Content Warning: This is a spooky Halloween episode, and thus things will get spooky. Specific content includes depictions of various phobias, both common and uncommon (specifics include, spiders, clowns, being trapped in burning buildings, and deep water). In addition, Ski'Lira displays certain behaviors that could be interpreted as 'self harm' (namely, avoiding medical advice). Please proceed with caution.
ST. ROCH, LOUISIANA
OCTOBER 31ST, 2010
21:17 EDT
Halloween was statistically proven to be one of the worst days for vigilantes. There was something about the anonymity of costumes that provided a catalyst for people to act as the lowest version of themselves, punctuated by the near-constant barrage of sugar hyped children running around unsupervised.
And if Halloween made normal citizens act abysmally, well, it was practically a field day for supervillains. As it was, both of her parents were split across the city dealing with two completely separate threats taking advantage of the holiday. Usually, she would have joined one of them, but as she was still deemed unfit for 'full duty', she had been relegated to street patrol.
By now, most of her bruising had faded and her stitches had been removed the day prior, leaving only the firm bandaging on her fingers for the last span of her uncharacteristically lengthy healing process. The bandages weren't wholly necessary, as they qualified as more 'cracked' than broken, but no one wanted her to take any chances.
Basically, she could function semi-normally, as long as she was careful to mind her body's limitations and keep from overtaxing herself.
The limitations were driving her slowly up the wall, her patience coming increasingly close to snapping with every day that passed. Being restricted to a strict diet certainly wasn't helping, even though she was now allowed small amounts of fruit and vegetables.
Waffles were banned for the foreseeable future.
It was a special kind of torture, being faced with the spooky treats of the season and being unable to consume any of it, in even the smallest amounts.
But she was dealing with the struggle in her own, aggressive manner. Tonight, it was punching normal, human people in the face with her better-off hand, a skill she had used three times tonight on patrol.
One of those times had been an incredibly intoxicated aspiring burglar who didn't believe she was the real Hawkgirl, instead a woman in a very convincing costume. He'd taken a swing at her with a crowbar to test his theory.
The officer she'd waved down to take him to the station thought it was one of the funniest things she'd ever heard.
After a few solid hours of monitoring the kids prowling through the streets for candy, stopping potential vandals, and detaining participants in more serious crimes like stealing and mugging, Hawkgirl was more than ready for a short break. She was going to allow herself exactly forty five minutes at home, planning it out meticulously. First, she'd take a shower, then she'd change into pajamas, fix up a meal from the 'diet' approved shelf of the fridge, hydrate, slip back into her uniform, and head back out for the rest of the chaotic night.
Of course, her best laid plans were dashed entirely as she heard the front door click open. From where she had been rummaging through the freezer, scrounging for a few ice cubes for her water, she froze as a foreign scent met her nostrils. She carefully nudged the freezer door shut without a sound, dropping low to hide behind the counter, cursing the intruder's ill-timing.
As she was freshly showered, all of her weapons and armor were upstairs and very much out of reach, and her loose t-shirt and green plaid pajama pants weren't going to protect her from anything.
The primary stench she registered was the acrid tang of cigarette smell, a foul odor that immediately fostered more dislike in whomever was unfortunate enough to attempt a breaking in of the Hol household.
"Looks like no one's home." An unfamiliar, heavily accented male voice commented aloud to himself. "Lucky."
For a moment, she truly thought the intruder was mocking her, until she realized that she'd never flipped on the lights when she'd gotten home. Again. It was a fairly frequent occurrence when one's night vision was perfect.
Remaining hidden, she tracked his movement through the house via sound alone, trying to pinpoint exactly where he was going. A common thief would be attracted to the expensive electronics in the living room, while a more experienced one would be drawn to the antique weaponry on display.
"Now, where the bloody hell do they keep all the good stuff?" The man muttered aloud, accompanied by a creak as he took to the stairwell.
Slinking out from behind her hiding space, she caught a visual of the back of a long coat ascending the stairs. Whoever this was, they wouldn't be getting any further. Before leaving the kitchen, she snagged one of the house's many hidden weapons, an Nth metal blade hidden amongst its plain fellows in the knife block.
Feet near-silent on the hardwood floors, she flipped the knife to hide it against her forearm and made her way to the side of the stairs. In one smooth motion, she folded her wings in as tight as they could go, then vaulted up and over the side of the banister.
The intruder had only the barest amount of time to whirl in place before she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat in one hand. Her attempt for a clean throw over the railing was ruined as he tensed and shifted his weight backwards to break her hold. Instead, he ended up crashing through the railing, chunks of wood spraying all over the place from the shattered balusters.
"Fu-!" His exclaimed curse was cut as Skylar pressed her bare foot down onto his throat.
"How dare you break into my home?!" She snarled, digging her heel in a little deeper, forcing a choked sound from him as she crushed his windpipe.
One of his hands lifted into a strange gesture, the unusual twist of his fingers all the warning she received before a blast of unseen force threw her off him, destroying even more of the balusters.
"Damn, I knew the Hawks had a kid, but you're more like a bloody attack dog, you are." Grumbling, the man leveraged himself upright, rubbing at his reddened throat. He held his hands up in a sign of surrender before she could lunge at him again. "Hold your horses, kid, I'm a friend of your parents. Didn't think you were home, else I would've at least knocked first."
Narrowing her eyes in distaste, she flicked on the nearby lightswitch, inspecting him in full technicolor. Buried beneath the cloying scents of ash and cigarette smoke was the telltale trace of magic, which explained the blast earlier. He was nondescript in appearance, a well worn trench coat worn over a white dress shirt that had never been ironed, black pants, and a black tie hanging in the loosest of knots around his neck.
"... You have exactly ten seconds to explain who you are before I stab you."
"With what? The daggers coming out of your eyes?" He scoffed.
Without a word, she flipped the concealed knife in her hand, the point aimed at the middle of his chest.
