Life really seems to hate. Finished with my University studies, only to end up with an even worse job that just sucks the life out of you. The things I do to finance my dream of becoming a successful author.
But I finally managed to finish this chapter, after months of hard work. Though I will admit that I'm actually not all that fond of this chapter, largely due to just how talk-heavy it turned out. So many characters, so many plot points, so many awesome ideas, and yet I was unable to actually write about any of them, merely tease and set things up for the actual good shit to come later.
Oh well, hopefully you guys will find some enjoyment out of this chapter, or at the very least have your interest peaked for future events.
Chapter 46: Siege of Los Angeles pt. IV
Day 7
Seven days.
A whole week.
That was how long the siege had dragged on for now. Seven days of fierce fighting, even if the last three days had been the calmest to date. And no matter how tough or motived the defenders may be, no one can keep going forever.
"Got any coffee?" and the toll was beginning to be visible on many a soldier manning the front trenches.
"Ran out two days ago." Tired, haggard and dirty, with bloodshot eyes staring out sluggishly from underneath whatever passed for helmets among them. Many not even bothering with actual helmets and instead opting for civilian caps.
"Well fuck, and here I thought shit couldn't get more miserable." Such was the case with one group stationed along the Los Angeles river, huddled together inside the burned-out ruins of a building and just trying to relax before their next shift.
"And based on how things have been going, it's just gonna get way more miserable before we're done." Which proved to be a futile gesture. None of them had been in the army, nor had they served in law enforcements. They were just ordinary civilians, and now military life was wearing them down.
"Well, ain't you just a bundle of rainbows and sunshine today, eh?" They had none of the military training needed for a long campaign, nor the experience dealing with days of fighting.
"Why bother denying the fucking truth? Not like we're gonna live for long anyway." It gave rise to apathy and despair in many as the strain proved too much.
"You better take those words back this fucking instance before I put a bullet between your eyes!" It led others to respond with rage and excessive threats to cope with their own dark thoughts, hurting morale even further. Despite not having taken so much as an inch since day 1, the cultists were breaking the defenders.
"What's going on here?" another voice then joined the discussion, halting the escalating violence.
"Nothing, just venting some steam," someone mumbled.
"Well save some for the cultists. They've been way too quiet as of late, and I don't trust-" any further words were put on hold as he sagged against the doorframe with a drawn-out yawn.
"Don't look too good there, Todd."
"You're not exactly the picture of perfect health either." There was no real heat in Todd's rebuttal though, just tired resignation. "I've barely been able to sleep as of late, just keep having worse and worse nightmares."
Someone groaned. "Fuck, is this some mental epidemic, or is this was military life does to you? 'Cause nearly everyone I know have the same problem."
Another made to speak, only to break off with a tired yawn as she all but slumped over in her seat.
"See what I mean?" exaggerated gestures towards the barely awake woman followed.
"Nothing to do about it but try and tough it out then," Todd murmured as he all but collapsed to the floor. "So, anyone got any coffee?"
He was met with a chorus of disgruntled groans.
"That bad, huh?"
"You don't know the half of it."
That was when they heard a whistle being frantically blown, followed by the telltale noise of gunfire. For a brief second, everyone froze solid, as if time itself had stopped for them.
"TO YOUR POSTS!" and then that second passed and everyone was all but scrambling over each other, grabbing guns and ammunition before stumbling out of the building and making a beeline towards the forward barricades. Others had already beaten them there, all of them as haggard and bedraggled as Todd and his compatriot. Some stumbling over their own feet from obvious lack of sleep.
"Wonderful fucking time for them to attack!" a sentiment Todd most certainly felt as he climbed into the machine gun nest with his designated loader.
"Think you can load fast enough?" he found himself asking when he noticed the very dark circles under the loader's eyes.
"Think you can shoot fast enough?" the loader sniped back, which had Todd letting out the quickest of chuckles. A chuckle that choked and died in his throat when the enemy came rushing towards them.
"What the fuck are those?!" was the most eloquent of question he could ask as what he could only best describe as a grey hairless gorilla with tusks and the size of a fucking elephant was lumbering down the street.
"Kill it! Kill it!" the panicked shout went out, and the entire line opened up on the thing. But that only seemed to anger it as rifle caliber bullets bounced off its hide. With a roar that Todd felt all the way to his bones, the thing began charging forward, heedless of the various chunks of flesh being stripped away with each salvo.
"The face! Aim for the face!" the frantic call had the more experienced instantly shifting aim to pepper the beast's face. One lucky shot popped an eye, but the rest only left thin flesh wounds scattered across its cheeks and brow. None of them did anything to slow it down. The thing gave a final roar before it plowed into the barricades, and then straight through them.
Debris and broken bodies were flung aside like toys, and the survivors were sent scattering in every which direction, desperate to avoid getting trampled underneath the behemoth's feet. A whooshing noise signaled an RPG team getting off a shot, followed by a mighty boom as the rocket blew an arm off at the elbow.
That finally brought the thing to a stop, as it stumbled and fell with a great bellow. But it was far from dead, as a pair of foolhardy bastards with grenades learned the hard way when they got too close and were swatted aside like mosquitoes by a single swipe of its remaining arm.
"Kill it! Kill it quickly! We can't let the breach stand!" an officer frantically shouted, but it was already too late. So occupied by the rampaging beast, no one saw the smaller ones until they were literally climbing over the rubble and clawing at their backs. Smaller and more nimble than the lumbering beast, with the appearance of what the offspring of a lizard and a monkey might look like, they leaped at the defenders with hisses and snarls, using teeth and claws to rip men apart piece by piece.
Machine gun and semi-auto fire answered in return, felling the fiends by the dozen as bodies shredded by bullets tumbled off whatever was left of the barricades. But the gates were breached, the monsters were already in their midst. For each beast they gunned down, another brave defender was dragged screaming to his messy death.
"For Chaos!" and now the cultists surged forward as well, safe from return fire as they crossed the blood-soaked streets of No Man's Land with impunity. In the face of such overwhelming force, the call went up.
