His leg shot out and the edge of his foot connected solidly with her throat—except that she was no longer there. He spun around to see her lunging at him with incredible speed.

He melted back in the face of that charge, parrying wildly and twisting his body to avoid her blows. He took advantage of a brief pause in her attacks to launch his own offensive, and his foot lashed out in a series of kicks that would shatter her ribs, jaw, and skull.

She deflected each fierce blow with a single hand, her arm moving so fast that he could see little more than a blur of white fabric. Her fingers suddenly snapped closed around his ankle, freezing his kick in mid-air.

Then his vision exploded. Before he realized what had happened, there was a sharp pain in his stomach and he doubled over. She had hit him in such rapid succession that he had not even seen the blows coming. His legs were cut out from beneath him and he crashed heavily to the floor.

She loomed over him. His eyes widened as he recognized the curl of her fingers—the Leopard Blow, an instant death technique. He twisted his head aside just in time. A fraction of a second later her hand slammed through the tatami mat and into the ground below.

They stared at each other. Then she pulled her hand out of the splintered mat and casually tossed a clump of grass and dirt next to his head.

"You neglect your defense when attacking," she chided. "Your reflexes are good, but you aren't fast enough to do that. Very few are. Luckily," and here her voice grew amused, "your reaction time becomes positively superhuman when your life is on the line."

"Grandfather pays you to train me, not try to kill me," he snapped.

She laughed, an unfamiliar action that softened the harsh lines of her face. "Sometimes, little bat, it is the same thing."

Still smirking, she offered a hand to help him up. He took it grudgingly and brushed the dirt from his hair, then settled back into a crouch and waited for her next attack.

----------------------

Chapter 1

-

There are no nightmares during the day.

Bolstered by that thought, Ibn al Xu'ffasch, son of the Bat and grandson of Ra's al Ghul, gathered his courage and turned to address the men seated across from him.

They were in the deepest recesses of Khazakstan, secure in an underground bunker built without knowledge of the country's government, or indeed of any government in the world. The construction had been financed through several dummy corporations, and while the bunker could withstand the impact of a nuclear missile on the surface above, it was hidden from prying satellites by a complex lattice of camouflaged earthworks.

His voice was calm when he began speaking. "You are gathered here today because you have served my grandfather with great distinction. Serve me equally well, and your reward will be beyond imagination."

His gaze traveled across their faces and noted that there was no lack of brilliance in the room. Two of the men were biochemists renown and reviled for their work on the Clench, a deadly virus released in Gotham City some years ago. Another was an operative who had spent eleven years in a Pentagon think tank, part of a group so secret that it had no name, before being activated by the Demon's Head and absconding with the U.S. military's latest weapons designs. Yet another was a financial wizard who been had assigned sixty million of the Demon's money and turned it into four and a half billion dollars, thanks to an intimate knowledge of financial markets as well as the ability—and the will—to be as ruthless as it took to succeed.

The list went on. The specifics didn't matter; they were brilliant and they were his. He had spent days planning this speech, how to address them and how to win them. How to begin his work.

"The Demon's Head has decided to turn the operation of his empire over into my hands. But first he has given me a task. It is a challenge that has been put forth and attempted by many before us, but never successfully met."

He paused. They were studying him intently.

"Years ago," he said, "my father, the Batman, developed a series of protocols to disable the Justice League if they were to ever go rogue. As you know, the Demon obtained those plans and used them to temporarily neutralize the entire League. He failed, ultimately, because he underestimated the extent of their strength—both their individual powers and the strength of the bonds between them."

His finger touched a button on the computer console before him, and a plasma screen on the wall came to life.

"I will not make that same mistake."

A seemingly endless list of files scrolled across the screen. Familiar names leapt out at them: Superman. Wonder Woman. Green Lantern.

A murmur went through the room. "The Bat's protocols," someone muttered. Plans intended to neutralize every member of the Justice League and a majority of the superhero population, created by one of their own.

"Yes," he said. "They will be the keys to my kingdom."

The door cracked open and a woman slipped in. She wore plain clothing and her long black hair was coifed in an ponytail, but she exuded an aura of competence and danger that belied her casual look. His eyes flicked to her. She inclined her head at him, then strode to the table and sat down. The men gave her a wide berth and careful nods.