"Ah, right." Putting a fist to his mouth, he gave an awkward cough, then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Name's John Constantine, and I'm really hoping you've heard of me."
In fact, she had. "My parents don't like you."
"Not many do, really. We're... professional acquaintances."
"They aren't home." She knew it was stating the obvious, but it needed to be said. "It's Halloween."
"Is it really?" He rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not exactly looking for their help, if I'm going to be honest. I was just trying to nick one of your Nth metal weapons."
Grip tightening on her knife, Ski'Lira allowed an inhuman growl to tinge her words. "So you are here to steal from us."
"Borrow! Borrow!" He corrected. "I don't need it for long, just an... hour or two, max. Got a bit of a situation to clear up that could use a quick fix."
"I'd try a little harder on the explanation, because I will call my dad."
Letting out a groan as if she'd just punched him in the stomach, Constantine's head lolled back towards the ceiling. "Alright, fine, fine. Complete honesty, no need to call in daddy dearest. There's a bit of a... situation brewing over in England. Real small town, honestly can't even remember the name of it. Far as I can tell, a group of bloody teenagers got their hands on a summoning ritual and decided it would make a perfect prank for All Hallow's. Backfired on the tosspots pretty much immediately, and now the entire place is stuck under the thrall of a fear demon. Usually, I could handle it fine on me own, but the thing put a stupidly powerful shield spell to keep interlopers out. Hence, why I am here. Is that enough or do you want my star sign and my bank information too?"
Things started to click together, and she found herself lowering her knife. "So, you need a quick solution."
"Hence, trying to ste- borrow some of your Nth metal. So... can I have one?"
This was far from the first time that a fellow vigilante had requested this specific service from the Hawks. Thanks to Nth metal's innate magi-null capability, it made it perfect for situations exactly like this one, where time was of the essence. If things weren't dire, Constantine very well could have just cooked up some kind of anti-shield spell, but those sorts of things usually took time and effort to prepare, and he couldn't afford either.
But her parents had a rule, one that was never to be broken.
No Nth metal weapons were to be lent to anyone. Only one of the three Hawks was allowed to wield them.
Which left only one viable option, considering both her parents were indisposed and would be so for hours yet.
"Alright, John Constantine," Hawkgirl began, attempting to look as stalwart and stoic as she could while wearing a ragged shirt with Kermit the Frog's face on it. "I will make you a deal. You have my mace at your full disposal."
"... Just like that? That's... Oh. There's gonna be a catch I'm really not gonna like, is there?"
"Probably. Because I'm going with you."
H
As predicted, Constantine hadn't liked the deal, but seeing as he had no other choice, he was forced to agree. Precious minutes would be wasted on further arguing or exploring another avenue of breaking the shield entirely. That left him with the reluctant agreement to the proposal.
Leading to the current moment, with a re-armored Hawkgirl following Constantine through a glowing portal he'd created in the middle of the driveway. It was a good thing they lived so far from the civilian populace, else the light show might have drawn some concern and suspicion. Between one blink and the next, she was whisked away from St. Roch to a nearly forgotten town in the English countryside.
And if they failed, it would be a completely forgotten town.
Already, the situation was bleak. A semi-translucent, sickly green dome flickering with runes and patterns encapsulated every street and building. Even from their vantage point on a hill, she could hear screaming.
"Here's the plan. We go in and run straight past whatever illusory manifestations of fear this thing's cooked up. From my experience, the big bad's usually hiding in the epicenter of fancy domes like these, so it should be easy to find. If not, it's probably wherever the screaming's loudest. Got it?"
Giving a terse nod of her head, she attempted to focus her vision to track recognizable shapes through the energy field, but failed. "It's creating constructs from other people's fear? Yes?" When he gave an affirming grunt at her assumption, she continued. "Then what is keeping it from manifesting our fears?"
Constantine's blue eyes went wide and he promptly ran an exhausted hand down his unshaven face. "Bloody hell, I knew I was forgetting something. Here. Whipped these up while you were getting ready." He dug around in his pocket, retrieving two necklaces. Simple in construction, they were comprised of a plain black cord bearing some sort of animal canine with a glyph etched into it. "As long as this stays on, Phil can't get his claws into your brain."
"... Phil? The demon's name is Phil?" She asked, incredulous at the moniker as she took the offered amulet, hanging the loop of cord on her fingertips so the tooth swung freely.
"Not really," John shrugged. "Can't exactly use his real name, so why not? Now put that on."
"What about my armor?"
"What about it?"
Ski'Lira was really beginning to question the validity of this man's claims about being an accomplished magic user. "It's made out of Nth metal alloy." She emphasized. "Won't it disrupt the spell?"
"Just... tuck it under your shirt, or whatever. Should be fine." The warlock's patience was beginning to run thin. "Just means we'll have to be right quick."
Following his suggestion, she made sure the amulet was situated firmly beneath her shirt, the tooth almost emanating a warmth where it pressed against bare skin. The entire situation filled her with unease, knowing that she was relying purely on tentative hope that the spell would last long enough to complete the mission.
But that sense of unknowing was a familiar comfort, reminding her of long hours spent in the bio-ship, en route to locations all over the globe.
She shook away that train of thought before the delightful glow of nostalgia altered into full blown emotional distress. Triple-checking that the straps on her armor were tight and ready for inevitable combat, she followed John Constantine down the hill.
Once they were in close proximity to the shield. the indescribable odor of magic overwhelmed her sense of smell.
Approaching the bubble, Constatine pressed a hand to the energy barrier for a second before jerking back, a sharp hiss escaping from between his teeth. "Right, you're up birdie."
She didn't bother to reprimand him for the insulting nickname, knowing it would only prompt him to tease her more. Instead, she moved towards the magical wall. This wasn't her first time dealing with a shield spell, though the ones she'd encountered in the past had been smaller and easier to shatter. This one required some ingenuity to beat.