"Fall back! Fall back!" It was meant to signal an orderly withdrawal back to a second line of defense, to simply trade a few meters of ground to preserve manpower. But the largely militia forces, exhausted and terrified, had already started running in small groups before the call went up. Now that retreat had been sounded, that gradual escape became a stampede, many even throwing their weapons aside in favor of just running.
That was when the cultists climbed over the barricades, and the slaughter began in earnest. Less than ten minutes later, the second line had been overrun. And five minutes later, the third line. And this one breach spread like a crack in a dam, growing ever wider as more and more monsters and cultists poured in. Soon, the floodgates were well and truly open.
The front had fallen, the enemy were through.
Krieg had been in bed when the alarm was raised. Doctors and nurses alike rushed past his room in a panic, babbling back and forth like frightened children. No clear picture was available, but the gist of it was clear enough.
The entire frontline had all but collapsed.
With but a mere annoyed grunt, Krieg swallowed a handful of painkillers, tossed the bed sheets aside, ignored the various wounds that screamed at him to lie still, and began donning his gear. This is what happens when I am indisposed for too long.
"Figured you'd be up and about," drawled his caretaker/captor as she sauntered inside.
"Do not attempt to stop me," he warned whilst strapping his belt on, and then barely managing to catch the helmet chucked at his head. His disgruntled look was thoroughly ignored.
"Wasn't planning to. Now c'mon, fighting's getting worse, and I don't wanna miss it." Then Ravager was gone just as quickly as she had come. Seconds later, Krieg was following after her in full gear again. Some doctors tried to bar his path, muttering about needing to rest his head. They quickly changed their tune from just one look, even though they could not see it from behind his helmet and gasmask.
Outside, it was chaos. Men and women in a desperate rush to wherever they needed to be, all while vehicle drivers swerved back and forth to avoid running over the many people running across the place. Krieg gave an annoyed grunt at the sight, and began marching towards the closest vehicle he could see, Ravager following close behind.
"I trust that Deathstroke is already engaging in combat," he remarked, making no attempt to step around the panicking personnel. And as if repelled by his mere presence, everyone hastily evacuated his path without a moment's hesitation. Many saluted him as he passed, some even looked downright relieved to see him back in uniform again.
"Of course he is. They don't call him 'the Terminator' for nothing. When he's got a job to do, especially involving killing people, nothing else matter." Was that bitterness he heard in Ravager's tone? Irrelevant, as long as she could still fight in the field.
"And the team?" he asked instead, to which she shrugged.
"Haven't heard from them, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're already at the front," she answered, and he had to agree with her. He had plenty of things to say about his old team, few of them flattering, but their willingness to throw themselves in harm's way was one thing he could not find fault for.
"Then we need not waste time here. Steele and the others can arrange the reserves, we will be in the thick of the fighting." There was a lack of cars and trucks that were not already fully packed with panicking soldiers, but he spotted a handful of motorcycles lying discarded in a ditch. Good enough for me.
"That eager to get your head bashed in again?" Ravager teased as the both of them climbed into the ditch and dragged out a motorcycle each.
"In the eternal war against chaos, no life is too valuable to not be spent to achieve victory." A good kick and the engine roared to life again. "That includes mine as well."
Ravager raised an eyebrow at him as she mimicked his action. "Victory in an eternal war? How exactly does that go together?"
"It does not, and yet we fight on regardless. Because the other option is to lie down and die." Giving it an experimental revving or two, Krieg then raced off towards the front.
"My lord, my most humble of apologies for interrupting you at this hour," Azkillon began as he gave a deep bow before his master.
"Speak then, and make it quick," Markoth growled with only a sideway glance filled with contempt cast in Azkillon's general direction. A sign of displeasure, or worry that I'm growing too powerful?
"I have cast my gaze deep into the magical currents of this reality, and I have discerned a rising threat to your great endeavour," he continued, head still lowered in supplication. That was enough to make Markoth turn his full attention towards him, the floor vibrating with each step taken with his Terminator armor.
"What vermin seeks to challenge my power this time then?" he sneered, sharpened teeth gleaming in the light.
"The entities that refer to themselves as Olympian Gods are mobilizing against you. Already the Amazons are being roused from their millennia of inactivity and preparing for war." Azkillon's words were met with a derisive snort from Markoth, who began turning away again.
"A mob of deluded Xeno sorcerers and an army of antiquated wenches, and you call this a threat to me? Were it not such a funny jest, I would have struck you down for that insult. Now leave me be and cease troubling me with these petty matters."
Behind his helmet, Azkillon smiled. "As my lord commands. With your blessing, I shall then deal with this insignificant threat myself, to ensure it never bothers you again."
Faster than what you would think possible in such a cumbersome suit of armor, Markoth whirled about with fire in his eyes.
"No! You will not be dealing with this pest control! Your forces have proven less than adequate at crushing that mewling upstart in Los Angeles, and I will not have you making a mess out of this as well!" the warlord's bellow was of such force that Azkillon could feel it shake him to the bones.
Azkillon was quickly down on one knee, head lowered deeply. "A thousand apologies, my lord, I simply wished to offer my aid in dealing with a small pest, a task surely beneath your magnificent stature."
Markoth's growl was more akin to a beast than a man. "Cease with your groveling, sorcerer. It bores me already."
"As you command, my liege." Slowly, he began raising his head again. "Might I ask then who should be dealing with small matter? Circe is ready to bring our forces through the paltry defenses shielding Themyscira from mortal eyes, but she alone cannot best the Amazons."
"Then what good is that pathetic excuse for a sorceress?" Markoth did not even wait for an answer before turning his back to Azkillon yet again. "Tell Saareban that I've found something for him to distract himself with for the moment."
"My lord," Azkillon began, hesitating for a short moment before pushing on. "The Champions of the Blood God take a rather dim view on anything they deem as sorcery. Putting one in close proximity to a sorcerous pawn of ours could lead to… quarrelsome complications."
