First of all, I would like to thank you all for the help you all gave me with the U.S.S. Iowa, really helped me out a ton there.
Also, I think I found the official theme song for the Siege of Los Angeles arc: the Reckoning by Within Temptation. Seriously, if this rubbish ever had a chance of becoming an official TV series, I'd petition for that song to be in the intro.
Chapter: 43: Siege of Los Angeles pt. I
Day 1
His name was Harry Linfield, retired U.S. Marine and the owner of an antique shop. Or at least, he was all of those things, before the those insane cultists burned it down and butchered most of his neighbors. Now, he was a sergeant in the Los Angeles PDF, tasked with holding the Lankershim Boulevard bridge crossing the Los Angeles river. A river currently overflowing like never before. Guess those Atlanteans are good for something.
"Boss, incoming," his radio operator alerted, and Harry poked his head over the bridge's makeshift barricade, a crude mixture of cement-filled cars, traffic signs, sandbags and whatever debris they could knock loose.
"Hold fire, they're friendlies!" he called out, making sure to put as much authority into his tone as possible to make sure no one got any funny ideas. After all, these were not professional soldiers under his command, but a motley crew of college students and construction workers. Enthusiasm was abundant among them. Discipline… less so.
Thankfully, no bullets were fired, and soon the trio of out-of breath scouts scrambled over the barricades, looking like the devil himself had been nipping at their heels.
"How bad?" Harry quickly asked, though it took a few moments for a response to come as the scouts struggled to just catch their breath.
"Bad. Real… fucking bad," one of them finally managed to wheeze out. "Bastards rolling down the street by the truckloads. And their vehicles…" then he was doubling over to empty his stomach of whatever meager rations he had previously eaten. Not a good sign.
"Right, get to the rear and recover. You've done your part," he instructed, already hearing the faint rumbling of heavy machinery drawing closer. The scouts merely nodded before scurrying away, and Harry turned his attention back to his unit.
"The rest of you, get into position! We're about to have company, so let's give them a proper welcome!" he shouted, and his soldiers responded with a roar of fury. They had all suffered at the hands of the enemy, and they were all hungry for payback. Like a kicked anthill, the barricades exploded into activity as people rushed into position, standing shoulder to shoulder with guns aimed down the bridge.
Harry for his part signaled up at the apartment complex anchoring his left flank. From the fourth floor, at the demolished corner facing the bridge, a scrawny girl poked up from behind layers of sandbags to give a quick thumbs up. Well, at least the .50 cal machine gun is ready.
"Sir, word is starting to trickle in. Fighting's started in Glendale," the radio operator reported. And now that he mentioned it, he could vaguely hear gunfire in the distance. It made Harry smile without any real humor behind it.
"Hear that? Bastards' got a head-start on us! Means we've gotta work extra hard not to fall behind!" he called out. Light chuckles appeared sporadically, but Harry still called it a win as he turned to one of the construction workers.
"I trust our surprise is ready?" he inquired, and received a nod in return. "Then let's wait for our guests to arrive,"
Then Harry took his position at the barricades, shouldering his assault rifle and making ready to pour the lead down on whatever stupid fuck poked his stupid head into his line of fire. By now, even with the noise of gunfire growing more and more frequent in the distance, they could all hear the telltale rumble of beefy vehicles rolling down the street.
"What? Fuckers brought tanks or something?" though that comment, its origins lost amidst the masses, was spoken as a joke, everyone could feel their stomachs turn to ice as that thought suddenly took root. They did not have to be kept in suspense for long though, as the rumbling vehicles finally rolled into view. No tanks, merely a bulldozer leading the charge. Harry almost wished for a tank instead.
"What the actual fuck…" someone mumbled, and more than a few emptied their stomachs at the sight. Harry did not blame them one bit. The bulldozer had thick armor platings welded into it on all sides, and those platings were in turn festooned with the violated and dismembered corpses of humans. Skulls hung from every corner, human skin fluttered in the wind like grotesque banners, and some of the poor sods nailed to the front without their skin were still fucking twitching!
"Those sick fucks," Harry was not sure who said it, but everyone shared that sentiment.
"Sick fucks indeed. So let's show them what we do to sick fucks around these parts!" Harry called out, and his words steeled their resolve. Harry then patted the construction worker by his side, eyes never leaving the bulldozer lumbering towards them.
"Get ready, they're almost in position," he tried to keep his voice steady, especially when he saw bands of cultist lunatics appearing from behind the bulldozer. Please be the same dumb fucks like those we kicked out of L.A., please don't have more than two brain cells to rub together.
But his fear proved unfounded. No scouts went forward, no reconnaissance was conducted, just a bunch of screaming and posturing, and then the whole band was lurching forward again. Straight onto their little surprise. Gotcha, bitch!
"NOW!" Harry screamed, and the construction worker did not hesitate for a second as his finger came down on a trigger. And on the other side of the bridge, hidden in a small crater blasted in the road, a haphazard mixture of gasoline, dynamite, TNT and home-made napalm was detonated. Just as the bulldozer was right on top of it.
For the briefest moment, the vehicle vanished in a ball of flame that swallowed up everything and everyone around it. Then, it soared out of the flames and several meters high into the air, before gravity reclaimed the mangled wreck and it slammed back into the ground with a resounding crash. There was a moment of silence after that. And then, a great cheer from the defenders.
