An Anticlimactic End

Superman had found himself on battlefields before. The smell was easily recognizable to him. The chaos and carnage were obstacles to power through.

At least there weren't any mechsuits this time around.

A naval battle was a completely different experience, though. Land was solid and a punch into it could raise the earth and create barriers between bullets. Artillery shells came from above or straight ahead. The geography could help or hinder, and usually he tried to use to lead others to safety. The sea did not have such luxuries though they did limit movement.

The larger the ship, the less maneuverability they had. However, that meant they were large targets. The aircraft carriers kept their distance, only unleashing the air power in this fight. The destroyers had positioned themselves too close to the blockade to really take advantage of their long range weaponry without hitting the city.

His heat vision was coming in handy, igniting and destroying any launched munition. That included the energy-based ones from the Atlantean ships. The whale-shaped ships were the primary offenders, but the starfish-shaped fortress had stopped with its megaweapon. For what reason, he did not know.

The smaller, shark-shaped ships were being handled by Wonder Woman. By now she was causing enough damage to those particular ships that they were starting to pull back. They were firing less too.

Above, Green Lantern was doing his best to keep the F-16s off their back. His efforts were also starting to pay off. Slowly, and gradually, this fight was starting to die off, the officers on both sides figuring out that the League was inserting itself between them. Given enough time, they would go after them. Hopefully they were considering either a withdrawal or a truce. Whichever they chose first is what he preferred.

Hawkgirl wasn't around, but he had a feeling that she might be responsible for what was happening within the Atlantean floating fortress. If she wasn't talking Corum Rath down, then she was more than likely using physical persuasion of the concussive type.

Before he could continue with his musing—though not stopping in igniting one of those energy-based attacks the Atlanteans were firing—J'onn's voice suddenly and unexpectedly echoed in his head.

Everyone, Black Manta has escaped the GCPD. I am trying to find where he escaped to.

What? The Kryptonian was momentarily distracted, but luckily none took advantage of the lapse. Quickly, and futility, he looked around and at Gotham, then focused his eyes and used his x-ray vision. A gut feeling had him looking to the north, in particular a certain shipyard.

The submarine wasn't there.

Over the comm link, "The sub's gone. What are the odds he took that as well?"

Green Lantern swore over the line. Wonder Woman did not respond. Hawkgirl responded with, "Who took the sub?"

Superman blinked his eyes. Had Hawkgirl not heard J'onn? He did know that the Martian was not able to read her mind; maybe that had something to do with it?

"J'onn says that Black Manta escaped. The sub's gone as well," he answered the Thanagarian.

Silence from Hawkgirl. Perhaps her attention was needed elsewhere. So was his. "Wonder Woman, Lantern, hold things here. I'm going to have a talk with someone."

His eyes were on another part of the city, a certain headquarters where a certain pair of generals were bound to be. If anyone could call off the American forces, it would be them, especially since they no longer had any leverage.

Wasn't that perfect?

Corum Rath had picked up the pace a bit and now the two of them were roughed up. Given enough time, she would have knocked his block off, but she wasn't here to do that. No, she was trying to keep things from escalating, but Atlantis' representative here was not making that easy.

"Try as you might, you don't stand a chance, Thanagarian," Corum Rath panted out, a grimace on his face that was far from expressing pain. No, that was the look of a man who enjoyed the thrill of battle. She wouldn't be surprised if a similar look was on her face, half-covered by her helm.

Keeping her mace in hand, "I think we're beyond that point," she retorted. While visibly relaxing her guard might confuse the other man, she was not about to drop it if only because she didn't trust him. "If you knew what I knew, you'd drop the tough guy act and actually use your brain."

"Your arrogance is an insult," Corum Rath seethed back.

"Not arrogance," she corrected. "I just got word from the rest of the League. You've messed up, and messed up badly."

"What are you talking about?" the Atlantean demanded.

Giving a smirk, "Just that Black Manta broke himself out of jail. The Gotham police no longer have him and have no idea where he is."

"Then I'll wipe that surface city off your map," the Atlantean threatened back.

"You won't because Black Manta didn't escape by land. He did it by sea. Stole a submarine and now he's behind your lines. How are you going to explain that to your king, hmm? How are you going to explain that the man he wants so badly has slipped through your fingers?" That last one might have come out as a taunt, but damn it, she had no hard feelings about it.

To give a tiny iota of credit, Corum Rath did look a little disturbed before he started to double down. "You lie!"