After all, one showed respect to Lady Shiva.

Ibn gestured to the screen behind him. "I have taken these files and begun developing a new set of protocols, without their old limitations. The Batman's measures were non-lethal and temporary; mine are not. It will be a difficult task, but the League can be neutralized. And when they are out of the way, we will strike. We will play our hand and we will succeed. The might of Ra's al Ghul will extend across the globe. But to this end I will need your knowledge, your abilities, and your expertise. I asked for the best of the Demon's empire, then selected the finest from that list and chose them to sit before me. You are here now, and my plans will be put into motion once you promise me your loyalty."

He could see them mulling over his words. One by one they nodded at him. One by one he met their eyes and saw the unswerving faith in them, saw the culmination of so many years of planning begin to bloom. He liked what he saw.

"Do you swear your loyalty?" he asked.

"To Ibn al Xu'ffasch!" Their voices spoke as one. Shiva said nothing, but there was a faint smile on her lips.

He nodded; to his surprise, he found that his legs were trembling. He sank into the chair and resisted an urge to wipe his brow.

"Then we will begin." The files had finally stopped scrolling, and with a few keystrokes a picture of the Justice League filled the screen. Seven proud and noble figures stared defiantly at the men and women gathered there to bring them down.

"You have all reviewed the file regarding the Demon's attempt against the League. You saw the cause of its failure, a chain reaction beginning with one weakness in the protocols that led to another and then more. And therein lies the problem. This group," he gestured at the screen behind him, "consists of the strongest beings on the planet, perhaps even in the universe. To defeat all of them simultaneously, even given our considerable resources, is impossible. They are too powerful, too cohesive, too much of a team to take down as a whole.

He watched them nod. They were some of the most brilliant minds in the world, hand-picked by the Demon's Head to run his sprawling empire. There were no fools in the room and they recognized the truth in his words.

He continued. "So, instead of half-effective methods to neutralize each member of the League, we will concentrate on one. We will attack him relentlessly, endlessly, through all possible channels and in all possible ways. We will uncover and exploit his every weakness. We will keep the others at bay and render them unable to assist their comrade. And we will tear him down."

There was a moment of silence. "Who?" ventured one of the biochemists.

Ibn tapped a button on the console. The screen behind him blinked and the League was replaced with the image of a single, powerfully built man. The room fell silent as they recognized the strong, broad jaw and the spit curl that hung over his forehead. The man was dressed in red and blue.

"The strongest of them," Ibn said.

--------------

Superman blinked.

The truck that was currently hurtling toward him weighed at least sixty tons. His mind raced through possible options. Heat vision could set off an explosion. Artic breath would not slow it down fast enough. And it was too late to evacuate the people behind him that would be in danger if he moved aside.

So he braced himself for the impact. Alien sinews powered by the sun tightened as he turned his shoulder to face the oncoming vehicle.

The truck hit him and crumpled; the cab flew off in one direction and the body another. He took a step back, absorbing the momentum from the collision, then strode forward as if nothing had happened. Bystanders gawked a safe distance from the wreckage.

With a gentle push, his body rose from the ground. He hovered for a moment, then pinpointed and raced toward the direction of the truck's launch.

Blue eyes capable of firing beams of intense heat narrowed as he surveyed the scene. Two figures were battling on a busy intersection as cars careened around them with blaring horns. The figures didn't seem to notice the traffic, even when a car screeched, went into a tailspin, and slammed right into one of them, a hulking, long haired figure covered in black body paint. The figure didn't seem to be bothered by the collision, just flung out an arm and hurled the car into the air.

Superman was there before the vehicle could crash into a storefront. With barely an effort he peeled apart the car roof, then reached in and gently extricated a sobbing woman and her child.

"It's okay. I've got you," he said.

The terrified woman clawed at his neck. "My baby!"

"I've got him, too, ma'am," he said, cradling the wailing infant. He smiled but the woman didn't seem to notice; the baby only cried louder. With a shrug, he deposited woman, child, and car a safe distance away from the commotion, then covered that distance with a single leap.

"Enough," he said to the long haired figure, who was currently dodging laser beams being fired by the other meta in the fracas. The number 666 was tattooed on the man's chest, in the same black paint that covered most of his body.

