Chapter 31

Metropolis

With Mr. Terrific's help, Clark managed to make it off the Watchtower without running into anyone. It felt good to be out of the infirmary and back in his apartment. The fact that no one wanted to treat him like an invalid or worse, kill him was also on the plus side of things. Sometime today, he was going to have to make an appearance at the Planet before too many questions were asked. Checking his messages, there was several from Lois asking after his health, along with many co-workers expressing sympathy. He'd gotten the impression from Perry that Lois was covering for him. Somehow that didn't shock him. No matter how things had worked out between them, she had always been a friend to both Superman and Clark Kent. A sense of sadness came over Clark as he had a vague notion of what might have been between them. Maybe in another world their timing would have been right, he dejectedly thought. As this realization sunk in, his attention was caught by the last message on his machine. It was from Perry and he just wanted to let Clark know that Milton and Lisa's funerals were scheduled for that very day. He'd almost forgotten about the real victims of Nathan's attack, but suddenly the pain and guilt of their deaths came rushing back. It hit Clark hard. It shouldn't have happened, he told himself. I should have been aware. It doesn't matter what Nathan's reason was, it's still my fault for not being ready. Clark would never forget the feeling of helplessness while he lay on the floor of the office, watching Nathan maliciously destroy those two innocent lives. He was supposed to be a hero, yet he couldn't even protect people at the Daily Planet. Milton and Lisa's deaths would haunt him, he sadly realized. Even when they caught Nathan, it wouldn't change the one sad truth, they had already paid too high a price. Slowly moving towards his bedroom, Clark knew he had to make it to their funerals to honor them. Pulling off his bandage, he climbed into the shower to get ready.

Kingsport, Massachusetts

Shayera and Zatanna beamed down to check the situation first hand. What they found was beyond any nightmare either had ever had. They stood in what was the center of town, sickened at the destruction and horror all around them. Even the strongest stomach was sorely tested. The residents, or what used to be the residents were transformed and mutated out of all recognition. Most were thankfully dead, but a few unfortunates still lingered in agony. Zatanna dropped to one knee and began to heave at the sight of one poor soul whose body had been turned inside out yet he struggled to move. Shayera felt the bile rising in her throat as well, but steeled herself not to give in to it.

"Madness," Zatanna said finally. "Madness and pure evil."

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, revulsion being replaced by anger. It was almost too hard to believe that the young boy she had known so long ago could do this. There was no doubt, though; his signature was all over the town. Unlike Fort Worth, this wasn't someone else masking him or herself with it.

"It's Nathan," she said to Shayera. "Nathan and something ancient and deadly."

"What,' Shayera managed to say, still trying to keep the contents of her stomach down.

"Not the Old Ones, but something associated with them. Something monstrous," Zee replied.

"Is there anything we can do for these people? Help them, someway," Shayera asked.

"They were dead the moment Nathan and whatever it was he brought with him, came to this town."

Shayera looked at her friend, a little surprised at the cold hard voice and demeanor she saw. She knew that Zatanna felt responsible for Nathan's attacks, but looking at her now, she was completely changed. It was as if the spirit of the Batman had taken over her body. Shayera was a soldier and used to horrible things, but this was beyond anything she'd witnessed or even imagined. She wasn't afraid to admit it rattled her, yet as she watched Zatanna she saw nothing but grim determination.

"Zee? Are you okay," Shayera asked, suddenly very worried for her friend.

"No, Shayera, I'm not okay," Zatanna replied, not even turning to look at her. "How could I be in the middle of this?"

Before Shayera could say anything more, Zatanna let out of scream and raised her hands in the air. Suddenly the winds began to build and howl as lightening flashed across the sky. Shayera felt the ground under her shake and was thrown off balance. As she gazed up, the atmosphere around her was changing. The decimated town began to flicker before her eyes, changing and reconfiguring into what it was. As quickly as it had started it was over. The clouds disappeared and Shayera looked out at a town restored. She had always known Zatanna was powerful, but this was beyond anything she'd imagined. Glancing around she looked to see if the people had been restored as well. In a manner of speaking they were. They looked human again, but they were all dead.

"The people, Zee?"

"They were outside anything I could do," she said, shaking her head. "At least now their families can recognize them."

