[identity profile] shadowygent.livejournal.com
In Cannes, citizens run out into the street to stare at the sky-- and then back into their homes, to turn on televisions or radios or check the news for any mention of an eclipse. For out of all explanations for the fact that night has fallen-- early, swiftly, and utterly-- that of a natural event is by far the least worrying.

There is no hint of moon, no sign of star, only a velvet night that is unseasonably cool. Electric lights glow weakly, as if struggling to break through the all-encompassing dark.

Read more... )
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
Something very strange is happening in the dimension of Mount Olympus. If it can be called a dimension. It's difficult to describe really. One day it might be an interplanar realm, another it might be a country. One night it could be an island in an impossibly large sea, while another time it could be a kingdom in the clouds.

Either way, something strange is happening.

As Zeus lays sleeping in his oversized bed the powers of his fellow and subservient deities are disappearing. Disappearing may be too strong a word... They're relocating. A smile twitches on the face of the god of all gods as he dreams of what is happening. As he considers the trials that Diana of Themyscira will have to endure and conquer, with the powers of the gods inhabiting the bodies of her allies and enemies upon Earth.

Zeus is less than happy with the Wonder Woman's lack of constant supplication to his whims. Perhaps she needs to prove herself a champion once more... At any rate; Zeus sleeps, and he dreams of those who will take on the powers of the gods...
[identity profile] mr-henshaw.livejournal.com
Across planet Earth on every major television network, every radio and every live stream using satellites to broadcast, the head and shoulders of the Cyborg Superman appears. Using his mastery over technopathy he broadcasts his message.

"People of Earth. Some few of you may know me as Hank Henshaw. I am also known to many as the Cyborg Superman. To most however, I am seen as the destroyer of Coast City."

The backdrop behind Henshaw's face turns to an image of the emblem of Neo Rann, rippling as if in the wind. "Not long ago I was released from my imprisonment on Oa by the Green Lantern Guardians, who assured me of my freedom. Wanting to start a new life for myself and for my friends, fellow outsiders, we met with representatives from species all over the known galaxy. It was made clear to us that a great threat existed in the universe, and this threat was known as Rann. A planet whose technology rivals even that of the beings that invaded Gotham City in your United States of America in recent months. With charters from multiple intelligent races and conglomerates I ended the Rannian threat, and occupied their abandoned territory."

An image of Neo Rann's position in the galaxy compared to that of Earth replaces the emblem. "Neo Rann poses no threat to planet Earth. We simply wish to build a home for outsiders such as myself. Yet at this very moment we are under attack by so-called heroes of Earth, including Green Lanterns who had until recently condoned my freedom." Henshaw raises a fist. "Once again I say we pose no threat to Earth, but were Earth attacked would you not make a retributive strike? I want it to be known that if the hand of Neo Rann is forced against Earth it is a reluctant gesture, and one forced by the aggression of your metahumans and the galactic vigilante squad known as the Green Lantern Corps. Any deaths on your world due to Neo Rann's reprisals can be laid at their doors. I offer peace providing they withdraw from Neo Rann this very instant."

Henshaw clenches his jaw and a solitary tear rolls down his cheek. "Please make them stop the violence, for we do not wish to harm anybody upon your planet. If we are forced to take actions, the blood is on the hands of the men and women you call your heroes. All we want is peace."

The transmission is cut, and back on Neo Rann the image of Henshaw turns to Malefic and smiles.

-

What do the people of Earth think of this?
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
"It must be done."  One would think.  Almost as if he's trying to convince himself.   The observer sees madness and the end of a city.   Chaos happening during the Fawcett City Bullets home game has shown him the way.

"I will be forgiven for this.  I will rebuild from the ashes.  The land after this will be rich.  Fertile.  Ready to receive my blessings a thousand times over."    He continues to stare out the window.  If it didn't work, he would be ruined.  However, when it did, he would be proven correct. 

In his eyes, its flawed.  Fawcett was well known as a spiritual hotbed, so its energies were ripe to be amended, and harvested for the right person.  He misspoke.  "Not a person, a God."  The loss of a few fortunes is inconsequential.  A town full of unbelievers is nothing but a sacrifice. 

"Because soon...I will ascend.  Back to my proper throne.  The souls will be my pathway to immortality.

....and I will be whole."
[identity profile] mr-henshaw.livejournal.com
Hank Henshaw was a noble soul, once upon a time. A friendly, loving, kind and devoted man, with principles and steadfast morals.

And then the Kryptonian went and stripped them all away when he created a solar flare that disrupted Hank's rocket, resulting in an accident that led to the death of his friends, the death of his wife, and his permanent mutilation. This all led to his eventual becoming, of course. And now he would have it no other way.

