Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
He'll be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.
Just a couple more chapters to post, then this thread will be up to date...
The Saga of Tanya the Devil (Youjo Senki/The Sandman)
- Thread starter Chandagnac
- Start date
Just a couple more chapters to post, then this thread will be up to date...
12. How to Establish a Cordial Relationship
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
"I know that sometimes, the hero has to play baccarat with the enemy, even though logically it would make more sense for them to just be trying to kill each other."
—Elan, The Order of the Stick
You know, I should give up trying to predict when I'll have finished another one of these. If you're still reading this, I'm sure you won't mind me giving you the next chapter. Here it is:
Surrounded by luxury and high society, towering marble columns and glittering chandeliers, angel and demon were sitting together at their usual table at the Ritz. Crowley hadn't made a reservation. It had never occurred to him to make one.
"I'm fine. It's just that I spent a long time talking to Lady Tanya earlier today and there are some things you should know: she doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen, she doesn't want there to be a war between Heaven and Hell, and she'd rather keep things as they are."
"Really? That's wonderful!" Aziraphale smiled sunnily. "Provided, of course, that she can be believed. Isn't she currently reorganizing Hell? I had assumed she was doing that to be ready for the next war."
"No, she just wants to keep her 'employees' happy with regular pay and things to spend it on," said Crowley. "And she wants me to establish a 'cordial relationship' with you and any other angels I come across here on Earth."
"Why?"
"Uh, it's all part of the peace process. There'll never be any peace if we don't sit down and talk to each other now and then."
"But we already have a 'cordial relationship'," Aziraphale pointed out.
"Yes, but Tanya doesn't know that."
"Well, I don't see you as often as I'd like. I'm glad we have this opportunity to… ah, get to know each other a little better."
Crowley didn't quibble over the fact that they'd known each other for thousands of years already. Instead, he said, "With that in mind, there are some things I need to say to you. I don't think I've ever told you how much I…" He hesitated, swallowed and made a stumbling attempt to continue: "You really are my best friend, did you know that? There's no one I'd rather spend time with. You're the only one I'd bring to a place like this. And I haven't told you how… grateful I am that you rescued me in Hell. You were my knight in shining armour. Thank you." A moment later, cringing at his own words, he tried again, "I mean, you were a badass. In a good way." After another embarrassed pause, he settled on: "You were amazing."
"Oh, my dear Crowley," said Aziraphale, holding a hand over where his heart would be if he had a normal human anatomy. "You don't know how pleased I am to hear you say that." His voice faded to a whisper and he looked rather guilty. "You're my best friend too. I know I shouldn't feel that way, since you're a demon and I'm an angel, but…"
"I feel the same way," Crowley whispered, leaning across the table so as to impart those words into Aziraphale's ears without the possibility of anyone else listening in. Then, rather daringly, he kissed him on the cheek. At least, that was what he meant to do.
Aziraphale turned and looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar, perhaps intending to ask what he was doing. Their lips met.
They should have broken apart immediately. There should have been flustered apologies and denials. But that would come later. Instead, they stayed rigidly in place, too shocked to move or do much of anything. There was some experimentation with tongues and lips.
When they finally broke apart, sinking back into their seats, Crowley was quick to apologize: "Sorry! Uh, I'm sorry… I meant to kiss you on the cheek. A brotherly kiss. Because I'm so grateful to you." And then: "Not that I didn't enjoy it!"
"My dear, there's no need to apologize. I'm at least partly to blame. I'm afraid I mistook your intentions," says Aziraphale. "And… yes, I enjoyed it too."
Crowley was tempted to ask, 'Shall we do it again?' but he was afraid what might happen if he did. Would it be too soon? Would Aziraphale attempt to put him down gently? He knew he couldn't bear it if that happened. So, he changed his mind and said something else: "I'm glad. Uh, another pot of tea?"
"Perhaps something a little stronger?" Aziraphale suggested, signalling to the waiter as he passed by.
"I never thought I'd hear you say that," said Crowley, wide-eyed.
The latest unwanted visitor to Tanya's office wore a greasy leather jacket, a sash embroidered with the image of a deer, a bicorn hat with a mane of hair sticking out on either side, and a gloating smile on his face. He was clearly relishing the opportunity to tattle on one of his rivals: "I saw them kissing in that fancy restaurant! Him and his boyfriend!"
"Yes, he was acting on my orders. I told him that he should establish a cordial relationship with Aziraphale and the other angels who are active on Earth," said Tanya. "But I hadn't expected him to go to such lengths. I'm impressed by his diligence. Perhaps I should give him a raise."
"Seems to me that his boyfriend was already doing that, if you know what I mean," said Furfur. "Hur hur hur!"
Tanya gave him a withering glare and was satisfied to see him quail before her. "No, I've no idea what you mean."
"Uh, never mind that. You told Crowley to seduce that angel?"
"Not necessarily seduce. Just make him more willing to listen to us, more sympathetic to our point of view," Tanya explained.
"So we can lead him into a trap or trick him into joining us," Furfur concluded, looking pleased with himself for figuring that out. "Gotcha."
"I can only hope Crowley doesn't intend to use the same technique on all the other angels. That seems like it could lead to unnecessary complications and hurt feelings," said Tanya. She remembered how admiringly Crowley had spoken of Aziraphale when last she'd spoken to him, so she surmised that he must have been infatuated with the angel for quite some time and – because the angel apparently felt the same way – he'd taken the opportunity to act on his feelings in such a way as to make it easier to carry out the orders he'd been given. Having reached that conclusion, Tanya was rather impressed. Instead of letting his feelings get in the way of his work, Crowley had done the opposite.
But what to do with Furfur? He was a slimy, conniving, backstabbing wretch, but such people had their uses. He had already proven himself to be highly skilled at spying on his colleagues. As a former human resources manager, Tanya prided herself on putting each of her employees in places where they could use their skills to best advantage. With that in mind, she asked him, "Would you like to be a duke of Hell?"
"Me? I'd be honoured!"
Tanya nodded. "You're aware that I've assigned many of my employees to complete various tasks on Earth, with strict rules as to how they should behave so as not to attract too much attention from the angels or mortal authorities. I need someone to make sure that my instructions are being followed and my rules are being obeyed. I think you would be ideal for this role."
"And you'd make me a duke of Hell as well?" asked Furfur, eyes narrowed, as if trying to figure out the catch.
"Yes. As my chief inspector, you'd need to be of high enough rank that my other employees have to take you seriously, so they don't feel that they can just ignore you."
Furfur grinned delightedly. "So they'll have to call me 'Duke'?"
"If you like. So long as you agree to take the job, of course."
"I'll take it!" Furfur cried. Then, it occurred to him to ask: "If I'm going to be your 'chief' inspector, does that mean I'll have others working for me?"
Tanya nodded. "You can't be everywhere at once. You'll need a team to assist you. About a dozen, to begin with, I think."
"Do I get to choose who's in my team?"
"Yes, but please bear in mind that I will personally be inspecting you and your employees from time to time, making sure that your work is of an acceptable standard and that you're being fair to those you're inspecting. Don't let power go to your head."
"Actually, that reminds me… Not long ago, Beelzebub was one of the leaders of the rebellion against you, but now you've released them and you're letting them go to Earth to enjoy themselves. I don't understand why you'd do that. If you give them privileges like that, don't you think they might abuse them?"
"I released Beelzebub because I needed them to help with the filing system. Since then, they have worked hard and made an effort to mend their ways, for which they have been rewarded," said Tanya. "I want to show all my employees that, no matter what they've done in the past, they will be rewarded for hard work."
"'Work will set you free.'" Furfur sneered. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."
"'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox who treadeth out the corn. And, the labourer is worthy of his reward,'" Tanya corrected him, though she grimaced as she always did whenever she felt the need to quote from the Bible.
"All right, fine. I'd best be going," said Furfur, trudging towards the door. "I'll make a start on putting my team together, shall I?"
"Yes, you do that," Tanya replied, returning to her paperwork.
"This new gang is taking over everywhere," said Warren White, the crime boss also known as 'the Great White Shark'. "We've got to put them down before they climb too high."
He and the other leaders of Gotham's organized crime gangs – those who weren't currently imprisoned in Arkham Asylum or Blackgate Penitentiary – were arranged in a loose circle, together with their bodyguards, in a dingy area that was part of the city's docklands. On one side, there were crumbling buildings, abandoned shipping containers and rusting machinery, and a patch of dead grass with a sign above it that said, 'DON'T TREAD ON ME'. On the other, there were the grimy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
"Frightened of the competition?" asked the current leader of the Maroni crime family, with a scar-faced grin. The Maroni family was much reduced in size and influence since its glory days – and they changed leaders so often that hardly anyone outside of the family bothered to remember their names. Nevertheless, Warren made a mental note to have this one killed as soon as he could get away with it, whatever his name was.
"Hardly a competition," said Oswald Cobblepot, who preferred to be known as 'the Penguin', leaning on his folded umbrella as if it were a walking cane. "What do I care if they sell cannabis and run a few bordellos? My business has been unaffected."
"They call themselves 'the Demons'. They're dangerous," said Dragos Ibanescu. "Yesterday, one of them got a faceful of lead, just walked it off like it was nothing. And there's not only one of them who's got superpowers."
"It wouldn't be the first time superpowered freaks have tried to take over Gotham's underworld," said Cobblepot, blithely unconcerned. "They'll learn. They always do. Brains beat brawn every time."
"Is that why you keep getting your ass handed to you by Batman?" asked Yuri Dimitrov, with a roar of laughter.
"As if you don't," said Cobblepot, with a contemptuous sniff.
"Gentlemen, this is all beside the point," said Warren. "You all think you're such big fish in a little pond, but what will you do when a much bigger predator comes for you? Don't you think it would be wise to unite against them before they pick us off one by one?"
Sometime later, after much discussion and disagreement, seven of Gotham's largest crime gangs agreed to join forces to drive out 'the Demons'. Warren could only hope that it would be enough.
"–and it continues for a while after that, but there's a lot of white noise," said Stephanie Brown, the teenaged superheroine known as 'Spoiler'.
"Impressive work," said Batman, examining the miniature recording device. "Especially considering that they must have scoped out the place beforehand, but they didn't notice you or where you'd hidden this."
"It was nothing," said Spoiler, modestly.
"I'll listen to all of it when I have the time. For now, can you tell me when this gang war is supposed to begin?"
"Tomorrow, after midnight."
"I'll have to be ready," said Batman. His mind was already racing ahead, forming plans and contingencies, making a list of all the tools he'd need.
"I could help," Spoiler offered.
"I'm not taking you out into a hail of gunfire. Unless you want to sit in the Batmobile and not touch anything."
"No… but perhaps there's some other way I can help?"
"Gather as much information as you can about this new gang, 'the Demons'," said Batman, after some consideration. "I suspect I'm going to need it."
It was early evening, much too early for most revellers and partygoers, when the angel Gabriel entered Lux. He had taken the form of a tall, beefy man with an honest face, clean-cut and wearing a grey suit. Recently, the demons of Hell had been unusually active on Earth – and many of them had been seen in this particular nightclub – which was why he had been chosen to investigate.
Lucifer wasn't pleased to see him, accosted him almost as soon as he entered, and said, "Gabriel. I hope you're not here to cause trouble."
"No, not at all," Gabriel assured him.
"You're not going to urge me to go back to Hell?"
"No, that's Amenadiel's job," said Gabriel. "And anyway, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I'm an ordinary human businessman, named Gabriel…" He looked around for inspiration. He noticed someone who was unmistakably a demon – a gender-indeterminate being with rumpled clothes, messy hair, and a fly buzzing in circles around them – sitting alone at the back of the room, nursing a pint of something tepid. "…Gabriel Glass. I've come to your fine establishment to enjoy a drink, like so many other humans do. Over there, I see an attractive person I would like to get to know better. I think I will sit and talk to them."
"Will there be dancing after that?" asked Lucifer, with some amusement. "Tell you what, if you promise not to start any trouble, the first drink's free."
"Capital," said Gabriel, beaming. "I'll have water."
"Are you sure? A bit boring, don't you think? There are plenty of other options. You can have whatever you like." Immediately after he'd said that, Lucifer winced, glanced at some of the bottles behind the bar, and muttered, "You could really make me regret that offer, you know. No takebacks."
"I like water."
"Suit yourself." Lucifer walked behind the bar, dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and fetched two bottles out of the refrigerator. "Still or sparkling?"
That got Gabriel's attention. "How do they make it sparkle?"
"Dissolved carbon dioxide."
"Sounds interesting. I'll try it," he decided.
Lucifer handed him the glass and one of the bottles – the one that had bubbles trying to escape from it – and returned the other to the fridge.
Bottle and glass in hand, Gabriel walked over to the gender-indeterminate being and sat down beside them. "You look like an interesting person. What's your name? How did you come to be here?" he asked.
"I'm Beelzebub. You're an angel, aren't you?" Their voice was edged with a faint buzz, barely perceptible. "I shouldn't be talking to you."
"It's fine," Gabriel assured them. "We're all friends here. Friendly friends getting to know each other. Where's the harm in that?"
"Next time, I hope she throws me in the Bottomless Pit," said Beelzebub, glumly. "More room to spread out."
"What do you mean 'next time'?"
"I rebelled against her. Together with two others – Azazel and the First of the Fallen – I tore her realm apart. She defeated me and threw me in the Blackest Pit. Not long after that, she released me because she needed my help with the filing system. She treats me the same as anyone else, gives me the same pay and even gives me opportunities to take breaks in places like this." They gestured around at Lucifer's nightclub. "Why would she forgive me like that?"
Gabriel was glad of the opportunity to hold forth on a subject about which he was an expert: "It is entirely within the power of one who has been sinned against to decide whether or not to forgive the sinner. To forgive is divine. All people make mistakes and God forgives them, and people are acting in a godlike way when they forgive others."
"Does that include demons?" asked Beelzebub.
"I don't see why not. You used to be an angel, didn't you?"
"One of the cherubim."
"Well, there you are. You've made mistakes, for which you were punished, but you can still be forgiven. No one is beyond forgiveness."
"God didn't forgive me, though," Beelzebub pointed out. "Does that mean she's more godlike than God?"
"If you – or any other demon – showed true contrition and a desire to repent, God would forgive you."
"Does that mean forgiveness is conditional?"
"It makes a mockery of forgiveness to forgive those who don't want it. But forgiveness will always be there for those who ask for it."
"Tanya forgave me without needing me to repent or show contrition or anything like that."
"Only because she needed you to do something for her. Not because she forgives as God forgives," says Gabriel, sipping his carbonated water. He didn't particularly like it.
Beelzebub appeared lost in thought. The fly hovering nearby seemed unusually agitated. "If I put my trust in God, admitted fault and asked Him to forgive me, what would happen? Would I be restored to my former greatness?"
"While you continue to sin, cause mischief and spread misery, you will always be a demon, but…" Gabriel hesitated, unsure of what to say next.
"You don't know, do you?"
"I am merely God's servant. I don't pretend to know everything He might do."
"Do you want to?"
"I… I'm happy as I am. I trust in God's judgement."
"I wish I understood why Tanya does what she does," Beelzebub said moodily. "She makes no sense. She defeated me in an eyeblink, but she acts like she needs to keep me happy. If she was determined to rule by fear and subjugation of those weaker than her, she could do it. Why does she make such an effort to keep her 'employees' happy? And why does she bother with filing and paperwork and so on?"
"Obviously, she will need powerful demons by her side when the Apocalypse comes and she must fight the armies of Heaven. Keeping you happy now is a small price to pay to have you by her side in battle."
"You may be right. Or maybe not. From what I've heard, Tanya doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen. She doesn't want to fight."
"That sounds foolish of her. If she doesn't fight, she'll be easily defeated and cast down."
Beelzebub finished the rest of their drink. Their head slumped to one side and the buzzing edge to their voice became more pronounced as they said, "Everything'zz upside down. Tanya izz willing to forgive but God isn't. Heaven wants war but Hell doesn't. Nothing makes sense anymore."
"It seems to me that you're having a crisis of faith."
"I had my crisis of faith long ago. That'zz why I'm a demon now."
"I didn't mean faith in God, but in yourself and what you've been fighting for."
"Yeah. You're probably right. I can't believe I'm asking this, but do you have any suggestionzz?"
"If I told you to put your trust in God and pray to Him, would you listen?"
"Probably not," Beelzebub admitted. "Would you like another drink?"
"Yes, please. Non-sparkling water this time," said Gabriel, as the demon got up and traipsed over to the bar.
To his surprise, he realised he was enjoying himself. He knew he should denounce Beelzebub as evil hellspawn who was trying to trick and corrupt him, but he found it refreshing to talk to someone whose beliefs and opinions were at odds with his own. Heaven could be such an echo chamber sometimes. Besides, Beelzebub didn't seem irredeemable, just cynical and unsure of their place in a rapidly changing universe. Perhaps it would be possible to redeem them.
He smiled and said, "Thank you," when they returned with a bottle of water for him and a fresh glass of whatever they were drinking, which looked like it had shreds of pondweed floating in it.
"We're under attack!" yelled Eric the demon, suddenly appearing in the lobby of Tanya's hellish office building.
Hastur glanced around, saw nothing out of the ordinary – there were just a few demons scurrying in and out, busy with various tasks, or standing to one side and conversing in hushed tones – and replied, "No, we're not."
"On Earth, I mean! In Gotham!"
Hastur was none the wiser.
"It's a city in North America!"
"Oh, right." No one else seemed willing to take charge, so Hastur said, "Lady Tanya's not here right now. Can I take a message?"
"We need help right now!" cried Eric, who was wearing the form of a scrawny human with hair sticking out at odd angles.
"What exactly is going on? Who are you being attacked by?"
"Gangsters! With guns!"
"You're a demon. What do you care about a few bullets?"
"It hurts a lot," said Eric, showing him a new bullet wound, through which black ichor was slowly seeping. "And they've got bombs as well!"
"Fine. In a few hours, I'll have gathered a sizeable force–"
"We don't have a few hours!"
"Pull yourself together!" Hastur snapped at him. "I'll come right now, along with…" He glanced around and grabbed the first few demons he could see who didn't appear to be busy. "Scumspawn." He immediately suspected that might be a mistake. Scumspawn wasn't much of a fighter. On the other hand, he was an accomplished shapeshifter, so perhaps he could transform into something that would terrify the gangsters into running away. "Shax." She was cruel and ambitious, but she'd sided with Tanya during the war in Hell – for whatever reason – and by all accounts she'd fought well. "And… Baytor, isn't it?"
"I am Baytor!" cried one of Etrigan's former henchmen, whose head appeared to consist entirely of teeth.
Hastur frowned. "Didn't you used to be the king of Hell?"
"I am Baytor!"
"Yes, he did. That was one of Lucifer's little jokes," Shax hastened to explain.
"Come with me, you three," said Hastur, beckoning to them. "We're going into battle."
"Me?" Scumspawn squeaked.
"I just need you to scare the humans, that's all. Transform into a gigantic crustacean with tentacles and glowing red eyes, or something like that," said Hastur. "Humans are terrified of that sort of thing."
"Um. I'll do my best."
"That's all I ask," said Hastur, clapping him on the back and causing him to stumble.
"If I do this, how will you reward me?" asked Shax.
"I'll put in a good word for you with Tanya. Same with you two as well," said Hastur, nodding to Scumspawn and Baytor.
Shax nodded, satisfied. "All right, I'll do it."
Hastur turned to Eric. "Take us to wherever you need us."
With a heavy sigh of relief, Eric opened a portal, through which could be seen the silhouettes of concrete buildings, roads strewn with rubble and makeshift barricades, lit only by the fires of burning wreckage.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more," said Shax, rolling her eyes.
"I am Baytor!"
"Let's get on with it," said Hastur, stepping into the portal.
Dream studied the plastic card Tanya had given him, then the piece of paper on which she'd written a set of instructions, and then the machine in front of him, which had a small screen with a set of buttons underneath. After a couple of attempts, he managed to get it to work.
"That is… quite a lot of money," he said, looking at the numbers on the screen. "Tanya's hotel must be doing well."
"Does that mean we won't need to see your friend?" asked Delirium, who was lying on the floor next to him.
Dream discovered there was a hard limit to the amount of money he could withdraw from the ATM, which was much less than he needed.
"No, we're still going to see Pharamond," he said. "We'll need plane tickets, a car and someone to drive it."
Even so, he put all of the money the machine would give him into a coat pocket that hadn't been there a few moments before. Then, for good measure, he put the plastic card and Tanya's instructions in the same pocket.
"I could drive. I bet I'd be really good," said Delirium.
"No."
"Hmph."
As they walked down the street and across a bridge, towards the headquarters of Farrell Travel, a corporation owned by a former god who still owed Dream a favour, it occurred to Delirium to ask, "Why are we doing this? We could just pwoof and we'd be there. Straightaway. Through someone's head. Pwoof."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because there's a right way to do things."
"You're very silly," said Delirium.
"I know," said Dream.
Author's Notes:
A shorter chapter, this time, but it includes everything I wanted it to include.
I'm sure an attentive reader could identify which version of the Bible I've been quoting from. I inherited my copy of it from my grandmother.
I spent ages searching through Wikipedia and the DC Database, trying to figure out which crime bosses should be present at the meeting to discuss how to deal with the demons who've been invading their territory, until finally I threw up my hands and admitted defeat. I ended up choosing a random assortment I thought would make for an interesting mix. Don't bother trying to figure out how this story fits into DC Universe continuity. It doesn't.
In this chapter, Beelzebub is in human form, so I decided not to give them the same buzzing onomatopoeic speech patterns as in previous chapters. At least not until near the end. I thought a long conversation with so many superfluous zees would get annoying to read.
I've included several references to the second series of the Good Omens TV series, which I didn't think was very good. Still, there were some things I liked about it.
Most of Delirium's dialogue in this chapter is quoted directly from the 'Brief Lives' story arc in The Sandman comic book, just in case you thought she seemed unusually sane.
In the next chapter, there'll be gang war in Gotham while Dream and Delirium will continue the 'Brief Lives' storyline, in which they'll be searching for their brother, Destruction.
—Elan, The Order of the Stick
You know, I should give up trying to predict when I'll have finished another one of these. If you're still reading this, I'm sure you won't mind me giving you the next chapter. Here it is:
How to Establish a Cordial Relationship
"It's lovely to see you again, Crowley," said Aziraphale, pouring himself a cup of tea. "But I wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Is everything all right?"Surrounded by luxury and high society, towering marble columns and glittering chandeliers, angel and demon were sitting together at their usual table at the Ritz. Crowley hadn't made a reservation. It had never occurred to him to make one.
"I'm fine. It's just that I spent a long time talking to Lady Tanya earlier today and there are some things you should know: she doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen, she doesn't want there to be a war between Heaven and Hell, and she'd rather keep things as they are."
"Really? That's wonderful!" Aziraphale smiled sunnily. "Provided, of course, that she can be believed. Isn't she currently reorganizing Hell? I had assumed she was doing that to be ready for the next war."
"No, she just wants to keep her 'employees' happy with regular pay and things to spend it on," said Crowley. "And she wants me to establish a 'cordial relationship' with you and any other angels I come across here on Earth."
"Why?"
"Uh, it's all part of the peace process. There'll never be any peace if we don't sit down and talk to each other now and then."
"But we already have a 'cordial relationship'," Aziraphale pointed out.
"Yes, but Tanya doesn't know that."
"Well, I don't see you as often as I'd like. I'm glad we have this opportunity to… ah, get to know each other a little better."
Crowley didn't quibble over the fact that they'd known each other for thousands of years already. Instead, he said, "With that in mind, there are some things I need to say to you. I don't think I've ever told you how much I…" He hesitated, swallowed and made a stumbling attempt to continue: "You really are my best friend, did you know that? There's no one I'd rather spend time with. You're the only one I'd bring to a place like this. And I haven't told you how… grateful I am that you rescued me in Hell. You were my knight in shining armour. Thank you." A moment later, cringing at his own words, he tried again, "I mean, you were a badass. In a good way." After another embarrassed pause, he settled on: "You were amazing."
"Oh, my dear Crowley," said Aziraphale, holding a hand over where his heart would be if he had a normal human anatomy. "You don't know how pleased I am to hear you say that." His voice faded to a whisper and he looked rather guilty. "You're my best friend too. I know I shouldn't feel that way, since you're a demon and I'm an angel, but…"
"I feel the same way," Crowley whispered, leaning across the table so as to impart those words into Aziraphale's ears without the possibility of anyone else listening in. Then, rather daringly, he kissed him on the cheek. At least, that was what he meant to do.
Aziraphale turned and looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar, perhaps intending to ask what he was doing. Their lips met.
They should have broken apart immediately. There should have been flustered apologies and denials. But that would come later. Instead, they stayed rigidly in place, too shocked to move or do much of anything. There was some experimentation with tongues and lips.
When they finally broke apart, sinking back into their seats, Crowley was quick to apologize: "Sorry! Uh, I'm sorry… I meant to kiss you on the cheek. A brotherly kiss. Because I'm so grateful to you." And then: "Not that I didn't enjoy it!"
"My dear, there's no need to apologize. I'm at least partly to blame. I'm afraid I mistook your intentions," says Aziraphale. "And… yes, I enjoyed it too."
Crowley was tempted to ask, 'Shall we do it again?' but he was afraid what might happen if he did. Would it be too soon? Would Aziraphale attempt to put him down gently? He knew he couldn't bear it if that happened. So, he changed his mind and said something else: "I'm glad. Uh, another pot of tea?"
"Perhaps something a little stronger?" Aziraphale suggested, signalling to the waiter as he passed by.
"I never thought I'd hear you say that," said Crowley, wide-eyed.
The latest unwanted visitor to Tanya's office wore a greasy leather jacket, a sash embroidered with the image of a deer, a bicorn hat with a mane of hair sticking out on either side, and a gloating smile on his face. He was clearly relishing the opportunity to tattle on one of his rivals: "I saw them kissing in that fancy restaurant! Him and his boyfriend!"
"Yes, he was acting on my orders. I told him that he should establish a cordial relationship with Aziraphale and the other angels who are active on Earth," said Tanya. "But I hadn't expected him to go to such lengths. I'm impressed by his diligence. Perhaps I should give him a raise."
"Seems to me that his boyfriend was already doing that, if you know what I mean," said Furfur. "Hur hur hur!"
Tanya gave him a withering glare and was satisfied to see him quail before her. "No, I've no idea what you mean."
"Uh, never mind that. You told Crowley to seduce that angel?"
"Not necessarily seduce. Just make him more willing to listen to us, more sympathetic to our point of view," Tanya explained.
"So we can lead him into a trap or trick him into joining us," Furfur concluded, looking pleased with himself for figuring that out. "Gotcha."
"I can only hope Crowley doesn't intend to use the same technique on all the other angels. That seems like it could lead to unnecessary complications and hurt feelings," said Tanya. She remembered how admiringly Crowley had spoken of Aziraphale when last she'd spoken to him, so she surmised that he must have been infatuated with the angel for quite some time and – because the angel apparently felt the same way – he'd taken the opportunity to act on his feelings in such a way as to make it easier to carry out the orders he'd been given. Having reached that conclusion, Tanya was rather impressed. Instead of letting his feelings get in the way of his work, Crowley had done the opposite.
But what to do with Furfur? He was a slimy, conniving, backstabbing wretch, but such people had their uses. He had already proven himself to be highly skilled at spying on his colleagues. As a former human resources manager, Tanya prided herself on putting each of her employees in places where they could use their skills to best advantage. With that in mind, she asked him, "Would you like to be a duke of Hell?"
"Me? I'd be honoured!"
Tanya nodded. "You're aware that I've assigned many of my employees to complete various tasks on Earth, with strict rules as to how they should behave so as not to attract too much attention from the angels or mortal authorities. I need someone to make sure that my instructions are being followed and my rules are being obeyed. I think you would be ideal for this role."
"And you'd make me a duke of Hell as well?" asked Furfur, eyes narrowed, as if trying to figure out the catch.
"Yes. As my chief inspector, you'd need to be of high enough rank that my other employees have to take you seriously, so they don't feel that they can just ignore you."
Furfur grinned delightedly. "So they'll have to call me 'Duke'?"
"If you like. So long as you agree to take the job, of course."
"I'll take it!" Furfur cried. Then, it occurred to him to ask: "If I'm going to be your 'chief' inspector, does that mean I'll have others working for me?"
Tanya nodded. "You can't be everywhere at once. You'll need a team to assist you. About a dozen, to begin with, I think."
"Do I get to choose who's in my team?"
"Yes, but please bear in mind that I will personally be inspecting you and your employees from time to time, making sure that your work is of an acceptable standard and that you're being fair to those you're inspecting. Don't let power go to your head."
"Actually, that reminds me… Not long ago, Beelzebub was one of the leaders of the rebellion against you, but now you've released them and you're letting them go to Earth to enjoy themselves. I don't understand why you'd do that. If you give them privileges like that, don't you think they might abuse them?"
"I released Beelzebub because I needed them to help with the filing system. Since then, they have worked hard and made an effort to mend their ways, for which they have been rewarded," said Tanya. "I want to show all my employees that, no matter what they've done in the past, they will be rewarded for hard work."
"'Work will set you free.'" Furfur sneered. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."
"'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox who treadeth out the corn. And, the labourer is worthy of his reward,'" Tanya corrected him, though she grimaced as she always did whenever she felt the need to quote from the Bible.
"All right, fine. I'd best be going," said Furfur, trudging towards the door. "I'll make a start on putting my team together, shall I?"
"Yes, you do that," Tanya replied, returning to her paperwork.
"This new gang is taking over everywhere," said Warren White, the crime boss also known as 'the Great White Shark'. "We've got to put them down before they climb too high."
He and the other leaders of Gotham's organized crime gangs – those who weren't currently imprisoned in Arkham Asylum or Blackgate Penitentiary – were arranged in a loose circle, together with their bodyguards, in a dingy area that was part of the city's docklands. On one side, there were crumbling buildings, abandoned shipping containers and rusting machinery, and a patch of dead grass with a sign above it that said, 'DON'T TREAD ON ME'. On the other, there were the grimy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
"Frightened of the competition?" asked the current leader of the Maroni crime family, with a scar-faced grin. The Maroni family was much reduced in size and influence since its glory days – and they changed leaders so often that hardly anyone outside of the family bothered to remember their names. Nevertheless, Warren made a mental note to have this one killed as soon as he could get away with it, whatever his name was.
"Hardly a competition," said Oswald Cobblepot, who preferred to be known as 'the Penguin', leaning on his folded umbrella as if it were a walking cane. "What do I care if they sell cannabis and run a few bordellos? My business has been unaffected."
"They call themselves 'the Demons'. They're dangerous," said Dragos Ibanescu. "Yesterday, one of them got a faceful of lead, just walked it off like it was nothing. And there's not only one of them who's got superpowers."
"It wouldn't be the first time superpowered freaks have tried to take over Gotham's underworld," said Cobblepot, blithely unconcerned. "They'll learn. They always do. Brains beat brawn every time."
"Is that why you keep getting your ass handed to you by Batman?" asked Yuri Dimitrov, with a roar of laughter.
"As if you don't," said Cobblepot, with a contemptuous sniff.
"Gentlemen, this is all beside the point," said Warren. "You all think you're such big fish in a little pond, but what will you do when a much bigger predator comes for you? Don't you think it would be wise to unite against them before they pick us off one by one?"
Sometime later, after much discussion and disagreement, seven of Gotham's largest crime gangs agreed to join forces to drive out 'the Demons'. Warren could only hope that it would be enough.
"–and it continues for a while after that, but there's a lot of white noise," said Stephanie Brown, the teenaged superheroine known as 'Spoiler'.
"Impressive work," said Batman, examining the miniature recording device. "Especially considering that they must have scoped out the place beforehand, but they didn't notice you or where you'd hidden this."
"It was nothing," said Spoiler, modestly.
"I'll listen to all of it when I have the time. For now, can you tell me when this gang war is supposed to begin?"
"Tomorrow, after midnight."
"I'll have to be ready," said Batman. His mind was already racing ahead, forming plans and contingencies, making a list of all the tools he'd need.
"I could help," Spoiler offered.
"I'm not taking you out into a hail of gunfire. Unless you want to sit in the Batmobile and not touch anything."
"No… but perhaps there's some other way I can help?"
"Gather as much information as you can about this new gang, 'the Demons'," said Batman, after some consideration. "I suspect I'm going to need it."
It was early evening, much too early for most revellers and partygoers, when the angel Gabriel entered Lux. He had taken the form of a tall, beefy man with an honest face, clean-cut and wearing a grey suit. Recently, the demons of Hell had been unusually active on Earth – and many of them had been seen in this particular nightclub – which was why he had been chosen to investigate.
Lucifer wasn't pleased to see him, accosted him almost as soon as he entered, and said, "Gabriel. I hope you're not here to cause trouble."
"No, not at all," Gabriel assured him.
"You're not going to urge me to go back to Hell?"
"No, that's Amenadiel's job," said Gabriel. "And anyway, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I'm an ordinary human businessman, named Gabriel…" He looked around for inspiration. He noticed someone who was unmistakably a demon – a gender-indeterminate being with rumpled clothes, messy hair, and a fly buzzing in circles around them – sitting alone at the back of the room, nursing a pint of something tepid. "…Gabriel Glass. I've come to your fine establishment to enjoy a drink, like so many other humans do. Over there, I see an attractive person I would like to get to know better. I think I will sit and talk to them."
"Will there be dancing after that?" asked Lucifer, with some amusement. "Tell you what, if you promise not to start any trouble, the first drink's free."
"Capital," said Gabriel, beaming. "I'll have water."
"Are you sure? A bit boring, don't you think? There are plenty of other options. You can have whatever you like." Immediately after he'd said that, Lucifer winced, glanced at some of the bottles behind the bar, and muttered, "You could really make me regret that offer, you know. No takebacks."
"I like water."
"Suit yourself." Lucifer walked behind the bar, dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and fetched two bottles out of the refrigerator. "Still or sparkling?"
That got Gabriel's attention. "How do they make it sparkle?"
"Dissolved carbon dioxide."
"Sounds interesting. I'll try it," he decided.
Lucifer handed him the glass and one of the bottles – the one that had bubbles trying to escape from it – and returned the other to the fridge.
Bottle and glass in hand, Gabriel walked over to the gender-indeterminate being and sat down beside them. "You look like an interesting person. What's your name? How did you come to be here?" he asked.
"I'm Beelzebub. You're an angel, aren't you?" Their voice was edged with a faint buzz, barely perceptible. "I shouldn't be talking to you."
"It's fine," Gabriel assured them. "We're all friends here. Friendly friends getting to know each other. Where's the harm in that?"
"Next time, I hope she throws me in the Bottomless Pit," said Beelzebub, glumly. "More room to spread out."
"What do you mean 'next time'?"
"I rebelled against her. Together with two others – Azazel and the First of the Fallen – I tore her realm apart. She defeated me and threw me in the Blackest Pit. Not long after that, she released me because she needed my help with the filing system. She treats me the same as anyone else, gives me the same pay and even gives me opportunities to take breaks in places like this." They gestured around at Lucifer's nightclub. "Why would she forgive me like that?"
Gabriel was glad of the opportunity to hold forth on a subject about which he was an expert: "It is entirely within the power of one who has been sinned against to decide whether or not to forgive the sinner. To forgive is divine. All people make mistakes and God forgives them, and people are acting in a godlike way when they forgive others."
"Does that include demons?" asked Beelzebub.
"I don't see why not. You used to be an angel, didn't you?"
"One of the cherubim."
"Well, there you are. You've made mistakes, for which you were punished, but you can still be forgiven. No one is beyond forgiveness."
"God didn't forgive me, though," Beelzebub pointed out. "Does that mean she's more godlike than God?"
"If you – or any other demon – showed true contrition and a desire to repent, God would forgive you."
"Does that mean forgiveness is conditional?"
"It makes a mockery of forgiveness to forgive those who don't want it. But forgiveness will always be there for those who ask for it."
"Tanya forgave me without needing me to repent or show contrition or anything like that."
"Only because she needed you to do something for her. Not because she forgives as God forgives," says Gabriel, sipping his carbonated water. He didn't particularly like it.
Beelzebub appeared lost in thought. The fly hovering nearby seemed unusually agitated. "If I put my trust in God, admitted fault and asked Him to forgive me, what would happen? Would I be restored to my former greatness?"
"While you continue to sin, cause mischief and spread misery, you will always be a demon, but…" Gabriel hesitated, unsure of what to say next.
"You don't know, do you?"
"I am merely God's servant. I don't pretend to know everything He might do."
"Do you want to?"
"I… I'm happy as I am. I trust in God's judgement."
"I wish I understood why Tanya does what she does," Beelzebub said moodily. "She makes no sense. She defeated me in an eyeblink, but she acts like she needs to keep me happy. If she was determined to rule by fear and subjugation of those weaker than her, she could do it. Why does she make such an effort to keep her 'employees' happy? And why does she bother with filing and paperwork and so on?"
"Obviously, she will need powerful demons by her side when the Apocalypse comes and she must fight the armies of Heaven. Keeping you happy now is a small price to pay to have you by her side in battle."
"You may be right. Or maybe not. From what I've heard, Tanya doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen. She doesn't want to fight."
"That sounds foolish of her. If she doesn't fight, she'll be easily defeated and cast down."
Beelzebub finished the rest of their drink. Their head slumped to one side and the buzzing edge to their voice became more pronounced as they said, "Everything'zz upside down. Tanya izz willing to forgive but God isn't. Heaven wants war but Hell doesn't. Nothing makes sense anymore."
"It seems to me that you're having a crisis of faith."
"I had my crisis of faith long ago. That'zz why I'm a demon now."
"I didn't mean faith in God, but in yourself and what you've been fighting for."
"Yeah. You're probably right. I can't believe I'm asking this, but do you have any suggestionzz?"
"If I told you to put your trust in God and pray to Him, would you listen?"
"Probably not," Beelzebub admitted. "Would you like another drink?"