"Fuck yeah, that will show them who they're messing with!" Harry shouted in undisguised glee, which only grew stronger as he watched the few cultists not killed outright by the explosion now running around screaming as flames ate away at their clothes and flesh. Cracks of gunfire came from his right, and some of those cultists instantly fell over.
"Don't shoot, let 'em burn!" Harry had no idea who shouted that, but he was in full support of that statement. So it seemed many others were, as gunfire ceased and they all just enjoyed the show. Serves them right. Now where did I put my cigarettes?
The sense of danger was now leaving the defenders, and they began lowering their guns. The streets on the other side of the bridge were going up in flames, the cultist battering ram was nothing more than a pile of half-melted scrap, and their forward units had been all but wiped out to a man. All without the proud defenders suffering so much as a single casualty. Surely, only the foolhardy or insane would think of continuing the assault here.
They completely forgot who they were dealing with here.
"CHAAARGE!" that high-pitched shriek had everyone looking back towards the raging flames, where they were treated to the sight of cultists leaping straight through the fire. Some still caught fire from the exposure, many tripped and fell into the flames, and every last one of them got burned. But enough of them were still making through to continue the assault, and those lucky ones were even now charging straight towards the barricades.
"OPEN FIRE!" Harry did not even bother waiting to see if his order was obeyed, and simply laid into the enemy. Two fell to his bursts before the rest of the line regained their wits and followed his lead. Cultists soon dropped like flies, with the first three ranks going down in a fusillade of bullets. But their deaths bought enough time for those behind to get even closer.
"Hold the line, dammit!" Harry cursed as his last bullet splattered a cultist's brain. Then the .50 Cal joined in on the fun, and the cultist ranks simply melted as it scythed through them. Even as Harry reloaded, he was watching the joyful sight of suicidal cultists getting all but eviscerated as the gunner swung his aim back and forth across the bridge, finger never once leaving the trigger.
"We've got them on the ropes now!" with a new clip loaded, Harry began taking pot shots again, putting one cultist after the other down. But the fires had been brought under control, and more were now swarming forward in even greater numbers. It did them little good, as it merely clumped them up and made them even more enticing targets for the .50 Cal.
"Nothing will get through our field of fire!" an apt description by the gunner as the bodies piled up and the bridge ran red with blood.
"Crush! Kill! Destroy!" yet it did nothing to deter the cultists who charged ever onward, trading dozens of bodies for every inch gained. Harry did not even need to aim anymore, just point the gun in the general direction of the enemy and pull the trigger.
"Pour it on, lads! Don't let them get over the barricades!" Harry's gun then ran dry again, and he simply threw it aside and drew his pistol instead. Gunning down one cultist after the other, before a lull in the fighting allowed him to reclaim his gun and reload it. But like waves splashing against a rock, the cultists would only recede for a short time before surging forward again.
For hours, this relentless attacked continued across the entire frontline, until the Los Angeles river ran red with their blood. But no matter how many bodies they threw into the grinder, no headway was made. At every point, the lines held with barely any casualties. By noon, the cultists finally lost momentum and withdrew, and a great cheer went up from the defenders.
They had done it, they had held the line.
"This is nothing to celebrate about," Krieg's frosty statement immediately put a dampener on the celebratory mood at HQ.
"The hell are you talking about? Didn't you hear the latest news? Enemy casualties well into the quadruple digits, and only a handful on our side. That's quite the victory in my books,"
But Krieg just waved a dismissive hand. "You are merely stepping on ants and calling it a military victory. The enemy cares not for those paltry cultists we just butchered, for they have many more waiting to take their place,"
Then he began stalking through the room, making sure to look each and every commander in the eyes even as he continued his harsh lecture.
"Make no mistake, what we faced today was barely even a fraction of what the enemy can bring against us. This was merely a probing strike, a way to test our strength and resolve. Our enemy will happily trade away the lives of their soldiers just to get a rough estimate of our number of guns,"
None spoke up after that, as everyone worked to digest the news. By the many grimaces passing around, it was not an easy pill to swallow, for men raised and trained in the ethics of modern warfare. Naive fools.
"I want a thorough report of how the battle went. Find out which points held out the best and which came the closest to breaking. Double the amount of ammunition assigned to the front. Mobilize our reserves along the highways, ready to deploy at a moment's notice. And someone get in contact with Ravager, she will be needed for the next engagement,"
No one spoke up, they merely nodded their heads and spread out to carry out his commands. Soon enough, the HQ was abuzz with noise as orders and instructions were transmitted across the city. Krieg for his part turned his attention back to the city map, dozens of plans and ideas swirling through his head. You can't ignore us that easily anymore. We have given you a bloody nose, and we are still standing. So start sending your best into the grinder, throw your men away until you have no choice but to send in the champions.
His left hand tightened into a fist while his right began fingering his knife. And then I will butcher them.
Aquaman barely recognized himself in the mirror now. No, not Aquaman, not anymore at least. Aquaman had been a hero, a member of the Justice League and a protector of the innocents. And though he was determined to protect the innocent until his last breath if need be, the things he was about to do were not those to be expected from a hero.
No, he was not Aquaman anymore. Perhaps in the future he would be that again, but even he had doubts about that. Now, he was Orin, king of Atlantis and supreme commander of the Atlantean Royal Army. An army which even now stood ready and waiting for his command. Just the thought made him sigh.
"Missing the old suit already?" his wife teased as she came up behind him, a smile on her face as her slender arms rested on his shoulders.
