jla_watchtower | Entries tagged with spectre

jla-extras.livejournal.com

At the corner of Hollywood and Vine, the ground begins to tremble on an early summer evening - the hardy native Californians ignore the tremor at first, accustomed to such things living this close to the San Andreas fault. The hissing gasses and wave of heat might be ignored as well - after all, this is where movies are made - but the follow-up is all too real.

Demons begin to pour forth from the fissure that quickly forms - their twisted, red-black bodies bending unnaturally as their charred wings expand, feeling the freedom of the air for the first time in age untold.

Hell on Earth begins here.

Current Location: los angeles

zauriel1971.livejournal.com

Time has past since the last major presence of Asmodel on earth. Since then, he has been transferred from heaven's holding cells, to hell itself for containment for judgment on the Last Day. Some of his former servants have found out where he is thanks to recent interruptions in hell by earth's heroes...

Traumiel, a bull host like Asmodel, has managed to sneak to where he has heard his master is kept. He feels the heat and smells the stench of death strong in his nostrils. "Zauriel and his pals will pay for what they've done to my master! They thought they could slip through here to find a friend without notice! I heard one of their minds give way to mention the fact that my master had been moved here somewhere to await being judged. Not for long!" he says to himself. He stealthily sneaks to the spot and sees two dragon creatures guarding the former king angel, and former host of the Spectre. "You will soon be free my master!" he says to himself quietly, "You will soon be united with the Spectre! Soon you will rule hell itself from Neron and any other fool enough to face me!"

jla-extras2.livejournal.com

The power of the Spectre was still a new thing to the man once known as Ra's al Ghul. His efforts to comprehend the being now bonded to his very soul had met with small progress thus far.

One thing that had become apparent is that the spirit of the Spectre possessed a strong sense of duty - and while that was an aspect he found familiar, it now called him away from his efforts to find a balance with the spirit.

He finds himself walking in a cavern-like passageway - along the wall, seven gruesome statues of seven deadly sins. The spirit's voice within him speaks the name of this timeless place - the 'Rock of Eternity'. It speaks, too, of the current guardian - a boy, 'Billy', inheritor of the powers of the ancient Wizard Shazam.

Some disturbance has called him here - called the Spectre here - and he was compelled to come.

A cry of pain ahead quickens his pace.

Current Location: The Rock of Eternity

jla-extras.livejournal.com

It was dark. For a few seconds, Father Adam puzzled over why it should be dark, then he realized his eyes were closed. It took another heartbeat to remember how to open them, and with the return of that memory came others: how to sit up, how to check his head to confirm that the throbbing pain was not accompanied by blood, how to recognize where he was.

On the ground. Outside the house. The last thing he remembered was white and green fire--

"Ray?" he called out, his throat dry. In the distance he could hear sirens.

jla-extras.livejournal.com

The flight of stairs felt rickety and unsound. Every step felt as if it would give way beneath his feet as the pair made their way up to the second floor. A definite chill that belied the warm weather of the evening outside had settled in about them. Adam's skin crawled with goose bumps and he could see his breath on the still air. His companion however seemed unperturbed and oddly unaffected.

Arriving at the top of the stairs, he cast his eyes about nervously. Wallpaper, grey and washed out seemingly from long age, hung half peeled away from the walls and the wood railing and brass fixtures seemed tarnished and decrepit from decades of neglect. Ray's earlier words rang ominously in his ears.
"A rather advanced state of disrepair for having been untended for but year, don't you think?"

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak.

It was then that he thought he could hear the muffled whimper of a child in the far room down the hallway.

demonshead.livejournal.com

The task had been complicated and drawn out. It wasn’t the acquisition that was tedious; it was the circuitous route he had to take. With nothing more than the public terminals of the local public library in Sandy Brook to work with, he had been hamstrung by the meager technology.

Patience and stoic fortitude had won out however. Once he had forged a hidden trapdoor into the maintenance server of Star City’s First National bank, it was a simple matter to upload the automated virus routines. Expediency tempted him to utilize code he had designed in recent years, but it was important to leave as light a footprint as possible. So he endured the pitiable computing power available to him in order to reengineer the routines.

Once the program was released, it quickly replicated itself through a series of nodes across the globe, each time modifying the next iteration which in turn deleted it’s predecessor. By the end of the day, a new account and verifiable social records in the name of Ray Walker had been created. By the next morning, funds extracted, dispersed and then recollected had been transferred into the account. A trip to the local copy shop provided him all the tools he needed to craft passable identification. The funds were sufficient, he had considered amassing more, but discarded the idea as foolish. The accounts he had raided were minor caches of funds from his former life that had not yet been discovered by his old adversaries. There were other larger accounts he could have tampered with, but he was certain they were being watched. It’s what he would have done.

Smoothing back his hair, he stepped back and regarded himself in the mirror. Spartan and functional in his choice of attire, he still struck an impressive figure.

demonshead.livejournal.com

The first articles of clothing he found smelled sour. A shirt and painter's overall's, stained with chemicals and the refuse of the dumpster in which they were found, has sufficed until he could acquire something cleaner. It would have been easier to simply take what he needed. He could have even rationalized the theft with silent promises to pay for them later, but it would have remained theft and he was reticent to begin dabbling in petty sins so early in his new life.

