it was a wonder the old man still lived. But wasn't that the point, anyway? To make the old man suffer? It was. Death had wanted the man to suffer. Bruce Wayne had, after all, tried to kill Death when he was a boy.

"Medieval writers tell us that the fevers resulted in delirium—madmen wandered the streets, shouting wildly. Like how you're doing now. The sick vomited incessantly or simply coughed up blood. Yes, yes, just like that, Uncle Bruce. I bet that hurts like a motherfucker. Pus and blood oozed from their sores. Once the symptoms started to appear, the victim was a ticking time bomb and died within days. But you, my favorite uncle, won't have days to die. Just three more minutes. The time it will take me to finish my story. Now, let's see. Where was I? Oh yes. No one knew what to do. There wasn't enough space in the graveyards, so the bloated bodies were left in the street. Dogs ate corpses while babies cried hungrily beside their dead mothers.

When all was said and done, about 25 million people died in the epidemic, approximately one-third of Europe's population at the time. So, you still want to know which Athos is about to come all over your face?" Death spat at the old man. "Well, I like to call him Famine, but you can call him Pestilence."

The old man said nothing, no more than he moved. Death kicked him—twice and damn hard.

"Fuck, he's dead already. That was faster than I thought it would be. With the woman, I'll have to talk quicker. I don't want her dying on us before I get to the punch line. Oh well." Death stood and stretched. "That was fun." He looked down at Athos, who couldn't help staring at the lifeless, old man.

Abdominal pain, fever, headache, chills, diarrhea, vomiting, and buboes, Athos had infected Bruce Wayne with every common effect of the bubonic plague. Giving him in minutes what others experienced over the course of six days, before death finally claimed them, if not treated. He'd literally killed the man from the inside out, by doing nothing more than placing three fingers upon his head and unlocking the cage he kept his beast in.

"You're no longer a virgin, Famine. How does it feel?"

How does it feel? Wonderful. Intoxicating. Amazing. Freeing. All of those things. Horrible. Devastating. Sickening. Yeah, all of those, too.

Athos got to his feet and wiped his hand on his pant leg. Wishing he could wipe away what he'd just done as easily as he did the old man's sweat and blood.

"I feel like it's time for us to leave this place. It stinks to high heaven."

Death clapped him on his back. "I bet Zeus can smell it all the way on Mount Olympus. But you're right. We need to wrap this bastard up and make our way to Greenwich Village and Madame Xanadu. Once you've taken care of her, we'll play Stork and deliver our babies." Death clapped Athos on his back again, beaming at him with profane pride. "You did good, brother. I knew you had it in you. You're truly one of us now."

He was. A horseman. A murdering bastard who'd just killed a murdering bastard. And wouldn't that just make Diana proud? She'd died only for Athos to turn into the very monster her husband had feared. Feared Athos so much that he'd given him away, hoping he wouldn't someday become the very thing he'd just unleashed onto Bruce Wayne.

Famine. Pestilence. Murderer. That was him.

And soon, very, very soon, he would do worse to Earth Prime. Such was his despicable fate.

I'm sorry, Mother, please forgive me. Please forgive me.

TO BE CONTINUED