Adjusting her grip on the handle of her mace, she allowed the head to pop off and drop to the ground. Taking a section of the newly unspooled chain in hand, she held the line taut and positioned it above her head. A single step forward brought her into the shield, the chain parting the harsh green light with an audible, angry crackling. Positioning herself carefully, she created enough space for Constantine to slip past her, which he did so with an ambling swagger.
Only when she was certain all parts of the warlock had safely passed through, she threw herself into a neat roll, springing up inside the dome. Retracting the head of her mace back into the handle, she hung it back on her belt.
"Neat trick," John muttered as he peered at their surroundings. "Let's get going. No doubt our lovely Phil noticed something invading his claim."
H
It was apparent that Constantine had been drastically understating the state of affairs in this town. Ski'Lira had expected to see people screaming and cowering, maybe gathered in defensive groups in a vain attempt to draw strength and protection from one another.
Whatever she could have expected, it was so much worse.
Those afraid of heights were stranded on the very edges of buildings, unable to move backward, teetering in a constant state of vertigo.
Thalassophobes were swimming in a pool warped into a seemingly bottomless section of ocean. A birthday party worth of coulrophobes were being terrorized by a colorful and far too enthusiastic troupe of clowns. What had once been a playground was almost completely coated in spiderwebs, arachnophobes squirming in thick cocoons as dark, multi-legged shapes prowled around them.
Some of the fears were far more specific, not quite fitting into the broad categories of the more common fears. One woman was trapped in an alleyway, merely by splashes of yellow paint decorating the brick walls. A bespectacled boy not too much younger than herself was being chased around by an incredibly dedicated goose, while a man that looked like the boy's father was running from a mylar balloon.
The strangest ones were by far those hunted by manifestations of cartoon characters or movie monsters.
Constantine was wholly unbothered by the entire affair, striding along at a casual pace that made her skin crawl with the lack of urgency, going so far as to light up a cigarette while examining the chaos with near-indifference.
"Is this normal?" Hawkgirl found herself blurting out before she could tamp down her rampant curiosity. "Demons taking over entire towns?"
A long drag of his cigarette later, he held up his hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "Not really, but you know, Hallow's Eve and all that. Tends to add a bit of a power boost. Plus, small towns like these... they have a unique energy about them."
"What do you mean?"
He shot her an expression that screamed 'I don't really want to explain, but I'm going to because I know you won't leave me alone if I don't'. "Everyone knows everyone. Most of 'em grew up together, went to school together, landed jobs together. They all know each other's businesses, their lives, their secrets. There's power in a connection like that."
That made some amount of sense, or at least as much sense as magic could ever make.
Naturally, that was the moment they were beset upon by a ten foot tall spider from the nearby playground nest.
A loud curse left Constantine's mouth as he snapped out a hand, summoning a glowing circle of magic that acted as a shield, stopping the arachnid moments before it made contact.
Hawkgirl whipped around as she picked up on a low chattering noise, arms shooting up and grabbing a second arachnid's unusually sharp forelimbs in her gauntleted hands. The limbs were sharp enough that she easily could have been impaled if her reflexes hadn't been fast enough. Readjusting her grip on the carapace, Hawkgirl yanked the beast forward as she lifted up a metal booted foot, impacting straight into the fear construct's slavering maw.
Instead of the squelching and explosion of guts she had braced for, the giant spider instead crumbled into dust that fell to the cobblestones below, as if it had aged thousands of years in the span of a second.
"Well, that was bloody unpleasant." Constantine had dispatched his own attacker while she'd been occupied. Though he appeared to be more visibly upset by the loss of his cigarette than being nearly devoured by a demonic spider.
"I doubt this will be the last of our opposition." Hawkgirl reminded him, removing her mace from her side and keeping it at the ready this time, not wanting to be caught unaware.
She received a low groan and an eye roll from the warlock. "You are definitely your parents' kid. So damn serious all the time. Do you winged folk ever lighten up?"
Not deigning his complaint worthy of response, she kept silent, earning a second eye roll from the Englishman.
"Alright, fine, fine. I get it. Stoicism on the battlefield and all that, but- oh bloody hell."
The exclamation put her on alert, readying her mace and following the warlock's line of sight. The environment was so polluted with piercing, errant noise and the overwhelming stench of frightened humans, magic, natural hazards, and horrible monsters alike, that there was little doubt as to why an entire horde of zombies had managed to sneak up on them.
"Why is it always zombies?" John's hands went up, exasperated, fingertips emanating a reddish energy.
"It tends to happen," Ski'Lira shrugged, as this truly wasn't too far outside the norm for her.
Magic users liked the undead for lackeys simply because it was easy. Making a sack of rotting meat move, claw, and bite whoever you wanted was a simple concept that didn't require an abundance of arcane talent. Also zombies, unlike regular henchmen, never complained about potential hospital bills or fought for hazard pay.
John's prepared ray of energy carved through at least five of the zombies. Much as their arachnid counterparts did before them, they distintegrated into useless particles. Flaring out her wings to their full span, Hawkgirl flung herself forward with a massive downstroke, hurtling into the midst of the horde like a battering ram.
Almost every swing of her mace made contact with soft, desiccating flesh. If these were normal zombies, she'd be sure to be covered in vile fluids. But the motes of powdery grime weren't much better, as it drifted into the crevices between her feathers. It was an unpleasant sensation, to say the least.
Rotting fingers dug into one of her pauldrons, and she reached back with a clawed hand and grabbed the mobilized corpse by the throat before it could sink its yellowed teeth into her neck. With a war cry, she tossed it up and over her in a textbook throw, the entity landing onto another pair of zombies that had been shambling towards her. Risking a moment to evaluate the situation, a soft growl left her as she registered that the horde wasn't shrinking despite how many they'd taken down already.
With every zombie that was destroyed, it was as if two more would take its place, like some mockery of a hydra.
"I hate magic." Ski'Lira snarled, pounding one legless zombie crawling on the ground into the dirt.