"What can I say? It has more of a charm to it," Orin jested in return even as he cast another look at himself in the mirror. Gone was the royal colors of orange and green, replaced by sturdy Atlantean armor, fashioned and engraved with such exquisite craftmanship as befitting of royalty. Would have preferred it less extravagant.
"Mmmm, indeed. It certainly did a better job displaying your more masculine traits," Mera purred, and Aquaman could not help but chuckle.
"Ever the temptress, my love. Keep this up, and they might have to find someone else to lead the army," the instant those words left his mouth, Orin knew he had said the wrong thing. He did not even need to look at his wife to feel her mood plummet.
"I worry for you. War is not a safe thing," she murmured. It made his heart ache knowing his wife's distress, but being unable to do anything.
Gently, he cupped her chin and angled her face up until they were both staring deeply into each other's eyes. "I wish I could stay here with you, but this war is not something we can ignore. As king, it is my duty to lead our army into battle,"
Hollow words that did nothing to ease her burden, and they both knew that. But they were the only words he could offer. And Mera made no attempt to disprove or argue them. Instead, she floated up until their lips were locked together into tender kiss, one that she reluctantly broke few moments later.
"Just come back home, alright? Come back home to me and your child," she begged of him.
"I will," he knew well enough the danger of making such a vow, yet he made it anyway as his free hand landed on Mera's belly. "I promise,"
"Your grace," a most unwelcome voice interrupted from outside their chamber. "The army is assembled,"
At first, neither of them gave even the faintest recognition of having heard the messenger, and simply remained in each other's arms. But finally, reluctantly, Orin broke free and turned back to the mirror.
"I will be out shortly," he called out as he donned his helmet and grabbed his trident. He turned to his wife, desperate to embrace her yet again but fearing he would be unable to let go should he give in to temptation. Instead, he gave her his best attempt at a smile.
"I will see you again when the war is won," he assured her, and she gave him a weak smile in return.
"I will pray for your swift victory then," she promised. There was silence between them then, both unwilling to be parted and yet knowing it had to be done. Then, Orin steeled his heart, gave a curt nod, and then swam out of the chamber before his will failed him. Wordlessly, his bodyguards fell in line behind him as he swam towards the courtyard. Servants bowed and wished him good fortune in battle, guards saluted him as he passed by, but Orin barely noticed. When did the world turn to such madness?
Then, he stood atop a grand balcony, and below him, the might of Atlantis was arrayed out before him. War machines that the surface world could only dream of, battalions of soldiers without equal either below or above the waves, and squads of some of the most dedicated mages Orin had ever had the pleasure of commanding. In fact, were not those two in the front ranks Kaldur'ahm's friends?
"Soldiers!" he cried out, voice carried far and wide through great speakers. "War has come to our doorstep, a war unlike anything we have ever faced before! Even as we speak, this new enemy digs its corrupted tendrils deep into the surface world, turning families against each other and burning whole cities to ash!"
"Many a time we have asked ourselves why we should concern ourselves with the affairs of the surface dwellers! But this is not the time for such thoughts!" in a way, Orin should be thankful that the extremist puritans were the ones corrupted by the daemons, because it meant they were properly ousted and disgraced, and thus not around to cast this endeavour into bad light.
"This enemy will not be satisfied with just the surface! Soon enough, they will come for us as well! And so we march, to strike the first blow, and to ensure that our homes and families will never be threatened!"
Orin could not see all the soldiers below him, but he could feel their anticipation building with each word spoken. "This is now a war for the very fate of this whole world, and we will not back down from it! We will meet the enemy in the field! We will face down whatever horrors they have spawned! And we will cast them back into the fiery pits from which they crawled out of!"
He then thrust his trident high, lightning arcing across it's enchanted steel as he bellowed his war cry for all to hear "FOR ATLANTIS!"
As one, the army raised their fists, their combined voices shaking the oceans around them as they chanted.
"FOR ATLANTIS! FOR ATLANTIS! FOR ATLANTIS!"
"My lord, I have recieved urgent news from Jericho," Azkillon began as he kneeled before lord Markoth.
"Then speak," he ordered with his back turned towards the sorcerer. Azkillon swallowed the indignity and continued on.
"The abhuman known as Aquaman has finally mobilized his forces, and is ready to launch his own assault. He will be taking personal command of the army heading to Miami," throughout the explanation, Markoth gave no indication of even listening, instead content to merely stare out the window at the Earth below. When minutes dragged by, and no reply was forthcoming, Azkillon began speaking again.
"I have a plan on how to deal with him. With your permission, I could-"
"No," Markoth harshly interrupted as he turned to glare at him. With the other Champions present in the room as well, Azkillon instantly saw the intent. He was waiting for me to speak up before dismissing me. Trying to send a message here, are you?
"You have done quite enough. I believe it's time to let someone else have a go at this. Gorm!" at Markoth's command, the lumbering pile of rust and decay that was the resident Nurgle champion lumbered forward.
"Yes, my lord?" the bloated husk gurgled out with the kind of giddiness that infected most Nurglites. Azkillon felt the need for a shower just by being near him.
"I believe your personal retinue has been brought here recently, correct? Take them to Miami, take command of our forces in the area, and prepare a welcoming committee for the abhuman chieftain worthy of royalty,"
Gorm's smile was as sick and twisted as his corpulent form. "With pleasure, my lord. I shall grant him the full hospitality of Grandfather Nurgle himself,"
Fawcett City was going up in flames, no other two ways about it. Cultists ran unchecked through the streets, with a gutted police force running for the hills and no sign of the army. When the attack began, many had expected the city's guardian and local celebrity Captain Marvel to come swooping in and send these lunatics packing. But he never did, and the cultists revelled in his absence.