The Cyborg Superman rides in the back of an armour-plated van with Sivana, the launching device for his Chemo-weapon prepared for readying, with the bomb itself kept separately in the possession of the Shade. The van has been especially designed to withstand the toxic dump, so that the trio could watch the devastation from ground zero, and oh, what a sight it would be. Looking at Sivana as the little man tinkers with the launcher, the Cyborg actually smiles. "Would it be wrong to tell you I feel alive for the first time since... A long time?" 
[identity profile] mr-henshaw.livejournal.com
The Cyborg arrives at his destination, the hidden laboratory several miles away from the edge of Interstate 70 in Utah, marked Epsilon by its owner. Touching down on the sandy ground, he takes a quick scan of the surrounding area before pushing his hand into the DNA-reader that prevents access to all but the chosen few. There's nobody around this place. But why would there be? One of the most barren stretches of road in this fine country, with no civilisation within walking distance.

"This could be heaven."

Henshaw steps into the lab, and submits himself to the full-body scan that awaits him. He allows the needles with their reinforced tips to penetrate his preserved flesh so that he can proceed further into the building, and speaks the command words that the holographic ear over the next door wants him to say. The door then slides open, and he strides through a corridor littered with diagrams and assorted paperwork, before reaching the main laboratory floor.

"Sivana." The Cyborg Superman places the container of Chemo into the toxicity analysis device just to the right of him. "I appreciate your fastidious nature, and how anyone other than the members of our cell would surely perish trying to access the heart of your lab, but I feel that the injections I am forced to endure upon entry are entirely redundant. I am more machine than man."
[identity profile] bewaresinestro.livejournal.com
Why could Sinestro master the elemental force of fear? Compared to the true horrors of the fifty two layered universes, what exactly is frightening about a pink fascist in yellow tights?

It came all at once, a horrible static burst cutting through Earth's delicate web of satellite powered communications. "People of Earth." A flicker of light and energy, as the sneering, mustached face comes into view. "This is...Sinestro, leader and founder of the Sinestro Corps. For too long, Earth has suffered under the yoke of nationalism. It is clear to me that for all of their virtues, the human race is simply incapable of governing itself in a reasonable, orderly fashion. We have come to help you. We have come because, when given the chance to help yourselves, you jockeyed for position and struggled for dominance instead of acknowledging the need to unify. We have come to save the world. The planet Earth, a source of great fear for the civilized universe, has been annexed as a protectorate of the Sinestro Corps. Do not resist, and the transition shall be accomplished with minimal strife."

In the skies, the first, best line of defense against alien invasion has failed. The Watchtower was somehow fooled into believing that the rush of negative energy was the dimensional equivalent of a sunspot. Amon Sur, Parallax, leads the space contingent of this army of psychotics, shimmering beams of the yellow spectrum of light making themselves known as the Sinestro Corps secures the fortress-space station.

"The only colony on the Earth that has declared open alliance to the Green Lantern Corps is the settlement of Coast City. Even here, Sinestro shows his limitless mercy. People of Coast City, you have one hour. Then, I shall descend upon the home of my great enemy, and I shall leave nothing standing. Leave. Quickly. The remainder of the United States of America shall be secured by Sinestro Corps agents within that hour timeframe."

Eyes glowing the harsh yellow-red of a bleeding sun, Mongol leads his war party tasked with seizing America's heartland into a sweeping formation around what is arguably the soul of the United States; Mount Rushmore. Mongol grins, envisioning his twisted visage carved over the great leaders of this rebellious nation.

"Terms of surrender for the rest of the world shall be broadcasted from the United Nations building. I do not expect the proud human race to accept their fate until they are taught how to fear. Their weaponer-guardian will be tasked with spreading the fear that must be established to bring order to this wounded, rabid world. Rejoice, earthlings. You are delivered."

Enkafos's eyes open, his three hundred and sixty fifth awakening since the end of his natural life. The mummified agent of Sinestro stands in the middle of the UN Plaza, and silently basks in the greatest city on the planet's terror, its anticipation. "Prepare." He orders his subordinates. "The throne must be ready to accept antimatter within the quarter hour."

The frightening thing about Sinestro, you see, is when this almost foolish figure talks about bringing order to the galaxy, living nightmares listen. They cheer. They unite. They work together. Sinestro can take a disorganized band of egomaniacs and psychotics and bring them together as firmly as any crack unit of soldiers. His eyes gleam with the cancerous yellow of a dieing star as he hovers over Coast City, his ring helping him keep track of the work of those that bare his name below. And Sinestro couldn't keep the smile off of his face.
[identity profile] blackest-knight.livejournal.com
The cruise ship is about a mile and a half out to sea. Not very far, all things considered, but far enough to allot some privacy.