"Not gonna lie, I hate it a lot of the time too." Constantine shouted back at her, not that she'd really been expecting a response to her comment. "These blokes are just gonna tire us out at this rate!"
There was a beat of silence (only from Constantine, as their attackers had yet to cease their horrible groaning and moaning), before he let out a sharp whistle. "This way, birdie!"
She didn't have the time to be insulted, being whistled for like a dog. Instead, she charged through the thinnest part of the horde, and escaped from the circle of grasping hands. Another piercing whistle from Constantine led her to the doorway of a nearby apartment building. She easily outran her pursuers, and the two ducked inside, the older man forcing the door shut behind them and muttering a spell to bar it, trapping them in the pitch darkness of their temporary haven. The beasts never ceased hammering away at the wood.
"That won't hold forever," Constantine said as he stepped away from the door. "We'll have to find another way out. Hold on a sec, I'll get us a light."
As he fumbled in his pockets, Ski'Lira was striding down the narrow hallway, wingtips brushing the walls. "There's another door back here."
"Wait, what?" There was a click as a lighter struck into life, the meager flame illuminating their path. "How could you possibly have seen that?"
"Because my species has night vision?" She snapped back, coming to a halt in front of the rear door. She made a reach for the handle, only to draw back in shock, a confused trill leaving her throat.
"What?" John prompted. "Was that a good noise or a bad noise?"
"It's searing hot," she answered. Raising a leg, she attempted to kick the door off its hinges, but it refused to budge.
"So we're really trapped. Great. Guess we should try the stairs? Maybe there's an access door on the roof or something. We'll jump out a window if we damn well have to."
"Stairs are back this way." Retracing her steps, she made a beeline for the staircase she had spotted on the way here. "Watch your step," her warning was sincere, as she was already clocking several holes in the floorboards.
"Oh, real funny." John mocked, only to shout a very crude word roughly three seconds later when one of his feet went straight through a rotting slat. "... Don't you dare say a word."
As they ascended the stairs, Hawkgirl finally acknowledged something that she had been steadfastly ignoring practically the moment since they'd left St. Roch... Her steadily growing fatigue. The brawl with the zombies and the sprint to safety had contributed greatly to the weight that drew down her bones. But there was no time to stop and rest in this realm of literal nightmares.
"Hey, uh, is it just me, or does something about this building seem... wrong to you?"
Feet freezing mid-step, hovering just a moment before gingerly setting back down on the step, Ski'Lira twisted her head back so she could look at her companion directly. "How so?"
"Because I'm pretty sure we just went up at least five flights of stairs, and that this was only a three story building. Which means we just sauntered right into another fear trap."
"So what, fear of never ending stairs?"
"Could be. There are certainly weirder things wreaking havoc out there right now. The question you should be asking is how the hell do we get out?"
Unnerved at the prospect of being trapped inside of a windowless stairwell, Ski'Lira's wings twitched. Hope was not lost, as there were still doors in this warped facsimile of an apartment complex. Picking up her pace to reach the next landing, she tentatively tested the doorknob, expecting more unnatural heat. She was flummoxed when it opened easily, swinging open to reveal a normal-looking hallway, still unlit.
Something was starting to really bother her about this building, but her tired brain was fighting to make a connection, as it definitely wasn't running at full capacity.
"Is it just me or is it getting warmer?"
If Constantine hadn't pointed it out, she never would have noticed. Though that wasn't the fatigue, that was her Thanagarian heritage and its resulting tolerance to a wider range of temperature fluctuations. Instead, she focused on her other senses. Closing her eyes, she just... paid attention, picking apart the latent odors lingering around her.
When her foggy brain clicked together the last pieces of this deranged jigsaw, her eyes snagged open and darted to Constantine. "I smell smoke."
"What?"
As if her words had summoned it, a flicker of orange light came from the stairwell.
"... The building's on fire, isn't it?" John deadpanned.
"It does seem that way, yes."
In an instant, the hints of spreading flame had erupted into a full-blown inferno.
Where once the hallway had been dark and harmless, flames licked the walls and smoke choked the air. Screams were echoing from newly locked doors, fists pounding against unrelenting barriers, frantically calling for help.
"We need a way out now." Darting over to the nearest unoccupied apartment, Constantine started kicking at the door with all of the strength he could muster, but yet it didn't budge. "No dice. I could maybe portal us out, but I have no idea where we'd land. If it'd even work at all. I don't suppose you have any better ideas?"
Shooting him a look, which was effective now as he could clearly see her face from the light of the fire, she jogged to the end of the hallway where there was only a blank wall. An exterior wall. Mace held firmly in both hands, she gritted her teeth, planted her feet, and swung. White energy crackled around the head of her mace as it impacted against the wall, obliterating the plaster and exposing the brickwork.
"The barrier magic's centered on the doors not the walls." Constantine actually sounded a little impressed as he loomed behind her. "That's brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"
Huffing out an amused breath, she went for another swing, this one slightly weaker than the first. More efficient her lungs may be, but she was just as susceptible to smoke inhalation as a human was. But she didn't deter the growing lack of oxygen to deter her from her single-minded mission, beating the hell out of this wall and creating an escape route.
It took two more solid swings to actually break completely through to the outside, and a handful more after that to widen the hole enough for them to clamber through. If she had been at full strength, it should have only taken one.
Ski'Lira's arms were shaking with fine tremors, her breathing ragged and a distinctly metallic taste in her mouth.
"Okay, next problem, twenty foot drop." Constantine was staring at the ground below, mentally weighing his options. "I mean, not a problem for you, obviously, but my knees ain't what they used to be and- whoa!"
Mid-rambe, she'd scooped him underneath his arms and thrown them both out the hole, extending out her wings to glide them safely down.
"This works too," the warlock admitted as they drifted down towards the street. She tried to put as much distance between them and the fire (and the zombies still clawing at the apartment's entrance) as she could, but she was struggling to stay aloft.