"Yes, please. Non-sparkling water this time," said Gabriel, as the demon got up and traipsed over to the bar.
To his surprise, he realised he was enjoying himself. He knew he should denounce Beelzebub as evil hellspawn who was trying to trick and corrupt him, but he found it refreshing to talk to someone whose beliefs and opinions were at odds with his own. Heaven could be such an echo chamber sometimes. Besides, Beelzebub didn't seem irredeemable, just cynical and unsure of their place in a rapidly changing universe. Perhaps it would be possible to redeem them.
He smiled and said, "Thank you," when they returned with a bottle of water for him and a fresh glass of whatever they were drinking, which looked like it had shreds of pondweed floating in it.
"We're under attack!" yelled Eric the demon, suddenly appearing in the lobby of Tanya's hellish office building.
Hastur glanced around, saw nothing out of the ordinary – there were just a few demons scurrying in and out, busy with various tasks, or standing to one side and conversing in hushed tones – and replied, "No, we're not."
"On Earth, I mean! In Gotham!"
Hastur was none the wiser.
"It's a city in North America!"
"Oh, right." No one else seemed willing to take charge, so Hastur said, "Lady Tanya's not here right now. Can I take a message?"
"We need help right now!" cried Eric, who was wearing the form of a scrawny human with hair sticking out at odd angles.
"What exactly is going on? Who are you being attacked by?"
"Gangsters! With guns!"
"You're a demon. What do you care about a few bullets?"
"It hurts a lot," said Eric, showing him a new bullet wound, through which black ichor was slowly seeping. "And they've got bombs as well!"
"Fine. In a few hours, I'll have gathered a sizeable force–"
"We don't have a few hours!"
"Pull yourself together!" Hastur snapped at him. "I'll come right now, along with…" He glanced around and grabbed the first few demons he could see who didn't appear to be busy. "Scumspawn." He immediately suspected that might be a mistake. Scumspawn wasn't much of a fighter. On the other hand, he was an accomplished shapeshifter, so perhaps he could transform into something that would terrify the gangsters into running away. "Shax." She was cruel and ambitious, but she'd sided with Tanya during the war in Hell – for whatever reason – and by all accounts she'd fought well. "And… Baytor, isn't it?"
"I am Baytor!" cried one of Etrigan's former henchmen, whose head appeared to consist entirely of teeth.
Hastur frowned. "Didn't you used to be the king of Hell?"
"I am Baytor!"
"Yes, he did. That was one of Lucifer's little jokes," Shax hastened to explain.
"Come with me, you three," said Hastur, beckoning to them. "We're going into battle."
"Me?" Scumspawn squeaked.
"I just need you to scare the humans, that's all. Transform into a gigantic crustacean with tentacles and glowing red eyes, or something like that," said Hastur. "Humans are terrified of that sort of thing."
"Um. I'll do my best."
"That's all I ask," said Hastur, clapping him on the back and causing him to stumble.
"If I do this, how will you reward me?" asked Shax.
"I'll put in a good word for you with Tanya. Same with you two as well," said Hastur, nodding to Scumspawn and Baytor.
Shax nodded, satisfied. "All right, I'll do it."
Hastur turned to Eric. "Take us to wherever you need us."
With a heavy sigh of relief, Eric opened a portal, through which could be seen the silhouettes of concrete buildings, roads strewn with rubble and makeshift barricades, lit only by the fires of burning wreckage.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more," said Shax, rolling her eyes.
"I am Baytor!"
"Let's get on with it," said Hastur, stepping into the portal.
Dream studied the plastic card Tanya had given him, then the piece of paper on which she'd written a set of instructions, and then the machine in front of him, which had a small screen with a set of buttons underneath. After a couple of attempts, he managed to get it to work.
"That is… quite a lot of money," he said, looking at the numbers on the screen. "Tanya's hotel must be doing well."
"Does that mean we won't need to see your friend?" asked Delirium, who was lying on the floor next to him.
Dream discovered there was a hard limit to the amount of money he could withdraw from the ATM, which was much less than he needed.
"No, we're still going to see Pharamond," he said. "We'll need plane tickets, a car and someone to drive it."
Even so, he put all of the money the machine would give him into a coat pocket that hadn't been there a few moments before. Then, for good measure, he put the plastic card and Tanya's instructions in the same pocket.
"I could drive. I bet I'd be really good," said Delirium.
"No."
"Hmph."
As they walked down the street and across a bridge, towards the headquarters of Farrell Travel, a corporation owned by a former god who still owed Dream a favour, it occurred to Delirium to ask, "Why are we doing this? We could just pwoof and we'd be there. Straightaway. Through someone's head. Pwoof."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because there's a right way to do things."
"You're very silly," said Delirium.
"I know," said Dream.
Author's Notes:
A shorter chapter, this time, but it includes everything I wanted it to include.
I'm sure an attentive reader could identify which version of the Bible I've been quoting from. I inherited my copy of it from my grandmother.
I spent ages searching through Wikipedia and the DC Database, trying to figure out which crime bosses should be present at the meeting to discuss how to deal with the demons who've been invading their territory, until finally I threw up my hands and admitted defeat. I ended up choosing a random assortment I thought would make for an interesting mix. Don't bother trying to figure out how this story fits into DC Universe continuity. It doesn't.
In this chapter, Beelzebub is in human form, so I decided not to give them the same buzzing onomatopoeic speech patterns as in previous chapters. At least not until near the end. I thought a long conversation with so many superfluous zees would get annoying to read.
I've included several references to the second series of the Good Omens TV series, which I didn't think was very good. Still, there were some things I liked about it.
Most of Delirium's dialogue in this chapter is quoted directly from the 'Brief Lives' story arc in The Sandman comic book, just in case you thought she seemed unusually sane.
In the next chapter, there'll be gang war in Gotham while Dream and Delirium will continue the 'Brief Lives' storyline, in which they'll be searching for their brother, Destruction.
- Location
- The Internet
Tanya really doesn't have room to complain.
She's a utilitarian statist, who nationalised the economy of hell, made everyone a government employee doing paperwork and started moving souls around and interfering in the property rights of demons over the souls they possessed. She also made everyone equal, choosing morality and economic effiency over ranking people on skills and how much land or souls they own. She also a dictator and just fought a civil war against reactionaries trying to restore the old order.
Tanya is ironically not that different from a communist dictator, and is alot closer to being one than Etrigan is.
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
Dramatic irony!
Like Tanya herself said:
Of course, at the time, she was afraid that she'd become something like Being X, but I think she'd be equally dismayed to discover that she'd become a Communist entirely by accident.
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
G
Indeed, the irony is strong with this one, imagine if one of her demons pointed this out to her, Wonder what her reaction will be.
Indeed, the irony is strong with this one, imagine if one of her demons pointed this out to her, Wonder what her reaction will be.
13. War Games
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
"You a gangster now. On the other side. A whole new ball game. You can't learn about it in school, and you can't have a late start."
—Carlito, Carlito's Way
This will be the last chapter for a while. It'll take some time for me to write the next.
"Cower, brief mortals!" he cried, as he crashed through a barricade, scattering several well-armed thugs before him, swiping this way and that, sending them crashing to the ground, bloodied and brutalized. Some were unconscious, others were faintly babbling or moaning, but none of them seemed like a threat. And there were others he still had to fight.
Shax was there – and there – and there. She seemed able to disappear and reappear at will, tearing through one enemy and then the next. A useful ability in a fight. Hastur wondered if she was using similar portals to those that all demons could learn to use, just faster and with greater skill. Whatever the case, he approved.
An incoherent scream marked the arrival of Baytor, who disgorged a spray of foul-smelling vomit at the nearest group of gangsters, which rapidly hardened and trapped them in its thick, glutinous mass. They struggled piteously, but could not get free.
"Remember, Lady Tanya doesn't want us to kill any mortals unless it can't be helped," he said. "Most of them are going to Hell anyway, so why make extra work for ourselves?"
Their remaining foes, those that were still upright and capable of running, retreated behind another barricade. This one was larger and more solidly-built. Hastur doubted he could charge through it without stopping, not this time.
Before long, the gangsters would regroup and be ready to fight again, in greater numbers and with heavier weaponry. Hastur was determined to press the advantage before then, while their enemies were still in disarray.
With a quick glance around, he noticed that Eric and Scumspawn were huddled behind a burnt-out car, having played no part in this battle so far. He had Baytor and Shax with him, but he couldn't see any of the demons who were supposed to be guarding this territory. He wondered if they'd all fled before he'd arrived.
"Gary, join up with your colleagues, find out where else they need support, and then come back to us," he commanded. "Scumspawn, we're going to need your shapeshifting abilities for what comes next."
"Um. All right," said the oleaginous little demon.
"You can do it," said Hastur, encouragingly. "Remember, just like I told you before."
Scumspawn gave a shaky nod.
"Baytor, Shax, you're with me. Are you ready?" asked Hastur.
"I suppose I'd better be. We have a long night ahead of us," said Shax, peering at the dark skies above.
"I am Baytor!"
"Okay then. Let's go!"
In the next moment, Hastur leapt high into the air, was borne aloft on shadowy wings, and flew over the barricade. Swooping down on one of his foes, he smashed into him with shattering force and left him a crumpled heap on the ground. Too late, it occurred to him that he might have killed the man, but it didn't seem likely. From what he'd seen of this world's superheroes, it seemed like they hit people harder than that all the time without breaking the 'no killing' rule.
He looked around for his next opponent. Baytor had splurged over some more gangsters who looked like they didn't know whether to be disgusted or terrified. Shax ripped a semi-automatic rifle out of a man's hands – as well as at least one of his fingers – and said, in a cloyingly sweet voice, "I wonder what this does?"
"Shax!" snapped Hastur.
"Spoil my fun, why don't you?" She sighed and then – instead of firing the weapon – clonked the nearest gangster over the head with it.
Overhead, there loomed a vast and ghastly shape, with tentacles, a chitinous carapace, glowing red eyes, pincers, dozens of little legs, oyster shells, roast sweetcorn and lettuce, garnished with lemon and a dollop of tartare sauce.
Hastur couldn't contain his rage and disbelief. "Scumspawn!"
"Sorry!" was the little demon's reply. "This is harder than it looks, you know."
Moments later, a gigantic lobster lifted itself up off the seafood platter, clacking its pincers and advancing towards the barricade.
In his best attempt at a menacing voice, Scumspawn shouted, "Ten billion seafood dinners cry out for vengeance!" Then, he spoiled the effect by adding, "Whoo-oo-oo-oo!"
Perhaps because of this – or because they weren't equipped to fight someone with supernatural powers – their enemies turned tail and ran away as fast as they could. Hastur and his comrades chased down a few of them, but they were wary of getting separated or lured into a trap.
It came as a relief when Eric returned and they could ask, "Where next?"
Dream had given Delirium the contents of his pockets to amuse herself with during the long plane flight, a decision he was now regretting. Several of the other passengers watched with alarm as she transformed his banknotes into large and shiny gold coins, then peeled the outer shell off one of them to reveal there was chocolate underneath.
"Mmm. It says here – mmm – you didn't need to get money out of that machine," said Delirium, reading the paper with Tanya's instructions written on it, while absentmindedly chewing on a chocolate coin. "You can just use this card to pay for things. We didn't need your friend after all."
"That sounds unlikely," said Dream, taking the card from her and examining it with the eye of a true connoisseur. It had a few words and numbers written on it, some metallic strips and raised bumps, but nothing to signify that it had any particular meaning or value.
"Why did Tanya give you such a long and detailed list? She could just have said, 'Here's a card. You can buy things with it.'"
"Well, you know what she's like."
"No, I don't. I've never been near her," said Delirium. "She has a kind of madness, but it's out of my reach. So far away. It keeps her sane."
Dream wanted to ask her about that, but he was interrupted before he could.
"Um, Sir…?" A nervous flight attendant approached, as close as she dared. "Can you stop your…?" She indicated Delirium.
"She's my sister," Dream informed her.
"Can you stop her from doing that? She's frightening the other passengers."
Delirium was currently in the process of transforming the gold coins into butterflies and having them flutter around her head.
"Do you find that frightening?" asked Dream, curiously. "She's not doing any harm."
"Um. We don't usually get… people with superpowers travelling with us," said the flight attendant. "Powers like that are… scary. Because we don't know what else you might do." She paused, put on a plastic smile and said, "Please?"
"Oh, all right," said Delirium, with a put-upon sigh. One by one, she turned the butterflies back into banknotes, except instead of architectural designs, these were decorated with smiley faces, teddy bears, dragons and whatever else her imagination could come up with on the spur of the moment. "Are we nearly there yet?"
Dream turned to the flight attendant and raised an eyebrow.
She looked back helplessly. "Um. It's a seven-hour flight. We have five hours left to go."
Delirium slumped back into her seat. "Ugh!"
"Try looking out of the window," Dream suggested. "You like looking at clouds."
"I like aeroplanes. I like anywhere that isn't a proper place. I like in-betweens."
"That's… that's good," said the flight attendant. "Um. I'll just go away, shall I?"
"I think that would be for the best," Dream agreed.
Hastur, Shax and even Baytor were now in human form. While they and the rest of Tanya's employees were trying to be inconspicuous and avoid drawing heavenly attention to their actions on Earth, it made sense to go about in disguise. Nevertheless, by now, it seemed that some of their foes were well aware of what they truly were.
When they fought off the next wave of assailants, Hastur was surprised to be hit by a bullet that caused him genuine pain. He was staggered, for a moment, then looked up to see where it had come from. The next bullet struck him in the chest and caused him to make an undignified noise, but he could see the man shooting him was perched atop a nearby roof and armed with a sniper rifle.
"Who or what are you supposed to be?" asked Hastur, squinting at the sniper's red costume, silver body armour and yellow gloves. Even in the middle of the night, shouldn't he be wearing something less eye-catching?
"Deadshot's the name," said the sniper, who sounded confused, as if he'd expected something different to happen when he shot Hastur. "Mercenary assassin. World's greatest marksman. I never miss – and my target is you."
"How long did you have to practice that speech in front of the mirror?" asked Shax, with a cackle of laughter.
Deadshot took the opportunity to shoot Hastur again.
"Ow!"
"Why aren't you…? You're a demon aren't you? Those bullets should have sent you straight back to Hell," said Deadshot, in a pained voice. "They were soaked in holy water, blessed by a priest, and each of them has a tiny fragment of the True Cross inside. Altogether, for a ten-round mag, they cost as much as a sportscar."
"You got ripped off, mate," said Hastur, with a pained grin. "Holy water evaporates – and all that's left is the faintest residue of holiness – which won't do anything to me unless you plan to kill me with homeopathy. Priests are… well, it depends on the priest. Most of them aren't worth spit. And, around the world, there are enough 'pieces of the True Cross' that if Noah was alive today he could use them to build a whole new Ark. Are any of them real?" He snorted. "Nah, probably not."
Deadshot took a deep breath. "You see, the thing about that is…"
Without bothering to finish the sentence, he took to his heels and fled, darting across rooftops and over walls, leaping and bounding, in a display of parkour that would have put many professional athletes to shame.
"Shall I chase after him?" Shax wanted to know.
"Don't bother. I think he's learnt his lesson," Hastur replied. His brow furrowed. "What happened to Baytor?"
"He was fighting… somewhere over there," said Shax, sounding unsure of herself.
Hastur couldn't see him or any sign of him. He turned to Scumspawn, who was still tagging along. "I want you to go back to Hell and gather some reinforcements. Tell them I sent you."
"Um. I'll do my best," said Scumspawn, not for the first time. Over time, as he'd grown increasingly fatigued, his giant lobster body had shrunk, until now it was smaller than the nearest burnt-out car.
"I know you will," said Hastur, with a nod.
Before Batman drove into the middle of an active firefight, it seemed sensible to contact Commissioner Gordon and ask, "What's the situation, Jim?"
"Bad. But not as bad as it could be," was the reply. "The Demons seem to be holding their own. Many of their attackers have retreated, but then they've brought in fresh reinforcements."
"How much of the area have you cordoned off?"
"We're slowly tightening the net, one street at a time, moving in closer and closer. It's a largely civilian area, so we don't want the gangs to get desperate and start taking hostages. Instead, we're putting pressure on them while giving them ample opportunities to retreat." Gordon heaved a frustrated sigh. "It's not ideal, but we don't want to make the situation any worse than it already is. There aren't enough of us to tackle a gang war as well as everything else that happens in Gotham on a daily basis."
"Understandable," said Batman. "What about the gangs' superpowered allies?"
"All of the Demons seem to have superpowers, at least to some extent. Most of them have enhanced toughness and strength, but not much more than that. And they have a few heavy hitters they've been sending to wherever the fighting is most intense."
"What was their last-known location?"
Gordon rattled off a list of coordinates pertaining to confirmed and unconfirmed sightings of the most powerful Demons.
"And what about their attackers? Do they have any superpowered assistance?"
"A few mercenaries. Otherwise, they seem to be relying on sheer weight of numbers to bring them victory."
"How long can they can keep this up?" Batman wondered aloud, though he wasn't really expecting an answer.
"Difficult to say. The gangs that have joined forces against the Demons haven't made any real headway so far, but it's only been a few hours. I'd expect them to start fracturing if they keep suffering defeats and heavy losses. For the Demons, this is a fight for survival, but none of the other gangs will spend all their strength on this. They know that if they make themselves too weak, the other gangs will see them as easy pickings." Gordon spent a moment lost in thought. "I'd be surprised if it lasted much longer than tonight, to be honest, the way things are going. A couple of nights at most."
"I'll see what I can do to make it sooner," Batman promised. A moment later, he had put the Batmobile into high gear and was on his way to the coordinates Gordon had provided, hurtling down the highway that ran through Gotham's city centre.
Hastur and Shax disposed of another group of goons, knocking them down as if they were toys in the way of an angry child, taking their weapons from them and smashing them on the ground. Eric and some of his colleagues followed at a discreet distance, not wanting to get too close to the ensuing carnage.
Some of the demons had acquired weapons of their own: handguns and shotguns, mostly. They had learnt how useful it was to have something with which they could fight at range.
"Actually, can you not smash that?" asked Eric, indicating the semi-automatic rifle Hastur was about to break over his knee. "We could use something like that."
Hastur grunted and threw the gun to him. He grabbed for it, nearly fumbled it, and accidentally fired a shot high into the air.
"Do you think these gangsters have someone who can quickly heal their injuries?" asked Shax, eyeing a pair of men who were stumbling along the other end of the street. They were both wounded, one more severely than the other – and he was leaning heavily on his friend as they tried to retreat to safety.
"I suppose it's possible, but I doubt it," said Hastur. "There aren't many humans with healing powers."
"That's another benefit of injuring and not killing them, then," said Shax, with a satisfied smirk. "The more they have to look after their wounded, the fewer they'll have left to send into battle against us."
Hastur nodded. "Good thinking."
He could see more of their enemies approaching, furtively edging around walls, rubble and wreckage, ruined barricades and street furniture. He heard distant sirens, engine roars and… something else. A steady drum beat. Music.
Against his will, he was forced to sing: "What's going on? What do we have here? We don't need these distractions while our enemies are near."
"Hastur, there's something very strange – I think we might be singing," Shax warbled. "I feel like I'm a puppet that a puppeteer is stringing."
"Who is doing this to us? Who has us in his thrall?" asked Eric, who had a surprisingly deep baritone singing voice.
"Whoever he is, I'll rip and tear, I'll lacerate and maul!" Hastur snarled. In that moment, he couldn't stop himself from leaping into the air, dancing and striking a dramatic pose.
A red-haired man dressed in a dark blue jacket with stylised coat buttons that looked like musical notes, a Stetson hat and a green bowtie, carrying a conductor's baton in one hand, stepped into view, as calmly and confidently as if he was playing a part in a stage production. He bowed before an imaginary audience and then began to sing: "You'll do no such thing, my friend. From now, on you're my slave. My music has you in its grasp – I'm afraid you can't be saved!"
Several gangsters emerged from behind the rubble. Instead of shooting Hastur and his fellow demons while they were defenceless, they began to snap their fingers in time to the beat, and sing: "He's the Music Meister, the ace of villainy! He's the Music Meister! We never will be free!"
"You're wondering why I've come here. Why do I need the money? I've fallen on such hard times; it really isn't funny," said the Music Meister, with a theatrical swoon. He immediately leapt back to his feet and continued: "But now I'm in control here, new paths open up for me. I'll repulse my erstwhile allies with an act of treachery!"
"He's the Music Meister!" cried his chorus line of gangsters. "Virtuoso of crime! He's the Music Meister and–"
"You don't know how to rhyme!" Hastur interrupted. "Virtuoso – it doesn't scan – you cannot fit it in! To stretch the second syllable, it really is a sin! Although you have enthralled me, I'll still find a way to win! And when I'm free, then you must face the rage that's trapped within!"
The Music Meister's song was meant for human ears, to ensnare their minds and turn them into puppets. It shouldn't have any effect on demons. However, Hastur and his comrades were currently in human form, which made them vulnerable to it. That was one of the problems with shapeshifting: it also meant taking on some of the weaknesses of whatever they turned themselves into.
"My thuggish friend, you still don't see the new reality. Your strength, your rage, your superpowers, now all belong to me! I'm the Music Meister!"
"And we are just his tools!" cried some of his puppets, which Hastur was dismayed to see now included Eric and some of his fellow demons.
"I'm the Music Meister!"
"Now we must obey his–"
With an effort of will, Hastur managed to resist the Music Meister's powers, just for a moment. In that moment, he became something else, something that had no ears and could not hear the music: a million grey maggots, moving as an inexorable mass, writhing and wriggling and biting at empty air.
The Music Meister screamed, dropped his baton and fled as fast as his legs would carry him. His backing vocalists were slower to react. Some of them were lucky. They turned and broke into a sprint just before the onrushing wave of maggots would have collapsed on top of them. Others were not so lucky. Hastur swarmed over everything in his path.
Having parked the Batmobile in an unobtrusive location on a quiet side street, Batman crept closer to where the gang war was still raging. His curiosity was piqued when he saw someone he recognized – a supervillain who called himself 'the Music Meister' – screaming and running away. Hastily fitting a custom set of earplugs that were specially designed to nullify the effects of the supervillain's song, Batman moved to intercept him.
The Music Meister didn't notice he was being pursued until much too late. He was running full pelt, panting for breath, heedless of anything but the need to run away from whatever had terrified him. Even when Batman swooped close enough to grab him, he didn't resist. Instead, he threw himself to the floor, babbling, "I surrender! I surrender! Take me to jail! I'll be good! I won't resist! I'll go quietly!"
Although the villainous musician's words were oddly distorted by the earplugs Batman was wearing, he could still hear him to an extent, which he much preferred to the alternative. Reading his lips would have been a difficult prospect, since they were flapping so fast and frantically.
"To 'go quietly', you'll need to stop talking," he said.
"Yes, I'll stop talking! Whatever you say! Quiet as anything, me!" cried the Music Meister. "Oh God, don't let them eat me!"
After a few more attempts, Batman gave up on getting anything sensible out of him, and therefore decided to leave him bound and gagged, ready for the police to collect him later. Over the next ten minutes or so, he picked off a few others, one by one. They were all gangsters: stragglers, walking wounded, and those who were fleeing with just as much wild abandon as the Music Meister had been.
That was something he needed to investigate, Batman decided.
When Hastur came back to himself, the city seemed much quieter than it had before. Even the sirens had faded. Glancing around, he saw Shax, Eric and the other demons who'd been with him before. They appeared to be unhurt, but they were somewhat subdued.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"Uh… a few minutes," Eric replied. "I think."
"That's a surprise," Hastur muttered. "Now, is there anywhere else you need us to go?"
Eric mutely shook his head.
"Hey, boss," said one of Eric's colleagues, whose name Hastur didn't know. "You said we weren't meant to kill anyone, right? I think this one's dead."
"Maybe you could put him back together?" Shax suggested.
"Like a jigsaw puzzle? We'd have to bring him back to life first. That's something else we're not supposed to do," said the other demon, holding up a skull that still had a few bloody shreds of flesh clinging to it. "We'd just be making things worse."
"Nobody likes zombies," said Eric.
Hastur sat down heavily on what might once have been a set of steps leading up to someone's front door. Holding his head in his hands, he murmured, "It was an accident. Tanya will understand that."
"You had no choice. Not unless you wanted to be the Music Meister's slave forever," said Shax.
Another of Eric's colleagues looked bemused. "I don't see why you care. We're demons!"
"We're trying not to attract attention to our doings here on Earth," Hastur explained. "Otherwise, the angels will come down and start a war we're not ready to fight."
"Oh. Yeah, makes sense."
"If that was your intention, you shouldn't have started a gang war," said a new arrival. Stepping out from the shadows, he revealed himself to be a muscular man dressed in dark grey, with a black cape and a cowl with horns sticking out of the top of it. Emblazoned on his chest, there was a stylized bat logo.
"What are you supposed to be?" asked Hastur, with a weary sigh.
"I'm Batman."
"Why does your bat costume have horns?" Eric wanted to know.
"They're ears."
"Bats don't have ears like that." Eric scoffed. "Nah, they're horns. You could gore someone with those."
"I'm a member of the Justice League, an international group of superheroes," said Batman, as if Eric hadn't said anything. "One of my colleagues is an angel named Zauriel. If I went to him and told him what you've been doing here, what do you think he'd do?"
"Start a war that'll kill billions of humans? Doesn't sound very superheroic to me," said Hastur.
"You and your 'gang' should leave Gotham," said Batman in a low, threatening voice. "This city is under my protection."
Hastur gazed around at the wrecked vehicles, the bloodstains and dead bodies, the cracked and pitted streets, the buildings on the verge of collapse, and the faint glow of distant flames. "Yeah? You've done a great job of that so far," he said, sarcastically clapping his hands together. "Congratulations."
Batman didn't bother to argue. Instead, he said, "I'll be in touch," and then vanished into the shadows once again.
"Well, he seemed nice," said Shax, who'd acquired a toothpick from somewhere, which she was using to remove dried blood and torn flesh from underneath her fingernails.
"Was he threatening us?" asked Eric.
Hastur looked askance at him. "You couldn't tell?"
"Uh… I mean, he said that we should leave Gotham. He didn't say what would happen if we don't."
"He threatened to tell an angel."
"Yeah, but he didn't like it when you said that would lead to billions of deaths, so…"
"I'm going to have to tell Tanya about this," said Hastur, burying his head in his hands again.
Shax patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."
"People keep exploding. I hate it when that happens," said Delirium. "So messy."
"Destruction does not wish to be found. He left traps behind to prevent anyone from finding him," said Dream. "I doubt he would have wanted his friends to be the ones to suffer death or damage because of them, but… not all consequences can be foreseen." The word 'foreseen' sparked a sudden realization within him. He stood frozen in horror for the next several moments.
"I don't know where Etain is. And the Alder Man's gone to be no one for a bit. He won't talk to us. And the others are sort of dead. My envelope isn't any good anymore."
"There… are other ways we could track him down. Mystical ways," said Dream, hardly daring to speak. "We need an oracle."
"Oracles can't see us. Not you, or me, or any of our family. Not if we don't want them to," Delirium pointed out.
"There is one who can. He's family."
"Is he someone I know?"
"Yes."
"Is he very old?"
"No."
"Have you ever spent days and days making up flavors of ice cream that no one's ever eaten before? Like chicken and telephone ice cream?"
"No."
"When are we going to see this person?"
"I…" Dream hesitated. Conflicting emotions crossed his face, like armies marching across a desert. "I could have gone on and on, pretending I didn't already know the answer – that this path was always going to lead us to him. But I won't. It'll be soon."
Delirium looked at him with concern and curiosity written on her features. "Dream… are you all right?"
"A friend of mine – I don't think she likes me very much, for good reason – keeps talking to me about forgiveness. She says I'll feel better for it. I hope she's right."
"Who do you need to forgive?"
There was a long pause. When Dream opened his mouth to speak again, Delirium imagined he was going to say, 'Myself,' so she was surprised when he didn't. Instead, he said, "Someone who disappointed me. Nevertheless… he didn't deserve what happened to him. I always knew that. And I could have helped him, but I didn't."
"And we're going to meet him soon?"
Dream nodded. "Yes."
"–and then we came back here," Hastur finished.
Tanya's head slammed into her desk. A moment later, she groaned, sat up and asked, "Is that all? Are you sure there's nothing else you haven't mentioned?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I've told you everything."
"Did you find out what happened to Baytor?"
Hastur shook his head. "No sign of him."
"Oh well, I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. Probably when we least expect it," said Tanya. "We have more pressing concerns right now. For instance, I'll need to speak to Earth's self-appointed champions much sooner than I anticipated."
"Good luck with that," said Hastur. Then, rather impressed, he asked, "Did you have that desk specially reinforced?"
"Yes. Imbued with some of my power," said Tanya, with a fierce grin. "Now you know what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."
"Huh, I thought it'd be noisier than that."
"Many things are not as you might expect them to be," said Tanya. "No matter what I do, the universe refuses to make any kind of rational sense."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Hastur shrugged. "It'd be boring otherwise."
"You may be right," said Tanya, with a sigh of resignation and the merest flicker of an eyeroll.
"I am Baytor!"
Lucifer stared at him with open-mouthed bewilderment. "You… want to run your own bar in Gotham City? And you want my help with setting it up? I suppose… uh, that could be amusing. But you'll need to stay in human form and speak properly instead of shouting out your name all the time. Honestly, you sound like a Pokémon."
Baytor cocked his head to one side and gave him a quizzical glance.
"Never mind. It would take too long to explain," said Lucifer. Then, defensively, he added, "My friend's daughter likes them. She's got hundreds of the bloody things. Cuddly toys, I mean."
"I am Baytor!"
"Yes, all right. You'll get your money," Lucifer assured him.
"Tinker. Tailor. Soldier. Sailor. Rich man. Poor man. Beggar man… Hmm. More cherries," said Delirium, playing with the stones of those she'd already eaten. "Elf-lord. Ivy. Vinegar. Toad. Virgin. Pilgrim. Kangaroo…"
"We have spoken. It is done," said Dream. Somehow, he looked even paler than usual. That shouldn't have been possible.
"You talked to him?"
"Indeed. As he talked to me," said Dream, helping Delirium get up from where she was lying on the grass.
"And now you know where our brother is?"
"Yes."
"Did it… um… I don't know. Did it cost you anything?"
Dream wavered. He moistened his lips with a pale tongue. "No, of course not," he said, putting on a faint impression of a smile. "Nothing that I didn't already owe him."
"That's good," said Delirium. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait… he told you for free?"
"That is what family members are supposed to do for one another, isn't it?" Another hesitation. "Of course, I still owe him… a boon. In return. But that can wait."
"You're shivering," Delirium observed.
"I find that difficult to believe, my sister. I am in fine spirits," said Dream. "We're going to see our brother. Why should I not rejoice?"
He held out a hand. Delirium took hold of him.
"And no one else has to get killed or exploded or anything?"
"No. Not yet."
"Is it a long way to where our brother is?"
"It's not far. I'll take you there," said Dream, leading her by the hand. "Let's go."
Author's Notes:
I suppose you could see this fic's Gotham gang war/demonic incursion as being roughly analogous to the 'War Games' story arc that ran through all of DC's Bat family comic book titles in 2004-2005, which is why I used the same title for this chapter. I read some of the 'War Games' comic books back when I was a teenager, but I didn't think they were very good. The whole event was set in motion by Spoiler, a teenage superheroine who was trying to prove herself to Batman by enacting one of his contingency plans without his approval and while missing a few key pieces of information, so it seemed like everything was her fault. Later on, she got tortured to death by Black Mask, who also killed Orpheus, another of Batman's allies, and I thought the whole thing was gratuitously violent and mean-spirited. In this chapter, I've tried to do better than that. I hope you've enjoyed reading it!
Originally, I wanted to have Hastur cry, "Oh yeah!" as he bursts through the barricade at the beginning of this chapter, like the Kool-Aid Man, but I decided that would be overly silly, even for me. So I used a Discworld reference instead.
In one episode of Old Harry's Game, Scumspawn attempts to terrify one of the other characters by transforming into a cthulhoid monstrosity. Instead, he turns into a giant prawn on a bed of lettuce. I've basically reused the same joke in the chapter above.
The Music Meister is a character from my favourite episode of the Batman: The Brave And The Bold cartoon, so I really wanted to use him here. Admittedly, music doesn't work in a text format… but anyway, I made an effort to write my own lyrics and fit them to the tunes of some of the songs from the TV show.
Bats have very large ears relative to their size. The common long-eared bat has ears that are nearly as long as the rest of its body. It amuses me to think about what Batman's costume would look like if he'd modelled himself on one of those.
(It was pointed out to me by Cthulhuchan that this is basically the concept behind Die Fledermaus from The Tick. Huh, I really hadn't thought of that. However, in my defense, I was specifically referring to the possibility of Batman modelling his costume on the common long-eared bat, which would require him to add ears so long they'd almost be dragging on the ground behind him.)
In the Hitman comic book, the demon Baytor was a bartender at Noonan's Bar in Gotham City, which was one of the protagonist's frequent hangouts.
Much of the dialogue between Dream and Delirium in this chapter was taken from the 'Brief Lives' story arc in The Sandman comic book. Also, I've shortened their journey by quite a bit. My interpretation of the events of 'Brief Lives' is that Dream already knew – in the back of his mind, at least – where he would need to go and what he'd need to do, but he refused to admit it until Destiny pointed him in the right direction. However, in this fic, thanks to Tanya's influence, he's trying to be more honest with himself, which is why he makes the decision to visit a certain oracle without needing Destiny to prompt him.
—Carlito, Carlito's Way
This will be the last chapter for a while. It'll take some time for me to write the next.
War Games
Hastur emerged into a scene of devastation. All around, there was anarchy and mayhem, darkness and flames, screams of agony and terror. Bullets zipped through the air, some of them impacting against his hide, but they caused him no more harm than the stings of a few bothersome insects. He surveyed his surroundings and then – presuming that anyone shooting at him must be an enemy – threw himself forward, into combat."Cower, brief mortals!" he cried, as he crashed through a barricade, scattering several well-armed thugs before him, swiping this way and that, sending them crashing to the ground, bloodied and brutalized. Some were unconscious, others were faintly babbling or moaning, but none of them seemed like a threat. And there were others he still had to fight.
Shax was there – and there – and there. She seemed able to disappear and reappear at will, tearing through one enemy and then the next. A useful ability in a fight. Hastur wondered if she was using similar portals to those that all demons could learn to use, just faster and with greater skill. Whatever the case, he approved.
An incoherent scream marked the arrival of Baytor, who disgorged a spray of foul-smelling vomit at the nearest group of gangsters, which rapidly hardened and trapped them in its thick, glutinous mass. They struggled piteously, but could not get free.
"Remember, Lady Tanya doesn't want us to kill any mortals unless it can't be helped," he said. "Most of them are going to Hell anyway, so why make extra work for ourselves?"
Their remaining foes, those that were still upright and capable of running, retreated behind another barricade. This one was larger and more solidly-built. Hastur doubted he could charge through it without stopping, not this time.
Before long, the gangsters would regroup and be ready to fight again, in greater numbers and with heavier weaponry. Hastur was determined to press the advantage before then, while their enemies were still in disarray.
With a quick glance around, he noticed that Eric and Scumspawn were huddled behind a burnt-out car, having played no part in this battle so far. He had Baytor and Shax with him, but he couldn't see any of the demons who were supposed to be guarding this territory. He wondered if they'd all fled before he'd arrived.
"Gary, join up with your colleagues, find out where else they need support, and then come back to us," he commanded. "Scumspawn, we're going to need your shapeshifting abilities for what comes next."
"Um. All right," said the oleaginous little demon.
"You can do it," said Hastur, encouragingly. "Remember, just like I told you before."
Scumspawn gave a shaky nod.
"Baytor, Shax, you're with me. Are you ready?" asked Hastur.
"I suppose I'd better be. We have a long night ahead of us," said Shax, peering at the dark skies above.
"I am Baytor!"
"Okay then. Let's go!"
In the next moment, Hastur leapt high into the air, was borne aloft on shadowy wings, and flew over the barricade. Swooping down on one of his foes, he smashed into him with shattering force and left him a crumpled heap on the ground. Too late, it occurred to him that he might have killed the man, but it didn't seem likely. From what he'd seen of this world's superheroes, it seemed like they hit people harder than that all the time without breaking the 'no killing' rule.
He looked around for his next opponent. Baytor had splurged over some more gangsters who looked like they didn't know whether to be disgusted or terrified. Shax ripped a semi-automatic rifle out of a man's hands – as well as at least one of his fingers – and said, in a cloyingly sweet voice, "I wonder what this does?"
"Shax!" snapped Hastur.
"Spoil my fun, why don't you?" She sighed and then – instead of firing the weapon – clonked the nearest gangster over the head with it.
Overhead, there loomed a vast and ghastly shape, with tentacles, a chitinous carapace, glowing red eyes, pincers, dozens of little legs, oyster shells, roast sweetcorn and lettuce, garnished with lemon and a dollop of tartare sauce.
Hastur couldn't contain his rage and disbelief. "Scumspawn!"
"Sorry!" was the little demon's reply. "This is harder than it looks, you know."
Moments later, a gigantic lobster lifted itself up off the seafood platter, clacking its pincers and advancing towards the barricade.
In his best attempt at a menacing voice, Scumspawn shouted, "Ten billion seafood dinners cry out for vengeance!" Then, he spoiled the effect by adding, "Whoo-oo-oo-oo!"
Perhaps because of this – or because they weren't equipped to fight someone with supernatural powers – their enemies turned tail and ran away as fast as they could. Hastur and his comrades chased down a few of them, but they were wary of getting separated or lured into a trap.
It came as a relief when Eric returned and they could ask, "Where next?"
Dream had given Delirium the contents of his pockets to amuse herself with during the long plane flight, a decision he was now regretting. Several of the other passengers watched with alarm as she transformed his banknotes into large and shiny gold coins, then peeled the outer shell off one of them to reveal there was chocolate underneath.