Thousands died the first day alone, with many more following soon after. Among those dead, forever lost to history, there had been an overweight and elderly man. He did not die at the hands of the cultists, but merely from a broken heart. For when Captain Marvel failed to appear, he alone knew what that meant, and that he had failed his family yet again. So he died alone and forgotten, his last words calling out for a boy he knew he would never see again.
But his tragedy was but one amongst countless millions over the coming days, and many more would follow before it was all over. Now after nearly two weeks of endless fighting, Fawcett City was nothing more than a gutted and burnt out husk of the great city it had once been, with survivors huddled together in whatever meager shelter they could find as they hid from prowling packs of rampaging psychopaths.
One such group had taken residence in a subway station, guarded by a trio surviving police officers and living off whatever they could scavenge. Today, food was not as plentiful as it used to be, and tensions were rising.
"Move it, brat!" a burly man snarled as he pushed a scrawny little girl aside, sending her skidding along the ground with a cry of pain.
"Oi, back off there!" another of the survivors warned the man while brandishing a crowbar. But the man simply drew a knife.
"Watch it, pipsqueak! I've been out scavenging for this shit, and I'm hungry! I'll be taking my share here and now!" he declared, and it instantly had a mob arrayed against him.
"That's not how it works around here, pal! You got a problem with that?" and while the hostilities grew ever stronger, the little girl limped away and vanished into the wrecked train. Finding a small and dark corner to crawl into, she went into a fetal position and cried.
"Mommy, please come pick me up," she begged, just like she had done over and over ever since ending up here. The attack on the city had separated them, and only the timely intervention of a police officer had saved her life and brought her to this group. But she went ignored by everyone else, too busy with their own grievances to worry about a lone child.
So she sat there in the dark and cried all alone, trying to block out the screaming voices outside, that kept growing in anger and hostility. Then there was someone else screaming as well, but his words silenced everyone else present.
"They've found us! Run for it!" barely had he finished his sentence before everyone was running for it. It did little good, for she soon heard the telltale noise of gunfire and the horrid cackling of the maniacs terrorizing the city.
"Lookie here, boys and girls! A whole den of little white rabbits! And look at them run! HAH! Fucking hilarious! Run little rabbits, run!" then the slaughter commenced. She did not need to see it with her own eyes, she could hear it well enough. And she had seen enough as of late for her imagination to fill in the blanks.
It made her curl up even tighter in her corner, biting down so hard on her lips that she soon tasted blood in her mouth. Her whole body was shaking, yet she dared not make a noise lest she drew their attention. Why am I so weak? Why can't I help? Why can I only hide here in my corner? Why must the world be so unfair?
"Call my name," wait, what? Where had that voice come from? Opening her terrified eyes, she had expected to find one of the maniacs leering down at her. Instead, all she found was darkness. No train, no rubble, no light, only darkness.
"Wha-" her mind, unable to keep up, simply screeched to a halt and she sat there gaping at nothing.
"Call my name," and there it was again! That voice. It was coming from all around her, and yet from nowhere at the same time. It made absolutely no sense to her.
"Who- who are you?" she asked, voice little more than a squeak.
"Irrelevant at this point. Call my name," the voice simply requested, stern and unyielding.
"What? I don't even know your name. Please, I just want to go back home," she begged.
"Your home is being destroyed, and only you can save it. Call my name," the voice persisted.
"How? I don't have any powers. I can't save anyone," tears where now flowing down her cheeks.
"But do you wish to? Do you wish you could save people, for no other reason than because it is the right thing to do?" the voice asked. She did not even hesitate with her response.
"Yes," even with her cheeks stained with tears and soot, even with her scrapped knee, even with the treatment she recieved not too long ago, she knew this one fact to be true above all else.
"Then that is all you need. Call my name," the voice insisted.
"But I can't! I'm not strong enough!"
"Yes you are! You are strong, and compassionate, just like your brother! Now call my name!" brother? What was the voice talking about?
"But I don't even know your name!" she screamed back, even as she felt something stirring in her soul, as if something was slowly coming together for her.
"Yes you do! You have my name, and you have your spirit! Combined, it is a power that can banish the darkness and light the way for others! Now stop denying it, Mary Batson, and call my name!" and suddenly, the last bit fell into place, and Mary opened her mouth and screamed the wizard's name for all to hear.
"SHAZAM!" and then the darkness that had surrounded her was split in half by a bolt of pure gold, shining brighter than anything else she had ever before seen in her life. Meanwhile, across the length a breadth of Fawcett City, every single cultist felt an ominous chill crawl up their spines. They could not explain it, but they all felt like something had just gone horribly wrong for them all.
As far as army encampments went, the one that Joker arrived in was par for the course when it came to Chaos cultists. That was to say, completely chaotic and devoid of rhyme and reason. Joker already felt quite at home, enough to even giggle a bit as he made his way to the center of the camp. Already a stage had been set with loudspeakers and microphones and the whole shebang.
"Ah, Joker. A great honor to have one of the Gods' favored among us," a priest greeted him amicably, and Joker already hated him. Nice clean robes, the smell of incense hanging around him, a fucking book chained to his belt, and the aura of a pompous prick. He reeked of ordered society.