Zatanna leaned down to one of the bodies, noticing it was just a young teenager, no more than fifteen. The hard, cold visage she's been wearing cracked, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"He's only a kid," she said. The sadness was plain in her voice. "How could he possibly deserve this?"

"No one deserves this, Zee," Shayera replied softly to her friend.

"Nathan's going to answer for this." Her voice was almost brittle with anger.

"And he will," a voice said behind them. They both turned, ready for attack, only to see Dr. Fate helping Rose Psychic walk towards them.

"Rose," Zatanna gasped in surprise. If the woman saw her she gave no sign, her attention focused on the dead all around her. Pushing herself away from Dr. Fate, Rose stumbled on shaky legs over to the nearest grouping. She dropped to her knees and began to weep as she saw it must have been a young family, now all dead.

""Oh, dear God, Nathan, what have you done," she cried. Zatanna went to her first, wrapping her arms around the woman and trying to comfort her. Dr. Fate and Shayera stood a few feet away just looking at them.

"This is very troubling, Shayera," he said. "I fear Nathan's powers have grown considerably. To do something on this large a scale would take abilities beyond even mine."

"Then how was Zatanna able to change it back," Shayera asked.

"The full strength of her powers are unknown to me and I think, to her as well. Perhaps young Nathan has sown the wind and will now reap the whirlwind,' Fate said.

Shayera turned and looked at her friend, seeing her differently that before. The cold, grim look she'd seen in Zatanna's eyes earlier troubled, her, but she didn't know what to do about it.

Metropolis

As Clark entered the church, he saw that the entire staff of the Daily Planet had turned out for the funeral. Not wanting to take away from the service, he slipped into one of the back pews. The funeral mass was just starting. The priest led them all through the service and then announced that the family had asked one of Lisa's co-workers to say a few words. Clark was surprised when Lois stood up and walked to the pulpit.

Lois felt as if her hands were shaking as she slowly walked up onto the altar, over to the pulpit and turned to address the assembled family and friends of Lisa. When the family had asked her to speak, Lois was frankly shocked. She tried as gently as she could to tell them she really didn't know their daughter very well, but her parents insisted. They told her they were quiet people and weren't used to speaking in front of crowds. They wanted someone to speak about their daughter that actually knew her. As they were explaining their reasons, Lisa's mother began to cry. Lois reluctantly agreed, not wanting to hurt them further. She had been up most of the night trying to write something. She still had a column to write for the paper and it was going nowhere as well. At three in the morning, the tight control of her emotions that she's been so determined to keep, finally gave out. Lois began to weep and once she started, the floodgates opened and she let herself give in to it. She cried for so many things, Lisa and Milton, Clark and a litany of missed opportunities and mistakes. The pain and heartache overwhelmed her. Sitting there alone in her apartment, she couldn't hold it all in any longer. This wasn't the tough as nails reporter she presented to the world, but the young vulnerable woman with the same worries and fears as everyone else. How long she cried, she didn't really remember. Much later as she wiped the last tear away, she looked at the blank computer screen in front of her. Her hands moved towards the keyboard and slowly the first sentence came out. It was shortly followed by another and then another.

It was dawn when she finally finished. She sat there on her couch, completely spent. She sent one copy to Perry and printed out another. Without even reading it over again, she dragged herself to bed to try and get a few hours of sleep. Now standing in front of this gathering, she had that print out in front of her. She glanced around the front few rows, taking in familiar faces. The church was quiet as she began to speak.

"I was saved by a hero. She wasn't famous and didn't wear a cape or costume, but she was a hero nonetheless. I still don't really know why she did what she did. A madman was going to kill me and at the last moment, she pushed me to safety. She paid the ultimate price, sacrificing her life for another. Her name was Lisa Fremont and she died a true hero."

As Lois continued to speak, Clark found himself leaning forward to listen to her eloquent words. She spoke of how in this age of amazing and super, we sometimes forget the ordinary heroes among us. Her words resonated with the mourners. They seemed to hang on every word. Clark found himself captivated by what she was saying. It wasn't an indictment of superheroes, but a lament for the heroes in every one of us. Lisa became a symbol in Lois' words for the ordinary firemen, policemen and countless others that everyday risked their lives. With each sentence, Lois' voice seemed to gain strength and confidence in the message she was delivering. She paused and looked around the assembly before closing her eulogy.