"Mmm. It says here – mmm – you didn't need to get money out of that machine," said Delirium, reading the paper with Tanya's instructions written on it, while absentmindedly chewing on a chocolate coin. "You can just use this card to pay for things. We didn't need your friend after all."
"That sounds unlikely," said Dream, taking the card from her and examining it with the eye of a true connoisseur. It had a few words and numbers written on it, some metallic strips and raised bumps, but nothing to signify that it had any particular meaning or value.
"Why did Tanya give you such a long and detailed list? She could just have said, 'Here's a card. You can buy things with it.'"
"Well, you know what she's like."
"No, I don't. I've never been near her," said Delirium. "She has a kind of madness, but it's out of my reach. So far away. It keeps her sane."
Dream wanted to ask her about that, but he was interrupted before he could.
"Um, Sir…?" A nervous flight attendant approached, as close as she dared. "Can you stop your…?" She indicated Delirium.
"She's my sister," Dream informed her.
"Can you stop her from doing that? She's frightening the other passengers."
Delirium was currently in the process of transforming the gold coins into butterflies and having them flutter around her head.
"Do you find that frightening?" asked Dream, curiously. "She's not doing any harm."
"Um. We don't usually get… people with superpowers travelling with us," said the flight attendant. "Powers like that are… scary. Because we don't know what else you might do." She paused, put on a plastic smile and said, "Please?"
"Oh, all right," said Delirium, with a put-upon sigh. One by one, she turned the butterflies back into banknotes, except instead of architectural designs, these were decorated with smiley faces, teddy bears, dragons and whatever else her imagination could come up with on the spur of the moment. "Are we nearly there yet?"
Dream turned to the flight attendant and raised an eyebrow.
She looked back helplessly. "Um. It's a seven-hour flight. We have five hours left to go."
Delirium slumped back into her seat. "Ugh!"
"Try looking out of the window," Dream suggested. "You like looking at clouds."
"I like aeroplanes. I like anywhere that isn't a proper place. I like in-betweens."
"That's… that's good," said the flight attendant. "Um. I'll just go away, shall I?"
"I think that would be for the best," Dream agreed.
Hastur, Shax and even Baytor were now in human form. While they and the rest of Tanya's employees were trying to be inconspicuous and avoid drawing heavenly attention to their actions on Earth, it made sense to go about in disguise. Nevertheless, by now, it seemed that some of their foes were well aware of what they truly were.
When they fought off the next wave of assailants, Hastur was surprised to be hit by a bullet that caused him genuine pain. He was staggered, for a moment, then looked up to see where it had come from. The next bullet struck him in the chest and caused him to make an undignified noise, but he could see the man shooting him was perched atop a nearby roof and armed with a sniper rifle.
"Who or what are you supposed to be?" asked Hastur, squinting at the sniper's red costume, silver body armour and yellow gloves. Even in the middle of the night, shouldn't he be wearing something less eye-catching?
"Deadshot's the name," said the sniper, who sounded confused, as if he'd expected something different to happen when he shot Hastur. "Mercenary assassin. World's greatest marksman. I never miss – and my target is you."
"How long did you have to practice that speech in front of the mirror?" asked Shax, with a cackle of laughter.
Deadshot took the opportunity to shoot Hastur again.
"Ow!"
"Why aren't you…? You're a demon aren't you? Those bullets should have sent you straight back to Hell," said Deadshot, in a pained voice. "They were soaked in holy water, blessed by a priest, and each of them has a tiny fragment of the True Cross inside. Altogether, for a ten-round mag, they cost as much as a sportscar."
"You got ripped off, mate," said Hastur, with a pained grin. "Holy water evaporates – and all that's left is the faintest residue of holiness – which won't do anything to me unless you plan to kill me with homeopathy. Priests are… well, it depends on the priest. Most of them aren't worth spit. And, around the world, there are enough 'pieces of the True Cross' that if Noah was alive today he could use them to build a whole new Ark. Are any of them real?" He snorted. "Nah, probably not."
Deadshot took a deep breath. "You see, the thing about that is…"
Without bothering to finish the sentence, he took to his heels and fled, darting across rooftops and over walls, leaping and bounding, in a display of parkour that would have put many professional athletes to shame.
"Shall I chase after him?" Shax wanted to know.
"Don't bother. I think he's learnt his lesson," Hastur replied. His brow furrowed. "What happened to Baytor?"
"He was fighting… somewhere over there," said Shax, sounding unsure of herself.
Hastur couldn't see him or any sign of him. He turned to Scumspawn, who was still tagging along. "I want you to go back to Hell and gather some reinforcements. Tell them I sent you."
"Um. I'll do my best," said Scumspawn, not for the first time. Over time, as he'd grown increasingly fatigued, his giant lobster body had shrunk, until now it was smaller than the nearest burnt-out car.
"I know you will," said Hastur, with a nod.
Before Batman drove into the middle of an active firefight, it seemed sensible to contact Commissioner Gordon and ask, "What's the situation, Jim?"
"Bad. But not as bad as it could be," was the reply. "The Demons seem to be holding their own. Many of their attackers have retreated, but then they've brought in fresh reinforcements."
"How much of the area have you cordoned off?"
"We're slowly tightening the net, one street at a time, moving in closer and closer. It's a largely civilian area, so we don't want the gangs to get desperate and start taking hostages. Instead, we're putting pressure on them while giving them ample opportunities to retreat." Gordon heaved a frustrated sigh. "It's not ideal, but we don't want to make the situation any worse than it already is. There aren't enough of us to tackle a gang war as well as everything else that happens in Gotham on a daily basis."
"Understandable," said Batman. "What about the gangs' superpowered allies?"
"All of the Demons seem to have superpowers, at least to some extent. Most of them have enhanced toughness and strength, but not much more than that. And they have a few heavy hitters they've been sending to wherever the fighting is most intense."
"What was their last-known location?"
Gordon rattled off a list of coordinates pertaining to confirmed and unconfirmed sightings of the most powerful Demons.
"And what about their attackers? Do they have any superpowered assistance?"
"A few mercenaries. Otherwise, they seem to be relying on sheer weight of numbers to bring them victory."
"How long can they can keep this up?" Batman wondered aloud, though he wasn't really expecting an answer.
"Difficult to say. The gangs that have joined forces against the Demons haven't made any real headway so far, but it's only been a few hours. I'd expect them to start fracturing if they keep suffering defeats and heavy losses. For the Demons, this is a fight for survival, but none of the other gangs will spend all their strength on this. They know that if they make themselves too weak, the other gangs will see them as easy pickings." Gordon spent a moment lost in thought. "I'd be surprised if it lasted much longer than tonight, to be honest, the way things are going. A couple of nights at most."
"I'll see what I can do to make it sooner," Batman promised. A moment later, he had put the Batmobile into high gear and was on his way to the coordinates Gordon had provided, hurtling down the highway that ran through Gotham's city centre.
Hastur and Shax disposed of another group of goons, knocking them down as if they were toys in the way of an angry child, taking their weapons from them and smashing them on the ground. Eric and some of his colleagues followed at a discreet distance, not wanting to get too close to the ensuing carnage.
Some of the demons had acquired weapons of their own: handguns and shotguns, mostly. They had learnt how useful it was to have something with which they could fight at range.
"Actually, can you not smash that?" asked Eric, indicating the semi-automatic rifle Hastur was about to break over his knee. "We could use something like that."
Hastur grunted and threw the gun to him. He grabbed for it, nearly fumbled it, and accidentally fired a shot high into the air.
"Do you think these gangsters have someone who can quickly heal their injuries?" asked Shax, eyeing a pair of men who were stumbling along the other end of the street. They were both wounded, one more severely than the other – and he was leaning heavily on his friend as they tried to retreat to safety.
"I suppose it's possible, but I doubt it," said Hastur. "There aren't many humans with healing powers."
"That's another benefit of injuring and not killing them, then," said Shax, with a satisfied smirk. "The more they have to look after their wounded, the fewer they'll have left to send into battle against us."
Hastur nodded. "Good thinking."
He could see more of their enemies approaching, furtively edging around walls, rubble and wreckage, ruined barricades and street furniture. He heard distant sirens, engine roars and… something else. A steady drum beat. Music.
Against his will, he was forced to sing: "What's going on? What do we have here? We don't need these distractions while our enemies are near."
"Hastur, there's something very strange – I think we might be singing," Shax warbled. "I feel like I'm a puppet that a puppeteer is stringing."
"Who is doing this to us? Who has us in his thrall?" asked Eric, who had a surprisingly deep baritone singing voice.
"Whoever he is, I'll rip and tear, I'll lacerate and maul!" Hastur snarled. In that moment, he couldn't stop himself from leaping into the air, dancing and striking a dramatic pose.
A red-haired man dressed in a dark blue jacket with stylised coat buttons that looked like musical notes, a Stetson hat and a green bowtie, carrying a conductor's baton in one hand, stepped into view, as calmly and confidently as if he was playing a part in a stage production. He bowed before an imaginary audience and then began to sing: "You'll do no such thing, my friend. From now, on you're my slave. My music has you in its grasp – I'm afraid you can't be saved!"
Several gangsters emerged from behind the rubble. Instead of shooting Hastur and his fellow demons while they were defenceless, they began to snap their fingers in time to the beat, and sing: "He's the Music Meister, the ace of villainy! He's the Music Meister! We never will be free!"
"You're wondering why I've come here. Why do I need the money? I've fallen on such hard times; it really isn't funny," said the Music Meister, with a theatrical swoon. He immediately leapt back to his feet and continued: "But now I'm in control here, new paths open up for me. I'll repulse my erstwhile allies with an act of treachery!"
"He's the Music Meister!" cried his chorus line of gangsters. "Virtuoso of crime! He's the Music Meister and–"
"You don't know how to rhyme!" Hastur interrupted. "Virtuoso – it doesn't scan – you cannot fit it in! To stretch the second syllable, it really is a sin! Although you have enthralled me, I'll still find a way to win! And when I'm free, then you must face the rage that's trapped within!"
The Music Meister's song was meant for human ears, to ensnare their minds and turn them into puppets. It shouldn't have any effect on demons. However, Hastur and his comrades were currently in human form, which made them vulnerable to it. That was one of the problems with shapeshifting: it also meant taking on some of the weaknesses of whatever they turned themselves into.
"My thuggish friend, you still don't see the new reality. Your strength, your rage, your superpowers, now all belong to me! I'm the Music Meister!"
"And we are just his tools!" cried some of his puppets, which Hastur was dismayed to see now included Eric and some of his fellow demons.
"I'm the Music Meister!"
"Now we must obey his–"
With an effort of will, Hastur managed to resist the Music Meister's powers, just for a moment. In that moment, he became something else, something that had no ears and could not hear the music: a million grey maggots, moving as an inexorable mass, writhing and wriggling and biting at empty air.
The Music Meister screamed, dropped his baton and fled as fast as his legs would carry him. His backing vocalists were slower to react. Some of them were lucky. They turned and broke into a sprint just before the onrushing wave of maggots would have collapsed on top of them. Others were not so lucky. Hastur swarmed over everything in his path.
Having parked the Batmobile in an unobtrusive location on a quiet side street, Batman crept closer to where the gang war was still raging. His curiosity was piqued when he saw someone he recognized – a supervillain who called himself 'the Music Meister' – screaming and running away. Hastily fitting a custom set of earplugs that were specially designed to nullify the effects of the supervillain's song, Batman moved to intercept him.
The Music Meister didn't notice he was being pursued until much too late. He was running full pelt, panting for breath, heedless of anything but the need to run away from whatever had terrified him. Even when Batman swooped close enough to grab him, he didn't resist. Instead, he threw himself to the floor, babbling, "I surrender! I surrender! Take me to jail! I'll be good! I won't resist! I'll go quietly!"
Although the villainous musician's words were oddly distorted by the earplugs Batman was wearing, he could still hear him to an extent, which he much preferred to the alternative. Reading his lips would have been a difficult prospect, since they were flapping so fast and frantically.
"To 'go quietly', you'll need to stop talking," he said.
"Yes, I'll stop talking! Whatever you say! Quiet as anything, me!" cried the Music Meister. "Oh God, don't let them eat me!"
After a few more attempts, Batman gave up on getting anything sensible out of him, and therefore decided to leave him bound and gagged, ready for the police to collect him later. Over the next ten minutes or so, he picked off a few others, one by one. They were all gangsters: stragglers, walking wounded, and those who were fleeing with just as much wild abandon as the Music Meister had been.
That was something he needed to investigate, Batman decided.
When Hastur came back to himself, the city seemed much quieter than it had before. Even the sirens had faded. Glancing around, he saw Shax, Eric and the other demons who'd been with him before. They appeared to be unhurt, but they were somewhat subdued.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"Uh… a few minutes," Eric replied. "I think."
"That's a surprise," Hastur muttered. "Now, is there anywhere else you need us to go?"
Eric mutely shook his head.
"Hey, boss," said one of Eric's colleagues, whose name Hastur didn't know. "You said we weren't meant to kill anyone, right? I think this one's dead."
"Maybe you could put him back together?" Shax suggested.
"Like a jigsaw puzzle? We'd have to bring him back to life first. That's something else we're not supposed to do," said the other demon, holding up a skull that still had a few bloody shreds of flesh clinging to it. "We'd just be making things worse."
"Nobody likes zombies," said Eric.
Hastur sat down heavily on what might once have been a set of steps leading up to someone's front door. Holding his head in his hands, he murmured, "It was an accident. Tanya will understand that."
"You had no choice. Not unless you wanted to be the Music Meister's slave forever," said Shax.
Another of Eric's colleagues looked bemused. "I don't see why you care. We're demons!"
"We're trying not to attract attention to our doings here on Earth," Hastur explained. "Otherwise, the angels will come down and start a war we're not ready to fight."
"Oh. Yeah, makes sense."
"If that was your intention, you shouldn't have started a gang war," said a new arrival. Stepping out from the shadows, he revealed himself to be a muscular man dressed in dark grey, with a black cape and a cowl with horns sticking out of the top of it. Emblazoned on his chest, there was a stylized bat logo.
"What are you supposed to be?" asked Hastur, with a weary sigh.
"I'm Batman."
"Why does your bat costume have horns?" Eric wanted to know.
"They're ears."
"Bats don't have ears like that." Eric scoffed. "Nah, they're horns. You could gore someone with those."
"I'm a member of the Justice League, an international group of superheroes," said Batman, as if Eric hadn't said anything. "One of my colleagues is an angel named Zauriel. If I went to him and told him what you've been doing here, what do you think he'd do?"
"Start a war that'll kill billions of humans? Doesn't sound very superheroic to me," said Hastur.
"You and your 'gang' should leave Gotham," said Batman in a low, threatening voice. "This city is under my protection."
Hastur gazed around at the wrecked vehicles, the bloodstains and dead bodies, the cracked and pitted streets, the buildings on the verge of collapse, and the faint glow of distant flames. "Yeah? You've done a great job of that so far," he said, sarcastically clapping his hands together. "Congratulations."
Batman didn't bother to argue. Instead, he said, "I'll be in touch," and then vanished into the shadows once again.
"Well, he seemed nice," said Shax, who'd acquired a toothpick from somewhere, which she was using to remove dried blood and torn flesh from underneath her fingernails.
"Was he threatening us?" asked Eric.
Hastur looked askance at him. "You couldn't tell?"
"Uh… I mean, he said that we should leave Gotham. He didn't say what would happen if we don't."
"He threatened to tell an angel."
"Yeah, but he didn't like it when you said that would lead to billions of deaths, so…"
"I'm going to have to tell Tanya about this," said Hastur, burying his head in his hands again.
Shax patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."
"People keep exploding. I hate it when that happens," said Delirium. "So messy."
"Destruction does not wish to be found. He left traps behind to prevent anyone from finding him," said Dream. "I doubt he would have wanted his friends to be the ones to suffer death or damage because of them, but… not all consequences can be foreseen." The word 'foreseen' sparked a sudden realization within him. He stood frozen in horror for the next several moments.
"I don't know where Etain is. And the Alder Man's gone to be no one for a bit. He won't talk to us. And the others are sort of dead. My envelope isn't any good anymore."
"There… are other ways we could track him down. Mystical ways," said Dream, hardly daring to speak. "We need an oracle."
"Oracles can't see us. Not you, or me, or any of our family. Not if we don't want them to," Delirium pointed out.
"There is one who can. He's family."
"Is he someone I know?"
"Yes."
"Is he very old?"
"No."
"Have you ever spent days and days making up flavors of ice cream that no one's ever eaten before? Like chicken and telephone ice cream?"
"No."
"When are we going to see this person?"
"I…" Dream hesitated. Conflicting emotions crossed his face, like armies marching across a desert. "I could have gone on and on, pretending I didn't already know the answer – that this path was always going to lead us to him. But I won't. It'll be soon."
Delirium looked at him with concern and curiosity written on her features. "Dream… are you all right?"
"A friend of mine – I don't think she likes me very much, for good reason – keeps talking to me about forgiveness. She says I'll feel better for it. I hope she's right."
"Who do you need to forgive?"
There was a long pause. When Dream opened his mouth to speak again, Delirium imagined he was going to say, 'Myself,' so she was surprised when he didn't. Instead, he said, "Someone who disappointed me. Nevertheless… he didn't deserve what happened to him. I always knew that. And I could have helped him, but I didn't."
"And we're going to meet him soon?"
Dream nodded. "Yes."
"–and then we came back here," Hastur finished.
Tanya's head slammed into her desk. A moment later, she groaned, sat up and asked, "Is that all? Are you sure there's nothing else you haven't mentioned?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I've told you everything."
"Did you find out what happened to Baytor?"
Hastur shook his head. "No sign of him."
"Oh well, I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. Probably when we least expect it," said Tanya. "We have more pressing concerns right now. For instance, I'll need to speak to Earth's self-appointed champions much sooner than I anticipated."
"Good luck with that," said Hastur. Then, rather impressed, he asked, "Did you have that desk specially reinforced?"
"Yes. Imbued with some of my power," said Tanya, with a fierce grin. "Now you know what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."
"Huh, I thought it'd be noisier than that."
"Many things are not as you might expect them to be," said Tanya. "No matter what I do, the universe refuses to make any kind of rational sense."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Hastur shrugged. "It'd be boring otherwise."
"You may be right," said Tanya, with a sigh of resignation and the merest flicker of an eyeroll.
"I am Baytor!"
Lucifer stared at him with open-mouthed bewilderment. "You… want to run your own bar in Gotham City? And you want my help with setting it up? I suppose… uh, that could be amusing. But you'll need to stay in human form and speak properly instead of shouting out your name all the time. Honestly, you sound like a Pokémon."
Baytor cocked his head to one side and gave him a quizzical glance.
"Never mind. It would take too long to explain," said Lucifer. Then, defensively, he added, "My friend's daughter likes them. She's got hundreds of the bloody things. Cuddly toys, I mean."
"I am Baytor!"
"Yes, all right. You'll get your money," Lucifer assured him.
"Tinker. Tailor. Soldier. Sailor. Rich man. Poor man. Beggar man… Hmm. More cherries," said Delirium, playing with the stones of those she'd already eaten. "Elf-lord. Ivy. Vinegar. Toad. Virgin. Pilgrim. Kangaroo…"
"We have spoken. It is done," said Dream. Somehow, he looked even paler than usual. That shouldn't have been possible.
"You talked to him?"
"Indeed. As he talked to me," said Dream, helping Delirium get up from where she was lying on the grass.
"And now you know where our brother is?"
"Yes."
"Did it… um… I don't know. Did it cost you anything?"
Dream wavered. He moistened his lips with a pale tongue. "No, of course not," he said, putting on a faint impression of a smile. "Nothing that I didn't already owe him."
"That's good," said Delirium. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait… he told you for free?"
"That is what family members are supposed to do for one another, isn't it?" Another hesitation. "Of course, I still owe him… a boon. In return. But that can wait."
"You're shivering," Delirium observed.
"I find that difficult to believe, my sister. I am in fine spirits," said Dream. "We're going to see our brother. Why should I not rejoice?"
He held out a hand. Delirium took hold of him.
"And no one else has to get killed or exploded or anything?"
"No. Not yet."
"Is it a long way to where our brother is?"
"It's not far. I'll take you there," said Dream, leading her by the hand. "Let's go."
Author's Notes:
I suppose you could see this fic's Gotham gang war/demonic incursion as being roughly analogous to the 'War Games' story arc that ran through all of DC's Bat family comic book titles in 2004-2005, which is why I used the same title for this chapter. I read some of the 'War Games' comic books back when I was a teenager, but I didn't think they were very good. The whole event was set in motion by Spoiler, a teenage superheroine who was trying to prove herself to Batman by enacting one of his contingency plans without his approval and while missing a few key pieces of information, so it seemed like everything was her fault. Later on, she got tortured to death by Black Mask, who also killed Orpheus, another of Batman's allies, and I thought the whole thing was gratuitously violent and mean-spirited. In this chapter, I've tried to do better than that. I hope you've enjoyed reading it!
Originally, I wanted to have Hastur cry, "Oh yeah!" as he bursts through the barricade at the beginning of this chapter, like the Kool-Aid Man, but I decided that would be overly silly, even for me. So I used a Discworld reference instead.
In one episode of Old Harry's Game, Scumspawn attempts to terrify one of the other characters by transforming into a cthulhoid monstrosity. Instead, he turns into a giant prawn on a bed of lettuce. I've basically reused the same joke in the chapter above.
The Music Meister is a character from my favourite episode of the Batman: The Brave And The Bold cartoon, so I really wanted to use him here. Admittedly, music doesn't work in a text format… but anyway, I made an effort to write my own lyrics and fit them to the tunes of some of the songs from the TV show.
Bats have very large ears relative to their size. The common long-eared bat has ears that are nearly as long as the rest of its body. It amuses me to think about what Batman's costume would look like if he'd modelled himself on one of those.
(It was pointed out to me by Cthulhuchan that this is basically the concept behind Die Fledermaus from The Tick. Huh, I really hadn't thought of that. However, in my defense, I was specifically referring to the possibility of Batman modelling his costume on the common long-eared bat, which would require him to add ears so long they'd almost be dragging on the ground behind him.)
In the Hitman comic book, the demon Baytor was a bartender at Noonan's Bar in Gotham City, which was one of the protagonist's frequent hangouts.
Much of the dialogue between Dream and Delirium in this chapter was taken from the 'Brief Lives' story arc in The Sandman comic book. Also, I've shortened their journey by quite a bit. My interpretation of the events of 'Brief Lives' is that Dream already knew – in the back of his mind, at least – where he would need to go and what he'd need to do, but he refused to admit it until Destiny pointed him in the right direction. However, in this fic, thanks to Tanya's influence, he's trying to be more honest with himself, which is why he makes the decision to visit a certain oracle without needing Destiny to prompt him.
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Flashkannon
Aqua Iconographer
- Location
- TM 91
Really long ears have been an occasional motif in batman media, though not being a batman afficionado I'd hesitate to make any sweeping pattern call-outs. I do know, however, that bat-mite has a folded ear, which feels significant.
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
Thank you for your comment. I'm pleased you've enjoyed this so far. I don't know if I'll include any more Hitman references. Probably not, unless they're a good fit for everything else that's going on.
But do any of them have ears so long they drag along on the ground behind them?
Flashkannon
Aqua Iconographer
- Location
- TM 91
None that I could find, but then, the pool of Batman depictions is as deep as the ocean.
14. No Appointment Necessary
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
"One thing at a time,' said the Boy. 'You must be patient. This is a day of hope and wild revenge. Do not interrupt me. I am a courier from another world. I bring you golden words."
―Mervyn Peake, Boy in Darkness and Other Stories
This fic has taken on a life of its own and become something very different from what I originally planned. I remember telling one of my readers, nearly a year ago, that I wasn't planning to add any more DC characters. It's funny how things change isn't it?
'Should I do something about this?' he asked himself, wishing he had a cigarette. Not because he needed to smoke – Lady Tanya had cured him of his nicotine addiction at the same time as she repaired everything else in his mouldering body – but because he wanted something to hold, almost like a comfort blanket – and how pathetic was that?
'Even if I could get up there, by the time I got up there, they'd already have sorted everything out,' he reasoned. In a state of heightened agitation, he paced back and forth around the room, making the carpet even grubbier and more threadbare than it was before. 'They've faced much worse threats than this. Practically every day.' He waved the television remote as if it were a magic wand. 'Surely they don't need me.'
He wondered how many of the Justice League's other allies, friends and affiliates were watching this broadcast and wishing – just like him – that there was something they could do to help. 'Anyway, it's none of my business. Even if I was there, I'd only get in the way.'
There came a knock on the front door. Constantine was glad of the distraction, even if he had no idea who would be visiting him at this time. An old acquaintance, someone in need of help, or had the postman come to the wrong address again? For the past few months, ever since he'd met Lady Tanya, it was as if he'd led a charmed life – and he knew with gloomy certainty that good luck now would lead to hideous bad luck later on, which meant he was anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop – so perhaps he should be worried that he'd been hunted down by one of his enemies who was about to take gruesome revenge on him. Or would that come as a relief?
He muted the television, padded over to the front door and opened it just a fraction. Outside, there was a diminutive woman who'd loomed large in his thoughts of late: Lady Tanya, the Devil Queen, Lucifer's appointed successor. She was wearing human form and a sharp business suit.
"Constantine. Good evening," she said. Then, she must have seen something in his demeanour that made her ask, "Is this a bad time?"
"No, I'm not doing anything right now. You might as well come in," he said, taking a step back and holding the door open for her.
Entering his apartment, Tanya looked around at the grimy kitchen counter with its piles of dirty crockery, the basket full of unwashed laundry, the coating of dust on every shelf, on top of the television and collecting in the corners of the room, and Constantine felt as if he was being judged.
"Yeah, I'm a slob. I like it this way," he said, defensively.
"I didn't say anything. But I'm pleased to hear you admit you have a problem." Tanya sighed. "You need someone to look after you."
Constantine felt a sudden thrill of horror. Hurriedly, he shook himself and said, "You didn't come here to assess my living conditions. At least, I hope you didn't. So why are you here?"
"You're acquainted with the Justice League, correct?"
"Correct," he said, glancing at the television, which still had the words 'Breaking News' running across the screen. "Why?"
"I would like to speak to them. Could you arrange an appointment for me, please?"
"I think it would be better if we spoke to them as soon as possible," he decided, switching off the television. He put down the remote and immediately wished he hadn't. Now, he had no idea what to do with his hands.
"How soon?"
"Immediately," said Constantine. He proceeded to explain the situation as he saw it: a supervillain was attacking the Justice League aboard their orbital satellite while a hundred helpless civilians were trapped up there with them.
"We could go to their rescue," said Tanya. "Good thinking."
"I can't think of a better way to introduce you to them. Just let me do the talking, at least to begin with."
"Fine."
In his mind, Constantine had assembled the bare skeleton of a plan. All he had to do was flesh it out. He took a deep breath. "Here's what we'll do…"
Prometheus was having the time of his life. So far, his plan had been a roaring success. One by one, the Justice League had fallen before him. Only two of them remained: Superman and Wonder Woman, who were standing between him and a crowd of civilians as if they could do anything to protect them. Of course, either of them could have defeated him without much difficulty, but they didn't dare come too close for fear of damaging what was behind him: the shuttles they'd need to escape the destruction of their excessively extravagant headquarters.
"Time's running out, Superman!" he cried, gleefully. "Soon, Steel's hammer will crash through one of these walls. The pressure drop will kill everyone in here except you."
"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Superman demanded to know.
"Nothing you've got. You're hard to kill, so I had to come up with something foolproof and demoralizing; I want all the troops to see it before they die," said Prometheus. "Kill yourself, Superman. Then, I'll allow these people to go home unscathed."
Before anyone else could process his words and do more than gasp in shock or horror, an unfamiliar voice cut through the silence: "That's your plan to kill Superman? Not exactly foolproof, is it?" There came a derisive laugh. A tall, well-built blond man dressed in a shabby trench coat stepped out from the crowd of media representatives. There was a strange light shimmering behind him. "Didn't think to bring any Kryptonite? That stuff seems to be so common that random street thugs can get hold of it. What are you, a cheapskate?"
"Constantine," said Superman, looking perplexed. "This isn't a good time."
"Yes, you're wasting time," said Prometheus, seizing control of the conversation once again. "Soon, all these people will be dead!"
The trenchcoated man had his hands in his pockets, but he shifted his arms and seemed to shrug his shoulders as if discomforted. "Prometheus, is it? You've told us how you meticulously planned out how to defeat every one of the Justice League. But what happens when people don't act like you expect them to? What happens when someone injects a little chaos into your perfectly ordered situation? Have you considered that there might be a reason why I've been playing for time?"
He lifted his head, just slightly. The light behind him became blinding. When it faded, a few seconds later, all of the assembled representatives of the media were gone. Vanished. As if they'd never been.
"And what happens when you've got nothing left to threaten us with?" asked Constantine, in a voice that was so soft it might have been a sigh.
"There's still one thing." Prometheus sneered. He whirled around and aimed his wrist-mounted rocket launcher at the shuttle bay. At least he could make sure the ordinary human members of the Justice League were trapped in an airless coffin, doomed to suffocate or suffer the effects of explosive decompression, several hundred thousand kilometres away from home.
An arrow pierced his gauntlet, knocking his aim awry. A moment later, a thrown hammer smashed his helmet and sent him sprawling to the floor. For good measure, one of Superman's lightning bolts disabled his powered armor completely.
Dazedly, Prometheus lifted his head to see masked figures step out of the shadows. All of them were members of the Justice League he'd defeated but failed to kill outright. At the time, he hadn't thought it would matter: they were all going to die anyway when the oxygen ran out or they were exposed to hard vacuum. But now he was paying the price for his complacency. He only had one chance left to escape.
"Well… guess I'll put this one down to experience. And next time you won't even hear me coming," he mumbled, activating the key that would teleport him back to his hideout in the Ghost Zone.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Constantine asked Tanya, who was invisible and floating in the air behind him: "Could you have stopped him escaping?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't know where he's gone or how he got there."
"Could you find out?"
"Potentially. He might have left traces behind."
"Something to think about, maybe," said Constantine.
An angel appeared in exactly the same place that Prometheus had disappeared from, looking somewhat bewildered. He had pure white skin, red eyes and swanlike wings. His golden armor appeared to have been designed for aesthetic purpose rather than practicality. Most angels chose to look like humans with wings – because their true forms were too bizarre and wondrous for ordinary mortals to comprehend, apparently – but this one was more obviously inhuman than any of the others Tanya had ever met. Perhaps he was trying to blend in with his superhero colleagues, whose garish costumes had evidently been designed to make them as noticeable as possible.
Possibly for the same reason, Superman had blue skin and was wearing a skintight bodysuit instead of his usual blue costume, red trunks and red cape. Also, he seemed to be sparking with electricity. He might look superficially human, but to Tanya's otherworldly senses it was as if a raging fire had been brought to life and given the shape of man. He burned with so much energy that it was dazzling to look at him.
Leaning close enough to Constantine to whisper into his ear, which made him shiver, Tanya asked, "Superman doesn't normally look like that, does he?"
"Just for the past month or so."
"Do you know why?"
"Maybe a supervillain hit him with some kind of energy weapon, or he flew through a meteor shower that contained a new type of Kryptonite, or… Well, that's the sort of thing that happens," said Constantine. "He'll probably be back to normal in another month or so."
"I hope so," said Superman, walking over to Constantine and warmly shaking his hand. "It's good to see you, John. Thank you for your assistance."
"No problem," said Constantine, whose hand was now fidgeting like a playful spider. "I'm sure you'd have managed perfectly well without me."
"Wow, John, have you been working out?" asked a woman wearing a domino mask, a purple cape and black body armor, with a white cross stretched across her chest that had no purpose that Tanya could discern, unless it was meant to show her opponents exactly where to shoot. She gave Constantine a playful poke. "I'm sure Zatanna will be delighted when she sees you."
"Yes, you're looking very well," said Batman. "I'm surprised. The last I heard, you were dying of lung cancer."
"Fresh air, clean living, you know how it is," Constantine began and almost immediately stopped. He sighed heavily, shook his head and said, "No, there's no point in lying. I'd have to tell the truth soon enough anyway. Please allow me to introduce my friend." He gestured in Tanya's direction. "I'm sure you'll agree she's a woman of wealth and taste."
Taking that as her cue, Tanya made herself visible and stopped suppressing her presence in the room. Arms folded, she examined the Justice League with a critical eye and an unimpressed expression upon her face.
"You!" cried the angel, gaping at her. "What brings you here?"
Superman looked bemused. "Zauriel, what's–?"
"She's the Devil! Lucifer's chosen successor!" the angel declared.
"Her name's Tanya," said Constantine. "Lady Tanya."
"John… did you make a deal with the Devil?" asked Batman, folding his arms and looking more-than-usually stern.
"Uh, sort of. She made an offer and… later on, when I was being attacked by one of her enemies, I was desperate, so… I set her free. She defeated him and healed me."
"I keep my promises," said Tanya.
"What happened to the media representatives who were here earlier?" asked Superman. "Are they somewhere safe?"
"They are under my protection. I will make sure they come to no harm," Tanya assured him. "I could bring them back here, if you like. Or I could take them back to Earth while you continue your repairs here."
There was a hurried conversation between the various superheroes, which Tanya didn't bother to listen to. Finally, Superman, acting as their spokesman, said, "We'd like you to bring them back here, please."
"It's fine," Tanya replied. "As long as you make sure they'll be safe when they get back here. Didn't Prometheus say this place was running out of oxygen?"
"Actually, we've mostly fixed the damage he caused," said a man clad in a suit of iron-grey powered armor. "We should probably be thankful that he was so overconfident."
"Even so, we'll send them back to Earth on the shuttles as soon as possible," said Superman.
"If you want me to teleport them back here, I will," said Tanya. She reminded them again, just in case they hadn't heard her the first time: "Or I could teleport them back to Earth immediately."
"We don't trust you," said Batman, bluntly. "Give us a reason to trust you. Bring them back here."
Tanya smiled, glad to have met someone who said what he was thinking, which meant that for once there was no need for her to decipher his true meaning. "With pleasure," she replied. "Even if I have to physically separate them, I'll make sure they come back here safely."
Not for the first time, Lois Lane wondered if she should regret the Pulitzer Prize, the fame and all the decisions that kept throwing her into danger. Or did she enjoy the reckless thrill that came from putting her life at risk time after time? First I was trapped aboard a doomed space station and now this…
"Are you getting all this?" an excited newsman was asking a bored camerawoman.
"It's just a shopping mall," she replied, with an exaggerated yawn.
"It's a glimpse of an alien world: a world different and yet weirdly similar to our own!" He grinned. "Don't you think people will be interested in that?"
"I think they might be demons," said someone else, looking anxiously at some of the passersby who so far had given them a wide berth. "See the horns?"
The bored camerawoman said, dismissively, while examining her fingernails, "It's a film set. They're just people in costumes. That's why all the shop names are in English."
"If they're demons, why aren't they attacking us? Shouldn't they be trying to persuade us to sell our souls for–"
"Prime wagyu steak!" With raised eyebrows, a voluminous man, who appeared to be spilling out of his business suit, was examining the menu board outside a restaurant. "And the prices look very reasonable!"
"Are you sure about that?" asked his haggard assistant. "You don't know what the exchange rates are like."
"I wonder if they'll accept American dollars."
Lois Lane did her best to take charge of the situation, speaking with all the aplomb she'd mustered in her years as a journalist, in a loud, clear voice that cut through all the conversations going on around her: "We need to remain calm and stay together. Someone brought us here to save us from dying aboard the Watchtower, so we have to assume they mean us no harm. But don't go wandering off."
Most of the other media people appeared to listen and agree with her, but there were a few who were more interested in the shops, cafés, restaurants and other attractions arranged all around them.
"What on earth is a 'pachinko parlor'?"
"There are dollar signs right there. That must mean they take American dollars, right?"
"Cute waitresses, aren't they?"
"Um, actually… I think that one might be a succubus."
"She can suck my–"
Someone yelled, aghast: "Boris!"
"–anytime she wants."
"That doesn't even make sense!"
"Screw it, I'm hungry. I want a hamburger," said a large, bushy-bearded man, throwing open the restaurant door. Then, a moment later: "Hey, my wallet's missing!" He turned on his heel and stomped back towards his fellows. "Who stole my wallet?"
"It could have been one of the demons. Be very careful," Lois warned him.
"They haven't been near us. It must have been one of you!" cried the bushy-bearded man, pointing an accusatory finger.
Lois tried her best to calm the situation, but her voice was just one of many. Most of the others were frantic, angry or distressed.
"It must have happened while we were on the Watchtower!"
"My necklace is missing too!"
"And my watch!"
"And my wallet!"
The crowd seethed with suspicion and anger. For a moment, no one moved. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath. At any moment, Lois knew there'd be a sudden eruption of violence. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
"Superman!" someone shrieked.
The tension dissipated as quickly as air escaping from a popped balloon. There were shamed faces and anxious grins. Suddenly, they were back on the Watchtower. Superman was there, as were the other members of the Justice League, a tall man wearing a trench coat, and a blonde businesswoman who was floating a few inches above the ground.
"Superman, someone's been stealing from us!" cried one of the newsmen. Lois was reminded of a small child whining to their class teacher.
"Don't worry, we'll find out who," the last son of Krypton assured them. "And if not, we'll make sure you're properly compensated."
Batman turned to look at the blonde businesswoman. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"Nothing at all. I have no need of earthly trinkets," she replied. "And my employees know they'd be punished for mistreating my guests."
"I'll take your word for it."
Despite Superman's assurances, it quickly became apparent that no one had any idea who the thief was, the Watchtower's security cameras had been damaged during Prometheus's attack, and anyway the Justice League were more concerned with making sure that all of their unfortunate guests got back to Earth safely. Someone suggested that their valuables had been stolen from them earlier, before they'd even come to the Watchtower – or that Prometheus himself had been the one to steal from them – and that was his real reason for attacking the Justice League.