The figure snarled something at him—in German, he noted—and cocked a fist. Superman rolled his eyes for dramatic effect, took the blow—

--and went flying.

The impact had the force of an earthquake. When the dust cleared he found himself lying in a pile of shattered concrete slabs and steel girders. He rose with a grimace, shook off the dirt, and flew back into the thick of things.

He tackled 666 head on and took the other meta off his feet. They hit the ground together, landing in a convenient pile on top of the laser-firing figure and crushing the offending weapons.

Superman regained his balance first. He seized 666 by the shoulder and struck, hard enough to shatter a concrete wall. 666 just snarled and returned the blow.

This time, Superman was ready. He raised an arm to parry the attack, then hit 666 again, with enough force to break through steel.

666 remained standing. They traded several more punches, increasing the power behind each successive hit, but neither man seemed affected by the vicious blows. The two broke apart, then spun to face each other with fists at the ready.

"You're going down," Superman growled.

"Ich töte sie ((I'll kill you))!" 666 spat, lunging for him.

In a move that would have made Bruce and Diana proud, Superman sidestepped and swept his leg into the back of 666's knees, buckling them. With his opponent off balance and off-guard, the Man of Steel reared back, gathering his strength. He fist rocketed forward and smashed 666 squarely in the jaw, with just short of maximum power.

This time the man in black went flying.

---------

A gathered crowd watched as the Metropolis Special Crimes Unit piled an unconscious 666 and laser-meta into two of their armored carriers. Superman surveyed the scene alongside Maggie Sawyer, head of the S.C.U.

"No ID for them?" he asked.

"Not yet," she replied. "We've got everything cranking, from here to the Pentagon and higher ups at Star Labs. Nothing so far." She took a puff on her cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You don't recognize either one? Seems like you or the JLA should know more about these guys than we would."

"Same as you, so far. I'll kick some tires and let you know."

She nodded. "We'd appreciate that. I got here in time to watch the two of you duke it out, and I have to admit, I got a bit worried. After...after what happened that time."

Something in his face twitched, but the genial smile remained. He steered the conversation into another direction. "When did you start smoking again?"

She gave a short laugh. "You've been away. It was months ago, since we started having to handle metas without you. Too many things to take care of without going crazy or at least having a smoke." She stared at her still glowing cigarette, then ground it out against a lamppost. "Sometimes I wonder if we aren't relying on you just a little bit too much."

"That's what we're here for, Maggie." His voice was comforting. "You don't have to worry about that."

"I know, I know," she said sheepishly. "It's just my job to worry. God forbid, if you...decided to retire, or something, I don't know what we'd do." She left unspoken what that something might be.

Her radio crackled. "Inspector, we need you a sec," it blared. She pointed at it and gave him an apologetic nod; he smiled and gestured for her to go. As she hurried off, he prepared to do the same.

"Superman! Superman!" a young voice shouted.

He halted a few feet off the ground and turned to see a child waving at him. "Superman!" The boy's excitement redoubled when he saw the superhero looking at him. "Superman! Hi!"

He floated toward the boy. "Hello there, son. What's your name?"

"Adam! Hi Superman!"

His smile widened. "Hi, Adam. Nice to meet you. Have you been a—"

"Godamned metas!" a gruff voice broke in.

He blinked, startled. The child's eyes widened. The voice belonged to a ragged man with a garbage bag slung over his shoulder. Even without heightened senses, the sour smell of whiskey on the man's breath was obvious.

"Damned metas running around ruining our streets and our city! Get the hell out of here!" The man thrust his hand forward to point an accusing finger at Superman. "Get out!" The uncomfortable crowd began drawing away.

"Sir, please don't use that language in front of children," Superman said.

"Get out!" the man demanded. He began stomping his foot. Adam was crying.

Superman rose into the air. "It's okay, Adam," he said. "I'll see you later, all right?" The boy gave a tearful nod.

"Get out!"

He turned and flew off, but not before something hit him and bounced off his arm. He turned to see the drunken man hurling another projectile at him, and caught it before it could reach its target.

He looked at the object in his hand and sighed.

-----------

"A soda can?" Wally West, aka the Flash, was incredulous. "He was chucking soda cans at you?"

