Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The space was cramped, her legs had already fallen asleep after being in there for ten minutes. Zatanna blinks her eyes open, awakening to an environment in which she had little room to work with. Her body rolls back and forth, bumping into the narrow walls that surrounded her. Nothing seemed to budge. Hands were useless, tied behind her back with some kind of stretchy band. A small space like this, she had to have been getting buried alive. Which was weird, she was certain she paid off any loans, none of which were made by any shady parties. A situation like that would probably have a lot more commotion going on. Men digging shovels, maybe a bulldozer getting ready to dump ten pounds of dirt onto the box, suffocating the little air she had. Surely she got in this mess, she could get out. Then it hit her, how did she get in this mess? All the magician could remember was her trip home, and after that—nothing made much sense.

Before she could ram her body against the space, she puts her hand against the walls. A perfect amount of room for someone her size, someone to fit comfortably without feeling any distress. She’s used this device in her early years, toying with the magic arts one might see at a upper class kid’s birthday party, or a company yacht drifting just outside the Balboa pier. Her foot reaches towards the right-hand corner, poking at it with little success. Still, Zatanna kept trying, her kicks becoming more energized. She kicks again, and the wall flings down, in truth a compartment for the magician. Zatanna quickly rolls herself out, bracing herself on where she’d land. To her surprise, it was a concrete floor of a filled-up basement, full of retired props and sets used for her performances.

Rather than give her hope on escaping a dire situation, it only made her more confused.

“Eitnu sepor.” She whispers. The bindings around her wrist breaking free without any actual cuts. At least that part of her was still working.
She walks up the wooden stairs that led to the rest of her home, pushing the door open. The house is clean, no sign of any forced entry, nothing out of place. She wondered if she was maybe in a trace, a dream that served as some twisted utopia, while remaining strapped to some chair with wires running out of her brain. Anything seemed possible at this point.

Aside from the foggy memory, she felt lighter in weight. A result of which, she couldn’t determine. With no time to waste, Zatanna goes to an attached bathroom next to her bedroom, and strips out of her magician attire, leaving it on her bathroom floor as she stumbled into the shower. The water hits her hair and skin, rinsing off the dust and dirt she’d accumulated. How long that was, she still wasn’t sure. After standing underneath the metallic head, she noticed the usual warmth from water at this temperature. She kept turning the dial, the needle touching the edge of red, yet the cold temperature in her body never altered.

The shower shuts off, and Zatanna steps out onto the bathroom floor, water dripping onto the mat beneath her. She hunches over the counter to wipe the fog off the large mirror but stops abruptly. There wasn’t anything wrong with the reflection, not even anything resembling her figure. Out of a confusion and worry, she swipes her hand against the mirror, clearing up the glass to find the same result, nothing. She took steps in different directions, moved to face the other way, nothing fixed the lack of reflection.

“Wohs Noitcelfer!” She spoke in her magical tongue. Like ink dripping into water, a dark crystal grows within the mirror, spreading across into a darker color while keeping it’s elements of reflection. Despite the pitch-black circumstances, a duplicate view of Zatanna emerged. She notices the obvious changes, the pale skin, the crimson red eyes. Her hand reaches up to her lip, nudging it upward only to confirm her suspicion, a complete set of teeth with two large fangs sticking out. Despite these changes, she didn’t second guess them. The dead could come back, she’s seen it happen, though rarely it's the same person who steps back into the realm of mortality. Zatanna was no naïve magic user; she’d fought vampires prior. Their strength was organization, determination. For every three weaknesses, they had five strengths that could tear apart the Earth if they so deemed.

As much as she tried to focus, to think logically on what to do. There was an instinct that she couldn’t avoid any longer. Standing in front of a mirror isn’t going to fix it.

Zatanna pushes the door open, a cloud of steam flying out into the next room. She ignores getting dressed and exits onto the balcony, standing still as the desert wind hits her. It was still nighttime, the lights from the Vegas strip never went out, always looking for the next poor soul to empty out their wallets. Her feet stood up, her tiptoes remaining balanced until she floats up into the night sky. For a creature like a vampire, the wind never felt like a threat to their being, only serving as a current to guide them.

As she got closer to the city, Zatanna felt her urges kick in. The scent of humans, wandering aimlessly like cattle. Her awakening as this nocturnal creature demanded food like any organism. Luckily for her craving, there was plenty around. It was best to play this smart, pick a target no one would miss. Her eyes dart at the outskirts of Vegas, drifting herself over in that direction. Sex workers, homeless, addicts; individuals that built a habit of disappearing with no one batting an eye. There’d always be that judgement in any critic’s eyes. She had it coming dressing like that, he was out of his mind on those things. Tales old as history.

Then again, that was a target for an ordinary vampire, the lowlifes that didn’t matter in their hierarchy. Zatanna used to be someone better, a woman who protected the Earth from the occult. These weren’t the ones worth going after. There were bigger fish to catch.

She flies out towards the central part of the strip, where the famous hotels and casinos stood. Beneath her was an LED sign for the Paradise Casino, one of the ads in its cycle being for the Zatanna: Mistress of Magic show, her world-famous act that was under an exclusivity deal. The contract alone would get her a new house.

She scans her eyes along the hotel rooms, finding all kinds of parties. Some had kids that were too young to drink or gamble and ended up spending the night in their room while their parents looked for trouble, though mostly it was couples that felt this city would be a good honeymoon for their newly cemented marriage. One soul would do well, yet she kept looking— Then, on the other side of a balcony, she sees a man by himself. Just enough luggage for a couple days, likely a business trip or a company retreat. Usually it was bankers, brokers, or real estate agents. He looked comfortable but couldn’t escape something in his life.

Zatanna takes a slow breath and drops onto the balcony of the hotel room. She found herself reaching for the door, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just as she was about to use her backwards tongue to open the door, the male catches a glimpse of her. His breath hitched, standing up from the edge of his bed while remaining dressed in a white button-up shirt and dark trousers, still carrying work fatigue. He couldn’t stop looking at her naked form, deathly pale and beautifully sculpted. Cautiously, the man approaches the sliding door, pulling it back and bringing in the wind from outside.

She didn’t even need to ask. The man nods his head, stepping to the side to make room for her. She slowly enters his hotel room, the trouble she had prior now ceasing to exist. As she got closer, his scent became more alluring, building a temptation to rip him to shreds like a child discovering sugar for the first time. Without a second to waste, her hand reaches for his chin, cupping it delicately, taking a fresh inhale before leaning her head forward, brushing her lips against his. He is quick to embrace her, passionately kissing back with no sign of stopping.

Her hands go to reach for his shirt, clenching her fingers along the seams of fabric. Finding partners wasn’t exactly Zatanna’s strength. Most of what she had were flings and one-time encounters. There were exceptions of course, people she’d fall for, where they’d fall for her back, but none of them ever managed to last. She didn’t want to know this man, but she wanted to remember what it was like to be warm. With a light tug, the buttons snap off, the skin underneath growing more visible.

The man rushed to remove the rest of his clothing, he wanted to be on the same level as the stranger. She could sense the lust in him, his heartrate accelerating, his fingernails clawing into her skin. Despite her rebirth, she still felt shallow, dependent on something so primitive. The rush of finding each other, giving into their desires. A man who was once happy, matched with a woman who was once human.

Her head lowers to his neck, lips delicately tracing the area over his artery. Before she can think about it, Zatanna parts her lips, her fangs extending until they violently cut into his neck. His skin is pierced within a second, the tip of her teeth digging until they reached the blood flow. The two holes create a puncture, two streams of red spray onto the room’s premium wallpaper. The man widens his eyes, realizing what she’s done to him. He starts panicking, his torment only growing, but she refuses to let go.

“Teiuq.” She whispers into his ear. He continues to scream, struggling against her hold, yet nothing came from his cries. The only audible sound being the wind from the air vent, and her teeth rattling along his skin, sucking and draining the poor man. She’d found just the right meal after her rough awakening, pulling his dying body closer to her. His heartbeat was slowing down, not being able to pump enough blood at the amount being drained.

Blood wasn’t just a meal for vampires. It could heal, it could fight, make their kind stronger. She could feel her senses heightening even more. No wonder they go crazy for this stuff. Then, best of all. She could remember. She had a big show at the hotel next door, then she went home, and there were two men—waiting, watching. They knew every trick, her voice—gagged, useless against them. All she had was hear their message.

Zatanna Zatara. You are reborn.

The man soon became limp, his widened eyes going still. With no more to drink from, Zatanna drops him, a trail of red dripping from her mouth, flowing down to her upper chest. Another exhale, her eyes shut as she relished in the taste of blood and flesh, wiping her hand against her mouth. She looks down at the corpse, some blood pooling out of his lifeless neck. She puts a couple fingers against her lips, pushing them up and using the rest to run against her teeth, her fangs retracting to a far more hidden nature. All the while, her eyes return to their once natural blue.

Zatanna still felt very little. Her statute as a hero gave her a limit, she’d never take a life in service of her own. It once would’ve been an immediate violation of her morality. To her newly reborn self, one dead human wasn’t going to make a difference. She’d live longer than him regardless. If anything, he died a worthy cause, giving life to a woman like herself. As she turns her head, an item catches her eye. A brown wallet resting upon a nightstand. She takes it and flips it open.

His name was Ivan Olesko, born on February 18th, 1981. The inside of his wallet had a couple of twenty-dollar bills, some lose change, two or three credit cards, and an unspeakable amount of unused gift cards to department stores. Most important of all was the small picture of his family, three kids and a beautiful wife. A man like this was someone Zatanna was used to avoiding, family men that were willing to risk it all on nights that give the illusion of happiness. A rabbit hole of half-journeys, one that didn’t deserve a death.

“Ekat em emoh.” She speaks again, her voice carrying more of an echo this time. As Zatanna approaches the front door of the hotel room, she pulls it open and walks into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Chapter Text

The trip wasn’t too bad, at least the itching on her neck stopped. What normally took a nine hour drive ended up being about thirty seconds. Zatanna managed to get home before sunrise and spent the remainder of the night covering up all the windows. Afterwards, she got cleaned up and put on a fresh set of casualwear clothes. Her home was still in pristine condition, barely any dust trails on the bookshelves, the food still good in her fridge. Even if she couldn’t eat it, it’d be a good cover in case someone kicked her door down with accusations.

Since returning from her nightly flight, she felt more in control of herself. There was of course that nihilism inside her. If anyone found out what she did, she’d have to pay for it. Life sentences are out of the question, society would toss her out into the sun, let nature run its course. Besides, she was already dead, it’s not like it’d be a double murder.

She walks up to her dining table and rips a leg off the wooden chair sitting towards the end, causing it to tip over. Zatanna sits down next to it, and places the stick of wood down, with the broken side facing her. Not the greatest stake she’s carved, but one that would get the job done. Her eyes blink a few times, brushing her hand along the surface. She should be dead, for others to die to for her eternal life—It wasn’t right. She was lucky enough to even be thinking about this, not acting like just some feral creature blinded to the taste of flesh. One could say her very presence is a cancer on this world, and she just might be so inclined to agree. If the end really is coming, if someone powerful like herself could spill into the influence of vampirism, it would be a massacre. Nearly everyone on the planet had a weakness to magic, the rivers could flow with blood, keeping her kind alive while humanity is pushed to extinction. She’d likely go after her enemies, her family, then the League, world leaders, and everyone else. All of her friends were too stubborn, they’d never give their own humanity up to join the ranks, especially not the magic community. They’d see it as a death sentence regardless.

If she continued to live, Zatanna knew her kind would have to take priority, aiding them in whatever kind of hell their twisted minds could conjure up. Humans could be seen as livestock threatening this world, developing on a path that would send everyone and everything into a boiling abyss. That would just be Earth. If they controlled the Kryptonians, the Lanterns, they could reach the Milky Way. She knows too much, she only had one death under her watch, this could still end peacefully for her. The taking of one life to save others, would have to be her own.

Zrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

Zatanna blinks, looking around as if she’s caught in some strange daze, reaching for her jeans pocket as it vibrates. Her hand goes to reach for it, slipping her phone out. The nonstop vibrating was the first sign, it was a priority alert; The Justice League. She wasn’t exactly one they called on a regular basis these days, something important must be happening, something where magic was needed.

She puts the phone down, buzzing against the table, just opposite of her makeshift stake. This kind of talk was bleak, and worst of all, useless. Zatanna’s sorcery is powerful, able to stop nearly anything. Hell, she could stop Superman, she’s done it before. Deep down, with all the urges and instincts that came with her condition, Zatanna wasn’t ready to give up. Taking her life now would only strengthen the enemy, unite their cause as the Mistress of Magic could only mentally handle being a vampire for two days. If Zatanna was going to die, it would be on her own terms, her own rules. It was too late for her to live, but where she failed, others could succeed. She could stop whatever the vampires were planning, save her friends, maybe even the rest of the world.
It might even be possible her fate wasn’t so much of a curse after all. She could rally others to her cause, give a real fighting chance against the sinister nature of her kind. Her odds felt stacked against her, but if she learned anything from being a hero—It’s that any chance to save a life is worth fighting for.

Zatanna pushes the stake away and picks up the phone and holds her thumb against the screen, causing it to light up with a green hue.

No point in wasting time like that. She has a world to save.

* * *

The sorceress immediately got to work, headed towards her library where a large desk sat in the middle, built mainly for reading but just sturdy enough to allow for some craftwork. The ceilings were huge, reaching just above a hundred feet in height. Shadowcrest had many magical properties to it. Chances are there were parts that even Zatanna didn’t know about. She flew up towards different shelves, pulling out every book she could find on vampires that were least likely to end up in a fiction category. Most of her knowledge was for fighting them, less on what to do should she become one. Returning to the desk, she mumbles a few commands. The desk drawers spring open, contents begin to fly out and spiral around her like a vortex. First, she’d need something to keep her alive from the sunlight, something that could stay on her. To put a spell on it, it’d have to be designed for that sense. Luckily for Zatanna, there was nothing like a good hat to keep her vision.

“Ot em, ym ebordraw.” She calls out. A moment later, her wardrobe appears next to her. She pulls open the door and reaches inside, taking out one of many top hats, this one carrying a purple ribbon looped around the top. The hat is placed on the table and a wand flies out of her desk, landing right in her palm.

“Htiw eht srewop that eb, tnarg uoy lanrete edahs, dna yrtne ot lla srood!” Zatanna waves her wand, a powerful bolt shooting from the tip and striking the hat, all without leaving a scratch. She looks at the result, picking it up by the brim and tossing it on her head. She couldn’t help but smile at the idea. With her wardrobe still beside her, she begins to assemble a new look for herself. The purple and black on the hat was a nice touch, creating a stage magician outfit with fishnets, boots, and a suit with three layers. And to top it all off, a black cane with a glass orb.

Leaving the library, she approaches one of the massive windows in the corridor, currently blocked by the curtains. Zatanna makes sure her hat is on before reaching her hand over for the rope, gripping on it, but still not tugging. If she gets this wrong, that’s the end of it. She takes a deep breath, and before she knows it, her hand tugs at the rope, pulling it away from her. The curtains push out, the sunlight beams into her home. It reaches her skin, growing, ready to ignite—And that was it. She approaches the window, looking out at the San Francisco Bay area, basked in sunlight. Zatanna curls a fist and yanks it back in excitement, doing a little victory spin for herself.

After getting more of her things ready, she approaches a wooden door, straightening out her attire.

“Ekat em ot eht llaH fo EcitsuJ.” She says with far more confidence, her creation bringing her more joy than she expected. The door springs open without a touch, leading into a wide corridor with groups of people walking and talking aimlessly. Zatanna steps through the seamless portal and lands nearly three thousand miles away.

The main floor of the Hall of Justice tended to be packed this time of year. Summer was out, tourists were visiting Washington to explore landmarks and forge memories. Though most of all, the Hall was a place to inspire, a monument for heroes of all shapes and sizes that united in their darkest hour, to deliver a message that would be heard across the universe.

She made her way through some of the more discreet areas, making her way to an elevator and reaching into her suit pocket, flicking out a playing card, specifically the Queen of Diamonds. Zatanna rolls her eyes and reaches into the pocket, removing an I.D. card and swiping it near a scanner. A loud beep goes off, followed by a large metallic door sliding open, with an elevator lift on the other side.

The ride down was a little long, her base of operations being a glorified basement buried half a mile underground. Though Zatanna had been down this lift plenty of times before, the time felt like nothing. The doors swing open, guiding her to a far darker area. Sitting at the table, she could see her League teammates.

Near the edge was Khalid Nassour, the current Dr. Fate, looking at his phone to kill time. Luckily, he didn’t have the helmet on, she’d have to make sure this meeting didn’t involve Nabu. He’d figure out her true self in seconds, and wasn’t exactly interested in hearing excuses. Turning Khalid wouldn’t work either, Nabu would just imprison his conscious like he did to Kent Nelson. Next to him was Dr. Kirk Langstorm, a.k.a the Man-Bat. A once terrifying hybrid of human and bat that terrorized the night now sat in a lab coat with the friendliest smile she’d even seen. The brains and voice of reason, a more grounded perspective for when the team needed one. Though a former villain in Gotham would have swings in mood at one point or another. He wasn’t so much latched to technology, just sitting back with the warmest smile on his face, a part of him just happy he’s still on the team.

Then of course, on the other side was the colossal protector of the green, covered in grass and mossy vines. Alec Holland, a.k.a. Swamp Thing. Like Kirk, he mostly just sat unbothered, just waiting patiently for the meeting to begin. Zatanna couldn’t figure out if Alec would turn or not. If anything, he’s already been transformed into a husk with those red eyes and gravely voice. Magic tended to work around rules, ones that have been rewritten over time, though a part of her was afraid to even touch him. His connection to the Green was very strong, changing his physical and mental side might do permanent damage to the planet. Humans may be the problem, but Alec was far from that.

Khalid and Kirk look up as she walks in, observing her new look. Wearing the formal magician wear and holding that cane, it all felt very Victorian.

“Morning folks.” Zatanna spoke, giving a faint smirk as she sits down at the table, across from the others.

“Afternoon.” Kirk reminds her, though trying his best to not sound passive aggressive. Zatanna shook her head. Not knowing what time of day it was? Dead giveaway. At least, that’s what she thought for a moment. Her mind was already racing with paranoia. Attending a meeting filled with magic users, this really was a bad idea.

“Right—My bad.” She says with her polite tone, shifting around with her hand still on the cane. Given that there was very little chance sunlight was going to pour into the room, she pinches the brim of her hat, lifting and setting it down against the table.

“Don’t worry. As the plight of man likes to say, it is somewhere.” A feminine voice came from the distance, with a pair of metallic heels hitting the steps. The warrior of the bunch, hailing from the mystical island of Themyscira, always prepared to fight a war but not without trying to stop it first. Diana Prince, founding member of the Justice League, and current leader of the Justice League Dark, a.k.a. Wonder Woman.

“Thank you for being here on such short notice. I know we’re missing one or two people, but we’ll just have to brief them another time.” Diana approaches the others, putting a hand on the center chair and sliding it back, taking a seat. She raises an arm up, slamming a folder down onto the table, landing in front of Khalid first.

“A week ago, the Coast Guard found a freighter drifting along the eastern seaboard. There was no S.O.S or any kind of response, so they went ahead with a boarding. Most of the crew was found deceased, the rest are believed to be missing.” Khalid opens the contents, finding crime scene photographs of the ship. The corpses were covered in blood, massive cuts all over their bodies.

“We’re going to find out who did it.” Diana adds in her stern voice.

“Forgive me, Diana. This is all very tragic, but isn’t this something the normal League or the Coast Guard can handle?” Kirk asks, peaking over Khalid’s shoulder for a moment to look at the corpses. Zatanna could also see the folder, tilting her head out of curiosity.

“Look at Image 39.” She suggests to him, flipping through the pile of printed photographs.

“Etacilpud redlof.” Zatanna changes her tone. An exact copy of the folder flies out of the original, sliding down the table to land in between her hands. She begins flipping through, the cuts were deep and primal, the victims weren’t just sliced open— torn apart was more accurate. As for the image Diana mentioned, Zatanna dug through and looked at the photograph, far brighter than the others. Pictured was the deck level of the ship, five corpses all lined up and completely burnt up. Some remains of role shackled around their wrists. It felt like she could still smell the flesh, crisping away underneath the sun.

“It’s not just any boat. This is for transporting vampires across the Atlantic.” Zatanna closes the folder, looking towards the others to match their gaze. She takes her copy of Image 39, flipping it to face the others. “Looks like these ones were executed.”

“She’s right. Freight containers are easily stackable, you can fit plenty of coffins inside, lack of oxygen shouldn’t be a problem.” Another voice from the stairs, and exactly the one she worried about. If she didn’t hear the voice, all Zatanna would’ve need is the smoked tobacco and fresh breath of whiskey, and the occasional sound of four limbs hitting the floor instead of two. It was pretty much the one person Zatanna didn’t want to show up. This of course being Bobo, a.k.a. Detective Chimp.

“You’re late.” Diana spoke a little more intense, shifting to face him.

“I was checking on an investigation that required my expertise. My sincerest apologies.” Bobo gets closer to the table, taking the last empty chair. He reaches into green jacket, taking out a cigar and putting it between his mouth.

“Fine with me. Any suspects come to mind?” Diana continues to hover near the area.

“Etacilpud redlof.” Zatanna says again, another duplicate landing in her hands, prompting her to hand it over to Bobo. He gives her a quick nod, grabbing the folder and going to sit down. As the group rummaged through the folders, he would give Zatanna occasional glances. Something was off about her.

“We don’t know of any active extreme hunting groups. Order of the Van Helsings disbanded, might be some remnants. There’s Andrew Bennett, but from what I can tell he’d have to know where this boat is and just the right time and place to sneak on. Plus, some of the ship’s crew were human workers, killing them doesn’t fit his M.O.” Khalid taps his finger against the photos.

“I’ve had my run in with those types. One time a while back, group of cult guys shot me in the neck with a crossbow after a show, had to outrun ‘em without the usual tricks. This kind of operation? I’m not so sure they could pull that off.” Zatanna tells the group, adjusting her seat posture. “I’m thinking another vampire coven. They tend to stay away from each other’s business, but if one gets mad at the other—I could picture them doing some nasty work.”

“Not only that, but I got something else as well.” Bobo lets out, grabbing the manilla envelope he came in with. He takes a new set of photographs and dumps them on the table.

“Potential murders by vampires have been steadily increasing over the past month, which leads me to believe they’re growing their numbers in secret. Whatever reason that might be, it’s all got a reason to keep us up.”

One by one, the photos show drained corpses at different scenes. A board room meeting at a corporate office in Seattle, an alleyway in Amsterdam, a gentlemen’s club in Metropolis.

A hotel room in Las Vegas.

Chapter Text

If Zatanna hadn’t been turned, a moment like this is where her heart would be pounding. Her eyes locked onto the photograph, staring at Ivan’s corpse, right where she’d left it. The lack of remorse remained; she was more worried about her team’s perception. They all seemed to have some sense of worry, though they were all very good at shedding it. Diana practically didn’t have any, a result of her Amazonian heritage and years of fighting gods and amassed armies looking to take Earth for their own territory.
Perhaps it was best to come clean now. She killed the man in that hotel. They’d probably court her on what the right thing to do was, how she could’ve relied on her sorcery, gone for a blood bank somewhere, anything but take someone’s life. That’s what Superman would do; maybe even what Zatanna would do.

Then she’d get locked up, paying for something that seemed understandable, playing by rules set in place by humans. A result she found unacceptable. Whatever fate awaited her, she’d be willing to accept, but not today.

“So far, no leads, no suspects. Some of these murders have been grouped together in different regions of the world, likely a group.” Bobo reaches his arms over, collecting the photographs in a single pile.

“I don’t get it. Vampires have been on this earth for centuries; we’ve barely had to fight them.” Khalid asks.

“They’re known to be hunters for a reason, Khalid. They get powerful for a few years, drain the countryside of people. Then some guy finds out they hate garlic, goes to a big fancy castle, and throws a stake just in the right place. They go into hiding, live among humans to survive for a few centuries until some cranky vampire decides they’ve been living quietly for too long, then rallies everyone into killing all the humans. And so on, and so forth.” Bobo says as he lights his cigar.

“A coven then.” Zatanna suggests, the rest of the room glancing to her. “There’s a large group in Athens, mostly keeps to themselves. Even if they aren’t responsible for the attacks, we can maybe find out who did.”

“I think we should follow the hunter angle, someone’s probably getting fed up with the body count. Plus, as we’ve seen, vamps don’t exactly enjoy going after their own kind.” Khalid suggests.

“Let’s split up then. Alec, Kirk, and Zatanna can investigate the coven in Greece. Myself, Khalid, and Bobo will look into the hunter angle.” Diana suggests, standing up from her chair, reaching for her shoulder to brush her cloak over herself.

The groups split off. Kirk, Alec, and Zatanna all wandered into the corridor that served as a link to the team’s living quarters.

“I just gotta grab my jacket. I’ll be right back.” Kirk let out, stepping into his room that doubled as a personal laboratory.

Zatanna gripped the glass orb sitting atop her cane, nodding her head patiently. Alec stood around with patience, a gesture he was all too familiar with.

“Alec you’ve been pretty quiet, what’s your take on all this?” Zatanna asked, mainly just as a way to pass the time.

“As Bobo said, this is a routine moment in the history of humanity. We will find the cause of this conflict and bring it to a swift resolve.” Swamp Thing spoke in his echoed tone. A shockwave might’ve happened if he raised his voice, worse if he yelled.

“Oh yeah? Is that how the parliament sees it?”

“The Parliament serves all living things. Vampires aren’t living.”

Zatanna paused at the idea, the grip on her cane flinching, getting tighter.

The door swings open. Kirk steps out, wearing a brown suit jacket, looking like he just left Oxford.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

* * *
Within the ancient and lively city of Athens, nighttime had settled across the Mediterranean territory. The weekend provided an energy for the city’s adults to celebrate their livelihood. Kirk, Zatanna, and Swamp Thing wandered the streets, getting a couple odd glances from the Greek residents. Supervillains tended to avoid Greece, most the population preferred to keep it that way.

“Y’know, I’ve always thought about coming here…” Kirk mentioned, looking towards the old yet sturdy architecture of the city.

“I didn’t take you for much of a Greek geek, Kirk.” Zatanna replied with a friendly smile, noticing a red light hanging above the road in front of them, and stopping at the corner.

“Not really, but I’m still a scientist. Granted, usually the more fun advances in medicine were east of the Mediterranean, but with a culture as old as Greece—It’s a wonder they had any at all.”

“Guess you’re right, Greeks are more known for the more spiritual side of things…” Zatanna replies, starting to walk as the light turns green. The others continuing to follow. “Come to think of it, we probably should’ve brought Diana with us.

“She would’ve just slowed us down. I’m interested in Greece, but Diana? It’s like her second home that she never lived in.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works—” Zatanna tries to add.

“Plus, we’re already a powerhouse team. Things go south, we can get out of here quick. You can make a door, I can fly, Swampy can…travel through…grass.” Kirk reassured them.

“You can fly? I can fly. Diana can fly. Khalid can fly. That’s not that unique.”

“But can Bobo fly? I don’t think so. See? He’s a chimp, chimps can’t fly.”

