Notes: Guess who's back? I am so, SO sorry about the several month wait, and right at the climax! I suppose I'm a real fanfic author, since I get to start a chapter with a life update. Got a new job. Lost a new job. Got a new girlfriend. Not lost her yet. Went on two holidays, the first of which was what really killed my writing drive. I'm back to writing and am currently two chapters deep into the next book, so I'm hoping to be back to weekly updates for at least a little while. So read, and enjoy the climax you've been waiting for! I hope it's worth the wait.
-I could feel the cold seep into my bones as I narrowly dodged the beam of one of Mr Freeze's rays. Frost cracked the leather of my coat, ice-crystals forming on the surface. The poor thing had been through worse, but that was going to be hell to repair.
I slammed myself back hard against a wall, and the impact almost hurt more than the glancing shot from the ray did. I fired back with my blasting rod, fire shooting forth, flame meeting frost and exploding into steam, which settled into a chill fog over the battlefield, obscuring everybody's vision, just as planned.
This was the part of the plan that I hated most, the part where I had to humiliate myself in front of a crowd.
Traffic had stopped up and down the road, any Gothamite with a shred of self-preservation knowing to steer well clear of metahuman brawls, whilst idiot onlookers and tourists stupid enough to get close snapped pictures on phones or actual cameras. I could hear the sound of sirens approaching, which meant the fight was going to be over quickly one way or another.
I was decked out in glowy, rune-encrusted nonsense. Not really objects of power - Mirror Master had called a buddy going by 'Heat Wave' to give me a mini-flamethrower we'd encrusted in glow-in-the-dark paint. We'd done the same for my trenchcoat, not that any of it was visible under half an inch of rime. Runes lined the collar and rim, glowing faintly in the dim evening light. I had a few other gadgets along the same lines as the blasting rod, regular old mundane technology made to glow, not magic, but still more than enough to help me project the image I wanted to. That of a grand magus brawling in the streets with Mister Freeze and Penguin, engaged in an epic duel for the fate of something or other.
"Oi, that hurt!" I growled, clutching my arm. It really did, and I was well aware getting injured this early could spell disaster down the road, when I needed to fight for real. I took cover behind a parked car, narrowly dodging several bullets from Penguin's umbrella which shattered the glass windows. They advanced like a wolfpack, Penguin flanking left, Freeze flanking right, as I grabbed a piece of oddly-colored chalk I'd been told was flammable, drew a circle and some nonsense Norse runes around myself, and used a lighter to set it alight.
"Ego tamquam stultus videor!" I started chanting, in a deep, booming voice. "Cur ego hoc facere!"
Penguin got to me first, dashing around the car with shocking agility for such a fat little bastard. The second he rounded the corner, though, an arrow embedded into his leg and he tripped and fell, howling in pain.
Right, my teammate had finally showed up. Huntress, crouching like a cat on the bonnet of the next car over, covering me. Which gave me time to try to 'finish my ritual'. I whirled my hands over my head, raising the blasting rod to the sky as I aimed it, surrounded by runes and flames, at Mister Freeze. Acting like I thought Penguin was down for the count.
"Nunc tempus est! Percute me in tergum, Pinguinus!"
Freeze wheeled back, sensing danger, trying to dodge the incoming blast of fire, or whatever the hell I was supposed to be throwing at him.
And then a shot rang out.
I staggered forward, then back, slamming my back against the car to open the bloodbag in the back of my coat. I sank, slumped against the car.
"JOHN!" Huntress cried out, charging forward. Another crossbow bolt at Freeze sent him scrambling for cover, but he fired his freeze-ray seemingly randomly in the process, freezing the car and portions of the road, raising a spiked wall of pure white ice between me and the rest of the street.
I staggered to my feet, avoiding Penguin as Freeze and Huntress continued their little dance. I glanced down at him, saw the fake blood running down his leg as he wrenched out the dummy bolt, with a sticky but blunt tip, out of his leg.
"We'll be roight behind ya, John. Don't fuck this up, yeah?"
