A mile from the train station, the Question and Sadie finally slowed down enough to blend in with the night crowd. They would have made it further, but the nightlife was active, and the streets were narrow. In Gotham the Question at least knew enough to navigate to and fro, but an unknown city thousands of miles away did not afford her the same advantage.
"You think Cassie and the wizard are okay?" Sadie's breaths were short, and she was thankful they were slowing down enough to blend in. "That thing—whatever that thing was—"
"Try putting that one into perspective." The Question waved the two around a raucous party as they stepped out of a tavern. "Cassandra's been on the Bat's payroll for years, right? She's probably wrestled with Killer Croc before. She'll know what she's doing." There was no real way of knowing that to the detective, but it was the best support she could think to offer.
"And that other one, the girl." Sadie hesitated before she continued. "I don't know if it happens like this for real, but I couldn't get it out of my head. That maybe as big and scary as that giant guy was, she'd turn out to be something a lot worse."
The Question swallowed a reaction. She didn't want to say so much aloud, but the exact same thought was on her mind.
Back at the train station, the Suit of Sorrows looked as if it burned off of Cassandra's body as she and Constantine ran out into the plaza. The magician dug in his pockets as he observed the phenomena. "Dunno what you were wearing back in Gotham, but that seems pretty handy."
Despite, or perhaps because of, the tension that hung after their last fight, Cassandra uttered a laugh. "Really is. Hate most of it, but that part—" she shook her head and returned to the task at hand. "Sadie and Question. How do we find them?"
"I prepped for this." Constantine produced a metal cigarette case from his pocket and slipped cracked it open.
Cassandra leaned over to peer inside, frowned, and looked toward the magician. The container appeared to be empty. With his tongue Constantine wet one finger, pressed it against the case, and slipped out what Cassandra realized was a single, short hair.
"Genetic science only caught up with magic a few decades back," Constantine said. "That every bit of us is made of the same stuff as every other bit." He muttered something under his breath. A lime green light emanated from the hair and when Cassandra froze for a moment, the follicle pointed toward her. "All right, that one's you."
Cassandra stared as he drew out another. It raised several questions that ranged from purpose to some distant sense of violated privacy she was sure Sadie would mention. But she just said, "Didn't know about this."
"I didn't mention it, just took from the hairbrushes when you two weren't looking." After a brief struggle he raised a second hair. "Probably sounds paranoid, sorry for that. But this is why, better not to show the hand you're playing with any sooner than you have to." Cassandra considered her reply when the new hair turned in the opposite direction they were running. "That way then."
Wrapped in green luminescence, the cells, dead but still clinging to memories of their original bearer, guided the way. Cassandra and Constantine ran deeper into Genoa. Unknown to either of them, another force rushed overhead. And with both its height and speed, it found their pursuit far faster than any hair could lead them.
The Question swore under her breath as the dark of the ocean became clear on the horizon. Her plan was to run hard and fast into the city, zigzagging as necessary, until escape from their enemies seemed evident. But she hadn't anticipated the harbor cutting off one of the four cardinal directions she could hope to run in. The Question grabbed ahold of Sadie's wrist to turn back toward the center of town. As she did, a strong wind blew back from the harbor. Not a cool ocean breeze, but a hot, powerful gale. Almost as soon as the two turned, the slim, black form of Nijah had reformed, blade in hand.
"Why don't we make this a little easier?" The woman in black took a step forward as the Question, again, put herself between the enemy and Sadie. "One captive is as good as two, if the others actually value your safety."
The Question pulled the set of nunchaku out from the back of her peacoat and held her stance.
Nijah flinched and a smile slowly crossed her face. "You can't be serious. Sandoval didn't even see what weapon you were using, but that—"
A second before she burst out laughing, Sadie cut her off with a scream of, "Go Michelangelo on her ass!"
The cry was enough to throw Nijah off balance and get a chuckle out of the Question. The masked detective whipped and whirled the nunchaku as she ran and swung the first hit upside Nijah's head. In a moment of delirium, the crusader wasn't prepared as the Question hammered in strike after strike across her face and upper chest. Nijah shouted in pain and regained her focus as one of the handles cracked her nose. With a raise of her right hand Nijah caught the nunchaku as it wrapped tight across her elbow. Weaponless, the Question managed only a step backwards before Nijah yanked one of the fiery dirks from her belt and thrust it into the detective's stomach.