"For all his posturing, all his speeches, he was nothing but a common thief!" proclaimed one middle-aged woman.
Soon, they were all packed onto the shuttles and on their way back to Earth. Lois felt like she could breathe easily at last. It won't be long now. I'm going home. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Even so, she knew that as soon as she woke up, she'd be back out there, chasing the next thrilling scoop. That was her life – and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Sitting at the Justice League's round table, with Constantine next to her, Tanya surveyed the assembled superheroes, whose numbers appeared to have grown since she had arrived at the Watchtower a few hours ago. The two new arrivals were Orion and Big Barda, members of the New Gods, a race of alien beings she vaguely remembered Crowley had suggested that she should talk to. This seemed as good an introduction as any.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," said Batman.
"No, don't say that," Tanya replied. "I prefer it when you're being honest with me.
"In that case, I'm not at all sorry to have kept you waiting for so long."
"That's better."
"You're not what I expected," said Superman. He gave Zauriel a sidelong glance; the angel was grim, stony-faced and refused to look directly at Tanya.
"And why should I conform to anyone's expectations?" asked Tanya, with a small shrug.
"You're the Devil," said Batman. "Did you send the demons who started the recent gang war in Gotham City?"
"They didn't start it. They merely defended themselves. But yes, I sent them."
"Why?"
Tanya took a moment to consider her answer. "You've been fighting crime for more than a decade, haven't you, Batman?"
"It seems like much longer than that," he replied.
"You've put thousands of criminals behind bars, but have you made any real impact on the crime rate? Is Gotham City any less of a crime-ridden hellhole than it was when you began your crusade?"
"What's your point?" he asked, with mounting hostility in his voice.
"You've beaten up a lot of gangsters and mentally ill people in costumes, but what have you done to rehabilitate them and heal them of whatever causes them to commit crimes?"
Looking around the table, Batman carefully scrutinized every one of his fellow Justice League members. Then, evidently satisfied, he turned back to Tanya and said, "In my civilian persona, I fund numerous charitable organizations that are working to end poverty and inequality, as well as offering opportunities for education, employment and psychiatric treatment. As the Batman, I exist to defend ordinary people from terrible threats to their lives and sanity, threats that must be dealt with immediately and cannot be dealt with any other way."
"A good answer." Tanya nodded. "You understand there are many crimes that are committed because people need money, because they want better lives for themselves and their families, and because they want power and status. In that sense, organized crime is just like any other business. Many of the most profitable crimes only exist because there is demand for certain goods and services that cannot be supplied legally. The fact that they are illegal adds a certain element of risk, but makes them even more lucrative. Consider the illegal drugs trade, for example. In nineteen eighty-six, the South Florida Task Force made over fifteen thousand arrests and seized vast quantities of cannabis and cocaine, but this had a negligible impact on the drugs trade as whole. In fact, it has been estimated that imports of cocaine to the USA actually increased during that period. It is a story that has been repeated again and again, all over the world, wherever drugs have been made illegal."
"So… you think we should legalize drugs," said the one they called 'Green Lantern', who was sweating, slumped back in his chair and had barely seemed to be paying attention to the conversation until this point.
"You're injured," said Tanya, giving him an appraising glance. "Would you like me to heal you?"
"Prometheus shot me," he explained. "But Batman bandaged me up. I'm good."
"Yes, but are you well enough to be taking part in this meeting?" Tanya frowned. "I could restore you to perfect health. It would take barely a moment."
"Worked for me," said Constantine.
"And what would that cost me?"
"Consider it a token of my goodwill," said Tanya.
"No offense, but it's usually considered to be unwise to accept gifts from demons," said Superman. "Thank you anyway."
"Do your healing powers have any side effects?" asked the green-skinned alien they called 'Martian Manhunter'. "Perhaps you intend to sap his will and deny him his superpowers."
"Or twist his mind and turn him into your pawn," said Batman, glaring at Constantine.
"I'm nobody's pawn!" he protested.
"Are you sure?" asked the woman Tanya had noticed before, whose body armor was marked with a large white cross. Her colleagues called her 'Huntress'. There was a playful note in her voice as she continued, "There must have been a good reason why she turned you into such a hunk."
"The lady likes what she likes. There's no shame in that," said the stretchy one whose nom de guerre was 'Plastic Man'.
"If you don't want me to heal you, I won't," said Tanya, with a put-upon sigh.
"Zauriel's an angel, so couldn't he use his heavenly powers to do the same thing?" asked the man in the red suit with earpieces in the shape of yellow wings. It took Tanya a few moments to remember that his codename was 'the Flash'.
The angel's face lost its grimace for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. "I've never been able to heal people," he admitted.
"I just need to rest," said Green Lantern. "When I feel up to it, I'll use my ring to heal myself. No problem."
"In that case, perhaps you should go somewhere you can lie down," said Tanya.
This suggestion was met with just as much suspicion as anything she had said before. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, Tanya made a bold attempt to continue her lecture from where she'd left off. Addressing Zauriel directly, she asked, "Do you know why Lucifer made me his successor?"
"Because you're… powerful," he hazarded.
Tanya waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Everything he does is for his own amusement. There were others he could have chosen, but he chose me because he thinks I'm funny. If he hadn't given up his throne, I suppose he'd want me to be his court jester. Nevertheless…" She put on a vicious grin. "…no matter how much he enjoys poking fun at my plans and ideas, he still clings to hope that I will succeed. He laughed at my plan to send demons to take over Earth's criminal underworld–" That was an exaggeration. Lucifer had been his usual sneering, mocking self, but he hadn't actually laughed. "–but he will be delighted if it comes to fruition."
"But why are you doing it?" asked Batman, in a tone of strained patience.
"For the same reasons as any other crime lord: money, power and influence. And to give my employees something to do," said Tanya. "But more than that, I want to make the world a better place. I want to prove that I could do a better job than Being X ever has."
There was widespread confusion when she mentioned 'Being X', but there was another question that was higher on Superman's list of priorities: "How do you intend to make the world a better place?"
Tanya gave Green Lantern a nod. "Earlier, you seemed to think I was suggesting that all drugs should be legalized. In actual fact, I think the world's governments should reconsider their priorities. The most minor crimes – including those pertaining to drugs such as cannabis, which in many ways are less harmful than alcohol – should be legalized. That would save the police and other law enforcement agencies a huge amount of time, money and manpower, which they could use instead to investigate more major crimes or clamp down on more dangerous drugs. But that doesn't seem likely to happen anytime soon, so I've decided to tackle the problem myself. My employees have formed criminal gangs that have seized territory in every major city. They will devote themselves entirely to making money through relatively minor, harmless crimes, outcompeting the other gangs and denying them easy sources of revenue. If the police and other law enforcement agencies have any sense, they will see my employees as the lesser evil. Therefore, they will focus on tackling the 'more dangerous' gangs that have been committing much worse crimes. My employees will take advantage of this by seizing even more territory, power and influence, as well as eliminating the competition one by one. Before long, the crime rate – more serious crimes, I mean – will have been reduced to practically nil!"
"Is this the first time you've ever visited this plane of existence, Lady Tanya?" asked the Martian Manhunter, in a dubious voice.
"No, I've been here lots of times. I was human once," she told him. "But that was a long time ago."
"Do you consider yourself to be good or evil, Lady Tanya?" asked Orion of the New Gods, who had been listening with rapt attention and an expression of puzzlement on his face.
"Have you heard the parable of the free lunch?" was Tanya's rejoinder.
For a few moments, there was silence while the Justice League tried to work out what she meant by that. Then, Batman sighed exasperatedly and said, "There's no such thing."
"Precisely." Tanya smirked, pleased with the joke she'd made. "In my experience, many of those who considered themselves to be pure and good went on to commit despicable acts, while some of those who were despised as evil monsters proved themselves to be kind and noble. And that's exactly why I've come here to speak to you tonight." She took a deep breath, just for dramatic effect. "I've come to warn you that the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just after tea."
"Around six o'clock, I guess," said Constantine.
"Being X – who considers himself to be the one true god, the ultimate force of good in the universe – wants the Apocalypse to happen. He wants to destroy everything he has created and have a final battle between Heaven and Hell. But I don't. I like Earth – and I'm sure there are plenty of other worlds I'd like if I had a chance to visit them – so I don't want everything to be destroyed. I want to prevent the Apocalypse. And I hope that all of you will help me to achieve that goal."
Silence followed her words. The Justice League's faces were frozen in expressions she couldn't decipher.
When she got home that night, Selina Kyle stroked one of her pet cats – and then all of the others when they came by, demanding attention – and then she had to feed them. Finally, when they were curled up, full and contented by the electric fireplace, she settled down to admire her latest selection of ill-gotten gains: wallets, watches, jewellery; and a pair of storm-opals from Rann, filched from the Justice League's trophy room while no one was looking.
She uttered a happy sigh, but her mind flickered back to the moment when everything had very nearly gone wrong: accusatory faces, raised voices, clenched fists. The air around her had seemed thick with anger and spite. A moment later, if they hadn't been rescued in time, there would have been pushing, shoving, jostling, hitting, punching, kicking, stamping, and hair-pulling. Clothes ripped, buttons popped off, heels broken. It would have been ugly.
Perhaps she should have learned a lesson from this, but as she lazed about on the sofa, Selina preferred to think, 'It's true what they say: Hell is other people.'
Author's Notes:
The early parts of this chapter were largely based on the 'Prometheus Unbound' storyline in the late nineties JLA comic book series written by Grant Morrison. I've even used some of the same dialogue. I regret that I didn't have Catwoman hit Prometheus in the groin with her bullwhip like she did in the comic, but I didn't want to have to explain her presence and I didn't think that Constantine or Tanya would have noticed her and excluded her from the spell that transported the rest of the 'helpless civilians' to Hell. Which is why I had her escape with a lot of other people's valuables instead. Maybe it's out-of-character that the Justice League wouldn't keep searching for the thief until they found her, but they were extraordinarily preoccupied when that happened. It was a matter of priorities.
Like a great many other comic book fans, I'm blinded by nostalgia, which is the main reason why I chose to use Grant Morrison's JLA in this fic. However, by doing so, I've made sure that this fic cannot possibly fit in with official DC Universe continuity. Oops.
Another reason why I've used Grant Morrison's JLA is because I wanted to have Zauriel (a superhero who is actually an angel from heaven) interact with this demonic version of Tanya.
I haven't seen my copies of the relevant issues of JLA in years, but I discovered that a youtuber named priendly priendly had done a dramatic reading of them, which I used to refresh my memory. I'm much obliged to him for enabling me to do that.
Anyway, this chapter could have gone on for much longer, but I've decided to end it here (on a cliffhanger, of sorts). The Justice League will react to Tanya's announcement in the next chapter.
―Mervyn Peake, Boy in Darkness and Other Stories
This fic has taken on a life of its own and become something very different from what I originally planned. I remember telling one of my readers, nearly a year ago, that I wasn't planning to add any more DC characters. It's funny how things change isn't it?
No Appointment Necessary
It was early evening and John Constantine had just returned to his dingy apartment after a hard day's work. He made the mistake of switching on the television so he could have some background noise while he was looking for something to eat. As he turned away and began ransacking his cupboards, he heard a stream of panicked babble that needed to be heavily filtered before he could extract any useful information from it. That was something he could do automatically even while he was considering the possible merits of half-rotten apple, pickled onion and ketchup sandwiches – or maybe he should just get a takeaway? – and he grew increasingly alarmed as he realised that one hundred representatives of the world's media were trapped aboard the Justice League's orbital satellite while a supervillain was attempting to kill them all.'Should I do something about this?' he asked himself, wishing he had a cigarette. Not because he needed to smoke – Lady Tanya had cured him of his nicotine addiction at the same time as she repaired everything else in his mouldering body – but because he wanted something to hold, almost like a comfort blanket – and how pathetic was that?
'Even if I could get up there, by the time I got up there, they'd already have sorted everything out,' he reasoned. In a state of heightened agitation, he paced back and forth around the room, making the carpet even grubbier and more threadbare than it was before. 'They've faced much worse threats than this. Practically every day.' He waved the television remote as if it were a magic wand. 'Surely they don't need me.'
He wondered how many of the Justice League's other allies, friends and affiliates were watching this broadcast and wishing – just like him – that there was something they could do to help. 'Anyway, it's none of my business. Even if I was there, I'd only get in the way.'
There came a knock on the front door. Constantine was glad of the distraction, even if he had no idea who would be visiting him at this time. An old acquaintance, someone in need of help, or had the postman come to the wrong address again? For the past few months, ever since he'd met Lady Tanya, it was as if he'd led a charmed life – and he knew with gloomy certainty that good luck now would lead to hideous bad luck later on, which meant he was anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop – so perhaps he should be worried that he'd been hunted down by one of his enemies who was about to take gruesome revenge on him. Or would that come as a relief?
He muted the television, padded over to the front door and opened it just a fraction. Outside, there was a diminutive woman who'd loomed large in his thoughts of late: Lady Tanya, the Devil Queen, Lucifer's appointed successor. She was wearing human form and a sharp business suit.
"Constantine. Good evening," she said. Then, she must have seen something in his demeanour that made her ask, "Is this a bad time?"
"No, I'm not doing anything right now. You might as well come in," he said, taking a step back and holding the door open for her.
Entering his apartment, Tanya looked around at the grimy kitchen counter with its piles of dirty crockery, the basket full of unwashed laundry, the coating of dust on every shelf, on top of the television and collecting in the corners of the room, and Constantine felt as if he was being judged.
"Yeah, I'm a slob. I like it this way," he said, defensively.
"I didn't say anything. But I'm pleased to hear you admit you have a problem." Tanya sighed. "You need someone to look after you."
Constantine felt a sudden thrill of horror. Hurriedly, he shook himself and said, "You didn't come here to assess my living conditions. At least, I hope you didn't. So why are you here?"
"You're acquainted with the Justice League, correct?"
"Correct," he said, glancing at the television, which still had the words 'Breaking News' running across the screen. "Why?"
"I would like to speak to them. Could you arrange an appointment for me, please?"
"I think it would be better if we spoke to them as soon as possible," he decided, switching off the television. He put down the remote and immediately wished he hadn't. Now, he had no idea what to do with his hands.
"How soon?"
"Immediately," said Constantine. He proceeded to explain the situation as he saw it: a supervillain was attacking the Justice League aboard their orbital satellite while a hundred helpless civilians were trapped up there with them.
"We could go to their rescue," said Tanya. "Good thinking."
"I can't think of a better way to introduce you to them. Just let me do the talking, at least to begin with."
"Fine."
In his mind, Constantine had assembled the bare skeleton of a plan. All he had to do was flesh it out. He took a deep breath. "Here's what we'll do…"
Prometheus was having the time of his life. So far, his plan had been a roaring success. One by one, the Justice League had fallen before him. Only two of them remained: Superman and Wonder Woman, who were standing between him and a crowd of civilians as if they could do anything to protect them. Of course, either of them could have defeated him without much difficulty, but they didn't dare come too close for fear of damaging what was behind him: the shuttles they'd need to escape the destruction of their excessively extravagant headquarters.
"Time's running out, Superman!" he cried, gleefully. "Soon, Steel's hammer will crash through one of these walls. The pressure drop will kill everyone in here except you."
"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Superman demanded to know.
"Nothing you've got. You're hard to kill, so I had to come up with something foolproof and demoralizing; I want all the troops to see it before they die," said Prometheus. "Kill yourself, Superman. Then, I'll allow these people to go home unscathed."
Before anyone else could process his words and do more than gasp in shock or horror, an unfamiliar voice cut through the silence: "That's your plan to kill Superman? Not exactly foolproof, is it?" There came a derisive laugh. A tall, well-built blond man dressed in a shabby trench coat stepped out from the crowd of media representatives. There was a strange light shimmering behind him. "Didn't think to bring any Kryptonite? That stuff seems to be so common that random street thugs can get hold of it. What are you, a cheapskate?"
"Constantine," said Superman, looking perplexed. "This isn't a good time."
"Yes, you're wasting time," said Prometheus, seizing control of the conversation once again. "Soon, all these people will be dead!"
The trenchcoated man had his hands in his pockets, but he shifted his arms and seemed to shrug his shoulders as if discomforted. "Prometheus, is it? You've told us how you meticulously planned out how to defeat every one of the Justice League. But what happens when people don't act like you expect them to? What happens when someone injects a little chaos into your perfectly ordered situation? Have you considered that there might be a reason why I've been playing for time?"
He lifted his head, just slightly. The light behind him became blinding. When it faded, a few seconds later, all of the assembled representatives of the media were gone. Vanished. As if they'd never been.
"And what happens when you've got nothing left to threaten us with?" asked Constantine, in a voice that was so soft it might have been a sigh.
"There's still one thing." Prometheus sneered. He whirled around and aimed his wrist-mounted rocket launcher at the shuttle bay. At least he could make sure the ordinary human members of the Justice League were trapped in an airless coffin, doomed to suffocate or suffer the effects of explosive decompression, several hundred thousand kilometres away from home.
An arrow pierced his gauntlet, knocking his aim awry. A moment later, a thrown hammer smashed his helmet and sent him sprawling to the floor. For good measure, one of Superman's lightning bolts disabled his powered armor completely.
Dazedly, Prometheus lifted his head to see masked figures step out of the shadows. All of them were members of the Justice League he'd defeated but failed to kill outright. At the time, he hadn't thought it would matter: they were all going to die anyway when the oxygen ran out or they were exposed to hard vacuum. But now he was paying the price for his complacency. He only had one chance left to escape.
"Well… guess I'll put this one down to experience. And next time you won't even hear me coming," he mumbled, activating the key that would teleport him back to his hideout in the Ghost Zone.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Constantine asked Tanya, who was invisible and floating in the air behind him: "Could you have stopped him escaping?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't know where he's gone or how he got there."
"Could you find out?"
"Potentially. He might have left traces behind."
"Something to think about, maybe," said Constantine.
An angel appeared in exactly the same place that Prometheus had disappeared from, looking somewhat bewildered. He had pure white skin, red eyes and swanlike wings. His golden armor appeared to have been designed for aesthetic purpose rather than practicality. Most angels chose to look like humans with wings – because their true forms were too bizarre and wondrous for ordinary mortals to comprehend, apparently – but this one was more obviously inhuman than any of the others Tanya had ever met. Perhaps he was trying to blend in with his superhero colleagues, whose garish costumes had evidently been designed to make them as noticeable as possible.
Possibly for the same reason, Superman had blue skin and was wearing a skintight bodysuit instead of his usual blue costume, red trunks and red cape. Also, he seemed to be sparking with electricity. He might look superficially human, but to Tanya's otherworldly senses it was as if a raging fire had been brought to life and given the shape of man. He burned with so much energy that it was dazzling to look at him.
Leaning close enough to Constantine to whisper into his ear, which made him shiver, Tanya asked, "Superman doesn't normally look like that, does he?"
"Just for the past month or so."
"Do you know why?"
"Maybe a supervillain hit him with some kind of energy weapon, or he flew through a meteor shower that contained a new type of Kryptonite, or… Well, that's the sort of thing that happens," said Constantine. "He'll probably be back to normal in another month or so."
"I hope so," said Superman, walking over to Constantine and warmly shaking his hand. "It's good to see you, John. Thank you for your assistance."
"No problem," said Constantine, whose hand was now fidgeting like a playful spider. "I'm sure you'd have managed perfectly well without me."
"Wow, John, have you been working out?" asked a woman wearing a domino mask, a purple cape and black body armor, with a white cross stretched across her chest that had no purpose that Tanya could discern, unless it was meant to show her opponents exactly where to shoot. She gave Constantine a playful poke. "I'm sure Zatanna will be delighted when she sees you."
"Yes, you're looking very well," said Batman. "I'm surprised. The last I heard, you were dying of lung cancer."
"Fresh air, clean living, you know how it is," Constantine began and almost immediately stopped. He sighed heavily, shook his head and said, "No, there's no point in lying. I'd have to tell the truth soon enough anyway. Please allow me to introduce my friend." He gestured in Tanya's direction. "I'm sure you'll agree she's a woman of wealth and taste."
Taking that as her cue, Tanya made herself visible and stopped suppressing her presence in the room. Arms folded, she examined the Justice League with a critical eye and an unimpressed expression upon her face.
"You!" cried the angel, gaping at her. "What brings you here?"
Superman looked bemused. "Zauriel, what's–?"
"She's the Devil! Lucifer's chosen successor!" the angel declared.
"Her name's Tanya," said Constantine. "Lady Tanya."
"John… did you make a deal with the Devil?" asked Batman, folding his arms and looking more-than-usually stern.
"Uh, sort of. She made an offer and… later on, when I was being attacked by one of her enemies, I was desperate, so… I set her free. She defeated him and healed me."
"I keep my promises," said Tanya.
"What happened to the media representatives who were here earlier?" asked Superman. "Are they somewhere safe?"
"They are under my protection. I will make sure they come to no harm," Tanya assured him. "I could bring them back here, if you like. Or I could take them back to Earth while you continue your repairs here."
There was a hurried conversation between the various superheroes, which Tanya didn't bother to listen to. Finally, Superman, acting as their spokesman, said, "We'd like you to bring them back here, please."
"It's fine," Tanya replied. "As long as you make sure they'll be safe when they get back here. Didn't Prometheus say this place was running out of oxygen?"
"Actually, we've mostly fixed the damage he caused," said a man clad in a suit of iron-grey powered armor. "We should probably be thankful that he was so overconfident."
"Even so, we'll send them back to Earth on the shuttles as soon as possible," said Superman.
"If you want me to teleport them back here, I will," said Tanya. She reminded them again, just in case they hadn't heard her the first time: "Or I could teleport them back to Earth immediately."
"We don't trust you," said Batman, bluntly. "Give us a reason to trust you. Bring them back here."
Tanya smiled, glad to have met someone who said what he was thinking, which meant that for once there was no need for her to decipher his true meaning. "With pleasure," she replied. "Even if I have to physically separate them, I'll make sure they come back here safely."
Not for the first time, Lois Lane wondered if she should regret the Pulitzer Prize, the fame and all the decisions that kept throwing her into danger. Or did she enjoy the reckless thrill that came from putting her life at risk time after time? First I was trapped aboard a doomed space station and now this…
"Are you getting all this?" an excited newsman was asking a bored camerawoman.
"It's just a shopping mall," she replied, with an exaggerated yawn.
"It's a glimpse of an alien world: a world different and yet weirdly similar to our own!" He grinned. "Don't you think people will be interested in that?"
"I think they might be demons," said someone else, looking anxiously at some of the passersby who so far had given them a wide berth. "See the horns?"
The bored camerawoman said, dismissively, while examining her fingernails, "It's a film set. They're just people in costumes. That's why all the shop names are in English."
"If they're demons, why aren't they attacking us? Shouldn't they be trying to persuade us to sell our souls for–"
"Prime wagyu steak!" With raised eyebrows, a voluminous man, who appeared to be spilling out of his business suit, was examining the menu board outside a restaurant. "And the prices look very reasonable!"
"Are you sure about that?" asked his haggard assistant. "You don't know what the exchange rates are like."
"I wonder if they'll accept American dollars."
Lois Lane did her best to take charge of the situation, speaking with all the aplomb she'd mustered in her years as a journalist, in a loud, clear voice that cut through all the conversations going on around her: "We need to remain calm and stay together. Someone brought us here to save us from dying aboard the Watchtower, so we have to assume they mean us no harm. But don't go wandering off."
Most of the other media people appeared to listen and agree with her, but there were a few who were more interested in the shops, cafés, restaurants and other attractions arranged all around them.
"What on earth is a 'pachinko parlor'?"
"There are dollar signs right there. That must mean they take American dollars, right?"
"Cute waitresses, aren't they?"
"Um, actually… I think that one might be a succubus."
"She can suck my–"
Someone yelled, aghast: "Boris!"
"–anytime she wants."
"That doesn't even make sense!"
"Screw it, I'm hungry. I want a hamburger," said a large, bushy-bearded man, throwing open the restaurant door. Then, a moment later: "Hey, my wallet's missing!" He turned on his heel and stomped back towards his fellows. "Who stole my wallet?"
"It could have been one of the demons. Be very careful," Lois warned him.
"They haven't been near us. It must have been one of you!" cried the bushy-bearded man, pointing an accusatory finger.
Lois tried her best to calm the situation, but her voice was just one of many. Most of the others were frantic, angry or distressed.
"It must have happened while we were on the Watchtower!"
"My necklace is missing too!"
"And my watch!"
"And my wallet!"
The crowd seethed with suspicion and anger. For a moment, no one moved. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath. At any moment, Lois knew there'd be a sudden eruption of violence. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
"Superman!" someone shrieked.
The tension dissipated as quickly as air escaping from a popped balloon. There were shamed faces and anxious grins. Suddenly, they were back on the Watchtower. Superman was there, as were the other members of the Justice League, a tall man wearing a trench coat, and a blonde businesswoman who was floating a few inches above the ground.
"Superman, someone's been stealing from us!" cried one of the newsmen. Lois was reminded of a small child whining to their class teacher.
"Don't worry, we'll find out who," the last son of Krypton assured them. "And if not, we'll make sure you're properly compensated."
Batman turned to look at the blonde businesswoman. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"Nothing at all. I have no need of earthly trinkets," she replied. "And my employees know they'd be punished for mistreating my guests."
"I'll take your word for it."
Despite Superman's assurances, it quickly became apparent that no one had any idea who the thief was, the Watchtower's security cameras had been damaged during Prometheus's attack, and anyway the Justice League were more concerned with making sure that all of their unfortunate guests got back to Earth safely. Someone suggested that their valuables had been stolen from them earlier, before they'd even come to the Watchtower – or that Prometheus himself had been the one to steal from them – and that was his real reason for attacking the Justice League.
"For all his posturing, all his speeches, he was nothing but a common thief!" proclaimed one middle-aged woman.
Soon, they were all packed onto the shuttles and on their way back to Earth. Lois felt like she could breathe easily at last. It won't be long now. I'm going home. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Even so, she knew that as soon as she woke up, she'd be back out there, chasing the next thrilling scoop. That was her life – and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Sitting at the Justice League's round table, with Constantine next to her, Tanya surveyed the assembled superheroes, whose numbers appeared to have grown since she had arrived at the Watchtower a few hours ago. The two new arrivals were Orion and Big Barda, members of the New Gods, a race of alien beings she vaguely remembered Crowley had suggested that she should talk to. This seemed as good an introduction as any.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," said Batman.
"No, don't say that," Tanya replied. "I prefer it when you're being honest with me.
"In that case, I'm not at all sorry to have kept you waiting for so long."
"That's better."
"You're not what I expected," said Superman. He gave Zauriel a sidelong glance; the angel was grim, stony-faced and refused to look directly at Tanya.
"And why should I conform to anyone's expectations?" asked Tanya, with a small shrug.
"You're the Devil," said Batman. "Did you send the demons who started the recent gang war in Gotham City?"
"They didn't start it. They merely defended themselves. But yes, I sent them."
"Why?"
Tanya took a moment to consider her answer. "You've been fighting crime for more than a decade, haven't you, Batman?"
"It seems like much longer than that," he replied.
"You've put thousands of criminals behind bars, but have you made any real impact on the crime rate? Is Gotham City any less of a crime-ridden hellhole than it was when you began your crusade?"
"What's your point?" he asked, with mounting hostility in his voice.
"You've beaten up a lot of gangsters and mentally ill people in costumes, but what have you done to rehabilitate them and heal them of whatever causes them to commit crimes?"
Looking around the table, Batman carefully scrutinized every one of his fellow Justice League members. Then, evidently satisfied, he turned back to Tanya and said, "In my civilian persona, I fund numerous charitable organizations that are working to end poverty and inequality, as well as offering opportunities for education, employment and psychiatric treatment. As the Batman, I exist to defend ordinary people from terrible threats to their lives and sanity, threats that must be dealt with immediately and cannot be dealt with any other way."
"A good answer." Tanya nodded. "You understand there are many crimes that are committed because people need money, because they want better lives for themselves and their families, and because they want power and status. In that sense, organized crime is just like any other business. Many of the most profitable crimes only exist because there is demand for certain goods and services that cannot be supplied legally. The fact that they are illegal adds a certain element of risk, but makes them even more lucrative. Consider the illegal drugs trade, for example. In nineteen eighty-six, the South Florida Task Force made over fifteen thousand arrests and seized vast quantities of cannabis and cocaine, but this had a negligible impact on the drugs trade as whole. In fact, it has been estimated that imports of cocaine to the USA actually increased during that period. It is a story that has been repeated again and again, all over the world, wherever drugs have been made illegal."
"So… you think we should legalize drugs," said the one they called 'Green Lantern', who was sweating, slumped back in his chair and had barely seemed to be paying attention to the conversation until this point.
"You're injured," said Tanya, giving him an appraising glance. "Would you like me to heal you?"
"Prometheus shot me," he explained. "But Batman bandaged me up. I'm good."
"Yes, but are you well enough to be taking part in this meeting?" Tanya frowned. "I could restore you to perfect health. It would take barely a moment."
"Worked for me," said Constantine.
"And what would that cost me?"
"Consider it a token of my goodwill," said Tanya.
"No offense, but it's usually considered to be unwise to accept gifts from demons," said Superman. "Thank you anyway."
"Do your healing powers have any side effects?" asked the green-skinned alien they called 'Martian Manhunter'. "Perhaps you intend to sap his will and deny him his superpowers."
"Or twist his mind and turn him into your pawn," said Batman, glaring at Constantine.
"I'm nobody's pawn!" he protested.
"Are you sure?" asked the woman Tanya had noticed before, whose body armor was marked with a large white cross. Her colleagues called her 'Huntress'. There was a playful note in her voice as she continued, "There must have been a good reason why she turned you into such a hunk."
"The lady likes what she likes. There's no shame in that," said the stretchy one whose nom de guerre was 'Plastic Man'.
"If you don't want me to heal you, I won't," said Tanya, with a put-upon sigh.
"Zauriel's an angel, so couldn't he use his heavenly powers to do the same thing?" asked the man in the red suit with earpieces in the shape of yellow wings. It took Tanya a few moments to remember that his codename was 'the Flash'.
The angel's face lost its grimace for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. "I've never been able to heal people," he admitted.
"I just need to rest," said Green Lantern. "When I feel up to it, I'll use my ring to heal myself. No problem."
"In that case, perhaps you should go somewhere you can lie down," said Tanya.
This suggestion was met with just as much suspicion as anything she had said before. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, Tanya made a bold attempt to continue her lecture from where she'd left off. Addressing Zauriel directly, she asked, "Do you know why Lucifer made me his successor?"
"Because you're… powerful," he hazarded.
Tanya waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Everything he does is for his own amusement. There were others he could have chosen, but he chose me because he thinks I'm funny. If he hadn't given up his throne, I suppose he'd want me to be his court jester. Nevertheless…" She put on a vicious grin. "…no matter how much he enjoys poking fun at my plans and ideas, he still clings to hope that I will succeed. He laughed at my plan to send demons to take over Earth's criminal underworld–" That was an exaggeration. Lucifer had been his usual sneering, mocking self, but he hadn't actually laughed. "–but he will be delighted if it comes to fruition."
"But why are you doing it?" asked Batman, in a tone of strained patience.
"For the same reasons as any other crime lord: money, power and influence. And to give my employees something to do," said Tanya. "But more than that, I want to make the world a better place. I want to prove that I could do a better job than Being X ever has."
There was widespread confusion when she mentioned 'Being X', but there was another question that was higher on Superman's list of priorities: "How do you intend to make the world a better place?"
Tanya gave Green Lantern a nod. "Earlier, you seemed to think I was suggesting that all drugs should be legalized. In actual fact, I think the world's governments should reconsider their priorities. The most minor crimes – including those pertaining to drugs such as cannabis, which in many ways are less harmful than alcohol – should be legalized. That would save the police and other law enforcement agencies a huge amount of time, money and manpower, which they could use instead to investigate more major crimes or clamp down on more dangerous drugs. But that doesn't seem likely to happen anytime soon, so I've decided to tackle the problem myself. My employees have formed criminal gangs that have seized territory in every major city. They will devote themselves entirely to making money through relatively minor, harmless crimes, outcompeting the other gangs and denying them easy sources of revenue. If the police and other law enforcement agencies have any sense, they will see my employees as the lesser evil. Therefore, they will focus on tackling the 'more dangerous' gangs that have been committing much worse crimes. My employees will take advantage of this by seizing even more territory, power and influence, as well as eliminating the competition one by one. Before long, the crime rate – more serious crimes, I mean – will have been reduced to practically nil!"
"Is this the first time you've ever visited this plane of existence, Lady Tanya?" asked the Martian Manhunter, in a dubious voice.
"No, I've been here lots of times. I was human once," she told him. "But that was a long time ago."
"Do you consider yourself to be good or evil, Lady Tanya?" asked Orion of the New Gods, who had been listening with rapt attention and an expression of puzzlement on his face.
"Have you heard the parable of the free lunch?" was Tanya's rejoinder.
For a few moments, there was silence while the Justice League tried to work out what she meant by that. Then, Batman sighed exasperatedly and said, "There's no such thing."
"Precisely." Tanya smirked, pleased with the joke she'd made. "In my experience, many of those who considered themselves to be pure and good went on to commit despicable acts, while some of those who were despised as evil monsters proved themselves to be kind and noble. And that's exactly why I've come here to speak to you tonight." She took a deep breath, just for dramatic effect. "I've come to warn you that the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just after tea."
"Around six o'clock, I guess," said Constantine.
"Being X – who considers himself to be the one true god, the ultimate force of good in the universe – wants the Apocalypse to happen. He wants to destroy everything he has created and have a final battle between Heaven and Hell. But I don't. I like Earth – and I'm sure there are plenty of other worlds I'd like if I had a chance to visit them – so I don't want everything to be destroyed. I want to prevent the Apocalypse. And I hope that all of you will help me to achieve that goal."
Silence followed her words. The Justice League's faces were frozen in expressions she couldn't decipher.
When she got home that night, Selina Kyle stroked one of her pet cats – and then all of the others when they came by, demanding attention – and then she had to feed them. Finally, when they were curled up, full and contented by the electric fireplace, she settled down to admire her latest selection of ill-gotten gains: wallets, watches, jewellery; and a pair of storm-opals from Rann, filched from the Justice League's trophy room while no one was looking.
She uttered a happy sigh, but her mind flickered back to the moment when everything had very nearly gone wrong: accusatory faces, raised voices, clenched fists. The air around her had seemed thick with anger and spite. A moment later, if they hadn't been rescued in time, there would have been pushing, shoving, jostling, hitting, punching, kicking, stamping, and hair-pulling. Clothes ripped, buttons popped off, heels broken. It would have been ugly.
Perhaps she should have learned a lesson from this, but as she lazed about on the sofa, Selina preferred to think, 'It's true what they say: Hell is other people.'
Author's Notes:
The early parts of this chapter were largely based on the 'Prometheus Unbound' storyline in the late nineties JLA comic book series written by Grant Morrison. I've even used some of the same dialogue. I regret that I didn't have Catwoman hit Prometheus in the groin with her bullwhip like she did in the comic, but I didn't want to have to explain her presence and I didn't think that Constantine or Tanya would have noticed her and excluded her from the spell that transported the rest of the 'helpless civilians' to Hell. Which is why I had her escape with a lot of other people's valuables instead. Maybe it's out-of-character that the Justice League wouldn't keep searching for the thief until they found her, but they were extraordinarily preoccupied when that happened. It was a matter of priorities.
Like a great many other comic book fans, I'm blinded by nostalgia, which is the main reason why I chose to use Grant Morrison's JLA in this fic. However, by doing so, I've made sure that this fic cannot possibly fit in with official DC Universe continuity. Oops.
Another reason why I've used Grant Morrison's JLA is because I wanted to have Zauriel (a superhero who is actually an angel from heaven) interact with this demonic version of Tanya.
I haven't seen my copies of the relevant issues of JLA in years, but I discovered that a youtuber named priendly priendly had done a dramatic reading of them, which I used to refresh my memory. I'm much obliged to him for enabling me to do that.
Anyway, this chapter could have gone on for much longer, but I've decided to end it here (on a cliffhanger, of sorts). The Justice League will react to Tanya's announcement in the next chapter.
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- Location
- Earth
I couldn't decide at this point as to which of the the two of them would be the worst option for doing the introductions.
Constantine, for what he brings to the table before he opens his mouth, or Tanya, for my expectation of her not even being able to get out a sentence before declaring herself a villain.
I like seeing the less common versions of the JLA.
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
To paraphrase Ronald Reagan: "We're from Hell and we're here to help!"
They are the versions of the JLA that appeared in the 'Prometheus Unbound' story arc that this chapter is largely based on. Also, I thought it would be funny to have the electric blue Superman appear without anyone being able to give a proper explanation for why he looks like that; and then, whenever he appears again after a timeskip of a few months or so, he'll have reverted to his 'classic' look, again without explanation.
It's like that meme:
> Electric blue Superman barges into this fic
> Refuses to elaborate further
> Leaves
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Flashkannon
Aqua Iconographer
- Location
- TM 91
It's a testament to the changes around the place that they got sent to Hell and barely noticed.
Of course he'd perk up for that.
I, for one, am intrigued to see how this goes down, I can hardly imagine superheroes ignoring the end of the world.
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
Of course, he's sweating, slumped back in his chair and barely paying attention because he's injured, not because he's on drugs, but I was amused by the potential implications.
15. Talking Points
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
"I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."
―Robert McCloskey
Hmm. After that epigraph, any message I could put here would probably come across as insincere. Therefore, this probably isn't a good place to tell you how grateful I am for all the feedback this fic has received (here and on other sites). Oops.