I gave him a silent nod. Anything more might be incriminating. I couldn't stay and chat, not now. I clutched my side and shuffled forward, instead. Reaching the payment, taking a moment to lean against the wall of one of the houses, before staggering, drunkenly, into an alley.
–
I took quick stock. A nasty bruise on my back, probable frostbite… that really did sting. I brushed the rime from my coat, resisting the urge to shed it entirely. It was a gaudy, awful facsimile of my usual trenchcoat. I dropped the 'blasting rod' on the spot, moving deeper into the alley. I started retreating away from the busy sounds of the fight on the street, through alleys, moving slowly, conspicuously. Groaning loudly in pain. I made my way to a bridge. Nice and secluded, dank, graffiti staining the walls. Some poor bugger had even pissed on it by the looks of the sticky puddle a few feet to my left.
The graffiti was mostly gang-signs, from multiple major supervillains. Riddler's question-mark, Ivy's thorns. Both of those were faded and old. The most recent set of markings were cartoon recreations of a certain signature gas-mask, marking this as Scarecrow's territory.
It took him all of twenty minutes to find me. Frankly I'm shocked it was even that long.
He walked under the bridge to meet me surprisingly casually. Just a gentleman in a gas-mask with syringes for hands having a stroll. It took him a moment to spot me, and he crooned his head on the spot. I could see the moment when he shifted gears back into a predatory mode, dropping down into a crouch, arms looser at his sides.
"Mister Constantine. What a pleasant surprise."
I spat to the side as he addressed me. "Oh don't act like- nggh… like it's such a bloody shock. Your bloodhound bitch of a pet succubus must've smelled the blood of a Constantine a mile away. Where is she, anyway?"
I looked around, trying to spot her. It took me a moment. Turned out she was directly above me, staring down. She was…
Most certainly not Nergal. That was enough to let me breathe a sigh of relief.
Though sighing in relief was the last thing any sane person would have done. She dangled from the ceiling, a serpent of bone with the face of an angel, blonde locks framing a babyfaced-head… as her ribcage clacked and clattered like an abominable centipede.
Our eyes met, and she spoke in a voice like silk
"John Constantine. I'd call it a pleasure, but we've met before."
My heart leapt into my throat, spirit singing as she spoke with a voice like an angel.
Right, a succubus after all, then. Shiva had been right. That was going to be a problem.
I'd long since built up enough tolerance to sex magic that I wasn't gonna try to jump her bones and get strangled to death. Succubus sex isn't as good as it's cracked up to be anyway, I can tell you from experience, but having one this close was…
Uncomfortable.
And not in the same ways any other demon getting in my personal space would be.
No. I was calm. Any temptation, any discomfort, all of it paled in comparison to the knowledge that right here, right now, were the two monsters who'd killed my father.
And that even with all the stupid super-science gizmos discarded, I still had one thing quite literally in my pocket to put them the hell down.
"Not feeling talkative, hm? A shame, I heard you had such a charming voice. A certain somebody was gushing rather publicly about that accent." The succubus swayed from side to side, inspecting me with catlike intensity. "You're the great talker, aren't you supposed to talk?"
"Is there much I'm supposed to want to talk about? Not like we have all that much in common. What, you want- you want to chat about the latest footie match or something?" I groaned, shifting a little, pressing my hand over my fake injury.
That last line got Scarecrow's attention. He jumped up from his squatting position, mask shifting like he was grinning wide. "Oh, but we do! Ohhh, But we do. More than you know. We both want to help the world, we're both willing to hurt people to get what we want… don't think I never heard about that poor pub landlord back in london!" I cringed at the memory. That was not how I wanted to be remembered by anybody, much less this crowd. "And most importantly… both our chief weapons are fear. We're both practically…" He takes a deep, rattling breath, harsh and artificial through the gas mask "Made of it. The difference is, I let it drive me towards strength, and you let it drive you away."
"Hold up-" I said, raising a hand, before coughing into it. I slid my hand a little further from my wound and a little closer to my pocket. The pocket where I had my weapon, the one I was going to put Scarecrow down with.
If only I could get the bastard a little closer.
"I've seen things you wouldn't believe. That's- what's your- nggh, what's your name, dear?" I gave the Succubus literally hanging over my head a pained but cocky smile.