“Kirk is correct.” Swamp Thing nods his head.

“Thank you!” Kirk performs a full body nod before reaching into his bag. Zatanna scoffs and shakes her head.

“Zatanna is also correct.”

“Less helpful, but you were doing great.”
“Alright, alright—C’mon, I think it’s over here.” Zatanna raises her voice, heading east in the city streets.

They continue to get odd glances from people passing by, usually at Kirk’s bat head, and Swamp Thing’s formation of greenery. Zatanna on the other hand didn’t get nearly as many, though her attire and overall appearance drew in some curious eyes.
Zatanna leads her group to Philopappos Hill, home to monuments of times afar, archeological sites to learn what came before, and a realm underneath that remained older than either. They examine each place of interest one by one, looking for irregularities in sculpture.

Once the others split up for the investigation, she found her way over to a large cavern, blocked off with a single metal gate. The inside was pitch black, it felt like no one went inside for ages.
“Evig em thgil!” Zatanna says, tapping the bottom of her cane on the ground right when she finished her command. The glass ball that sat atop the cane turns into a bright light, shining the cavern as she moved further in.

The cave itself wasn’t that special, being maybe half a mile in size underneath the hill. Still, despite all the simplicity, she felt herself drawn to the wall at the end. Her senses were heightening, she could smell and taste something that wasn’t anywhere near the room. Copper.

Her hand lands against the wall, sliding along the rocky interior, moving towards her left. While moving down the cavern, she feels the scent grow stronger, but still no sign of any real metals. The wall was rough and course, a formation that would continue to age with little visible signs of decay. It felt this way to Zatanna until she suddenly felt a faint quake, a portion of the wall sinking back with her hand still in.

She quickly retracts it, the portion of rock sliding back while gears tread, a growing rumbling close by. Next to her, a rectangular section of the cave, about eight feet in height, slides back, revealing a stairwell that looked as old as the cave.

“Krik dna Pmaws Gniht ot em.” She spoke while observing the bottom of the stairwell. Afterwards, two portals opened on each side of the sorceress, Kirk walking out of one, while Swamp Thing exits the other.
Swamp Thing shows little in concern, having trust in Zatanna with her conjuring of magic.

“Found it.” Zatanna smiles, heading down the stairwell. Kirk looks at Swamp Thing with some bafflement, but ultimately both of them follow. As the trio goes down the staircase, a set of mounted candles spark to life, illuminating their descent.

After walking what felt like an eternity, they reach the door. Zatanna debated her options, breaking the door down, racing to find the coven leader before they know they’re there. However to her left, she found a small button right beside the door.

Deciding the best solution was the simplest, she extends her index finger, a very generic doorbell ring playing on the other side. Zatanna looks behind at her companions, both carry little to no worry for her decision.

Her head turns at the sound of the entrance opening. Behind it, a pale man that looked no older than thirty. He stands in the doorway, wearing a casual attire of jeans and a green t-shirt, looking at the group curiously.

“Can I help you?” The man asks in a friendly voice, bracing his arm up against the wall.

“Yes. I’m Zatanna Zatara, this is Doctor Kirk Langstrom, and Swamp Thing. We’d like to speak to your coven leader.” Zatanna tries to match her energy with the man at the door, continuing to rest her hand against her cane.

“Uh, let me check if he’s awake—” The man goes to close the door, though leaving a small enough crack for the trio to listen.

“Lou!”
“What!?”
“Is Spyros awake?”
“Spyros?”
“Yeah!”

Silence fills the void.

“Yeah he’s awake!”
“Okay! Thank you!”

The man goes to open the door again, extending it and stepping aside.
“Alright, come in.” He waves his hand, gesturing for them to come in.

Zatanna and Kirk fit through just fine, while Swamp Thing has some trouble entering, some of the vines getting stuck. Though after some trial and error, he fits right in. The inside was far different from the cavern above, not a single rock or stone in sight. It’s furniture stemming from the 19th century, with electrical components that had been modernized. Yet the actual architecture was coated with built to last with brick and tile, marble pillars standing from floor to ceiling.

The trio is guided towards a living room area, two sofas sitting across from a vivid fireplace.

“I’ll go fetch him for you, just hang tight over here.” The pale man tells them, wandering down the hall next to them. It was hard to say how big this place really was.

Zatanna looks around, finding her group to be alone for the time being.

“You know these guys, Zee?” Kirk asks, finding himself exploring the room without a second to waste.

“Not at all. Why?”

“They’re just very friendly, I assumed maybe you might know them.”

Kirk did bring up a good point. She wonders how obvious her recent transformation was. Vampires tended to live for quite a long time. Surely, they’d know the signs.

“Can’t say I have. Though, they can be quite inviting. I’m basically walking food, so they could just be luring me in for a snack. Can’t say the same for you two.” Zatanna lets out, gesturing faintly at her more monstrous acquaintances.

“Hey, who says I can’t be food? I’m still half human, so they’ve got like one and a half meals.” Kirk jokes, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Zatanna couldn’t help but grin, her right hand twirling her cane idly. Their attention snaps back to the hall, hearing a trail of footsteps growing closer. From the shadow within, a taller man steps out, hairless with ears that pointed back, a result of his age and connection to vampirism. His attire is far less casual, dressed in rich garments that felt it emerged from the European Renaissance.

“Count Spyros will see you now.” He speaks elegantly, bowing himself as he turns around, beginning to guide the group without their official acknowledgement.

Swamp Thing, Kirk, and Zatanna are then taken to a large room. The door and walls on the other side are nothing more than an illusion, inside was a cosmic void, a place in time and space further than any man could reach. An empty space with stars and galaxies surrounding, a place where possibilities were endless.

Despite the venture into this cosmos, it did not follow the rules. Gravity was present, oxygen was not a worry. Connecting the door to this realm was a staircase leading to floating chamber made of stone bricks with decaying paint, held together by what seemed like nothing. They begin to climb the stairs, looking behind as the door closed, temporarily enclosing in the magical space.

The trio reaches the chamber. At the back, a throne with an older man in his fifties. He wore a purple toga with his culture’s markings along the edges with sandals that didn’t look a day old, pondering as this group got closer. His eyes were red, and his skin pale like the one who let them in, his hair curly and dark, with a goatee around his mouth. Zatanna believed it was safe to say, this was the man they were looking for.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.” Count Spyros says with a formal tone, sitting upright to examine them, carefully eyeing the one who appeared to be the most human.

“I apologize. I’m Zatanna Zatara, this is Swamp Thing, and Doctor Kirk Langstrom. We’re looking into the deaths of a freighter crew and passengers found just outside the United States.” Zatanna points towards her group as she speaks, looking back at the count.

“The Inferno. So, it didn’t reach its destination after all…” Spyros tells them, though mostly for himself.

“I’m afraid not, everyone aboard was killed.”

Spyros looks back at Zatanna, blinking as he noticed the way she spoke.

“Why now? Since when has the Justice League cared about the deaths of vampires?”

“The peace between vampires and humans has been a delicate balance over the past two centuries, usually staying between two parties if fighting breaks out. Should it be broken, this entire planet will be consumed in fire. A condition that I will not accept.” Swamp Thing tells him, taking a step forward.

“There’s been a recent uptick in slayings, both human and vampire. If someone is behind these escalations, we’d like to know.” Zatanna adds.

Spyros gets up from his throne, towering over the trio and walking to a drink stand against the wall, grabbing a bottle of thick red liquid. Zatanna could smell it, building up a temptation that she’d have to hold back on for the remainder of the meeting.

“So, you’re looking for a coven leader that doesn’t hate you? Good strategy.” Spyros fills up a wine chalice, walking back over to his throne, but remaining standing.

“It all happened three weeks ago. The leaders of each coven were called to a meeting in Prague. We all thought it was Mary, but it was—someone else.” Spyros swayed his chalice, taking a slow sip while looking towards the others.

“He called himself the Vampire King and dumped a pour soul’s ashes onto the table. Could’ve been anyone’s, so everyone laughed until they saw the jewelry—It was hers. Then he staked his claim as the new vampire leader. There were some who resisted, but he started laying out this master plan—I’d never seen anything like it. He’d target world leaders, cripple their governments, then after that he’d burn the sky until nothing was left for humans to breathe on. The planet would be ours, you would be our cattle, and nothing would stop us.”

“…You don’t share his enthusiasm?” Zatanna steps in.

“Of course not. Our lives have been dull, and we’ve been living underground or amongst humans, but we did it for survival. We don’t have the numbers to mount an invasion or a revolution, and that so-called King knows that! He’s going to get my coven killed, and he doesn’t care! A true leader keeps his people alive, a false prophet sends them to war!”

Spyros takes sip from his drink, this time far more aggressive. After that, his tone grows calm.

“The boat you found. It was the European Covens that didn’t agree with him. They thought if they headed to Gotham City, they could at least plan a way to keep our kind out of trouble. Of course, as I’m sure you know, it didn’t work.”

A silence grows between the group.

“This King, does he have a name?” Kirk asks.

“Not that I know of. You’d have to find out from the other covens. I’d told them I’d stay out of the way, but they noticed my lack of interest, and I’ve been in the dark since.” Spyros sits back down, drifting his eyes up to the stars that made up the universe.

“Although, if you want a place to look-- I heard some of the other European covens were headed to Madrid.”

“We’ll be sure to check it out, thanks for your time, Count.” Zatanna says with a smile, starting to walk back the other way with her group.

“Gonna be honest from the looks of things, I was ready to fight all of his vampire buddies.” Kirk speaks quietly to Zatanna, walking down the steps with her.

“Some vampires have had a long time to reflect on their presence. When you live longer than most things on this Earth, things start to get repetitive.”

“Stop.” Spyros’ voice echoes from behind, the trio quickly facing the vampire lord. “The magician will stay. I have questions for her.”

“What? No way, she’s the only human here, we’re not just gonna give away potential food like that—” Kirk starts to match his aggression, quickly stopping when Zatanna raises her left hand, gesturing to halt.

“It’s okay, Kirk. I’ll be outside shortly.” She tells them, nodding her head with some confidence. Kirk glances at Swamp Thing and the two head for the static white outline of the door. It opens and closes with them on the other side.

Zatanna turns and climbs back up the steps, returning to Spyros in his chamber.

“How long have you been turned?” He asks bluntly, returning to his table to make another drink.

“…Two days, at least.” Zatanna said with some reluctance.

“And your comrades still believe you’re human?” Spyros starts walking to her again.

“For now, but I don’t work with idiots. Someone on my team is bound to figure it out.” Zatanna held her hands together, slipping her cane in between her elbow.

“Then why do you still help them? They are no longer your kind, sooner or later you know they will turn their backs on you.” Spyros hands her a different chalice, filled with the same blood he drank from before.

“I know, but—I have to try and help them. I’m not completely evil yet.” She takes the drink, lifting it up for one gentle sip.

“Then I will tell you something, only for your ears.” Spyros wanders to the edge of his chambers, looking out towards the stars once again.

“The Vampire King, he’s not just a power-hungry foe. He’s a superhero. He’s got members of your Justice League turned and ready to do his bidding, and that’s how he intends to succeed where our kind have previously failed.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“You’re the only vampire here, which means you aren’t susceptible to hypnotism or the chance of being a familiar. I had to make sure I wasn’t really talking to anyone else.”

Zatanna drinks from her chalice, drifting her eyes at the cosmos.

“So, what do I do?” She asks, a shred of defeat in her voice.

“That’s up to you. If I were in your position; hide. Or, if you’re eager to satisfy that bloodlust, seek out the King and join his ranks, I’m sure a sorceress like yourself is an appealing sales pitch. Either way, you will survive.” Spyros returns to his throne, sitting with ease. Zatanna drinks the rest of the blood, setting the chalice back on the table.

“That can’t be it.”

“I’m afraid this is the end of human society, magician. Your friends won’t stop it, and you won’t either.” Spyros tells her.

Zatanna thought on what to do. Show a flash of anger, ensure herself as an impending victor, anything to show strength of any humanity left in her. It was a truth she found little point in arguing.

All she did was all she could do, nod her head, and make her exit.

Chapter Text

The steel corridors of the Inferno carry an eerie presence to any visitors aboard. The Coast Guard response was quick. Sometimes pleasure boats would drift off into a current or channel, though the responsibility to act often fell under an excuse. With an industrial ship that size, drifting along the ocean with no sign of life, something felt very wrong.

Once the response unit boarded, they were greeted with a massacre. Humans drained of blood, pale bodies sliced and torn open by animals, scorched corpses along the portside deck, it was easy to assume everyone on board had been slaughtered. All the soldiers could find were manifests and mementos on what the crew’s intentions were. Not to mention the smell that felt impossible to get off.

Judhir and Nelson were two of the most recent guards to take shifts, working nights to patrol the vessel. The Coast Guard had been working to get a tow attached to the boat, their intention to pull it towards land, with the closest harbor being in Gotham City.

At the moment, they were performing a routine patrol just below the ship’s main deck, exploring the empty hallways covered in the dark. Their equipment light, ready to fight off an intruder, but not an entire army.

“Y’know if they’re gonna have us patrol at night, they could at least turn the power on.” Nelson tells Judhir.
“Last I heard, the generator got fucked up. They’re only keeping essentials on to help get it to shore.” Judhir added, swinging his flashlight like he was performing a trick.
“So? They could just run the lights on this deck. No need for brightening up the whole ship.”
“You really think they’re gonna do that for grunts like us?”
“No, but I can pretend, can’t I? Hope that someone upstairs gives a shit, keep me motivated to walk around this place.”
“Wait…are you saying you’re scared?”
“Scared? Fuck no. I just don’t wanna trip over something. It’s a safety hazard.”
“A safety hazard.”
“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”
“Oh, no no—I think I understand your concern just fine.”
“Fuck you. You think I’m scared. I’m telling you, I’m not.”
“It’s okay, Nelson. There’s nobody here!” Judhir says with a grin, darting his eyes some more.

To their left, a metallic structure whines and creaks, until a sudden crash rumbles audibly into the corridor. Judhir’s grin quickly fades, the two of them give each other a nod. They approach the closest door, further operating in silence as they go to open it.

Once they’re inside, their lights land on the room’s interior. Rows of bunks, two of which had been tipped over. Nelson goes for the weapon hoisted over the vest on his torso, an M4 carbine, standard issue. They get closer to the crashed bunks, personal effects tipped over and scattered along the floor.

The two guards continue to search the room. Judhir straightening himself out, moving as quietly as possible—both for his safety, and not to distract from the possible intruder they were looking for.

His light beamed up and down, bouncing across the room to look for signs, ultimately coming across a trail of blood that grew further away from them. Unlike most of the stains found aboard, this one was fresh, a tissue of a recent injury. Continuing to move quietly, they follow the streak of red, carefully crawling and stepping over the mess made.

It’s not long until their search takes them to a closed door, a visible light coming from the space below. Nelson spins the wheel carefully and pulls the steel entrance open, his weapon drawn with his free hand.

They were greeted by a male leaned up against the wall, putting pressure on a wound that was bleeding violently from his arm. The door is quickly pulled open, Nelson runs up to him and lowers himself.

“Hey, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Nelson asks despite the rapid bleeding.

“This is Patrol Unit Charlie, I’ve got an injured person in the living quarters down here on deck two, I need a medic down here ASAP!” Judhir describes into the radio clamped just below his shoulder.

“Roger. Keep them stabilized, help is on the way.”

Within an hour, the Coast Guard retrieved the injured man via helicopter. The medics on board did what they could but recognized that a more sophisticated application of care was necessary. With Gotham City being the closest metropolitan area, the survivor is brought to Gotham General and processed into the building’s E.R. wing. By the time the second hour had reached, the survivor had stabilized and quietly recovered, having been relocated to a more quiet and secure room within the hospital. The doctor informed the Coast Guard that he was expected to make a speedy recovery.

As glad as some were to have a survivor from the Inferno, it only meant more work for the authorities involved. The first hurdle to leap over was the survivor’s language. He didn’t speak any English, nor was he in any condition to give any statements. The nurses assigned to his room could occasionally hear a mumble or whisper in his recovery, and eventually recognized the language as Polish. The investigators had trouble determining his involvement. There was no identification on his person, and any personal effects that belonged to him weren’t recovered aboard the ship.

By day three, the survivor was beginning to show signs of consciousness, and began speaking fluently. The submitted reports and evidence had begun to make their way through the American judicial system. With the sensitive nature of what may have happened prior to the ship’s boarding, it was only a matter of time until someone else in the government took a crack at what was discovered.

Diana had found little success tracking down any hunting groups that were active in the United States. Her team traveled all over the country with very little leads. It seemed the groups with large numbers and powerful tools had dwindled away, with its recruited members all being retired or deceased. Even Andrew Bennett proved to be difficult with getting a hold of.

Diana, Bobo, and Khalid stepped into the lobby of the hospital, the three of them lacking any subtlety with their bright colors and unconventional outfits. This time of night had more grimy types of patients. Gangbangers that got dropped off at the front after a bad call, domestic couples that went a little too far, or just family members that can’t bring themselves to go home and wait. Not to mention, it was Gotham City, no night was ever the same as the last. They approach the receptionist desk, the woman behind wasn’t even in scrubs, just casual business wear.

“Can I help you?” She asked, looking at the computer monitor on her desk.

“Yes. We’re here to find a John Doe that was recently processed.”
“If you’re talking about the guy we just got, he’s not taking visitors right now.” Her eyes didn’t leave the monitor.

“I’m afraid it’s urgent.”
“And I’m afraid I don’t make the ru—” The woman turns in her chair, finally looking up at the Amazonian that towered over her, along with her two occult like friends.

“You’re uh—You’re not gonna use that, are you?” She gestures at the lasso resting near Diana’s hip, her tired voice suddenly finding an energy.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Diana spoke, leaning her arm forward to lean against the reception desk.

“Fifth floor, Room 518. You’ll have to talk with the officer there.”

“Thank you.” Diana reclines back, turning to walk down the hallway, with Khalid and Bobo following. They take an elevator up to the fifth floor. The entire hospital was operating on a skeleton crew, mostly doctors and nurses that didn’t want to be there. Of course, there were a handful of night owls and insomniacs that didn’t mind the lack of sunlight or pages to treat bullet wounds.

While the three heroes made their way through the wing, they couldn’t help but get starstruck stares and brief signs of worry. Living in the crime infested streets often meant there was little room for positive optimism. Batman was the one to punch his way through the Gotham underworld. The hospital workers asked themselves, if Wonder Woman was here, how much should they worry?

“We are close.” Khalid said underneath the bright yellow Helmet of Fate, his voice more distorted and holy, a sign of being linked to the Lords of Order. Diana turns the corner, leading from the front to face the room they were looking for. The sign reading 518. Besides the door, a male who appeared to be in his late thirties, dawning a police uniform with the Gotham City Police Department emblem patched on the shoulders of his jacket, while a name plate below his badge read ‘CARSON’. A piece of green gum sat between his teeth, with no sign of his chewing coming to a stop

He gives a quick glance at the new arrivals, snapping away to make nothing of it, only to look again with more surprise.

“We need to see the man you are protecting.” Diana speaks up first, remaining a few feet away from the police officer.
“Go right ahead. Kid’s probably safer with you in there anyways.” He tells them, keeping his hands on his belt. Surprised at the rather polite invitation, Diana nods at the officer, approaching the door and stepping inside.

The room’s primary light remained off, the only thing on was a lamp sitting by the nightstand, illuminating the patient and his surroundings. Khalid took a brief step forward, eyeing the monitor next to him, observing his vitals.

“Maybe we should’ve brought Kirk for this one.” Bobo says as he approaches the front of the bed, reaching for the clipboard that sat against it, darting his eyes along the details jotted during the patient’s admittance.

“Doubt he would’ve brought much in terms of investigative expertise.” Khalid reminds them. “His condition appears to be improving, though we won’t get any answers tonight.”

“Still, this man is the sole survivor of the Inferno. We should ensure he remains protected.” Diana adds, approaching the side of the bed, listening to the man’s breathing.

“Your priorities are in the right place, I’ll give you that.” A fourth voice says, reaching the other three before generating a spark of perplexed behavior. They quickly turn at the feminine voice, two heels drop against the floor, each step moving towards them. Out of the shadow casted from behind, a sharply dressed woman no older than thirty-five made her approach, her blonde hair resting just past her shoulders, her hands resting in the pockets of her suit jacket.

“Hey, aren’t you—” Bobo says with some hesitation.

“Cameron Chase. D.E.O.” The woman says with a hastily introduction, wandering towards the other side of the room.

“Right. Yeah. Look, this kind of thing didn’t come from space, so why don’t you--” Bobo starts to shift his tone. At least until Diana held her hand up.

“It’s fine, Bobo. Why are you here?” Diana speaks more friendly, holding her arms against her chest.

“Me? I was here first. The Department is running this case now, anything and everything about what occurred on the Inferno goes through me. Not to mention that the victims on the boat were drained, burnt, ripped apart, or just completely gone. And this man, is the only person who lived. Of course, he’s also unconscious and doesn’t speak any fucking English, so I have no clue what he saw or did.” Cameron stops pacing around once she found herself across from the others.

“We’re looking into the angle that a vampire hunting organization was responsible. Even with the right intentions, they could do enough damage to create a more radical response from covens.”

“Let me guess—You couldn’t find shit.”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Diana says with some reluctance.

“I think that’s the only way of putting it.

“…but something tells me you don’t need to, because you already know what happened.” Diana tells her.

“I have an idea. This boat wasn’t just vampires on vacation. If you look at the port logs of when this boat left, you’ll find that everything was expedited. Some parts of the customs paperwork weren’t even filled right, which leads me to believe that bribes were handed out.”

“Not a bad theory, but it seems like you’re jumping a little here.”

“In other instances, you may be right, it’s best not to underestimate the power of human error. But vampires have to be careful. For every little mistake humans make, vampires will have triple checked them. They don’t have the deadlines we do. If something takes a hundred years, then that’s perfectly fine. Yet here, they were sloppy, reckless, and in a hurry. They weren’t just coming to this country to establish a coven or recruit new people; they were running.” Cameron spoke as she started pacing around the room again, stopping in front of a window. Her eyes looking at the Gotham City skyline.

“And when was the last time you saw a vampire running?"

A silence grows in the room, only being broken by the slow beeps of the patient monitor. As Diana was about to speak, she heard the door open. Everyone’s head turns towards the entrance, light from the corridor beaming in. Behind, a brown-haired woman in her fifties wearing purple scrubs begins to walk in, quickly pausing at the odd collection of individuals standing near the patient.

“I’m just checking on his vitals, don’t mind me.” The woman speaks in a friendly voice with a shy grin. Diana, Bobo, and Khalid don’t hesitate on giving her some room. Afterward she makes her way inside, stopping in front of a medicine cabinet that looked like it hadn’t moved since the Korean War.

Diana and Bobo move over to where Cameron was, looking towards the window with her. The nurse takes out a small vial and a packaged syringe, ripping the plastic off.

“How long are you going to keep him here?” Diana asks far more quietly; it barely wasn’t a whisper.

“I’m trying to get him out of here tonight, but the hospital administrator is giving me a headache. I can’t give you the exact location, but he’s not staying in Gotham.” Cameron turns her head, instinctively giving a quick look at the bed.

The tip of the needle punctures the vial. The nurse’s hand pulls back on the syringe’s plunger.

“I have a friend in Gotham with safehouses all over the globe. It might take some convincing, but he could help us.” Diana offers, her tone remaining the same.

The vial is tossed away in a disposal bin.

“I appreciate it, but I’d rather keep this as quiet as possible. If you want to help out, you’d take a big weight off my shoulders if you look into potential covens in either Gotham, Blüdhaven, Metropolis—Or, really anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard.” Cameron suggests.

The nurse approaches the bed, focused on the man’s breathing.

“There’s a few people we haven’t reached out to. Jason Blood, John Constantine.” Bobo suggests, holding his hand out as he counts with his fingers.

“Let’s avoid that last one, but I’m sure Blood wouldn’t mind sharing what he might know.” Diana adds.

“Hey, that reminds me—Diana, I need to talk to you about something.” Bobo holds his hand up for a moment.

The nurse takes his arm, holding it out until Khalid’s hand tightly grabs her wrist, pulling her arm away from her patient and refusing to let go.

“Of course. What is it—"
“OW! Hey! What are you doing?!” She cries out, wrestling with her captor. Her face growing more worried and scared.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Khalid’s echoed voice spells out with an angered tone.

“Fate?!” Diana calls out, rushing over to the sorcerer.
“Hey kid! What’s the matter with you? She’s just a nurse!” Bobo decides to join in on the harassment, somewhat baffled by his compatriot’s actions.

“A nurse?” Khalid then grabs the collar of her shirt, turning the other direction and slamming her against the wall. She panics and swings her arms at the sorcerer, the large syringe dropping out of her hand. Cameron brushes her hand along the edge of her coat, reaching for her sidearm holster. “The recommended treatment of morphine is ten to twenty milligrams every four hours.”

“That’s what this is about?! Some doctor bullshit?” Bobo cries out.

“The amount she was giving him was over seventy milligrams. Either this woman is grossly incompetent or is actively trying to kill this man like we wouldn’t notice.” Khalid explains, though it seems his allies were contempt on protecting the woman.

“That’s enough!” Diana yelled out, grabbing onto Khalid’s shoulder to pull him back. With a flick of his hand, a yellow glow forms around her, her body floating upwards until she remains stuck in midair.

“I’m only going to ask this once. What master do you serve?” Khalid tightens his grip, his free hand glowing with an energy. The woman’s fear grows until it suddenly dissolves, leaving a growing smirk.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re too late.” The nurse spoke in a far calmer demeanor, though it was undeniable there was some sense of menace to it. The rest of the room alternating to a perplexed look.

A second later, her tan skin flushed out. Her eyes going from brown to red. Her mouth widens, revealing her large fangs while her primal instinct took over. She hisses loudly in front of Khalid, arching her back and using her strength to try and lunge at him, fueled by rage.

With no time to waste, Khalid blasts the nurse with a beam of energy. Her insides boiling and burning with heat until they reach a combustion. Once it was too much, a burst of flames rush out throughout the room, dying out without causing harm to the remaining subjects.

Khalid looks down at the pile of ashes in front of him, dropping the small patch of the woman’s scrubs onto the floor. The glow around Diana quickly vanishes, though all she could do was stand there. The whole ordeal left Khalid’s team members speechless.

“…How did you know?” Bobo asks.

“Medical school.” Khalid replies.

The door forcefully swings open again. Officer Carson stumbles in with a pistol in his hand, aiming it out towards the starstruck individuals.

“What the hell happened?” The police officer asks frantically.

“It’s okay, Carson! We’re fine!” Cameron steps out towards him, holding her hands out to try and reassure him.

“Great Hera! Behind you!” Diana shouts and widens her eyes.

“What?!?” Carson turns his head to the sight of a pale man in blue scrubs tackling him, lifting his head once before biting violently into his neck. He screams in pain and falls to the ground, blood pooling out of his neck while the vampire sucks him dry.
Diana sprints and grabs the creature by the neck, curling up her fist and slamming it into his face. He flies out of the doorway and into the corridor, his body moving at a great enough speed to smash through the walling and land in a different room.

“This hospital is no longer safe. We need to leave.” Diana tells her comrades as they leave the room.