She knew Superman as well. Everyone knew Superman. And Wonder Woman, who so far had contributed nothing to this meeting, but had listened with careful attention. The other members of the Justice League she was less familiar with. Had she met Green Lantern before, in any of her previous incarnations? Or the Flash? She thought she recognized them, but she couldn't be sure. As for the rest… She didn't know Steel, or Martian Manhunter as anything more than a name, or Plastic Man. She had a vague feeling that she should know Aquaman, but she didn't know from where or in what context. Huntress was connected to Batman somehow. Zauriel was just another angel, one of Being X's lapdogs, although he at least seemed to have some sympathy for humans and was willing to put himself at risk to aid them. Orion and Big Barda were aliens, so she couldn't be expected to know them… could she?
"Thank you for coming to us with this information," said Superman, again acting as the league's spokesman. "Do you mind if we ask you a few more questions?"
"Be my guest."
"How can we trust you or anything you say?" asked Batman. "Lucifer is known as 'the Father of Lies'. What does that make you?"
"I don't tell lies. It causes too many problems," said Tanya.
Batman made no attempt to conceal his scepticism. "Do you expect us to take your word for that?"
"If it helps, I've never known Tanya to lie about anything. She's always been honest with me. No lies of omission or anything," said John Constantine. "Admittedly, I've only known her for a few months, so take that as you will."
"Thank you, John," said Tanya, giving him a grateful smile.
"How exactly do you want us to help you avert the Apocalypse? What do you want us to do?" asked Wonder Woman, speaking for the first time. Her tone and piercing gaze made Tanya feel almost as if she were in a courtroom, being cross-examined.
"I have been told that it will begin with a nuclear war. As you are some of Earth's greatest champions, loved and trusted around the world, I hope you will help me prevent its destruction."
"Who told you?" Wonder Woman continued to press her.
"Under the circumstances, I don't feel that I can reveal my sources to you," said Tanya, with a significant glance in Zauriel's direction. "I'm sure you understand."
"If we succeed in averting nuclear war, what will happen after that?" asked Superman. "What else should we prepare for?"
"Apparently, we can find everything we need to know about that in the Book of Revelation."
"In the Bible? Stars falling from the sky, the Four Horsemen, and so on?" asked Huntress, who suddenly seemed fully alert.
Tanya nodded. "I see you're an expert on the subject."
"The Four Horsemen are real? Will we have to fight them?" asked the Flash, looking alarmed.
"I appreciate your courage, but they're not the kind of enemy you can defeat by force of arms, unless you have some metaphysical powers I'm currently unaware of. They are abstract ideas, metaphors brought to life, anthropomorphic personifications of concepts that exist within the minds of humans and other sapient beings." Tanya's gaze flickered over to where Orion and Big Barda were sitting. "Try as you might, you won't be able to beat them in a fistfight."
"Sounds like a challenge," said the man in iron-grey powered armor, whose codename was 'Steel'. There was a note of good humor in his mechanically distorted voice. "I'm sure Superman's faced much worse than them before – and triumphed!"
His attempt to raise his colleagues' morale was only partially successful. There were a few chuckles and weak smiles, but otherwise everyone's attention remained focused on the monumental problem they would have to deal with in just a few years' time.
"Do you have any suggestions for how we might deal with them?" asked Batman, who was still scrutinizing Tanya as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Leave them to me. Like them, I am the embodiment of something abstract," she replied. "I can fight them on a higher plane of existence."
"Because you're the embodiment of evil," said Plastic Man, using his super-stretching powers to extend his grin until it was twice as wide as the rest of his face. Tanya presumed that this was supposed to signify that he was joking.
"That is what others are determined to call me, yes."
"What about the Antichrist?" asked Huntress.
"I am reliably informed that he is an eight-year-old boy named Warlock Dowling, the son of the US ambassador to the UK. He seems like a very ordinary child. Spoilt, cossetted, but ordinary. I'm not sure what to do about him."
This revelation was met with pensive silence. It was some time before anyone spoke again.
"Every day, we fight monsters, supervillains, alien invasions, mind-controlling parasites, and much more. Even if we have three years to prepare, I'm not sure it'll be enough time. We may be too busy," said Aquaman, the King of Atlantis, who had a lustrous blond beard and mane, a hook in place of his left hand, and armour plates covering only his right arm and shoulder. Since they didn't cover any of his vital organs, they presumably weren't meant to protect him, so maybe he used them as an ancillary weapon with which to bludgeon his opponents or smash through doors and other obstacles.
"More jokes?" Tanya rolled her eyes. "I expected better of you."
"I had a serious point: with all the other problems and distractions we have to deal with, we may find it difficult to give this matter the attention it deserves – especially if we're trapped on an alien planet, in another dimension, or dead."
"But perhaps you could help us with that, Lady Tanya?" said Batman, who seemed to have grasped what his teammate was getting at.
Tanya folded her arms and then cupped her chin with one hand. "I promise that if any of you end up in Hell within the next three years, I will do my best to restore you to life as quickly as possible. Otherwise, if you find yourselves trapped and in need of help… say my name three times. That's fairly traditional. Maybe I'll be there to aid you."
"Tanya is a relatively common name. Won't you find that confusing?" asked Huntress.
"I'll only be listening for the thirteen of you," Tanya assured her. "I'm sure you can manage to restrain yourself from saying my name three times in swift succession unless you really need to."
"And me?" asked Constantine, who didn't seem entirely pleased by the prospect.
"Of course."
"Did you… did you just make a deal with the Devil?" Green Lantern whispered, looking horror-struck.
"It wasn't a deal. She hasn't asked for anything in return," Aquaman pointed out.
"In return, I expect you to help me save the world," said Tanya, looking sternly at him and then around the room, at each of his colleagues in turn.
A few more questions followed, but Tanya could tell them little more that was relevant or useful. Before long, the meeting came to a close, after she'd extracted a promise that they would meet again in six months to discuss their progress.
"Farewell, all of you," she said. Then, turning to Constantine, she asked, "Would you like me to take you home, John?"
"Uh…" He glanced around at the Justice League. "Unless you have any questions you want to ask me when Tanya's not here."
"Not at the moment," said Batman. His gaze was still fixed upon Tanya.
"First, we'll need to discuss this as a team. I expect that will take some time," said Superman.
Constantine gave a small shrug. "Well, you know where I live."
"Yes. We do," said Batman.
Tanya opened a portal and took Constantine away from there. However, instead of taking him back home, she took him to a supermarket that was within walking distance of his home. Then, while he was still blinking in surprise, she picked up a shopping basket and began filling it with a range of nutritious and long-lasting foodstuffs.
"How do you feel about porridge? It's an excellent source of carbohydrates for energy, fibre to aid digestion, important vitamins and minerals, and antioxidant plant compounds."
"Can't stand the stuff."
Walking down the aisle, Tanya picked up a large bag of dry white rice, then looked around and saw a jar that was labelled 'Miso Paste'. The color wasn't quite right, so she examined the list of ingredients on the back. 'Wheat. I would have preferred rice.' For good measure, she turned the jar upside down. A moment later, she winced as she felt the contents slop about as if they were more than partially liquid.
'Why call it "Miso Paste" if you're not going to make it properly?' Perhaps she should teleport to Japan to grab some of the real stuff. But first, it seemed prudent to ask: "Do you like Japanese food, John?"
"No idea. If I'm eating out, I usually get fish and chips, but I've occasionally been known to have a late-night kebab or spicy vindaloo," he said, distractedly. It seemed as if his mouth and vocal chords were working unhindered while his brain was elsewhere.
"If I taught you how to make miso soup, you could freeze it for up to two weeks – if you took out the tofu first – and then eat it when you're ready," Tanya suggested. "It tastes and smells better when it's fresh, but it should still be edible and nutritious. To a much greater extent than anything you've got in your kitchen at the moment."
Constantine took a deep breath, gave her a disbelieving look, and said, "Why are you doing this? I don't need you to do my grocery shopping for me. I can do it myself."
"So why haven't you?" Tanya asked, without bothering to look at him. Instead, she continued further down the aisle. "If I bought you some fresh fruit, would you eat it before it went rotten?"
"Probably not."
"You're not making this easy for me."
"Then don't do it. I don't want you to," said Constantine. "Anyway, I'm sure you have much more important things to do than fuss over me. Shouldn't you be ruling Hell right now?"
"My subordinates can manage perfectly well without my direct oversight, for a little while," Tanya replied. "Right now, you need me more."
"No, I don't. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me – healing me when I was on the verge of death, giving me a job that pays well for doing practically nothing, and so on – but I don't need you to run my life for me."
"Someone has to. The problem is that you don't take care of yourself. You'll be no use to me if you're starving, passed out in the gutter, or dead," said Tanya.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh yeah, I should have realised that's the only reason why you're doing this: you want to use me as your tool."
Carefully putting down the basket of groceries on the smooth tiled floor, Tanya put on her best attempt at a coquettish smile. Then, stepping closer to Constantine, she laid a hand on his lean, hard-muscled chest, and said, "You want our relationship to be much more than that, hmm? You want me to care about you. You want us to be… close."
"No. If I have to be your tool, for now… Well, I owe you that much. But I'm not a toy for you to play with," he said, standing tall and resolute.
Tanya allowed herself a satisfied smirk. She was glad that at last he was displaying some of the brazen defiance that had earned him the enmity of multiple demon lords. She had been afraid that his recent experiences had crushed his spirit, so she was pleased to see otherwise. A moment later, she set aside all pretense, took a step back, and composed her features into an expression of studied neutrality. In a serious voice, she said, "Mr. Constantine, if you want me to stop interfering in your life, you know what you must do, don't you?"
He gave a reluctant nod. "I need to sort myself out."
"See that you do," said Tanya, picking up the basket of groceries and handing it to him. "You can start by paying for these, when you're ready."
Constantine glared, but didn't argue. Instead, he took the opportunity to add a few of his own favourites to the pile.
"And now, I must be going," said Tanya. "Good evening to you, Mr. Constantine."
"Yeah, same to you," he muttered, reaching for a family pack of potato crisps.
Tanya was tempted to chide him again for his poor dietary choices, but – as she opened the portal that would take her back to Hell – she decided against it. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, for the time being.
After they had taken a break for refreshments, checked that nothing else was in urgent need of repair after Prometheus's rampage, and gathered their thoughts, the Justice League returned to their conference room. Many of them glanced at the empty chair in which Tanya had been sitting, as if they felt her presence still.
"Lady Tanya is a fascinating individual, isn't she?" said Orion of the New Gods.
By now, Green Lantern was sitting upright and looking much refreshed. He made a noncommittal noise. "We've all fought supervillains who thought they had good intentions. They want to save the world by committing atrocities."
"Saving the world from ecological disaster by killing most of the human population, for example," said Batman.
"Yes, exactly. Tanya reminds me of one of those. When she said that her demon gangsters would reduce the crime rate to practically nil…" Green Lantern paused, winced and said, "I didn't grasp the logic behind that, I'll admit."
"As I understand it, she intends that her demonic minions will 'outcompete' more traditional organized criminal groups, but only commit crimes that most people don't care about," said Batman, not bothering to conceal his scepticism.
Plastic Man sniggered. "Sounds like the sort of thing a complete whackjob would say."
"She explained her plan to reduce the number of serious crimes committed by organized criminal gangs, which should give the police and other law enforcement agencies plenty of time and resources with which to tackle other crimes. I'd be surprised if that didn't have a significant effect on the crime rate overall," said Superman. "Maybe it won't reduce it to 'practically nil', but maybe that was meant as an exaggeration for rhetorical effect."
"A hyperbole, in other words," said Plastic Man.
"Can we trust anything she said? Lucifer was supposed to be the incarnation of evil and deceit – and he appointed her as his successor – so shouldn't she be just the same?" Wonder Woman wondered aloud.
"Could you have used the Lasso of Truth to find out?" asked the Flash, sounding curious as to why she hadn't.
"Most powerful demons can resist the effects of the Lasso of Truth, so I doubt it would have had any effect on her. Or else it would have caused her agonizing pain, even if she wasn't lying to us, simply because of what she is."
"Even if she consented to be tied up with the Lasso, which I doubt, that sounds like the sort of thing that could cause someone to lash out in a berserk rage," said Aquaman. "Let's not start a fight with any godlike beings unless we have to."
"We don't need to rush into anything," said Batman. "We have three years. We can afford to take some time to thoroughly investigate Tanya's claims and find out whether she can be trusted or not."
"Assuming she wasn't deliberately trying to trick us, I thought she seemed…" Wonder Woman grimaced and shook her head. "Deluded. Unworldly. Especially when she implied that there is no such thing as good or evil. That's almost as childish as the idea that the universe is divided up between good and evil, with nothing in-between."
"But is that what she meant?" asked the Flash. "I thought she was trying to tell us that she doesn't want to be numbered among those who call themselves good while doing evil things, but at the same time she doesn't see herself as evil despite being the ruler of Hell."
"She has my admiration for trying to be something different from what she was doomed to be, if indeed her word can be trusted," said Orion. "There are still those who think I will eventually become evil because of who my father is."
"And I was once a member of the Female Furies," said Big Barda.
"Even if we can trust her, it may not matter for much longer. Hell's leadership is very unstable, which is why it has had so many different rulers in the past decade or so: Lucifer, a triumvirate, Etrigan, Baytor, a different triumvirate, Lucifer again, and now Tanya. That's why I'm reluctant to let her take control of Earth's criminal underworld," said Batman. "Her intentions may be entirely benevolent and she may have cowed her minions to the extent that they won't dare to exceed the boundaries she has set for them, but that won't matter if she is deposed by someone more typical of demonkind."
"Indeed, her replacement would be in an excellent position to launch a full-scale invasion of Earth, having gained such a strong foothold," said Martian Manhunter.
"What can we do about that, though?" asked the Flash. "If Tanya's demons seem like the lesser evil, most civic authorities won't want to dislodge them in favor of criminal gangs who seem like they're much worse. As long as things are running smoothly, they'll tell us not to interfere. They won't care about the long term problems it might cause."
"There might not be any long term problems. According to Lady Tanya, the Apocalypse is due to begin in three years' time," said Aquaman.
"Do you know anything about that, Zauriel?" asked Superman, turning to the angel who had been sitting in gloomy silence for the entire meeting until this point. "Is the Apocalypse going to happen in three years' time?"
"I… I wish I knew," the angel admitted. "These days, most of the other angels don't tell me anything. I am considered to be too sympathetic to mortals, too involved in their affairs, and too unreliable to be entrusted with any important information."
Plastic Man raised an eyebrow until it was higher than the rest of his head. "A loose cannon, huh?"
"You might say that," said Zauriel.
"Therefore, Tanya could be telling the truth," Batman concluded.
Zauriel gave a reluctant nod. "Perhaps."
"You said 'most of the other angels'," said Huntress. "Does that mean there are those who'd still be willing to talk to you? Would any of them know about the Apocalypse?"
"Possibly. I'll need to visit them to find out."
"That sounds like a good idea," said Superman. "Will you need any assistance from the rest of us?"
"No," said Zauriel, slowly shaking his head. "I'll find out what I can and then return to you here."
"If it turns out that Tanya was lying to us, would we lose anything by acting as if she was telling the truth?" asked Steel. "I'd expect that anything we did to prepare could easily be repurposed whenever we need to fend off the next world-ending threat."
"It depends on what we do. If the Devil wants to cause mischief, she could have lied to us with the intention of causing us to panic and make rash decisions," said Batman. "For example, if we went on to build an army of giant robots to defend the Earth, I'd expect a supervillain to subvert them and use them against us almost immediately. Lady Tanya might find that sufficiently amusing to justify her coming here and telling a few outrageous lies."
"She didn't seem particularly mischievous," said Wonder Woman, in a dubious tone. "Quite the reverse, in fact."
Batman inclined his head. "Nevertheless, it's a possibility."
"If the Apocalypse is coming, shouldn't the New Gods know about it already? They are gods, after all." Steel hesitated briefly, before continuing: "Unless I misunderstood the explanation I was given earlier…"
"I certainly didn't know anything about it," said Orion. "But I don't know everything the other New Gods know."
"We were sent here to be protectors of the Earth – and, before we came here, Metron told us to make sure it was well-fortified," said Barda. "Perhaps this is why."
"Won't the Apocalypse affect every world, not just Earth?" asked Green Lantern.
"Yes, in the fullness of time," said Zauriel. "But it will begin on Earth."
"Tanya mentioned that she was once human. Is there any chance that we could find out who she was and how long ago she lived?" asked Huntress.
"Out of all the billions of people who have ever lived…" Steel took a deep breath and shook his head. "Probably not."
"Certainly not by conventional means. But perhaps Zauriel could find out for us," said Batman.
"I suppose it might be possible. But I could spend lifetimes searching through Heaven's archives, even if I knew where to look," the angel replied.
"If it turns out that Tanya wasn't lying, what will be our next step?" asked the Flash.
"I will go back to my people to warn them. Perhaps they will have some useful suggestions," said Wonder Woman.
"We should send someone to ask John Constantine some more questions about Tanya. Preferably when she's not there with him," said Batman.
"We should reach out to our allies on other planets, including New Genesis," said Superman. "I'd be curious to know how much Highfather and Metron knew about this already, if they'd be willing to tell us."
"And some of the world's other superheroes: those who are powerful enough to be useful and sensible enough to restrain themselves from telling anyone else about the coming Apocalypse," said Aquaman. "We don't want to cause mass hysteria."
"What about the world's supervillains? They live here too," said the Flash. "Maybe they'd be willing to set aside old grievances and work together with us, just this once?"
There was an awkward and doubt-filled silence while everyone else considered this.
In a tender voice, Wonder Woman said, "Flash, I know you have an odd relationship with your Rogues, but… I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Certainly not yet. When we're desperate and it seems like all hope is lost, I'm sure we'll be willing to try anything," said Aquaman.
"I'm sure Luthor could build something that would solve most of our problems at a stroke," said Superman. "But I suspect that involving him in this would cause even more problems."
"He's a scheming megalomaniac who hates you so much that he'd be willing to do something utterly stupid just to spite you," said Batman.
"Yes. Exactly."
Green Lantern looked across the table at Aquaman and then Batman, and said, "I'm sure that if I was dead or trapped I'd appreciate Lady Tanya's help – unless she asked for something outrageous in return – but why did you ask her for that? You basically gave her permission to interfere whenever one of our missions goes badly. Couldn't that have terrible consequences, sooner or later?"
"I didn't sign anything." Aquaman shrugged his brawny shoulders. "She said she'd only intervene if we end up in Hell or say her name three times in swift succession, which we're unlikely to do by accident. As the Demon Queen of Hell, she's powerful enough to interfere with us anytime she wants to, but she wants something from us, which means she'll be trying to prove that we can trust her. And while she's doing that…" He grinned. "Don't you think it'll be useful to have a 'Devil ex machina' ready for when we really need it?"
"Very pragmatic of you," said Superman, who didn't sound convinced.
The meeting continued for a few minutes after that, while they all considered and discussed what they were going to do over the next few days, after they returned to Earth. It was agreed that they would meet again in a week's time, provided that there were no global disasters in the interim. By then, they hoped that a few questions would have been answered and they would have more information to share.
At long last, Dream and Delirium had found their brother, Destruction, on an island in the middle of nowhere. He looked much the same as he always did: a tall, hulking bear of a man with a large smile on his face. Inviting them into his dwelling, he told them to sit down and enjoy the meal he had spent all day cooking and preparing. Destruction enjoyed making things with his own hands, apparently.
"To be honest, I was expecting you to arrive a little earlier," he said. "But no matter. The dolmades may be a trifle cool, but they'll be none the worse for that, eh?"
Rather discomposed, Dream sat down opposite Destruction, while Delirium sat at the head of the table. She drank a little wine and explained, in her own inimitable fashion, what had happened on the journey that had led them to this place – why they had come here, the people they had met along the way, how many of those people had died horrible deaths, and the realisation that had finally brought them to where they needed to be – while Dream ate nothing and was silent until she finished. Even then, he didn't have much to say.
Destruction was determined to make small talk, asking about the other members of their family and what had happened to them recently, but Dream was only interested in why he had left them and abandoned his responsibilities.
Unable to persuade either of his siblings to eat anything, Destruction despaired, departed the dinner table, and led them outside again. There, he gazed up at the starry night sky and gave an explanation of his actions that left Dream even more confused than before.
"There's no such thing as a one-sided coin. There are two sides to every sky. I filled my role more than adequately for over ten billion years, but... destruction did not cease with my abandonment of my realm, no more than people would cease to dream should you abandon yours. Perhaps it's wilder, more uncontrolled. Perhaps not. But it's no longer anyone's responsibility. I took my sigil with me: I did not pass it on." He paused, gazing into the darkness for what might have been several eons, until he finally continued: "I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend… I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come and go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend." He sighed deeply and disconsolately. "Nothing lasts. Everything ends and fades and is lost forever. Even us. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe."
"Except our sister," Delirium pointed out.
"So we suppose," said Dream, though his mind was elsewhere. Having been strongly reminded of something, he took a few moments to recall what it was. Then, he looked curiously at Destruction and asked, "Have you ever met Lady Tanya Degurechaff? She said something very similar to me not long ago."
"No, I don't know who you mean. When would I have met her?" asked Destruction. "Who is she? One of your romantic conquests?"
Surveying the vicinity, Dream was relieved to find that there was no one else around other than himself and his two siblings. "She's the current ruler of Hell, Lucifer's successor. She doesn't like me very much."
"Never mind. You'll win her over in the end," said Destruction, with a loud belly laugh.
"Which will come almost immediately, according to you," said Dream.
Delirium smiled with what seemed like excessive cheer. "That's something to look forward to."
Rerouting the conversation back onto its previous course, Dream said, "On the other hand… surely there is an argument to be made that nothing ever truly ends, but merely undergoes a change of state. Atoms undergo radioactive decay, losing electrons, protons, neutrons and energy, transforming into different elements. Living things die and then decay, becoming food for new life. Stars become red giants or supergiants; planetary nebulas or supernovas; and then white dwarfs, neutron stars or black holes. Billions of years from now, this universe will come to an end, but it will become the seed for another universe. Everything is a cycle. It goes on forever."
"I can tell you've been thinking about this for some time. A few centuries, maybe," said Destruction, with a wry grin. "Was that what you had in mind when you commissioned old Bill Shakespeare to write that play for you? What were the words he used?" He hummed a few bars under his breath. "That song, Ariel's song…"
In a shrill voice, Delirium began to sing: "'Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; these are pearls that were his eyes; nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! Now I hear them – ding-dong, bell.'"
"Thank you, sister," said Destruction, smiling fondly at her. "I would have been stuck without your help." Becoming serious, he said, "There's no need for me to argue with you, Dream. You've made my point for me: for things to change, to become something new, destruction is needed. Nothing new can exist without destroying the old. Things are created, exist for a little while, and then they are gone. Replaced with something else or changed beyond recognition. Empires, cities, poems and people, atoms and worlds. One cannot begin a new dream without abandoning the last. Isn't that right, brother?"
Dream said nothing, but gave a half-hearted nod.
"The Endless are merely patterns. The Endless are ideas. The Endless are wave functions. The Endless are repeating motifs. We are the instruments they use to define what is," Destruction continued. "Death defines life, just as Despair defines hope, or Desire defines hatred, or Destiny defines freedom."
"And what do I define, by this theory of yours?" asked Dream.
"Reality, perhaps," said Destruction.
They stared at each other. Delirium was lying curled up on the dusty ground next to them. All was still. Even the night breezes and the waves lapping against the shore seemed oddly muted.
Destruction took a deep, expansive breath, which was followed by a heavy sigh. "With or without me, it will carry on regardless. I am unnecessary. And now, I think it's time for me to go."
"Where?" asked Dream.
"Oh, out there, somewhere," said Destruction. "Up and out."
"What will you do?"
"I will make the most of what I've got. I shall live out my days doing what I have to do, one day at a time." Destruction picked Delirium up off the floor, embraced her and said, "My sister. I have enjoyed seeing you. You were always my favourite. I trust that when your next change comes, it proves easy on you."
"Change?" asked Delirium, looking bemused.
"My brother. There is no one like you," said Destruction, meeting Dream's gaze with his own. "You also have changed more than even you know, I would suspect. Once you are done here, where will you go?"
"There were matters left unfinished with my son."
"Dream, you left matters unfinished with your son some thousands of years ago. Come with me," said Destruction, leading them back into the house. "This is my old gallery. I've been dragging it around with me since I left my realm…"
A short time later, after he'd told his dog to look after Delirium, given Dream a few words of perplexing advice, and said his final farewells, Destruction walked away, into the sky. Across the gulf of space, beyond the stars, further and further away, until at last he faded from sight.
Dream watched until he was gone forever. In his mind, he repeated the words of the song – Ariel's song, from William Shakespeare's The Tempest – which Delirium had sung for them, not long ago: 'Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange…'
He knew what he had to do next. He had to kill his son.
Author's Notes:
I've tried to portray all the members of the Justice League as reasonable and intelligent people who happen to have good reasons to distrust Tanya. This fic includes crossover elements from many different works of fiction and I want to treat all of them with respect. I want to be like Terry Pratchett, who is one of my idols; his works were extremely funny and thought-provoking, but never meanspirited.
I recently found out that the Wonder Woman who appears in JLA #16 and #17, which the previous chapter was inspired by, is actually Hippolyta, not Diana Prince. However, since this has no effect on the story and I didn't even realise it for more than two decades after I read those comic books, I'm just going to ignore it.
Recently I discovered that a major supermarket chain here in the UK sells 'Miso Paste' that has the consistency of gunge and tastes quite unpleasant, presumably because British people don't know any better and don't complain when they're fed rubbish. I'm sure Tanya would be appalled.
This chapter is dedicated to Windle (on AO3), who told me they ship Tanya/John Constantine. I hope they like it!
Tanya: "I'm only flirting with John Constantine to annoy him and put some fire back into his spirit. He'll be more useful that way."
Everyone else: "Uh-huh. Sure you are."
Much of the dialogue between Dream and Destruction in this chapter was taken from the 'Brief Lives' story arc in The Sandman comic book, although I've shuffled it around and made a few alterations and additions of my own, mainly to show how Dream has been affected by Tanya's influence.
I originally thought it was so obvious that Wonder Woman's Lasso of Truth wouldn't work on Tanya that I didn't bother to mention it in this chapter. In JLA #17, Wonder Woman expresses doubt that the Lasso would work on Prometheus, who is a regular human, despite his technological and mystical gadgetry. If it wouldn't work on him, it definitely wouldn't work on Tanya, who is several orders of magnitude more powerful than he is. However, I got so many comments and questions (on other sites) asking why Wonder Woman didn't use the Lasso of Truth on Tanya that I eventually caved and added a few lines of explanation.
―Robert McCloskey
Hmm. After that epigraph, any message I could put here would probably come across as insincere. Therefore, this probably isn't a good place to tell you how grateful I am for all the feedback this fic has received (here and on other sites). Oops.
Talking Points
While she waited for someone to reply, Tanya was stricken by a wave of nostalgia. She knew the Justice League. In some of her past lives, they had been fictional characters, but in others… She had known Batman very well. At least once, she had been a member of his extended crimefighting family. Another time… Had she ever come to blows with him? She couldn't remember. That had been a long time ago, in another universe, and she had been a different person.She knew Superman as well. Everyone knew Superman. And Wonder Woman, who so far had contributed nothing to this meeting, but had listened with careful attention. The other members of the Justice League she was less familiar with. Had she met Green Lantern before, in any of her previous incarnations? Or the Flash? She thought she recognized them, but she couldn't be sure. As for the rest… She didn't know Steel, or Martian Manhunter as anything more than a name, or Plastic Man. She had a vague feeling that she should know Aquaman, but she didn't know from where or in what context. Huntress was connected to Batman somehow. Zauriel was just another angel, one of Being X's lapdogs, although he at least seemed to have some sympathy for humans and was willing to put himself at risk to aid them. Orion and Big Barda were aliens, so she couldn't be expected to know them… could she?
"Thank you for coming to us with this information," said Superman, again acting as the league's spokesman. "Do you mind if we ask you a few more questions?"
"Be my guest."
"How can we trust you or anything you say?" asked Batman. "Lucifer is known as 'the Father of Lies'. What does that make you?"
"I don't tell lies. It causes too many problems," said Tanya.
Batman made no attempt to conceal his scepticism. "Do you expect us to take your word for that?"
"If it helps, I've never known Tanya to lie about anything. She's always been honest with me. No lies of omission or anything," said John Constantine. "Admittedly, I've only known her for a few months, so take that as you will."
"Thank you, John," said Tanya, giving him a grateful smile.
"How exactly do you want us to help you avert the Apocalypse? What do you want us to do?" asked Wonder Woman, speaking for the first time. Her tone and piercing gaze made Tanya feel almost as if she were in a courtroom, being cross-examined.
"I have been told that it will begin with a nuclear war. As you are some of Earth's greatest champions, loved and trusted around the world, I hope you will help me prevent its destruction."
"Who told you?" Wonder Woman continued to press her.
"Under the circumstances, I don't feel that I can reveal my sources to you," said Tanya, with a significant glance in Zauriel's direction. "I'm sure you understand."
"If we succeed in averting nuclear war, what will happen after that?" asked Superman. "What else should we prepare for?"
"Apparently, we can find everything we need to know about that in the Book of Revelation."
"In the Bible? Stars falling from the sky, the Four Horsemen, and so on?" asked Huntress, who suddenly seemed fully alert.
Tanya nodded. "I see you're an expert on the subject."
"The Four Horsemen are real? Will we have to fight them?" asked the Flash, looking alarmed.
"I appreciate your courage, but they're not the kind of enemy you can defeat by force of arms, unless you have some metaphysical powers I'm currently unaware of. They are abstract ideas, metaphors brought to life, anthropomorphic personifications of concepts that exist within the minds of humans and other sapient beings." Tanya's gaze flickered over to where Orion and Big Barda were sitting. "Try as you might, you won't be able to beat them in a fistfight."
"Sounds like a challenge," said the man in iron-grey powered armor, whose codename was 'Steel'. There was a note of good humor in his mechanically distorted voice. "I'm sure Superman's faced much worse than them before – and triumphed!"
His attempt to raise his colleagues' morale was only partially successful. There were a few chuckles and weak smiles, but otherwise everyone's attention remained focused on the monumental problem they would have to deal with in just a few years' time.
"Do you have any suggestions for how we might deal with them?" asked Batman, who was still scrutinizing Tanya as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Leave them to me. Like them, I am the embodiment of something abstract," she replied. "I can fight them on a higher plane of existence."
"Because you're the embodiment of evil," said Plastic Man, using his super-stretching powers to extend his grin until it was twice as wide as the rest of his face. Tanya presumed that this was supposed to signify that he was joking.
"That is what others are determined to call me, yes."
"What about the Antichrist?" asked Huntress.
"I am reliably informed that he is an eight-year-old boy named Warlock Dowling, the son of the US ambassador to the UK. He seems like a very ordinary child. Spoilt, cossetted, but ordinary. I'm not sure what to do about him."
This revelation was met with pensive silence. It was some time before anyone spoke again.
"Every day, we fight monsters, supervillains, alien invasions, mind-controlling parasites, and much more. Even if we have three years to prepare, I'm not sure it'll be enough time. We may be too busy," said Aquaman, the King of Atlantis, who had a lustrous blond beard and mane, a hook in place of his left hand, and armour plates covering only his right arm and shoulder. Since they didn't cover any of his vital organs, they presumably weren't meant to protect him, so maybe he used them as an ancillary weapon with which to bludgeon his opponents or smash through doors and other obstacles.
"More jokes?" Tanya rolled her eyes. "I expected better of you."
"I had a serious point: with all the other problems and distractions we have to deal with, we may find it difficult to give this matter the attention it deserves – especially if we're trapped on an alien planet, in another dimension, or dead."
"But perhaps you could help us with that, Lady Tanya?" said Batman, who seemed to have grasped what his teammate was getting at.
Tanya folded her arms and then cupped her chin with one hand. "I promise that if any of you end up in Hell within the next three years, I will do my best to restore you to life as quickly as possible. Otherwise, if you find yourselves trapped and in need of help… say my name three times. That's fairly traditional. Maybe I'll be there to aid you."
"Tanya is a relatively common name. Won't you find that confusing?" asked Huntress.
"I'll only be listening for the thirteen of you," Tanya assured her. "I'm sure you can manage to restrain yourself from saying my name three times in swift succession unless you really need to."
"And me?" asked Constantine, who didn't seem entirely pleased by the prospect.
"Of course."
"Did you… did you just make a deal with the Devil?" Green Lantern whispered, looking horror-struck.
"It wasn't a deal. She hasn't asked for anything in return," Aquaman pointed out.
"In return, I expect you to help me save the world," said Tanya, looking sternly at him and then around the room, at each of his colleagues in turn.
A few more questions followed, but Tanya could tell them little more that was relevant or useful. Before long, the meeting came to a close, after she'd extracted a promise that they would meet again in six months to discuss their progress.
"Farewell, all of you," she said. Then, turning to Constantine, she asked, "Would you like me to take you home, John?"
"Uh…" He glanced around at the Justice League. "Unless you have any questions you want to ask me when Tanya's not here."
"Not at the moment," said Batman. His gaze was still fixed upon Tanya.
"First, we'll need to discuss this as a team. I expect that will take some time," said Superman.
Constantine gave a small shrug. "Well, you know where I live."
"Yes. We do," said Batman.
Tanya opened a portal and took Constantine away from there. However, instead of taking him back home, she took him to a supermarket that was within walking distance of his home. Then, while he was still blinking in surprise, she picked up a shopping basket and began filling it with a range of nutritious and long-lasting foodstuffs.
"How do you feel about porridge? It's an excellent source of carbohydrates for energy, fibre to aid digestion, important vitamins and minerals, and antioxidant plant compounds."
"Can't stand the stuff."
Walking down the aisle, Tanya picked up a large bag of dry white rice, then looked around and saw a jar that was labelled 'Miso Paste'. The color wasn't quite right, so she examined the list of ingredients on the back. 'Wheat. I would have preferred rice.' For good measure, she turned the jar upside down. A moment later, she winced as she felt the contents slop about as if they were more than partially liquid.
'Why call it "Miso Paste" if you're not going to make it properly?' Perhaps she should teleport to Japan to grab some of the real stuff. But first, it seemed prudent to ask: "Do you like Japanese food, John?"
"No idea. If I'm eating out, I usually get fish and chips, but I've occasionally been known to have a late-night kebab or spicy vindaloo," he said, distractedly. It seemed as if his mouth and vocal chords were working unhindered while his brain was elsewhere.
"If I taught you how to make miso soup, you could freeze it for up to two weeks – if you took out the tofu first – and then eat it when you're ready," Tanya suggested. "It tastes and smells better when it's fresh, but it should still be edible and nutritious. To a much greater extent than anything you've got in your kitchen at the moment."
Constantine took a deep breath, gave her a disbelieving look, and said, "Why are you doing this? I don't need you to do my grocery shopping for me. I can do it myself."
"So why haven't you?" Tanya asked, without bothering to look at him. Instead, she continued further down the aisle. "If I bought you some fresh fruit, would you eat it before it went rotten?"
"Probably not."
"You're not making this easy for me."
"Then don't do it. I don't want you to," said Constantine. "Anyway, I'm sure you have much more important things to do than fuss over me. Shouldn't you be ruling Hell right now?"
"My subordinates can manage perfectly well without my direct oversight, for a little while," Tanya replied. "Right now, you need me more."
"No, I don't. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me – healing me when I was on the verge of death, giving me a job that pays well for doing practically nothing, and so on – but I don't need you to run my life for me."
"Someone has to. The problem is that you don't take care of yourself. You'll be no use to me if you're starving, passed out in the gutter, or dead," said Tanya.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh yeah, I should have realised that's the only reason why you're doing this: you want to use me as your tool."
Carefully putting down the basket of groceries on the smooth tiled floor, Tanya put on her best attempt at a coquettish smile. Then, stepping closer to Constantine, she laid a hand on his lean, hard-muscled chest, and said, "You want our relationship to be much more than that, hmm? You want me to care about you. You want us to be… close."
"No. If I have to be your tool, for now… Well, I owe you that much. But I'm not a toy for you to play with," he said, standing tall and resolute.
Tanya allowed herself a satisfied smirk. She was glad that at last he was displaying some of the brazen defiance that had earned him the enmity of multiple demon lords. She had been afraid that his recent experiences had crushed his spirit, so she was pleased to see otherwise. A moment later, she set aside all pretense, took a step back, and composed her features into an expression of studied neutrality. In a serious voice, she said, "Mr. Constantine, if you want me to stop interfering in your life, you know what you must do, don't you?"
He gave a reluctant nod. "I need to sort myself out."
"See that you do," said Tanya, picking up the basket of groceries and handing it to him. "You can start by paying for these, when you're ready."
Constantine glared, but didn't argue. Instead, he took the opportunity to add a few of his own favourites to the pile.
"And now, I must be going," said Tanya. "Good evening to you, Mr. Constantine."
"Yeah, same to you," he muttered, reaching for a family pack of potato crisps.
Tanya was tempted to chide him again for his poor dietary choices, but – as she opened the portal that would take her back to Hell – she decided against it. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, for the time being.
After they had taken a break for refreshments, checked that nothing else was in urgent need of repair after Prometheus's rampage, and gathered their thoughts, the Justice League returned to their conference room. Many of them glanced at the empty chair in which Tanya had been sitting, as if they felt her presence still.
"Lady Tanya is a fascinating individual, isn't she?" said Orion of the New Gods.
By now, Green Lantern was sitting upright and looking much refreshed. He made a noncommittal noise. "We've all fought supervillains who thought they had good intentions. They want to save the world by committing atrocities."
"Saving the world from ecological disaster by killing most of the human population, for example," said Batman.
"Yes, exactly. Tanya reminds me of one of those. When she said that her demon gangsters would reduce the crime rate to practically nil…" Green Lantern paused, winced and said, "I didn't grasp the logic behind that, I'll admit."
"As I understand it, she intends that her demonic minions will 'outcompete' more traditional organized criminal groups, but only commit crimes that most people don't care about," said Batman, not bothering to conceal his scepticism.