They were mere seconds from divebombing straight into the sidewalk.
Doing a cursory scan of the surrounding area, she spotted what appeared to be a place clear of monsters, a mom and pop ice cream shop that was all pastel colors and hand drawn items on chalkboard signs. She dropped her burden a little further up from the ground than he liked, executing a sloppy landing of her own. Constantine, not thrilled with her lack of speed, looped a hand around her bicep and dragged her into the shop.
The two took refuge behind the counter, buffeted by the chill from the freezers and the saccharine sweetness of ice cream and toppings that permeated the air. Ski'Lira's legs finally gave out from underneath her. Scooting backwards, her wings hung limply behind her as she pressed her back to the metal of the cooling unit beneath the countertop. Her chin dropped to her chest, as even holding her head up was taking too much effort.
"Please tell me you didn't just pass out... Birdie? Birdie, you've got really poor timing." He went so far as to physically shake her.
"I'm still awake," she answered with a low growl.
"Did you get hit anywhere? Bleeding out? Too much smoke? Some magical side effect?"
"No, just... tired. Normal tired."
"Normal?" He scoffed. "I was under the impression you sidekick types spent your whole night running around like little gremlins on a sugar high."
Eyes shut, she inhaled and exhaled in a forced, steady pattern, relishing in the clear air circulating through her lungs. "Usually I can do better than this. There was an... incident. Technically I'm restricted to light duty until I get medical clearance."
"Are you bloody insane?!" Constantine physically threw his hands up into the air. "I never would have let you-"
"Exactly why I didn't tell you. I'll be fine, sindarti, I just need... I just need to rest for a minute."
He went quiet, which was strange from the gruff, chatty warlock. "Your parents call me that a lot... sindarti. It's an insult, isn't it?"
"It means..." Thinking better of it, she realized her parents were likely pulling a long-term prank, and she wouldn't want to ruin it. "Yeah, it's an insult. Doesn't translate well."
That was a blatant lie, but Constantine didn't appear to be versed well enough in Thanagarian body language to be able to pick up on any tells.
Sindarti was literally just the Thangarian word for 'magician'.
"... I knew it." Constantine moved then, straightening just enough that he could pop open a nearby fridge boasting a wide variety of overpriced sodas, juices, and teas. His prize was a simple bottle of water, which he twisted open and shoved into her hands. "Here. Hydration's important and all that bollocks."
Biting down a comeback about how she was certain he considered copious alcohol consumption his ideal form of hydration, she instead began sipping from the bottle. Already she could feel some of her energy returning, albeit in slow increments.
"Now I really don't want to rush you, considering you almost fainted and all-"
"I was not going to faint."
He continued as if she had never interrupted him. "But we are still on a time crunch. So I'm just going to throw this out there... Give me your mace. That way you can sit here, finish your water, and not die, keeping me from having my organs torn out through my mouth by your lovely parents."
Cocking her head to the side, she acted as if she were mulling it over with serious consideration, and punched him in the shoulder.
"Bloody hell, fine, fine. Point taken. You didn't have to hit me." John rubbed at the site of a guaranteed bruise. "But if you keel over and die, I had nothing to do with it."
She punched him again, slightly harder this time. "I'm not going to die, so stop freaking out."
"Stop punching me! I'm not freaking out. I am understandably concerned that a couple of overprotective winged menaces are going to eviscerate me for getting their daughter hurt!" A frustrated scoff left him and he let his body sag against the counter, which was now holding them both upright.
The air was tense and awkward, until Constantine let out a long-suffering sigh, fiddling with his lighter. "I know it's none of my business, but last I checked there wasn't much that could knock a Thanagarian out this badly. Are you sick?"
"Sick?
"You know, with some kind of... space disease. Or magical, that can happen too. Seen it a few times in fact."
"I appreciate you refraining from 'bird flu' jokes. And I'm not sick." She denied, though she had to amend it shortly thereafter. "Not in the traditional sense, anyway."
"... What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I don't have to explain. I'm not asking you to spill all your secrets an hour after we first met, now am I?"
"Damn, you really are Shayera's kid." There was almost a grudging respect in his tone. "She said almost the same thing to me once, except she was actively holding a knife to my throat. Kind of like you did earlier, actually."
"I have a couple more on me, would it make you feel better if I was holding a knife to you?"
"... Definitely Shayera's kid." He coughed, making a vague vesture with his hand. "So, is this a permanent thing, or...?"
"No, I'll be fine. Eventually."
"Good... Good... Ugh, all of this sincerity is starting to make me feel sick. Do you think you're up to moving again, because I really don't want to continue this heartfelt moment."
Her eyes widened, lips parting ever so slightly in her surprise, her usual poker face shattered.
"What? Did I hurt your feelings?" John sneered, but there was no venom in his tone.
"Of course not. I just didn't think I'd ever meet another human who has a quote for emotional vulnerability."
"Who's the other?"
At her silence, he nodded. "Ah, right, Batman. Should have guessed. Right, well." Standing up, he stretched, a few audible pops coming from his spine. "Ready to go fight a nightmare demon?"
A vicious smile appeared on the Thangarian's lips. "I thought you'd never ask."
H
Perched on the away side of a slanted rooftop, the unlikely duo was surveying the center of town, the source of the initial ritual. Stationed around a nondescript fountain long run dry, were four scrawny figures in cheap robes, positioned equidistantly around a brightly glowing chalk circle using the fountain as the focal point. Streams of energy locked them in place, the shadowed glimpses Ski'Lira caught of their faces showed expressions frozen in terror.
"Well, there's good ole Phil." John muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. His attention was on the figure hovering ominously in the air a good ten feet above the ground.