"And how many spies do you have around here? Ones that we don't know about? How about you ask them? They can confirm," Hawkgirl quipped right back. He'd believe his own people before he would ever believe her. Now she dropped her guard and stood up straighter. "You've got no more reason to keep fighting, and I'm no longer interested. You can make up the ending here but you're going to have to tell your drinking buddies how royally you screwed up anyway. Good luck with that."

The glare could have killed had it the power to. Hawkgirl took a step back, refusing to show her back. Another sign of distrust, but she was leaving now. As she had said, there was no further point to fighting here and she wasn't interested in Corum Rath as her dance partner.

He'd have to fulfill his bloodlust some other time.

"Lane! Vreeland!"

Nearly a blue blur, Superman arrived where the two generals had a view of the dying battle. Both men looked up at him, General Lane stoic while General Vreeland sneered.

"Don't you have a cat to pull out of a tree? We're conducting war here," Vreeland spat out.

The bluster was ignored as red booted feet touched down. "Call them off. There's no more reason to keep fighting," the Man of Steel stated, preferring to stare down Lane.

"Like hell! They fired on us!" Vreeland exclaimed. "They attacked United States military personnel in our territorial waters! There's no way in hell we're backing down!"

Lane nodded his head towards Vreeland without saying a word, raising an eyebrow in challenge to the Kryptonian.

Superman balled his hands into fists but did not lash out. Slowly, he relaxed them, knowing that trying to yell over a man with several decades of practice would get him nowhere. He would need to try and reason with them, and only one of them may be amenable to that.

"I just got word that Black Manta escaped custody. You no longer have any leverage with the Atlanteans," he tried to argue.

"That's cops for you," Vreeland sneered. "They can't hold one single man in a cage."

Now his patience was at an end. Turning to Vreeland, "And he also stole back that top secret submarine you have parked in the old Gotham shipyard. Aren't you the ones responsible for keeping that safe? Not only did Black Manta escape, he stole United States military equipment right under your nose and has already left Gotham. Probably has also left American territorial waters. How do you explain that?"

Vreeland looked like he wanted to argue back, and he did sputter, but there were no words that could be discerned, even with superhearing.

Lane continued to prove that he had the cooler head. "Frank." This drew Vreeland's attention to his fellow general. "It is over. Without Black Manta, there's no reason for the Atlanteans to stick around. Instead of risking the city, give them a way out and let them go."

"They attacked us!" Vreeland cried out, finally finding words to speak. "You heard the reports! They torpedoed one of our own and you're saying to let them go?!"

As he was about to speak up, Superman stopped himself and frowned. Torpedoed? The ship that he had noticed Green Lantern rescuing, had that been the one that was attacked? If so, it was torpedoed? That…that didn't make any sense. The only kind of weapons the Atlanteans used were energy based. They hadn't launched a single torpedo that he had seen.

"Are you sure they were hit with a torpedo?" he asked, drawing both of the generals' attention to himself.

"Of course! Like anyone under my command would lie about that!" Vreeland spat.

"The Atlanteans haven't fired a single torpedo that I've seen," Superman told them. A thought occurred to him, a normal occurrence when using his investigative journalist skills. "Which direction did the torpedoes come from?"

"What does that matter?" Vreeland sounded confused and yet angry all the same.

"Because that would mean someone else might have fired those torpedoes," General Lane answered for his colleague.

If someone else had fired a torpedo, or several, and it happened around the same time Black Manta had escaped, could it be that everything in the last half hour was connected? Could it be that Black Manta had engineered his own escape and used the cover of a naval battle to hide it, and did all that while incarcerated?

Had they all been played for fools?

He didn't trust the Thanagarian. Anything above the surface was untrustworthy.

Corum Rath glared after the retreating alien, continuing to do so after she could not be seen anymore. Did she really think that his resolve was that easily broken? No, no he would stay the course and await his kingdom's next action.

There was no way that Black Manta had escaped. None. He was being held in captivity by the local surface authorities; they would have to be complete idiots to let him go. Then again, that was giving such surface dwellers too much credit.

Nevertheless, even just the possibility…

The order for their spies to report in was given. Then he waited while turning his attention back to the battle at hand. That battle was not as…violent as it was before. It was easier to see the Justice League interfering, destroying the expended munitions of the surface dwellers and throwing off the aim of his men.

He should press this advantage. Seize this opportunity. Declare with absolute certainty of Atlantis' superiority. In fact, that was what he was about to do.