Plastic Man sniggered. "Sounds like the sort of thing a complete whackjob would say."
"She explained her plan to reduce the number of serious crimes committed by organized criminal gangs, which should give the police and other law enforcement agencies plenty of time and resources with which to tackle other crimes. I'd be surprised if that didn't have a significant effect on the crime rate overall," said Superman. "Maybe it won't reduce it to 'practically nil', but maybe that was meant as an exaggeration for rhetorical effect."
"A hyperbole, in other words," said Plastic Man.
"Can we trust anything she said? Lucifer was supposed to be the incarnation of evil and deceit – and he appointed her as his successor – so shouldn't she be just the same?" Wonder Woman wondered aloud.
"Could you have used the Lasso of Truth to find out?" asked the Flash, sounding curious as to why she hadn't.
"Most powerful demons can resist the effects of the Lasso of Truth, so I doubt it would have had any effect on her. Or else it would have caused her agonizing pain, even if she wasn't lying to us, simply because of what she is."
"Even if she consented to be tied up with the Lasso, which I doubt, that sounds like the sort of thing that could cause someone to lash out in a berserk rage," said Aquaman. "Let's not start a fight with any godlike beings unless we have to."
"We don't need to rush into anything," said Batman. "We have three years. We can afford to take some time to thoroughly investigate Tanya's claims and find out whether she can be trusted or not."
"Assuming she wasn't deliberately trying to trick us, I thought she seemed…" Wonder Woman grimaced and shook her head. "Deluded. Unworldly. Especially when she implied that there is no such thing as good or evil. That's almost as childish as the idea that the universe is divided up between good and evil, with nothing in-between."
"But is that what she meant?" asked the Flash. "I thought she was trying to tell us that she doesn't want to be numbered among those who call themselves good while doing evil things, but at the same time she doesn't see herself as evil despite being the ruler of Hell."
"She has my admiration for trying to be something different from what she was doomed to be, if indeed her word can be trusted," said Orion. "There are still those who think I will eventually become evil because of who my father is."
"And I was once a member of the Female Furies," said Big Barda.
"Even if we can trust her, it may not matter for much longer. Hell's leadership is very unstable, which is why it has had so many different rulers in the past decade or so: Lucifer, a triumvirate, Etrigan, Baytor, a different triumvirate, Lucifer again, and now Tanya. That's why I'm reluctant to let her take control of Earth's criminal underworld," said Batman. "Her intentions may be entirely benevolent and she may have cowed her minions to the extent that they won't dare to exceed the boundaries she has set for them, but that won't matter if she is deposed by someone more typical of demonkind."
"Indeed, her replacement would be in an excellent position to launch a full-scale invasion of Earth, having gained such a strong foothold," said Martian Manhunter.
"What can we do about that, though?" asked the Flash. "If Tanya's demons seem like the lesser evil, most civic authorities won't want to dislodge them in favor of criminal gangs who seem like they're much worse. As long as things are running smoothly, they'll tell us not to interfere. They won't care about the long term problems it might cause."
"There might not be any long term problems. According to Lady Tanya, the Apocalypse is due to begin in three years' time," said Aquaman.
"Do you know anything about that, Zauriel?" asked Superman, turning to the angel who had been sitting in gloomy silence for the entire meeting until this point. "Is the Apocalypse going to happen in three years' time?"
"I… I wish I knew," the angel admitted. "These days, most of the other angels don't tell me anything. I am considered to be too sympathetic to mortals, too involved in their affairs, and too unreliable to be entrusted with any important information."
Plastic Man raised an eyebrow until it was higher than the rest of his head. "A loose cannon, huh?"
"You might say that," said Zauriel.
"Therefore, Tanya could be telling the truth," Batman concluded.
Zauriel gave a reluctant nod. "Perhaps."
"You said 'most of the other angels'," said Huntress. "Does that mean there are those who'd still be willing to talk to you? Would any of them know about the Apocalypse?"
"Possibly. I'll need to visit them to find out."
"That sounds like a good idea," said Superman. "Will you need any assistance from the rest of us?"
"No," said Zauriel, slowly shaking his head. "I'll find out what I can and then return to you here."
"If it turns out that Tanya was lying to us, would we lose anything by acting as if she was telling the truth?" asked Steel. "I'd expect that anything we did to prepare could easily be repurposed whenever we need to fend off the next world-ending threat."
"It depends on what we do. If the Devil wants to cause mischief, she could have lied to us with the intention of causing us to panic and make rash decisions," said Batman. "For example, if we went on to build an army of giant robots to defend the Earth, I'd expect a supervillain to subvert them and use them against us almost immediately. Lady Tanya might find that sufficiently amusing to justify her coming here and telling a few outrageous lies."
"She didn't seem particularly mischievous," said Wonder Woman, in a dubious tone. "Quite the reverse, in fact."
Batman inclined his head. "Nevertheless, it's a possibility."
"If the Apocalypse is coming, shouldn't the New Gods know about it already? They are gods, after all." Steel hesitated briefly, before continuing: "Unless I misunderstood the explanation I was given earlier…"
"I certainly didn't know anything about it," said Orion. "But I don't know everything the other New Gods know."
"We were sent here to be protectors of the Earth – and, before we came here, Metron told us to make sure it was well-fortified," said Barda. "Perhaps this is why."
"Won't the Apocalypse affect every world, not just Earth?" asked Green Lantern.
"Yes, in the fullness of time," said Zauriel. "But it will begin on Earth."
"Tanya mentioned that she was once human. Is there any chance that we could find out who she was and how long ago she lived?" asked Huntress.
"Out of all the billions of people who have ever lived…" Steel took a deep breath and shook his head. "Probably not."
"Certainly not by conventional means. But perhaps Zauriel could find out for us," said Batman.
"I suppose it might be possible. But I could spend lifetimes searching through Heaven's archives, even if I knew where to look," the angel replied.
"If it turns out that Tanya wasn't lying, what will be our next step?" asked the Flash.
"I will go back to my people to warn them. Perhaps they will have some useful suggestions," said Wonder Woman.
"We should send someone to ask John Constantine some more questions about Tanya. Preferably when she's not there with him," said Batman.
"We should reach out to our allies on other planets, including New Genesis," said Superman. "I'd be curious to know how much Highfather and Metron knew about this already, if they'd be willing to tell us."
"And some of the world's other superheroes: those who are powerful enough to be useful and sensible enough to restrain themselves from telling anyone else about the coming Apocalypse," said Aquaman. "We don't want to cause mass hysteria."
"What about the world's supervillains? They live here too," said the Flash. "Maybe they'd be willing to set aside old grievances and work together with us, just this once?"
There was an awkward and doubt-filled silence while everyone else considered this.
In a tender voice, Wonder Woman said, "Flash, I know you have an odd relationship with your Rogues, but… I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Certainly not yet. When we're desperate and it seems like all hope is lost, I'm sure we'll be willing to try anything," said Aquaman.
"I'm sure Luthor could build something that would solve most of our problems at a stroke," said Superman. "But I suspect that involving him in this would cause even more problems."
"He's a scheming megalomaniac who hates you so much that he'd be willing to do something utterly stupid just to spite you," said Batman.
"Yes. Exactly."
Green Lantern looked across the table at Aquaman and then Batman, and said, "I'm sure that if I was dead or trapped I'd appreciate Lady Tanya's help – unless she asked for something outrageous in return – but why did you ask her for that? You basically gave her permission to interfere whenever one of our missions goes badly. Couldn't that have terrible consequences, sooner or later?"
"I didn't sign anything." Aquaman shrugged his brawny shoulders. "She said she'd only intervene if we end up in Hell or say her name three times in swift succession, which we're unlikely to do by accident. As the Demon Queen of Hell, she's powerful enough to interfere with us anytime she wants to, but she wants something from us, which means she'll be trying to prove that we can trust her. And while she's doing that…" He grinned. "Don't you think it'll be useful to have a 'Devil ex machina' ready for when we really need it?"
"Very pragmatic of you," said Superman, who didn't sound convinced.
The meeting continued for a few minutes after that, while they all considered and discussed what they were going to do over the next few days, after they returned to Earth. It was agreed that they would meet again in a week's time, provided that there were no global disasters in the interim. By then, they hoped that a few questions would have been answered and they would have more information to share.
At long last, Dream and Delirium had found their brother, Destruction, on an island in the middle of nowhere. He looked much the same as he always did: a tall, hulking bear of a man with a large smile on his face. Inviting them into his dwelling, he told them to sit down and enjoy the meal he had spent all day cooking and preparing. Destruction enjoyed making things with his own hands, apparently.
"To be honest, I was expecting you to arrive a little earlier," he said. "But no matter. The dolmades may be a trifle cool, but they'll be none the worse for that, eh?"
Rather discomposed, Dream sat down opposite Destruction, while Delirium sat at the head of the table. She drank a little wine and explained, in her own inimitable fashion, what had happened on the journey that had led them to this place – why they had come here, the people they had met along the way, how many of those people had died horrible deaths, and the realisation that had finally brought them to where they needed to be – while Dream ate nothing and was silent until she finished. Even then, he didn't have much to say.
Destruction was determined to make small talk, asking about the other members of their family and what had happened to them recently, but Dream was only interested in why he had left them and abandoned his responsibilities.
Unable to persuade either of his siblings to eat anything, Destruction despaired, departed the dinner table, and led them outside again. There, he gazed up at the starry night sky and gave an explanation of his actions that left Dream even more confused than before.
"There's no such thing as a one-sided coin. There are two sides to every sky. I filled my role more than adequately for over ten billion years, but... destruction did not cease with my abandonment of my realm, no more than people would cease to dream should you abandon yours. Perhaps it's wilder, more uncontrolled. Perhaps not. But it's no longer anyone's responsibility. I took my sigil with me: I did not pass it on." He paused, gazing into the darkness for what might have been several eons, until he finally continued: "I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend… I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come and go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend." He sighed deeply and disconsolately. "Nothing lasts. Everything ends and fades and is lost forever. Even us. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe."
"Except our sister," Delirium pointed out.
"So we suppose," said Dream, though his mind was elsewhere. Having been strongly reminded of something, he took a few moments to recall what it was. Then, he looked curiously at Destruction and asked, "Have you ever met Lady Tanya Degurechaff? She said something very similar to me not long ago."
"No, I don't know who you mean. When would I have met her?" asked Destruction. "Who is she? One of your romantic conquests?"
Surveying the vicinity, Dream was relieved to find that there was no one else around other than himself and his two siblings. "She's the current ruler of Hell, Lucifer's successor. She doesn't like me very much."
"Never mind. You'll win her over in the end," said Destruction, with a loud belly laugh.
"Which will come almost immediately, according to you," said Dream.
Delirium smiled with what seemed like excessive cheer. "That's something to look forward to."
Rerouting the conversation back onto its previous course, Dream said, "On the other hand… surely there is an argument to be made that nothing ever truly ends, but merely undergoes a change of state. Atoms undergo radioactive decay, losing electrons, protons, neutrons and energy, transforming into different elements. Living things die and then decay, becoming food for new life. Stars become red giants or supergiants; planetary nebulas or supernovas; and then white dwarfs, neutron stars or black holes. Billions of years from now, this universe will come to an end, but it will become the seed for another universe. Everything is a cycle. It goes on forever."
"I can tell you've been thinking about this for some time. A few centuries, maybe," said Destruction, with a wry grin. "Was that what you had in mind when you commissioned old Bill Shakespeare to write that play for you? What were the words he used?" He hummed a few bars under his breath. "That song, Ariel's song…"
In a shrill voice, Delirium began to sing: "'Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; these are pearls that were his eyes; nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! Now I hear them – ding-dong, bell.'"
"Thank you, sister," said Destruction, smiling fondly at her. "I would have been stuck without your help." Becoming serious, he said, "There's no need for me to argue with you, Dream. You've made my point for me: for things to change, to become something new, destruction is needed. Nothing new can exist without destroying the old. Things are created, exist for a little while, and then they are gone. Replaced with something else or changed beyond recognition. Empires, cities, poems and people, atoms and worlds. One cannot begin a new dream without abandoning the last. Isn't that right, brother?"
Dream said nothing, but gave a half-hearted nod.
"The Endless are merely patterns. The Endless are ideas. The Endless are wave functions. The Endless are repeating motifs. We are the instruments they use to define what is," Destruction continued. "Death defines life, just as Despair defines hope, or Desire defines hatred, or Destiny defines freedom."
"And what do I define, by this theory of yours?" asked Dream.
"Reality, perhaps," said Destruction.
They stared at each other. Delirium was lying curled up on the dusty ground next to them. All was still. Even the night breezes and the waves lapping against the shore seemed oddly muted.
Destruction took a deep, expansive breath, which was followed by a heavy sigh. "With or without me, it will carry on regardless. I am unnecessary. And now, I think it's time for me to go."
"Where?" asked Dream.
"Oh, out there, somewhere," said Destruction. "Up and out."
"What will you do?"
"I will make the most of what I've got. I shall live out my days doing what I have to do, one day at a time." Destruction picked Delirium up off the floor, embraced her and said, "My sister. I have enjoyed seeing you. You were always my favourite. I trust that when your next change comes, it proves easy on you."
"Change?" asked Delirium, looking bemused.
"My brother. There is no one like you," said Destruction, meeting Dream's gaze with his own. "You also have changed more than even you know, I would suspect. Once you are done here, where will you go?"
"There were matters left unfinished with my son."
"Dream, you left matters unfinished with your son some thousands of years ago. Come with me," said Destruction, leading them back into the house. "This is my old gallery. I've been dragging it around with me since I left my realm…"
A short time later, after he'd told his dog to look after Delirium, given Dream a few words of perplexing advice, and said his final farewells, Destruction walked away, into the sky. Across the gulf of space, beyond the stars, further and further away, until at last he faded from sight.
Dream watched until he was gone forever. In his mind, he repeated the words of the song – Ariel's song, from William Shakespeare's The Tempest – which Delirium had sung for them, not long ago: 'Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange…'
He knew what he had to do next. He had to kill his son.
Author's Notes:
I've tried to portray all the members of the Justice League as reasonable and intelligent people who happen to have good reasons to distrust Tanya. This fic includes crossover elements from many different works of fiction and I want to treat all of them with respect. I want to be like Terry Pratchett, who is one of my idols; his works were extremely funny and thought-provoking, but never meanspirited.
I recently found out that the Wonder Woman who appears in JLA #16 and #17, which the previous chapter was inspired by, is actually Hippolyta, not Diana Prince. However, since this has no effect on the story and I didn't even realise it for more than two decades after I read those comic books, I'm just going to ignore it.
Recently I discovered that a major supermarket chain here in the UK sells 'Miso Paste' that has the consistency of gunge and tastes quite unpleasant, presumably because British people don't know any better and don't complain when they're fed rubbish. I'm sure Tanya would be appalled.
This chapter is dedicated to Windle (on AO3), who told me they ship Tanya/John Constantine. I hope they like it!
Tanya: "I'm only flirting with John Constantine to annoy him and put some fire back into his spirit. He'll be more useful that way."
Everyone else: "Uh-huh. Sure you are."
Much of the dialogue between Dream and Destruction in this chapter was taken from the 'Brief Lives' story arc in The Sandman comic book, although I've shuffled it around and made a few alterations and additions of my own, mainly to show how Dream has been affected by Tanya's influence.
I originally thought it was so obvious that Wonder Woman's Lasso of Truth wouldn't work on Tanya that I didn't bother to mention it in this chapter. In JLA #17, Wonder Woman expresses doubt that the Lasso would work on Prometheus, who is a regular human, despite his technological and mystical gadgetry. If it wouldn't work on him, it definitely wouldn't work on Tanya, who is several orders of magnitude more powerful than he is. However, I got so many comments and questions (on other sites) asking why Wonder Woman didn't use the Lasso of Truth on Tanya that I eventually caved and added a few lines of explanation.
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And after the event, among the JL, no matter what the truth is: Constantine will always be the one who managed to seduce the devil and avoid the end of the world.
Flashkannon
Aqua Iconographer
- Location
- TM 91
This is, in essence, the comic book experience. Did you know? Spider-man initially copied his iconic black suit from Spider-woman (Jessica Carpenter) during the events of Secret Wars. Also, the Iron Man that appears in those volumes is not Tony Stark, but James Rhodes.
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
'Seduced the Devil' seems like it would fit in with everything else on John Constantine's résumé.
Huh, I didn't know that. Interesting.
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16. The Right Thing to Do
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said to her: "Sibyl, what do you want?" she answered: "I want to die."
―Gaius Petronius, Satyricon (translated by T. S. Eliot)
It's been two weeks since my last update. That's still pretty good going by my standards, but I think I'm starting to run out of steam.
The Right Thing to DoOrpheus dreamt that he'd had a life. He and his wife had grown old together. They had children and grandchildren. Their love was as strong and steadfast as it always had been, ever since the moment when they'd first set eyes on each other. They would be together forever, even when they passed on and into the Elysian Fields.
He awoke to find that none of those things were true. His eyes burned, cold tears ran down his face, and he tasted salt on his lips. He dearly wished that he could go back to sleep. But when he gazed through the open door and up at the sky, he saw the position of the stars and realised that hardly any time had passed since he'd last looked at them. His dream could only have lasted a few minutes.
All that was left of him was a remnant: a severed head, sitting on an altar, in a temple, on a tiny island in the Adriatic Sea, where he had been for centuries. For all that time, he had been tended by the same family of humble fisher folk, who revered him as a last connection to the gods, heroes and monsters of ancient myth. No matter how tedious his immortal existence could be, he much preferred this quiet, peaceful place to what had happened to him before he had been brought here: passed from charlatan to mystic to would-be despot, all over Europe, from those who saw him as an amusing toy to those who saw him as a tool or a weapon they could use against their enemies. He didn't need to worry about that now. There was no need to worry about anything at all.
For hours, he waited. There was always something to see: the lights in the house across the bay, distant silhouettes moving here and there, clouds scudding across the sky, a shooting star, seabirds, the blood orange sunrise… And still he waited. How long had it been? Just a few days? Months? Years? He couldn't be sure.
He heard familiar voices. His aunt, Mania. His father, Morpheus. Had he drifted into another dream? Or had the dream come to him?
Mania was pleading: "I want to say hello or goodbye or something. I could show him my doggie. Please? I went to his wedding."
At first, the answer was a firm no, but after her entreaties this was commuted to: "Very well. But the dog remains outside."
She appeared in the doorway. Mania, whom some called Delirium of the Endless, was ragged and dishevelled, with mismatched eyes and a mane of unkempt red hair that flew wild in all directions. Her lips were smeared with red lipstick, which appeared to have been applied by a child wearing boxing gloves in a windstorm. "Orpheus?" She craned her neck to look at him from another angle. "You look different. Um. But also the same."
"Hello my aunt." He tried to smile at her. The divine power that gave him a semblance of life, though he'd been reduced to a mere relic, enabled him to do such things.
"Well, I just came to say. And now I'm going away again." She waved to him. A desultory gesture. Then, she wheeled around and seemed ready to scurry away, but something gave her pause. Standing in the doorway, she drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height, posed as if she were a snooty waitress in the kind of upper-class restaurant Orpheus had only ever glimpsed in visions, and said, "The quality of mercy is not strained, but I recommend the yoghurt."
"Yes, I know," said Morpheus, entering the room, even as his sister fled from it. "I am well aware."
"Father…" Looking up at a figure who was just as monochrome, tall and imposing as he had ever been, Orpheus hardly dared to hope.
"Orpheus. I apologize for that intrusion," said his father. "I did not intend for her to…" He paused as if unsure about what he had actually intended.
"It doesn't matter. Thank you for coming back."
"Did you doubt that I would? I gave my word." Morpheus stood with his arms folded, looking down at him.
"I know. How was my uncle?" Orpheus asked. With his oracular gifts, he had seen where Olethros was, despite his attempts to hide himself forever, but he was less sure about 'how' or 'why' or what he had become.
His father was unable to give a clear answer. He gazed past Orpheus, at the blank wall behind him, as he described how Olethros had changed somewhat, but in many ways he was the same as before, and now he was gone again. "We do not always accomplish what we set out to do," he murmured.
"Mother visited me last year. She said that you had freed her from imprisonment," said Orpheus. "You have changed, since the old days."
"I doubt it."
Orpheus's mouth was dry. Had it ever been this dry before? Or had he only just noticed? It had been thousands of years since he'd had anything to drink, after all. Frantic words escaped his lips, as if bursting out of the parched ground in which they had been buried: "Father, I am very scared."
"You asked for a boon, Orpheus. I can grant it."
He couldn't understand why he was so afraid. It made no sense. Ever since the maenads had torn him apart, so long ago, he had begged for death, prayed for it, hoped that the gods would show him mercy, and wanted nothing more than an end to his suffering. It should have come as a relief. But now it was finally at hand, he was terrified. He explained all this to his father and said, "Do you remember what you said to me, back then? 'Your life is your own. Your death, likewise, always and forever your own. Farewell. We shall not meet again.' Those were your exact words. I have had plenty of time to think on them."
There was no reply. His father was, perhaps, a little more rigid and impassive than before.
"I should have died a long time ago," said Orpheus.
His father inclined his head, just slightly.
"I wish that things had been otherwise."
A hoarse mutter followed his words: "Yes."
"Father, I am ready," said Orpheus.
There was a nod. "She will be waiting for you."
"Do you really think so?"
"I… I don't know," his father admitted. "But it seemed like the sort of thing I should say.
Orpheus sighed, though he was more amused than exasperated. "Thank you."
Moving as slowly and inexorably as the stars in the sky, his father – Lord Morpheus, the Dream King, Dream of the Endless – lifted him off the altar, cradled him in his arms, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. He reached for something very far away, beyond even an oracle's vision.
And then Orpheus was gone. This time, there was nothing left. He could finally rest.
Tanya had so many other important matters to attend to that this interview had been almost indefinitely delayed, but she had finally got around to asking Hastur what he knew about the Antichrist. The first question she asked was one that had been preying on her mind for some time: "Where did the Antichrist come from?"
"Uh, dunno," said her most loyal general. He was sitting in her office, across the desk from her, looking unaccountably nervous. "What do you mean?"
"Someone must have handed him over to you and Ligur before you passed him on to Crowley? Who was it?"
His craggy features creased with the effort of remembering. "We had to collect him from… somewhere."
"Why don't you remember?" Tanya asked. "You were given a great honor, which I'm sure would have made many other demons jealous of you, so why has it slipped your mind almost completely?"
"Yeah. Seems odd, doesn't it?" Hastur scratched his head, looking bashful. "I dunno why."
"Could someone have tampered with your memories?"
"I suppose it's possible, but why would they bother?"
Tanya didn't have enough information to be able to give that question a proper answer, but she had her suspicions. It seemed likely that this was one of Being X's plots, part of his ongoing master plan. Perhaps he was making sure all of his playing pieces were in position, ready for the apocalyptic endgame. But if that was the case, why would he do anything to Hastur's memories? What was the reason for this secrecy?
She tried a different tack: "If Lucifer is the Antichrist's father, who is his mother?"
That seemed to dredge something up from the dark recesses of Hastur's memory: "Right, yeah… I remember now. There was a cult. Performing dark satanic rituals and so on. They summoned Lucifer and…" He paused, grimaced and screwed his eyes shut for a moment. In a dull voice, he continued, "Nine months later, the Antichrist was born. We were sent to collect him."
Thoughts raced through Tanya's mind as she considered this new information. It now seemed likely that Lucifer himself had been the one to tamper with Hastur's memories, presumably because he was ashamed of what he'd done or what the cultists had forced him to do. Perhaps he'd given in to his hedonistic urges – or had he tried to resist, knowing what would happen if he did not? Had he been an unwilling participant in the conception of the Antichrist? When she'd spoken to him about it, he'd insisted that it hadn't been rape; but at the same time, he'd told her that he hadn't been given a choice, so what was the truth? Lucifer was one of the most powerful beings in all of creation; how had the cultists managed to take control of him and compel him to do their bidding, if indeed that was what they had done? Had Being X somehow weakened him or his willpower at a critical moment? Was that the real reason why he had given up his position as King of Hell? Because he was sick and tired of being toyed with?
If so, he'd done a poor job of erasing the relevant memories from Hastur's mind, to the extent that most of them had been recovered with barely any effort. Was that due to arrogance? Had he assumed that no one would ever notice what he'd done? Or was it a sign of his distress that he'd made a number of mistakes while he was trying to hide the evidence of what had happened to him?
She briefly entertained the idea of visiting Lucifer again and asking him if any of her theories were correct, but she knew that it would only serve to infuriate him for no possible benefit other than satisfying her curiosity. Perhaps she'd discovered the real reason why he'd retired – or part of it, at least – but she didn't really need to know the whole truth.
"Are you all right, Hastur? How do you feel about all this?" she asked, giving him a thoughtful glance.
"Uh, I'm not pleased that someone's been messing with my mind. But there's nothing I can do about it, so…" He shrugged.
Tanya prided herself on being a competent human resources manager. She was well aware of how the quality of her employees' work could suffer due to problems with their mental health. It was for this reason that she said, in her most sympathetic tone of voice, "I think you should take a few days off. Do something you enjoy. Think about something else, for a while."
"Thanks, boss. Sounds good to me," said Hastur. "Maybe I'll try out that new hotel everyone's been talking about."
"The Fawney Rig Hotel." Tanya nodded. "A unique experience for any demon, so I'm told."
A puzzled frown crumpled Hastur's face. "You mean you don't know? I thought it was your idea."
"Like I said, it's a unique experience. Whatever you experience, it won't be the same as what happened to me."
"Makes sense." Planting his feet firmly on the floor, Hastur was about to get up, but first it must have occurred to him to ask: "Was there anything else?"
"No, you're free to go," said Tanya. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk to someone, my door is always open."
Hastur's frown had not quite departed his face before it was called back into action once again. "No, it isn't. It's usually closed. I had to knock a few times before you let me in earlier – do you remember?"
"Figuratively, I mean."
"Right, that makes more sense," said Hastur, though he still looked mildly perplexed. He stood up. "Anyway, I'll be off now. See you later."
"In about a week's time," said Tanya. "Make sure you rest and come back refreshed."
He nodded to her as he walked away and out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Afterwards, Tanya spent a few minutes making notes on what she'd just learnt, her various speculations and how they might affect her plans going forward.
'It shouldn't make much difference,' she decided, after some consideration.
Aziraphale's bookshop was closed, as usual. The idea of parting with any of his rarer tomes appalled him, so he'd gone to some lengths to deter customers from trying to buy anything from him, with irregular opening times, a confusing and illogical store layout in which nothing was in alphabetical order, and being generally unhelpful whenever he was approached by anyone who was looking around the shop.
"Why do you even have a bookshop if you don't want people to buy anything from it?" Crowley had asked. "Just keep it as your own private library."
"I like the idea of having a bookshop," Aziraphale had tried to explain. "But the idea of selling books is rather less appealing."
Crowley's reply to that had been a derisive snort.
"Besides, it's part of my cover. 'Bookshop owner' is much less suspicious than 'mysterious individual who has plenty of money and rare books for no apparent reason', don't you think?"
"Aziraphale, anyone who had any reason to notice you would find you extremely suspicious, especially since you're a bookshop owner who doesn't want to sell any books."
"Even so," Aziraphale had said, bringing the argument to a close. You couldn't argue with 'even so'.
Most of the time, while the bookshop wasn't open, Aziraphale devoted himself to small acts of kindness and charity, improving the lives of people around him in dozens of little ways, so they would go on to do the same to others, thereby spreading the light of goodness much further than he could have done on his own, without attracting much attention like dramatic acts of heroism or self-sacrifice would. He did this fully in the knowledge that, at the same time, Crowley was doing the opposite: making people's lives more difficult and frustrating wherever he could, causing them to treat others badly in return, spreading annoyance, unpleasantness and low-grade evil as if they were nasty little diseases. Overall, he and Crowley countered each other perfectly. Everything they had done over thousands of years, some of which had involved painstaking effort and hard work, had meant nothing in the long run. They'd made no real difference whatsoever. In some ways, maybe that could be seen as a good thing: it meant that the majority of humans were free to live their own lives without supernatural beings interfering in their decision-making, but Aziraphale couldn't help wondering if he could have been doing something more productive with his immortal life. Now that the Apocalypse was near – only a few years away – he regretted that he'd wasted so much of his existence.
Crowley had been busy recently, much too busy to bother with his usual tricks, which meant that Aziraphale was temporarily unopposed. Whatever good he did now might finally make a difference, tipping the balance in favor of morality and virtue. But would it be too little, too late? Almost certainly, but what else could he do?
He was roused from these gloomy thoughts by the sharp crack of a knock on the front door: steady, unhurried, but demanding attention nonetheless.
"Now, who could that be?" he wondered aloud. Crowley wouldn't bother to knock, the postman never gave more than a perfunctory knock, and he'd never been bothered by door-to-door salespeople after the first time. He found himself hoping that it was the Jehovah's Witnesses. They had knocked on his door once, some years ago, and he'd invited them inside for tea, biscuits and a lovely chat, but they'd not been back since then. He couldn't think why.
More knocking, more insistent than before.
When Aziraphale went to answer it, he was surprised to find one of his fellow angels standing on the doorstep. It was Zauriel, widely considered to be a dangerous crackpot by many of his fellows; he'd spent more than a decade masquerading as an American superhero. He was in human form, but no less recognizable for that.
"Good afternoon," said Aziraphale, blinking at him. "This is… an unexpected delight."
"It's good to see you too," said his colleague, with a strained smile.
"Would you like to come in?"
"I think that would be for the best."
Aziraphale backed away and made an ushering gesture with his hands, indicating that Zauriel should follow him through the shop and into the back rooms where they could sit down in comfort. Perhaps the full meaning of this gesture wasn't immediately apparent, but the other angel followed him regardless.
"Cup of tea?"
"Unfortunately, this isn't a social call," Zauriel began, but then he hesitated and reconsidered. "But that's no reason why I should refuse your hospitality. So yes, I would like a cup of tea, please."
"Milk? Sugar?"
"Whatever you'd recommend," said Zauriel, whose body language clearly conveyed that he couldn't care less.
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," said Aziraphale, waving to his battered old armchairs. He heard muttered thanks.
Heading into the kitchen, he prepared two cups of tea, just the way he liked it. This gave him time to think. When the other angel had appeared on his doorstep, his first thought had been that his unseemly relationship with Crowley had been discovered and that he would soon be condemned and punished for it. But if that was the case, it was unlikely that Zauriel would have come alone or accepted his offer of a cup of tea. There must be some other reason. What could it be? It had already been established that this wasn't a social call – not that Aziraphale would ever have expected Zauriel to visit him for the pleasure of his company – they weren't friends and they had little in common. Although they were on the same side and doing the same job, they approached it from different angles and with different attitudes. He respected Zauriel for his earnest desire to help people, even if he went about it in a ridiculous and melodramatic way, but he couldn't imagine getting together with him in any kind of social setting. What on earth would they talk about?
There was no way to know without speaking to him. When the tea had finished brewing, Aziraphale arranged his face in a politely attentive expression and returned to the sitting room with two steaming cups, handing one to Zauriel and keeping the other for himself. Sitting down in the armchair opposite his colleague, he said, "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Slowly and carefully, as if he were handling some kind of explosive device, Zauriel put down his teacup on the side table next to him. "It's about the Apocalypse."
"What about it?"
"I have been told that it's due to take place in three years' time. Is that correct?"
"I've been told the same thing," said Aziraphale, sipping his tea. He could see no reason to hide this information; no one had forbidden him from sharing it with his fellow angels, all of whom should already know it.
"What about the Antichrist? Do you know anything about him?"
Aziraphale hesitated, but again he saw no reason not to tell Zauriel. In fact, he was appalled by how ill-informed his colleague seemed to be. "His name is Warlock Dowling. He's the son of the US ambassador to the UK."
"So, it's true," said Zauriel, slumping in his chair. "Exactly as she said…"
Raising an inquiring eyebrow, Aziraphale waited for him to gather his thoughts. Though he was tempted to ask who the other angel's mysterious informant had been, he remained silent so as not to redirect the conversation along an irrelevant tangent. Instead, he would remain focused on what was really important.
"I thought we had much longer. We helped to build such a vast and beautiful universe, which could last for billions of years, but now I know it will soon come to an end… I can't help but grieve," said Zauriel. Then, as if he felt the need to justify himself, he continued, "I grieve for all those who will suffer horrible deaths during the Apocalypse. I grieve for those who will never be redeemed, who will never have a chance to prove that they deserve Heaven. And I grieve for everything that will soon be gone forever."
"We should all be glad that good will soon triumph and evil will be vanquished once and for all," said Aziraphale, dutifully. He wasn't about to voice his true, complicated opinions where any of his fellow angels could hear them. "However, in many ways, I agree with you. I pray that God will be merciful."
They stared at each other for several uncomfortable moments. Their conversation could have continued – Aziraphale had plenty of things he wanted to say and he suspected Zauriel did too – but he didn't trust him enough to share his private thoughts with him. Even if they had similar feelings about the Apocalypse, in all other respects there was a gulf between them that might never be bridged.
"I should go. Thank you for the tea," said Zauriel, despite the fact that he hadn't drunk any of it.
"That's quite all right," said Aziraphale, suppressing his irritation and putting on a genial smile. "Thank you for your company."
There were many different pantheons of gods that had been worshipped at some time or other, most of which were barely clinging on to fragments of the power they had once had, but Tanya hoped they would be useful nonetheless. She planned to invite all of them to join her in attempting to stave off the Apocalypse.
Before she did that, she wanted to meet with them, get to know them, and convince them that she would be a worthy leader. To do that, she needed a meeting place. If she asked them to come to Hell, they would refuse; they would assume that it was a trap. Tanya had no way of persuading them otherwise, so she would have to meet them somewhere else. Neutral ground. And so, with that in mind, she returned to the Dreaming once again to ask Dream for another favor…
His kingdom was grim and silent. For once, there were no distractions in her way: no whispers to befuddle her, no labyrinths to mislead her, no fanciful beasts, no far-off silhouettes and no glints of golden treasure. It was the easiest journey through his realm she'd had so far.
She found him sitting on his throne, staring at nothing. There was a mournful look in his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he was prone to dramatic gestures – like imprisoning his former girlfriend in Hell for thousands of years – so she might have expected him to announce his misery to all and sundry with a thunderstorm, anguished cries and wild gestures, but instead he was closed-off and listless.
"Dream King," she said. Then, before she could launch into her prepared speech, she found herself asking, "What's the matter?"
It took him a moment to answer: "I killed my son."
"Orpheus?" asked Tanya, remembering what Death had told her about him: he was immortal and unable to die even after he'd been torn apart by Maenads. For thousands of years, he had been forced to endure a miserable existence in what was left of his shattered body; at any time, death would have been a mercy, but he was beyond her reach.
Dream gave a small nod.
"Well done," said Tanya, giving him a congratulatory smile and thumbs-up. "I'm proud of you. I knew you could do it."
There was no reply and she gradually began to suspect that her reaction had been inappropriate to the situation; Dream didn't want to be praised for what he'd done. He continued to gaze blankly into the distance as if he hadn't heard her.
"It was the right thing to do. You brought his suffering to an end," she told him.
"I spilled family blood," he murmured.
"You did what was necessary. Like I said, I'm proud of you."
"I should have done it sooner."
"Yes, you should have. But…" Tanya hesitated, carefully considering what she was about to say. "I appreciate that you're trying to do better. To do the right thing. To correct the wrongs and mistakes of the past. I know it's not easy."
He didn't reply, but sat in dejected silence, unmoving and unmoved by what she'd said.
Tanya searched the dark caverns of her mind for ideas of what to do next, but found only a few hazy memories of trying to comfort a small child. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to use similar techniques here and now. "Would you like a hug?" she asked.
Dream raised his head almost imperceptibly, which she interpreted as assent.
His sitting position made it awkward, but she managed to squeeze in next to him. She wrapped her arms around him. He was stiff and uncomfortable. "There, there," she said, patting him on the back.
He made a sound that was either a soft chuckle or a sob. "You're terrible at this."
Tanya was affronted, but tried not to let it show. "No one can be good at everything," she said, as she released him, stood up and stepped away from him.
"That's true. And I… I appreciate your sincerity. Considering that your predecessor was the Father of Lies, it seems strange that you should be so devoid of sophistry, but… I appreciate it."
There was a pause while Tanya tried to work out what he meant by that: was it a compliment or stealthy insult?
"And thank you for your kindness. You're a good friend," Dream continued.
"Actually…" Tanya couldn't help but squirm; she'd come to him because she wanted something from him, not because she had any intention of comforting him.
Dream knew her well enough to ask: "Now, what do you want from me?"
"I want to meet with the gods of many different pantheons and ask them to help me prevent the Apocalypse. If I ask them to meet me in Hell, they will refuse because they'll assume I'm trying to lure them into a trap. Therefore, I want to invite them to meet with me in neutral ground, which I would be grateful if you would provide, here in the Dreaming," Tanya explained. "Also, many thousands of years ago, Lucifer made an agreement with the faeries, which I would like to renegotiate, so I'm planning to invite them as well. I would be indebted to you for your assistance in this matter."
"Let's not talk of debts. You've done more than enough for me in the past," said Dream. "Although…" There was a significant pause. When he spoke again, his words had a hurried, discordant quality: "Like you said, I'm trying to do better. You've told me about the importance of forgiveness, so… I would like to forgive Choronzon. He positioned himself as an obstacle in my path and tried to enslave me, but really he was no more than a minor nuisance. I forgive him… and therefore I'd appreciate it if you released him from imprisonment."
"I imprisoned him because he rebelled against me, not because of anything he did to you," Tanya pointed out.
"Even so," said Dream.
Tanya heaved an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'm sure he won't make a mistake like that again."
"Thank you. That is all I ask," said Dream. "In return, I will create a suitable meeting place for you and ensure that your guests are treated with every courtesy while they are here."
"Are you sure you don't want anything else from me?" asked Tanya. "Choronzon is an irritating little pustule, but his freedom is a small price to pay for what you've agreed to do in exchange."