"I'm sure, I'm sure. Now, why don't we go and have a nice little chat with all the wonderful psychos gathered here," Joker simply commented as he strolled past the priest. That seemed to take the wind right out of the fat fuck's sails.
"O-of course, my liege! Right this way!" honestly, it was downright pathetic how he almost tripped over his own robes in his haste to get ahead of the Joker and maintain his image of a powerful leader. Did nothing to stop Joker from giggling at him. Then, they were up on the platform, with the army gathering around them.
"Disciples of the Dark Gods! Brothers and sisters in arms! Today, we take one more step towards paradise!" the fat priest began screeching, and already Joker felt like snoring. Really, that's how you open it?
"Our masters have set a great task before us, one vital to the completion of the great plan!" the bleating continued, and Joker's bad mood turned even worse at that. I can see why Asky put this one in charge.
"Now, steel your hearts! Give prayers to the Dark Gods and sharpen your blades! For now, we march upon-" and then Joker's patience ran out, signaled by the gunshot that splattered the priest's brain onto the front rows of cultists.
"That actually felt quite satisfying," Joker mused to himself, idly twirling his still smoking gun and completely ignoring the pandemonium that broke out around him as confused cultists either shouted at each other for an explanation or were waving an assortment of weapons at him. Humming a disjointed tune, Joker skipped over to the microphone and tapped it a few times.
"May I have your attention, please?" he asked of the mob, casually leaning against the podium as he waited until every eye and every gun was pointed straight at him. Ooooh, now that's the spirit I'm looking for.
"Ladies and gentlemen… what is Chaos?" his opening question had everyone looking at each other in confusion, some even scratching their heads in befuddlement.
"Is Chaos following a set of conducts? Is it obeying a strict set of laws? Is it serving some sort of grand plan? Hmmm, is it?" Joker continued, and he could hear murmuring among the crowd now.
"I'm sorry, what was that? You're gonna have to speak up a bit," he requested as he leaned forward with a hand cupped over his ear.
"No," he could barely hear it, but that one word was all the motivation Joker needed to keep going.
"Louder, please. My ears are still ringing from the gunshot,"
"No, it's not!" now the words were shouted for everyone to hear, and murmurs of assent quickly spread. Excellent, we're now on the same page.
"Then why are we doing all those things?!" he all but roared into the microphone, causing the front ranks to visibly recoil from his outburst. Breathing heavily, Joker needed a few moments to collect himself before he resumed as if the outburst never happened.
"We say we serve Chaos, but we don't really do Chaos. Just look at Azkillon," he could see many people grow uncertain at the master's name. "All he does is make plan after plan after plan. You see, he's not a true agent of Chaos,"
And there it was, the truth out in the open at long last, and the Joker forged on while the crowd was still frozen in shock. "He's a schemer, a schemer trying to control his little world. It's never been about true Chaos for him and his cronies, it's always been about control, all in the name of their great plan,"
Some looked angry at his words, idiots not deserving of being called servants of the Gods, but many more nodded in agreement with his words. The perfect audience.
"Just look at how this war is going. Millions of others like you are dying every day, yet the bosses up high don't give a fig. Why?" now he was all but caressing the microphone with his lips, bloodshot eyes sweeping across the crowd as he slowly and carefully articulated each of the words that then came out of his mouth. "Because it's. All. Part. Of. The. Plan,"
Then he was backing off and waving his pistol at the fat priest he previously shot, almost tripping over his carcass in the bargain. "But when someone like him dies? Then everyone panics, because that's not part of the plan!"
Now Joker was even working himself into a frenzy as he stalked up and down the stage, body twitching erratically. "This is not Chaos! This is not what we signed up for! This is just more of the same stuff we've seen in this society for years, except with a fresh coat of blood to it! And I will not stand for it any longer!"
Then he was at the podium gain and yanked the microphone off it before jumping into the crowd. People backed away from him, but none turn and ran, instead crowding around. Joker barely seemed to notice as he stalked back and forth, back and forth. He moved with no direction, no plan, or even a goal in mind. He just stalked, danced, hopped, walked and hobbled through the crowd.
"It's time to introduce some proper anarchy into the mix! It's time to upset the established order and completely smash whatever grand plan is in the work! Then, and only then, will everything become Chaos! And I mean true Chaos! Chaos without boundaries, without plans, without order, without rules, and without sides! And what about you lot? What do you want?!"
"Chaos!" the crowd roared back.
"Louder, dammit! We're not a church choir!" Joker shouted back.
"CHAOS!" the crowd was even louder now, and Joker was all but dancing now.
"LOUDER! LET THE BASTARDS IN THE SKY HEAR WHAT WE WANT!"
"CHAOS!" he could all but feel his bones vibrate from the force of that shout, and he broke out into a mad fit of giggling at that.
"Onward then! To Gotham City! And let's show these posers what real Chaos is like!" with a great cheer, the crowd surged forward, hoisted Joker up on their shoulders, and began a mad dash towards Gotham City. Engines roared to life, guns were discharged in the air, the horde whooped and hollered like a pack of madmen.
And throughout it all, Joker cackled away to his heart's content, while the denizens of the Warp looked on in silent approval.
"Ezeef meth dilos!" the cry was followed by a chilling wind sweeping over whole squads of cultist lunatics, turning them into solid blocks of ice.
"Thanks!" the beleaguered soldiers below shouted in halting English. For his part, Zatara merely nodded and scanned the field below for more threats. He found it when a tank shell bounced off his protective shield, the backlash nearly knocking him out cold. But he gritted his teeth against the pain and pointed his wand at the offending tank.