Markoth turned the bare minimum sideways, just enough for a single eye to glare at Azkillon with visible disdain. "That is your problem, not mine. Now leave me be."
"As my lord commands." With a final deep bow, Azkillon began backing out of the hall, head still lowered in subservience. A pointless gesture as Markoth was no longer even glancing at him. Once outside the doors again, Azkillon called upon the powers of the Warp, tearing a bleeding hole in reality itself and stepping through. And like that, he was back on Earth again.
"So how did it go?" Circe asked from where she lounged amidst the comforts of ancient Greek furniture, animals and enthralled sycophants surrounding her on all side on their hands and knees like pets.
"It went perfectly," Azkillon answered, satisfaction oozing out of every word. "It's amazing what you can make people do just by stoking their paranoia."
A dangerous paranoia, to be sure, but predictable. And if something could be predicted, it could be exploited.
"So the attack will go ahead then?" here Circe leaned forward, an almost child-like excitement shining in her eyes.
"Indeed, Markoth has deemed Themyscira worthy of annihilation." And those words had Circe squealing like a little girl on her birthday.
"Finally! I've dreamt of this for over two millennia!" Azkillon could certainly believe those words, given how she was all but vibrating in excitement.
"Indeed, but do not let your feelings cloud your judgment. This is more than just a simple extermination," he warned, to which Circe merely waved a dismissive.
"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll make sure that Markoth's chosen pawn meets an untimely demise in the heat of battle." Then she paused and cocked her head to the side in an inquisitive gesture. "Speaking of, who's the unfortunate fellow?"
"Saareban." With his helmet fully in place, Azkillon felt no need to hide his grin from the way Circe's face scrunched up in distaste from just that one name.
"That savage brute? Oh, I will enjoy putting him in his place," she sneered, magical energy crackling around her in agitation.
"Do as you wish, just make sure that he does not return alive."
Now Circe was smirking again, cruel satisfaction all but oozing out of her. "Oh, I can assure you. When I'm done, none of them will be alive to bother our continued rise to power."
"Good, then I shall leave you to make whatever preparations you need for this endeavour. May the Gods smile upon us." Then Azkillon gave a small bow and summoned a portal back to his own private chambers.
Once safely within its wall and hidden by all the myriad of glyphs and wards woven into every available surface, Azkillon could no longer contain himself and burst out into mad laughter with such force that the very walls seemed to shake.
"Blind pawns, the lot of them!" he gasped out before breaking down into further laughter. Everything was unraveling beautifully before his eyes. Markoth letting his paranoia drive his decisions, the lower servants now all but at each other's throats, rivalling champions about to be tossed into the meatgrinder. All while Azkillon himself sat comfortably in safety.
And now Circe had been kind enough to ensure that two potential rivals would go out together in a blaze of glory. Because she was still Olympian, and her fellow kin would not be blind to her probing of Themyscira's defenses to bring an army to its shores. A transgression they were sure to not look favorably upon. Still, best to give it that extra nudge, to make sure those lazy Olympians actually get off their precious mountain to deal with my problems.
"OUR rise to power? Apologies, my dear Circe, but there is no our or we in service to Chaos. There is only me and rivals," He mused out loud as he began weaving another spell, one aimed straight at Themyscira.
"And never suffer a rival."
If Diana was to try and explain her relationship with her mother, she would call it tumultuous. Hippolyta had never fully approved of her spending so much time in Man's World, and she was not shy about voicing her opinion on the matter.
It had led to more than one argument between them, and quite a few long periods of time where they even refused to speak with one another. But despite all of that, Diana still dearly loved her mother.
"The answer is no."
Still did not change the fact that she wanted to punch her in the face right about now.
"But mother-"
"Enough. My decision is final, the amazons will have no part to play in this war."
The culmination of days spent arguing, and this was the result. Diana felt sorely tempted to shatter something to vent her anger.
"I must ask you to reconsider. This is far too important to be ignored," she tried again, but Hippolyta was like carved from stone.
"You have pledged yourself to the defense of Man's World. And though I do not approve of it, I have not attempted to stop you. However, I will not allow our sisters to throw their lives away just to solve another one of Man's many disasters."
And therein lied the crux of this whole problem, a crux that had Diana restraining the urge to gnash her teeth together. No matter how great the threat was, Hippolyta still refused to see it as anything but another one of Man's wars, something which did not concern the denizens of Themyscira in the slightest.
"Do you think it will simply stop at Man's World? I've seen the enemy with my own eyes, I know what they are capable of. They will not stop until the whole world burns." Diana made one last attempt at reason, even though she suspected it would be for naught.
"You should listen to your daughter more, Hippolyta. She sees more of the world now than you ever did," a third voice interjected, a male voice dripping with scorn. And when every pair of eyes present swiveled to where the voice came from, well over a dozen weapons were drawn while the royal guard rushed forward to form a phalanx in front of their queen.
"Ares," Wonder Woman snarled, already crouched into a fighting stance. The Olympian God, bedecked in his black and red armor, merely chuckled as well over a dozen amazons surrounded him on all sides.
"I see that the vaunted Amazonian hospitality is still the same as it has always been."
"Hospitality are for those welcome to our shores. You've never earned yourself that privilege," Hippolyta spat at him, sword drawn as she took a threatening step forward. But Ares raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Peace, Hippolyta. Despite what our shared history would suggest, I am not here for a fight." His words did little to slow Hippolyta, now with Diana at her side.
"A shame then that a fight is exactly what you have found by soiling my home with your presence," she spat at him, hatred burning in her eyes. But if anything, this display only seemed to annoy the God of War.
"Oh spare me your temper tantrums, woman! We do not have time for your wounded pride, not if we want to save your wretched island!" he fired back at her, something which was enough bring everyone to a sudden stop.
"What?" no one saw who said it first, but they all stood behind that one word.