"I know this is a difficult day for Lisa's family, but I hope you find some comfort in the fact that she reminded all of us what a real hero is."

The Watchtower

Bruce grimly looked over the numbers. There could be no doubt there was a spike in criminal activity. Nathan and the believers were by far the worst of it, but reports were coming in from all over of attacks by super criminals. As he read each new report, he couldn't help but notice a pattern developing. Each crime originated in a city known for having superheroes. They seemed designed not only to shake the public trust in the heroes, but also to target people and places known to be associated with the heroes. That couldn't be a coincidence, Bruce thought. He was still pondering over the information Zatanna had given him about the attack in Fort Worth. If it wasn't Nathan, but someone else trying to disguise himself or herself as him, than there was more to this. He'd always had a theory that more than one person was behind the believers' attacks. The methodology between attacks was too strikingly different to be all the work of Nathan. The confirmed attacks by him had a randomness and brutality, while the others seemed cold and calculated. The attacks on Jonn and Wally had that feel to it. This raised more concerns for Bruce, as the League was already stretched thin between injuries and the rise in incidents. Whoever this other person was, they seemed bent on feeding the growing problems, yet Bruce instinctively knew who ever it was had a different agenda than Nathan did. He hadn't figured out what it was or who was behind it, yet. Nathan's motives and goals, while monstrous, were apparent for anyone to see. This other party stayed in the shadows working towards their goal. In Bruce's experience, these shadows players posed a more troubling threat. Who were they and what did they want? Bruce knew he needed to find out the answers to those questions and soon.

Tucson Arizona

The bank robbery should have gone off without a hitch. Everything was planned down to the last detail. The five robbers were in and out in minutes. What they hadn't counted on was Vigilante. His first shot took out the front tire on their getaway car. They were force to abandon it. They had not come unarmed. With street sweepers and assault rifles they moved through the streets taking out any police that got in their way. Their body armor made them feel invincible and emboldened them. Vigilante wasn't impressed. With a well-placed shot, he took down the first of the robbers. The man wasn't killed, but he wouldn't be doing much dancing any time soon. Like a cowboy herding cattle, Vigilante used his motorcycle and weapons to steer the robbers away from the more populated areas. They ended up in the warehouse district, their options quickly running out. Vigilante could feel the panic starting to spread through them. They lost some of their precision and began to wildly shoot at anything, real or imagined. The S.W.A.T. team was on its way and it was only a matter of time before they were caught. Vigilante was making another pass at them, when a cloaked figure suddenly appeared right in his path. He jerked his cycle to the side, trying to avoid running into the figure. The person didn't move. As the cycle began to slide to the side of the cloaked figure, the person reached out and grabbed the front wheel. The bike's momentum was halted, sending Vigilante flying over the handlebars. He expertly rolled as he hit the ground, instantly rising guns ready. Before his eyes, the cloaked figure tore his cycle to pieces as if it were tissue paper. He fired a shot and gasped in shock as the figure caught the bullet out of the air. The next moment, beams of fire seemed to shoot from the cloaked figure's eyes hitting Vigilante in the shoulder. He let out a scream, as his arm seemed to be on fire. He fired several shots, but the cloaked figure didn't flinch.

"Who are you?" Vigilante called, slowly rising to his feet. His response came from behind him. A whip charged with some sort of energy curled around his waist sending a mind numbing discharge through his system. The cloaked figure once again shot fire from his eyes, sending the nearby warehouses up in flames. Before Vigilante could react, the pull of the whip sent him spinning to the ground. Again and again, the whip struck him. Agony like he hadn't felt before spread through his body.

"Who are you?!" He screamed, but still he got no answer. The cloaked figure moved closer, even as the whip continued to devastate Vigilante. The lash cut deep into his skin bringing a grunt of pain from his lips. His body writhed in agony. Through bleary eyes he looked up at the cloaked figure again.

"Who are you," he somehow managed to ask, even as his body started to surrender to the pain. The figure stopped just in front of him and then knelt down. The whip ripped along Vigilante's bloody back. Slowly, his whole body in agony, he began to slip into unconsciousness.

"Who are you," he whispered one last time.