Phil, to be frank, didn't look anything akin to the demonic or demonic-adjacent entities Hawkgirl had encountered in her stint as a hero. They bore no horns, no eyes aflame, no whipcord tail that could slice a mortal to ribbons with a casual flick. Instead Phil was featureless, humanoid in shape, but made out of ever-shifting darkness. It was a silhouette, but with depth, like staring down a deep pit and not sure what may lie at the bottom.
"Alright, here's the play." John began. "We get in close, past whatever goons Phil's inevitably going to throw our way. Then, the tricky bit... I'm going to need you to run distraction while I reverse the ritual."
She angled her head towards him, questioning.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm done with the whole 'responsible adult' thing. If I could do both by myself, I would, believe you me. But with all that Nth metal you're carting around, you've got a better shot at hurting the bastard than I do. Just don't do anything stupid."
"So nothing you would do, then?"
"... That is entirely fair. Ready?"
Drawing her mace, she pushed a foot underneath her so that she could leap off the roof. Her wings flared to slow her descent, and she landed with near dead quiet on the old patterned brickwork paving the area around the fountain. Constantine, not quite as efficient, slid down the front of the roof and onto the top of a car, making a harsh clang on impact that also set off the car alarm. Cursing loudly, Constantine shot off a spell at the car that made it shudder, then fall silent.
"Hm, so these are the interlopers..." The voice of Phil the Nightmare Demon echoed around them, tone just as deep and endless as their form. "The Warlock John Constantine and... a winged pest. I find myself... disappointed."
"Hey, at least you've heard of me." John's trademark smirk was back in full force. "That's gotta count for something."
"Take comfort in your false belief while you still hold breath, warlock." Phil droned. "For you will meet your end soon."
"I hear that a lot."
The Nightmare Demon paused, "Something is keeping me from beholding your fears... As much as I would prefer to destroy with within your own personal hells, I suppose I shall have to make doo." Waving a hand bearing slightly too-long fingers, the brick beneath began to crack and separate, glowing with the same green light that comprised the dome.
A decaying hand burst out, followed by another, then another.
"Great. More zombies?" Constantine groaned and rolled his eyes. "Creative, are we?"
If Phil possessed the eyes to narrow, they would have done so. The blank mask of their face remained unchanged, though its emotion came through tenfold with their annoyed tone. "Pardon me, I shall amend my mistake."
With a series of sickening cracks and pops, the zombified bodies began to twist and contort, limbs elongating into sharp spears, decomposing skin changing color from rotten greys to brighter hues, and groans shifting into grating giggling.
"Constantine?"
"Yeah, Birdie?"
"Did you just antagonize the nightmare demon into creating zombie spider clowns?"
"Seems that way."
"Thank you."
Constantine's head jerked towards her like she'd just insulted him personally, "Hold on, was that sincere? What is wrong with you?"
The grin she shot him was vicious. At the prospect of battle, a unique one with actually challenging enemies that she had to implement no limitations against when it came to the force of her blows, her blood was singing with anticipation. "It's not my fault you humans don't know how to have fun."
Screaming her battle cry, she barreled towards the nearest enemy, aiming her mace for the center of the zombified clown spider's torso, avoiding the stabbing arachnid legs of its lower half. There were far less members of this horde than last time, but these fear amalgamations were bigger, stronger, and faster.
Hawkgirl was trying her best to avoid being caught by the razor-sharp appendages attempting to impale her, wincing every time a chitinous spike scraped across her armor. One of them lunged in particularly close, but she shot a fist forward and used its own momentum against it to double the power behind the strike to the face. Thanks to its lack of insides, her gauntleted fists went through the head, evaporating it into dust.
As entertaining as this fight was, Phil still remained the priority. The longer all of these townspeople remained under their fear illusions, the more powerful Phil would become as they gorged themselves off of terror.
A flash of heat off to her left alerted her to Constantine's proximity, tossing fireballs at any monster that dared get within a certain radius of him.
"Constantine!" She called out, "Isn't there anything you can do to take out more of them?!"
"Not if I don't want to fry you, Birdie!" He shot back immediately. "I don't know if that armor of yours can protect you from being burnt to a crisp! Besides, what happened to 'thank you for the demon clown squad?!'"
"Time limit?"! She reminded him.
"Just keep hittin' 'em!"
She'd never been one to turn down the 'brute force' option when it was handed to her on a silver platter. If her friends... If the Team were here, this would have been a walk in the park. Robin and Artemis would have relished in the chance to use their explosive ammo. Or M'Gann would have tossed them all together with her telekinesis. Kid Flash would have sped around, throwing punches to his heart's content. It would take little effort on Superboy and Aqualad's part to tear through these things with their enhanced strength.
A lucky strike from a spider leg slipped past her armor, drawing a light score across her side, snapping her out of her thoughts. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed the offending appendage and tore it from its socket, using it to stab its former owner in the vulnerable throat. The bleeding of the scratch was sluggish, barely cutting through the top layers of skin. Annoying at best, but a harsh reminder that she couldn't let herself become distracted by 'what if's.
Despite her and John's best efforts, the horde had surrounded them, closing in tighter and tighter until the blonde's broad back bumped into hers, her feathers ruffling from the sudden pressure.
Fire sparked in Constantine's palm as he prepared another fire spell.
But before he could lob the arcane projectile, Hawkgirl was struck by a sudden idea. The brief (and unwise) train of thought about her fellow heroes had given her inspiration, in particular from one move she'd seen Aqualad use a few times during training (but had yet to find an opportunity to use in real combat). "On a scale from one to ten, how powerful are these things?" She asked Constantine.
"Glorified constructs, there's just a lot of them. So like a two? Maybe a three?"
"Duck." To his credit, the moment the request left her lips, the spell fizzled from his hands into a puff of harmless sparks, and he dropped to his knees.
At her will, the head of her mace detached from the handle, dropping to the ground with a hearty thunk. Jerking it up, she started to swing it above her head in a tight arc as it lit up with crackling white energy. Bending her knees into a more solid stance, she released the weapon and followed the momentum through. The result was a spectacular circle of white that sliced through their attackers, tearing through them as if they were made of tissue paper. It only took a total of four rotations before the last one crumbled away into nothingness.