“What about our guy? He’s not getting conscious anytime soon.” Bobo exclaims.
“Leave that to me.” Khalid holds his arm out; a yellow glow surrounds the man in the bed. The tubes and wires attached to his person pop out one by one, the patient monitor letting out one long beep. With a quick lift of Khalid’s hand, the male lands on his shoulder, one arm going to hold him.

Against the hospital wall, a bright flash of light beams against out and onto the others, a gust of wind pushing towards them, cabinet doors springing open. With their man in tow, Khalid steps into the light and makes his departure, the portal sealing, once he was gone.

“…Alright, I guess that works. Let’s get out of here.” Bobo says after flailing his arms in bafflement.
“Wait.” Diana holds her arm up, taking a few steps forward, her eyes bouncing left and right, the only audible sound being that of the hum from the ceiling lights. A shift occurs, concrete debris being pushed out. In front of her, the silhouette of the vampire she recently threw.

Her hand reaches for her golden lasso, illuminating as it lands in her palm. It leashes out and grabs onto the vampire, pulling him out of the smashed-up room and into the corridor.

“The lasso compels you to speak. How many of you are there?” Diana reminds the creature. His once rage fueled expression had shrunk into an irritated sign of submission.

“We have most of the building turned by now. All of which have orders to kill you.”

“Orders? By who?”
“The Vampire King. Our goal is to take out the Inferno witness, and anyone else who knows about him.”
“Who is the Vampire King?”
“I do not know! He has never revealed himself! Only instructed us.”
“Why the attack on the Inferno? What could possibly make vampires kill other vampires?”
“They could not see our future. They would rather die in the ways of the old, than build towards the new.” He speaks without hesitation, a recurring symptom from the lasso’s power.

“And what does this future entail?”
“Vampires as the dominant race on this planet. Power will no longer benefit you; we will rule the world as we see fit.”
“Very well.” Diana retracts her lasso, coiling it quickly and putting it back on her armor. Her boot lifts up and slams into the vampire’s chest with far more force than before. His body flings into the smashed room again, moving like a bullet and piercing through several other parts of the hospital, leaving plenty of debris.

To their right, a pair of swinging doors spring open, a horde of vampires in hospital clothes and equipment begin pacing into the corridor, eager to pounce and devour their potential prey.

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not exactly equipped to take on undead bloodsuckers right now.” Cameron tells the two of them.

“Then you best stay behind and close, Agent Chase. You’re the least of their worries.” Diana reaches for her cloak and yanks the material off her person, letting the article drop to the floor, leaving her in the red, gold, and blue armor she was known for. Her hand then slips behind, gripping the sword that rested on her back, unsheathing it with no room for worry.

Bobo performs a similar ritual, holding his hand out into seemingly nothing. With his retractive action, the Sword of Night comes to formation, leaving its dimensional hold. The Amazonian and the chimpanzee draw their blades, adjusting their form.

The horde grows stronger in numbers, their distance on the group shrinking rapidly. One vampire dressed as a security guard squints his eyes, noticing the far more ill prepared Cameron Chase. His shoes bury into the ground before leaping forward, arms out as he attempts to grab the woman in the suit. With instinct and speed on her side, Diana feels herself turning, her sword moving lightly with the grip of her hand.

The blade punctures the top half of his chest, cutting through the body like a knife hitting a vegetable. As the edge slides across and makes its exit, the body begins to disintegrate into grey particles. Burning in the air, the soulless creature ceases to exist. The hat dropping to the floor being the only sign left from him, his remains as invisible and light as air.

The brief silence after is punctured by the howling scream of the horde. They charge with their primal behavior in full force, attempting to claw and grab the living creatures. Diana’s continues to make easy work of the vampires. Her training on Themyscira had given her an edge with swordsmanship, though her opponents back then tended to carry a similar blade.

Bobo’s technique wasn’t quite as warrior-like, but carried the posture and form needed to deliver a sharp cut to a vampire’s heart. Going for a more laxed stance that was ready to change at any moment. The smaller height of the chimp made his moves far more unpredictable.

Saying the vampires put up a fight would be an understatement. They were determined, agile, powerful. As Bobo and Diana cut through torsos and limbs, the two of them took note of the method of attacks. The ones at the front were mindless drones, only motivated by a tasty snack. In the back of the crowd, they used their environment, preserved their strength, and spoke in a special tongue to coordinate attacks. They’d been trained for something like this.

Her form and methods alter. Diana began fighting her enemy as if they were human, using the strategy and patience of a warrior. She would target the ones calling the shots, cut their necks even if they weren’t fatal, or break a bone just enough to not be ignored. Once their silence came to light, she cuts off their supply, returning to the simple methods of disposal.

Cameron kept her pistol raised, having to use it very little. Her bullets weren’t enhanced like the swords available to Diana and Bobo. The times she did use it was to aid the others, distracting the leaders of the horde for a sword to slice through them.
Diana watches as the last vampire falls, the corridor surrounded by piles of ash and remains that hadn’t broken down. She gives her allies a firm glance, eyeing them from head to toe. No injuries seemed visible, apart from a couple scratches on herself and Bobo.

They continue onward, noticing the pair of elevators they took up to the wing, with a door leading to a stairwell at the end of the hall.

“Any idea on an exit?” Diana looks up at the ceiling, darting her head behind just to be safe.

“Could take the elevator or stairs to the roof, fly us out of here?” Cameron suggests, emptying out the clip from her pistol, reaching behind her back to grab a new one.

“As long as you’re okay with it.” Diana says with a smile, walking through another set of double doors.

“Just don’t mention it to my—” Cameron cuts herself off as the lights completely turn off, along with any other electronic equipment plugged into the circuits.

“Ah crap. Anyone got a light?” Bobo calls out.

“Yeah, yeah, I just gotta—” Cameron fumbles her hand around blindly, patting it up and down on the inside of her suit jacket. The others wait patiently in the dark.

“Ah, there we go.” She says as her thumb pressed up on a switch, a beam of light shooting out from a pen flashlight in her hand. It briefly shines onto Diana and Bobo, illuminating their apparel and skin, finding some sense of amusement in it.

It doesn’t take long to vanish. Her light turns outwards and up on the ceiling. The entire paneling was crawling with vampires, their arms held up to support their position. Cameron calmly tilts her penlight downwards, a new group surrounding the group of the living. These weren’t just hospital workers recently turned, they were common civilians, people with lives that could’ve ended anywhere from a minute to centuries ago.

Their juxtaposition was static, their actions silent. They served as watchers, only ready to make a move if attacked first. The only life they could see was in their eyes, red pupils unable to look away from the three of them. The flashlight transfers over to the other hand, resting against her firearm without making a large shift in visibility. If Cameron wasn’t feeling fear before, she certainly was now.

Diana still held onto her sword, the blade pointed towards the floor, but unafraid to make a blow to the assembly. She squints her eyes, examining the crowd again. No bosses, no leaders, just creatures. The effort, the dedication towards her group’s demise—It showed power but failed to hide any desperation.

A row of far less powerful lights mounted on the wall spring to life, brightening up the room for Bobo and Diana not to be dependent on instincts. Emergency power seemed to be working after all. The vampires grow distracted for a moment, just enough for Diana to raise her sword, delivering a quick and destructive blow to the undead creature closest to her. The stairwell was just at the end, it was only a little further.

The fighting begins again. Diana feels little exhaustion, her endurance to plow through armies rarely felt challenged. Though it was not helping their situation. The fighting was not the problem, it was the numbers. No matter how good their skill or technique was, only three stand against an army. The enemy felt infinite, never-ending, as if the entire city district was against them. Some of the vampires turned were guards or police, using their firearm knowledge to try and shoot the group. Luckily, Diana’s bracelets manage to block any projectiles from hurting them.

While the swords strike, and the bodies fade, there was something else. Given Bobo’s position, he typically fought with a desire to cripple the enemy, break their nerves or bones to make way for their demise. During his work, he notices one of the many boards on the ceiling opened. Before he can really think about it, a small canister drops out and rolls against the ground. It makes a loud enough noise that the vampires ignore Diana and Bobo’s handiwork.

More boards open, more canisters fall out. One by one, smoke disperses into the crowd, covering the entire corridor. The vampires begin hissing and crying out in agony, being quick to retreat. The group of the living held their arms up against their nostrils and mouths, looking to avoid any contact with the smoke. Still, the smell—No doubt it was garlic.

As the chaos broke the vampires’ defenses, three lightly armored men jump down from the ceiling, landing in the smoking environment. The vampires that didn’t suffocate on the smoke retreated out of the hospital, recognizing a losing battle when faced with one. The ones who stayed were slain, stabbed with silver daggers and stakes.

Within a minute, the room had been emptied out, leaving Cameron, Diana, and Bobo all alone with the strangers. They took a deep breath, darting their eyes around.

“Hey Wonder Woman, remind me to thank one of your gods next time.” Bobo says, waving his hand at the smoke that still lingered in the hall.

“You might just get a chance.” Diana says firmly, getting a better glance at the combatants. They were dressed in all black with bronze outlines, coated with equipment that looked centuries old, chests lined up with wooden stakes. Their faces remain completely covered, the only visibility being a set of goggles with a yellow glow attached to a mask resembling the outline of an owl.

“Diana of Themyscira. Cameron Chase. Bobo T. Chimpanzee. The Court of Owls has requested your presence.” The lead Talon tells them, giving a half bow as a friendly gesture.
 

Chapter Text

Once Zatanna had left the hidden entrance of the Athens coven, she felt far less optimistic. She sent Swamp Thing and Kirk home and decided to spend some time to herself, roaming the streets with no goal in mind, darting her head up at the night sky. Spyros’ warning had been getting to her. It’s possible this world wasn’t meant to be pushed by humans, drawn to the breaking point of advancement and consumption. Vampires could live to see legacies, identify warning signs before anyone else. The League could get torn by infighting, debating if letting something that’s already dead take priority over the living. Humans are food, they wouldn’t let animals run the world.

The blood given to her felt satisfying, but she could still feel the thirst in her. There was more to her lifestyle than just packages and collections of blood. Her senses were craving something alive, something to hunt. Her skin was growing paler, her eyes shifting in color to a crimson red she was getting more used to. Perhaps it was best to let her urges take control for a while.

Zatanna transports herself to Gotham City, though with no intention of investigating the lead given to her by Spyros. She landed in the district of Cherry Hill, a more recently retrofitted area of the city, though still a victim to the crime and corruption that plagued the city. As the dark sky begun to brighten in Greece, night had begun to settle on the Eastern Seaboard. Not that it entirely mattered in Zatanna’s circumstances.

She took a pleasant stroll down the street, tapping the end of her cane against the aging concrete, darting her eyes at every corner she could think of. She saw two women walking the opposite direction across the street, chatting, and laughing in their intoxicated state. Zatanna pictured leading them into a dark space, tearing apart their flesh—Too easy of a target, she wanted to have some fun tonight. During her observations, she notices a few damp dots on the concrete, beginning to grow in volume. She drifts her eyes up, noticing the early signs of a dark rainfall.

“Enac otni allerbmu.” Zatanna lifts her dark cane up, flipping it so the end was facing the sky. The top of an umbrella generates around the base. Her hand goes to grasp the new handle, pushing up to expand the canopy, holding the cane up to protect her from the growing inclusion of rain.

Her stroll turns a corner, noticing a hospital at the other side of an intersection. There were emergency vehicles all over the front, red and blue lights flashing. She stops and notices a man in a police jacket pushing a stretcher out of the hospital and towards a van designated for the city’s Medical Examiner. The man being carried out was a corpse, covered by a light blue sheet. When he reaches the van, the back doors are opened, and the coroner lifts the sheet just below his neck, looking at the police officer with two large bite marks on his neck.

Zatanna watches for several minutes, curious on what might’ve happened. Aside from the police officers watching the perimeter and patrolling the outside, there were men in suits that did not belong to the city. Outsiders that must’ve had some investment on what went down. She grew interested, but this was not what she was here to do. If anything, the focus on the hospital gave her some breathing room on who might be watching her hunt.

She goes on for another mile, eyeing fellow pedestrians until stopping, turning her eyes towards the alleyway on her right. There, she saw a box truck parked in front of a small loading area, both having their shutters open. Men dressed in brown jackets with ventilators on their mouths, moving back and forth between them, loading barrels into the vehicle. Zatanna flexes a faint smile, walking into the alley without any reluctance in her system. Once she was within a few feet of the operation, she presses her back to the brick wall of the building, watching them load the cargo in.

It didn’t take long for one of the henchmen to approach her.

“Hey. This is private property. Get the hell out of here.” The man spoke firmly with no room for amusement.

“Is it now?” Zatanna reaches for the slider on her umbrella, pushing it down. Once it collapsed, the poncho vanished into smoke, returning her cane to its usual state. She flips it over and presses it against the ground. “What you’re doing doesn’t look very private.”

“I’m not fuckin’ around, you better get out of here or else I’m gonna tear you open—” The man reaches into his pocket to pull out a butterfly knife. Before he can pull it out completely, Zatanna grabs him by the collar and dips her head forward, her fangs piercing the skin around his neck, silencing his attitude. Unlike her previous encounter, she didn’t drain this man, merely taking just the right amount before dropping him to the floor.

She enters the loading area and quickly comes face to face with a second goon. He’s at first charmed by the woman’s lavish attire and beautiful looks, though it quickly fades once he sees the trail of blood dripping from her lips, followed by his friend lying on the ground. His hand goes to his back, slipping into the waistband to take out a pistol, taking aim at the magician before him.

“Nug otni sredips.” Zatanna’s voice echoes into the room. The gun aimed at her shifts and bends into a pit of spiders, eagerly crawling on the henchman’s arm. His eyes widen and he waves his hands frantically, every part of his skin growing with the sensation of endless tiny legs running against him. Of course, the pain really started with the biting, digging into the flesh with an appetite.

He falls to the floor in pain like his friend, wiggling his legs and arms as if the insects carried any intention of leaving, carrying a pain with no end in sight. She taps her cane twice against the floor, the spiders recalled from their victim, leaving him paralyzed with fear. With a quick grab at his shirt, he’s pulled up to her level. She repeats her process, chomping his neck and draining just the right amount of blood, dropping him to the floor.

Zatanna walks in the center of the room, looking down at the two henchmen that were whimpering and shivering. Before she could grab another thought, the door behind her kicks open, another goon with three more behind. They’re wearing far more expensive gear, likely the heavy hitters protecting the important parts. Before she can say anything, their leader fires a shotgun shell right into Zatanna. They ripple and pierce through the main vest of her stage outfit, the blast pushing her back into the frame of the truck. She clatters against it and falls to the ground. At most, it tickles.

Fresh off feeling high and mighty, her opponent lifts the shotgun, resting the barrel against his shoulder as he looks with a grin. He looks at his friends, smiling and chuckling. It didn’t matter she killed two men, criminals in Gotham often look out for themselves. Rising in the ranks, proved more glorious than keeping your allies in one piece.

With no actual damage to her wellbeing, Zatanna stands up with a grunt. The amusement of the goons begins to dwindle. She forms a faint smirk, brushing some dust that accumulated on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Not satisfied with the act?” Zatanna says with a pout, lifting her cane up from the ground, shaking her head. Without a second to lose, the forearm of the firearm is pulled back, the trigger releasing another shell right at her. This one only pushing her back a step, her standing composure completely the same.

“I’m sure you’ll love the next one! But first…” Right on cue, her previous victims leap up, their eyes and skin the same color as hers. They tackle and claw their way onto the two men behind the leader, using their new strength to tear apart their previously acquainted criminal partners. The man with the shotgun looks behind as his allies are ripped apart, now serving as a feast for newly turned vampires.

Zatanna grabs his jaw and forces him to turn, facing her again.

“I’m going to need some volunteers.” She speaks lowly towards him, leaning her head in to claim her third victim of the night. His screams ringing out in fear, his boss would’ve loved it.

Within the comfort and fortification of Chelsea Reservoir, Jonathan Crane, a.k.a. The Scarecrow leans back in an office chair, a pen in hand while gazing at a set of blueprints on his desk. His attire made of rags and leather, occasional equipment for his experiments slipping through. All while a modified respirator sits on his mouth, intruding little in the way of breathing. In terms of recognition, nothing of Jonathan Crane remained.

Six months ago, the workers at Chelsea Reservoir had gone mad from an unknown chemical release, clawing, and mutilating each other with no motivation aside from pure fright. As the reservoir shuts down, Scarecrow uses an opportunity to move his operation in secret.

His fear toxin remained a powerful adversary, its exposure driving its victims mad with hallucinations of their worst fears. Still, it was only short range. Scarecrow could see a bigger picture with what he had, a whole region tearing itself to pieces, until there was nothing left. Water was his next entry. If he could have it survive a flow into a water supply, the panic would be delicious. The streets would be addicted to a necessary resource, a drug they could not quit. It was perfect.

Two loud knocks slam against the other side of the door. Scarecrow darts his head up, checking the corners of the room.

“Enter.” He speaks with a low gravelly voice. His hand going to flip through some notes.

The door opens, a man standing on the other side wearing blue coveralls and an orange safety vest, with some modifications to indicate he works for Scarecrow’s crew.

“Lawson’s back from offloading the chemicals.” The man tells his leader, which gives him pause.
“Already?”
“That’s what I thought.”

Scarecrow grows quiet again, lifting himself out of his chair. He quickly walks out of his office, brushing past his goon without saying a word. The office connects to an industrial hallway, covered by just the right amount of ceiling lights to create a line of circles on the floor. He follows them to the end, taking the supervillain to a massive tunnel, big enough to fit a truck, and serving as one of three entrances into the reservoir. It serves as a storage area for the supervillain, large crates and containers of materials and weapons lined up. A monument to the vision of fear that rested beneath Jonathan Crane’s cold eyes.

He's greeted by five of his men waiting near the source of a repetitive engine, the rear lights of the truck beaming onto them. They seem confused, worried. Out of habit, they kept looking at the truck, but lacked answers that satisfied them.
“Where’s Lawson?” Scarecrow asks. His men quickly drop their distracted nature, assembling as he approaches them.

“We don’t know! Truck pulls in, parks over here. We go to greet him, next second he’s gone!” One of them lets out in a baffled voice. Given the good doctor’s psychological understanding, it was safe to say he was telling the truth.
“And what about the cargo?” Scarecrow asks, his tone growing with impatience.

“Uh, we haven’t checked yet. Wrench thought it’d be best if we grabbed you first.” The thug adds, slipping his hands in the pockets of his vest, swaying his chest left and right. Scarecrow takes a step forward.
“This isn’t right. Arm yourselves.” Scarecrow says with little hesitation, putting his shoulder on the man talking to him, gesturing for him to pull open the sliding door for the truck’s cabin. Most of his goons go for the pistols on them, while some took the time to reach for the crate of assault rifles in storage.

One of them goes to reach for the latch on the door, sliding it up.

“Wait!” Scarecrow holds his hand out, his hand brushing past the roughed-up coat covering him, taking out a canister. He goes next to the goon by the truck door, giving a nod. He pulls on the latch and pushes the door up by about three feet. Scarecrow tosses the canister. Within seconds it hits the floor of the storage area. His goon slams the door shut and locks it back in place.

The two of them step away, a giant grin forming underneath Scarecrow’s mask. He could already hear the hissing of the grenade opening, releasing his toxin into the confines of the truck.

“Just give it time.” Scarecrow assures his men, staring at the white painted steel surface of the slider door. The sample he threw in was a fresh batch, a psychological agent that could infect the blood and reach the brain in less than ten seconds. He waits for the screaming, the agony, the pain. It would all line up like a symphony.

To his surprise and dismay, he heard nothing in the slightest. He looks at his baffled soldiers with a similar expression. With a rush of frustration, he walks to the bay door in a rush, ready to storm the vehicle with a fury that wouldn’t be forgotten. Halfway through his approach however, the door slides open out of pure will.

A pair of boots thud against the truck’s steel floor, getting closer to Scarecrow. In his view, he sees the base of a cane strike down on the surface of the tunnel. With it, the friendly presence of a stage magician stepping out shortly after. In her the palm of hand, a ball made of the earth like toxin floated above her hand, turning and bending like a gas giant in a solar system. There was no careful handling or needy precautions with her. Just an element of power held back by her demand. Behind her, Lawson and four of Scarecrow’s men follow her lead.

Scarecrow steps back with some shock in his system, though not enough to push it onto his men or himself.
“Looking for this?” Zatanna asks, lifting her hand up while the toxin remains harmless in her care. Within seconds the guards both on Zatanna and Scarecrow’s side withdraw firearms in their possession, taking aim at each other while their leaders engage in dialect.

“That’s not possible.” Scarecrow tells her, he could feel his voice falling. It was so often that he was in control. A situation like Batman stopping one of his schemes was only a delay in his grand plan, something he could pull back from. That was something he already knew he had no control over.

“It is.” Zatanna says with a smirk, continuing to approach a vulnerable and anxious Scarecrow.

“I’ve heard of you. You are an ally of The Batman. You do not involve yourself with things he can control.”

“And you would be right.”

“Then what is it that you want?” Scarecrow asks, his nerves calming a little.

“You’re quite a resourceful man, Scarecrow. There’s a lot of traffic coming and going out of Gotham. You can pull together a crew, find a nice big hideout that can withstand an attack, formulate weapons—I could use someone like that. You should join us.” She says with a delightful and inviting smirk, relaxing her posture.

Scarecrow looks between her and the goons under her control, noticing the similar color in skin and eyes. It didn’t take much to deduct the situation he was in. The sorceress he confronts stands about a foot away, looking down on him and lifting up her cane.

“So you’re a vampire. In all honesty, I’d rather kill my men and myself before serving your kind.”

“Wow. So much for the guy named Scarecrow.” Zatanna says with a scoff, shaking her head and taking a step back. “Luckily for you…”

“I can arrange that.” Zatanna’s voice comes from behind Scarecrow, whispering into his ear. His head turns and catches a faint glimpse of her presence. Despite talking and facing her direction, another version greets him with a grin. He goes to look where she once was, only to find an empty spot. Before he can react with bafflement, Zatanna’s fangs grow out and bite into his flesh, tearing past the sack texture covering his neck.

With the Talons leading the way, Diana, Bobo, and Cameron rush into the streets of Gotham, on guard and alert, constantly checking their corners for bloodsucking creatures and troublesome criminals looking for a fight. Staying quiet and remaining unnoticed was their top priority, as the Talons weren’t too keen on bringing strangers to the secret location of the Court.

Their escape takes them to the southern district of Gotham City, The Bowery. The buildings look far older, the streets occupied by a nerving silence. They stop in the middle of a street, with no signs of traffic or pedestrians coming for them. The lead Talon reaches for a manhole, lifting it up without a need for tools. The three assassins drop down without any delay. Cameron stops by the edge, the smell of the water drifting upwards onto her level, her nostrils sniffing before she turns the other way, gagging and holding her arm up to her mouth.

“There’s no way I’m going down there!” Cameron looks down at the brown and yellow texture of the water below, straightening out her dark two-button suit out of instinct.

“My offer still stands, Agent Chase.” Diana says with a smirk. Cameron slams her hand against her head, shaking it with dread, well knowing she was ready to accept. The Amazonian slides her foot back and kicks it forward, the front of her boot striking powerfully against the manhole tossing it up straight in the air.

A minute later, Diana floats down to the inside of the sewer, holding Cameron and Bobo with one on each hand. The two of them finding little pride in being carried like bags of groceries. The manhole completes its fall from the sky, landing perfectly to seal the entrance as if it was never moved. Cameron continued to cover her lips; her thumb lodged against the edge of her nose. The Talons on the other hand move through the river of sewage without any delay, conditioned to maneuver through any environment.

The tunnel went on for miles, occasionally turning into a different section of the city. The group stops at the sight of an open area built within the walls; a set of generators fenced off from the river. The talons step out of the water and onto a nearby ledge, hopping over the fence that blocked it. They approach an old stone brick wall, darkened from decades of endurance and air moisture. The leader holds his hand out, curling into a fist to hold out a gold ring embedded with the Court’s seal. It makes contact with one of the bricks, causing a block of the wall to push forward and sink away from the group. Once the hole is free of obstruction, a light shines in the darkness, highlighting the elevator built of wood and golden tinted metal.

Now in a drier area, Diana sets Bobo and Cameron down, and the six of them march into the lift, pulling the scissor gate and beginning their descent. The lift looked like it was made when elevators were invented, the button panel lacking any lights or screens, just analog controls with handwritten notes next to them.

The Talons face the gate with a thousand-yard stare, showing zero interest in striking up a dialogue or showcasing their destination to the guests, aside from what was necessary. Cameron takes a deep breath, watching the stone shaft beyond the gate descend. She hated places like this, the only way out being the way she came in. There were only a handful of places in the world that went this deep underground. She had a right to be skeptical, the Court had undeniable influence over Gotham. If someone needed to die at their will, it was often a guarantee.

“Diana.” Bobo whispers to his teammate.
“What?” Diana responds in the same tone, leaning herself towards the chimp.
“I’m really not into this.”
“Patience, Bobo. If the Court wanted us dead, they would’ve let that horde overrun us.”
“C’mon! That gesture could’ve meant anything. We were in the heat of battle, charged with fury and might. Now look at us, trapped in an elevator with three guys that can probably hear all this.”
“I’m with the chimpanzee. Are we really trusting the bird illuminati with this one?” Cameron adds.
“They know this city better than most people.” Diana states to assure them, tilting her head back and forth to notice their expressions hadn’t changed. “Still, I don’t plan to stay long.”

The lift catches a faint beam of light, growing larger and covering more of the lift until it reaches its destination. The gate is pulled open, allowing the group to disembark into the foyer. Compared to the dark and disturbing nature of the Talons, the Court’s den is stacked with marble, built with grace and fortitude. They were determined to stay underground, but not without giving up the class and luxuries that came with its wealthy membership.

The corridors stretched out underground, it was safe to say the Court was looking to deploy Talons at any district in Gotham at any given time. The walls lined up with oil paintings of members and contributors to the Court’s cause, all of them wearing the masquerade owl mask. Every step taken felt like its sound fled into the other side.

A few minutes pass. The lead Talon goes to his right, stopping at a wooden door and standing beside it.

“They are waiting.” He says calmly to the group, remaining perfectly still with his comrades.

Diana nods to her half of the group, reaching over to put her hand on the gold painted doorknob, twisting it gently. The entrance pulls open. This room is far different. It’s lit with a bright and inviting chandelier. The walls are wood, lined with a red and gold wallpaper, decorated with more scenery paintings of assassinations and meetings with future leaders. Gotham was their city; they wanted any guest of theirs to recognize it.

In the center, a large dark conference table, with matching chairs that are taller than Diana lined up around its circular construction. Ten chairs, five on each side, five of which are occupied. Three men in suits composed of purple, black, and blue. Two women, one brunette in a red dress, the other black haired in silver. All wearing the mask of the Owl.

“The Court is grateful to have you in our company.” The center man in the purple suit tells them, delicately holding out his hand for the group. “Please, have a seat.”

Diana looks back and forth between Bobo and Cameron, each of their expressions carrying a weight of concern and suspicion. The Amazonian nods, approaching the table and taking a seat, her friends following suit.

“As our guests, we would like to offer any accommodations to make your stay more pleasant.” Black suit offered.
“That won’t be necessary. We don’t plan on staying for long.” Diana states clearly for the Court, her tone more firm than usual.