"These Chaos interlopers have apparently grown bored with just playing in Man's World, and are now coming here as well in full force," Ares began to explain, but that only drew a scoff out of the haughty queen.
"Spare me your poor attempts at jests. The Gods protect this island, no outsider can even find us, let alone peer through our defenses," she proclaimed, already brandishing her sword again. Ares merely smirked at her.
"On the contrary, that's exactly what they can do, as long as they have help from a scorned Olympian with a score to settle." Then his gaze travelled freely between both Hippolyta and Diana. "After all, you've both done your fair share to thwart her schemes in the past."
Diana was the first one to put the pieces together with furrowed brows and clenched fists.
"Circe," she spat the name like it was the vilest of curses, and even queen Hippolyta looked like she had sucked on a raw lemon.
"So the disgraced Goddess have found herself new pawns to play with then, and she brings them to our shores." There was still scorn in her eyes when she looked upon Ares, but she lowered her blade. "But surely you did not come here merely as an errand boy."
Ares' smirk was the epitome of audacious. "Of course not, I am here to render aid for the coming battle."
Silence followed his proclamation, with many a look of pure disbelief being shared among the Amazons. Hippolyta herself was gaping like a fish, a fact that greatly amused Ares based on his sudden outburst of deep belly laugh.
"Hah! If I had known how much of a fool you look like when so shocked, I would have tried my hand at a jester more times!" he laughed, which shook the gathered Amazons out of their stupor. And earned him a flying tackle from Diana that left him pinned against the wall.
"Enough of your jests and trickeries! We have no patience for either here!" she snarled in his face, and yet Ares made no move to resist her and just gave her a smug grin.
"While I will admit to taking great amusement from your comical reactions, I am neither jesting nor tricking you. I truly am here to help you fight the interlopers," he assured her. It only made her forearm pressed against his throat add just a bit more pressure.
"Why? You hate us just as much as Circe, if not even more. Why would you choose us over her?" she questioned. And for the first time, Ares' jovial attitude melted away as something much darker entered his eyes.
"You misunderstand me, Amazon. I care not for what happens to you or your people. In fact, were you all to perish in the coming battle, I would call it a good day," he sneered at them all. "No, I am here because I want these outsiders and interlopers crushed and dusted away for good."
"Why?" Diana found herself asking as her grip slackened. It brought out a bitter laugh from Ares.
"Why, you ask? Because I am the God of War, and yet not a single drop of blood currently being shed goes to me! These outsiders are taking what is mine, stealing a domain which has belonged to me since the time immemorial! And that is something I will not abide by!" he roared, the rage in his voice shaking the very walls.
Hippolyta then stepped forward. "But why come to us, your mortal enemies? Why not stand with Zeus and the others?"
Ares sneered in disgust. "Father remains blinded by his arrogance. He looks upon this invasion, and sees only leeches that he can crush at his leisure." Then came another bitter laugh. "That doddering old fool doesn't realize that he's letting the worms gorge themselves on a feast and grow into fearsome dragons before he deems it worthy of him to act."
His gaze fell upon Diana, who still held him pinned to the wall. "You came here to ask for Olympus' help. Sadly, until my senile old goat of a father sees sense, you are looking upon the only help you are going to receive. And though I would love nothing more than to see your head mounted on my wall, you are the only ones I can turn to in his hour."
Silence followed his declaration, with many Amazons sharing dubious looks among each other. Diana and Hippolyta were no different.
"And how would we be sure that you will simply not slip a knife into our backs the moment we gave you the opening?" Hippolyta demanded.
"Apart from it depriving me of the joy of looking into your eyes as I squeeze the life out of you with my own two hands?" he jeered. "Don't trust my honor or good intentions, trust my distaste of sharing power with an outsider."
If anything further was meant to be said, it was quickly forgotten by a distant rumbling, follow soon after by the sky itself turning alarmingly red. Panicked shouts erupted all across the city, and even the royal guards were casting nervous looks between the sky and their queen.
"It would seem you are out of time, for the enemy will soon be here." Ares was all smiles and teeth as he said this. "So what will it be? Shall we fight the enemy together or have a final showdown here and now before they come?"
For a brief moment, Hippolyta looked very tempted to take the latter option, and Diana would not have faulted her for it.
"Let him go." Three simple words that the queen somehow made to sound like the vilest of curses. Even Diana obeyed the order only reluctantly, taking only five steps back and glaring daggers at the god every step of the way.
"Please, give me a reason," she almost begged of him, still ready to tear his head off at even the faintest twitch. Ares merely laughed.
"Not today, princess. Not today." With his piece said, Ares strode right past her with what had to have been exaggerated swagger. Not to be left following behind like an underling, Diana flew to catch up with him, and the two of them marched side by side to battle.
If Anarky was to be honest, he really hated Gotham. Strange thing to say for a villain that operated all but exclusively in said city, but it was the truth. The people, the atmosphere, the competition, the fucking Batman, he hated it all. Which was why he took such childish glee from watching the city burn.
Now if only all the pesky annoyances bogging his troops down would just roll over and die so he could put Gotham to the torch one final time, he would be a happy man.
"Keep up the pressure on the GCPD, don't give the any room to maneuver and strike back at us. Redirect our reserves towards the Penguin's men, they're just hired guns and will fold if squeezed hard enough. And could someone please get me an update on the Bat's location?!"
On and on he barked orders at those around him from within what had quickly become his mobile headquarter: a school bus with its seats ripped out and crammed full with all the gadgets needed to wage a modern war.
"Get me a sitrep on our air support. They told me that at least 20 helicopters were combat ready, and I want to know where they are!"
At his side, the boy Lonnie stood and listened with rapt attention, sometime scurrying off for a few seconds to make sure his orders were followed through. Smart, quick-thinking, useful, and with a burning hatred of the established order that rivalled his own. Oh yes, Anarky would most definitively keep that one around for a bit longer. Good help was so hard to come by these days.
"Withdraw our forces from the docks, that place is useless to us. Focus our efforts on downtown. We rip out the heart, and the rest will be of little value."