"Nrut ot tsur dna llaf trapa!" he cast the incantation, and watched with some amount of satisfaction as the tank rusted and fell apart like cheap plywood. The absolutely stupefied looks of its crew was especially soothing. But his good spirit did not last for long as a hail of gunfire erupted from below against him. Seemed like the cultists had recovered and were charging in again.
"When will they learn?" Zatara growled, already gathering his power for another spell. "Taeh pu rieht snopaew!" and then watched them all dropping their guns, screaming and clutching their burned hands. Emboldened, the defenders poured it all on, and gunned down the cultists by the score. Even when the cultists broke and fled, the fusillade did not abate. Only when the streets were covered in their bodies did the gunfire cease. Zatara did his best not to think too much about the numbers.
"When did death become so acceptable to us?" he quietly lamented to himself as he lowered himself to a roof, handkerchief in hand to dab at his drenched forehead. Just a few weeks ago I would have arrested those men below for mass murder, and yet now I'm actively helping them. What has the world come to?
"Rough day?" a familiar voice asked, and Zatara slowly turned to face her with a tired sigh.
"Just like every other day as of late," he commented. Wonder Woman at least had the decency to not make a witty comeback.
"The killing never gets easy, no matter how much you tell yourself it's for a good cause," she instead offered, but Zatara just shook his head.
"I haven't killed anyone, not directly with my spells. I'm not willing to go that far yet," he answered, just as they heard what sounded like ice being shattered below, which was then followed by rapid gunfire. Then silence again. "But that doesn't change the fact that I've got blood on my hands,"
Wonder Woman could only nod her head. "Given up trying to stop the mass executions as well?"
Zatara just shrugged his shoulders. "Gave up after the third time. Not like we have the means of keeping prisoners in our current state. Plus it leaves more food for the actually innocent people we're trying to protect," a hollow laugh managed to burst out of his throat then. "Pathetic excuses we tell ourselves to soothe our conscience and make ourselves still feel like heroes,"
"We ARE still heroes, Zatara," Wonder Woman harshly interjected. "Our code of never taking a life no longer applies, but we are still standing our ground and protecting the innocent. THAT is what being a hero is truly about,"
For a moment, it looked like Zatara had not heard her. Then, a small smile spread across his lips and were before he had looked like he was about to keel over, now he looked just the tiniest bit rejuvenated.
"You always had a way with words, Diana," he commented, earning himself a fond smile.
"Someone has to balance out Marvel and Flash in that regard," she teased, which brought out a small chuckle from him.
"I suppose so," then his demeanour turned dark again. "But you didn't come here just to cheer an old man up, did you?"
Her headshake spoke more than a thousand words. "I'm leaving the battle for now. We need more soldiers, so I'm heading back home to Themyscira to rally the amazons to our side,"
Zatara could not quite contain his wince. "Sure that is a wise move? No disrespect meant, but your people are not exactly known for their sympathy for the outside world, and we already need every League member we have available on the frontline,"
"I will admit that my sisters' stance on Man's World is… complicated," even Wonder Woman herself winced at how poorly that described the situation. "But they are no friends of evil. I'm sure they will answer the call if I speak to them," of course, that was not the only reason she wanted to return to Themyscira. The gods of Olympus had long been content to let the mortals deal with their own problems, but this was a crisis that surely not even they could ignore. I must speak with them, to make them understand what we're facing here.
"Then I will simply trust in your judgment and hope you bring back good news soon. With the way things are going, we'll need every able body we can muster. Especially after…" Zatara could not even finish the sentence. He did not need to, for Diana knew well enough what he was referring to. Contact with the Watchtower had been dead ever since the invasion began, and three League members were already missing in action. They all knew what that most likely meant. Hawkman in particular had been very distraught.
"Don't worry, I'll be back as soon as I can," Diana assured him, only for that assurance to be punctuated by yet another skyscraper going up in flames in the distance, swiftly followed by renewed gunfire.
"That still may not be soon enough," Zatara grimly observed as he hauled himself back up and summoned a barrier of energy to carry him through the air. "Go now. We'll hold the line for as long as we can,"
Even though this had been her idea from the start, she suddenly looked very reluctant to leave. "Don't die now, you hear me? Zatanna still needs her father,"
"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm not planning to die until I'm well into my 90's and surrounded by grandchildren," he managed to jest. It was enough to draw out a laugh from the amazon.
"Careful not to let any of the boys on the team hear that, or they might take it as an invitation," she fired back before taking off. All of you, please don't die. We've already lost enough as it is.
Gotham City had never been what you would call a beautiful city. Sure, it had a sense of unique style with its many examples of gothic architecture, but that was not enough to hide the filth and degradation that polluted the city on a daily basis. In fact, from his perched position atop one of Gotham's highest spires, Batman could barely see a difference in this new ravaged Gotham. That did not mean that he was blind to the madness below.
"Status?" he began into his comm unit.
"Calm for the moment. The cultists seem to have lost their momentum and are pulling back to their own lines," Gordon reported.
"And no signs of super-powered individuals?"
"None whatsoever. If the enemy have those, they're keeping them way back in reserve," anyone else might have been relieved by that. Batman only felt suspicious. With such a global threat, and with metas growing more and more common with each year, you would have expected there to have been maybe two or three among the enemy. And yet, all they had fought so far were ordinary humans. Something did not feel right here.