The Question keeled forward and screamed. The blade hadn't truly punctured her skin, though the rush of agony she experienced told her otherwise. And though she was more prepared this time, the blast of guilt-ridden self-loathing that accompanied the fiery knife rushed straight from the imaginary wound into her brain.
You're just slowing them down. It was that voice again, the same she'd heard in the catacombs. Her own voice, but slow and thick with vaunting and hatred. One is on her way to being a new Supergirl. One of them can do magic, real magic. And one has centuries worth of knowledge at her disposal. What the hell are you even doing here?
The Question rushed backwards and gripped at the imaginary wound. Sadie ran up to her side and said, "Oh God, can I see it?"
With a shake of her head and a grit of her teeth, the Question said, "No. Not that kind of hurt." But however she told that to herself, the sting refused to subside.
"I wonder what she's experiencing." Nijah shook the nunchaku from her right arm and drew her longsword. "Surrender yourself or give me your friend, faceless one. I don't want to spill any more blood."
Sadie wanted to reply something along the lines of, Oh yeah? You know what people who hate bloodshed do? Stop shedding it! But she couldn't. As ridiculous as the whole thing had become, the zealot with a sword had at least momentarily incapacitated her last protector. She wracked Arlington's memories hard for something she could use to her advantage, but an answer alluded her. If she tried to face Nijah as she was, at best she could expect the tip of one of the flaming daggers was about to do to her what it had to the Question. At worst—
The Question seemingly forced herself out of her delirium and leapt at Nijah. The crusader didn't anticipate the sudden snap back and took a sucker punch upside the face for her carelessness. Nijah struggled to hold her ground, then fell backwards.
"You got me," the Question said. "I'm a sinner. But I got over the fire a long time ago."
"Fire?" Rage slipped into Nijah's voice. "You don't fear the fire? I'll show you—I am the fire!"
Again, Nijah vanished in a gust of wind. Sadie had a second to process her strange proclamation before she screamed, "Behind you!"
The Question turned fast enough to dodge all but the tip of Nijah's longsword slash. Still, the horizontal swing cut as easily through flesh as it did cotton. As the Question clenched and retreated, she saw Sadie make a break toward the docks. For a second she thought a reluctant, Good. Get out of here. Then the more reasonable, Wait, but why that way—before it too was interrupted by Nijah and a new flurry of swings.
Years in Gotham homicide fortified the Question into an officer prepared for anything. Vic Sage's tutelage warned her of everything from crime syndicates to cults to monster-men and immortals. But as hard as she'd tried, this was never truly her world. The Question moved in and out of Nijah's slash range, swallowed shouts of pain whenever a slash cut into her, and accepted what seemed at hand. If God was truly there and truly good, Nijah really did resent what she was doing and would relent. Or, at the very least, as one cut took her deep in the stomach and her eyesight went fuzzy with agony, Sadie managed to slip away.
"Hey, choke on it, lady!"
The Question and Nijah both looked up in confusion as Sadie rushed at them. She held what looked to be a long-abandoned fisherman's bucket that spilled water to and fro in her hands. The Question just looked on in confusion, but Nijah yanked back her sword, darted backwards, and shouted, "Wait—stop!"
With a heave, Sadie flung the bucket of water toward the crusader. Half a gallon splashed across Nijah's face and brought on both a loud, sizzling hiss and a scream of excruciating suffering. The Question looked to her and tried to affect as much confusion on her featureless face as she could.
"She said she was fire," Sadie said. "That's when I found it in the memories. She's a jinn! She's made of fire, she's vulnerable to salt, so, hey! Salt water." She slipped up next to the Question to help her up as Nijah backed away.
Through the sizzle of her skin and hoarse scrape in her voice, Nijah uttered, "Memories? What memories?"
The blood drained from Sadie's face. "Oh crap." She pulled the Question back to her feet. "We have to run—now!"
Nijah tightened the grip on her sword and glared at the two. Before she could make another move, a trio of fireballs flew through the air and scorched the pavement at her feet.
"Well, weren't you two tricky to find."
All eyes turned to Constantine and Cassandra as they rushed up to fill in either side of Sadie and the Question. Once again Nijah held her eyes on the Angel of the Bat, and as soon as Cassandra confirmed Sadie was still safely in one piece, she met the glare.
"Outmatched," Cassandra said. "Stand down."
Nijah, with the feel that her face was still blazing and the sword heavier than ever in her hands, seemed to actually consider it for a moment. But within seconds, a noise resonated in the space between her and her opponents. It was a low rumble at first, then rose to a high, manic cackle.