All in all, despite unexpected setbacks due to irritatingly uncooperative villains and stubborn citizens, this campaign was going quite well. Surely no further tricks were available for the enemy to try on him at this stage.
"Boss, we've got an army marching into Gotham!"
… I stand corrected.
"Who is it? One of ours?" Should not be, Azkillon had already sent all the reinforcements he could spare, the rest being diverted towards Los Angeles or Metropolis. Realistically, there should only be enemies around in these parts for Anarky to worry about.
Hands were resolutely clasped together behind his back to hide the tremors and he was quite certain his face had gone as white as his costume. Thank Gods for masks. Wouldn't do to show such weakness to the men.
"Still waiting for confirmation, boss!" then there was silence as the radio operator worked furiously to create a clearer picture. All the while, Anarky was left to stew in his ever mounting concerns.
"Should we not act?" Lonnie asked, no trace of fear on the youth's face. Better at hiding it than me, or just that ignorant of the danger?
"Not until we have a clearer picture about what's going on," he answered, back straight and gaze firmly fixed straight ahead. While on the inside, fear and anxiety was beginning to eat away at his soul as one horrible scenario after the other played out in his mind.
"Got confirmation, boss. It's the Joker and his forces." And then all those scenarios vanished in place of a single word.
"What?"
"Our rear units are currently having a stand-off with the newcomers, and they're all saying it's the Joker rolling in with his usual show and dance."
"… What?" that one word bore to be repeated, because Joker was most certainly not where he was supposed to be. Fear then quickly gave way to frustration as a hand was brought up to massage his brow. What's that insane clown up to now?
"Driver, bring us to the Joker's location, and tell our frontline forces to temporarily halt their advance while we sort this mess out." And what a fucking mess. Joker was supposed to help take Los Angeles, not give Anarky and his subordinates a heart attack by showing up unannounced with an entire army. Then again, what else would you expect from that lunatic?
"You expect trouble, master?" Lonnie asked, the first signs of anxiety peeking through his previous bravado. Anarky scoffed.
"This is the Joker, trouble always follow him no matter where he turns up. The question should be whose trouble he'll be."
Adding that lunatic to the cause had been a mistake as far as Anarky was concerned, one he had always opposed. After all, there was a reason why most Gotham veterans were very sketchy about any partnerships with this particular lunatic. But Azkillon wanted the clown, and Azkillon's word was law. Well, hopefully, this stunt will convince more people that it would be better if the Joker just disappeared and never turned up again.
Thoughts like that kept him in relatively good spirits when they reached the city limits and Anarky stepped out of his transport to find what could only be described as a stand-off. On one side, Anarky's disciples and sycophants, nervously fingering their assortment of weapons as they waited for orders.
And on the other side, a literal circus of killers and psychos dressed up as deranged clowns, each and every last one of them all but oozing bloodlust. And at their head…
"Joker," Anarky began through clenched teeth. "I do hope you have a reasonable excuse why you've disregarded the plan so blatantly."
The madman's grin was downright sickening to him. "Well, you see, there's been a slight change in plans."
Anarky all but stormed up to the Joker. "There has been no changes to the plan, or I would have been informed already."
"Oh, but there has been a change in plans. For you see…" and then Joker met him halfway with an arm slung over Anarky's shoulder. Too late did he realize that said arm stopped him from pulling back.
"There is no plan anymore!" Then the Joker's free hand was squeezing a fake flower on his suit that Anarky was quite sure he had not possessed when last time they met. Though that only occupied his head for the few seconds it took for the acid sprayed out of the flower to eat its way through said head.
"MASTER!" Lonnie cried out, barely heard over Anarky's own screams, which only lasted for few heartbeats before he slumped over with smoke rising from the stump where his neck used to reside.
"Oooh, what a screamer he was!" Joker cackled as he tossed aside Anarky's now headless corpse. But his words were barely heard over the slaughter being enacted around him. Those loyal to Anarky had come expecting to threaten and posture, not actually fight. Joker's menagerie of lunatics came here with murder in mind.
It gave them a few precious seconds to act before their startled opponents, which was all they needed, and now the butcher's work had commenced as the clowns hacked and slashed away.
"Remember, no guns!" Joker hollered to be heard over the screaming and the chainsaws. "Don't make it too quick! Savor all the little emotions for as long as you can!"
"You traitor! You backstabbing traitor!" Lonnie was screaming, even as he was frantically fleeing from the slaughter with what few of his followers that still stood.
"Pot, kettle. Have we met?" Joker giggled as he began strolling onwards, humming a tune to himself as his army surged past him and into the city. Let the slaughter commence.
"And stay down this time," Sportsmaster spat at the whimpering cultist lying on the ground. Would have preferred to just wring the little shit's neck and be done with it, but he could feel the Bat's gaze all but burning into his back, so he just settled for an extra kick to the kidneys before walking away. Pick and choose your battles here. The Bat can be dealt with later.
"So that's another group of these posers pounded into the dirt. Now what?" But even then, he could not quite keep the irritation out of his tone. Hey, he was a criminal and a merc, playing with kiddie gloves like this was not part of his usual repertoire.
"We move on," Batman answered before striding away with an overly dramatic flair of his cape. At least Sportsmaster assumed it was done for drama, 'cause ain't no way capes just flowed like that naturally on their own.
"Fat load of good this is doing us. We beat down a bunch of posers, only to find another batch five minutes later and repeat that shit all over again. Shit would be so much easier if we'd just-"
"We are not killing anyone." This rebuke was as predictable as it was becoming repetitive.
"Fuck, man, you're starting to sound like a broken record at this point. You actually got anything better to say?" Sportsmaster mocked with a lazy grin behind his mask. Batman merely gave him his trademark glare from behind his cowl.
"And that glare is getting really fucking old as well." As was becoming akin to tradition, Batman did not respond to any of Sportsmaster's taunts, and simply turned and walked away.