"Bloody hell," Constantine said as he staggered to his feet, while she reeled the chain back in. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"
"Wasn't sure it would work." Her answer was truthful. She had long known that when she activated the kinetically charged aspect of her weapon, weaker magical entities would be instantly destroyed. The uncertainty came from the level of being they were dealing with, hence why she'd requested Constantine's expertise. "I guess I was overestimating the quality of Phil's minions."
Speaking of which, the nightmare demon seemed displeased at the failure of their creations, "Perhaps I, in turn, underestimated you."
Taking a grin from Constantine as permission to engage, Hawkgirl strode towards the fountain as the head of her weapon dragged behind her. The metal spines catching on rock caused an intimidating discord as she stalked towards her prey. Behind her, Constantine began to chant a long incantation for banishment, the air became instantly saturated with more arcane influence.
She could see the exact moment Phil realized exactly what was going on, and made a move to stop it. But Hawkgirl was prepared, her quick reflexes kicking in and meeting the demon head on before they could tear past her and reach the primary threat to their continued presence on this plane.
Waving beneath Phil's outstretched limbs, their fingers grown to needle points easily as long as Hawkgirl's forearm, she threw her full weight into their form, skidding them backwards.
Or rather, flying backwards, as they were still hovering a foot or so off the ground.
The nightmare demon cocked their head to the side, prodding tentatively at their torso with a knuckle. "That... stung. Curious. What are you? Another warlock? A witch with a fondness for birds?"
"I'm the Thanagarian who's going to kick your ass."
Not allowing Phil time to give a witty retort, she swung her mace at their torso, only to be blocked at the last possible second by one needle-hand. From there was a constant exchange of blows, almost like a mockery of swordfight. Far too many times those dangerous fingers got a little too close to the gaps between her armor, but Ski'Lira had been well trained in defending those specific areas.
Phil was quick, though not anywhere near speedster-levels of fast. Clearly they had experience with combat, but it became apparent they were more used to having their underlings do most of the heavy lifting.
This wasn't even breaking her top five list of most difficult fights.
Averting another swipe, she brought her mace down full bore onto their arm, white energy flaring as the metal made contact. A screech erupted from Phil that overloaded her sensitive hearing, forcing her into a disoriented stagger.
The source of their pain was made clear, as an entire half of their arm had completely vanished, leaving behind a stump that leaked obsidian-hued smoke.
Phil recovered from their own stupor before Hawkgirl did, their remaining hand shooting out and locking around her throat, hoisting her into the air. Mace intentionally falling from her grasp, Ski'Lira dug her claws in between theirs, desperate to loosen the grip. Her wings flapped frantically behind her, stirring up the dust and debris beneath her, doing little to aid in her escape.
"Hm, what was it that you said? About being the one to... kick my ass?" Phil crooned, radiating smug triumph at gaining the upper hand. "A valiant effort, I must admit, but not quite enough. I have been feeding upon these vermin for hours, on Samhain, of all days. You really believe you hold the power to defeat me?"
Amputated arm held aloft, the smoke began to solidify and shape into a brand new arm. With their new hand, they fished out the cord hidden beneath the neck of Hawkgirl's shirt. One harsh tug snapped the cord, the amulet falling to the ground, useless.
"Ah, there you are." She could feel something in her head. It wasn't the reassuring warmth of M'Gann's telepathy, more like a creeping ooze riddled with shards of broken glass, squeezing into every crack of her mindscape and scouring it for information. "It is always the brave ones that possess the truly delicious fears, I've found. And you? Mmmm, so many options. I could throw you into a pit and bury you alive... Encase you in a glass coffin and throw you underwater... Or... a more recent fear perhaps? Those friends of yours provide ample ammunition... Perhaps I could even lure them here... If they deigned you worthy enough to save, that is."
Ski'Lira Hol had been working and active for hours. Dealing with drunks, would-be murderers, petty thieves, teenagers who took the holiday as an excuse to stop using their brains, traversing a hellscape with a sindarti she barely trusted, forced to listen to the gruesome soundtrack of innocent people being tortured on loop, nearly taken out by a horde of zombies, narrowly escaped an inferno, and fought through a gaggle of rejects from It.
All that, only for this asinine silhouette to dare threaten the people she still very much cared about and throw her greatest current insecurity in her face?
She was tired. She was in pain. And she was furious.
The funny thing about her armor was that most people, particularly magic users, tended to fall under the great misconception that only her mace was made out of Nth metal. But every single piece of her armor was forged out of the trademark metal, a weaker level alloy, but still Nth.
Which meant that when she drew back a metal-booted foot and slammed it full force in the space between Phil's legs, the blow was felt despite not possessing standard anatomy.
There was no visible damage, but the influx of pain was enough for the demon to drop her. Not wasting her opening, she dropped the scant few feet back onto the brickwork and scooped up her mace.
A burst of light accompanied by the overwhelming stench of sulfur brought a grin to her face, as a red ring rippled into life, hovering above the fountain and providing a hazy view of a desert made of blackened rock and bloodied sands. Constantine's portal in place, now came the truly difficult part of the plan.
Tucking her weapon back onto her belt, she took a few steps back for a running start, flaring out her wings and propelling herself straight at the demon. Phil was not oblivious to the portal's formation, and attempted to sidestep her attack. However, as they were still sluggishly disoriented from the devastating kick, Hawkgirl was able to latch onto their shoulders, her clawed gauntlets digging in and releasing more smoke from the punctures.
Phil was almost weightless, a physical form made of magic and will, and thus bringing them up into the air was of no issue.
Frantically, they scrabbled at her to yank her off, but fingers never found purchase on her armor. Their head thrashed back and forth, screaming with the voices of a thousand tortured souls, only growing more and more desperate and disjointed as they approached the portal.