"Yes."

"Wow..." Kyle muttered. The Green Lantern was fiddling idly with his ring. "Who would've thought that there's someone in Metropolis that would throw garbage at Superman? I didn't think—"

"It happens." The irritable voice came from the dark cowled figure seated at the opposite end of the table. "Half the people in my city don't believe I exist. Can we finish this up?"

As usual, the Batman's rejoinder ended that line of conversation. Clark snuck a quick glance at his longtime colleague and friend. Bruce's jaw, the only human part visible beneath the mask, was tighter than usual. Clark made a mental note to approach Bruce about it. Or perhaps, he reconsidered, when enhanced hearing detected the sound of teeth grinding together, to see if someone else would approach Bruce.

((J'onn?)) he inquired silently.

((Yes?)) The response was immediate.

((Something wrong with Bruce? He seems grumpier than usual.))

There was a pause. ((Personal issues, I believe,)) replied the Martian.

Clark ventured a peek at Diana. The Amazon princess was staring at a spot on the wall opposite her seat. ((Ahh.))

((Indeed.))

The entire exchange took place at the speed of thought, and barely a second later the JLA meeting continued.

"That brings me to my main concern," Clark said, "which has been corroborated by Maggie Sawyer at the Metropolis S.C.U. I took a look at their files earlier today, and the number of metahuman incidents in Metropolis has spiked dramatically over the last several months."

He touched a button and a 3D graph was projected onto the table. He pointed at the spot where the graph experienced a significant increase. "This jump coincides with our off-world mission at Janus IV." He pressed another button and a larger graph appeared, similar in shape and slope. "Here are metahuman activities in the world at large, as best as Oracle has been able to track. We see another spike in the exact same spot. I'm not thinking coincidence here."

"More metas getting it on?" Plastic Man ventured, humming a few bars from the song of the same name. "Love is in the air? And caaaaan you feeeeel—"

"Eel."

"Sorry."

He turned to the Dark Knight. "Bruce, your thoughts?"

Batman folded his hands together and spoke after a brief pause. "It could be several things. A possible scenario is that our departure precipitates an increase in metahuman criminal activity. That correlates to an increase in the superhero community's actions, in order to respond to the crimes. Both factors build on each other and we see the results."

"It doesn't explain the rash of new metas appearing every week," Clark said. He had told them about the battle in Metropolis.

There was a pause. "Agreed. I'll look into it."

Clark nodded. "If the rest of you have time to study this too, I'd like your input. Not you, Eel," he added, before Plastic Man, who had opened his mouth, could begin to speak. The malleable superhero formed an exaggerated sad face, with lips drooping to the table.

"Moving on," Clark said. The meeting continued.

----------

After the meeting, Batman strode through a Watchtower hallway, heading towards the teleport room.

"Hey Bats, do you have a—" Kyle got a closer look at the set of his jaw. "Well, uh, I can see you're busy...I had a thing—but you know what, I can go find someone else...maybe J'onn..." They faced each other, Batman staring, the Green Lantern trying to do anything but. "Anyway, yeah, I'm gonna get going, bye." He hurried off.

Before Batman could do the same, another figure stepped around the corner. He froze for a split second at the sight of her, but it was long enough.

"Hello, Bruce."

"Diana." He gave a brusque nod and slipped past her. Their shoulders bumped against each other as she refused to budge. Princesses made of clay were not easily pushed aside, so he turned to face her. "Can I help you with something?"

She didn't seem perturbed by his glare. "We need to talk."

"About?"

A quick glance verified the hallway was empty. "Us."

"I need to get back to Gotham." He stepped past her, his cape sweeping across her body.

"Sunday. Dinner. My place." The familiar words stirred something in him. He had said something like that to her, not so long ago.

The full memory of that night, including how things had eventually turned out, came crashing down on him. "We had a talk already, Diana. And we agreed on what would happen between us." He spoke with his back to her.

"And if I changed my mind?"

She couldn't see his mouth work, but the words came out a fraction late. "You're welcome to do whatever you like." He began walking away.

"So you'll be there?" she said to his retreating back. The only response was a flutter of his cape, and then he was out of sight.

She sighed, shrugged, and left the hallway.