Then the first reports came in. Black Manta was no longer in the surface dwellers' custody. The seafaring vessel that had been present at his capture was also missing. Had that Thanagarian been telling the truth?

She couldn't be… She couldn't. They were all liars, selfish, greedy, and beyond salvation. They only brought destruction and poison to the waters that were Atlantis' by right. They needed to see what they could do, what power they had.

Then the surface dwellers' ships began to pull back. The flying vehicles in the air were leaving. The League could focus all of its attention on them. That was what they were doing, making sure that the surface dwellers' retreat was not harassed.

Corum Rath had to think. To consider. Would it be worth it to continue fighting? He wanted to. He wanted to keep fighting until the very end. His death could be what brought Atlantis together, together against these savage surface dwellers, and to push back any weak sense of cooperation with them.

It would be the righteous thing to do. For Atlantis.

But the window for that opportunity shrunk by the second. If anything, continuing to fight might do the opposite of what he wanted. It might paint those advocating for isolation to not only be doubted, but undermined. What Prince Orm was trying to achieve would be placed in jeopardy.

Black Manta was long gone. There was no further reason to remain, was there?

"Order the men back," he growled, his grip on his spear tightening. "We make for home. Spread the order for withdrawal, now."

It made him sick to say those words, but now…now there was no chance for any gain. Prince Orm would need to be informed immediately. So would the king. Atlantis may despair at the loss for justice, to avenge the death of their dear crown prince. The hunt for that monster would have to continue. Perhaps he may be assigned to lead that hunt.

All in all, this was a waste of time. But if anyone could still use it, it would be Prince Orm. He needed to trust his Prince and listen to his sage council. This battle may be lost, but the war was far from over.

It was rare that Black Manta felt any emotion towards another person, and gratitude was one of the rarest of all. Scavenger had left a change of clothes in the captain's cabin, and it was a genuine copy of his wetsuit and helmet.

This suit felt like home, and with the jail-issued rags easily tossed aside, he was suited up sans the helmet. That would come in time. Right now, he needed to make sure everything was properly fitted and in place.

This meant making sure there were no air bubbles trapped between his skin and the suit. It was specially designed, watertight down to the molecular level. Toes wiggled in the boots, everything was smoothed and patted over, and little adjustments were completed. It felt so good and natural to be back.

Flexing the fingers in his gloves, his dark eyes fell over the tube-shaped container. He studied it, knowing full well what was inside of it. On an impulse, he reached for it and picked it up. A small test of the gloves to make sure they did not restrict his fingers, he then opened the container up. Angling the opened end towards the floor, he shook the container slightly until its contents slid out.

It was long, a rod to be precise. It held a little weight to it, something he had noticed when he had held its container earlier. Setting the tube-shaped container aside, he held the rod with both hands, admiring it and picturing its purpose.

Its bronze color betrayed the shell while hiding what was within. What was within was uranium, enriched uranium. In its current state within the rod, it was perfectly safe to handle it. The dimensions were just as he had described to Scavenger, meaning it was perfectly suitable to go where it would go.

Within this submarine's reactor were several uranium rods, all prepared for producing electricity that would power this submersible. The amount of power they could produce ensured that the submarine had a stable power supply, able to remain in the depths with ease.

Weapons grade, enriched uranium was never suppose to be in a nuclear reactor, however.

His grip tightened on the rod at the thought. The whole scheme that he himself and the Scavenger concocted relied solely on this. Both of them knew it wasn't going to be easy raiding Atlantis; even with an unknown location, it would have defenses. The blockade back in Gotham was proof of this.

His encounters with Aquaman and whatever Atlantean he dragged along with him had also taught him how tough the armor plating for their ships were. Tough as they were, he doubted the power of a nuclear explosion could be endured even by Atlantean standards.

Scavenger was fully on board, and Black Manta himself had volunteered to be the one to trigger the detonation. With defenses incapacitated, they would be free to plunder the city to their hearts' content. This is what Scavenger believed.

Black Manta had different thoughts about it.

He was not in this for riches and profit. This was personal. It had always been, and that was how it would be until it all came to an end. No one would be able to stop him, friend or foe, and even if anyone realized what he intended, it would be too late.

He hadn't lied to his interrogator. Nothing but the destruction of everything that Aquaman held dear would satisfy him. If there was anything left, then Scavenger could pick through it.