"It's enough."
"A good deal is one that leaves both parties satisfied and willing to work together again in future – and that is the outcome I would like us to reach – so please tell me if there is anything else I can do for you."
"I am content. I need nothing more," said Dream, with a small shrug.
Tanya looked doubtfully at him. Moments ago, he had been dejected, limp and spiritless, but now he seemed to have found new purpose. When he stood up and surveyed his domain, his movements seemed infused with steely resolve that had not been there before.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," she hazarded.
"You have that effect on me, Lady Tanya," he said. Though his words were playful, there was something about his expression she didn't like. It reminded her of faces she'd seen on the battlefields of her long-distant youth: men who'd lost everything but were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
"I need to go now. I'll speak to you again soon to discuss the details of when I'm going to meet with the gods. In the meantime… take care of yourself. Don't do anything you might later regret."
"I won't," Dream promised. "Farewell."
"Farewell," Tanya echoed him, as she turned away.
Author's Notes:
Most of the dialogue from the scene in which Dream and Delirium visit Orpheus for the last time was taken from the 'Brief Lives' storyline in The Sandman comic book, but not all.
Ever since I introduced Zauriel to this story, I've wanted him to meet with Aziraphale. Despite the fact that they're both angels and doing more-or-less the same job, they're very different people, so I thought it would be interesting to see them interact with each other. In the chapter above, their first meeting was cut short by their mutual distrust and Zauriel's consternation when he realised that Tanya was telling the truth about basically everything, but I'm sure they'll come into contact again later on.
One of the reasons why I decided to continue the story up to this point was because I was amused by the idea of a grief-stricken Dream saying, "I killed my son," only for Tanya to give him a beaming smile, a thumbs-up and hearty congratulations. It's a scene that's been in my mind for a while, even if I've only just got around to writing it. That's the sort of thing I find funny, I guess. Maybe I have a sick sense of humour.
―Gaius Petronius, Satyricon (translated by T. S. Eliot)
It's been two weeks since my last update. That's still pretty good going by my standards, but I think I'm starting to run out of steam.
The Right Thing to Do
He awoke to find that none of those things were true. His eyes burned, cold tears ran down his face, and he tasted salt on his lips. He dearly wished that he could go back to sleep. But when he gazed through the open door and up at the sky, he saw the position of the stars and realised that hardly any time had passed since he'd last looked at them. His dream could only have lasted a few minutes.
All that was left of him was a remnant: a severed head, sitting on an altar, in a temple, on a tiny island in the Adriatic Sea, where he had been for centuries. For all that time, he had been tended by the same family of humble fisher folk, who revered him as a last connection to the gods, heroes and monsters of ancient myth. No matter how tedious his immortal existence could be, he much preferred this quiet, peaceful place to what had happened to him before he had been brought here: passed from charlatan to mystic to would-be despot, all over Europe, from those who saw him as an amusing toy to those who saw him as a tool or a weapon they could use against their enemies. He didn't need to worry about that now. There was no need to worry about anything at all.
For hours, he waited. There was always something to see: the lights in the house across the bay, distant silhouettes moving here and there, clouds scudding across the sky, a shooting star, seabirds, the blood orange sunrise… And still he waited. How long had it been? Just a few days? Months? Years? He couldn't be sure.
He heard familiar voices. His aunt, Mania. His father, Morpheus. Had he drifted into another dream? Or had the dream come to him?
Mania was pleading: "I want to say hello or goodbye or something. I could show him my doggie. Please? I went to his wedding."
At first, the answer was a firm no, but after her entreaties this was commuted to: "Very well. But the dog remains outside."
She appeared in the doorway. Mania, whom some called Delirium of the Endless, was ragged and dishevelled, with mismatched eyes and a mane of unkempt red hair that flew wild in all directions. Her lips were smeared with red lipstick, which appeared to have been applied by a child wearing boxing gloves in a windstorm. "Orpheus?" She craned her neck to look at him from another angle. "You look different. Um. But also the same."
"Hello my aunt." He tried to smile at her. The divine power that gave him a semblance of life, though he'd been reduced to a mere relic, enabled him to do such things.
"Well, I just came to say. And now I'm going away again." She waved to him. A desultory gesture. Then, she wheeled around and seemed ready to scurry away, but something gave her pause. Standing in the doorway, she drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height, posed as if she were a snooty waitress in the kind of upper-class restaurant Orpheus had only ever glimpsed in visions, and said, "The quality of mercy is not strained, but I recommend the yoghurt."
"Yes, I know," said Morpheus, entering the room, even as his sister fled from it. "I am well aware."
"Father…" Looking up at a figure who was just as monochrome, tall and imposing as he had ever been, Orpheus hardly dared to hope.
"Orpheus. I apologize for that intrusion," said his father. "I did not intend for her to…" He paused as if unsure about what he had actually intended.
"It doesn't matter. Thank you for coming back."
"Did you doubt that I would? I gave my word." Morpheus stood with his arms folded, looking down at him.
"I know. How was my uncle?" Orpheus asked. With his oracular gifts, he had seen where Olethros was, despite his attempts to hide himself forever, but he was less sure about 'how' or 'why' or what he had become.
His father was unable to give a clear answer. He gazed past Orpheus, at the blank wall behind him, as he described how Olethros had changed somewhat, but in many ways he was the same as before, and now he was gone again. "We do not always accomplish what we set out to do," he murmured.
"Mother visited me last year. She said that you had freed her from imprisonment," said Orpheus. "You have changed, since the old days."
"I doubt it."
Orpheus's mouth was dry. Had it ever been this dry before? Or had he only just noticed? It had been thousands of years since he'd had anything to drink, after all. Frantic words escaped his lips, as if bursting out of the parched ground in which they had been buried: "Father, I am very scared."
"You asked for a boon, Orpheus. I can grant it."
He couldn't understand why he was so afraid. It made no sense. Ever since the maenads had torn him apart, so long ago, he had begged for death, prayed for it, hoped that the gods would show him mercy, and wanted nothing more than an end to his suffering. It should have come as a relief. But now it was finally at hand, he was terrified. He explained all this to his father and said, "Do you remember what you said to me, back then? 'Your life is your own. Your death, likewise, always and forever your own. Farewell. We shall not meet again.' Those were your exact words. I have had plenty of time to think on them."
There was no reply. His father was, perhaps, a little more rigid and impassive than before.
"I should have died a long time ago," said Orpheus.
His father inclined his head, just slightly.
"I wish that things had been otherwise."
A hoarse mutter followed his words: "Yes."
"Father, I am ready," said Orpheus.
There was a nod. "She will be waiting for you."
"Do you really think so?"
"I… I don't know," his father admitted. "But it seemed like the sort of thing I should say.
Orpheus sighed, though he was more amused than exasperated. "Thank you."
Moving as slowly and inexorably as the stars in the sky, his father – Lord Morpheus, the Dream King, Dream of the Endless – lifted him off the altar, cradled him in his arms, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. He reached for something very far away, beyond even an oracle's vision.
And then Orpheus was gone. This time, there was nothing left. He could finally rest.
Tanya had so many other important matters to attend to that this interview had been almost indefinitely delayed, but she had finally got around to asking Hastur what he knew about the Antichrist. The first question she asked was one that had been preying on her mind for some time: "Where did the Antichrist come from?"
"Uh, dunno," said her most loyal general. He was sitting in her office, across the desk from her, looking unaccountably nervous. "What do you mean?"
"Someone must have handed him over to you and Ligur before you passed him on to Crowley? Who was it?"
His craggy features creased with the effort of remembering. "We had to collect him from… somewhere."
"Why don't you remember?" Tanya asked. "You were given a great honor, which I'm sure would have made many other demons jealous of you, so why has it slipped your mind almost completely?"
"Yeah. Seems odd, doesn't it?" Hastur scratched his head, looking bashful. "I dunno why."
"Could someone have tampered with your memories?"
"I suppose it's possible, but why would they bother?"
Tanya didn't have enough information to be able to give that question a proper answer, but she had her suspicions. It seemed likely that this was one of Being X's plots, part of his ongoing master plan. Perhaps he was making sure all of his playing pieces were in position, ready for the apocalyptic endgame. But if that was the case, why would he do anything to Hastur's memories? What was the reason for this secrecy?
She tried a different tack: "If Lucifer is the Antichrist's father, who is his mother?"
That seemed to dredge something up from the dark recesses of Hastur's memory: "Right, yeah… I remember now. There was a cult. Performing dark satanic rituals and so on. They summoned Lucifer and…" He paused, grimaced and screwed his eyes shut for a moment. In a dull voice, he continued, "Nine months later, the Antichrist was born. We were sent to collect him."
Thoughts raced through Tanya's mind as she considered this new information. It now seemed likely that Lucifer himself had been the one to tamper with Hastur's memories, presumably because he was ashamed of what he'd done or what the cultists had forced him to do. Perhaps he'd given in to his hedonistic urges – or had he tried to resist, knowing what would happen if he did not? Had he been an unwilling participant in the conception of the Antichrist? When she'd spoken to him about it, he'd insisted that it hadn't been rape; but at the same time, he'd told her that he hadn't been given a choice, so what was the truth? Lucifer was one of the most powerful beings in all of creation; how had the cultists managed to take control of him and compel him to do their bidding, if indeed that was what they had done? Had Being X somehow weakened him or his willpower at a critical moment? Was that the real reason why he had given up his position as King of Hell? Because he was sick and tired of being toyed with?
If so, he'd done a poor job of erasing the relevant memories from Hastur's mind, to the extent that most of them had been recovered with barely any effort. Was that due to arrogance? Had he assumed that no one would ever notice what he'd done? Or was it a sign of his distress that he'd made a number of mistakes while he was trying to hide the evidence of what had happened to him?
She briefly entertained the idea of visiting Lucifer again and asking him if any of her theories were correct, but she knew that it would only serve to infuriate him for no possible benefit other than satisfying her curiosity. Perhaps she'd discovered the real reason why he'd retired – or part of it, at least – but she didn't really need to know the whole truth.
"Are you all right, Hastur? How do you feel about all this?" she asked, giving him a thoughtful glance.
"Uh, I'm not pleased that someone's been messing with my mind. But there's nothing I can do about it, so…" He shrugged.
Tanya prided herself on being a competent human resources manager. She was well aware of how the quality of her employees' work could suffer due to problems with their mental health. It was for this reason that she said, in her most sympathetic tone of voice, "I think you should take a few days off. Do something you enjoy. Think about something else, for a while."
"Thanks, boss. Sounds good to me," said Hastur. "Maybe I'll try out that new hotel everyone's been talking about."
"The Fawney Rig Hotel." Tanya nodded. "A unique experience for any demon, so I'm told."
A puzzled frown crumpled Hastur's face. "You mean you don't know? I thought it was your idea."
"Like I said, it's a unique experience. Whatever you experience, it won't be the same as what happened to me."
"Makes sense." Planting his feet firmly on the floor, Hastur was about to get up, but first it must have occurred to him to ask: "Was there anything else?"
"No, you're free to go," said Tanya. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk to someone, my door is always open."
Hastur's frown had not quite departed his face before it was called back into action once again. "No, it isn't. It's usually closed. I had to knock a few times before you let me in earlier – do you remember?"
"Figuratively, I mean."
"Right, that makes more sense," said Hastur, though he still looked mildly perplexed. He stood up. "Anyway, I'll be off now. See you later."
"In about a week's time," said Tanya. "Make sure you rest and come back refreshed."
He nodded to her as he walked away and out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Afterwards, Tanya spent a few minutes making notes on what she'd just learnt, her various speculations and how they might affect her plans going forward.
'It shouldn't make much difference,' she decided, after some consideration.
Aziraphale's bookshop was closed, as usual. The idea of parting with any of his rarer tomes appalled him, so he'd gone to some lengths to deter customers from trying to buy anything from him, with irregular opening times, a confusing and illogical store layout in which nothing was in alphabetical order, and being generally unhelpful whenever he was approached by anyone who was looking around the shop.
"Why do you even have a bookshop if you don't want people to buy anything from it?" Crowley had asked. "Just keep it as your own private library."
"I like the idea of having a bookshop," Aziraphale had tried to explain. "But the idea of selling books is rather less appealing."
Crowley's reply to that had been a derisive snort.
"Besides, it's part of my cover. 'Bookshop owner' is much less suspicious than 'mysterious individual who has plenty of money and rare books for no apparent reason', don't you think?"
"Aziraphale, anyone who had any reason to notice you would find you extremely suspicious, especially since you're a bookshop owner who doesn't want to sell any books."
"Even so," Aziraphale had said, bringing the argument to a close. You couldn't argue with 'even so'.
Most of the time, while the bookshop wasn't open, Aziraphale devoted himself to small acts of kindness and charity, improving the lives of people around him in dozens of little ways, so they would go on to do the same to others, thereby spreading the light of goodness much further than he could have done on his own, without attracting much attention like dramatic acts of heroism or self-sacrifice would. He did this fully in the knowledge that, at the same time, Crowley was doing the opposite: making people's lives more difficult and frustrating wherever he could, causing them to treat others badly in return, spreading annoyance, unpleasantness and low-grade evil as if they were nasty little diseases. Overall, he and Crowley countered each other perfectly. Everything they had done over thousands of years, some of which had involved painstaking effort and hard work, had meant nothing in the long run. They'd made no real difference whatsoever. In some ways, maybe that could be seen as a good thing: it meant that the majority of humans were free to live their own lives without supernatural beings interfering in their decision-making, but Aziraphale couldn't help wondering if he could have been doing something more productive with his immortal life. Now that the Apocalypse was near – only a few years away – he regretted that he'd wasted so much of his existence.
Crowley had been busy recently, much too busy to bother with his usual tricks, which meant that Aziraphale was temporarily unopposed. Whatever good he did now might finally make a difference, tipping the balance in favor of morality and virtue. But would it be too little, too late? Almost certainly, but what else could he do?
He was roused from these gloomy thoughts by the sharp crack of a knock on the front door: steady, unhurried, but demanding attention nonetheless.
"Now, who could that be?" he wondered aloud. Crowley wouldn't bother to knock, the postman never gave more than a perfunctory knock, and he'd never been bothered by door-to-door salespeople after the first time. He found himself hoping that it was the Jehovah's Witnesses. They had knocked on his door once, some years ago, and he'd invited them inside for tea, biscuits and a lovely chat, but they'd not been back since then. He couldn't think why.
More knocking, more insistent than before.
When Aziraphale went to answer it, he was surprised to find one of his fellow angels standing on the doorstep. It was Zauriel, widely considered to be a dangerous crackpot by many of his fellows; he'd spent more than a decade masquerading as an American superhero. He was in human form, but no less recognizable for that.
"Good afternoon," said Aziraphale, blinking at him. "This is… an unexpected delight."
"It's good to see you too," said his colleague, with a strained smile.
"Would you like to come in?"
"I think that would be for the best."
Aziraphale backed away and made an ushering gesture with his hands, indicating that Zauriel should follow him through the shop and into the back rooms where they could sit down in comfort. Perhaps the full meaning of this gesture wasn't immediately apparent, but the other angel followed him regardless.
"Cup of tea?"
"Unfortunately, this isn't a social call," Zauriel began, but then he hesitated and reconsidered. "But that's no reason why I should refuse your hospitality. So yes, I would like a cup of tea, please."
"Milk? Sugar?"
"Whatever you'd recommend," said Zauriel, whose body language clearly conveyed that he couldn't care less.
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," said Aziraphale, waving to his battered old armchairs. He heard muttered thanks.
Heading into the kitchen, he prepared two cups of tea, just the way he liked it. This gave him time to think. When the other angel had appeared on his doorstep, his first thought had been that his unseemly relationship with Crowley had been discovered and that he would soon be condemned and punished for it. But if that was the case, it was unlikely that Zauriel would have come alone or accepted his offer of a cup of tea. There must be some other reason. What could it be? It had already been established that this wasn't a social call – not that Aziraphale would ever have expected Zauriel to visit him for the pleasure of his company – they weren't friends and they had little in common. Although they were on the same side and doing the same job, they approached it from different angles and with different attitudes. He respected Zauriel for his earnest desire to help people, even if he went about it in a ridiculous and melodramatic way, but he couldn't imagine getting together with him in any kind of social setting. What on earth would they talk about?
There was no way to know without speaking to him. When the tea had finished brewing, Aziraphale arranged his face in a politely attentive expression and returned to the sitting room with two steaming cups, handing one to Zauriel and keeping the other for himself. Sitting down in the armchair opposite his colleague, he said, "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Slowly and carefully, as if he were handling some kind of explosive device, Zauriel put down his teacup on the side table next to him. "It's about the Apocalypse."
"What about it?"
"I have been told that it's due to take place in three years' time. Is that correct?"
"I've been told the same thing," said Aziraphale, sipping his tea. He could see no reason to hide this information; no one had forbidden him from sharing it with his fellow angels, all of whom should already know it.
"What about the Antichrist? Do you know anything about him?"
Aziraphale hesitated, but again he saw no reason not to tell Zauriel. In fact, he was appalled by how ill-informed his colleague seemed to be. "His name is Warlock Dowling. He's the son of the US ambassador to the UK."
"So, it's true," said Zauriel, slumping in his chair. "Exactly as she said…"
Raising an inquiring eyebrow, Aziraphale waited for him to gather his thoughts. Though he was tempted to ask who the other angel's mysterious informant had been, he remained silent so as not to redirect the conversation along an irrelevant tangent. Instead, he would remain focused on what was really important.
"I thought we had much longer. We helped to build such a vast and beautiful universe, which could last for billions of years, but now I know it will soon come to an end… I can't help but grieve," said Zauriel. Then, as if he felt the need to justify himself, he continued, "I grieve for all those who will suffer horrible deaths during the Apocalypse. I grieve for those who will never be redeemed, who will never have a chance to prove that they deserve Heaven. And I grieve for everything that will soon be gone forever."
"We should all be glad that good will soon triumph and evil will be vanquished once and for all," said Aziraphale, dutifully. He wasn't about to voice his true, complicated opinions where any of his fellow angels could hear them. "However, in many ways, I agree with you. I pray that God will be merciful."
They stared at each other for several uncomfortable moments. Their conversation could have continued – Aziraphale had plenty of things he wanted to say and he suspected Zauriel did too – but he didn't trust him enough to share his private thoughts with him. Even if they had similar feelings about the Apocalypse, in all other respects there was a gulf between them that might never be bridged.
"I should go. Thank you for the tea," said Zauriel, despite the fact that he hadn't drunk any of it.
"That's quite all right," said Aziraphale, suppressing his irritation and putting on a genial smile. "Thank you for your company."
There were many different pantheons of gods that had been worshipped at some time or other, most of which were barely clinging on to fragments of the power they had once had, but Tanya hoped they would be useful nonetheless. She planned to invite all of them to join her in attempting to stave off the Apocalypse.
Before she did that, she wanted to meet with them, get to know them, and convince them that she would be a worthy leader. To do that, she needed a meeting place. If she asked them to come to Hell, they would refuse; they would assume that it was a trap. Tanya had no way of persuading them otherwise, so she would have to meet them somewhere else. Neutral ground. And so, with that in mind, she returned to the Dreaming once again to ask Dream for another favor…
His kingdom was grim and silent. For once, there were no distractions in her way: no whispers to befuddle her, no labyrinths to mislead her, no fanciful beasts, no far-off silhouettes and no glints of golden treasure. It was the easiest journey through his realm she'd had so far.
She found him sitting on his throne, staring at nothing. There was a mournful look in his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he was prone to dramatic gestures – like imprisoning his former girlfriend in Hell for thousands of years – so she might have expected him to announce his misery to all and sundry with a thunderstorm, anguished cries and wild gestures, but instead he was closed-off and listless.
"Dream King," she said. Then, before she could launch into her prepared speech, she found herself asking, "What's the matter?"
It took him a moment to answer: "I killed my son."
"Orpheus?" asked Tanya, remembering what Death had told her about him: he was immortal and unable to die even after he'd been torn apart by Maenads. For thousands of years, he had been forced to endure a miserable existence in what was left of his shattered body; at any time, death would have been a mercy, but he was beyond her reach.
Dream gave a small nod.
"Well done," said Tanya, giving him a congratulatory smile and thumbs-up. "I'm proud of you. I knew you could do it."
There was no reply and she gradually began to suspect that her reaction had been inappropriate to the situation; Dream didn't want to be praised for what he'd done. He continued to gaze blankly into the distance as if he hadn't heard her.
"It was the right thing to do. You brought his suffering to an end," she told him.
"I spilled family blood," he murmured.
"You did what was necessary. Like I said, I'm proud of you."
"I should have done it sooner."
"Yes, you should have. But…" Tanya hesitated, carefully considering what she was about to say. "I appreciate that you're trying to do better. To do the right thing. To correct the wrongs and mistakes of the past. I know it's not easy."
He didn't reply, but sat in dejected silence, unmoving and unmoved by what she'd said.
Tanya searched the dark caverns of her mind for ideas of what to do next, but found only a few hazy memories of trying to comfort a small child. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to use similar techniques here and now. "Would you like a hug?" she asked.
Dream raised his head almost imperceptibly, which she interpreted as assent.
His sitting position made it awkward, but she managed to squeeze in next to him. She wrapped her arms around him. He was stiff and uncomfortable. "There, there," she said, patting him on the back.
He made a sound that was either a soft chuckle or a sob. "You're terrible at this."
Tanya was affronted, but tried not to let it show. "No one can be good at everything," she said, as she released him, stood up and stepped away from him.
"That's true. And I… I appreciate your sincerity. Considering that your predecessor was the Father of Lies, it seems strange that you should be so devoid of sophistry, but… I appreciate it."
There was a pause while Tanya tried to work out what he meant by that: was it a compliment or stealthy insult?
"And thank you for your kindness. You're a good friend," Dream continued.
"Actually…" Tanya couldn't help but squirm; she'd come to him because she wanted something from him, not because she had any intention of comforting him.
Dream knew her well enough to ask: "Now, what do you want from me?"
"I want to meet with the gods of many different pantheons and ask them to help me prevent the Apocalypse. If I ask them to meet me in Hell, they will refuse because they'll assume I'm trying to lure them into a trap. Therefore, I want to invite them to meet with me in neutral ground, which I would be grateful if you would provide, here in the Dreaming," Tanya explained. "Also, many thousands of years ago, Lucifer made an agreement with the faeries, which I would like to renegotiate, so I'm planning to invite them as well. I would be indebted to you for your assistance in this matter."
"Let's not talk of debts. You've done more than enough for me in the past," said Dream. "Although…" There was a significant pause. When he spoke again, his words had a hurried, discordant quality: "Like you said, I'm trying to do better. You've told me about the importance of forgiveness, so… I would like to forgive Choronzon. He positioned himself as an obstacle in my path and tried to enslave me, but really he was no more than a minor nuisance. I forgive him… and therefore I'd appreciate it if you released him from imprisonment."
"I imprisoned him because he rebelled against me, not because of anything he did to you," Tanya pointed out.
"Even so," said Dream.
Tanya heaved an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'm sure he won't make a mistake like that again."
"Thank you. That is all I ask," said Dream. "In return, I will create a suitable meeting place for you and ensure that your guests are treated with every courtesy while they are here."
"Are you sure you don't want anything else from me?" asked Tanya. "Choronzon is an irritating little pustule, but his freedom is a small price to pay for what you've agreed to do in exchange."
"It's enough."
"A good deal is one that leaves both parties satisfied and willing to work together again in future – and that is the outcome I would like us to reach – so please tell me if there is anything else I can do for you."
"I am content. I need nothing more," said Dream, with a small shrug.
Tanya looked doubtfully at him. Moments ago, he had been dejected, limp and spiritless, but now he seemed to have found new purpose. When he stood up and surveyed his domain, his movements seemed infused with steely resolve that had not been there before.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," she hazarded.
"You have that effect on me, Lady Tanya," he said. Though his words were playful, there was something about his expression she didn't like. It reminded her of faces she'd seen on the battlefields of her long-distant youth: men who'd lost everything but were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
"I need to go now. I'll speak to you again soon to discuss the details of when I'm going to meet with the gods. In the meantime… take care of yourself. Don't do anything you might later regret."
"I won't," Dream promised. "Farewell."
"Farewell," Tanya echoed him, as she turned away.
Author's Notes:
Most of the dialogue from the scene in which Dream and Delirium visit Orpheus for the last time was taken from the 'Brief Lives' storyline in The Sandman comic book, but not all.
Ever since I introduced Zauriel to this story, I've wanted him to meet with Aziraphale. Despite the fact that they're both angels and doing more-or-less the same job, they're very different people, so I thought it would be interesting to see them interact with each other. In the chapter above, their first meeting was cut short by their mutual distrust and Zauriel's consternation when he realised that Tanya was telling the truth about basically everything, but I'm sure they'll come into contact again later on.
One of the reasons why I decided to continue the story up to this point was because I was amused by the idea of a grief-stricken Dream saying, "I killed my son," only for Tanya to give him a beaming smile, a thumbs-up and hearty congratulations. It's a scene that's been in my mind for a while, even if I've only just got around to writing it. That's the sort of thing I find funny, I guess. Maybe I have a sick sense of humour.
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- Location
- England
Apostrophe in the wrong place in "angel's".
For anyone who knows Dream, or the Dreaming, that is ominous as fuck.
You have chosen a demanding and hopefully rewarding fandom. Sandman, that is, although Tanya isn't a trivial choice either. Neil Gaiman put a lot of depth into his work and living up to it is daunting. (I would consider something like a HP fic to be one with training wheels in contrast). In my opinion you've done a damn good job. I hope you can keep it up, but if you do run out of juice then it has been an entertaining and thoughtful ride so far.
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Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
Thank you. Before I posted this latest chapter, I read through it to see if there were any corrections or last-minute changes I need to make, but I must have missed that one.
Thank you. I'm glad you've enjoyed reading it.
Flashkannon
Aqua Iconographer
- Location
- TM 91
It is indeed comedic. Sometimes, what you really gotta do is go out there and give your son the death he was so cruelly denied. And then there's confetti.
17. Conference
New
Chandagnac
Broken Robot
- Location
- Nowhere
"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much."
―Helen Keller
So, it's been longer than a month since I last updated. Yeah, I've run out of steam.
She met him outside a shopping mall, an almost perfect replica of those he'd seen on Earth. Was this her latest vision of Hell? Like her dreary office building, it was very different from the classical idea of Hell, though undoubtedly there were some who would describe it as 'hellish'. Where it differed from her previous reshaping of Hell was that it didn't seem to have been designed to crush everyone who was trapped within it – the damned and their demonic jailors alike – beneath the weight of endless tedium and drudgery. Instead, there were shops that appeared to be selling all manner of delicacies and curiosities. There were whitewashed walls, shiny glass surfaces, plastic floors, and plastic smiles on the faces of all the staff and customers, some of whom were demons while others were former mortals who had been sentenced to eternal punishment for their sins in life. Everything was pristine, sterile and sparkling, as if it had been freshly built mere moments before. Otherwise, there was little to distinguish it from any of the similar places he'd seen on Earth, except perhaps for some of the advertisements on the walls: 'The latest in transcendental furniture: an Occasional Table!' or 'Special Offer: Get yourself a Crying, Talking, Sleeping, Walking, Living Doll – and get a Bicycle Pump absolutely free!' and so on.
"What fresh Hell is this?" he asked, surveying their surroundings with a raised eyebrow.
"I've never known you to make jokes, Dream. Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," he assured her.
She made a sceptical noise, but didn't press him further. Instead, she said, "I've brought you here because I want to show you that I've kept my end of the bargain: I've freed Choronzon."
"I trust you. You don't need to prove anything to me," he told her.
"Nevertheless," said Tanya, as she led him into a department store filled with clothes of all different sizes and styles. Choronzon was there, as knobbly and bubble-gum pink as ever, but with a hunched, defeated look about him that hadn't been there before. He hardly dared to raise his eyes above the counter he was serving behind.
Indicating him with an offhand gesture, Tanya said, "I've found some useful work for him to do."
"Ssss. Milady. Very useful," said the demonic cashier, who seemed unable to look at her.
"Choronzon. You should know that I wouldn't have freed you if it had been up to me," she said. "You owe your freedom to Dream of the Endless here. Be sure to thank him for his benevolence."
He gave Dream a frantic and almost unnoticeable glance before lowering his head again. "Nkyou," he muttered.
Tanya peered at him as if he were a tiny insect, something so far beneath her notice that she had to strain her eyesight just to pick out any pertinent details. As if he was nothing to her.
"Perhaps I should speak to him alone," Dream suggested, watching as Choronzon quailed before his mistress; his knees knocked together and two sets of teeth chattered as if he was freezing.
"Very well," said Tanya. "Although I don't know what you hope to get out of him."
"A sincere apology."
"I doubt you'll get it. Nevertheless, I wish you luck."
Dream waited until he was sure she had departed. Then, he turned to Choronzon, who had unfurled like a flower before the mid-morning sun.
"Thank you. Thank you! And I'm sorry for what I did! Sorry!" the demon gabbled. "That's all you wanted, right!"
"Actually, there's something else you can do for me," said Dream. "I need a favour."
He reached out with his ethereal senses until he was satisfied that Tanya was nowhere nearby. Then, he proceeded to explain what he wanted.
Choronzon grimaced at what was being asked of him, but said, "Ssss. All right. I'll do it."
Early one morning, while he was still brushing the sleep from his eyes, John Constantine was surprised when Superman knocked on his front door. Of course, he wasn't in costume – neither his classic red cape and skintight blue 'uniform' nor the electric blue bodysuit he'd been wearing recently – he was in his civilian guise as Clark Kent, award-winning journalist, who in his own way was almost as conspicuous as one of the world's greatest superheroes. His antiquated suit, geeky spectacles and clumsy movements did little to disguise the fact that he was a lantern-jawed hunk with bulging muscles and movie-star good looks.
Not for the first time, Constantine was glad that his neighbours paid him barely any attention whatsoever. Otherwise, they might have noticed and been curious about the remarkably attractive visitors he'd received recently. First there had been a petite and sharply-dressed blonde cutie – not that he'd ever dare call Tanya that to her face – and now he was faced with a large slab of prime beefcake. Yeah, he'd had pretty girlfriends and brought them back to his flat before, but their attractiveness had been of the ordinary variety – except for Zatanna, of course. Superhumans tended to be superhumanly attractive; unless they were legendarily ugly, divine beings tended to be divinely attractive. Tanya and Superman were no exception to that.
"Uh… hi, Clark," he said, opening the door a little wider. "What can I do for you?"
"Good morning, John," said Superman. "May I come in?"
"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," said Constantine, taking a step back out of the doorway. "Would you like a drink? Coffee, maybe?"
"Please," said Superman, stepping inside. He looked around at the unusually clean and tidy apartment, at the new table, chairs and sofa that had replaced the dilapidated old ones, and the new cordless vacuum cleaner that was leaning up against the wall. "I like what you've done with the place."
Constantine felt the need to justify himself: "I've been given a new lease of life and I don't want to waste it. I'm trying to take better care of myself."
He filled the kettle, switched it on, rummaged in his kitchen cupboard, and then thought to ask: "Is instant coffee okay?" He didn't usually drink coffee and had never owned a coffee machine, so there wasn't really an alternative.
"It's fine," was Superman's reply. He looked contemplative. "Tell me about Lady Tanya."
"I don't know that much about her. I've only met her a few times," said Constantine. "Still… if it wasn't for the fact that she's the Devil – the ruler of Hell, Lucifer's successor, and so on – I'd have no reason to doubt her benevolence." He heaved a dismal sigh. "I don't want to tell you this. It makes me seem like a complete arsehole. But I guess you know me well enough already." He allowed himself a rueful smirk. "I first met Tanya when I… I did something I shouldn't have. I was weak. I was dying of lung cancer. At the time, some of the most powerful demons were rebellion against her; one of them approached me and offered to heal me in exchange for a favour. He wanted me to trap Tanya with the same ritual that kept Dream of the Endless trapped in a cellar for several decades. At the time, I assumed that she was just as monstrous as any other demon, so I convinced myself that I wouldn't be doing any real harm by accepting his deal. If he couldn't defeat her with my help, that must mean he was less powerful than her, so really I'd just be replacing one of humanity's enemies with another that wasn't so bad. I could almost convince myself I was doing a good thing for a righteous cause."
He continued to ramble until the kettle had boiled. Then, he poured a mug of tea for himself and coffee for Superman.
"Even if it wasn't the right thing to do, it seems to have worked out for you," said Superman, in a nonjudgmental voice.
"Here," said Constantine, handing him his coffee.
"Thank you."
They stood and sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a few moments before Constantine decided to continue: "Yeah, she's been very generous. Suspiciously so, you might say. She should probably want revenge for what I did to her, but she doesn't seem to care. I'm sure she'd tell you that I'm a valuable tool she wants to make use of, but I'm not sure that's her only motive."
"What did you do that she should hate you for?" asked Superman.
"I told you I'd agreed to trap her in a cellar, didn't I?"
"Yes, but you didn't tell me the exact details. What happened?"
"The First of the Fallen – the demon I made that deal with – was enraged that I hadn't stripped Tanya naked before sealing her away. Apparently, she was carrying something he needed and I'd made it impossible to get it without freeing her. I thought he was going to attack me, so I decided to free Tanya and let them fight it out amongst themselves. During the fight, I was smashed into a wall and came very close to death. If Tanya had wanted me dead, I would have died then there and she wouldn't have had to lift a finger. But instead she decided to 'keep her promise' by saving my life and making me stronger and healthier than I've ever been."
"What promise was she referring to?"
"While she was imprisoned, she said I couldn't trust the First of the Fallen, but she'd offer me a similar deal: if I freed her, she'd heal me. And she promised not to kill me or harm me in any way."
"So, she more than kept her promise," Superman mused.
"She said she'd want a favour in return, but the favour she eventually asked for was so minor I'd probably have done it for nothing: she wanted me to be the public face of a hotel business, here on Earth, where demons and other immortal beings can experience what it's like to sleep. It's a sinecure. I get paid a decent wage for doing basically nothing."
"Have you considered that the reason for her generosity might be because she's trying to ingratiate herself with your friends? The Justice League, for example?"
"More than likely," said Constantine. "I was the one who suggested she should help you with the Prometheus situation. She wanted to meet with all of you, so I thought that would give you a good first impression." He paused and took a deep breath as he considered what he was about to say next. "Still, even if her motivations aren't entirely altruistic, that doesn't mean they're in any way malevolent."
"It doesn't mean they're not," said Superman. "She's immortal; don't you think she might be playing the long game?"
"Amongst demons, that would make her practically unique. I've never known any of them to have much patience."
"In your line of work, you must have met a lot of demons. I expect you have to deal with people trying to summon them all the time."
"Not so much recently. I mean: they still try, but they don't usually succeed. Except for a few renegades who haven't been back to Hell since the rebellion failed, Tanya keeps all of the demons on a tight leash."
"How convenient for you."
"It makes my work a lot easier," Constantine admitted.
Superman drank the last of his coffee without any outward signs of pleasure or distaste: mechanically, as if were a task that simply must be done. "Do you trust her?"
"To an extent. Like I said before, if she wasn't who she is, I'd have no reason not to trust her. She's been good to me."
"Do you believe what she said about how the Apocalypse is going to happen in less than three years' time?"
"I don't want to believe her – I don't want the world to end so soon – but I don't see why she'd lie about that," said Constantine. "Unless I've horribly misjudged her. She's the queen of demons, after all. Maybe everything I think I know about her is wrong." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Maybe all of this is an elaborate joke to her."
"But you don't think so."
"Wasn't there a Chinese philosopher who had a dream about being a butterfly and then, when he woke up, he asked, 'Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?' I suppose it's possible that everything we see, hear and experience in life is just a cunningly crafted illusion… but anyone who actually believed that would never get around to doing anything."
"Everyone has to believe in something. Otherwise they'd go mad."
"Yeah. Exactly."
"You've had a hard life, haven't you, John? All those dead friends and loved ones…"
Abashed, Constantine lowered his gaze to the floor. "Some of that was my own fault."
"Because of your magic?"
"And the stupid choices I've made, yeah."
"But recently, ever since you met Lady Tanya, you've had a good life. You're healthy, you don't need to worry about money, and…" Superman hesitated, an awkward expression on his face. "There haven't been any disasters in your personal life that I'm unaware of, have there?"
"Not especially."
"Is it possible that Lady Tanya has been shielding you from the magic that's been causing you so much bad luck?"
"Sure, it's possible. Fairly likely, actually. She'd probably tell you she needs to keep me safe and happy because that makes me more useful to her."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"If she showed any signs of wanting to use me for nefarious purposes, it definitely would. So far, being her 'tool' has involved 'being well-paid for doing nothing' and 'arranging a meeting with people who would have agreed to meet with her anyway'," said Constantine. "I wonder if, when he was training her to be his successor, Lucifer forgot to teach her how to be evil. Or maybe he did that deliberately, as a joke."
"You don't know that she's not going to manipulate you into doing something nefarious in future," Superman pointed out.
"So far, the worst thing she's done has been to nag me about taking care of myself. In the same way that a doctor might nag one of her patients, or a teacher one of her students, or…" Constantine's voice trailed off into silence before he could give any more examples, the most obvious of which was 'or a wife might nag her husband'. He really didn't want to think too hard about that.
"I hope you know what you're doing," said Superman, looking doubtful. "But if you ever need help, don't hesitate to get in touch with me or one of the other members of the Justice League. We're your friends, even if we don't always agree with everything you do."
"Thanks, uh… Clark. I appreciate it," said Constantine.
Superman smiled warmly, as if they'd been talking about nothing more consequential than the weather outside, shook his hand again, and said, "Anyway, it's been great to see you, John. I'm glad you're doing well."
"Yeah, so am I. Thanks again."
"And if you find out anything else about the Apocalypse, please let me know."
"I certainly will."
They said their goodbyes, wished each other good luck, and then Superman departed. Finishing the last of his cup of tea, Constantine sank into his new armchair, feeling as weary as if he'd already done a full day's work.