“A pity, but understandable. You have been brought here because we believe the vampire threat is accelerating to a rate that we can no longer ignore. A scenario like this does not have time to go through a phase of being seen as nothing but alarmist hysteria, and you will need all the allies you can get.” The brunette tells them, her voice lacking any joy, going straight to the point.

Bobo scoffs. Cameron shakes her head.

“Allies? You expect us to work with you after what you’ve done to this city?” Diana speaks with bafflement, even if the Talons aided them.

“You’re on the right track, Diana of Themyscira. I must ask, what do you think of our Talons?” The purple suit asks, extending his arm out to point behind Diana. She turns to see the bright yellow eyes from the hospital, standing beside her, static and obedient.
“I pity them. They should’ve been sent to the depths of Asphodel centuries ago, rather than lurking in the present as your puppets.” Diana adds.

“We are quite proud of these puppets, as you call them. They do not need food; they have remained loyal for centuries. And most helpful in dire situations like yours, they can’t be turned.” The blue suit speaks.

Bobo widens his eyes.

“Because of this, our predecessors made a deal with the Vampire Leadership centuries ago. They knew we could wipe out covens without breaking any spirits. Our conditions were, if the leadership decided to conquer the world as it is, Gotham City would remain free of vampires, and under our control.” Purple adds to Blue’s statement.

“We intend to keep this vision, but a safe Gotham cannot exist if there’s no world to inhabit. Because of this, the Court is willing to offer our services to you.” The silver dress lets out.

“The Talons now shall remain in Gotham, disposing of any vampire threats that cross into its borders, but when war comes—And it will come, we will be ready to fight by your side.” Purple tells Diana, the room going silent as the owls remain seated, watching Diana carefully.

Within the friendly and warm interior of the Oblivion Bar, humans and creatures from the magic community gather in search for hospitality and kinship. It’s interior stands strong, built with wood and brick that stood the test of time. A place where the oddity and otherworldly could celebrate without retaliation or consequence, united by their sorrows and victories. Some days felt slow, most felt like the buzzing of customers never ended.

With a puff of smoke, Zatanna lands in the corner of the bar, wiped clean of any stains of her more devious activities from earlier tonight. With her skin and eyes reverted to their original tone, she approaches the bar, quickly getting some eyes from the patrons on her.

“Hey, Zee! I haven’t seen you in a while.” A young woman with dark hair asks, holding a glass mug while dragging a clean washcloth up and down the surface. This woman is the bartender, Traci 13.

“Good to see you too, Traci.” Zatanna said with a pleasant tone, flashing a quick grin in her direction.

“You want your usual?” Traci asks, setting the glass down.
“Actually—Um, I don’t know how to put this…” Zatanna consciously glances around at the patrons nearby, leaning herself forward just enough to lower her voice. “Do you have any blood that’s like…Alcoholic?”

“…Blood? Oh shit—Zee, are you a vampire?!” Traci says with some surprise, giving Zatanna a second glance, noting her much paler skin tone. Zatanna holds her hands up, gesturing and widening her eyes.

“Shhh! Not so loud!” Zatanna calls out in a much quieter voice, giving the bar patrons another glance.

“Sorry, sorry—When did this happen?” Traci said with some excitement, reaching above to grab a glass hanging from the top.

“About two days ago.”

“Aw, that sucks. No pun intended.” Traci reaches underneath and pulls open a mini fridge door, taking out a clear bottle with a dark red liquid, covered by a label that looks older than the two of them. “So, what’s the plan? Live in a cool castle? Become an evil wizard?”

Zatanna stifles a chuckle, circling the tip of her finger against the surface of the table.

“Honestly, I was thinking about just going back to work.”
An amused snort emits from Traci’s nose, a brief nod following with a smug expression forming on her face.

“Really? That’s it?” Traci pops open the bottle, finally filling up the pint glass, setting it down in front of Zatanna. “I think you’re missing out on some pretty great opportunities.”

“I’ll still fight with the League, do some more magic shows. I just—Won’t be alive, that’s all.” Zatanna spells out to her bartender, grabbing the glass and raising it to her lips, drinking the blood. She soon widens her eyes, setting the drink down.

“What is that?!?” Zatanna asks, her eyes having flushed to a crimson red.

“The blood of the great Rasputin. He believed his magical ways to be so great, he met with the vampire leaders of Czech, bonding his soul to theirs for an unbreakable strain of human and vampirism. Hoping to one day conquer the world with the two species living in harmony. Now it sits in a fridge, waiting for whatever empty soul may come to find their strength again…”

“Really…?”

“No, I’m fucking with you. That’s just human blood with some elixirs thrown in to give you the same sensations and kicks as booze.” Traci says with a grin. “You’re not the first person in here with fangs looking to drown their sorrows.”

Zatanna kept her smile, shaking her head as Traci left her, going to serve some of the other patrons coming in. Having a drink and talking with Traci, it was the happiest she’d been since her transformation. No matter what might happen next, she knew nothing could take that away from her.

A stool next to her is pulled out, followed by a blonde man in a tan trench coat, a white shirt, and a red tie that reeked of tobacco. Just from the way he sat and positioned himself at the bar, Zatanna knew exactly who it was.

“I take it knowing you, this seat isn’t taken?” John Constantine asks her with a smug look on his face that refuses to leave. Zatanna rolls her eyes and leans her head back in annoyance.
“Oh God— Ow!!” Just like that, Zatanna’s tongue suddenly faced a wrath of fire, a quick and brief burn that was worse than any hot food she consumed too quickly. She rolls forward and quickly reaches for her glass, drinking whatever blood was left in it. John of course just laughed it up, shaking his head.

“No please, don’t be too happy to see me.” John speaks, flagging down Traci to get a drink.
“My week’s been terrible. Last thing it needs is a demon-blooded piece of shit commenting on all the bad choices I’ve made.”

John ends up laughing more.

“Seriously Zee? How long have we known each other? If there’s one bloke in this whole universe that’s not gonna do anything, you’re lookin’ right at ‘im.” John holds up two thumbs, both pointed at him, all without even a hint of judgment.

“…That’s it?” Zatanna asks as if she was surprised.

“That’s it.” John looks down as a glass of scotch lands in front of him, prompting a quick raise of his glass from the occult detective. “So, what’s being dead like?”

“Well…If we’re being truthful—It’s pretty fun.” Zatanna says with some pleasure. “I mean it’s a pain in the ass too. I already miss eating actual food, I can’t go outside without—” She gives another look at John before retreating her glance over at the bar, running her fingers against the wooden surface. “Not important.”

“Not giving away your tricks, eh?” John asks with a smug look, looking up as a glass of Scotch is put down in front of him.

“Illusions. I’m not giving away my illusions.”
“Well that just means in that cold dead heart of yours, you’re still a boring magician.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Zatanna says with a straight face before she chuckles and smiles again, running the tip of her finger against the rim of her glass.

“Do you know who bit you?” John asks, getting Traci’s attention as she comes back over to their side of the bar.
“Still figuring that one out. I’ve made some enemies over the years, some of them being pretty damn powerful—But they’re not the types that’d want to keep me alive.” Zatanna looks up as Traci fills her glass with the same red bottle, keeping a joyous look before leaving the two of them alone. “Or they would, but they’d probably lock me in one of those giant bird cages that hovers above a bottomless pit.”

“Believe it or not, those kinds of things are less common in Hell. Now everything’s all about finding pleasure in pain, using meat hooks to dangle people, or stuffing them in glass cases that are way too small.” John tells her, quietly pulling his scotch closer towards him. “All very sophisticated.”

“Shit, that’s not too bad, I can escape those in ninety seconds.” Zatanna nods. “Scott Free could probably do it in twenty though. Not to mention where he comes from is basically Hell.”

“You’d have to double check to see if your powers still work there.”

“Or maybe he can do it in fifteen…”

“I’d say both of you could escape without a scratch.” John reaches for his glass and raises it, watching Zatanna perform a near exact gesture with her own drink. “Cheers, love.”
Their glasses clink, and the two of them take a sip of their respective drinks.

“So, what brings you to the bar, Constantine?” Zatanna sets her glass down, lifting her hand to wipe off a small streak of blood that dripped off her lower lip.

“I was on my way home, figured I’d stop in for a glass, see what the magic lads are up to.”

“Bullshit, why are you really here?”
“Loaned a bastard sixty quid for a poker game a week ago, so I’m here to collect.” John turns more in his stool, facing Zatanna a little better.

“I didn’t take you for a cheap loan shark these days. Then again, it is you.”
“Hey—I’m not showin’ up to some bloke’s house with a bat gettin’ ready to shatter kneecaps. Just might use ‘em for a spell later, sa’ll.”

“Well, if you’re looking here, they gotta be someone special.”

“They are.”

“Okay, so—Who is it?”

“Etrigan.”
“You gave Jason sixty pounds?”
“No, I gave Etrigan sixty pounds.”
“You gave a demon money and expected to get paid back?”
“He said he’d pay me back in full and his deal was not bull.”

Zatanna starts laughing again. John stares at her with the same sly smile.

“And you believed him?”
“C’mon Zee, Etrigan’s a good mate. You know demons, they love making deals! It was hard for me to say no.” John says casually.

Zatanna calms herself, lifting her hand up to pinch her eyes. John takes another swing at his scotch. He couldn’t help but notice some of the blood on her teeth whenever she went to smile.

“But I don’t see him here. Safe to say I’ve had better ideas on spending my evening.”
“I’d say you could do worse.”
“Think so?”
“Oh, I know so.” Zatanna says in a far more suggestive tone, failing to prevent a smirk forming on her face.

Zatanna rolls her head back in comfort, her eyes shut while strands of her raven hair breeze along her face. Her back arches, a faint moan slipping past her lips. John sits upright while Zatanna straddles over him, keeping his arms around her bare torso, holding her delicately during their delicate moment of intimacy. No matter how much body heat John was radiating, the skin of his counterpart remains cold to the touch.

Now that she was home at Shadowcrest, in the company of a man she shouldn’t trust, her skin flushes pale. Her head pushes down, brushing the edge of her nose along his shoulder. Even while distracted by a desire for sex, she feels the urge to reach out for his neck and bite as much as she could, draining whatever demon blood was in him. Her fangs grew more visible as her lips part. Yet, as close as she got, the urge simply wasn’t strong enough. There was enough blood of strangers in her system, no need to take any from a friend, a thought she felt a sincerity with.

John is a man who does what’s necessary, even if the consequences could get people killed. No matter how supportive he is, the thought of an ulterior motive never leaves his presence. Yet to Zatanna, she could tell this was a genuine encounter. She briefly makes eye contact with him during their love making, her enhanced senses notice nothing off. He wanted to be here, with her, even if it was just for one night.

She moans one last time and rolls off him, landing on her back in the comfort of her bed. John catches his breath, rolling his head to look at the pale woman. Even with only the moonlight of the sky to guide his eyes, he could tell her beauty remains unscathed.

“You still haven’t told me your favorite part of being undead.” John rolls over to face the edge of the bed, blindly reaching out for the pile of clothes on the floor. His arm retracts, a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes gripped in his left palm.

“I don’t know if I have a favorite.” Zatanna folds her legs, relaxing her muscles while leaning more into the mattress beneath her. “Flying is nice, but it’s not like I couldn’t do that before—”

John puts two fingers between a cig, lifting it out of the box clean like he’d done hundreds of times. He puts it between his lips, going to lift a lighter that only exists in his head as a phantom instinct.

Zatanna notices his minor frustration and extends her hand out near his cigarette.

“Emalf evoba pitregnif.” A small flame ignites above the tip of her index finger, no bigger than a lit match. She extends it out and lifts it to burn the tobacco, allowing him to inhale the herb. John soon pulls the cigarette back, a trail of smoke escaping his lips. She felt another grin form. Zatanna couldn’t remember the last time she felt this comfortable. Their interaction may have been based on a transactional instinct, but Zatanna knew John wouldn’t judge her for it.

“Thanks.” John nods, watching the smoke rise from his cig.

“It’s the lack of doubt.” Zatanna says abruptly, putting an arm over her stomach, scratching it briefly. “I’ve never felt so…free. I feel like I can do anything.” Her tone grows more joyous and excited, looking towards John only for some of it to deflate.

“You could always do that, Zee.” John puts the cigarette back between his lips, letting it rest slightly off balance.

“You’re right, but I was always holding back. Part of me wanted to fit in, to be a spectacle that embraces my potential without making people afraid. I joined the Justice League to show the world it didn’t have to be afraid of magic. It could be seen as a beacon, a guide out of the dark. I’d get so worked up on what other people wanted, what might be best for the world, but I rarely gave myself time to think of what I wanted—I just did what my father did, and never looked back.” Zatanna tells John, lifting her hand as she speaks, pinching two fingers against her thumb, grinding them together. “Now that I’m dead— It’s like I don’t have to be what the world wants.”

“A fresh new start.” John adds to her words, taking another drag at his cigarette before holding it out to Zatanna. She takes it with no hesitation, repeating the same steps as him, inhaling and exhaling the smoke out of her. “Still, there’s no point in chasing something you don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re talking about being free from restraint, but you haven’t exactly mentioned what you really want, Zee.” John takes a slow breath, free of tobacco for the time being.

“I mean, I just…” Zatanna goes blank, blinking her eyes. “I thought I was going to help the world again, but I think it’s too late for that, so I’ve been giving into my instincts.”
“Hunting people.”
“Seven dead at least.”
“Is that why you brought me here?” John asks, beginning to sit upright again.

“No.” Zatanna smiles, running a hand on his upper chest for a moment. “But I was thinking about what your blood would taste like. You might enjoy the lifestyle.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhmm. Eternal life, hatred of humanity, hiding in the sun—You’d fit right in.”
“Oh shove off.” John shoves his hand forward, pushing Zatanna gently on the side, shaking his head with an inexplicable happiness between the both of them.

“In all seriousness, it sounds like you’re just lookin’ for someone to put you on the right path.” John nods, eyeing Zatanna as she turns over onto her stomach, propping her lower legs up. “You ever thought about going to the other side?”

“What, like other vampires?” Zatanna replies after she blows out another trail of smoke.

“Exactly. All you’ve been listening to is humans. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, we’re always looking for heroes, and I’m enjoying the company—but the more you do it, the more you’re always going to be on guard, looking both ways ‘fore talking to anyone. Even if there’s a complete mutual trust, part of you is never gonna fully feel welcomed.” John says while sitting up. The two of them make eye contact, Zatanna goes to hand the cigarette back to its original owner. “Think of it like guys having guy talk, and girls having girl talk. It’s not that the two of them hate each other entirely, just some things are easier to talk about if they’ve been through the same things you have.”

“I doubt they’re interested in listening to my wishes to eat pizza again.” Zatanna lifts her arm, propping her head up, continuing to look towards John. The ashy tobacco burns into an bright orange.

“Doesn’t matter what your grievances are. All you’re doing is just havin’ a chat, getting a feel for your new life, and seeing what kind of world dominance plan they got cooked up.” John says with some agency. His right-hand lowers to her back, sliding slowly against her chilly skin.

Zatanna gives some thought to his idea. Aside from the massacre aboard the Inferno, Constantine had a point. Given her mere existence as a vampire, chances were the people who turned her were waiting to welcome her. Plenty of opportunities to create chaos, mend forces to be unstoppable.

“You’re not looking to plant me as an informant, are you?” Zatanna raises an eyebrow, taking the cig from his fingers.

“Not at all, love. I’m just saying as someone who’s been to Hell and back, if you’re going to a place like that, they’re gonna keep you alive to ask how you got there.” John nods, with Zatanna mimicking his actions.

After spending nearly two hours answering questions and responding to hypotheticals, Bobo, Diana, and Cameron sit in a large room within the luxury suite, surrounded by more paintings, and two chesterfield couches built with leather that sat in the center. All it did was remind Diana of Wayne Manor. During their meeting, the Court told the three of them they had to wait a full twenty-four hours before returning to the surface, sharing a mutual concern that they were still being searched for.

Neither of them could remember the last time they were this bored. The Court carries a reliance on weapons, a methodology that carries over into entertainment. Electricity was minimal, only operating on elevators, doors, and occasional phone lines. Cameron wandered around the space with her smartphone held up high, pointing towards the ceiling.

“There’s no point, Cameron. You really think you’re going to get cell service down here?” Bobo calls the blonde woman out, slumped on a red couch.
“So, what if we’re underground? it’s still underneath one of the biggest cities in the country.” Cameron says, continuing to move around each corner, occasionally jumping to her amusement.

“What are you even gonna look at? Even if you get a signal, whatever you’re trying to load is gonna take six years down here!” Bobo exclaims.

“I just want to see if I’ve got any messages!” Cameron yells back, jumping again with a faint yelp. Bobo sighs and reaches into his jacket, taking out a flask. Right as the chimpanzee drinks, he notices Diana alone and afar, holding her arms together and remaining on guard.

“Hey Diana.” Bobo says as he gets up, noticing the Amazonian shifting her attention towards him.

“Yes?” She says with grace in her voice.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” Bobo lowers his voice, standing close next to Diana.
“What is it?” Diana asks, matching her volume with his.

“It’s about Zee.”
“Zatanna?” Diana widens her eyes, looking up for a moment before resetting her eyes. What about her?”
“I don’t—I don’t have any proof or anything, but back at the briefing yesterday, I could tell something’s wrong with her.” Bobo adds.
“Do you think she’s in trouble?” Diana asks.

“I can’t say for sure. She could be hypnotized or coerced into working with them, but we also need to consider the possibility that she’s been turned by whatever new vampires are taking over these days.” Bobo says with some reluctance in his voice. Zatanna was easily a close friend of his, the idea didn’t sit well with him.

“This is a serious accusation, Bobo. Zatanna is one of, if not, the most powerful sorceress I’ve met and an original founder of this team. If we confront her the wrong way, this could be a disaster.” Diana’s tone grows sterner.

“Which makes her an ideal candidate to get to. She’s got League credentials, she’s an esteemed name in the magic community, she’s got connections to a lot of wealthy people. It’s turning a great weakness into a great strength.” Bobo tells her, leaning up against the cavern wall. “We don’t even know the name of the Vampire King; we need to take it into consideration.”

“Alright, alright—” Diana cuts him off, resting her hands along her hips, shaking her head in irritation. “I trust you Bobo. I’ll agree to keep her out of any new developments until we are certain, but if you or anyone else goes after her, she’s not going to be your only opponent.” Diana adds, pointing out her finger to him and pressing it right at the top of his tie.

“Of course.”
“Yes!” Cameron shouts out with a raised fist, looking at the one bar of reception she got on her screen.

“You got a signal?” Bobo raises his voice, wandering in Cameron’s direction.

“Damn straight! Just gotta wait a little…” Cameron pauses herself, feeling her phone vibrate as a few notifications come in. Some are games and news alerts, but the one she quickly gets a focus on is the eight missed calls from the D.E.O.

“Shit, I need something better.” She walks over towards the wooden door entrance, pulling it open and finding herself greeted by the Talon standing guard, looming over her.
“Hey! I need a phone. Do you have a phone?” Cameron speaks a little slower than usual, under the impression the Talon would have trouble understanding despite his perfectly acceptable English.

The masked man extends his arm out, pointing towards her right on the other side of the hallway. She peaks her head out to see what he was looking at. Attached to the wall is an old crank phone, retrofitted with a rotary dial. She steps out into the hall, picking up the earpiece and looking over the contraction that had to be at least a hundred years old.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Cameron mutters to her dismay, attempting to make a call on the antique.

Zatanna rolls onto her side, faced with the sight of a snoring Constantine, asleep with no sign of getting up. She gets up and leaves her bedroom, idly straightening out some of her hair while walking down the hall. For once, it felt like John had a good idea. Contacting other vampires had a lot of benefits, she hadn’t committed any crimes or actions against them yet, she figures hearing them out might be worth the trouble.

She enters the library once more, sitting back down at the stack of books she had, beginning to look through sources for vampire covens. Most of the books have a cobweb or two, a good chunk wasn’t even in English, obstacles that can easily be overcome with magic or careful dusting.

Zatanna flips open a book titled Drive of the Dead: A Travel Guide for the Occult, flipping through pages until she reaches a large map of the world, pointing out the location of vampire safe havens all over. Yet, nothing posted in Madrid. The book must’ve been published before the location was found. She slides the book forward and closes her eyes, stretching her arms before extending them.

“Wohs em eht noitacol fo eht nevoc ni dirdaM!” Zatanna shouted in her spell, putting far more energy into the spell. Her eyes glow until they are solid red, the pages begin to spin and fly out of the book until there are none left, floating in the library as they begin to fold and snap together. Once formed into cubes, they drop in perfect spacing on the floor, creating a map of Madrid in a three-dimensional space. What it lacked in detail, it showed in volume and simplicity.

Zatanna stands up from her chair, the diorama was large and dense enough to walk around. As she looks around, a palace near the edge of the city shifts in color, turning red from an internal dye that coated it, all without breaking its standing. She knew where to go now.

“Ekat em ereht.” The sorceress points at the red coated paper. Milliseconds after speaking, a flash of mystical energy spawns to her left. The portal is cast open, leading to Madrid. Unfortunately for Zatanna, it was well in the afternoon in Spain. Her state of undress lacks protection, and she’s grazed by the brief sunlight.

“Krow sehtolc! Krow sehtolc!” She said in a panic, running away from the portal and patting herself down to put out any potential fires, stopping until she could feel her outfit covering her, along with her cane landing in her hand. She reaches up, feeling the top hat resting above her hair, letting out a quick sigh as she enters the portal.

The Department of Extranormal Operations always found itself busy, constantly monitoring surveillance, watching for a metahuman to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and working to fill quotas during a re-election year. Though within the past twelve hours, the D.E.O. headquarters in Arlington, Virgina felt like chaos with no end in sight.

With one agent missing, and hundreds dead both from the Inferno and Gotham General Hospital, the compound was planning deployments of tactical units and field agents to contain what they believed to be a vampire uprising.

Now, the most secure area in this base is a small medical infirmary. Though the leaders of this agency begin to wonder if it is even safe. Typically used for treating metahumans, it’d been converted to a holding area for a sick patient, the same man the vampires were looking for in Gotham.

A smartphone vibrates. A man with black gloves reaches into his suit pocket to pick it up, standing just outside the infirmary, watching the conscious man recover. He finds the Caller I.D. to be unrecognizable, a set of numbers that didn’t match any phone number, at least not to his knowledge.

Regardless of the strange circumstances, he answers, putting the device up to his invisible ear.

“Director Bones.” He says in a deep and weighted voice, his gaze looking towards the window.

“Director, Special Agent Chase.”

Now putting her enhancements to the test, Zatanna steps out into the street. To her success, not a single scratch or burn on her person. At the very least, compared to earlier. Cars drive by, pedestrians walk right by her. Standing in front of her, the palace that was once represented by paper, towering nearly ten stories high. A standout, yet nothing that drew attention.
Catching the attention of her blue eyes, a set of fortified doors right in front of her, only igniting her curiosity.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve got agents searching the entire East Coast for you. Not to mention two Justice Leaguers that are missing, and an entire hospital massacred.” Bones began pacing back and forth, continuing to look through the window.

“I can’t exactly say, but I’m safe. Once it’s daylight, I’ll head back to Washington.”

“Good. Doctor Fate dropped off your survivor. With his help, we were able to get him stabilized, and he’s conscious.” Bones looks at the man. “His name is Ash Krzesimir, by the way.”

Zatanna looks back and forth, curling her fist once and delivering two knocks along the steel entrance. Right as her fist is about to hit a second time, the door swings open by itself, with no resident or greeter on the other side. Fascinated and skeptical, she enters, her footsteps echoing into a large chamber of darkness.

“Wouldn’t have guessed that. Was he able to answer any questions?”

“We got a translator in about an hour ago. Gave him the routine mental health check crap, then dug into what happened on that boat. A lot of it checks out with our initial findings, but he said one of the intruders had an emblem, a symbol on his chest as he slaughtered the crew and passengers, so I gave him a pen and paper.” Bones lifts the folder in his hand, using his thumb to raise the flap open.

“And?”

“Let’s just say if you thought things were bad now, they’re about to get a whole lot worse.” Bones tells her, staring at the crudely drawn emblem of the Green Lantern Corps.

Chapter Text

Once the door shuts, rows of blue flames ignite along the walls, attached to rows of glass torches to illuminate the massive foyer to the building. It looked just as tall as the building. The corridor felt like a castle, a red carpet beneath Zatanna’s stretches out to the other side. Above her, red banners lined up with the crest of its owner, a bird captured in flight with its wings out, its head pointed upwards with its fangs visible. All simplified and coated in a silver paint.

Zatanna looks up, admiring the unashamed display of their insignia. It slowly fades as she hears another door swing open, along with a faint hum coming from the end of the hall. A good chance it is an energy source, a light of some kind being guided towards her. She could tell someone was coming, though the lack of footsteps didn’t narrow down who it might be.

Then came the brown hair, the green mask, matching flight suit, and the emblem that tied it all together. Along with a face that Zatanna wasn’t too sure on considering a friend or foe. Though in one lifetime, they remain the former.

“Zatanna. You’ve made it.” Hal Jordan of the Green Lantern Corps lets out, dropping down in front of her.

“Hal?” Zatanna raises an eyebrow, sliding her cane and planting it against the carpet.

“The one and only. At least on this Earth.” He forms a polite smile, his domino mask quietly fading from his face.

“So, you’re the vampire inside of the Justice League?” Zatanna asks, lifting her cane, holding it just below the glass ball that sat atop.

“Can’t give away all my secrets, but you’ve got the right idea.” Hal nods, holding his arm out to serve as an invitation to explore the strangely sized building. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.” He says in a friendly tone, nodding while the two began to walk together.

They stop at a cross in the ground, the walls becoming far more closed in, lined up with stone and wood drenched in red, chiseled and detailed with no insecurities or flaws in design. A perfect design for a palace built for royalty.

“I’m guessing you’ve either got plenty of questions, or all this was foretold in a magic scroll none of us know about.” Hal tells her, the two of them turning into the hall on their left.

“If it was, I’d be enjoying sunlight without the use of a magic hat. How’d you know I’d be coming?” Zatanna asks.

“We’re the ones who turned you. I mean, I didn’t personally do it, but I know the person who did had to knock you unconscious and wipe some of your memory.”

Zatanna lets out a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, nodding her head. “Sounds all too familiar.”

“Given your history, we weren’t all too sure if your mind would accept your new self. Some people just aren’t very interested in being like us and take drastic steps to ensure it. Capes like us often have this human tendency to fight the good fight, but I’m sure you know that.”

“I take it we’re on the side of burning everything to the ground and starting anew?” Zatanna asks, causing Hal to smile and shake his head.

“Not quite, the Vampire King has bigger plans than something so elementary. I’m sure he’d love to tell you.”

“He’s here?”

“Of course, that’s where we’re going.” Hal nods, pushing his hand on a pair of colossal chamber doors made of iron. As they swing open, Zatanna could see a massive chamber with the same banners near the entrance draped over the walls, crimson curtains lined up along the walls. At the center of it all, a throne crafted of obsidian, lined with red cushions stands tall, with its occupant sitting patiently. Below, four rows of steps that stretched the entire room, with two small rivers of blood facing them vertically.