A particularly harsh jerk changed Hawkgirl's trajectory against her will, making her growl as she missed the mark entirely. Instead of going for another straight shot, Hawkgirl went up.
"You won't win," the demon hissed as they ascended high above the tear in reality. "You cannot eradicate me so easily! I will feast on your fears!"
That's when she unceremoniously dropped the demon.
Folding her wings in close, she kept pace with Phil's descent, waiting for one very specific moment. Just as she predicted, the demon managed to catch themself in a hover before breaching the portal, remaining stationary three feet above the fiery ring.
Hawkgirl hadn't stopped.
Tucking into a neat front roll, she extended out a leg and let the full force of a perfectly executed axe kick down straight onto Phil's back. She caught herself with her flared wings, watching in satisfaction as they rocketed through the remaining distance, vanishing within.
The portal shut with a bright flash and the scent of sulfur disappeared almost instantly.
Her eyes were drawn skyward, as the sickly green dome began to lighten now that its creator was gone, until the semi-cloudy night sky shone unimpeded above them. For the first time since they'd entered this town, the sounds of screams and sobs began to fade, leaving only a blissful quiet.
Hawkgirl landed near the fountain just as the four teenagers who had started this whole mess dropped unconscious, visible skin pale and beaded with sweat.
"I'm not gonna lie, that was a pretty slick move you pulled." Constantine's genuine compliment caught her off guard. The warlock was kneeling down next to one of the teens, checking her pulse and letting out a relieved breath. "One of your parents teach you that?"
Her mind flashed to a cackling Robin as he plummeted from a perch at the top of the training room, dropping onto an unsuspecting Aqualad. "No, a friend. Are they going to be okay?"
"Should do. Magical exhaustion, mostly, but they'll still be stuck in hospital for at least a few days. You bet I'll be giving them a hell of a stern talking to when they wake up. Hopefully this'll be enough of a scare that they won't do it again."
"And... everyone else?"
"Simple mass memory spell will clear it up." Standing, he brushed off the knees of his pants. "At most they'll remember it as a particularly bad dream. I'm going to drop you off back home first, then come back and pray I've got enough left in the tank to cast it."
"Is... Is there anything else we need to do before we leave?"
"Nah, we're done. Phil's gone, which means all their magic's gone with. Constructs can't survive long without their caster, well that's not strictly true, but these were pretty weak so they're all gone. Don't want to even think about the trouble we'd have if this were a greater fear demon. Hell, I'd probably bite the bullet and beg on my knees for both your parents to come help."
Her lips curled at the thought of an even more powerful demon, hand drifting to her bruised neck.
There was a click as Constantine lit up another cigarette, taking a long drag before summoning a new portal, this one displaying an image of her home's front lawn. "Shall we?"
H
"So, uh... thanks, I guess. For the help." Shuffling awkwardly, Constantine was resisting the urge to bolt from the Hall residence, in an attempt to avoid running into a set of highly overprotective parents. He already had the foresight to use a minor mending spell on the broken bannister, mitigating the amount of evidence his presence had left behind.
"You're welcome," she tipped her head at him, a show of respect. "It certainly made my night more interesting."
"Right. Uh... I guess I owe you a favor now. I really don't like owing those, but... You've earned it tenfold. If you want to cash in, the League's got my contact info. Thanks. Again." He turned to leave, but he only got so far as to put a hand on the doorknob before he stopped. "One more thing."
Ski'Lira's eyebrows rose in surprise, "You don't need to keep thanking me, I know the sincerity is probably giving you hives."
He made a face at her, blowing out an exhausted breath. "Just... Take some free advice from an old bloke, yeah? Don't go down the self-destruction route. Driving yourself into the ground isn't going to do anyone any good, especially yourself."
"That's pretty hypocritical of you, John Constantine."
"Means I'm something of an expert on the topic." The forced smile he shot her was self-deprecating. "You're just a sprog, gives you plenty of time not to end up like me. So stop ignoring medical advice and all that. And uh... Please don't tell your parents I nearly got you killed."
"I won't," she assured, though she didn't know how long that promise would hold. "As for the advice... I'll keep it in mind."
"Good. Happy Halloween, I guess." With a swish of his coat, Constantine was out the door lit cigarette back between his lips.
H
By the time her parents finally returned home from their own Halloween adventures, they were less than thrilled with the sight their daughter made. Ski'Lira's throat had purpled with bruises, a bulky bandage was covering the scratch on her side, and the house reeked of smoke and magic.
"What was John Constantine doing in the house?" He growled, frowning as he tilted his daughter's chin from side to side to examine the bruising. Satisfied it was mostly superficial, he took a step back and folded his arms.
"He just dropped by, nothing too out of the ordinary for Halloween." At the memory of her unsanctioned adventure, her mouth curled upward at the corners.
A sharp intake of breath came from Shayera. "Something wrong, da'm?" Ski'Lira asked.
"No, no," Shayera insisted, giving a fond shake of her head and her voice suspiciously tight. "It's just... nice to see you smile again."
"... Oh. Well," cheeks flaming in embarrassment, Ski'Lira gave a slight cough. "Anyway, I was thinking and... I know we were supposed to start training up again tomorrow, but I was wondering if we could push it back another few days? I think I need some more time to heal."
Katar gave a slow blink. "Who are you and what have you done with my fledgeling?"
"Ta'me."
"No, I want to know too," her mother agreed with a nod. "Because clearly our Ski'Lira had been swapped out for an imposter."
"Was this the sindarti's plan? Spirit away our daughter while we were away and replace her with a child more responsible with her health?"
"We might have to send him a thank you card."
Huffing with fondness for her parents' antics, Ski'Lira left them in the kitchen before the teasing could escalate further. Her only goal was to clamber into bed, more than thrilled at the prospect of collapsing into its comfort.
That night, sleep came easy, and she was not plagued by a single nightmare.