The stern cold eyes of the Spectre upon him when the thought occurred might also have factored into the decision.

So it was that Ras Al Ghul did something that he had not done in a long time in life. He swallowed his pride. Wearing his disheveled dumpster won clothes, he walked into the soup kitchen at the end of town. It was a humble place run by the local church. The priest and volunteers were open and kind and treated him with respect. The food was simple but filling and he expressed his gratitude at the offer of clean clothes and a place to rest. ‘Ras Al Ghul, the beggar'.

He had expected the Spectre to mock him, but it did not. The vengeful wraith was more complex than he had believed. It's manner seemed markedly different than before. Something about their union had influenced the spirit's character. It chilled him to think that the effect might be two sided.

demonshead.livejournal.com

It's a weight manacled to your ankles, pulling you down into deep dark water.

It's being lifted up on bubbles of air and breaking the surface.

It's being thrown in to a snowdrift after having slept for a long time in a warm bed.

It's that gasp of air after almost drowning.

It's as if a thick shroud has been draped over your memory.

It's an electric jolt, unlooked for and unexpected.

It's being alive once more.

Sweet air is sucked into his lungs and the pin pricks of flesh exposed to cold air washes over him. Though the sky is dark and cloudy, he raises a hand to shield his eyes. The cool sensation of wet grass under his bare feet is swiftly overcome by the chill of wind and rain over his naked flesh.

Slowly he rises from his crouched position. With lush and wild grass all about him and the twinkling lights of civilization in the distance, he find himself on the side of a mountain. Shivering in the cold, he cannot help but smile.

Ras Al Ghul lives once more.

demonshead.livejournal.com

The day was hot and the landscape severe. His travels had led him to many strange places. Some might consider it a curse, 'Doomed to wander along the borders of the after life'. Others might consider it a blessing, "A never ending adventure." He simply accepted it as the path his karma had forged. The rest was academic.

Currently the realm he was traveling through possessed a level of 'physicality'. It contained the illusion of substance and form, so consequentially he did as well. At times he reflected upon the prosaic irony of a ghost having flesh. Illusory flesh to be sure, but then how was that different from 'real' flesh in the greater scheme of things? Material reality was a fiction in it's own way after all.

The sound of rushing water broke his reverie as he climbed over the embankment of sharp stones. As he surmounted the steep incline, his eyes caught sight of a wide river before him. The sun was low in the sky now, it's reflection sparkling on the river's surface. Crossing the river at night would be complicated. There were things that prowled this place when the shroud of night fell; things that he would rather not face chest deep in water, no matter how ‘illusory’ it might be.

Setting himself to the task, he began to prepare by gathering his robes together.

"I beg your pardon traveler," came a voice from the rushes by the bank.

"I was wondering if you might help me cross this river?"

Looking closer, the monk saw a golden scorpion sunning itself on a rock.

"Ah I see.", answered the monk, his voice colored with wry amusement.
"I take it, you propose to sit upon my shoulder while I cross?"

"Why yes!" chimed the Scorpion brightly.

"Very well." sighed the monk. Then, quick as a cat, he scooped up the creature in a gourd and closed it shut.

Ignoring the Scorpion's protests, he proceeded to cross the river. Once upon the other side, he released his passenger upon a dry log.

"What was that for!?" demanded the Scorpion.

"My apologies my friend, but I too have been a Scorpion in my time."

Frustrated, the Scorpion left the monk in search of others who might help him cross back to the other side of the river. As the monk watched him go, he wondered if the world might have been better place if he had simply stepped upon the creature.

black-adam.livejournal.com

To say that 'tensions have been mounting' would belittle the situation.

The nations bordering Khandaq have been hostile for centuries. The previous 'leaders' of the tiny dessert country were little better than warlords and despots abusing its people and inciting their neighbors with egomaniacal posturing. Internally, matters have changed. The new king cared nothing for personal wealth or advantage. His has ever been a holy calling. With relentless and merciless certainty he defended his people. Wherever he found corruption and mendacity, his hand was swift to smite it from the Earth. He was the cleansing fire.

His people now eat. They have roofs over their heads and medical careand education is now a right rather than a hoarded privilege. When funds and recourses were taxed, it was he who wrested ore from the earth and shaped stone with his hands. Arid and barren farms were made fertile from the silt dredged from the Red Sea and hoisted by his immortal sinews. Invaders and would be conquerors were torn asunder when they threatened and his people were kept safe.

He could no longer do these things for his cherished subjects. Now, he was only a man, a man who could see a tide of blood in the horizon.

"My King." Nasif cautiously intruded.

"It shames me to suggest such a thing, but perhaps our southern neighbors might be persuaded to stand with us in defense against the North if we conceded to some of their demands. I cannot say that it sits well with me to offer up such precious tribute, but surely if it were to avert the loss of so many lives?..."

Nasif was good man. He genuinely believed in Teth Adam's mission. Such genuine idealism was rare in political figures. The advisor had been a schoolteacher before the King's arrival. He had been imprisoned for voicing his discontent with the iniquities of the ruling class. That alone put him at the top of the list when Teth Adam selected his new cabinet.