'Welcome to Hell, Vigilante," a cold, precise voice whispered to him and then the blackness overtook him. From out of the shadows, as second figure holding the whip emerged. Throwing back her hood, Morgaine had a cold smile on her face.

"It's been ages since I've used such a crude weapon," she said. "It's nice to know I haven't lost my touch."

The kneeling figure tossed back his hood and Zod looked at her in admiration.

"You continue to surprise me, Morgaine. You are a remarkable woman," he said to her. They stepped towards each other, embracing. The passion in their kiss rivaled the inferno all around them. The sound of sirens grew closer, but they didn't pull apart. With a small gesture from Morgaine, they simply faded away.

The Excelsior Metropolis

Carmen was just finishing up her shift when she saw the black tar like substance on the hallway carpet. Some jackass must be paving his driveway, she thought to herself. Groaning in frustration that she was now going to be late, she pushed her cart down the hall to see who had made the mess. As she rounded the corner, she saw him. Standing in front of Zatanna's door was a tall, thin young man. He didn't have any shoes on and his feet were dripping the black tar. His pants were caked with it and he wore a long overcoat. He seemed to be just pressing his palm against Zatanna's hotel room door.

"Excuse me," Carmen called out. "You're making a mess with that stuff on your feet, Mister."

The man turned and looked at her. Carmen felt a strange shudder go through her when she saw his eyes. His skin was chalk white and his hair was black and untamed. There was a dead look in his eyes.

"Is this Zatanna's room," he asked, giving her a smile. Another shudder went through her, as there was no warmth in his smile, only a vague menacing quality.

"It's against hotel policy to give out information about any guest, sir."

"Even to an old friend," he asked.

"You're a friend of hers? Come on, guy, beat it. We don't need any weirdos or groupies hanging out in the hallways. Zatanna isn't even in the hotel right now, so you're S.O.L."

"Oh, you know her, do you?"

"Don't even go there, pal, you got a creepy vibe come off you a mile wide," Carmen said dismissively. The man turned and stepped towards her, dragging his finger along the wall. The black tar dripped from his fingertips and leaked down the side.

"Hey, come on!" Carmen shouted, keeping her cart between herself and the man. "You're making a mess! Someone's going to have to clean that up!"

"When is Zatanna expected back," he asked, ignoring her shouts. "Tell me."

"I don't know, she didn't give me her schedule," Carmen replied. "She has a life and a career, you know?"

"Yes, her stage show," the man nodded. "Unfortunately, I don't have that kind of time right now."

"You can leave a message at the front desk, if you want."

"Yes, a message, I like the sound of that," he said with a cold smile. "Maybe you could help me send her a message."

"That's front desk, buddy, I'm a maid."

"Maybe you could help me anyway," he said, his voice low and menacing.

"What do you need some towels? I might have some condoms left if you really need them,' she asked.

'What? No, no! I don't need anything like that," he replied in shock, caught completely off guard by her suggestion..

"Yeah, somehow I didn't think so." Carmen smirked. "Look, you're making a mess, either leave or I'm calling the manager."

"You don't want to do that," he said to her.

"Strangely, yes I do."

"I just have a special message to leave Zatanna and you'd be perfect for it."

Before she could reply, the elevator doors opened and the manager stepped out.

"I've heard some complains coming from this floor," he said to Carmen.

"Yeah, Mister Creepy here is tracking blacktop or something all over the hallway. I only do rooms, sir and my shift is over."

"I understand, why don't you go check out," the manager said and then turned to the man. "Sir, I'm the manager, is there something I can help you with? A message, perhaps?"

While he was talking Carmen pushed her cart onto the elevator and was already heading down. The man looked from the closing elevator doors to the manager. A cold smile came to his face.

"Yes, there is something you can help me with. I want to send a message to a guest."

"Certainly, sir, just come with me down to the lobby and we'll fill out a form."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, I can give it to you right here."

The man's hand reached out and pressed against the manager's chest. As soon as the black tar made contact, the manager let out a scream of pain. He tried to pull away from the man, but the tar seemed to adhere to him, burning through his suit and into his flesh. The man stepped closer, even as the manager's screams turned into whimpers and sobs.

"My name is Nathan Occult, remember that," he whispered. "Let me give you the rest of my message to Zatanna."

The sound of a blood-curling scream filled the hallway and was followed by the coldest laugh imaginable.