"And what about our allies?"
"Keeping their distance. They're happy with holding their own territories without our aid. And frankly, as long as they don't bother us, I'm more than happy to let them,"
In this instance, Batman would have to agree with that assessment. Even now, he had a hard time imagining what on earth could have happened to make the likes of the Penguin, the Falcones and even Two-Face to band together and help resist this sudden invasion. But whatever dealings or reasons that was behind these turn of events, Batman was willing to look the other way in favor of their common enemy. For now at least.
"Wait, heads up! We just got word in about a group of cultists that snuck through our lines! They're close by to your position!" even as Gordon frantically reported this, Batman could already see the flash of gunfire just below him.
"Have men ready for pick-up, I'll have it handled soon enough," he announced, and then he was gliding through the air towards his newfound target. But as he drew nearer, he noticed that something was amiss. Only the cultists are shooting. And they're fighting one man.
Indeed, there was a single man standing alone against the cultists, using naught but knives and his fists to absolutely slaughter the opposition. In fact, as Batman got ever closer, that lone figure began to look more and more like…
"Come on, you pansies! I'll show you how I earned the name 'Crusher'!" Lawrence Crock, better known as Sportsmaster, bellowed as he charged into their midst, scattering the lot of them like frightened birds.
"Crush, kill, haa haa, destroy!" but not all of them remained startled for long, and they met him head-on with a crude assortment of swords and clubs. That was when they felt a shadow descend upon them, and they turned their gazes skyward just in time to watch Batman's descent straight into their lines.
"Well well, if it isn't the Bat himself!" Sportsmaster observed with a dry chuckle as his knife buried itself hilt-deep into a cultist's eye socket. "Out for a midnight stroll too?"
"Shut up and fight," Batman growled out as a spinning kick left two cultists out cold on the pavement.
"Always a ray of sunshine, ain't ya?" Sportsmaster grumbled whilst sidestepping a clumsy swing and driving a knee into the bastard's stomach before catching an arm trying to slip a knife between his ribs and twisting it until there was a snap and a scream.
Batman for his part only gave a grunt in response, already surrounded by dozens of knocked out cultists. Three more came at him with clubs and crowbars, and a forth was hurriedly trying to reload his sub machine gun in the back. The grapple gun came out and snared the gunman's legs. He had enough time to stare in dumbfounded mystery at it before the mechanism kicked in and he was yanked off his feet and hauled across the ground like a fish on a hook, bowling over two of his compatriots along the way.
The last one however made it and charged with an overhead swing, screaming for the blessings of the dark gods. Batman proved faster as he came in low with a haymaker that sent the cultist flat on his back. Then he suddenly had three batarangs in hand that were thrown with unnerving accuracy, knocking the guns out of two other gunmen's hands.
"Neat trick. Here's mine," Sportsmaster commented with his arm wrapped around the throat of a cultist. One quick tug, and the neck broke like a dry twig even as Sportsmaster snatched up the cultist's Uzi and emptied its entire clip into a group of cultists. Three dead on the ground, one wounded but still coming at him. Sportsmaster lazily caught the arm coming for his face and gave its elbow a blow that bent it in the wrong direction. Poor bastard did not even have to scream in pain before a knife was stuck through the underside of his chin and into his brain. Then, silence again.
"Well, I guess that's all of them," Sportsmaster announced in satisfaction as he wiped his hands.
"What are you doing here, Lawrence?" Batman demanded, still crouched in a fighting stance and eyeing him in distrust.
"Taking out the trash, mostly. You wouldn't believe how much have been gathering up while I've been away," Sportsmaster joked, waving a placating hand at Batman when the latter refused to even budge. "Oh calm down already, we're on the same side here,"
Batman did not look convinced in the slightest. "You're the kind of person these cultists would recruit,"
Barely had he finished before Sportsmaster threw his head back and laughed. "What? Me working for a bunch of posers like these? Nah man, there's no money to be had in working for mass-murdering zealots. Fuckers are always more interested in weird shit like divine figures and frustratingly vague mumbo jumbo than in cold hard cash,"
A weak groan then had both men looking at one cultist that had escaped their attention and was now trying to crawl away from them. Even with Sportsmaster face hidden behind his mask, there was no hiding the bloodthirsty look on it.
"Excuse me for a second," he growled out as he scooped up a crowbar. Giving it a few test swings, he began to approach the now mewling cultist with murder in his eyes.
"Should have stayed at home, kid," then he raised the crowbar high in the air, ready to bring it down on the cultist. It never happened, as Sportsmaster suddenly found his arm restrained by a very irate Batman.
"That's enough, he's already beaten," he declared, and Sportsmaster could only stare at him in bewilderment.
"The fuck you're on? Did you somehow miss the part about there being a fucking war on right now? Ain't no such things as letting the enemy go unless you wanna fight them again tomorrow," he pointed out, but Batman refused to relinquish his grip.
"GCPD are on their way as we speak, they'll handle these people. And unless you want to join them in cuffs, you will stand down now,"
Sportsmaster merely scoffed. "Still clinging to your stupid notions of mercy? Hate to tell ya-" then he paused for a short moment. "… Actually, scratch that, I'm actually gonna be enjoying telling you this, but your kiddie glove tactics ain't gonna work here. You wanna stop these bastards? You gotta get some blood on your hands,"
Batman's grip did not slack in the least. "Last warning, Lawrence,"
The two of them stared each other down, muscles tensing as each waited for the other to make the first move. Only when the unmistakable noise of sirens began drawing closer did Sportsmaster relax his grip on the crowbar.