"I have witnessed it all, girl, I just wanted to see how well you'd fare before you needed me!"
The pavement burst into flames ten times the size of Constantine's fireballs and the ragtag team all shielded their eyes as a gangly figure garbed in blood red burst from its center.
In a voice both thankful and yet resigned, Nijah acknowledged, "Azmodus."
At that same moment, hundreds of miles away, in the catacombs beneath Clermont-Ferrand, Jim Coorigan reeled backwards at the scream in his mind.
He has awoken again! He stands in Genova, and he stands against a believer! We must go—we must destroy him!"
The officer in green agreed with the screeching sentiment within, of course. He'd come to Clermont to track this creature, and now it had reawakened. But he refused to teleport over instantly. They would move hard and fast, but Coorigan refused to be responsible for what destruction may come from the instantaneous movement across all that space and in the middle of who knew what.
The red-cloaked, gray-skinned demon that chased after Constantine and Arlington stood before the party. With an inhale he took in the flames that still blazed around him and flashed a fanged grin. "Your master would be so disappointed, child. Two of them are mere mortals, one is little but a conman, and the last," he cast his sights on Cassandra. "Well, that is at least a little forgivable."
"Were you sent to help me or admonish me?" Despite shaky legs Nijah returned to her proper stance and gripped her blade. "And I think one of those 'mortals' is more than what she appears."
As the Suit of Sorrows armor began to envelop Cassandra, she looked toward Sadie. "They know?"
Hushed, Sadie said, "They have an idea. I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry—"
Cassandra nodded and Constantine cursed under his breath as the two stepped forward opposite the jinn woman and the demon. Three were already worn down, and the last was a sneering engine of malice.
Before another blow was thrown, another blast of light burst down from the night sky and momentarily blinded the two groups. The shine coalesced into a pillar and shifted quickly from a pure white to a deep green. Out from the shape came a throaty yet commanding voice: "Caraka and Sekuba! Once more you have crawled out from the depths of Hell to bring suffering to this world!"
The six each slowly opened their eyes to behold the creature that stood before them. From the perspective of Gothamites and Constantine, a tall figure in a hood and cloak of that same dark green stood, his little visible flesh was both muscled and white as marble. Nijah and Azmodus faced an opponent familiar to each in varying degrees, and each struggled to disguise both the wonder and fear this great one elicited. And, within seconds of his touch down, it was as if every witness's vision began to twist and distort.
The sight, whatever it was, taxed the five mortals who witnessed it. Sadie crumpled with a hand to her forehead. As Cassandra knelt next to her, she screamed, "What the hell is going on?"
Constantine grit his teeth and braced for the worst. "Damn it, that's the Wrath of God himself! He and that demon—our reality isn't built to handle all this at once!"
Indeed, it was not their vision that bent as the two faced one another. The city itself, down to its cells and atoms, shifted and distorted at the blazing might the two generated. If they were to do battle, it needed to end in a flash for the good and stability of the world that surrounded them.
The marble figure in green was so preoccupied with the demon he paid no mind to the woman at his opponent's side. Fueled by a terrorized fight or flight instinct, Nijah gripped her flaming dagger tight and thrust it into the pale man. The phantom paid her no mind, the weapons of humans had no power over him—
For just an instant, the sky itself ran red with his scream of anguish. The blade punctured between his ribs and, as a creature not accustomed to such a strike, the eruption of pain threatened to overwhelm him.
Destroy her! Destroy her! one voice within the phantom's mind screamed. She has dared to strike us, she has dared—
No. Though the pain was every bit as real for Jim Corrigan as it was for his companion, he wrestled hard to maintain some control. I don't know what that knife was, but it is foolish to fight Azmodus like this.
We could eradicate him—
The instability in our power would destroy this whole city!
His second spirit still scowled internally but said nothing back. That was as close the acquiescence as Corrigan could hold for. They had to retreat and regroup. And, some part of him was aware, he needed answers to just what was going on.
The spirit's power extended outward like the flow of his cloak, caught, and wrapped Cassandra, Sadie, the Question, and Constantine with his influence. In a moment of weakness and lack of control, his energies also extended to Nijah.
"Coward!" Azmodus laughed at the same time he criticized. "Unworthy of its power as ever, I see! You cannot hope—"
In another pillar of light, the specter and his chosen few vanished from sight.