The man of course wore a black costume, built with elements of spandex and lightweight armor that allowed for quick movement. Though what truly marked the man was the red graphic of a bird stretched from shoulder to shoulder, and the two escrima sticks rested along his back.

“Zatanna Zatara!” The young gentleman shouts out, leaping from his throne with a large smile on his face, drifting in the air with the help of his vampiric abilities. He lands and performs a quick cartwheel, making it on his feet in one piece. Zatanna quickly recognizes the man as her friend Bruce’s adoptive son, Dick Grayson.

“There’s no way this is happening. I’m dreaming, right?” Zatanna says with no real respect towards the monarchy, looking back at Hal for a moment. It was safe to say there was some bafflement in her system.

“Ouch. Remind me not to throw you a surprise party.” Dick frowns a little but keeps some positivity around it.

“How the everlasting fuck did Nightwing end up as a vampire king?” Zatanna says with some exaggeration, trying to wrap her mind around the idea of someone so young leading a crusade of bloodsuckers.

“Well, it’s a funny story. You see there’s this coven in Blüdhaven that’s like a thousand years old, and my sister led me there…”

“Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoa-- You have a sister?”

“Half-sister, but family’s family. Anyway, she led me to this coven since she’s the mayor and wants to improve community relations, told me to come along for backup cause—Well you know how we get—So we go there, there’s all the highlights, old structures, blood fountains, the usual—But we get to the meeting with this group of vampires that are a bit mad, so they ask me to kill their queen for them.”

“Did you do it?”
“I told ‘em no way. I don’t know these people. Plus, who knows, if I went after them, they might just loop me into killing and killing—Yeah. So, they start coming after me, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I started punching them, I’m getting ready to rescue my sister, and low and behold—She’s not scared or worried at all, cause she’s one of them!”

“Whaaaaat?”

“Yeah! I must admit, they got me good. I got caught in the moment, they turned me, and…here I am.” Dick shakes his head with a polite grin, amused by his upbringings.

“Anyways, I’m getting too into it. Welcome to the Crimson Coalition.” He extends his hand out to Zatanna, though she doesn’t return the favor. She goes quiet, looking back and forth at Hal and Dick. They seemed so eager to accept her, she’d been in the chamber for only a minute.

Still, there was only one way forward in a place like this. Zatanna nods her head, going to shake Dick’s hand.

“The Crimson Coalition?” She raises an eyebrow, retracting her hand.

“That’s right, the greatest assembly of vampires you’ll ever meet. Figured if I was going to take Mary’s place, I’d do some reorganizing, go with something that could have a legacy in case I died for real. I mean, if I did, you wouldn’t want to start calling this the Hal Jordan Dynasty, would you?” Dick asks with muse.

“Hey!” Hal calls out, beginning to make his exit. The doors close with him on the other side, leaving Zatanna and Dick alone. She snickers, resting her cane back down against the floor. Dick turns, holding his arms together and remaining next to her.

“So, Mistress of Magic. How’d you find us?” Dick asks, bracing his palms along the arm of his throne, watching the sorceress.

“Found a travel guide for dead people. Building up a coven from scratch wouldn’t fit the timeline I’ve pieced together. Spain felt somewhat remote, but close enough to where you could manage operations within the Western Hemisphere.” Zatanna tells him, using more of a half-truth. She felt mentioning her encounter with Spyros would’ve been a violation of trust.

“Huh. And here I was thinking you might ponder with an orb on where the super-secret vampire palace is.” Dick flashes a grin at her. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here. Most of the other turned metas don’t know anything about magic.”

“And who might that be?”

Dick laughs, looking down for a moment.

“Good question.” He pushes himself away from his chair, walking towards his right, entering a new pair of double doors, expanding into a new hall. Zatanna steps into the corridor with him, this hallway being far more inviting compared to the taunting foyer she arrived in. While she continued with her tour, Zatanna notices that the expansive corridors and numerous rooms wasn’t anywhere close to matching the exterior of the palace.

“The number of vampires around the globe will reach two thousand by the end of this week. Lately I’ve been keeping it under the radar, sticking with metahumans and key humans that can serve as informants. Obviously, you’ve met Hal.”

“He seemed eager and happy to be here.” Zatanna adds.
“For a guy who’s whole schtick is willpower, he was very easy to bring over. Him and Hawkgirl are our only League insiders. All the others are either former members, on some sort of reserve, or just operate without any big teams.” Dick pushes the door open, leading Zatanna and himself into a circular room.

Inside, a square table with a map of the Earth lays flat, with numerous red markers, one of them right where the Hall of Justice is located. Behind, three arched windows with a night sky unlike any on Earth. Standing near the table is an older man draped in a dark suit with a green cape, formed with collars that rested along his shoulder, with a gold medallion dangling just below. The other being a younger woman in black armor with silver stars coated along her legs, nearly the same age as Dick, carrying the same Amazonian physique and golden lasso as Diana.

They both look up quickly at the sight of their king, straightening their postures, and motioning to stand like soldiers. Though Dick holds his hand out, showing there’s no need for such discipline now. He slips his arms behind his back, watching the two officers of his organization relax.

“Werner, Donna. I’m sure you’ve either met Zatanna or seen her billboards. Zatanna, my advisor Count Vertigo and close friend Donna Troy.”
Zatanna takes a step forward, resting the end of her cane along the cold floor. Vertigo didn’t seem too interested in her presence, though Donna briskly walks over to her.

“We’ve met. Toronto. Last summer.” Donna suggests.

“Toronto…Oh yeah! Manga Khan! Quickest invasion ever.” Zatanna snaps her fingers, pointing at Donna.

“That evil shopping mall was surprisingly sophisticated. Y’know, someone photographed me stopping a Tim Hortons from getting beamed up into their ship. They actually gave me free coffee for life, which of course I never drank, because it’s—”

“Donna’s acting as our grand strategy counsel, but once our organization makes itself known to the humans, she’ll be the face of it all.” Dick takes a step forward, standing right in between.

“At least from an emissary perspective. If all goes well, I’ll still be the friendly Amazonian ambassador people take me for.” Donna intervenes, feeling an incentive to downplay her role.

“Only if they ignore the fangs and drained bodies beneath your feet.” Werner’s voice drifts over towards the trio, the Eastern European accent still intact with his transformation, his stance remaining right where they found him. “Humans say they’ll forgive, maybe even forget, but with our kind—Neither is possible.”

Dick, Donna, and Zatanna all give faint glances at each other. Count Vertigo wasn’t giving them information to disagree with. If anything, his king would’ve been in support of the idea. Yet the awkwardness built up in the room.

“Just one question—” Zatanna asks with some hesitation.
“Of course!” Dick says happily, quick to intervene.

“…What is that?” The magician points towards the corner of the war room, gesturing towards a large arcade cabinet lacking any sort of power or audible signs of life.

“That…is a Street Fighter II arcade machine. I’ve been trying to get it working, but it needs like…special parts, or something.” Dick tells Zatanna, a hint of frustration and disappointment in his tone. She forms a smirk and begins to point her cane outward, more of an act of theatrics, rather than an element to make her spell more effective.

“Xif edacra enihcam!” She calls out in her reverse tongue. The lights and monitor flash on, going past the boot-up phase and loading into a demo, displaying pixelated fighting matches like nothing was ever wrong.

“I think you’re gonna do great here.” Dick says genuinely, shaking his head in awe.

The doors slam shut behind him and Zatanna as they walk back into the corridor, continuing the tour of the palace.

“Donna I can understand but Count Vertigo’s a bit of an odd pick.” Zatanna tells him, knowing they were far away enough from the war room.

“Well, yeah. If I’m going to be leading the next great vampire crusade, I’m going to have a Count on the team. That’s like vampire rule number one.” Dick tells her, casually walking backwards. “Not to mention, if we snag more villainous types, having one in my inner circle doesn’t make them feel left out.”

There it was. The great goal. The banners, a castle, a war room. King Grayson leading turned heroes and villains to enslave humanity. It made sense to her. Nightwing wasn’t just a hopeful symbol in a rotten city. He’s the spirit, the bridge between so many that represent greatness. His courage is strong enough for anyone to follow him into a new frontier. Though she understood that was the human side of him, one long gone.
Zatanna stops herself, pressing her cane against the floor. Then, a simple question, one that’d been on her mind since she showed up.

“Why are you doing this?” She asks him, causing his steps to cease movement, tapping his heels twice. It wasn’t a bad inquiry, one that Dick would have to answer sooner or later. He gains a faint hint of frustration, though does his best to mask it. By now, a part of him would’ve hoped she’d fall in line like the others, that acting on instinct was reason enough.

“Alright. You’re turned, you might as well know.” He tells her, resting his hands on his sides. ”Tell me, Zee. Have you ever wondered what your career of selfless heroics would be like if you weren’t being stopped by people holding back?”

“You mean murderers?” Zatanna asks.

“Well—I wasn’t totally going there, but sort of. I mean, look at Gotham City. I’ve been to Arkham countless times, hauling people away into a padded cell with some slim chance they’ll get better. Yet they always escape, and more people die from their little outbursts. It’s literal insanity, doing it over and over—Like it’s going to change anything.” Dick adds.

“As heroes, we’re told to rely on the system. There might be some corruption, some bad apples here and there—But the system of justice is blind, and best of all, it’s fair. Except it isn’t. We’re leaving our responsibility to people that don’t care. Politicians, judges, so-called philanthropists, they’re so short-sighted on personal gains, climbing up the food chain for their own selfish reasons. That system we protect is only keeping them in power. Their own fear of a flawed public image is dragging society with them.”

“You want us to finish the job. To be judge, jury, and executioner.”

“Not for everything. Just because you’re at a buffet, it doesn’t mean you should fill up every dish. Before I became—this, I stopped a bank robbery in Blüdhaven. It was just a credit union, low security, minimal cash on hand. There wasn’t much of a fight, only one of them had a loaded nine-millimeter, the other three just had painted airsoft pistols, they might as well have put their fist in a jacket and gone ‘Stick ‘em up!’. After my patrol, I had Barbara investigate their credit history. One of them made next to nothing and already had two evictions, the other had credit card debt that would take a decade to pay off. The last two were a couple that had a kid that just wasn’t getting the care they needed. Just a group of friends that got together at a bar, all in agreement that this world didn’t care for them.” Dick continues to pace around the corridor. “There wasn’t a grand plan, they didn’t want to hurt anyone, they weren’t sending a message—The only thing they wanted was to survive. Yet, I gave them over to the cops, flew up to the roofs, called it a night.”

“They entered a plea deal. Each of ‘em got fifteen years, possibly ten with good behavior. The kid they fought for is going to grow up in a foster system, probably going to just end up right where his parents did. All for money that was insured by the government anyway.” Dick stops himself for a moment. “That night, I didn’t catch bad guys. I just caught…people. Scared, worried people.”

Dick approaches Zatanna. “Our heroics are an endorsement of that behavior, blindness throwing away good people under rules that protect the rich and powerful. I’m going to break their ivory towers, I’ll have my armies drag their occupants into the streets so the people can rejoice in strength, knowing the once untouchable are now within arm’s reach as they rip them apart, limb by limb. And as they let out their last breath, begging for some form of salvation, I’ll know their suffering isn’t an undeserved punishment, but rather a debt to their responsibilities that has finally caught up.”

Zatanna nods her head quietly, lowering her cane one more time, giving Dick one more glance. He spoke with determination, confronting a truth he’d been hiding from.

“Goal like that, you’re gonna need all the help you can get.” Zatanna extends her free hand out towards Dick. “Count me in.”

Chapter Text

The bowl tilts and a handful of batter lands in the pan, crackling against the melted butter. A young Japanese woman dressed in white button-up blouse and dark trousers watches little bubbles pop and form around the edges. Her attention is scattered, checking a phone sitting on the counter. Her routine is quick, check the stove, look at an email, back and forth like clockwork. The heat is at just the right level, all she can hear is the faint buzzing generated from the electric burners, ticking away to keep the temperature.

It's not long until she hears a pair of footsteps grow closer to her. The spatula creases underneath the solidified batter, lifting off the pan’s surface, and flipping it over.

“Mom! Are you making pancakes?!” The boy exclaims, stopping near the counter island standing in between them.

“Yes, but if you’re so disgusted, I guess I’ll just have to eat them all by myself…” The young woman says with a straight face, going to turn back towards her cooking.

“Waitwaitiwait! I didn’t mean—” The boy begins to plead, facing a sudden urge to atone for the behavior, all while his mother smiles at him. He quickly goes quiet.
“I know, I know. Are your sisters up?”
“Mhmm!”
“Then we better set the table. Come on.”

The drawers and cabinets open. The woman carefully hands the plates over to the boy, prompting him to take the dishes to a round glass table that stood on the other side of the room, laying out four plates for the four chairs that accompanies each end of the circle.

She on the other hand took the matching amount of silverware and napkins, setting them down by the plates. While her son wasn’t looking, she tidies the layout of the plates, correcting any errors made in the attempt at formality.

More footsteps approach, four running in the distance. Their excitement grows more audible, along with their rampant and disorganized dialect.

“Mooooooom!” The first sister calls out rather loudly, grabbing her attention with next to no real effort.

“I’m here! I’m here! What?!” The mother turns, setting the plate stacked with food down.

“Can I sleepover at Erica’s tonight?” The daughter replies.

“Hmmm….” The mother squints her eyes faintly, bouncing her gaze between her three children. The second sister goes to sit down, joining her brother at the table. “Have you talked to her mom?”

”She said I could come over as long as it’s after five o’clock.”

“…Alright. But you have to help me clean the kitchen before you go.” The mother tells her, noticing some reluctance to even accept the idea, but nods and smiles. As her offspring gather at the table, she remembers just in time for an important ingredient. She returns to the kitchen and pulls open a cabinet above, going to reach for a bottle of maple syrup. The surface around the lid is crusty and dried up. She didn’t have a lot of time to plan meals like this. Most of the time it was cereal or pop-tarts.

Right as the cap springs open for examination, three loud knocks ring against the front door. She quickly freezes in place, looking over at her family. Her youngest daughter would occasionally have playdates with a girl named Emily in the unit two doors down, but she looks about as confused and misled as her mother.

With some caution and curiosity, she goes to the door and peeps through the hole in the middle. She’s granted by two suited men, one with blonde hair, the other dark, roughly the same age as her. They didn’t look like cops but weren’t exactly far off from it either. She unlocks the doorknobs but keeps the chain lock in place while opening the door, getting a less skewed glance at them.

“Doctor Kimiyo Hoshi?” The dark-haired man asks.
“That’s me.” She nods, speaking a little reluctantly.

“We’re with the Department of Extranormal Operations. There’s been a developing situation that requires your expertise.” He adds. Kimiyo nods, stopping half-way to glance behind at her kids eating.

“I’m busy right now, it’d really be best if you come back another time—”
“I apologize ma’am, but this is a time delicate situation. We need you to pack your things and come with us.” The agent tells her, his tone growing more authoritative the longer they went on.

“I have kids to look after, I can’t just leave them here.” She amplifies her voice by a couple decibels.

“You’re free to bring them with you or drop them off with someone you trust. Either way, you’re needed in D.C.”

Kimiyo looks between the two of them. The call to action for superheroes like herself always came at the worst time possible. She planned on taking a relaxing day with her kids, hoping to go a full twenty-four hours without worrying about comet trajectories or oxygen densities.

“Ten minutes.” She tells them, shutting the door with no intent on quieting the impact.

“Kuso…” Kimiyo mutters to herself as her head slams against the door, shaking it in disbelief. She momentarily goes to her two daughters and son, explaining she was needed by the government. It was quick and straightforward, a benefit of being honest with her family about superheroics.

She soon got a small suitcase together and got her kids to pack a few bags, meeting back up with the two agents. Years ago when Kimiyo filed for a divorce, her mother flew from Japan to help raise her offspring, especially with two jobs that ate up time quicker than she realized. Though after she’d settled into her new home and adjusted to the proper work-life balance, her mother decided to stay in Metropolis full time.

Kimiyo drops Emma, Tommy, and Sakura off with their grandmother and accompanies the two agents to a helicopter that takes them to Washington. The flight is as discreet as the previous commute, no identifiable markings on vehicles or any of the personnel transporting her.

During her flight, she’s given a briefing that’s twenty pages in length, reading it over casually. At first she wondered what all of this was for. The D.E.O. typically handled first contact duties from a government capacity, evaluating metahuman and aliens that could be a potential threat. It’s possible some strange comet was hurling towards the Earth and asked Kimiyo for her scientific opinion. Then she looked over the actual report. It went over everything on the Inferno, the piles of corpses, a sole witness that survives a second attack at Gotham General Hospital with the aid of the Justice League, and of course the vampire legion responsible for the attacks. Along with a grim detail on escalation and a slowing rate in crime. What caught her attention the most was the name of the witness and a small section of the report being redacted with black ink. This was already a very secretive affair; she could only imagine what else they didn’t want her to know.

The helicopter arrives in D.C. an hour later. Kimiyo is transferred to another car and driven towards the D.E.O. Headquarters in Virginia. The building itself is very simple inside and out, built with thick concrete on the walls and ceiling in a brutalist style. Even with the first three floors designed to look inviting and professional, deep down the place is built like a fortress, prepared to stand during any crisis. This had been the fourth time she’d have to make a trip here, but the first with this much discretion.
She’s escorted swiftly and seemingly through the large building, being guided upstairs to a large conference room. To her initial surprise, the room is completely bright, even with curtains covering the windows. Aside from the usual government office decorating, only three people are inside. A blonde woman in a suit, a similarly dressed skeleton sitting behind the desk, and a woman dressed head to toe in green sitting across with a cigarette in hand.

“Doctor Hoshi.” The skeleton speaks quietly, watching the new arrival closely before gesturing to the empty chair close by. “Please have a seat and shut the door.”

Kimiyo skeptically enters, following his instructions carefully. Even with the lack of handcuffs or cell windows, the woman couldn’t help but feel some sense of imprisonment. It wasn’t like she volunteered for any of this.

“I know this little reunion could be placed under better circumstances.” Bones says with his invisible charm, resting his arms on the desk and holding his gloved hands together.

“Save it, Director. If you want my attention so badly, don’t send G-men to my house and get my family to start thinking I witnessed a mob hit.”

“I apologize for the more invasive approach, but options are a luxury we can’t afford. Every minute wasted in the dark is a gain for the enemy.”

“Then why am I here? The Hall of Justice is just on the other side of the Potomac, I’m sure they’d be happy to look into your problem.” Kimiyo says with some spite.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ moron, Doctor. I might be able to vouch for a few people there, but if you’re here— You know why.” Chase says, holding her arms together while remaining in the office’s corner.

“…Are you saying the League is…?” Kimiyo asks.

“Turned into a bunch of vampires? No, by now we’d all be chained to treadmills that power up a worldwide sunroof. We’re more concerned that someone in their ranks is working for the other team.” Bones tells her, opening a folder on his desk and taking out a photocopy of a drawing, sliding it towards her.

“The witness we pulled from the Inferno. This is what he saw on one of the attackers, followed by green constructs coming from a ring.” The skeleton adds, leaning back more in his chair idly. She examines the crude drawing but knows exactly who the emblem refers to.

“Well, that could mean anything, there’s at least five Lantern Corps members on Earth. Do you have any idea which one?” Kimiyo asks.

“Lantern Jordan fits the description provided to us, but if it was him, we wouldn’t know how long he’s been turned, or who he’s been in contact with. Jordan’s the one on current rotation with League duties, Stewart is patrolling his sector as an on-duty Corps member, Mullein is far off-world, but that leaves Rayner, Gardner, Cruz, and Baz unaccounted for.” Bones replies.

“Gardner likes to stay in Baltimore whenever he hasn’t received orders from the Lantern Corps. Not that he plans on obeying them anyway.” The woman in green tells them, speaking with a Brazilian accent, casually putting a cigarette between her lips. “He calls it patrolling, but really I think he just likes being there.”

“Who is this?” Kimiyo holds her hand out, gesturing towards the woman on her left.

“I apologize, I thought maybe you lovely ladies might know each other. This is—“

“I’m Beatriz, but most people like to call me Fire.” Beatriz interrupts him, going to lift a finger towards her cigarette, a small green flame striking above it.

“Good to meet you…” Kimiyo watches the tobacco burn and the trail of smoke lift towards the ceiling. Like any good doctor, she couldn’t help but disapprove of the habit presented in front of her.

“Beatriz has some experience in the espionage side of things, and you both have powers that can vaporize damn near everything. Not to mention, you both have valid security clearance from the U.N., which’ll save us a bunch of paperwork.” Bones says with a coy and invisible grin.

“Does anyone else know about this little get together?” Beatriz asks.

“Just us. I’ve got the Department on high alert, and in about an hour, I’m meeting with the White House to calmly advise the president to authorize the Defense Production act. There’s a few outside parties that we’re working with, but nothing official and certainly nothing you’ll see in a hundred and twenty characters.”

Another nightfall resumes in time. Zatanna finds herself sitting down on a bench, held up by a mile of pier wood that stretched into a river. The boardwalk remains closed, the only inhabitants being two bloodsuckers and a howling wind. She twirls her cane against the surface, waiting patiently as a frantic Green Lantern paces back and forth next to her, holding a smartphone in his hand. He pinches his eyes and backs up against the railing, tapping his free hand.

“If it’s too much I can text him.” She tells Hal, going to reach into the breast pocket of her dark jacket.

“No, no—I can do this.” Hal reassures her. “I just—I know every second counts with him. If we get this wrong, it could really backfire.”

Zatanna nods. She’d known their target for years. If anything, he was one of the first hero friends she ever made. Even with a dead sense of humanity, Hal and Zatanna feel a hesitation not yet felt when it came to their new livelihood.

“Maybe…we could just act as distractions, let someone else take care of the…” Zatanna makes a death gesture, swiping her thumb above her neck and making a clicking sound.

“The king gave us this responsibility, Zee. To make us stronger. I’m not a very good lieutenant if I can’t carry out his will.” Hal reminds her, speaking with a cold tone that would worry anyone else.

“Oh, don’t act like this is some grand test of loyalty. You know the reason he didn’t accept this assignment. None of us are happy about it.” Zatanna shakes her head, rolling her head back and drifting her attention up at the stars above.

“What if you wiped his memory?” Hal says abruptly.

“Huh?” Zatanna raises an eyebrow.

“If he doesn’t know who he is, then he can’t hurt anyone. You could forge some kind of proof of death, no one worries about him except us.”
“He’ll still have powers, Hal. Besides, we’ve done that song and dance too many times, it just ends up causing problems for everyone.”

Hal looks at his phone again, glancing at the text message chain between him and their individual, staring for some time until he finally reaches a stage of acceptance. He taps his gloved fingers against the screen, hitting the send button.
“I’d say you got about twenty seconds.”

“It’ll have to do.” Zatanna lifts the hat off her head, twirling it between her pale hands, eventually placing it atop her cane. Seconds later, just like he foretold, a red streak of lighting sparks throughout the city streets, navigating with no time to spare. The red and yellow bolt of energy speeds near the harbor, stopping right in front of Zatanna and Hal. They smile as their longtime League friend appears. This being Barry Allen, a.k.a. The Flash.

“Hal! Zee.” He says, smirking and resting his hands against his sides.

“Barry. I’m glad you’re here. It’s been too long.” Hal adds, matching his smile with his own, going to put a hand on his shoulder. Hal and Zatanna could smell his blood, energized far more than any human or metahuman they’d come across. They wondered if it carried the same stimulus as caffeine.

“Sure has! You said you had something important to talk about?” Barry asks.

“Yeah…” Hal’s initial pleasantry dies off. “There’s something really bad coming. I mean, a lot of people are going to die, bad.”

“Well, what is it?” Barry isn’t entirely sure what to believe. He can’t recall the last time he saw the Green Lantern like this.

“Before I tell you, has anybody talked to you about anything like this?”

“No, no. You know how this works, we get a League meeting when a threat appears.” Barry tells him.

“Stnemele fo noitpeced, laever flesruoy!” Zatanna calls out, looking towards Barry. Shortly after calling her spell, his body moves a couple times, with only a faint vibration in frequency and light being the only indicators, finding nothing wrong with him.

“He’s clean.” Zatanna adds, pressing her cane against the wooden floor, leaning towards it.

“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Barry calls out, a growing aggression beginning to manifest.

“It’s the League, Barry. There’s someone on the team who’s relaying information to an enemy we’re not prepared for.” Hal says bluntly. “We’re just making sure they didn’t get to you.”

“Oh—” Barry goes quiet for a moment, watching Hal’s ring glow with green light. “Any leads on who it might be?”

“Actually. We know exactly who.” Zatanna folds her arms together, catching the speedster’s attention for just the right amount of time. Before he can really react, Barry hears a miraculous sound of a car engine coming to life. He turns around in the blink of an eye, catching the sight of a car made entirely out of emerald light, with Hal in the driver’s seat. The vehicle itself being modeled after a Ford Mustang.

Before he can sprint faster than either of them, the projection of light rams right into his red costume, sending the speedster flying in the air. His body lands harshly, splitting and scraping the wooden panels beneath him. The pain still hasn’t settled in for Barry. Heroes acting hypnotized or under an influence was nothing new, but something about this was different.

He uses the little speed available to get up, though this action is interrupted with the car backing up, its hollow tires spinning up his legs, two faint crunches going off simultaneously, followed by a loud shriek. Barry was no longer conditioned to fight, but even then, he wasn’t sure if he could. Why were they doing this to him?

The car door opens, and Hal gets out, slowly approaching Barry and bringing himself down to his level.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I want you to know this isn’t an easy decision.” Hal tells him, looking down for a moment. “For either of us.”

“Hal— I don’t—I don’t understand….” Barry pleads, trying to even his breathing. He lifts his neck, feeling a faint hum in the left side of his mask. Even if he’s out of commission, he could call for help, one could get here fast enough with little information.

“We wanted you on our team, but your metabolism just doesn’t work with our…dietary restrictions. You’d kill millions just to keep your heart pumping.” Zatanna tells him.

“There wouldn’t be anything left, and we’d all starve to death.” Hal adds, lifting his hand to pinch his eyes.

“You’re not even making any sense! Hal! Zee! Come on, snap out of it!” Barry shouts, looking between the two of him. His legs are out of the question, but his arms could be quick enough.

“We’re exactly who we say we are, Barry.” Hal tells him, starting to stand up and turn around, facing the water that surrounds them.

Barry’s electrons begin to charge, his body moving at a speed only he could understand. Phasing through the debris might work, may even push him past the car, but it wouldn’t solve the problem of his legs. He just needs to briefly move his arms, hit the button located in his mask. In this state, Hal and Zatanna are nearly frozen in time, moving at the most minimal of speeds, acting more like frozen statues.

He quickly lifts his arm and twists the side of his mask, activating a faint communication, though one the Justice League would not receive. Once this is completed, time begins to return to its usual rate for Barry, his former friends going off like the villains they used to fight.

“We went through some wonderful changes, but we still fought the same battles, saved the same people.” Zatanna tells him, looking between Barry and Hal for a moment, starting to walk off in order to make sure their activity wasn’t bothered by any cautious individuals passing by.

Barry counted the timer in his head, there’s no way he wouldn’t hear it. He could see the light in the city. It was silent from where they were, but help was coming. He could beat them. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to die. He could be with Iris, doing something while he recovered.