"No Nasif, if we concede under duress it will only stoke the fire of greed."
His voice sounded hollow to him. He had never thought the Wizard would strip him of his powers. He hadn't even believed he could. After all, even after long centuries of imprisonment had his gifts not remained intact? Why now?

The light from the open windows began to fade suddenly.

Wide eyed, one of his advisors slowly pointed to the sky outside.
"My King?..." she asked in fear.

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.

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 ...

doctorfatejsa.livejournal.com

Dr. Fate, The Phantom Stranger and Tefe Holland clasp hands, and begin their journey to The Green. The veil between worlds is thick, difficult to break, but the three of them combined are more than equal to the task.

The familiar trappings of the pub fall away, replaced with an endless green expanse. But unlike the placid calm of before, a torrential force blows from all directions, forcing Fate to shield them with his magics.

The cannot see The Spectre, but they can feel him. His wrath is everywhere.

jla-goldenage.livejournal.com

There is no up, no down. No time. Everything here is flow. Everything here is green.

"Well, then," says Rose. "I see I guessed right. The only gift an old coward like Zard would have to give is a means to run away."

She smiles at Zatanna.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

itsastretch.livejournal.com

Ralph calls in to the Watchtower again,
"Hey guys, got some news. I figured people might like to know Zauriel is safe and sound and delivered to the infirmary. Seems Felix Faust got to him. All taken care of now though... and... uhm... if anyone is hungry, we find ourselves in possession of, well, a /lot/ of jumbalaya."

itsastretch.livejournal.com

Ralph calls in to the Watchtower, hands full of bowls of jumbalaya and chili, seemingly standing at some kind of fairground or the like.
"Uhm, for whoever's free and hungry I guess... seems a certain someone has arranged a picnic for me...and much as I love this stuff, I can't eat it all myself. So, uhm, Central City festival, I'll be in the... uhm, in the bats exhibit. No, I'm not kidding Ted, its a mystery thing."
That said, the world-famous one stretches his arms to better accomodate the bowls of food, and makes his way towards what, indeed, looks like a museum set up, with a large banner reading 'BATS!'

jla-extras.livejournal.com

A dark figure, concealed in shadows, stands over the fallen form of the angel Zauriel. A few drops of his blood... a feather... the sword. Together with the emblem inset into the floor, and a powerful connection exists to the God of Abraham and Isaac.

He raises the flaming sword aloft.

"Spectre... Wrath of God... Hear my command..."

starfire-kory.livejournal.com

(in Kory's garden, with Luum, Hugo, and Mar'i)

It is a night not spoken of, though it should be. A hero should not be forgotten.

*lights a candle*

Let all within sound of my voice give ear ... tonight we honor Alisand'r, of the House of And'r, who died far from Tamaran, in battle against the forces of Apokolips. The Oans may have decreed her story be struck from their Great Book, but we remember. They could not hide the truth of her bravery from us, and we rekindle the memory every year.

Her spirit was unbroken when she was captured. She dared defy Darkseid himself, and paid for it with her life. Her ancestors were not ashamed to usher her into their august company.

On land or air or depths of space
I challenge evil--show your face!
X'hal witness now my will to fight
My sword and shield--Green Lantern's Light!

Current Mood: proud

magic-cigam.livejournal.com

Zatanna would like to have a decent Valentine's Day. For once. Which means she wants to go to England and see John. But she needs to get a few things done first. She visits Dinah and then it's time to get another little matter resolved before time runs out.

Hal did point out the urgency of J'onn's particular problem and it needs to be done before the Spectre decides to pay them a little visit. Also, she doesn't like the thought of J'onn being in any more pain than he has to be any longer. Clearly, it's not demon posession. It was the mind-wipe. Hopefully she can fix this and then if she never hears about a mind-wipe again, it'll be too soon.

A few backwards words later and she's at the Watchtower. She manages an apologetic smile as she approaches the srea where J'onn has been detained.

"Hello, J'onn. I think it's about time I took care of what ails you."

Current Mood: hopeful

http://users.livejournal.com/_black_canary_/

I'm bored.

Bored bored bored bored BORED. I am BORED. At least I'm not going to have to stay here as long as Babs did last year. I'll sneak out first, though since they've said I can go home tomorrow, hopefully that won't be necessary.

Babs had Helena bring a laptop to me so I "wouldn't be so bored." Ha. This is a trick for her to get me to learn more stuff.

Okay, so now I'm addicted to FreeCell. Not the same thing.

Current Mood: bored

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JLA Watchtower (Archive)

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JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Entries tagged with spectre

Smog and Brimstone

Asmodel's Revenge!

Outside Space and Time

For thou art with me....

And I shall fear no evil...

Means to an end

Humble Beginings

A Dark and Stormy Night...

Is it my nature?

And so shall you reap...

As Time Goes By -- The Big Finish

The Last Battle of This Age of Magic?

The Green

The Green

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At an undisclosed location:

Honor to those....

At the Watchtower

Dinah Lance's hospital room, Wayne Memorial Medical Center

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November 2016

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