Granted, not a lot. Apparently a gay superhero wedding, especially with a world-renowned supermodel in the wedding party draws media attention. But then, they'd planned on that. It had been wanted, really. Because while this is an event to celebrate love, it's also there to send a message.

The last-minute guests are coming in, those who can fly anyways. Some in their costumes, some dressed as ordinary civilians.

The ushers--Ted, Sand, and Michael--are leading guests to seats, and of course everyone is making conversation. Damon's friends and few present family members are trying hard to not gape and stare and gawk at the heroes who've shown up in costume, though a few have gone to ask for autographs and pictures.

Todd is standing with his groomsmen, greeting friends and family alike as they come in. With Al, Rick, and Dad at his side. He's totally not feeling any jitters. No sirree. Not at all nervous over this.

No second thoughts at least, and he's serious about that part. There's nothing in the world he'd rather be doing.

He's just really terrified of it.
[identity profile] tx-instruments.livejournal.com
Noah is the first of the group to arrive - taking the time to set up a laptop at the large meeting table. They are gathering to discuss the recent conflict with Dr. Sivana's so-called Monster Society - their first meeting as a group since the invitations went out to the new members.

He also has a small box with him - gifts for his colleagues that should help keep them another step ahead of the good guys, and their fellow bad guys.
[identity profile] dark-progenitor.livejournal.com
Arms folded, Black Adam hovers before a great window, offering him a spectacular view of Shiruta, and the surrounding Kahndaqi countryside. His efforts to modernize Kahndaq's infrastructure have been proceeding well enough - his primary partner in the effort, Talia, has been focusing her attention elsewhere, forcing Adam to take a slower pace. For all of that, though, Kahndaq is rapidly catching up to its neighbor nations. Indoor plumbing is now prevalent in all areas of the nation, and the country has just completed its second power plant. His advisors have informed him that at the current pace Kahndaq will become the most modernized country in this region of the world within five years.

It is not enough. Kahndaq must have the might to defend itself from any threat. The messy affair with Mordru impressed upon Black Adam just how important it is to have a powerful following. He alone will not always be there to defend the nation.

Atom Smasher is a good start. Brainwave and Northwind are both powerful, worthy of Black Adam's respect. But three men alone cannot defend a nation. Kahndaq needs more defenders.

Which is why, days ago, Brainwave was sent to America. If all goes well, Brainwave will be returning with a new recruit. And while Joseph Wilson alone will not be enough, he will be the beginning. The first of an army.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
Two A.M. - Keystone City. Iron Heights Meta-Penitentiary.

Two costumed criminals prepare to breach the walls.

"I don't like this. Even if we did get paid a load of money. Actually, I don't like this especially because we got paid a load of money. Who the hell cares that much about baby Boomer? Maybe it was his mysterious Mom.."

Icicle and Zoom had been sent to rescue Owen Mercer, after a substantial payment was made to the Society on his behalf. Icicle had been requested by name, for the security systems - Calculator sent Zoom along as well, 'just in case'.

Cameron plants a hand on the wall of the facility, beginning to super-cool the steel-reinforced concrete.

"You ought to be able to pop this like an eggshell in about a minute."
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
The Shade's long association as a nemesis of the Justice Society meant that Cameron was the natural choice to extend the invitation for him to join the Secret Society - and truth be told, he's much more comfortable with the idea of working with the Shade than he is working with the Cheetah.

Cameron rings the doorbell of one of the Shade's Opal City apartments - Calculator's intel suggests that he favors this one during the spring months, because of the incredible view it affords of one of the city parks. And since things are starting to thaw, it seems as likely as any of the others.
[identity profile] times-past.livejournal.com
He stood facing the window, taking in the mid-day Opal sun, as he listened. And considered.

He'd watched him grow, both in power, and maturity through the years. But this? This was almost unheard of for what they were, for who they were.

But he listened some more. He'd become fond of the boy, lost as he may have been during a time, so he allowed and afforded him the opportunity to explain, before raising his eyes to turn around.

"I find a talk like this goes beyond what we normally do and deal with. So please, Todd, your shadow isn't necessary at the moment."
[identity profile] proto-humanist.livejournal.com
His lawyers had argued the existence of New Albion successfully. He had a brand new volcanic island in the Pacific, all his own. An independent fledgling nation, perhaps. Bialya and Zandia had sponsored New Albion for recognition as an independent state.

And in a few weeks, his legal team should be able to persuade the United Nations to press for his release from prison. As the de facto ruler of the tiny isle, he'd certainly qualify for diplomatic immunity. If not, there were escape options - but everything would be cleaner if they could pull it off.