“I pleaded for you, Barry. There isn’t anyone I wanted more to do this with, but…this is the only way.” Hal tells him.

“Yeah…Well, I’m sorry too!” Barry says, filled with more aggression. Right on time, a second streak of yellow and red blazes onto the boardwalk, stopping right in front of them, dawning a costume that was almost the same as Barry’s. This being Wally West, a.k.a. The Flash.

“Wally! You’re here!” Zatanna gestures for the protégé to follow her.

“What happened?” Wally asks.

“I don’t know! Some guy ran super-fast and pummeled him into the ground.” Zatanna tells him.

Barry’s eyes widen. Their composure, the preparedness of it all. This ambush wasn’t just meant for him.

“He needs medical attention. We can cover you if you need a route.”

“WALLY! IT’S A TRAP! GET OUT OF HERE!!!!” Barry screams at the top of his lungs. Hal shakes his head in disapproval, guiding his construct to accelerate and finish its current course. The wheels turn and travel up the speedster’s body, crushing his skeleton until his pleas go hushed.

“Barry…?” Wally widens his eyes in shock, glancing over at Zatanna and Hal with no idea on where to start. Two Justice Leaguers just killed one of their own, not to mention how close the three of them were. Their skin looks awfully pale, not to mention the red eyes. His first instinct is to run, common in a super-family like his.

Right as he gets his feet off the ground, generating enough energy to send him anywhere in the world, yet he wasn’t looking to run. He wanted payback for what they did. Zatanna tisks quietly, shaking her head. A part of her was hoping for more of a hunt, even with a best-case scenario like this. She reaches up for the brim of her magician top hat, lifting the accessory off her head and tossing it like a frisbee.

“Selkna ot slivna!” She calls out. A moment later, Wally drops out of his run, tripping and falling against the ground multiple times, having an impossible weight buried below. He tries to turn over and look below, noticing two cartoonish looking blocks of steel hooked to where his feet used to be. His legs attempt to move, but it seems he found a similar fate to his mentor.

“Y’know I thought about putting up a giant matte painting, but you’d probably just end up going right through it.” She tells him, not having moved from where she stood.

“Go to hell, Zee!” Wally cries out, grunting as his legs start to vibrate. He could phase out of the anvils.

“Already halfway there.” She tells him. Right on que, the hat she left floating in the air points towards the immobilized speedster.

“Dick says he’s sorry.” Air starts rushing through the empty space inside. The hat wasn’t very large, but with the limitless potential of magic, it was easy to conclude there was more than meets the eye. The air flow gets more intense, and Wally starts lifting from the ground, now being tossed into the vacuum that travels into her top hat. His body disappears into the much smaller headwear, despite the impossible physics of it all
.
The hat flies back to Zatanna, prompting her to grab it and face the remaining speedster. A second later, the sound of sawblades whirring and spinning echoes from the inside of her hat, followed by tormented screams as a result of excruciating pain. Zatanna feels a shift in weight in the hat, a splash of blood flies outward, violently hitting the ground beneath her. She holds her hand out in the red stream, coating it and raising it towards her lips, running her fingers against her tongue and teeth to taste the dead. She waits a moment before nodding in approval.

“Got a bit of a kick to it, you should try it.” Zatanna tells Hal, walking over towards the railing he leaned up against. “Ssalg,”

“Zee, I just killed my best friend.” Hal says with a frown, unable to take his eyes off the corpse dressed in red and yellow. Zatanna’s brief excitement started to die down, her gaze following his.

“Yeah.” Zatanna mutters under her breath, tilting the empty champagne glass in her hand. She’d be lying if she wasn’t feeling a similar remorse to Barry. Up until now, all her kills had been nobodies, individuals the world was ready to forget.
Zatanna repairs the dock with her spells, her voice wasn’t carrying the usual enthusiasm or charm put on during her stage acts. The damage against the boardwalk repairs itself, moving backwards in time to its former state. The remaining corpse of the speedster is whisked away and vanishes into thin air, leaving Hal and Zatanna alone where they started. The glass in her hand only becomes a reminder of her actions. It isn’t long until she chucks it behind, a splash following no louder than the average whisper.

They stand in silence longer than they realize, sometimes looking towards one another, only to shed their brief glimpse of heart for their actions. Their memories of Barry remain pleasant, untainted in ways even their physiology couldn’t alter. Both are eager to confess their regrets of the foul play committed, maybe then they could fix things, the way Barry or Wally could. Yet neither muster up the courage or willpower to say it.

The long silence is interrupted by a phone vibrating inside Hal’s suit. A quick conversation later, Zatanna takes them both back to the Crimson Collective’s fortress. After appearing in one of the many halls of the castle, Hal follows her to the chambers of their king yet doesn’t enter the doors. The bitter and conflicted silence remains between them. He looks at her for a moment, getting ready to speak, maybe even confessing his doubts, yet his willpower deflates. Zatanna is left alone before she enters.

Dick looks up as the door opens and stands from his throne, having changed into a far more formal attire compared to the fallen superhero look he’d introduced himself with, walking towards Zatanna as the two meet each other in the center of the room.
“Welcome back.” Dick says with a warm smile, though his remembrance of why Zatanna left curls it into a growing frown that he tries his best to mask. “Did you have any difficulties?”

Zatanna reaches for the top hat on her head, lifting it up and shaking it twice. Two rings fall out, both with the emblem of lightning belonging to two recently deceased speedsters. Each lands in Zatanna’s right palm, being held out on display.
Dick timidly takes the ring that looked most familiar to him, the one that belonged to his best friend. He tilts it closely for examination, half-tempted to chuck it out into the foreign fabric of reality that surrounded them. Yet, he keeps it, a reminder of the sacrifice that he’d never know was worthy. Dick’s hand curls into a fist, clenching the ring with a tight grip, though not enough force to destroy it. His hand reaches up, a gesture to compliment the fake clearing of his throat.

“I congratulate you and Hal on your efforts. Saying this wasn’t easy would be an understatement.” Dick says confidently, a usual habit he’d developed after years of leadership.

“Just…” Zatanna begins to raise her voice out of frustration, though quickly lowers it. “Grayson, promise me it wasn’t all for nothing. Not them. They can’t have died for nothing.”

“Zatanna, I would’ve given anything for Wally to be by my side. I’m sure you would’ve done the same for Barry.” Dick puts his free hand on her shoulder, looking at her with a legitimacy burned with a hidden guilt. “What you and Hal did had to happen. For us, for humanity—Everyone.”

Zatanna stands still, nodding her head. Dick mimics some of her actions until she’d found more of her strength, eventually retracting his hold.

“Now— There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Dick tells her, stepping towards the entrance of his chambers. Zatanna tags along with the king, somewhat skeptical of his intentions. Dick didn’t seem like the type to feed his loyal subjects to the more feral husks of the dead. Even with his determination to cross the line of superheroics, murdering his own seemed out of the question. For now, Zatanna feels safe with him.

They traverse to a different wing of the palace, carrying the same luxurious atmosphere that accompanied them on Dick’s previous tour. Dick and Zatanna stop at a wooden door, followed by him grabbing the dark steel ring in the center, knocking it twice along its surface. Zatanna was no stranger to the idea of the palace being enchanted, but the energy behind this door is fierce to a point she couldn’t predict. As the second knock hits, the door vanishes into thin air.

“Now, she might seem a little scary, but it’s important to remember we’re all brothers and sisters in arms.” Dick says with his usual confidence, walking through the doorway.

“I’m sorry, who is this exactly?” Zatanna asks, lifting up her cane and tucking it between her right elbow.

“Remember when I said no one here really understands magic, and that’s why I’ve brought you here?” Dick jests, shaking his head as they walk down a spiral staircase made of stone and brightened with mounted torches.

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s just say you’re not the only magic user I’ve got.” Dick says sheepishly, slipping his hands into his dark trench coat. Zatanna couldn’t help but freeze for a moment, her red eyes widening. She’d pictured a moment like this happening years later, perhaps at some cheap espresso bar retrofitted to serve bloodsuckers, two old spirits atoning for their actions—followed by an eventual confession. A part of her just assumed Dick and Hal were responsible, they were getting close anyhow, it might one day get her to forgive and forget.

While they reach the next door, Zatanna could hear a mumbled tune beating against the wall. She recognized it as Master of Puppets by Metallica, a song familiar to her more than she asked for, usually coming from wannabe magicians opening for her that acted more on injury rather than spectacle. As soon as it opens, the music grows in volume, stemming from a phonograph cylinder sitting on a piece of sturdy furniture, the song just wrapping up. The circular room reminds the sorceress of the coven in Greece, the attempt of keeping homey furnishings with a dark and empty space that’d been standing for hundreds of years. Like the rest of the fortress, it was bigger than any exterior nor matched blueprints of any kind. More importantly to Zatanna is the large cauldron in the center with purple colored energy spinning in an endless circle. Standing in front and facing away is a woman with short red hair, a gray blazer, matching trousers, and a white shirt underneath. She turns to face her new arrivals, her eyes the same piercing red.

“King Grayson. Ah, I see you’ve brought a new friend.” says sheepishly, looking back at the projection drifting above her. Zatanna recognizes her instantly. The spirit of evil that always steps in her shadow, the scheming that carried no end in sight.
“I wouldn’t say new, I believe you two have already met.” Dick adds.

“Circe…” Zatanna addresses the woman, taking a couple steps forward. Some of her tone comes from awe, though it’s consumed by a growing anger. Things started to make more sense but didn’t make her feel better. It was easy to concur that Dick’s army of vampires would fall in line, respect a hierarchy. Circe would never fit into a system like that. She would always find a way to rebel, a way to control.

“The one and only.” Circe replies. The voice. Zatanna knows it. It’s been in her head since the beginning. Circe killed Zatanna Zatara.

Chapter Text

Zatanna and Circe stood in silence. Circe could tell there was a flash of anger brewing in Zatanna, ready to blame all her problems on the Justice League Dark’s greatest foe. The phonograph in the corner began to play its next track.

Circe steps over to the magician, placing her pale hands against their shoulders. Even in the face of a victim, Circe wasn’t anxious or concerned, only lacking a proper burden.

“Grayson. Do you mind giving us some space? It’s been far too long since our last…tango.” She asks the vampire king, darting a look and a brief nod of her head.

“Of course. Don’t have too much fun.” Dick flashes a smile and turns to face the door, pushing it open and making his exit. All Zatanna could think about was turning every entrance into a bask of sunlight to incinerate them both. Circe is too smart for something so simple. Besides, there were only so many opportunities to get answers from a dead woman.

They both listen to the footsteps ascending the staircase, growing quieter with each one.

“I know what you did.” Zatanna says plainly, knowing Dick wasn’t in range of any conversations, feeling the grip on her cane grow more constrained.

“Oh? You’ll have to be more specific, daddy’s girl. Are you referring to the time I trapped you and forced you to kill the ones you love?”

“You were there. In Vegas.” Zatanna reaches for her shirt collar, revealing the two dots marked by the fangs of her killer. “I may not know what spell you used to fuck up my memory, but I know this was your doing.”

Circe lets out a singular laugh, retracting her hands and taking a step back.

“Look—I’m not expecting you to like me, but there’s worse fates out there. I mean, you could be actually dead, or forced on some eternal date with a guy who only wants to talk about the difference between the Sega CD and the 32X. Or perhaps, you could be forced to watch and relive the very large amount of shameful mistakes made throughout your life, cringing at every moment while you’ve been replaced by Lizzy Caplan and no one seems to care.” She jests, holding her arms together, drifting her attention towards the floor.

“Yet, I turned you, and set you free.” Circe adds.

“You turned me into a monster…”

Circe shakes her head, expressing her face to show a brief disapproval.

“Don’t be all self-righteous just because of our previous entanglements. You and I, we’re going to do fantastic things together for the Coalition. That is of course, if you want to work here.”

“…What are you really up to?” Zatanna says in a scolding voice.

“I’m serious.” Circe says with a friendliness to her, one Zatanna could see right through.

“No. No, no. Working under the gaze of man as some royal mage? C’mon, for you, that’s charity work.”

“Perhaps in my prior livelihood. Nowadays I’m doing soul searching that’s far less literal.” Circe claps her hands. Before Zatanna can even see the hands split apart, their location had completely changed. Gone was the small stone brick room in the vampire stronghold’s lower levels. They’d been taken to Circe's hideout, a large cavern littered with artifacts both modern and ancient. Circe and Zatanna had landed on a large sofa in the middle of the cave, the area the servant of Hecate commonly referred to as a living room. Zatanna couldn’t recall an instance where she positioned herself on Circe’s cushions. Yet, she remained there lounging.

“Normally you’d be right. I don’t trust monarchs.” Circe smirks, leaning further back into her couch while reaching over for the glass bottle on the coffee table in front of them. “But magic can be a weakness of all sentient things. Vampires are no exception. I want to show that magic can be their ally, a method that only requires a discipline to wield it.”

“Like a guide of light…”

“In the everlasting dark. Though nothing ultraviolet, we wouldn’t want to torch our finest supporters.” Circe twists the cap, smelling the scent of blood emitting from the bottle. “There’s also the problem with the human magicians.”

“I was at the Oblivion Bar. I wasn’t exactly discreet with my look, no one seemed to mind.”

“The war hasn’t reached them yet. Down the road of destruction and despair, the world of man will ask the sorcerers and spellcasters to deal with the vampire plague. Given their heroic instincts, most will accept their call to arms and join their crusade against those dreadful bloodsuckers. Even with all the different dimensions and planes in the universe, we all end up somewhere on this planet. Without our own magic users, we’ll likely be obliterated—Which is where you and I come in.” Circe tells her.

“You want to turn magic users into vampires.” Zatanna adds, leaning upright.

“The one’s that’ll submit to the process, yes. There’s of course people like The Spectre and Nabu, trying to kill them is going to create problems—Most we’ll be able to do is cut off their connection from this plane.”

“And let me guess, you’ll take charge as the senior witch who’s been undead the longest.” Zatanna says with some brass in her voice, whatever curiosity she had in Circe’s plan had worn off.

“I wouldn’t be so bad of a leader, but ultimately that’s up to them.” Circe tells her, watching the magician stand up.

“Forget it. I’m not putting myself or my connections in harm’s way just to satisfy your cruel desires.” Zatanna tells her bluntly, taking a moment to realign her top hat and grab her cane.

“You’ve drained enough bodies for them to put you in their crosshairs. They may hate me, but one way or another, they’ll come for you too.” Circe reminds Zatanna. The magician goes to hold her hand out, preparing herself to cast another spell, but stops after Circe speaks. There was some truth to what she said, but the last thing Zatanna was ready to do was trust Circe with anything.

“Ekat em emoh.” Zatanna says underneath her breath, a purple outline of light forms around her palm, replicating the shape of a doorknob. She twists it and opens a door out of nothing, transporting her to Shadowcrest.

Her arrival is quick and simple. She tosses her hat and cane, using her abilities to float them towards the coatrack besides her front door. Zatanna was temporarily free of the conflict between vampires and humans, she didn’t have to worry about turning heroes or casting sinister spells. Circe’s plan was growing more concerning. There were deep family ties to magic, whether it be her father Giovanni, or her cousin Zachary. Abandoning her life of heroism had already reached a point of no return, Zatanna found it difficult to apply the same principles to the boundless world of magic.

While roaming into her kitchen, she scratches her neck, precisely where Circe drained her. With new vampires like Zatanna, the itch along the bitemark took some time to go away, even with their rapid healing and lack of aging.

She pulls open her refrigerator door, finding that some of the produce had finally rotted. Zatanna shakes her head in disapproval, mostly at herself for failing to take care of food she couldn’t eat. Out of habit, she speaks backwards, reversing the fruit to its ripe and fresh condition. Despite its resurrection-like spell, bringing any produce to its fresh condition wasn’t deemed an act of dark magic. Even if plants were a living thing with connections to the Green, its products were bound by less fragile rules.

Zatanna could easily make objects a one-to-one duplication of something without consequence. She opens her fridge door again, reaching for the fresh and flawless surface of a carrot. She steps back and examines the orange texture in her hands, grazing her thumb against it.

“Torrac otni doolb gab.” She calls out quietly. With ease, the carrot vanishes with a puff of smoke clouding its escape. In place of the vegetable, a plastic pouch filled with blood, along with a label regarding its blood type. Zatanna had been casting replacement spells since her days as her father’s stage assistant, the work itself wasn’t difficult, but the simple act of creating blood without a host brought upon a moment of clarity.

“Warts.” She says, followed by a plastic straw landing in her free palm. She turns the bag over and jabs the straw inside, taking a slow sip. Using blood bags instead of feeding from a human stirred some controversy with the vampires. Blood that had been donated or siphoned into a package filled vampires from a nutritional standpoint but lacked the hunt and thrill of chasing their food. For someone like Zatanna though, she had a limitless supply. She has no plan to invoke dietary restrictions on her blood, but if she denounces King Grayson or the royal mage he carried with him, righting her wrongs for her victims, she wouldn’t have to kill again.

For the past week, the Justice League Dark had been operating from a defensive standpoint. They still knew very little about the vampire threat. Any intelligence around their whereabouts were very difficult. Given the lack of bodies when the subjects were disposed, autopsies proved to be impossible. The Department of Extranormal Operations shared some information, but still kept to themselves after the incident at Gotham General.

They started meeting in the daytime more frequently in order to stay one step ahead. Attacks were increasing, but never carried any visible connection to the Vampire King or his armies. Bobo had set up shop in the Hall of Justice’s basement, using the main area as a staging ground for theories and strategy. Not to mention the impromptu storage of alcohol.

His drinking and pondering are interrupted by an elevator ding. He looks up to see the doors slide open, with Diana on the other side. Carrying her joyful optimism, she walks up to Bobo, inspecting the whiteboards coated with photographs and excerpts from case files.

“Hey, princess.” Bobo says with a grin, twisting open the cap on his glass whiskey bottle.
“Bobo.” Diana adds, leaning against the table. “How goes the search?”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, the attacks aren’t out in the open yet. Our last supposed victim is Martin Graham, worked at the Stagg Industries branch in National City as an executive for Western Field Operations. Got the usual treatment, two puncture wounds in an artery, bled out in his car. Only one witness, a driver, and all he can really say was they ‘wore pitch black like Darth Vader’.” Bobo tells her, flipping through a folder and showing Diana photos of the incident. One of which being Martin’s corpse in the back of a limo.

“Another innocent dead for someone else’s stomach.”

“That’s the other thing. This guy? Total prick. His company seems to like him, but our dearly departed was a big backer of mass incarceration. Worked as an anonymous donor for California’s Three Strikes And You’re Out law in the nineties. He also happened to have large investment ties to Corleto Civil, and even pitched a purchase of Corleto by Stagg involving the acquisition of six private prisons in the great State of California.” Bobo adds, leaning back in his chair. “If a vampire hadn’t drained them, some other poor schmuck with a Glock and a missing twenty-five years of his life would have.”

“Do you believe there’s a link between the two?” Diana asks. The elevator doors close after remaining idle.

“No. But, I’ve found a good amount of vampires like to hunt for sport. There’s a certain thrill in chasing down some scared guy huffing and puffing for his life.” Bobo straightens out a few of the pictures, pointing his finger against them. “Dying in the back of a car doesn’t seem very exciting, regardless of if you’re a victim or a perpetrator.”

“Only a driver was present?” Diana asks, reaching over to pull a few of the photographs closer to her side.

“The right time to get him. Otherwise, our bloodsucker would’ve had to go through a lot more.” Bobo suggests.

“Then this wasn’t a random picking. This was planned. He was a target.” Diana pushes herself off the table, wandering behind Bobo for a moment. “Question is, would a vampire want to kill Graham for the same reason a human would?”
“He’s a rich and powerful man, but not what I’d call essential to human society—If the vampires were really putting together a world-domination plan, then it seems a little…” Bobo pauses himself, leaning back in his chair. His mind drifts into possibilities.

“What?” Diana asks. Bobo gets up from his seat and flips the whiteboard around to a blank side, reaching behind to grab a photograph, using a magnet to plant it there.

“We’re going to have to wait and see, but whoever killed Graham—I don’t think they were doing it to impress vampires.” Bobo looks towards Diana, going to grab a marker. Though as he reaches for it, he hears a wooden door spring open. A faint breeze that shuffles his work along the table. Diana and Bobo both turn towards the audible spring, looking to see the sharply dressed magician they all knew and recognized.

“Zatanna.” Diana says with some surprise in her voice. She hadn’t forgotten what Bobo had told her. Zatanna’s recent absence from the Hall wasn’t exactly deafening the accusations laid forth.

“Greetings.” She says with a friendly grin, glancing over at the paperwork scattered across the table’s surface.

“What’s all that?” Zatanna asks, idly tucking her cane along her right elbow.

“That’s—” Bobo begins to speak.

“Bobo and I were analyzing a vampire attack in National City. He thinks there might be a bigger motivation than just satisfying a thirst.” Diana quickly says over Bobo’s word. The intelligent chimpanzee scowled at Diana for a moment, but ultimately dropped it to keep up with appearances.

“Well, it’s just a loose theory. It’s completely possible someone just saw a guy in a parked car and thought—Hey, he looks tasty!” Bobo says in a somewhat nervous tone, stepping closer behind towards his documents in a hastily manner. An act Zatanna perceived as a flawed cover up.

“What brings you by?” Diana asks Zatanna.

“Oh—Kirk texted me, he said he had a lead on something?” Zatanna replies.

“First we’re hearing of it…” Bobo says, his tone growing more suspicious. Before he’s able to continue, the doors leading to the team’s quarters open, the odd appearance of Kirk Langstrom rushing in.

“Hey!!” He calls out, quickly heading over to the three of them, holding a digital tablet in his hand. “Just got a ping. Bus went off-route in Keystone, only to turn up downtown three hours later.”
“That doesn’t sound that weird.” Bobo adds.

“What if I told you the driver and passengers are now clawing people open and drinking their blood. Their police dispatch is losing it.” Kirk asks confidently.

“Then we better get to it. Contact Swamp Thing and tell him to meet us there. Zatanna?” Diana says, giving another casual look. With one nodding to the other, Zatanna approaches the center of the room.

“Latrop ot Enotsyek.” The sorceress says as she holds her hand out. Rather than being represented by a door, a more mystical and unknown gateway opens in thin air, just big enough for a group like theirs.

Feeling a need to win back trust from the team, Zatanna lifts herself off the ground, flying herself into the purple-colored gateway. With flawless precision, the three of them are transported to the American Midwest city of Keystone.

The gateway placed them towards the center of the city. Compared to Central City, located right across the river, Keystone carried much older architecture within its buildings. Signage for historic plazas or museums weren’t uncommon. The chimp, Amazonian, and magician step out onto the street, finding it occupied with fleeing civilians and abandoned cars, some of which had crashed into each other, or set aflame from pure untainted violence. The sun had set, and the skies are scorched with smoke, aiding those who live in the night. Evident by the number of corpses and lack of control, the police carried out little success in containing the situation. If the League didn’t act fast, the vampire plague would consume Keystone.

Most disturbing of all is the central sight the heroes are greeted by. A lone vampire hovering over the corpse of a dead man, drinking his blood until the skin is shrunken around the bones. Through the bloody fangs and piercing red eyes, they can only see a bloodlust of violence influencing them.

Zatanna considers her options. Sparing her kind would be too obvious, the rising body count with the humans isn’t stopping. Human deaths weren’t an obstacle for her, so why should vampires be an exception?
Right as the vampire hisses and charges at them, Zatanna raises her hand, flattening her palm.

“Tcurtsnoced!” She yells out. A bolt of yellow energy flies out from her fingertips, striking the vampire directly. To her expectations, the bloodsucker is completely eviscerated, leaving only smoke and ash to get swept up in the wind.
Bobo holds his hand out, the flakes of ash landing on him, his head tilting back to look towards Zatanna. His suspicions remain unchallenged.

Before anyone can speak, a primal voice of agony rings into the street. Lurking like bats, the vampires of Keystone perch atop fire escapes, looking down at the heroic trio from the rooftops. Diana and Bobo quickly unsheathe their blades. Bobo takes a more defensive stance, while Diana holds her sword with only a single hand. She marches closer towards the growing horde, watching them closely.

“Fuckin’ A…” Bobo watches the people assemble. He counts at least a hundred just in the streets.

“I am Diana of Themyscira. I suspect many of you have only recently been turned into what you are now. You are acting on an instinct you believe you cannot control, but I assure you there is always a way that does not resort to violence or savagery. Surrender and I promise you; I will treat you as the humans you once were, and you will not have to fear retaliation from those you serve.” Diana yells out, keeping her sword aimed towards the concrete she stands on. Her request is spoken from the heart. There was no desire to strike her blade, only an intention to protect those around her.

The vampires grow quiet, their composure growing less demeaning, but only for a moment. They soon leap off the roofs and walls, gliding downward with their claws and fangs, ready to tear apart their prey.

“I respect your compassion, Diana. You made the right decision.” Zatanna tells her, clapping her hands together, closing her eyes.

“I just wish they could see it.” Diana replies in defeat, raising her sword with a fight weighing on her conscience.

“Perhaps one day they will. You both should cover your eyes.” Zatanna says with some optimism, tightening the brim on her hat, closing her eyes. “Esir dna enihs!”

Right as the vampires crawl and claw their way towards the heroes, a ball of bright light explodes in front of them, creating a contained flash of sunlight. It consumes the entire city block, completely eviscerating the undead. Bobo and Diana kept their arms up, shielding their eyesight from the blast.

A minute later, the three of them open their eyes. The army of hundreds is now only smoldering remains, any trace of their being now only exists in memory. Zatanna blinks in surprise, finding herself without a scratch.
Bobo puts his sword away, taking a few steps forward. “Well—Shit, I guess that takes care of it. When did you get so powerful?”

“Two weeks ago. I’ve been touching up my spells to combat the undead.” Zatanna adds, glancing at the empty streets. “I might’ve gone a little overboard.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Nabu would’ve done the same thing, though he would’ve been twenty times more of an ass about it.” Bobo reaches within his inner breast pocket, retrieving his flask.

Diana keeps her sword drawn, moving down the streets while particles of dust and ash fall like snow. Her free palm extends, pinching some of it together. Zatanna carries no need to take a deep breath, though the worry she felt working with the two of them began to dwindle. Still, even with the illusions to convey a human presence, her senses are still enhanced. There is one target she missed.

The street itself is home to several businesses and restaurants, being closer to the center hub of Keystone. A good target for growing the horde. Villains in Keystone or Central City weren’t intergalactic warlords or clowns with enough explosives to level a district. They liked robbing and stealing for the sake of it, almost as if it were a sport.

One business in the block stands out amongst them all. Lampert Trust & Savings. For a group of undead focusing on attacking humans, Zatanna finds it odd that a bell is ringing inside of a bank. She scoops up her cane, glancing at the wandering chimp.

“Bobo!” She calls out, successfully getting his attention.

“Eerrraugh?” He turns his head, flicking his tongue along the roof of his mouth as a result of drinking.

“Come over here.” Zatanna says quietly. Bobo looks at Diana. Her focus is consulting survivors and talking to the first responders on what occurred. The chimpanzee shrugs and joins the magician, following her down the street.