"Tch, spoilsport," Sportsmaster muttered as he followed after him. "But do you actually have a plan here, or are we just winging it as we keep going?"
"We endure, and hold the line," Batman answered. It made Sportsmaster let loose a sudden bark of laughter.
"What? Sit here and take the blows like good little boys? Fuck that, let's just hit them hard where it'll hurt the most."
"And where exactly would that be?" That question brought Sportsmaster up short as he stared at Batman's back, who seemed happy to continue.
"You must have noticed by now that the enemy cares not for things that any other criminal group would value, nor do they care about each other enough to be unbalanced by sudden losses. Take out the local leaders, and others will step up to fill the void." A decent explanation for a hero, but not one for a merc. Which Sportsmaster let the Bat know with an exaggerated snort.
"So? You ever seen dogs tearing into each other to be the Alpha. Let the fuckers eat each other alive, and then we sweep up the rest." He did not expect his argument to win. It never did.
"And Gotham would be swallowed by the mad scramble for who would be at the top." And there it was, the dismissal.
Sportsmaster merely shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself then. More punks for me to knock the teeth out of."
More chances to make the bastards scream in pain. More chances to make them suffer. More chances to avenge-
Sportsmaster slapped his mask before those thoughts went any further, then wiggled his cybernetic hand at Batman when he turned to look.
"Thing was acting up, wanted to make sure it was still working." Then he slowly flexed his fingers, a contemplative look behind his hockey mask. "Vicious little brat you've got on a leash, to be honest. And if half the things I've heard as of late is true, seems like he's well and truly slipped the leash."
"You haven't even asked about her," Batman suddenly remarked. Sportsmaster for his part raised a surprised eyebrow at him.
"Who?"
"Artemis."
Sportsmaster could not help it as he gave a light chuckle. "Should have figured you'd know the truth."
Batman said nothing, and just continued to stare at him.
"What's there to ask about?" he asked with a shrug. "She's a big girl, she made her choice, and now she gets to pretend to be different for a few more months."
Even hidden behind his mask, Sportsmaster could tell that Batman arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that what you think it is? Pretending?"
He scoffed. "She's one of ours, not yours. Never was, never will be. She'll come around eventually. We all do."
"Your wife didn't." And that one question would have made a lesser man reel. Sportsmaster refused to even budge even as he felt the rage return to him.
"Didn't do her much good in the end." He had not meant to say that, having let his emotions get the better of him there. The Bat only needed a second or two to put the pieces together.
"I'm sorry," he said, head slightly lowered in, what? Mourning? Pity? Sportsmaster scoffed either way.
"Save your words for someone who cares. She made her choice, and she paid for it. Ain't no skin off my back."
"Then why are you still here?" Batman asked, and Sportsmaster resolutely refused to answer that question. Luckily, he did not need to, as an ample distraction appeared on the horizon in the form of renewed gunfire and explosions.
"Damn, and here I thought we'd knocked the wind out of their sails for at least a few more days. Whaddya think it's this time? Bastards finally decided to throw in more of their heavy hitters?" Sportsmaster asked, mostly in jest. But Batman was already listening intently to someone on his comm, and what little he could see of the Bat's facial expression told him that this was no laughing matter.
"Worse."
"A fine mess that everything has spiraled into, wouldn't you say?" Talia remarked from where she was seated at a round table, fingers woven together under her chin as she leaned forward.
"Indeed," Vandal could not help but agree from where he sat opposite her, his focus being on the myriad of maps and reports spread out between them. "So do we have confirmation on how many assets are still under our control?"
Talia's sneer said it all. "Less than a third, the rest have either turned traitor, gone to ground or simply been destroyed in the initial onslaught."
Vandal nodded. "As was expected, even though I held out hope for better." A pause as he picked up a list of names. "And I see that the Justice League have been hit just as bad as us."
"Those are only members not spotted in combat. We have no confirmation on whether they're alive or dead," Talia argued, but Vandal waved a dismissive hand.
"With the state of the world as it is, and with the kind of enemy we're facing? They're either dead or incapacitated for the foreseeable future. Either way, they cannot be counted upon." And what a shame that was. Hawkwoman would not be missed except for her mace's ability to deal with supernatural power, but Captain Atom and Captain Marvel would have been useful frontline fighters.
Talia shrugged her shoulders. "Fair enough, I suppose. And it leaves us with precious few resources to rely on."
A fact that Vandal deeply lamented. The enemy had proven too entrenched, and too insidious, and now the whole world had been gutted in only a few weeks of fighting. Not even the armies of Atlantis had proven enough to turn the tide decisively in their favor.
At least, not with their king trapped in Miami and the Atlantean army doing the equivalent of banging their heads against a wall trying to get him back. Though that last bit might have something to do with weird and contradictory orders seemingly flooding their command structure. Really, Ocean Master? Is it that hard for you to put your petty grudge aside for just a moment? Surely you could have made some scheme after the enemy was defeated.
"Hit and run tactics it is for us then. We'll bleed the enemy through a thousand cuts while they're busy crushing the rest of the world."
Talia nodded in agreement. "I suspected as much, and lady Shiva has already provided us with ample targets to strike at."
Indeed she had. Whatever these weird rituals that the cultists performed at every major scene of slaughter were supposed to do, it clearly was of great value. And things of great value were always preferred targets.
"That just leaves the question of secrecy. It would be shame to expose the Light this early," Talia continued, but Vandal just shook his head.
"Forget secrecy and anonymity. Humanity itself is at stake here, this is not the time for half-measures and shadowy deals. We strike back with all we have, a damn the consequences." It deeply irked him to make such blatant moves, going against centuries of preparations done in the shadows. In the end, that old grouch Moltke was right. No plan survives contact with the enemy.
Talia's brows furrowed. "Such a wide and coordinated deployment of villains and mercenaries will not go unnoticed once the dust settles. My Beloved will see the connections, and he will be onto us."
