Chapter III
The carnal thrill was the pulse on which he acted, much the same as the police radio for those tasked with protecting the city. Listening intently to the police radio frequency, he heard, "Armed robbery in progress, repeat, armed robbery in progress with a hostage at the National Bank. Reports also indicate individuals of the vigilante group Young Justice have been seen on site. All available officers mobilize on scene and provide backup immediately!"
Though anticipated, the police's course of action pleased him nonetheless. Against the hazy afternoon sun stood Harm predatorily perched atop the ceiling of the city museum. It matter not the duration or intensity of the sunlight abounding him for Harm seemed to almost exude an aura of malevolent darkness that devoured even the majesty of the sun. Not unlike the radiant star, the lifeless air surrounding Harm radiated off his hardened flesh as natural as the breaths he took.
"And so it begins…" Harm smarmily commented, the thick fabric of his cape pressing against the glass beneath his feet as he waited atop the roof of the museum. He stopped for a time, relishing in the ease with which his plan had manifested. In his sinister gaze, Harm's statuesque face turned but briefly to the sky and continued, "If I was not so very beyond emotion, I would pity them." At this, Harm found himself laughing, the lone aspect of the day to go unexpectedly, and condescendingly concluded, "Poor Robin probably had them line up in size order before they attacked."
This would be all too easy, he thought as he unsheathed the sterling blade from his right gauntlet. As it glistened ever so prominently, Harm meticulously chiseled his way through the glass ceiling, removing a sufficiently large enough chunk of glass to facilitate his descent into the museum floor.
With unequivocal agility, Harm slipped through the newly crafted entrance in the roof and landed with the unsurpassed grace of a feline. He had made no sound, and in return, the museum was rapt in silence, but nevertheless, he was full aware the silent alarm had been activated. After all, he had researched and rehearsed the plan repeatedly, demanding nothing short of perfection from himself, the police, his mindless cohorts at the bank, and especially Young Justice.
For each, Harm had assigned predetermined roles in his masterful scheme. As he stalked through the closed museum, fear found itself to be an island inside Harm, unable to beach remotely close to the shores of his consciousness. Quite the opposite, Harm mockingly stopped to observe each pitiful excuse of art and history adorning the museum. Deeming each exhibit a miserable waste of human resource, he defaced everything he passed on his way to his goal.
All the while Harm shredded paintings in two and eviscerated sculptures, he gloated, "I must admit, sometimes even I underestimate how truly ahead of my time I am." It was he who had orchestrated the high profile bank robbery mere miles from the museum. Although each and every one of his hired bank robbers had been captured, the afternoon's affairs had been a resounding success thus far.
For in truth, Harm deviously reminded himself, the goal had never been something as laughably pedestrian as stealing money. Rather, the heist had been a doomed ship from the very start. Admiring his ingenious plan, Harm recalled that the bank robbery, first and foremost was a glaring diversion to draw the attention of the police and Young Justice away from the true prize that was here, in the ever growing heart of the museum. And, just as he had anticipated, the overzealous police force and self indulgent Young Justice raced to the bank without even considering how vulnerable the rest of the city would be, to say, a break in at the museum.
To the suckling tit of the dollar, the eight mercenaries were, perhaps to a fault, loyal. He had used his hired hit-men as sheepish pawns led to the slaughter. He admitted it. He prided himself in it. Not one of the eight had the faintest inkling of knowing the true purpose of their mission. Cognizant of the fact that robbing the most heavily fortified bank in the city during broad daylight was suicide, the eight nevertheless undertook the challenge.
True, he had paid each man in advance and quite well at that. It had cost him what many would consider a fortune, but Harm knew that of true value waited for him inside the museum. The museum had temporarily closed in order to furbish a new wing that would feature a recently discovered ancient relic. This jewel, Harm salivated, was the cause for all the day's happenings.