"Fine, have it your way then. Just don't come crying to me when it all blows up in your face," he grumbled as he tore his arm free of Batman's grip.
"Still planning on fighting the cultists?" Batman suddenly asked, which had Sportsmaster eyeing him with suspicion.
"What's it to you?" hands were already balling up into fists, ready for a fight.
"Any other day, I would take you in. But these are desperate times we live in, and blind optimism alone won't save the day," then Batman was mask to mask with Sportsmaster, eyes almost narrowed into slits. "But don't push your luck here. You go too far, I will take you down,"
It took a moment, but a snort managed to sneak out of Sportsmaster. "Is that your version of giving tacit consent to my methods? Man, you really need to work on your people skills if that's the case,"
Before anything else could be said though, they heard renewed gunfire in the distance. Seemed like the cultists had grown tired of licking their wounds.
"They're playing our music again. Up for another dance?" Sportsmaster japed, but Batman was already reaching for his grapple gun.
"Just try to keep up,"
Day 2
"INCOMING!" the shout had her dropping flat on her stomach as a rocket whooshed overhead. Barely a second later, an explosion almost deafened her, but not enough to drown out the screaming that followed. Sluggisly, she got up on all four to see the damage, finding a truck completely demolished and a dozen or so people scattered around it moaning in pain or simply unmoving.
"Oi, Emily! Snap the fuck out of it!" a hand was suddenly on her shoulder, harshly dragging her into cover as a hail of gunfire came their way.
"Where's our fire support?!" someone was screaming, but Emily was too dazed to determine who it was.
"Stay here! Make sure none of the fuckers get over the barricades!" Emily barely managed to comprehend the order, but nodded haltingly with her back against the sandbags and a pistol held in her trembling hands. Fuck, why am I even here? I'm a college student, not a fucking soldier!
Alas, neither friend nor foe had cared about that tidbit about her. Here in Los Angeles, you fought or you died, simple as that. Which was she just kept her mouth shut as her commander rushed off to organize the rest of the defense. All the while, bullets, grenades and rockets were exchanged by both sides with unrelenting ferocity. And here I was told that the Crescenta Highlands would be the safest part of the line.
The previous day's fighting had put the defenders at ease, made them feel like this would be a walk in the park. Then day 2 rolled in, and with it a shitload of extra firepower for the cultist maniacs. Yesterday was target practice, today was turning into a real and proper firefight. And Emily was stuck in the front trenches with but a measly pistol.
Then someone was clambering over the barricades, cackling all the while. Even as she screamed in terror, Emily immediately raised her pistol and fired away. BANG BANG BANG, and then the lunatic slumped over the barricade and did not rise again. But then a second came up behind him.
BANG BANG BANG, but he did not fall, merely clutching his shoulder and cursing up a storm before resuming climbing. Hands shaking like leaves in a hurricane, Emily squeezed off the last few rounds, but he still stood, and he was looking right at her. He came right at her with a knife in hand, and Emily froze up on the spot.
"Hey, get off my fucking street, shitbag!" but then his chest exploded, courtesy of a buckshot to the back at point-blank range. He fell flat on his face, with his blood and pieces of his organs splattered all over Emily.
"You fuckers want some too?!" his executioner meanwhile had already taken up position at the barricades, pumping out shotgun shells as fast as he could crank the reload mechanism. More soon piled in after him, drowning out his string of obscenities with their combined gunfire.
Meanwhile, Emily remained where he was, staring at the corpse at her feet. Slowly, she raised a still trembling hand to her face, feeling the blood on it even as its metallic scent entered her nostrils. Then, she bent over and puked her guts out. How long is this madness going to last?
Even situated on the other side of the mountain range, Krieg could still clearly hear the crescendo of explosions and gunfire. Everyone else around him were running back and forth in a panic, but he remained standing in the midst of it, utterly calm. Hm, sounds like the heretics have sent in some heavier ordnance this time. No matter, the lines should still hold.
"Sounds like quite the party going on over there. Any particular reason why we're not joining in ourselves?" Ravager asked as she sauntered over to him.
"They should be able to handle a few thousand heretics on their own. We have more important work to do," Krieg answered.
"Oooooh, now you have my attention," Ravager commented with quite the eager look.
"I expected as much," then Krieg bent down to pick up an AA-12. "Grab whatever gear you can, we are going hunting today,"
Ravager outright licked her lips. "I like it when you get all aggressive like this, but what about those goody two-shoes camping at the front?"
"What about them?" Krieg simply asked, to which Ravager shrugged her shoulders.
"Nothing, just figured you'd want them in the loop or something, what with them being your team and all that," Krieg could not tell whether she was ignorant or merely teasing, but he cared not either way as he began walking away.
"Not anymore, and never again,"
Even as far away as the docks, the noise of battle could still be heard. It put the guards and workers ill at ease, constantly looking over their shoulders as if expecting an attack to come at any moment. So focused were they, that they failed to pay attention to a piece of the water behaving unnaturally, flowing against the stream rather than with it and vanishing into the sewers.
Hidden from prying eyes, this puddle of water rose out of the sewage and solidified into a multi-colored human shape. Once solid again, he began making his way deeper into the city, a single goal on his mind.
"It's payback time, Krieg. I'll make you suffer for what you did to me,"