"Triskele" She provided.
"Triskele's the third scariest demon I've seen this month. I'm not running and hiding from you either, and you're dressed like bleeding Edward Scissorhands was alive during the blitz. How the hell d'ya figure I'm a bloody coward?"
"Ah, ah, ahh." He said, shaking a pointed finger at me, tutting. "I never said coward, just afraid. All this time, through all this chaos, murder… through the assault on my warehouse, our meeting in London… from all I've heard of you in Gotham, you haven't cast a single spell, have you?" He rushed forward, and I jumped, thinking he was going to grab me. Instead he stopped inches from my face, close enough I could see my breath fog the lenses of his mask, as he asked "...Why?"
"...Those fireballs I cast all up on main street didn't bloody count?"
He drummed those fingertips against my face, each one pricking the skin painfully, making me hiss in pain. "I know Heat Wave's work when I see it. No, no. That's more of your front. Of your trickery. Trying to inspire fear to keep from having to actually use the weapons you really have up your sleeve. I understand, truly, I do. But unlike you, when pushed…" He flexed a muscle, and I saw green toxin flow into one of his fingers, a viscous droplet dripping from it onto my coat. "I actually deliver on my threats. Why don't you?"
"Maybe I just don't want to summon actual devils to drag a soul down to hell over a personal rivalry. Actual bloody morals, rather'n throwing in with actual devils." I growled, starting to get frustrated. He was so close, so focused on me. I slipped a hand onto my pocket, my hand gripping around the gun.
"No, no, you've killed innocents before, that isn't it. Don't you know how? Is that it? Are all the pretentions to secret knowledge a bluff?"
"When forced, it's not the same thing as doing it for fun, or for the sake of a damn power play or petty revenge! Fine, I raided your stupid fucking warehouse or whatever, you couldn't dump fear toxin into the lake for the tenth fucking time! Was that worth killing-" My cheeks stung with tears as I poured out all the tension, the built up vitriol. "Was that really worth killing my-"
"Yes, it was." Was the coldest, coolest reply I'd ever heard. He stood up, stepped back, and I staggered to my feet to go after him, to grab him, to rip to tear, to-
Realise I was standing up when I was meant to be too wounded to. I froze up in fright, but he didn't even notice, and his demonette didn't bat an impossibly perfect eyelash either.
Instead of attacking him, I just let out a choked "Why? How was that worth it?"
"You're hurt about this? You shouldn't be. You'll come out healthier for it in the end, stronger."
"How the hell could this possibly make me stronger?"
He paused a moment, turning to look at me, saying shockingly plainly. "...You want to kill me?"
"...Yes?"
"Good. Then I can use that."
It was like talking to a brick wall, or an alien. There was no trace of emotion in his voice beyond casual academic interest. The fact he didn't even react to my anger, didn't even care, pissed me off even more. I balled my hands into a fist and threw a punch, but he caught it, gripping my wrist crushingly. His other hand gripped my midriff, smearing his fingers through the blood at my abdomen.
"It's not really his you know, Jonathan." Triskele crooned, watching from her perch on the ceiling.
"I know, dearest." He replied, sickeningly sweetly before throwing me aside. I hit the ground hard, and counted myself lucky I didn't hear something crack. I growled, scrambling to my feet, as he calmly and casually started daubing the walls with blood, making a demented finger-painting. He was drawing… Letters? Runes?
No, a name, written in demonic script. Triskele's name. Triskele's true name.
And then some more. It looked like a contract script, very basic terms and conditions, in only a few lines. A lot of proper runic languages were hideously complex, you could fit a book's worth of fine print into the tiny minutia of the kerning and font size. Though I spotted more than a couple of typos.
This was…
"My pact, with her." He explained, like a professor lecturing a student. "You should be able to read it just fine. And you should know how to use it, as well."
I had to peer close just to verify it was real, but it was. Her contract, and more importantly, her true name. With this…
"I could call upon her true name and turn her on you. I could kill you, with her." I said, in a shocked whisper.
"You could." Triskele spoke up. Her voice matched mine, a low hiss, slow and seductive, prickling against my spine.