Back into its container, Black Manta sealed the rod in there and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then he reached for his helmet and put it on. The hoses that were connected to an oxygen tank worn on his back were attached; the discomfort he had to twist his arms about to achieve was one he was long used to.

A test to make sure he could see through the red lens was the last bit of preparation to complete, and once done he was exiting the captain's cabin and heading back to the control center. He would be in charge of this ship until they arrived at their destination.

Emerging onto the deck, Scavenger's men still hard at work, Black Manta took his place dead center of the room. He eyed every single mercenary around him, noted their tasks, and how efficient they were at completing them.

Then, "Is the radar active?"

"Fully operational, sir," the man using that hi-tech equipment responded. "I'm not picking up anything except commercial traffic."

Black Manta did not give a nod. Instead, it was to the communications officer that he spoke to next. "Hail Scavenger. We need to rendezvous and begin the search."

The search. He had spent years searching for Atlantis. He may not have an exact location, but some of the little schemes he had pulled over the years were just to try and triangulate a starting place. The ocean was a big place, so the search area had to be narrowed down first.

It could take years going over the large swatch of ocean floor he had been able to chip down to, but hopefully the radar would speed it up. It may take months, but—

"Sir, I'm picking something up on the radar. No, wait, multiple targets."

Black Manta regarded the man manning the radar station. "Bring the image up on the main screen."

Towards the front of the room, a black screen had blended in with the paint job. Now it winked into life, displaying what the submarine's radar was picking up. Indeed, multiple moving objects, and ones that were increasing their depth. He recognized that trajectory; that's how Atlantean ships behaved when leaving a location to return home.

Well, perhaps the timetable had been sped up.

"Keep them in range of the radar. Notify Scavenger to rendezvous now," he ordered. "We're going after them."

This…this was unexplainable.

His name was Roduun, a faithful servant of Atlantis. He had seen every known combat injury, serving in the military under Prince Orm and now King Orin. Battle had made him hard.

And yet, he had never seen anything like this.

There were a number of men lying on the ground. Their armor denoted their unit, that of the city watchmen. It was a military unit charged with the protection of the city streets, what surface dwellers would call policemen. They were the first line should there ever be an intruder.

And there was certainly one here. A strange black vessel was lodged into a hole in the dome that surrounded Atlantis. There were men currently trying to wield it in place so that the leaks from the ocean around them stopped. They could remove it at a later time, when there wasn't an intruder around.

Roduun stared at the injured men. Many had their arms broken, which caused a few to be bent in unnatural angles. Others had the same done to their legs. A couple were grasping at their chests, reporting difficult breathing. A chirurgeon was checking one of them out, theorizing there were broken ribs.

None were dead, which was the strange part about all of this. It was as if someone had forced their way into Atlantis—he knew this because the vessel was open, revealing an area for the pilot to sit—and proceeded to beat every last guardsmen with their bare hands. They took great pains to not slay these men, but left them in an incredible amount of pain.

"B…black…" one man moaned nearby, drawing Roduun's attention. "...black…demon…" he continued.

A black demon, he had his doubts. But what else could explain this…this…this carnage?

"Sir!" a voice called out to him. Roduun turned and found a man from a sister unit jogging up to him. "We've found something."

"What did you find?" he quickly asked.

The guardsmen held out an object, which Roduun accepted. Holding it with three fingers, he examined it. It was black and sharp, but had an unusual shape to it. It was as if it had two ends and a head at its midpoint. Was it some sort of throwing weapon? If so, how did one use it? What even was it?

"Careful, Sir," the same guardsmen cautioned him. "It is very sharp. It was found sticking out of a helmet of one of the injured men."

Roduun moved his other hand and pressed one of the pointed ends into the pad of one of his fingers. He immediately felt a sharp pain and jerked his hand back, seeing blood leaking out of his finger. Yes, this was indeed sharp. "How does this even work?" he questioned, his eyes lingering on his own dripping blood.

"We…we aren't certain," the guardsman admitted. "There were a few others just like it that were found. We are collecting them at this time."

Roduun nodded. "Are there any that are conscious? That can tell us what happened?"

"I'm afraid not. Many are unconscious, and of the ones that aren't, all they could say is the same thing."

"Which is?"

"Black demon."

Roduun looked to the guardsmen, then over at the one man still sputtering about a black demon. Then his eyes went back to the sea vessel in the dome. For the sake of argument, let's say there was a black demon that did all of this, then was it the person that rammed that vessel into their dome? If so, why? Why had it come here to Atlantis?

And what did it want?