“You’ve been on the team for a while, it’s fair to say we’ve fought our share of living nightmares and undead beasts?” She asks, her tone showing more amusement.

“Well yeah, it’s our job. A lousy one at that.” Bobo replies.

“And in the instances where we’ve fought vampires, there’s usually some kind of big bad leading them all. Nine times out of ten, the leader is faster, stronger, and doing everything with a clear conscience not found in the others.” Zatanna adds.
“Also correct.” Bobo twists the cap on his flask, pocketing it in his plaid green jacket.

“Then let me ask you, during this hour of peril and terror, who might be interested in robbing a bank?” Zatanna asks the chimp. The two stop in their tracks, standing about thirty feet from the entrance. Bobo squints his eyes, his line of sight peering inside the building. It is empty like the rest of the block, all its inhabitants were quick to evacuate once the clawing and biting started.

“…Fuck.” Bobo says quietly, growing more agreeable with Zatanna’s claim. The magician and the chimp enter the bank, the door slowly closing behind them. The alarm bell continues to ring, a deafening annoyance for the two. The bank itself is old, built with a high ceiling and concrete pillars, having been there for at least fifty years.

Just behind the teller stands, they could see the shiny round titan of a door, guarding millions of dollars. Zatanna puts her hands together, intertwining her fingers before stretching her arms out.

“I’ve always wanted to try this one.” She tells Bobo with a grin, flying her hands back like the performer she’s known for. “Nepo Emases!”

The vault door swings open, its large locks clicking in speeds it was not built for yet moved like clockwork. They’re greeted with an empty boxed room, the cash on the cards missing, some of the deposit boxes swept open. Before either one can enter, a small round pellet drops from the ceiling, rolling right at the tip of their feet.

“Get back!” Zatanna yells at the chimp, twirling her cane and slamming it towards the bottom of the ground, a yellow glow sparking to life upon impact. The pellet explodes, sending a cloud of smoke to engulf the bank’s interior. Around Zatanna and Bobo, an invisible dome protects them, keeping their oxygen and personal space intact. The smoke climbs and bends over the barrier, but never penetrates it.
Bobo gets his composure back together, walking back towards Zatanna, looking up as the smoke flies over them. There’s something oddly beautiful about it. The smoke didn’t carry an exclusive color or shade of gray. Instead, the magic users see the entire spectrum of a rainbow.

“Ekoms Eb Enog!” Zatanna cries out, her eyes briefly glowing a solid red. As per her backwards command, the colorful poison is whisked away, dispersing into an unseen vacuum that carries no physical presence.

The air becomes clean again. Zatanna and Bobo are confronted with the same colors, thrown onto a stream of solid light. Riding it like a surfboard, they find their hidden opponent. Even in only twenty-four hours, the lack of Flash sightings encouraged Keystone’s more amateur supervillains to take the initiative.

“A stage magician and a chimp to stop me?? Ha!” A valiant and loud voice shouts from the man facing them. Dressed in black, with elements of the spectrum on his costume and a special pair of goggles over his eyes, the Rainbow Raider walks upon his bridge of paints, a large duffle bag strapped to his shoulder.

Bobo and Zatanna both notice the fangs in his teeth when he talks, the paleness over his face and neck. He wasn’t trying to hide his vampire form.
“That’s it?! You let loose a bunch of feral vampires to rob a bank!?” Bobo shouts at the supervillain.

“Their timely deaths will be remembered in tales of legend! Even with my timely demise, the Rainbow Raider lives on!!!” Rainbow Raider yells back at the two heroes. Knowing time is against him, the colorful spectrum brews along his fingertips. The bridge of light zaps out from his hand, the beam of energy slams into Bobo, knocking him back into the brick wall.

“Ygrene otni tsud!” Zatanna shouts aggressively to the villain. After her spell is delivered, the bridge of energy dims like a light being shut off, its light being reformed into specs of dust, drifting away into the atmosphere. Rainbow Raider isn’t susceptible to the same laws of physics, falling fifteen feet from where he stood, landing with a grunt.

Bobo stands from the blast, though his posture is lacking, his arms reaching out to grasp something physical.

“Bobo? Are you—” Zatanna says with genuine concern. Even if their trust had grown fragile, the bond between the sorceress and the chimp would take far more to break.
“I’m okay, just make sure that rainbow prick doesn’t get away.” Bobo yells at Zatanna, using the same tone veteran trainers used with rookie boxers, rubbing two fingers against his eyes. She looks out, finding him running through the destroyed glass of a nearby office building.

Zatanna leaps into the air, flying over towards the building’s entrance, following his trail. The scent is still fresh, the feeling of arrogance and fright, merged with the missing characteristics of their new form. Often, vampires found one another by searching for what was lacking in someone.

She drops down to the dark marble floors of the building, her boots echoing loud enough in the dark complex. For someone as colorful and bright as the Rainbow Raider, he did a decent job at remaining hidden.
“Ekat em ot ym ymene.” Zatanna says. Within a blink of an eye, she’s taken five stories above to a den of office cubicles, all empty. The floor had been untouched since the building’s evacuation, most of the equipment remains on, though the lights ran into an unexpected power surge, clouding the large space in darkness.

Like an adult playing hide ‘n seek, the sorceress slowly and carefully explores the rows of cubicles, peering her eyes into each space.
“I picked up your scent—You’re one of us.” His voice calls out, causing Zatanna to briefly stop. “Yet, you’re helping them.”

“Think of me as an undercover operative. I know where my loyalties lie.” She says after continuing her pacing, looking over her shoulder from time to time.

“Lies! All those fresh bodies, wasted to protect your friends!” He cries out. “You killed them!”

“You didn’t care about bringing them to a new world or giving them a new lens to see through! You just wanted to rob a bank and use them as decoys!” She yells, growing closer to the source.

“Laever mih ot em.” She whispers, the volume nearly silent. Through the wall on her left, she sees a large oval only visible to her eyes, acting as a window to where the Rainbow Raider stands. His gloves resonate with energy. He was getting ready to attack her.
Peering into the nearest cubicle, she grabs onto a nearby pen, sneaking it inside her suit’s sleeve.

“I created the anarchy that the King wanted!” Rainbow Raider shouts, peering out from the corner, shooting a beam of light towards where he believes Zatanna is, brightening the dark office space. He soon lowers his gloves, hitting nothing.

“Yet fail to understand why it matters.” She says to him from behind. Right as the supervillain turns, Zatanna rips his goggles off with her free hand. He stumbles from the action, and from his moment of shock, she retrieves a newly crafted stake, magically transformed from the pen she acquired. It quickly pierces him, driving into his heart with no error.

Before he can let out any sort of scream, the living corpse of the Rainbow Raider is eviscerated, leaving behind a falling pile of ash, and the goggles Zatanna had yanked from his person.
While remaining in the office, she unhooks the window lock and steps out into the sky, letting gravity descend her towards the streets. Her flight powers bring her speed down, allowing her to return to the streets. From the view above, she could see a large patch of green standing next to Diana and Bobo.

The trio’s conversation ends when Zatanna drops down. They give her a neutral look, quickly adjusting themselves as if they discussed nothing.
“Did you get him?” Diana asks, holding her arms together.

“Put up more of a fight than I expected.” Zatanna nods, holding out the goggles of their enemy, letting the Amazonian collect them. “I take it there’s no more?”

“We got what we could. The remaining are either on the run, or in hiding.” Diana glances back at the chaos that had once swarmed the street they stand on. “Supervillains with the bloodthirst of a vampire. This is most concerning.”

“Rainbow Raider told me he only wanted to create anarchy—All this for stealing from a bank.” Zatanna gestures with her cane, wandering close to her group. “What I can’t understand is why the vampire leadership would allow this. Hasn’t there been a decline of crime as of late?”

“Perhaps it's more of a deception to make us lax. Tricking your enemy into an illusion of advantage, then taking them out of the equation right before they realize it's a deception.” Diana adds.

“Still—The robbery. Even if the new leadership is some kid, they’ve gotta have connections to someone that’s been around for centuries with loaded pockets—Most it boils down to is a dead thief acting on an urge to steal from an institution. ” Bobo says.

“Because the robbery is irrelevant.” Zatanna replies. “We were brought here by design. Someone wants to keep the Justice League Dark busy.”

“If this attack really was meant to occupy us...” Diana steps forward some more, glancing at the recovering citizens. “Then what is it they don’t want us to find?”

Since the attack at Gotham General, the East Coast lit up with sightings and victim reports of vampire attacks, missing person reports continue to stack up on the desks of police stations. The Court of Owls resumed their patrols of Talon operatives, keeping themselves within Gotham City limits, going after groups of bloodsuckers without alerting the city or its protectors. Though even with an organization as discreet as the Court, individuals like Batman and Jim Gordon were growing suspicious of the lack of bodies at crime scenes. The caped crusader was beginning to investigate the possibility that war with the dead was coming.

Many of the city’s vigilantes are quick to resume their patrols, one of which being Helena Bertinelli, known to many as the Huntress. While she considered herself an ally of Gotham’s heroes, taking orders from them was a more complicated matter. Her focus wasn’t on the growing silence of Gotham’s underworld, but rather the sister city across the river. Where Gotham was having Court activity and hospitals full of vampires, Blüdhaven went oddly quiet.

Implementing her skills as an agent of Spyral, Helena set up several surveillance stations along Gotham’s harbor, monitoring the neighboring city while she conducted more in-depth patrols of Gotham City. Three days had gone by, and the results brought some concern.

Another day goes by. Nighttime falls. She remains perched above a rooftop, listening to the rainfall pour. Her work was getting lonesome. There was the issue of trust. She considered asking Nightwing for assistance, given their history. However, his statement regarding Blüdhaven’s condition felt contradictory. Something was being hidden, but she’d need a voice that was unrelated.

In the corner of her eye, a green flame burns through the sky with a far less noticeable caper following behind it. Helena keeps a hand on her crossbow, watching the two entities grow closer. Right as they land, the bright green flame dies out, revealing a much simpler getup of a green corset and jacket. Following her is a heroine with a costume developed more on the scientific side, sporting the colors of black and white. Huntress recognizes them as Fire and Doctor Light but remains unsure on why they’re there.

“The moon is often changing.” Fire tells the vigilante.

“But never enough to make you curious.” Helena replies, loosening the grip on her crossbow. “I was expecting something more discreet.”

“It was the quickest way to get here. What’ve you got?” Fire asks, moving closer to the surveillance equipment.

“It’s about that.” Helena points out towards the river, gesturing towards the city out of their reach. “There’s been reports of violent attacks from vampires all over the East Coast, but Blüdhaven? Radio silent.”

“It’s possible they’re keeping it quiet for their own safety.” Doctor Light suggests to Helena.

“I was thinking that too, but it’s bigger than that— I don’t think there’s any humans coming in or out of the city.” Helena adds.

“What?” Fire says with some bafflement.

“I’m serious. I rigged this camera to go off every day at exactly 1:45 P.M. and 8:45 P.M. for the past four days.” She retrieves a smartphone from her utility belt, accessing the device’s digital gallery, and displaying her results. The daytime photos are the same across four days, a man walks across the street, with a red sedan stopping at the intersection. The nighttime photos were more varied, different individuals, cars stopped in alternate directions.

“Exact same placement on each of the daytime pictures. No imperfections, no delays, they’re always operating on a synchronized schedule.” Helena tells them, putting her phone away.

“That doesn’t mean the whole city’s gone berserk. Have you tried contacting anyone inside?”

“Have I tried—Yes! No one inside answers. I’ve asked people to travel into Blüdhaven, but no one manages to get past city limits. I even did it myself, but I ended up rushing back home because I thought my stove was on.”
“It doesn’t look that bad from up here.” Fire tells her.

“It’s not something physical. I believe there’s some kind of…barrier that’s telepathically telling people to turn around without ever saying a word. Whenever they return to Gotham, they say the road is closed, or they missed a stop.” Huntress adds.

“Alright. What’s the plan then?” Doctor Light asks.

“I’ve got a boat with an autopilot. All three of us will get hit with tranquilizers and render us unconscious for the trip. Once the boat docks in Blüdhaven, I’ll have an alarm wake us up.” Huntress tells them. “After that, we’ll be doing reconnaissance. I think it’s best if we look for whatever is generating the barrier.”

“And what’s that supposed to look like?” Fire asks.

“Could be a single individual but altering the mind at such a scale— something capable would require a lot of energy.” Huntress places her attention towards the city again. “We don’t know what we’re up against. Remember that we’re just observing, don’t engage with the enemy unless you’re recognized.”

“I think I know a different way of getting into the city.” Doctor Light tells the others.

“I’ve got the boat ready; it isn’t a problem—”

“What is it?” Fire asks.

“Well, light is a physical particle that travels on our plane, and we’re all made up of atoms that can be transformed or condensed. I could, theoretically, convert all of us into energy small enough to pass through the barrier, and reconvert your atoms to their original state once we’re on the other side.” Doctor Light suggests.

Fire and Huntress both squint at Doctor Light, giving each other an equal look of confusion.

“Teleportation.”

“Ohhhh….” They collectively let out.

“Shit, I like that more than whatever she’s got.” Fire gestures to Huntress, failing to stop herself from forming a grin.

“Oh, come on! My plan is solid, and has far less of a chance to get everyone trapped in a neon sign.”

“Your plan involves knocking us out and hoping an alarm is stronger than tranquilizers. Plus, she’s a doctor, you can sue her for malpractice if it goes wrong.” Fire tells Huntress, stepping over in Doctor Light’s direction. Huntress sighs and follows the green-haired spy.

“Not if I’m a bunch of particles...” Huntress mumbles to herself. The three of them stand in a circle, soon holding each other’s hands with a trust that is skeptical at best. After two deep breaths, Doctor Light recognizes their placement as humans and the destination they wish to visit. Blüdhaven’s standout building is the East Raven Casino and Hotel, standing forty stories tall. Its animated neon sign of a crow snatching poker chips is visible even to the Gotham citizens across the river.

The existence of the three heroes is broken down into a ball of light. Like a comet exploring the solar system, it soars across the night sky, flying over the ocean blue beneath them. The ball lands atop the rooftop of the hotel, the matter and atoms are redistributed, the outline and physical inner workings of the heroes are rearranged. Whether it was two seconds or three minutes, the passage of time felt non-existent to their compressed atoms.

Fire and Huntress step away from Doctor Light, looking around with a disorientation in their primary senses. Even in their moment of clouded perception, they can see they very much made it to the other side. No one gained a sudden urge to rush back home or check on car troubles that weren’t real. Huntress had breached the city that was more than the naked eye gave credit for.

Their attention floats towards the streets below. Clean and true, no signs of distress or illusion. They’d catch a glimpse of humans walking up and down the sidewalks. To the spies and doctor, it felt too good to be true.
“I’m not sure your intellect improves when you’re turned. Maybe we should bring fake teeth next time, I bet it could fool them.” Fire suggests in an amused tone.

“That plan’s gonna fall apart when someone asks us to turn into a bat.” Doctor Light tells her.

“In that case, maybe we should get J—” Fire suggests before being interrupted by a sudden throat clearing next to her, followed by Light shaking her head. Huntress may have contacted the D.E.O.’s team of newly deputized hunters but lacked knowledge of any secrets between them.

“Right...” Fire nods her head, taking a sharp inhale. By the time they finished talking, Huntress had perched herself over the roof, her eyes glued to a set of binoculars.

“Now, if we were the source for a big barrier, where would we be?” Huntress asks, turning a dial to zoom the lenses.

“I’d imagine there’d be a conductor large enough to channel the right amount of energy. If we locate one, I should be able to track its signature.” Doctor Light tells them, turning around and leaning against the rooftop edge.

“Blüdhaven’s pretty old, yeah? I’d like to think whatever bloodsuckers are cooped up in here probably want something underground.”

“Hmm.” Huntress squints her eyes. She puts her binoculars away, going to retrieve her phone, tapping it a few times before putting it up to her ear. “I hope this doesn’t bite us in the ass—Or neck.”

“Operator.”

“Babs, it’s Huntress. I’m following up on a lead and I need a list of the oldest buildings in Blüdhaven that are still standing. Try narrowing it down to areas that could house underground levels, or capable of handling large volumes of energy.”

“I’m on it. What’s going on over there?”

“Just following a lead, potential spot on where some missing persons might’ve ended up, though I’ve got a feeling it’s a fluke.” Huntress drifts her attention back over at Fire and Doctor Light.

“Right. I’ll get the list, but off the top of my head, I’d check out the Georgina district. It used be the center of industrial work and got paved over in the late 90s. Now it’s a bunch of overpriced lofts and cafes named after factory puns.”

“Thanks, I’ll check it out.” Huntress says before hanging up the phone, pocketing it shortly after. The trio then departs the rooftop, leaping towards neighboring high points within the city. Fire’s flight abilities created far too much noise and light to keep their actions concealed, and to her protest is carried over by Doctor Light.

The more they traveled, the more normal the city’s quietness became. Blüdhaven’s population is in the hundred thousands at least, to think everyone there had been either killed or turned without anyone knowing was a cruel thought to them.

“It should be over here.” Huntress points towards a set of buildings, isolated from the busier roads by three blocks, hiding in plain sight. By her findings, Oracle’s information is accurate, but there is one building that stands out from the rest. One only a couple stories tall and carrying a large radio tower atop.

“There.” Huntress retrieves her binoculars again, smiling at the discovery.

“A radio tower? Seems a little on the nose if you ask me.” Fire adds, resting her hands on her sides.

“There’s a strong power surge below. I can tell.” Doctor Light tells them.

“Doctor. Watch the skies, let us know if there’s a problem. Fire, you’re with me.” Huntress says, getting out a grapple gun, extending her hand out. Fire sighs again, mumbling nonsense in Portuguese.
Fire and Huntress soon arrive at the back entrance of the radio station. Huntress goes to the door and works on picking the lock. Fire positions herself behind the closest wall, watching the alleyway closely. An operation on this scale was bound to have big players. She kept wondering to herself if they were walking into a trap. It was far too easy, especially with a compromised Justice League on her mind.

The doorknob clicks. Huntress slowly enters, doing her best to make as little noise as possible, with Fire following her lead.

The interior is what they expect, framed portraits of previous disc jockeys and show hosts, bookshelves stacked with CDs and cassette tapes, not to mention several recording booths lined up along the corridor. The carpet floors allow them to sneak by with next to no volume. The speakers above them are playing the feed, which consists of primarily pop songs. Huntress even notices one of the ‘ON AIR’ signs still burning bright with a neon red. She carefully approaches the window, noticing a man talking with his voice being played back above them.

“…You’re listening to 81.6 WJMP, Blüdhaven’s oldest and number one station for nonstop pop! It’s almost eight o’clock which means we’re going to go ahead with our station give away, two tickets to the Taylor Swift: Rann With It concert at the Wayne Foundation Arena! Make sure to call in at…”

Finding the man in the booth preoccupied, Huntress peers her head around the corner, noticing a closed door. While approaching it, she retrieves her crossbow, holding it closely in one hand while opening the entrance with the other.
She’s quiet enough for the two security guards in the room to fail noticing their station had been breached. One sat in a chair, while the other hovered above him, holding a smartphone playing a video. Both in gray uniforms with black Kevlar vests. The two of them started laughing, paying little mind to the grid of camera feeds in front of them.

Huntress notices a couple steps, recognizing them as Fire’s boots. She gives a simple nod, pushing the door further open, tiptoeing their way in. The standing guard swipes his finger upward, showing another video. Huntress observes them for another moment, deciding to take a more passive approach. The bolt in her crossbow is swapped, a shorter one with a sharp needle, rather than the spear-like structure her victims had encountered.

For the silence to remain intact, Huntress’ timing would have to be just right. Taking a deep breath, her finger presses against the trigger. The dart shoots out, hitting the sitting guard’s shoulder without a hassle. He looks up at the guard in confusion, rubbing the impact point. While he does this, a second dart fires, hitting the standing guard just below the neck. The first target passes out before he can do anything, the second is about to reach for his radio, alerting others to the security breach. Huntress walks up and quickly catches the second man before he falls, dragging him over to the side of the room.

Fire walks up to the table towards the back of the security station, observing the camera feeds. What she sees is far more sophisticated than any radio station she knew. Massive corridors made of concrete, embedded into rock, along with frequent guard postings, far bigger than the building they stood in.

“This place is massive. No wonder they didn’t want anyone coming into the city. It’s a miracle this place is a secret to begin with.” Fire tells Huntress, finding a map plastered on the wall. She drags her finger along the outline, getting familiar with the layout.

“It’s gonna have to remain one for a little longer. You got a handler you can trust?” Huntress asks, removing the equipment from the unconscious body.

“Sort of. I haven’t known ‘em for too long, but I trust them to keep their end of the bargain.” Fire watches her colleague’s actions, stepping over to the other guard. She removes her green jacket before undressing the other guard.

“Ouch. You got blackmailed into it?” Huntress asks with a hint of curiosity.

“Nah, nothing like that. We’re on the same team, might as well work with someone with resources.” Fire grins. Huntress shakes her head and grins back.

The door opens. Fire and Huntress make their exit, now dressed as the guards they incapacitated and only carrying the necessary equipment. They’d both tied their hair back, letting a cap sit over their scalps. Fire guides Huntress down another corridor, guiding them to a large service elevator.

The two of them enter, swiping the keycard they pocketed along the reader. The machine flickers a green light, the elevator begins its descent shortly after. Huntress taps an earpiece on the right side of her head.

“Doctor. We’re headed deep underground. If we’re not back in an hour, get out of the city.” She says into it, looking up as the lift went further down.”

Kimiyo hums to herself, floating passively in the sky with her gaze on the stars. She couldn’t help but think about her daughters and son. Next thing she knows, her smartphone is in her hand, swiping her thumb at the gallery of family photos she’d collected over the years.

She soon gets a message through her earpiece, clear to her as the voice of Huntress.

“Got it. Get back in one piece, yeah?” Kimiyo tells her, letting go of the piece, the transmission falling silent. She takes another deep sigh, turning herself vertically before flying over the city. To her growing expectations, the city remains quiet. No crime, no poverty. Just a society of undead beings living in harmony. A peace like that is tempting, though impossible to forget the skulls buried beneath the concrete. Luckily for her, no one ever looked up.

She places herself back down on a nearby rooftop, kicking her boot along some of the piled-up asphalt, whistling a tune to herself. Kimiyo continues to observe, but quickly finds herself drawn to the three distant pops, followed by a set of car tires screeching loudly. Leaping off the roof once again, resuming her flight, this time headed in the direction of the commotion.

Her search came to a slowdown at the sight of two police vehicles, both flashing their overhead lights with no one inside. Then came another pop. Followed by another. Now she could hear shouting, likely the officers from the vehicle.

Stopping at an alleyway, she sees four uniformed police officers, chasing after a blonde woman dressed in a suit, wearing a pair of square sunglasses. Her jacket had been replaced with a Kevlar vest. They stop at the entrance of the narrow walkway, pelleting the zone with bullets towards their suspect. Holding a shotgun, the woman fires off a blast at the officers. The pellets from the shell hit the chest of one, his body falling back from the impact, disintegrating into dust.

“Hey!” Kimiyo shouts with a grin. The officers turn around. Pale skin, sharp fangs, red eyes. Easy to say they were hunting. Despite her affiliations, fighting vampires is a first for her. Her powers soon charge through her gloves. One vampire begins to charge, leading Kimiyo to blast all three with a beam of solar energy. The woman looks away from the brightness, holding her arm up to her eyes.

When the light dies down, she steps forward, narrowly avoiding the recent piles of ash left behind by Kimiyo’s attack.

“Thanks for saving my ass. You look familiar—You uh, ever been to Metropolis?” The woman asks, idly loading an extra shell into her weapon.

“A few times. Who might you be?” Kimiyo asks. She isn’t entirely sure to trust her, but given her lack of fourth-degree burns, she decides to make the best of it.

“Commissioner Maggie Sawyer. Or I guess now former commissioner.” She tells her. “Think I’m starting to understand why the office has such a large turnover.” She says with a smirk.

“What happened?”

“Well, I’ll happily tell you, but first we better get off the streets.” Maggie tells the newcomer, advancing her way through the back alley. Kimiyo quickly looks at her phone lock screen. Time is running short, but if there really are other humans stuck in the city, it’s worth the risk.

Chapter Text

The pillars of steel screech as the lift slows down, the service door swings open vertically. Remaining disguised as the enemy, Huntress and Fire begin their exploration of the hidden fortress. The more they explored, their disbelief that such a place could even exist this long grew. The corridors are large enough to be a tunnel for trucks, the ceiling standing fifty feet above them, the walls built of unearthed rock supported by steel and concrete.

More distinguishable was the large red banners dangling over the scaffolds above, marked with the fanged bird emblem of the Crimson Coalition. To the two spies, every second spent in this place felt like a death sentence waiting around the corner.

“Did you get a location for what we’re looking for?” Huntress whispers, turning a corner into a tighter hallway.

“It’s on the other side of this floor. We can just go straight down this hall.” Fire replies, retrieving her smartphone out of her right pocket. She pulls up a photograph of the map she found upstairs, using her fingers to zoom in.

“Right. Let’s keep our heads down.” Huntress states, straightening out some of her disguise.

Following the end of the tunnel like suggested, Fire and Huntress do their best to keep a low profile. Their attention shifts towards potential exists if things go south, along with corners where someone could easily sneak up on them.

Fire squints her eyes as they walk forward. It was becoming audibly clear that their footsteps weren’t the only ones in the tunnel. She could see their silhouettes, two individuals. They wore a similar uniform, but lacked the security equipment they were wearing.

“Door on the right. Two o’clock.” Fire tells Huntress. Through the small vertical window, she could see the door led to something more than just a room or closet space.
Without any question, Huntress follows the suggestion of the metahuman, turning towards the door and swiping her keycard along the scanner. To their relief, the scanner accepts the card. A faint click is heard within the door. Fire and Huntress soon make their way inside.

Fire continues the journey. The hallway is far smaller than the tubular roads they were on, sporting white and blue colors, giving off a more relaxing and calmer environment. The hum they heard in the tunnels wasn’t nearly as loud either. The duo soon realizes this corridor leads to a large laboratory.

The end of the hall takes them to a laboratory. Fire and Huntress enter, examining the sterile environment. Fire did what she could to document her findings, silently using a smartphone camera to photograph. From their observations, the laboratory specialized in bloodwork. What stands out most to them is a large refrigeration unit, storing blood at 42 degrees Fahrenheit. Fire inspects the contents carefully, sorting through the bags. Each package is unique, some carrying a sharper tone, others a completely different color altogether.

Right as she’s about to take another picture, the two spies hear someone approaching. Keeping their silent routine, they retreat into a nearby room, illuminated only by a single red light.

The door to the laboratory slides open, a man with a buzz cut and a lab coat enters. His focus is distracted, operating on a familiar routine that he’d run a hundred times before.
Fire takes another set of photographs. She can’t help but notice the lack of pale skin, or any real features to distinguish him from a human. Given the distance between her and the scientist, it was strange that her scent hadn’t been detected.

To keep herself hidden, Fire backs up from the door, distracted by the circumstances she’s put herself in. Her attention is quickly broken by her rear tapping the edge of a metal tube. She’s startled, turning herself around to see she bumps into a massive test tube, big enough to fit her or Huntress within.