It took a great amount of effort on Vandal's part to not react to Talia's choice of words. What was it with the al Ghuls and their obsession with Batman anyway? Still, she spoke the truth. This would tip off the Batman of their existence, something he had worked so hard to avoid. And there went all the effort and resources we poured into the Injustice League.
"Little that can be done about that now. It's all or nothing, and there will be no second try if we fail here." How loath he was to say those words out loud, to toss away decades of work done in the shadows. But sometimes, sacrifices were necessary.
"I suppose you're right there, then we should-" that was as far as Talia got before a servant came rushing in, barely slowing down enough to kneel before his masters.
"We've been found out! A great host marches on our gates!" the servant cried out in between frantic gulps of air. Talia merely sighed.
"I suppose this was inevitable," she lamented whilst rubbing her brow.
Savage could only nod. "My daughter always was a tenacious one. Anonymity has kept us safe for quite some time, but she always had a knack for finding things she had no business meddling with."
Talia arched an eyebrow. "So certain are you that this is your daughter's doing."
"I am here, am I not? Where else would my vengeful daughter go?" The briefest upward curve of his lips was visible. "Never let a slight go unanswered, no matter how many years you must wait. Just like I taught her."
"You can reminiscence about your wayward daughter's habits later. Right now we have a battle to prepare for." Talia's sigh did not bode well. "One I worry we are not ready for."
"Have you so little confidence in your disciples' abilities?"
"The best and brightest died at my father's side, now we're rallying the dregs and expendables."
"Then the dregs and expendables will get a chance to prove their worth." Vandal did not wait for a reply, and instead rose from his seat and made for the door "Come then, no more words and planning, now we let iron and blood decide our future."
I'm a coward. I was never as brave as the heroes, and I never will. That was the thought firmly hammering in young Lisa's head as she ran for her life down the street. Barely twenty with skinny arms and a freckled face almost hidden behind her round glasses, she was the last person expected to grab a gun and hold the line.
But Krieg cared not whether you could fight or not, and to be honest, neither did the enemy. So a gun was placed in her hand and then she had been dumped into a makeshift trench with the order "hold the line".
Fat load of good that did when the monsters came.
Weird mixtures of lizard and monkey that tore right through their lines, right before the cultists came charging in with guns and explosives. Even on the best of days they would have struggled to contain the threat, and this was not one of the best of days. Two-thirds of them barely awake due to constant nightmares, the rest already scared shitless.
So when the first man decided to abandon his post and flee for his life, Lisa did not hesitate to follow. Now she was part of a mad stampede fleeing with all haste towards Hollywood Hill. Behind her, she could hear the monsters and the cultists chasing after them, laughing with glee whenever they caught someone too slow.
I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die. It was like a mantra in her head as she kept running, even as her legs burned with the strain and her eyesight was all but gone from all the tears. Just yesterday she had been scolded for crying so much, now everyone was too busy running for their lives to care about her tears.
But those tears made her blind to some of the rubble littering the road, a fact which she only became aware of when her foot got snagged on said rubble and she was sent sprawling with a startled yelp, her gun slipping from her grip and sent clattering on the road ahead of her. Still running on instincts, she tried to scramble back up and kept running, but someone tackled her aside and she ended up flat on her face again.
Again she tried to stand up and again someone shoved her aside in their haste to flee, and then someone ran over her back before she could even try a third time. It left her sprawled out on the pavement smeared with dirt and soot, her back feeling like it got mauled as she tried to just crawl away like a mewling infant. I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die.
Then there was a boot kicking her in the side with enough force to flip her onto her back, leaving her gasping for breath and clutching her brutalized stomach. Above her, a cultist was leering down at her with a machete in hand.
"Sorry, darling. I'd love to play a bit longer, but we're on a very tight schedule here and the bosses would be quite pissy if I wasted too long frolicking about." Then the machete was raised high for an executioner's strike, and she in turn raised her hands in a feeble gesture of protection.
"Please, I don't wanna die," she begged, something which only made the cultist laugh even harder. Pathetic, really, now that she thought of it. Begging for mercy from people that had none to begin with. I'm a coward. I was never as brave as the heroes, and I never will.
But then the cultist paused, his gaze leaving her to stare in befuddlement down the street she had previously been running along. Through blurry vision, she could see that other cultists, and even a handful of defenders, had also halted and were looking in the same direction. And wait, was that a… motorcycle she was hearing? And it was getting closer. Slowly, she craned her neck upwards to see what was going on.
"What the-" which gave her the perfect angle to see a motorcyclist, racing against the current of the fleeing defenders, coming straight towards her. Then at the last minute, the rider leapt off the vehicle, letting it crash straight into the machete wielder above her and sending man and machine skidding along the street in broken heaps, crushing a handful of cultists too slow to evade and scattering the rest.
"Fuck! It's him!" someone cried out, right before the rider fell upon the cultists with fireaxe and pistol in hand. First blow split a skull while a trio of bullets at point-blank sent two other to the ground dead. A screaming cultist came in with a crowbar, and he continued screaming to the ground with a chopped off arm whilst the rider sidestepped another cultist.
Said cultist got his back severed via axe as his friends frantically backed off to get their guns up. Two fell over with bullet holes in their heads, and the third fired a burst just as a slap sent his aim completely off target and ending up gunning down a fellow cultist before a knife split his throat wide upon.
A brief lull in the fight ensued, and it gave Lisa enough time to finally get a good look at her savior. She had never once met any hero in person in person, only ever seen him briefly on TV. Still, the grey greatcoat and eerie gasmask with a white skull was unmistakable.
Krieg was back in the fight.
Then she found him looking straight at her, and she could have sworn that she felt her soul leave her body. And that feeling only amplified when he stormed over towards her, snatching up a gun along the way. Lisa was not sure what would be worse for her in that instant, staying where she was or trying to crawl away.
"Get up, soldier," he demanded as he loomed above her, right before a gloved hand closed around her shoulder hard enough to bruise and she was forcibly dragged back to her feet with a cry of pain. "You have not been given permission to die yet."