Of Native American origin, the relic had been found off of Massapequa Bay several months ago. After exhaustive research and banal litigation, a committee of archeologists and historians decreed the relic safe to be put on display. According to many Native American legends, the relic was once heralded as a magic talisman, but upon intensive analysis, the scientific researchers proved, or so they assumed, that the mystic power of the relic was nothing more than aggrandized fables. Recalling this sad but ever true adjudication Harm's temper flared. Releasing his adamant frustration, he grasped his sword and agitatedly decapitated a stone statue next to him.
"Fools," he murmured, "only believing that which is inside their precious books." His passion rising, he continued, "There is more to this world than could ever be contained in any book. They cannot see its true power for the simple reason that it is not written down."
Contrarily, Harm knew precisely the near omnipotent power housed in the relic. Even as he ghosted through the barren halls of the museum, he could feel its immense powers beckoning him. He had known his entire life that the jewel was far more than mere fantastical fable. It was an ancient beacon to the animist gods. In ancient times, before the age of doubt, warrior chiefs used the jewel to communicate with the gods of the Earth to pray for the deliverance of rain, thunder, fire, snow, and other natural phenomena. Over time, warrior chiefs grew confident and diffident, ignoring the need to give thanks for the favors of the gods, until eventually, the jewel no longer mattered.
Now however, the jewel had been found and soon, very soon Harm thought as he viewed its glass case several feet down the corridor, he would reawaken its power. With the bloodline of warrior chiefs of the past flowing in his convalescing veins, the time had come for the relic to know a new master. Unlike those before him, Harm saw what no one else had seen for millennia. The relic grants he who reveres the majesty of the animist gods command over the forces of nature.
Despite his ambition, Harm understood that he still had to acquire the jewel first. Closing in on the jewel display, Harm discerned the presence of two security guards patrolling. A simple enough task for one such as he, Harm yawned lightly as he realized how beneath him such a mundane battle would be. Like an animal awaiting helpless prey, Harm swiftly leapt into the air and hid atop a silver chandelier. In position, he smugly spit, the saliva eliciting a noticeable ping sound as it smacked against the tile floor.
Alarmed initially, the first of the security guards mind soon reassured him that it was nothing more than the normal squeaks and leaks of any building. Still, flashlight in hand, he decided to investigate the sound's origin, if for no other reason than to stretch his legs.
As the first security guard headed down the long, barren corridor, he relaxed mind and body as he realized it was just as he predicted, a mere drop of water. Meanwhile, the sound of the spit dousing the floor went undetected by the second of the two, who blissfully continued gazing upon the relic. His listless stare into the relic suddenly snapped as he heard the call of his partner from across the hall, "Matt, get over here, quick!"
Reaching into his holster, he readied his pistol and cautiously treaded deep into the corridor. "J-Jerry," he tentatively called out, and hearing no response, he prepared for the worst. Upon inching closer, he, not unlike his speechless partner, stood in astonishment at the desecration of each exhibit throughout the museum. They had heard nothing and seen no one, but nevertheless the proof remained cemented in the destruction of each priceless painting, statue, and artifact. Fearing the worse, the two panicked security guards edgily scoured every corner of the tattered wing of the museum in a vain search for the culprit.
Meanwhile, Harm, despite his satisfaction in his efficient stealth, knew his work was not finish. Approaching the unprotected jewel case, Harm sliced into the case and grabbed his treasure. In doing so, the blaring chorus of the laser alarms sounded, but in its purpose it failed. By the time the two flustered security guards processed what had occurred, Harm and his desired treasure had long vanished. Its pulsating power awakened upon his touch, and it too, touched him. In it he could feel generations of might bathing against his fingertips.
Before he had departed, Harm offered a parting serenade, "I am not one to take without giving back, and I must admit, the display case does look a bit naked without the jewel. No matter, it is easily rectified." Determined to make things right, Harm gripped his sword, saying, "I think it is best that I leave a little something to let my peers know that their old friend Harm was in the neighborhood."