In the meantime, he had a cell in solitary confinement at Blackgate Prison. Nine feet by nine feet, in a maximum security wing. A solid steel door with the smallest of slits for the passage of food.

The guards were terrified of him. The other inmates speak in hushed tones. The smell of their fear is strong, and Vandal Savage enjoys the scent.
[identity profile] blackest-knight.livejournal.com
The apartment is clean. Scrubbed. Maybe even spotless.

The food is nothing too special. Spaghetti, mainly. The noodles (a pot of regular spaghetti noodles, as well as a pot of soy-based noodles for those who can't have the carbs) have just been put in the water, and the sauces are heating. A turkey meat sauce and a sauce without meat. The garlic bread (and regular french bread) will go in the oven soon.

There's several types of juice in the refrigerator, as well as soft drinks and purified water.

Is he missing anything?

*Ding-Dong*

He hopes not. Looks like people are here.
[identity profile] old-saint-nick.livejournal.com
There is some debate within mystical circles if there is indeed such a creature as the embodiment of Christmas Giving known as Santa Claus. But whether or not there is such a being, the spirit of giving itself is very real, be it incarnated in a fat man in a red suit or not.

Throughout this small blue planet of Earth, people have brought trees into their homes, decorated them with lights and ornaments, and placed them in locations of honor. Stockings have been placed on the chimneys. But most of all -- in the spirit of community and giving -- people have placed gifts under the tree.

Some are looking forward more to the receiving than the giving. But for many, it is the act of giving which warms them, which fills them with the holiday spirit.

Each person, in their own way, becomes a part of this spirit of giving. Each person, in their own way, becomes Santa Claus.
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
In a bid to cast his influence over the tenth age of magic, the villainous Wotan set in motion a plan that pitted some of the most significant figures in magic against one another.

Wotan has fallen, but so too have Dr. Fate, John Constantine and Zatanna.

The Spectre is unleashed, and the First of the Fallen is positioned to take advantage of the situation.

It's all come to a head here.

And now a new player on the scene. Most present know her as Lyta Hall, the former heroine named Fury. The wife of the current Dr. Fate.

But there's a shadow over her, despite the blazing sun.

And in her hands she wields a weapon most have only heard whispers of ...

The Spear of Destiny.

"Stop," she says in a low whisper that, miraculously, everybody hears.
[identity profile] jla-villains.livejournal.com
... and in a heartbeat, everything transforms. A dungeon beneath Fawcett City, a rift between the Green and The Mortal World -- both have led to an Obsidian Canyon, where below mystic heroes and their allies, having triumphed over the villains who've thrown in with Wotan, now face an army of demons surrounding them on all sides. Above them, rifts between worlds appear, dragging the deadly combat between Fate and Wotan into the fray, The Phantom Strange and Tefe Holland on their heels...

And from all directions now, a rage that can consume worlds swirls, howling through the inferno of mystic energy that swirls in all directions.

The Spectre is here, its ungrounded wrath all focused in one direction: John Constantine.

And so the battle begins in earnest ...
[identity profile] jla-goldenage.livejournal.com
"Well, we're not inconspicuous," says Rose, as the mystics gather at the ruined house of the now-dead sheriff. "I suppose that's good."

The plan here was to engage Wotan, to drag him into a fight when the Spectre returned, but so far, there's nothing but silence.

But this was, not long ago, a thriving suburban neighborhood, and now seemingly everyone has left. It's a ghost suburb, complete with ghost: The sheriff who bound the hero Balbo the Boy Magician -- enslaved the noble youth's spirit to murder other heroes every ten years -- is now chained to the spot he died before revealing the last of his secrets to Jim Gordon.

"The end of the age has come," says the ghost, standing above the trapdoor entrance to the labyrynth below. "The age of Wotan is here."

Rose stares at the ghost and absently makes a clicking sound with her tongue.

"Will someone please make him go away so we can get on with it? I dislike walking through ghosts immensely."
[identity profile] doctorfatejsa.livejournal.com
Fate, finding mystic allies lost or fallen at every turn, reaches out his mind to ascertain the well-being of as many of his colleagues and compatriots as he can, as well as to advise the members of the Justice League and the Justice Society what's happened to date.

His mind touching the minds of his allies is like a rainfall of information and images: Shining Knight fallen, Zauriel fallen. The Wizard attacked. The Spectre out of control. Felix Faust being tortured. Blue Devil replaced with a spy.

"Who else?" He asks, reaching out his mind, searching to find what he's missed. The Ragman is missing. He can see that now. Boston Brand does not walk this plane. He searches for Jason Blood, and finds nothing. Nightmaster? Nothing.

"Where are they?"

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