"Then why show me it?"
"Because I want you to do it, to try to kill me. Because I think it will help you, John. Because I think I know why you so rarely use your magic: You're afraid."
That got a snort out of me. I was incredulous, I could almost laugh. "What, afraid of magic? Mate, anybody with a brain is, but that don't mean I'm afraid to use it."
"No. Afraid of power." He chuckles, turning to me, fixing me with an intense stare. He advanced a step, and I was suddenly very aware I was surrounded. Him on one side, Triskele on the other, blocking both exits to the tunnel.
"Afraid of what you'd become if you used it." Triskele whispered, stretching out, languishing as her body draped across the whole width of the tunnel.
"Afraid you'd give in to the temptation."
"Use it again. On lesser foes for lesser crimes."
"Mete out punishment, become a law unto yourself."
"You were a punk rocker as a child, weren't you? You're afraid… of becoming the exact kind of power you once raged against."
They advanced on me with every word spoken, trading off lines like they'd practiced, playing off each other. I reached into my pocket for my weapon, heart pounding, starting to panic. I wanted to bolt, to flee, but…
Scarecrow saw me reach down. Put a hand over mine, claws closing over my hand.
"I saw you reaching for that before. A wand? A blasting rod? Some cursed artefact? I assume it's one of those, no? Do it. Face your fears, surpass them… and become great."
One of those syringes pricked against my skin. I'd never make the quickdraw. He was close enough, but he'd dose me before I had a chance to actually fire. I could feel Triskele's breath against the back of my neck, making the little hairs stand on end, as I said
"Mate, you seem to have mistaken me for Batman. I have no problem playing judge, jury and executioner, and you really don't know me if you don't know that." I said, bluffing, stalling for time. I was inches from victory, I just needed him to remove his hand so I could reach what was in my pocket to kill him. But instead he just gripped tighter, hand trembling as he hissed out a
"But you won't cast! I don't understand! I killed your father! You're a hero, a magus. But you cast no spells, you don't steal my succubus, you've killed dozens but won't kill me. Why not?!" His voice shook as he stared at me in wild-eyed fury, almost pleading for an answer.
"Because he's a coward." Triskele whispered in his ear, snaking over my shoulder to reach him, staring at me as her cheek pressed against his. "He's afraid of you. Afraid to do what he has to."
"You don't get to know." I said, straightening my back. "I don't owe you a thing. You're beneath me, scum on me boot, not even worth killing. Now let. Go."
"No!" I felt a shock of pain as the syringes sank into my flesh, injecting, fear toxin coursing into my bloodstream. "No. That's not the answer. I need to know. You're the magus, I need to know! You will tell me, John Constantine, Laughing Magician, what secret of magic compels you not to fight me as an equal, as a mage, or else I will do so much worse than just one father."
As a mage, huh? I reached into my other pocket and pulled up a fist. Empty, but I put it in front of my face and opened it up, blew, like there was some dust in there. He shrieked, skittering back. Triskele stood taciturn, looking unimpressed, she'd known all along there was nothing magic in there, but he…
Oh. The world swam, but… I got it now.
I knew why he was doing this. Why he'd gone straight for my jugular without killing me. It was the same damn story repeated from the other side.
The other villains wanted him dead because he was a magician, and they didn't understand magic. They feared it.
And he wanted me dead because I was a magician. And despite having dipped his toe in the water, he didn't really understand what he was doing. He feared me.
Or rather, the Laughing Magician. He didn't understand me, that whole speech about fearing the power, that wasn't me.
If that trick with Triskele's true name would have worked on it's own, I'd have had him disemboweled, but if I did i'd free her, set her loose on the city. I'd die too.
"A parlour trick." She said, staring at me, as Scarecrow glared, livid, convulsing with anger.
"Worked, didn't it? Now…"
The fear gas was setting in. He was starting to stretch, distort. Turning a hundred feet tall as the tunnel turned to a field of bones. I could barely tell which bones were the floor and which were Triskele, she was camouflage against the background.
I could see blood drip from Scarecrow's hands, a shrunken head at his belt, my Dad's. I was facing the man that killed my father.