Fire puts her hand on the glass. Inside is a human male hooked up to multiple tubes within the machine, floating within a large amount of clear liquid. What makes him stand out from other beings captured by the undead, is the scales aligned along his neck.

“Meu Deus…” Fire whispers, taking a step back. “These are Atlanteans.”

Huntress turns around, hearing Fire’s moment of shock. She finds there are multiple pods with similar circumstances. Some are filled with a strange liquid to keep the subjects alive. Others are drained of liquid, only containing the carcasses of the failed tests from the scientists. One that catches her attention is the body of a White Martian, warped and bent as a result of the vampire strain. A process in which he did not survive.

“Aliens, Metahumans—They’re seeing who survives the process.” Huntress replies in the same voice, taking a step back from the chambers of bodies.

Even as the city’s police commissioner, Maggie Sawyer never relieved the feeling of being a foreigner in Blüdhaven. Even with the bright lights and delicate roulette wheels, there was always a disgusting parasite that touched anyone who stepped foot in it. Maggie trusted the law more than people, a choice that managed to keep her and friends out of jail. A city like Metropolis didn’t have such problems. Sure there was a doomsday plot ready to wipe out half the population, or maybe Warworld entered the atmosphere—Possibilities were dangerous, but the city’s hope of survival and prosperity was stronger. It was almost as if Superman absorbed sunlight for his powers, and that same energy reflected onto the citizens of Metropolis. Bitterness, selfish actions, greed—It all seemed like a distant threat that never successfully entered. A true city of tomorrow.

It was hard to believe that two weeks ago, Maggie Sawyer discovered her colleagues and subordinates weren’t people at all. It was hard to believe she was shooting most of them with silver, and using specially engineered sunglasses to identify which ones would claw her chest open. And now it was hard to believe someone across the river noticed that the city they saw was only smoke and mirrors.

Her and the white and black clad heroine navigate the emptier streets, checking their corners constantly. The police had switched up their tactics, blocking off major exits while sending patrol cars to slowly examine alleyways. After waiting a solid minute and hearing no traffic, Maggie begins to cross the street.

“How long has it been like this?” Doctor Light asks Maggie.

“I noticed it three weeks ago. B.P.D. raided a terrorist cell operating just north of the city, and without my knowledge I might add— Mayor Zucco and that Nightwing kid were very insistent that it was a drug bust.”

“Nightwing?” Doctor Light says with a surprise in her tone.

“Yeah—Believe it or not, he’s one of them.” Maggie grabs onto the temple of her sunglasses, dragging them down. “These got mailed to my desk shortly after the raid, let me see who’s really alive. You passed the test, by the way.”

“In all honesty, with this kind of operation, how well it’s been planned out? I wouldn’t cross out this having been going on for three months, maybe even a year.” Maggie responds, keeping her shotgun close. “Been trying to get as many real people out of the city as possible.”

“You have an out?” Kimiyo says with some positivity.

“There’s a sealed off tunnel that runs just below the river, just follow the tracks and don’t look back.” Maggie turns to her right. Towards the end of the street is a large shopping center, the large store signage devoid of any electric currents. Keeping the same pace, she cautiously walks towards it, keeping the same hurried pace.

“So, how’d you get in here?” Maggie asks.

“I condensed my atoms into light and channeled them into the city.” Kimiyo says with no reluctance. Maggie looks at her with bemusement, an emotion that develops a faint silence joining the two.

“Oh—Okay.” Unsure of what to do, Maggie sways her jaw in one direction, nodding her head. “And given you didn’t show up here with the National Guard, I’m guessing you didn’t get the hundred calls I tried putting out.” Maggie clarifies.

“Trust me, someone would’ve been here a lot sooner if we did.”

“Hey, I’m just glad somebody was smart enough to send you.” Maggie comes to a halt, having placed herself in front of the mall’s entrance. The entrances and windows were boarded up. The mall itself was on the verge of demolition, having been closed months ago.

Maggie lowers herself next to the pair of doors, gently pushing onto the wooden panel barricaded over where the glass once was. She holsters her gun and climbs through the square frame, holding the placement up for her brief companion.

As soon as they step in, the air feels stuffy. The entrance is nearly pitch black. The only thing guiding them is a faint hue of orange light coming from further down. Doctor Light stands on her toes, her body beginning to float upward, flying towards the center of the mall. Below she sees a large group of encampments. Inside and around are a large number of humans, most dressed modestly with half decent hygiene or minimal wear and tear. Refugees in a territory that sees them as livestock.

What worried Doctor Light the most was how young some of them were. Many were families, separated from siblings or close relatives. They lack the spirit to reclaim their streets from the cold and dead. All they can do is survive.

“Hey, you’re back!” Maggie hears a voice right as she stops next to the railing. Darting her head down, she sees a short-haired woman with blue hair, dressed in a with a gray hoodie and a distinct trucker hat on her scalp.

“Did you find anything?” The young woman asks Maggie, ascending the staircase.
“Building was empty, and a patrol flagged my car, but I think I found something better.” Maggie says, gesturing towards her new friend, who had moved closer towards her.
“This is Doctor Light. Doctor, I’d like you to meet Shawn. She’s the one that found this place.” The officer tells her.

“So, what, you’re like a real deal superhero?” Shawn nods, glancing at the heroine with some suspicion.
“For now. Metropolis gets pretty good coverage nowadays; I usually remain on reserves.” Doctor Light tells her.

“Metropolis?” Shawn’s eyes brighten with excitement, her hands clapping together once. “No shit—you’re an outsider! Does anyone else know we’re stuck here? Or wait—Is there a war going on, is that why no one’s shown up—”

“Shawn.” Maggie says sharply, pouting directly towards her.
“Right. My bad.” Shawn’s voice grows more with disappointment.

“Commissioner!” A masculine voice calls out. Maggie and Doctor Light dart their heads, greeted by a male dressed in similar clothes to Maggie, draped over with the same trademark police vest. The utility pouches once carrying military equipment had now been swapped for wooden stakes and small bottles of holy water.

“…Fuck.” Maggie whispers under her breath, pinching her eyes at the idea of talking with him. “Alright. Shawn, give the good doctor the premium tour. I better take care of this.”

She leaves Shawn and Doctor Light alone, going to talk with the fellow officer. The more juvenile woman begins to pace briskly in the lower level of the mall, with Doctor Light following along.

“What’s that all about?” Doctor Light asks.

“That’s Alphonse. Some of the people here aren’t too happy at the idea of leaving the city behind.” Shawn replies.

“They haven’t seen it from above. It’s like the entire city is your enemy.”

“Sure, but Maggie is an out of state transfer that’s been here for barely a year. To them, she’s a bitchy supervisor that’s got no stakes in this place.” Shawn says with some confidence.

While the two explore the floor, Doctor Light can’t help but feel she’s being watched. Wherever Kimiyo’s eyes landed, her soul felt tested. The mall’s interior was holding people in conditions it wasn’t built for. Some spirits remain vibrant, seeing it all as a test to keep their spirits up. A necessity for the many families looking for safety. Others are drifters with worn out sneakers, the hope of survival dying within.

Kimiyo can’t help but wonder if she is approaching this the correct way. She wasn’t here to save them. She believed their day would come, that one day the remaining populace of Bludhaven could come and go as they pleased, that they would look up in the sky to see someone like her, and all their doubts would be flushed into the wind. She knows espionage is a risky business, entire nations are at risk, a lot of people could die if things don’t go as planned. Three heroes couldn’t evacuate a city foreign to them in five minutes. The people of Bludhaven would have to wait, they’d have to hold out until someone can accommodate them, keep them safe beyond city limits.

Although for superheroes like Doctor Light, there’s no time like the present.

With some lengthy patience, the man in the lab coat departs his workstation. Feeling confident in their assessment and lacking a desire to leave a room full of bodies, Fire and Huntress quietly exit the storage area.

“How long until we reach the device?” Huntress asks her counterpart.

Fire reaches for the phone in her pocket, quickly scrolling her thumb along the screen until she finds a specific image.

“There’s an exit on the north side of the wing, we just head for the tunnel, then follow a flight of stairs, and we’ll be right there.” Fire tells her, getting closer towards their first step.

“What about some kind of data storage area?” Huntress replies. The question throws Fire off.

“There’s one just on the right, but why would you go there? We’re here to find a way to shut down the barrier.” Fire states.

“A waste of time. Cameras already picked us up by the elevator, it’s only a matter of time before someone finds two piles of ash upstairs.” Huntress stops at the exit, pushing her palm against the door handle, leading them into the mentioned tunnel.

“But we need that intel!” Fire says with some worry in her voice. Even if her voice was raised, it remained at the volume of a loud whisper.

“We’ll still get it.” Huntress reaches into the pouch of her stolen security gear, taking out a small USB dongle. “This can mine out all the data kept on their servers, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

“There’s no guarantee the device is stored there. Not to mention we have a third operative that’s completely on her own, we need concrete proof!” Fire continues to whisper loudly, both of them looking off to see if someone heard them.

“Alright— Get photographs of the device, I’ll head for the server room. Meet back at the elevator in twenty minutes."

Fire looks back and forth between Huntress and the almost empty tunnel behind her, taking a deep breath.

“Fine. You better be there.”

The two spies venture off. Before exiting the scientific wing, Huntress noticed a bundle of network cables leading into a petite dark pipe mounted on the ceiling, following it to see where the flow of data led towards. The stolen keycard from the guard she replaced managed to get her inside. To her expectations, the room is compact, dark, and most of all, cold. The devices were small in number, but carried a large load of data, needing a significant drop in temperature for cooling. When she takes a breath, she sees a small cloud push past her lips. The computer towers are quite large, monoliths of digital information that have no limits.

She slides the drive into an empty port on the computer. The computer monitor towards the side lights up, displaying a program only one person on this planet could write. For now, all she has to do is keep her guard up.

Fire’s route proves to be quicker but leads to more close calls. Security is tighter, whether it be guards or cameras, the people that ran this compound weren’t interested in potential strangers discovering their methods of indoctrination and deception. Still, being a former Justice League member and Checkmate operative, Beatriz has her methods.

Finally, she reaches the cause of it all, a massive conductor of energy. A giant bronze cylinder, filled with a mixture of gas and electricity, creating an illusion for the outside world. Having accessed a maintenance area, Fire stands on one of four catwalks, watching from above. To avoid the sight of being immediately discovered, she begins to climb onto the scaffolding holding the ceiling together, perching directly over the device. The position is dangerous, if her grip were to slip, the fall would be fatal.

Carefully and slowly, Fire retrieves a much smaller device compared to her smartphone. A micro camera able to take photographs of far higher quality. She’s able to grab what she needs from the device, using the limited number of images carefully. Before she’s about to take a final photograph, she hears a door open, though not from the maintenance corridors like she expected. Someone is entering the room. Scratch that. Multiple people are.

Fire climbs over towards the other side, giving her a better view of the new arrival. The man who entered wears a flat mask with no characteristics, except for two holes for visibility, along with a checker pattern costume. On two of the squares, she could see different emotions depicted, joy and sadness. The man manipulating feelings, changing the minds of anyone coming into Bludhaven was none other than Psycho-Pirate. Accompanying him is Hawkgirl, the League heroine known for her large Nth bird wings and destructive mace, along with the giant telepathic ape, Gorilla Grodd, dressed with a red cape and bronze helmet.

“And this…is what keeps everything going, putting out a dream that they call a home.” Psycho-Pirate tells them, turning his back to the generator.
“It’s remarkable that you’ve been able to test this on such a dense scale. Have you had any security concerns?” Hawkgirl asks.

“There’s been a few humans that resist our world, but they’re running out of places to hide. It’s only a matter of time before we find them. As for this facility, no one inside or outside of Bludhaven even knows it exists.” Psycho-Pirate tells her.

“That’s good to hear. Should you find the resisting humans, make sure your executions are done quietly. We’d like to keep this up for as long as possible.”

“Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve been called back.” A feminine voice tells them.

Fire could hear most of the conversation taking place. It’s a shame she didn’t have an audio recorder, or some kind of external microphone. She’ll have to remember that for next time. Right as she’s about to put her camera away, the door pushes open. Hawkgirl working for the vampire coalition was already a sight for one day, she wondered who it might be.

A young woman walks out, dressed head to toe in white and blue, an odd choice for such a sinister organization. Though for someone like Beatriz, she knew that pattern anywhere, along with her shoulder-length white hair and sweetening expression that rarely leaves her face. It is the exact person she didn’t want to see.

It causes her to lose focus. The heel of her stolen boot scrapes against the metal scaffolding. It’s enough to get the more sensitive and observant vampires to stop what they’re doing, darting their heads up at the roof above. Her presence is no longer concealed from the others.

Without resorting to her bright powers, she leaps and grabs onto the handle of the catwalk, the rest of her body hanging, dependent on the laws of gravity. Two of the figures below had transformed into bats. They still have a ways to go, but their flight was making quick work of the distance between them. With urgency, she hoists herself upwards, landing on the metal surface and getting to her feet. Fire’s boots sprinting against the metallic catwalk, clanking with each step.

With great haste, Fire rushes down the staircase that brought her to the scaffolds, rushing down five flights of concrete. Right as she approaches the second door, she hears the one above her fly open. She takes a deep breath and calmly makes her exit, entering the lengthy and large tunnels. Remaining dressed as a security guard, she slows her pace. To further convince herself of this state of mind, her hands reach upward, straightening the shirt collar draped over her neck.

Huntress remains in the cold abyss, her eyes stuck on the pixelated progress bar. Her sight peers into the small vertical bar on the door, finding its opaque material unobstructed. The discovery of her presence only feels closer, she only wonders to herself if she’ll be around to witness it. There was also the question of Fire, whether she’d been discovered. They’d each been isolated for a long enough time for anything to have happened.

Before any more of these questions can pop into her head, a faint alert dings out from the computer terminal. She reapproaches the monitor, seeing that the program had finished installing. She lets out a slow sigh, reaching over for the dongle.

Right as it slides out, the door pushes open, an action not committed by Huntress. She freezes, turning to find another security officer, wearing the same uniform and equipment. They both stop at the sight of one another.

“Is everything alright?” Huntress slips into character immediately, straightening her posture and stepping away from the monitor.
“There’s been a breach. We’re switching to frequency Whiskey.” The guard says plainly. His teeth are sharp, his skin just a tad paler than hers, but enough to warrant an easy conclusion.

“I’ll get right on it, thank you.” Huntress nods, putting a hand on the handheld radio, one she kept muted. She retrieves it and begins to filter through the different channels. The knowledge of this channel was lost to a saboteur like herself, faking the switch is her best option.

She looks up to find him still there, growing more concerned with the lack of amusement or acknowledgement. All she sees is an unbeaten stare, the kind that might as well have her at gunpoint.

“Go ahead and test it.” He says carefully, showing no sign of departing. Huntress clicks the button, the speakers ring out a beep, slowly raising the device towards her lips.
“Testing, one, two…” She speaks into the device, only for it to land on an empty frequency. Only a silence falls on the radio. The confrontation has evolved into a standoff.
“Whiskey.” He reminds her.

“Yeah. Sorry, getting right on it.” Huntress grows more accepting that this plan is heading for an unfavorable outcome. Upon a second glance, she can see him reaching for the holstered firearm above his hip.

“I’m going to need you to step away from the terminal.” The voice grows more authoritative.

“Hey, hey, I almost got it. I’m new here, I just need to—” Huntress cuts herself off. The device beeps again, she gets ready to repeat her test phrase. Before she can do it however, the hallway lights go red, an alarm begins blaring.

His attention finally leaves her. Huntress uses this brief window to retrieve the crossbow holstered behind her back. Like a well-trained gunslinger, she shoots a bolt directly into the guard’s chest. He grunts, stumbling back against the steel door. The placement of the bolt and its wooden texture turns him into ash, falling into a small pile for anyone to find.

Free of any surprises, Huntress starts her escape, still on edge from her close call. Tucking away her crossbow, she steps back out into the larger tunnels that linked everything together. On her cautionary route, she notices rows of crimson doors, each one leading towards personal offices and common areas. They all remain identical, except one with burn marks reaching through the lock.

She retrieves her crossbow again, holding it up in one hand while pushing the door open with the other. The other side is dark and wide, a small storage area with several large industrial shelves, and a Fire that remained in the shadows. The only thing giving her away being the small strand of green hair hazed along the plexiglass window.
Huntress aims her weapon for a moment, scanning the room to see if it was a trap before slowly lowering it.

“Did you get your photos?” She asks.

“We’ll talk about it when we’re out of here.” Fire pushes herself off the wall, straightening her jacket. “Right now, I’m assuming they’ve got the elevators blocked off and they’re doing a thorough search on any breaches.”

“Did you find another route?”

“Just because the elevator’s blocked, doesn’t mean we can’t use the shaft.” Fire says with a grin, one that Huntress quickly matches.
“Lead the way.”

The duo of spies resumes their escape, knowing well that leaving with their cover intact is impossible. They turn a corner one last time, finding the elevator to be guarded by three security officers, an expected result for their line of work. There isn’t anything to hide behind or sneak through, just a wide corridor with nothing between them.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” A guard asks, pushing himself off the wall, taking a few steps forward.
“Whole base is on lockdown. We heard there was a fire.” Huntress asks.

“Fire? What fire?” The guard looks over at his fellow vampires, easily finding confusion in the statement. Their moment of misunderstanding whisks away, energy builds between Beatriz’s fingertips, a cruel flame sparks between her fingertips. It dances with life, an invention of destruction, a performance of green sorcery built around science and mystery. The flame rolls off her palm, stretching its limits more and more. It blasts onto the guards, setting them aflame.

Whilst they scream and collapse, the fire consumes Beatriz, a fate she is used to and never tires of. Her stolen uniform is incinerated as it covers her entire body, atoms are fused faster than any man can comprehend. The human side only remains in heart and anatomy. The burning vampires squeal and hiss like animals, staring off at the bright green woman. In a world without metahumans, it’d be easy to confuse Beatriz for the face of a goddess of fire. Human or not, the eternal fire around her body would be the last face any of them would ever live to see.

The fires rage. The guards die a second time, their spirits finally at rest with their vampiric demise, leaving behind a burning carcass of bones and dust.

As a result of Fire’s transformation and the demise of her enemies, the bright energy and burning smoke brings more attention. Soldiers begin swarming the corridors, their shadows grow larger to Huntress and Fire.

“Cover me.” Fire tells her, bracing her hands against the locked elevator doors, beginning to melt through the steel gate. Knowing their time frame is limited, Huntress tosses a set of smoke pellets from her repurposed belt, rolling them down the rectangular floor.

The soldiers arrive, dressed in black combat fatigues with the Crimson Coalition emblem scattered along the uniform. Twelve to be specific. The pellets go off, dousing them in smoke. Some of them pull the trigger on their firearms, but don’t land anywhere close to their target. Huntress takes a wooden stake while keeping one hand free. She sprints towards her opponents, landing in the smoke where they’d be forced to fight at close range. Angered and determined, they hiss and show their fangs, embracing their primal instincts.

They claw and trample their way towards her but prove to be inferior to the Huntress. Many end up as piles of ash, some are pinned to a wall where they can conduct no harm.

“I got it! Come on!” Fire yells. Huntress disengages from a fight she knows is futile. The hallway erupts in gunfire again, the bullets scraping the walls, one of them grazing Huntress. She stumbles but Fire is quick to grab onto her dragging her into the lift. Sliding her into a bridal carry, Fire shoots up into the sky, blasting through the elevator ceiling and up to the top of the shaft.

During her tour of Bludhaven’s abandoned shopping center, Kimiyo found herself in one of the more isolated areas, an underground tunnel containing construction equipment and the framework of a subway station that came off as half-way done. She walks across the platform and reaches the edge, peering out into the pitch-black void within the tunnel. Kimiyo wonders what lies in the emptiness. The vampires thrive in darkness, a Metro system with a failing light system would work as the ideal home for the undead.

She hears faint footsteps from the station entrance, followed by some brief commotion with the boarded-up walkways. Her head turns to see Commissioner Sawyer again, struggling through some of the more hazardous areas, though her body language is insistent on doing it herself.

“So, are you an actual Doctor or just one of those phonies that just tries to sound cool.” Maggie asks, brushing a few dust particles off her vest.

“A real one. Calling me Doctor is both my persona and profession.” Kimiyo tells Maggie, eyeing her as she steps over next to her.

“Hopefully moths haven’t been disruptive to your practice then.” Maggie peers over at what grabbed Kimiyo’s attention. “I see you’ve found the tunnel.”

“You ever been down it?” The doctor asks.

“A few times. Some of the more frightened travelers like to travel in larger groups, but we can’t spare the people for the trip, so I’ll volunteer—If you can even call it that.” Maggie replies, holding her arms together and looking towards Kimiyo. “I take it you’re not staying.”

“I’m sorry, this wasn’t a rescue mission, but I promise I’ll be back.” Kimiyo tells Maggie.

“Well, if I’ve learned anything from my last post, capes like you tend to keep them. If you take a little while, could you get someone to throw us some supplies? I don’t think the surface dwellers are too excited about our little movement.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Kimiyo smiles, causing Maggie to form a similar facial movement. Their brief silence is broken by a gadget in Doctor Light’s ear, buzzing with interference and words that are hard to understand.

“Shit, I think my friends are in trouble.” Doctor Light straightens herself out.

“Don’t let me stand in your way.” Maggie smirks, soon eyeing Kimiyo leap up from the sky and fly through the station.

What started as a stealth operation had devolved into a hot pursuit with little room to breathe. The roof of the WJMP Radio Station blasts open with smoke and fire, the green flame of Beatriz Da Costa bursting through the debris without a scratch, all the while Huntress holds on for her dear life.

“Doctor Light, come in! We need immediate transport out of here! Now!!!” Huntress grips her hands tightly around Fire’s, her heart rate skyrocketing once they start flying in the sky.

“Dammit, she’s not responding!”
“Where the hell could she be?”
“I don’t kno— Holy fuck—” Huntress rightfully claims. Her and Fire both look down at the blazing mess created beneath them, yet despite their destructive escape, one of their enemies remains triumphant. Battering the broken concrete with Nth metal, Hawkgirl flies up towards them. The distance between the two humans and the undead superheroine is enough to rival an office building, though it is a gap that is closing rapidly.

“You have a grapple gun on you, right?” Fire asks.

“Of course. Why?” Helena says enthusiastically before bringing it back with some concern.

“So I don’t feel completely bad about needing both hands.” Fire says before letting go and tossing off Huntress, causing her to fall thousands of feet towards the city, a fading scream accompanying her.

The distance gap closes, the spiked mace slams right into Fire’s back, tearing through the skin and flesh, giving the bones beneath a love tap. Fire’s form of pure blaze could burn through any element on the Periodic Table, if she deemed it. Yet, Hawkgirl’s mace breaks through as if she were still a run-of-the-mill fashion model from Rio.
Her control is halted, gravity now determines Beatriz’s fate. She sees Hawkgirl change her course, the crimson red iris being visible through the helmet, likely the last thing seen by her victims before being bitten or pulverized. Despite Fire’s rapid descent in altitude, she’s still able to keep her wits and tenacity. With her abilities still intact, a streak of fire climbs out of her hand, coating the sky with her signature of power. It builds and builds, moving at a rate Hawkgirl can’t avoid.

She holds up the mace, using a defensive stance while airborne. Some of the oncoming wall of heat disperses, flying off in diagonal opposites. Though this mere maneuver is not enough. Flames scrape Hawkgirl’s limbs and torso, retracting her offensive strategy while she deals with the burns.

Fire uses the brief window to return control of her flight abilities, conducting flames from her palms to boost her like a rocket. She turns, diverting her attention to the city streets below. Huntress is still falling, she’s not equipped with a parachute or a glider, just a simple grappling hook that she’d have to hit something with perfectly. Beatriz disengages her pursuit of the winged vampire, descending faster to save her loosely affiliated companion.

During her more uncontrollable descent, Huntress let go of the initial shock of freefall and began utilizing her skills. Like a skydiver, she began holding her arms and legs out, facing the point of potential impact. She goes to look for her grapple gun, but only finds an empty space. It was true that Huntress had brought one, but it was still stuck with her apparel inside the base.

Helena would have to think quickly, but there weren’t many people that survived a fall like this. The ones that did had immeasurable luck or metahuman genes. Her eyes shut, her mind lets go of a solution, she only wants to remember the good in her life.

To her fortune, Her fall stops. She blinks in surprise, darting her eyes up to see Fire having saved her life. It felt both wrong and right to be thankful. It was good to be alive, but the fall wouldn’t have happened without Fire.

“You alright?” The woman asks with her Brazilian accent.
“No thanks to you.” Huntress responds, a little cranky with her current condition. Their moment of reunion is interrupted. Hawkgirl had recovered from Fire’s maneuver and was right back on course to taking them down. An aerial fight was too much of a gamble, Fire was ready to get in close quarters with the bloodsucker. With the powerless vigilante in tow, Huntress flies to the roof of a nearby building, setting her down.

“There’s no way we can win this, right? I mean it’s—” Huntress says, still out of breath from her fall.

“A full-time Leaguer not afraid to bash our skulls in? I’ve had worse odds.” Fire replies, her energy still vibrant, ready for anything.

Their attention is brought away from each other and towards the winged woman descending rapidly, dive bombing towards the roof. The mace slams into the roof flooring, sending a ripple of highly electrified currents across the entire space. Huntress and Fire are sharp enough to get out of the way, but Huntress’ lack of flight abilities causes her to fly back, hitting an air conditioner unit mounted on the building, grunting in pain.

Hawkgirl situates herself, her large bird wings folding in, standing with knowledge of a clear advantage. Fire stands across, staring towards her like a gunslinger from a different time.

“We don’t have to do this.” Hawkgirl tells her, some of the mace still sparking from the kinetics.

“I don’t see another option.” Fire glares back, clenching a fist briefly.

“I know how much you care for Tora. You’d do anything for her.” Hawkgirl grins, twirling the mace in her hand like a baton. Police sirens start to grow closer to the block, Hawkgirl wouldn’t be alone soon.

“Whatever. Vá foder um pássaro.” Fire’s flames begin to grow again. Hawkgirl’s mace is lifted. The two are ready to throw hands and fight dirty. Fire could burn anything and anyone, though kicking someone’s ass was a specialty purely from Beatriz Da Costra.

Charging with a primal scream, Hawkgirl makes the first move, lifting her mace and ready to swing harshly into her. But before she can do this, favor leans into Fire’s side. Just in the nick of time, a harsh ray of energy slams into Hawkgirl, a singular beam from above. The ray is harsh, violent against anyone, but especially a vampire. She slides up the ground, grating the metallic surface until she reaches the edge. Even then, her strong frame shatters the layered brick and concrete holding it together. The trajectory refuses to stop, and she falls.

Fire turns to see the perpetrator but knows who it is. Doctor Light drops down from the night sky, looking over at Huntress regaining her footing.

“Ready to get out of here?” Doctor Light walks over to the two of them, holding her palms out.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Fire says coyly, reaching for the white glove with no intention to drag her predicament even more.

With Huntress, Fire, and Doctor Light together again, the process begins without further delay. Hawkgirl, now scarred and burned from the sunlight, darts back up to the roof, bloodthirsty both for her diet and for revenge. Though by the time she arrives, they are all gone.