Lisa was given no time to even respond to that as the gun was shoved into her arms with such force that she stumbled back with the breath pushed out of her lungs. It took all her willpower not to drop the thing again, especially with how she was shaking like a leaf. Krieg gave the tiniest of nods.
"Good, still standing. Now follow me." Then he was striding away, yanking his axe out of its last victim with a wet squelch, and began advancing towards the cultists again.
"B-but there's t-too many!" she tried to protest, and only received a scoff.
"So what?" two words, and yet every single letter of those words seemed to almost drip with contempt. It was enough to make her take a step back.
"We'll die if we stay here!" she had no idea where she found the nerve to speak up, but she instantly regretted it when Krieg's full attention fell upon her again. Staring into those expressionless lenses on his mask felt like staring into the cold eyes of death itself.
"And why should that matter? We were born in order to die!" even when he turned his gaze away from her, she did not have the will to move and simply stared at his back as he slowly began walking towards the regrouping cultists. "Whoever is with me, follow me now into battle! Whoever is not, just stay wherever you are and watch me win it!"
Then he was off, charging straight at the oncoming cultists. He dodged behind a wrecked car as bullets started flying, rolled into an alleyway whilst four of his own bullets felled two cultists, hurled a grenade out of cover that scattered the rest, and then he was among them before the smoke had even dissipated.
First blow came low and took a leg off at the knee, second split a stomach open while a pistol shot blasted a cultist's brains out the back of the head. A club was sidestepped, then a swing from Krieg's axe reduced the club's owner to only a pair of stumps for arms. He fell over screaming before an executioner's swing made him a head shorter.
Gunfire from panicking cultists felled dozens of their own comrades, but Krieg used the axe as a hook to snare a cultist and drag her in front of him like a living shield. And when she fell over riddled with bullets, he had drawn a second pistol and unloaded both. Three cultists down before the rest scattered.
Krieg had already discarded his pistols, picked up the axe again, and charged forward. With a running leap atop a car, he came down with an overhead swing that split a skull and lodged the axe deep in the chest. Then a knife was in his hand, swiping left and slicing a throat wide open. The spray of blood blinded the next cultist long enough for an elbow to crush her windpipe and the knife to lodge itself through another's eye socket and into the brain.
More and more cultists streamed into the fight, yet Krieg was not slowing down for even a moment as he butchered them one after the other. Dozens of corpses were left in his wake as he steadily marched onward, and Lisa could only watch on in awe. The horde of cultists still seemed endless, yet her hands were no longer shaking. Tears were still running down her cheeks, yet she still managed to take a step forward.
That step then became two, which then became three, and the four, and then five. Suddenly, she was no longer walking, but running instead, desperately trying to catch up with Krieg who was still carving his way through the cultists. One of them blocked her path, his back turned as he was trying to aim at Krieg with shaking arms.
I'm insane, I'm absolutely fucking insane! I've got no chance of winning! And yet despite that thought, she lunged towards the cultist with a shrill scream akin to a banshee. Said cultist only had time to turn around with a befuddled look before Lisa's bayonet skewered him straight through the guts. Both went down screaming, but only Lisa got back up again, splattered with blood and without her weapon. It left her fumbling about for a replacement, only to have another cultist come rushing towards her.
"You fucking bitch!" he screeched at her, at which point his face was all but blown off. With a very much terrified squeal, Lisa spun around and found the cultist's executioner calmly reloading his double-barreled shotgun. She recognized him, he had been part of her battalion back at the barricades, one of those who had run away in fright. And yet now he was back. Nor was he alone.
But he was not looking at her, none of them were. All of these men and women, who mere seconds ago had been fleeing in terror, and now they were all back in the fray, all looking at something beyond Lisa. This time, she did not need to look, she already knew what it was they were all looking at.
"Forward!" she knew not who shouted it, nor did she really care. None of them did as they roared in anger and charged forward, their fears completely forgotten and their exhaustion seemingly gone. Just moments ago they had all been fleeing in terror, now they all charged back into the fray without hesitation, crashing headfirst into the bewildered cultists.
She saw old Ben fall over, missing a third of his head from a nasty shot. She saw the kid Jim get his chest caved in with a crowbar. She saw Miss Judy lose a whole arm to a maniac with a chainsaw. Yet she did not slow down one bit, none of them did. With bullets, rocks, knives, tire irons and whatever else they had at hand, they beat down any cultists that stood in their path and charged after Krieg.
I'm a coward. I was never as brave as the heroes, and I never will. But maybe I can be just brave enough to follow him.
"We have confirmation then?"
"Indeed. Krieg has joined the fray again."
The Shade could not contain his vicious smile. "Good, then let's end this farce of a siege at long last."
"I trust you haven't forgotten our bargain," Dubbilex warned, horns glowing red as he glared at the human. Shadows began circling around the Shade, many of them growing fangs and claws.
"I can assure you, I haven't forgotten. Just make sure you keep the Kryptonian bastard from interfering, or I will take action to deal with him." With his piece said, the Shade turned to the other one present. "Everything ready?"
Gentleman Ghost nodded. "The good Doctors have deployed and are ready to cause further mayhem once we engage the heroes."
"Then all is ready. Come then, its high time Krieg and his erstwhile allies meet their timely demise." Then the shadows swirling about him expanded, swallowing all those around him before dissipating again, leaving only ruins behind.
Far in the distance, a black bird could be seen flying toward Los Angeles with the speed of a jet fighter.
So two things before I wrap this chapter up:
1. You may be asking when Gentleman Ghost got to Los Angeles, since he wasn't mentioned last chapter when the baddies met up in said city. Well, he was supposed to have arrived alongside them, but I forgot about him entirely and didn't include him in the meeting. Just goes to show what happens when I try to juggle too many characters at once.
2. And yes, I will freely admit I drew heavy inspiration from the Assassin's Creed 3 Cinematic Trailer when I wrote Krieg's fight scene. What can I say, I'm a sucker for epic moments.