That was okay though. I could stand tall. Because he wasn't facing John Constantine. He was facing the Laughing Magician, and I knew he was bricking it too.
"Now to deal with you." I said, advancing on him. We squared off. He shook a finger, tutting at me.
"John, John, John. We're a little bit past that, no? The venom is in your veins. You're about to experience a total loss of contact with reality. I've already won."
It was funny, not much had really changed. His voice echoed, but I was already facing down a demon from hell and a sadistic killer. And I'd dealt with so much worse, over the years.
"No, you haven't. You and your little pet demon can't stand up to me. You really think she can defeat me? I've fought the First of the Fallen mate, she's small potatoes compared to that."
"She is the Queen of the Succubi!" He growled, glancing to her, giving a little hand-signal. She went for me, darting forward.
"?￢ﾀﾝ I spoke, and she shrieked in pain, going down. The white speech of heaven, a counterpart to the black of hell. It hurt like, ah, hell, for demons, but wouldn't keep her down for more than a second. She recoiled, staggered, and immediately Scarecrow was on the back foot, panicking. He rushed to her
"No! What-" He fished in his pockets, looking for something to heal her, get her back in the fight. I could see him wracking his brains, he held his head as he took something foul smelling to form a ritual circle. "?" He tried, reaching, butchering the pronunciation, countering white speech with black. It was a fumbling attempt, but it helped, strength returned to her limbs.
"?. ?." I countered, as Triskele recoiled, smoke and steam hissing from her ears as they quite literally burned. We were both fighting over her, now, ignoring each other. I could have gone for him, and he could have gone for me. I could barely see her through the hissing faces and teeth covering the floor, but I didn't need to in order to talk at her.
"No. No! I raised her, I summoned her, you will not take her like that. And even if you do, wizard. What are you, hm? What are you but that?! I have emblazoned my coat with runes, defenses against any magic, brought from hell itself. Wards and defenses, I am immortal, impervious to all magic attack!"
I squinted, and I could sense them, too. He really had warded that outfit of his to hell and back. If I'd hit him with a spell instead of his girlfriend, it'd probably have bounced right off. I still wanted to know where he'd gotten all this firepower, if not from those League of Assassin guys, but…
He turned back to Triskele, as strength returned to her. She bared her fangs.
"It's okay, my dear. Let me help. I have unholy water, just give me one moment."
He uncorked a vial, and she tilted her head left and right as he poured it into her ears. She coiled up, torn between healing and moving to strike.
"The damage is superficial, he's so weak a mage he can't even do more than cause pain. How do you expect to-"
He was distracted. I had the perfect opportunity. His head was turned, focused on his girlfriend and half ignoring me, confident in his invulnerability.
He expected me to speak another word of power at him. The returns were already diminishing when I was using them against Triskele, and he didn't know that wouldn't have worked on him even if he wasn't actively prepared to defend against it. He expected high magic, arcane binds, a summoned demon or magic fire streaming out of me arse.
He'd've fought any of those kinds of attacks. He'd probably've killed me if I tried.
So I didn't.
I took the gun from my pocket instead, and I shot him in the back of the head.
Notes: And that is... not QUITE the end. There's an epilogue coming next week, but that's the end of the main narrative at least. Scarecrow defeated, done in by his own hubris and lack of understanding. John's father avenged, and Gotham can sleep safely, assured it won't have to figure out how magic works any time soon, and no huge gang wars are going to break out over this new weapon. I will admit I'm not as happy with this one as I was with The Ones We Left Behind. The theming and plotting was less tight, that chapter with Lady Shiva was entirely unplanned, and it felt at once bloated and too tight for it's own good. Which is a shame, since this was the story that gave me the idea for the whole series, the one i'd planned for longest. But what do you all think? Let me know in the comments, concrit is hugely appreciated, even if it's just complaining about the wait. And I hope you're looking forward to the next story. I'm adapting Son of Man next. I know it's a... controvertial story, but A: I'm removing the most egregious rapey bits, promise and B: It's basically going to be The Thing. But with the Central City Rogues. I hope to see you there!