"Maybe I should go back to bed," he muttered to himself. But he knew there were plenty of things he needed to do that day. Soon, he'd have to get up and put on his best impression of being a responsible adult. No choice about it, really.
The meeting place was grand, palatial and appeared to have been carved out of a vast, glittering crystal. Tanya would have preferred something more austere and practical, but she couldn't deny that Dream had held up his end of their bargain and done it well. Most of the assembled gods – and a few representatives from the Faerie realm as well – looked favourably impressed. They were gathered around a huge round table, which was meant to signify that she was treating them as equals, but the fact that they insisted on keeping their distance from her meant that she had a large space to herself while they were all bunched up together.
She recognized most of them. There was Susanoo-no-Mikoto, wild and tempestuous, whose beard, hair and clothes were as dishevelled as if he'd dashed through a gale. And there was his sister, Amaterasu Ōmikami, who shone with the light of the sun and was usually considered to be the chief deity of the Shinto pantheon. She hoped that was a good sign: by sending two of their most important deities to meet with her, they were taking her seriously and treating her with respect.
There was Odin, the one-eyed, ragged wanderer, leaning on his walking stick. He had a raven perched on each shoulder. Next to him was Thor, the massively muscled buffoon, who earlier that day had nearly started a feud between the Norse and Ancient Egyptian pantheons with his crude and offensive attempts to flirt with Bastet, the cat-headed goddess of cats. Accompanying them both was Loki, tall and lean, with scarred lips and flamelike hair, who had been temporarily freed from his prison deep beneath the earth so that he could advise his fellow Asgardians. What advice they hoped someone they had imprisoned and tortured for millennia would give them, Tanya had no idea.
The Faerie Queen had sent Cluracan; unlike Thor, he was charming and smooth-talking enough that he'd already been successful in arranging a romantic rendezvous with a member of the Egyptian delegation: a priest-king who'd been elevated to godhood more than four thousand years ago. With him was his sister, Nuala, and a few others she wasn't acquainted with.
She recognized some of the Ancient Greek gods: Hades was a stern and forbidding old man; Hermes was an athletic youth wearing a winged helmet; Athena was a stately woman carrying a spear and shield. She had a faint suspicion that she'd met some of the Chinese gods before. She was less familiar with the gods of the Canaanites, the Aztecs and Incas, various African and Native American pantheons, the Burmese and innumerable others. None of the Hindu gods had made an appearance, which made her vaguely uneasy. Did they know something she didn't? Or was there something she had misunderstood?
The ancient Babylonian pantheon had sent representatives, which had come as something of a surprise; she'd been under the impression that they had dwindled away to nothing long ago, except for those like Nergal who'd found alternative employment. But no, there was Marduk, garbed in extravagant and kingly robes. His hair and beard were braided, oiled and arranged in tightly-coiled pillars. Beside him was his consort, Sarpanit, who appeared to be heavily pregnant. And Nergal was with them, in his demonic form, with batlike wings, sharp teeth and leathery skin, an obsequious smirk on his lips. Until recently, he had been one of the most powerful demons in Hell, one of those who had rebelled against her, but had fled when it became clear that her victory was certain. His disappearance had been a minor irritation; she had been unable to find out where he'd gone and had glumly concluded that he would be a problem later on. Now, it remained to be seen what kind of problem he would be.
It was exceedingly unlikely that the Babylonian gods didn't know that Nergal was one of her former employees who had made himself her enemy. Therefore, she had to assume that this was a deliberate taunt, a way of testing whether or not she could be trusted to set aside her grievances for the greater good. If she had been willing to attack him here, in neutral ground, after inviting them to this meeting and promising they would not be harmed, they would know she couldn't be trusted.
Setting aside her annoyance, Tanya put on her friendliest smile, hoping to convince her guests of her good intentions. It seemed to do little to put them at ease.
She pressed on regardless: "Welcome, all of you! I'm pleased to see so many of you gathered here. I hope we can reach a mutual agreement that will lead to a better future for all of us. Being X, who calls himself the one true god, has decided to destroy the universe and everything in it. But if we unite against him, joining our strengths together as one, we have a chance of defeating him, unseating him, and achieving what any of us alone could not. We can be free of him: free of his oppressive rule; his smug, self-righteous meddling; his pathetic need to be worshipped and adored by everyone, just for allowing us to exist. We can be free at last! Together!"
They looked unconvinced, so she hastened to sweeten the deal: "As proof of my good intentions, I am willing to make numerous concessions to you: I will aid you in battle against your enemies, I will give you favourable trade deals, and I will allow some of the damned to leave Hell and take up residence in your afterlives." Turning to Cluracan and the other representatives of the Faerie Queen, transfixing them with a powerful stare, she continued: "No longer will you have to pay the tithe that requires you to sacrifice nine of your wisest and most beautiful to Hell every seven years. I release you from your ancient agreement with Lucifer. Instead, it is my hope that we can build an alliance and work together as equals."
"What kind of trade deals?" asked Anubis, the Ancient Egyptian god of the underworld. His head was that of a jackal and his expression was unreadable, though there were traces of suspicion in his voice. "Why would we want or need them?"
"That's up to you," Tanya replied, with a small shrug. "I'm in the process of turning Hell into a major industrial centre. Soon, anything you want or need will be produced there!"
"How many of the damned will you allow to leave Hell? I cannot believe you would relinquish so many as to reduce your power and authority by any significant degree," said Hades, in a grim and sepulchral voice.
"Those who have committed relatively minor sins, for which they have already been harshly punished, will be allowed to leave. Those who truly deserve to be in Hell will have to stay."
He inclined his head, just slightly, as if she'd confirmed his suspicions.
"Will you fight beside us at Ragnarok?" Odin wanted to know.
"Of course. I will aid you in all of your battles, should you need me," Tanya promised.
At the behest of his new masters – or were they his old masters whose reins he had accepted once again? – Nergal stepped forth and said, in a simpering voice, "May we have some time to consider your words and discuss their meaning for ourselves?"
"It would appear that many of your fellows already have," said Tanya, glancing around the hall and listening to the hubbub of murmured conversation. "Carry on."
This week, the various members of the Justice League were too busy to meet in person, scattered all over North America as they were, but most of them managed to set aside some time to meet face-to-face via video conferencing. Orion of the New Gods was not there, having returned to New Genesis to ask a few pointed questions of Highfather and Metron. Everyone else was in attendance, including Oracle, who had recently been revealed as a secret member of the team who'd been acting behind the scenes.
The main item on the agenda, and the real reason why they needed to have another meeting so soon after the last one, was Lady Tanya's warning about the Apocalypse and their subsequent attempts to find out whether she was telling the truth or not.
Zauriel went first, describing what some of his angelic contacts had said when he'd visited them. He concluded by saying, "They all confirmed that the Apocalypse is due to begin in less than three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just like Lady Tanya said."
"During my brief visit to the UK, I spoke to John Constantine, who told me that he has no reason to doubt Lady Tanya's word. Personally, he would prefer it if the world wasn't coming to an end, but she has always been honest and kind to him, for as long as he has known her, despite the unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting," said Superman.
"He's only known her for a few months. And he's not what I would call a reliable witness," said Batman.
"While you were there, you visited Warlock Dowling, who is supposed to be – or to become – the Antichrist. What did you think of him?" asked the Flash.
"I posed for some publicity shots with the American ambassador and his family," Superman confirmed. "As far as I could tell, Warlock seemed like a perfectly ordinary little boy. Overindulged, maybe, but remarkably good-natured."
"Did you see any sign of his developing superpowers?" asked the Martian Manhunter.
Superman shook his head. "No, not at all."
"It's a shame he's too young to join the Teen Titans. I imagine he and Raven would have a lot in common," said Batman.
"I suppose you could train him to be the next Robin," said Oracle, sounding rather unenthused.
"So… whatever we do, the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time. What should we do about that? What can we do?" asked Huntress, determined to stay focused on what was really important. "If it's God's will…"
"If the creator of the universe has decided to bring it to an abrupt end, I doubt there's anything we can do to stop him. Instead, we will do what we always have done: try to save lives and protect the innocent for as long as we can," said Superman. "If the Apocalypse is going to happen regardless of what we or anyone else might do to prevent it, we might as well try to minimize the misery and suffering that will happen as a result."
"Maybe our efforts will be for naught, but that's no reason not to try," said Wonder Woman.
"I think Lady Tanya would be happy with that," said Aquaman, with a crooked smile. "Judging by what she told us last week, she's trying to prevent the Apocalypse and maintain the status quo – and by standing against the horrors, monsters and natural disasters that will be unleashed after the Antichrist comes into his inheritance, we'll be helping her achieve that goal. Unless she was lying to us the whole time, of course."
"That's still a possibility," said Huntress.
"We can only hope," said the Flash.
"Our beloved queen will never agree to it!" Cluracan declared, drinking deeply from his bottle of wine and cuddling his latest paramour to his side. "Even if it means we'll still have to pay the teind, it won't be for long. A few years at most. And then… I suppose we'll be erased from existence. Oh well, better than the alternative, I suppose. If we join Tanya in her defiance, we'll be punished forever! Oblivion is preferable to that, wouldn't you agree?"
"How long will we have to wait for her answer?" asked Nuala, who appeared graceful and composed, and was drinking nothing but pure spring water garnished with rose-petals.
"Not even a twinkling. A few moments, probably. An hour or two at most. Any longer than that… well, I'd be surprised," said Cluracan. "Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't already heard back from her."
"I'm inclined to accept Lady Tanya's offer. With her help, the final battle at Ragnarok will be easily won," said Odin, gazing over the balcony at a churning sea of dreams. "What say you?"
"I'm not sure why you brought me here," said Loki, sly and scornful. "You know I am your enemy. You know the prophecies as well as I do. When Ragnarok comes, I will escape my bonds beneath the earth. I will be the helmsman of the largest ship that has ever existed, built of dead men's nails, which will carry the Frost Giants and the legions of Hel to Vigrid, where the final battle will take place. There, you will be devoured by Fenrir, Thor will slay Jormungandr and be slain in turn, and I…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I will have my revenge. I will die happy."
"What happened to you, Loki? We were blood brothers, once," Odin wondered aloud, with sorrow in his heart.
"That was long ago, before you turned one of my sons into a monster and forced him to devour his brother. Before you imprisoned me beneath the earth, bound with the intestines of my murdered son, with a snake dripping venom into my eyes and my poor wife able to do nothing but catch some of the venom in a bowl and whisper that she loves me."
Thor's response was thunderous. He seized Loki in both hands, rattled him as if he were a rickety piece of furniture, and roared: "You deserved it! You murdered Balder!"
"I saved him. Thanks to me, he will survive Ragnarok. Afterwards, he will return from Hel and take his place as one of the new gods, ruling over the new world," said Loki, with a smug grin. "Besides, you didn't punish me for causing Balder's death. Not for years afterwards. Instead, you punished Hod, who was just as much a victim as he was." Twining his neck so that he could lean closer to Odin, he whispered, "You raped Rind, who gave birth to Vali, who grew up and slew Hod before a single day had passed. Was that justice? No, of course not. And what you did to me wasn't justice either. You and the other gods decided to punish me, not because of what I did to Balder or how I tricked Hod or any of the other crimes I had committed, but because I embarrassed you at dinner. Because I insulted you and revealed a few truths you'd rather have kept hidden. And that, more than anything else I'd ever done, was why you sentenced me to be tortured for thousands of years."
"I will pull out your lying tongue and strangle you with it!" cried Thor, fastening a meaty hand around his neck.
"Is there a point you want to make, Loki? Or do you just want to unburden yourself, now that you have the chance?" asked Odin.
"Even now, you need me to be your handyman, to solve all your problems for you, just like I always did. That's why you brought me here," said Loki, whose grin remained fixed despite Thor's attempts to throttle him. "Therefore, this is my advice to you: I wish you would accept Tanya's offer. With her help, you may survive Ragnarok, but you cannot hope to defeat the one she calls 'Being X'. He created everything from nothing and can unmake it just as easily. What do you think he will do if you defy him? I have no doubt he will punish you far worse than I have been punished, for the rest of eternity. And then, I will rejoice in the knowledge that you will suffer a far better revenge than any I could have dreamed of."
Odin signalled that Thor should drag Loki away. He would be returned to his underground prison, where a snake would drip venom into his eyes and he would be bound with his son's intestines, just like before. Nevertheless, he'd given wise advice, even if he'd done it in an unnecessarily hostile way. For that, Odin was grateful.
"None of them want to accept my offer! They've all refused!" Tanya cried out in disbelief. "Pretty words, but 'no' means 'no', even if you dress it up in elaborate finery."
She paced back and forth across the floor of Dream's throne room, feeling as if she might tear her hair out with frustration.
"They're afraid. Not everyone is as strong as you," he said.
"Does it take strength to oppose someone who would utterly destroy you otherwise? Unless they put up a fight, they will be erased from existence. It will be as if they had never been. Don't they understand that?" It was a rhetorical question and Tanya knew there was no answer that would satisfy her. "I'd have thought that at least some of them would be desperate enough to join me."
Dream arose from his throne, drifted over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "They're frightened of what 'Being X' will do to them if they rise up against him. Oblivion is preferable to endless suffering."
"I'd rather suffer than cease to exist. That's why I continue to fight," said Tanya. "Even if I have to do it alone."
"You won't be alone," said Dream. "What about all those who look up to you, who admire you, whom you've inspired to be much more than they were? Hastur, for example. He was a crude, foul-smelling brute, but thanks to your leadership he has proven himself to have courage and honour."
Tanya didn't think Dream had ever met Hastur and was unsure as to how he knew so much about him, but presumed that it must be because the Endless had all kinds of nebulous powers related to their particular sphere of influence. Perhaps being the Lord of Dreams gave him special insight into Hastur's daydreams of bettering himself. "He's done his best to clean himself up, so his scent is barely noticeable these days, but he still can't wear a business suit without looking like a walking laundry pile," she said.
"And Scumspawn… He greatly admires you, to the extent that he was able to overcome his natural cowardice for your sake."
"Yes, he says he loves me," said Tanya, with a weary sigh.
"Love is not always based on admiration – or on anything more than physical beauty – but perhaps it should be," said Dream. "Those who love and admire you, like Scumspawn and Hastur, will follow you until the end, whatever that may be."
For a moment, Tanya leaned against him. His arm embraced her. Then, as if she'd suddenly remembered herself and who she was, she straightened up and took a step forward, out of his reach. In what seemed like an excessively formal voice, she said, "Thank you for attempting to lift my morale. I appreciate it. Now, I must be going. There is much I still need to do today."
"Important business matters, no doubt," said Dream, with some amusement.
She gave him a stiff nod. "Indeed. Farewell."
"Farewell," he echoed her. There was more he wanted to say, but he held his tongue and let her go. It was the right thing to do, for both their sakes. He would have no regrets.
Author's Notes:
Thanks to everyone who has liked or left comments on this fic so far. I find it very encouraging. You've spurred me to keep writing for a lot longer than I thought I would.
I've been busy at work recently, so it's taken me longer than a month to write this latest chapter. Also, I recently (within the past few days) found out that Neil Gaiman has been accused of sexual assault by multiple women, which… Okay, I understand that 'accused of' is not the same as 'convicted of', but it still doesn't make me feel particularly enthusiastic about continuing this fic, which is heavily based on two of Neil Gaiman's works (The Sandman and Good Omens). Hmm.
Oh well. I hope you enjoy reading this latest chapter. I don't know when or if I'll get around to writing the next. Be seeing you, I guess.
―Helen Keller
So, it's been longer than a month since I last updated. Yeah, I've run out of steam.
Conference
Years ago, if Dream had been invited to Hell, he would have refused. He would have suspected that its capricious ruler intended to trap him there or embroil him in some cruel scheme. However, unlike her predecessor, Lady Tanya was an endearingly honest and straightforward person at heart, even if sometimes her 'logic' wasn't the kind that would have made sense to anyone else. While he was in her care, he had no fear for his safety. No matter how she felt about him, she would feel duty bound to protect him from all harm.She met him outside a shopping mall, an almost perfect replica of those he'd seen on Earth. Was this her latest vision of Hell? Like her dreary office building, it was very different from the classical idea of Hell, though undoubtedly there were some who would describe it as 'hellish'. Where it differed from her previous reshaping of Hell was that it didn't seem to have been designed to crush everyone who was trapped within it – the damned and their demonic jailors alike – beneath the weight of endless tedium and drudgery. Instead, there were shops that appeared to be selling all manner of delicacies and curiosities. There were whitewashed walls, shiny glass surfaces, plastic floors, and plastic smiles on the faces of all the staff and customers, some of whom were demons while others were former mortals who had been sentenced to eternal punishment for their sins in life. Everything was pristine, sterile and sparkling, as if it had been freshly built mere moments before. Otherwise, there was little to distinguish it from any of the similar places he'd seen on Earth, except perhaps for some of the advertisements on the walls: 'The latest in transcendental furniture: an Occasional Table!' or 'Special Offer: Get yourself a Crying, Talking, Sleeping, Walking, Living Doll – and get a Bicycle Pump absolutely free!' and so on.
"What fresh Hell is this?" he asked, surveying their surroundings with a raised eyebrow.
"I've never known you to make jokes, Dream. Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," he assured her.
She made a sceptical noise, but didn't press him further. Instead, she said, "I've brought you here because I want to show you that I've kept my end of the bargain: I've freed Choronzon."
"I trust you. You don't need to prove anything to me," he told her.
"Nevertheless," said Tanya, as she led him into a department store filled with clothes of all different sizes and styles. Choronzon was there, as knobbly and bubble-gum pink as ever, but with a hunched, defeated look about him that hadn't been there before. He hardly dared to raise his eyes above the counter he was serving behind.
Indicating him with an offhand gesture, Tanya said, "I've found some useful work for him to do."
"Ssss. Milady. Very useful," said the demonic cashier, who seemed unable to look at her.
"Choronzon. You should know that I wouldn't have freed you if it had been up to me," she said. "You owe your freedom to Dream of the Endless here. Be sure to thank him for his benevolence."
He gave Dream a frantic and almost unnoticeable glance before lowering his head again. "Nkyou," he muttered.
Tanya peered at him as if he were a tiny insect, something so far beneath her notice that she had to strain her eyesight just to pick out any pertinent details. As if he was nothing to her.
"Perhaps I should speak to him alone," Dream suggested, watching as Choronzon quailed before his mistress; his knees knocked together and two sets of teeth chattered as if he was freezing.
"Very well," said Tanya. "Although I don't know what you hope to get out of him."
"A sincere apology."
"I doubt you'll get it. Nevertheless, I wish you luck."
Dream waited until he was sure she had departed. Then, he turned to Choronzon, who had unfurled like a flower before the mid-morning sun.
"Thank you. Thank you! And I'm sorry for what I did! Sorry!" the demon gabbled. "That's all you wanted, right!"
"Actually, there's something else you can do for me," said Dream. "I need a favour."
He reached out with his ethereal senses until he was satisfied that Tanya was nowhere nearby. Then, he proceeded to explain what he wanted.
Choronzon grimaced at what was being asked of him, but said, "Ssss. All right. I'll do it."
Early one morning, while he was still brushing the sleep from his eyes, John Constantine was surprised when Superman knocked on his front door. Of course, he wasn't in costume – neither his classic red cape and skintight blue 'uniform' nor the electric blue bodysuit he'd been wearing recently – he was in his civilian guise as Clark Kent, award-winning journalist, who in his own way was almost as conspicuous as one of the world's greatest superheroes. His antiquated suit, geeky spectacles and clumsy movements did little to disguise the fact that he was a lantern-jawed hunk with bulging muscles and movie-star good looks.
Not for the first time, Constantine was glad that his neighbours paid him barely any attention whatsoever. Otherwise, they might have noticed and been curious about the remarkably attractive visitors he'd received recently. First there had been a petite and sharply-dressed blonde cutie – not that he'd ever dare call Tanya that to her face – and now he was faced with a large slab of prime beefcake. Yeah, he'd had pretty girlfriends and brought them back to his flat before, but their attractiveness had been of the ordinary variety – except for Zatanna, of course. Superhumans tended to be superhumanly attractive; unless they were legendarily ugly, divine beings tended to be divinely attractive. Tanya and Superman were no exception to that.
"Uh… hi, Clark," he said, opening the door a little wider. "What can I do for you?"
"Good morning, John," said Superman. "May I come in?"
"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," said Constantine, taking a step back out of the doorway. "Would you like a drink? Coffee, maybe?"
"Please," said Superman, stepping inside. He looked around at the unusually clean and tidy apartment, at the new table, chairs and sofa that had replaced the dilapidated old ones, and the new cordless vacuum cleaner that was leaning up against the wall. "I like what you've done with the place."
Constantine felt the need to justify himself: "I've been given a new lease of life and I don't want to waste it. I'm trying to take better care of myself."
He filled the kettle, switched it on, rummaged in his kitchen cupboard, and then thought to ask: "Is instant coffee okay?" He didn't usually drink coffee and had never owned a coffee machine, so there wasn't really an alternative.
"It's fine," was Superman's reply. He looked contemplative. "Tell me about Lady Tanya."
"I don't know that much about her. I've only met her a few times," said Constantine. "Still… if it wasn't for the fact that she's the Devil – the ruler of Hell, Lucifer's successor, and so on – I'd have no reason to doubt her benevolence." He heaved a dismal sigh. "I don't want to tell you this. It makes me seem like a complete arsehole. But I guess you know me well enough already." He allowed himself a rueful smirk. "I first met Tanya when I… I did something I shouldn't have. I was weak. I was dying of lung cancer. At the time, some of the most powerful demons were rebellion against her; one of them approached me and offered to heal me in exchange for a favour. He wanted me to trap Tanya with the same ritual that kept Dream of the Endless trapped in a cellar for several decades. At the time, I assumed that she was just as monstrous as any other demon, so I convinced myself that I wouldn't be doing any real harm by accepting his deal. If he couldn't defeat her with my help, that must mean he was less powerful than her, so really I'd just be replacing one of humanity's enemies with another that wasn't so bad. I could almost convince myself I was doing a good thing for a righteous cause."
He continued to ramble until the kettle had boiled. Then, he poured a mug of tea for himself and coffee for Superman.
"Even if it wasn't the right thing to do, it seems to have worked out for you," said Superman, in a nonjudgmental voice.
"Here," said Constantine, handing him his coffee.
"Thank you."
They stood and sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a few moments before Constantine decided to continue: "Yeah, she's been very generous. Suspiciously so, you might say. She should probably want revenge for what I did to her, but she doesn't seem to care. I'm sure she'd tell you that I'm a valuable tool she wants to make use of, but I'm not sure that's her only motive."
"What did you do that she should hate you for?" asked Superman.
"I told you I'd agreed to trap her in a cellar, didn't I?"
"Yes, but you didn't tell me the exact details. What happened?"
"The First of the Fallen – the demon I made that deal with – was enraged that I hadn't stripped Tanya naked before sealing her away. Apparently, she was carrying something he needed and I'd made it impossible to get it without freeing her. I thought he was going to attack me, so I decided to free Tanya and let them fight it out amongst themselves. During the fight, I was smashed into a wall and came very close to death. If Tanya had wanted me dead, I would have died then there and she wouldn't have had to lift a finger. But instead she decided to 'keep her promise' by saving my life and making me stronger and healthier than I've ever been."
"What promise was she referring to?"
"While she was imprisoned, she said I couldn't trust the First of the Fallen, but she'd offer me a similar deal: if I freed her, she'd heal me. And she promised not to kill me or harm me in any way."
"So, she more than kept her promise," Superman mused.
"She said she'd want a favour in return, but the favour she eventually asked for was so minor I'd probably have done it for nothing: she wanted me to be the public face of a hotel business, here on Earth, where demons and other immortal beings can experience what it's like to sleep. It's a sinecure. I get paid a decent wage for doing basically nothing."
"Have you considered that the reason for her generosity might be because she's trying to ingratiate herself with your friends? The Justice League, for example?"
"More than likely," said Constantine. "I was the one who suggested she should help you with the Prometheus situation. She wanted to meet with all of you, so I thought that would give you a good first impression." He paused and took a deep breath as he considered what he was about to say next. "Still, even if her motivations aren't entirely altruistic, that doesn't mean they're in any way malevolent."
"It doesn't mean they're not," said Superman. "She's immortal; don't you think she might be playing the long game?"
"Amongst demons, that would make her practically unique. I've never known any of them to have much patience."
"In your line of work, you must have met a lot of demons. I expect you have to deal with people trying to summon them all the time."
"Not so much recently. I mean: they still try, but they don't usually succeed. Except for a few renegades who haven't been back to Hell since the rebellion failed, Tanya keeps all of the demons on a tight leash."
"How convenient for you."
"It makes my work a lot easier," Constantine admitted.
Superman drank the last of his coffee without any outward signs of pleasure or distaste: mechanically, as if were a task that simply must be done. "Do you trust her?"
"To an extent. Like I said before, if she wasn't who she is, I'd have no reason not to trust her. She's been good to me."
"Do you believe what she said about how the Apocalypse is going to happen in less than three years' time?"
"I don't want to believe her – I don't want the world to end so soon – but I don't see why she'd lie about that," said Constantine. "Unless I've horribly misjudged her. She's the queen of demons, after all. Maybe everything I think I know about her is wrong." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Maybe all of this is an elaborate joke to her."
"But you don't think so."
"Wasn't there a Chinese philosopher who had a dream about being a butterfly and then, when he woke up, he asked, 'Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?' I suppose it's possible that everything we see, hear and experience in life is just a cunningly crafted illusion… but anyone who actually believed that would never get around to doing anything."
"Everyone has to believe in something. Otherwise they'd go mad."
"Yeah. Exactly."
"You've had a hard life, haven't you, John? All those dead friends and loved ones…"
Abashed, Constantine lowered his gaze to the floor. "Some of that was my own fault."
"Because of your magic?"
"And the stupid choices I've made, yeah."
"But recently, ever since you met Lady Tanya, you've had a good life. You're healthy, you don't need to worry about money, and…" Superman hesitated, an awkward expression on his face. "There haven't been any disasters in your personal life that I'm unaware of, have there?"
"Not especially."
"Is it possible that Lady Tanya has been shielding you from the magic that's been causing you so much bad luck?"
"Sure, it's possible. Fairly likely, actually. She'd probably tell you she needs to keep me safe and happy because that makes me more useful to her."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"If she showed any signs of wanting to use me for nefarious purposes, it definitely would. So far, being her 'tool' has involved 'being well-paid for doing nothing' and 'arranging a meeting with people who would have agreed to meet with her anyway'," said Constantine. "I wonder if, when he was training her to be his successor, Lucifer forgot to teach her how to be evil. Or maybe he did that deliberately, as a joke."
"You don't know that she's not going to manipulate you into doing something nefarious in future," Superman pointed out.
"So far, the worst thing she's done has been to nag me about taking care of myself. In the same way that a doctor might nag one of her patients, or a teacher one of her students, or…" Constantine's voice trailed off into silence before he could give any more examples, the most obvious of which was 'or a wife might nag her husband'. He really didn't want to think too hard about that.
"I hope you know what you're doing," said Superman, looking doubtful. "But if you ever need help, don't hesitate to get in touch with me or one of the other members of the Justice League. We're your friends, even if we don't always agree with everything you do."
"Thanks, uh… Clark. I appreciate it," said Constantine.
Superman smiled warmly, as if they'd been talking about nothing more consequential than the weather outside, shook his hand again, and said, "Anyway, it's been great to see you, John. I'm glad you're doing well."
"Yeah, so am I. Thanks again."
"And if you find out anything else about the Apocalypse, please let me know."
"I certainly will."
They said their goodbyes, wished each other good luck, and then Superman departed. Finishing the last of his cup of tea, Constantine sank into his new armchair, feeling as weary as if he'd already done a full day's work.
"Maybe I should go back to bed," he muttered to himself. But he knew there were plenty of things he needed to do that day. Soon, he'd have to get up and put on his best impression of being a responsible adult. No choice about it, really.
The meeting place was grand, palatial and appeared to have been carved out of a vast, glittering crystal. Tanya would have preferred something more austere and practical, but she couldn't deny that Dream had held up his end of their bargain and done it well. Most of the assembled gods – and a few representatives from the Faerie realm as well – looked favourably impressed. They were gathered around a huge round table, which was meant to signify that she was treating them as equals, but the fact that they insisted on keeping their distance from her meant that she had a large space to herself while they were all bunched up together.
She recognized most of them. There was Susanoo-no-Mikoto, wild and tempestuous, whose beard, hair and clothes were as dishevelled as if he'd dashed through a gale. And there was his sister, Amaterasu Ōmikami, who shone with the light of the sun and was usually considered to be the chief deity of the Shinto pantheon. She hoped that was a good sign: by sending two of their most important deities to meet with her, they were taking her seriously and treating her with respect.
There was Odin, the one-eyed, ragged wanderer, leaning on his walking stick. He had a raven perched on each shoulder. Next to him was Thor, the massively muscled buffoon, who earlier that day had nearly started a feud between the Norse and Ancient Egyptian pantheons with his crude and offensive attempts to flirt with Bastet, the cat-headed goddess of cats. Accompanying them both was Loki, tall and lean, with scarred lips and flamelike hair, who had been temporarily freed from his prison deep beneath the earth so that he could advise his fellow Asgardians. What advice they hoped someone they had imprisoned and tortured for millennia would give them, Tanya had no idea.
The Faerie Queen had sent Cluracan; unlike Thor, he was charming and smooth-talking enough that he'd already been successful in arranging a romantic rendezvous with a member of the Egyptian delegation: a priest-king who'd been elevated to godhood more than four thousand years ago. With him was his sister, Nuala, and a few others she wasn't acquainted with.
She recognized some of the Ancient Greek gods: Hades was a stern and forbidding old man; Hermes was an athletic youth wearing a winged helmet; Athena was a stately woman carrying a spear and shield. She had a faint suspicion that she'd met some of the Chinese gods before. She was less familiar with the gods of the Canaanites, the Aztecs and Incas, various African and Native American pantheons, the Burmese and innumerable others. None of the Hindu gods had made an appearance, which made her vaguely uneasy. Did they know something she didn't? Or was there something she had misunderstood?
The ancient Babylonian pantheon had sent representatives, which had come as something of a surprise; she'd been under the impression that they had dwindled away to nothing long ago, except for those like Nergal who'd found alternative employment. But no, there was Marduk, garbed in extravagant and kingly robes. His hair and beard were braided, oiled and arranged in tightly-coiled pillars. Beside him was his consort, Sarpanit, who appeared to be heavily pregnant. And Nergal was with them, in his demonic form, with batlike wings, sharp teeth and leathery skin, an obsequious smirk on his lips. Until recently, he had been one of the most powerful demons in Hell, one of those who had rebelled against her, but had fled when it became clear that her victory was certain. His disappearance had been a minor irritation; she had been unable to find out where he'd gone and had glumly concluded that he would be a problem later on. Now, it remained to be seen what kind of problem he would be.
It was exceedingly unlikely that the Babylonian gods didn't know that Nergal was one of her former employees who had made himself her enemy. Therefore, she had to assume that this was a deliberate taunt, a way of testing whether or not she could be trusted to set aside her grievances for the greater good. If she had been willing to attack him here, in neutral ground, after inviting them to this meeting and promising they would not be harmed, they would know she couldn't be trusted.
Setting aside her annoyance, Tanya put on her friendliest smile, hoping to convince her guests of her good intentions. It seemed to do little to put them at ease.
She pressed on regardless: "Welcome, all of you! I'm pleased to see so many of you gathered here. I hope we can reach a mutual agreement that will lead to a better future for all of us. Being X, who calls himself the one true god, has decided to destroy the universe and everything in it. But if we unite against him, joining our strengths together as one, we have a chance of defeating him, unseating him, and achieving what any of us alone could not. We can be free of him: free of his oppressive rule; his smug, self-righteous meddling; his pathetic need to be worshipped and adored by everyone, just for allowing us to exist. We can be free at last! Together!"
They looked unconvinced, so she hastened to sweeten the deal: "As proof of my good intentions, I am willing to make numerous concessions to you: I will aid you in battle against your enemies, I will give you favourable trade deals, and I will allow some of the damned to leave Hell and take up residence in your afterlives." Turning to Cluracan and the other representatives of the Faerie Queen, transfixing them with a powerful stare, she continued: "No longer will you have to pay the tithe that requires you to sacrifice nine of your wisest and most beautiful to Hell every seven years. I release you from your ancient agreement with Lucifer. Instead, it is my hope that we can build an alliance and work together as equals."
"What kind of trade deals?" asked Anubis, the Ancient Egyptian god of the underworld. His head was that of a jackal and his expression was unreadable, though there were traces of suspicion in his voice. "Why would we want or need them?"
"That's up to you," Tanya replied, with a small shrug. "I'm in the process of turning Hell into a major industrial centre. Soon, anything you want or need will be produced there!"
"How many of the damned will you allow to leave Hell? I cannot believe you would relinquish so many as to reduce your power and authority by any significant degree," said Hades, in a grim and sepulchral voice.
"Those who have committed relatively minor sins, for which they have already been harshly punished, will be allowed to leave. Those who truly deserve to be in Hell will have to stay."
He inclined his head, just slightly, as if she'd confirmed his suspicions.
"Will you fight beside us at Ragnarok?" Odin wanted to know.
"Of course. I will aid you in all of your battles, should you need me," Tanya promised.
At the behest of his new masters – or were they his old masters whose reins he had accepted once again? – Nergal stepped forth and said, in a simpering voice, "May we have some time to consider your words and discuss their meaning for ourselves?"
"It would appear that many of your fellows already have," said Tanya, glancing around the hall and listening to the hubbub of murmured conversation. "Carry on."
This week, the various members of the Justice League were too busy to meet in person, scattered all over North America as they were, but most of them managed to set aside some time to meet face-to-face via video conferencing. Orion of the New Gods was not there, having returned to New Genesis to ask a few pointed questions of Highfather and Metron. Everyone else was in attendance, including Oracle, who had recently been revealed as a secret member of the team who'd been acting behind the scenes.
The main item on the agenda, and the real reason why they needed to have another meeting so soon after the last one, was Lady Tanya's warning about the Apocalypse and their subsequent attempts to find out whether she was telling the truth or not.
Zauriel went first, describing what some of his angelic contacts had said when he'd visited them. He concluded by saying, "They all confirmed that the Apocalypse is due to begin in less than three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just like Lady Tanya said."
"During my brief visit to the UK, I spoke to John Constantine, who told me that he has no reason to doubt Lady Tanya's word. Personally, he would prefer it if the world wasn't coming to an end, but she has always been honest and kind to him, for as long as he has known her, despite the unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting," said Superman.
"He's only known her for a few months. And he's not what I would call a reliable witness," said Batman.
"While you were there, you visited Warlock Dowling, who is supposed to be – or to become – the Antichrist. What did you think of him?" asked the Flash.
"I posed for some publicity shots with the American ambassador and his family," Superman confirmed. "As far as I could tell, Warlock seemed like a perfectly ordinary little boy. Overindulged, maybe, but remarkably good-natured."
"Did you see any sign of his developing superpowers?" asked the Martian Manhunter.
Superman shook his head. "No, not at all."
"It's a shame he's too young to join the Teen Titans. I imagine he and Raven would have a lot in common," said Batman.
"I suppose you could train him to be the next Robin," said Oracle, sounding rather unenthused.
"So… whatever we do, the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time. What should we do about that? What can we do?" asked Huntress, determined to stay focused on what was really important. "If it's God's will…"
"If the creator of the universe has decided to bring it to an abrupt end, I doubt there's anything we can do to stop him. Instead, we will do what we always have done: try to save lives and protect the innocent for as long as we can," said Superman. "If the Apocalypse is going to happen regardless of what we or anyone else might do to prevent it, we might as well try to minimize the misery and suffering that will happen as a result."
"Maybe our efforts will be for naught, but that's no reason not to try," said Wonder Woman.
"I think Lady Tanya would be happy with that," said Aquaman, with a crooked smile. "Judging by what she told us last week, she's trying to prevent the Apocalypse and maintain the status quo – and by standing against the horrors, monsters and natural disasters that will be unleashed after the Antichrist comes into his inheritance, we'll be helping her achieve that goal. Unless she was lying to us the whole time, of course."
"That's still a possibility," said Huntress.
"We can only hope," said the Flash.
"Our beloved queen will never agree to it!" Cluracan declared, drinking deeply from his bottle of wine and cuddling his latest paramour to his side. "Even if it means we'll still have to pay the teind, it won't be for long. A few years at most. And then… I suppose we'll be erased from existence. Oh well, better than the alternative, I suppose. If we join Tanya in her defiance, we'll be punished forever! Oblivion is preferable to that, wouldn't you agree?"
"How long will we have to wait for her answer?" asked Nuala, who appeared graceful and composed, and was drinking nothing but pure spring water garnished with rose-petals.
"Not even a twinkling. A few moments, probably. An hour or two at most. Any longer than that… well, I'd be surprised," said Cluracan. "Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't already heard back from her."
"I'm inclined to accept Lady Tanya's offer. With her help, the final battle at Ragnarok will be easily won," said Odin, gazing over the balcony at a churning sea of dreams. "What say you?"
"I'm not sure why you brought me here," said Loki, sly and scornful. "You know I am your enemy. You know the prophecies as well as I do. When Ragnarok comes, I will escape my bonds beneath the earth. I will be the helmsman of the largest ship that has ever existed, built of dead men's nails, which will carry the Frost Giants and the legions of Hel to Vigrid, where the final battle will take place. There, you will be devoured by Fenrir, Thor will slay Jormungandr and be slain in turn, and I…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I will have my revenge. I will die happy."
"What happened to you, Loki? We were blood brothers, once," Odin wondered aloud, with sorrow in his heart.
"That was long ago, before you turned one of my sons into a monster and forced him to devour his brother. Before you imprisoned me beneath the earth, bound with the intestines of my murdered son, with a snake dripping venom into my eyes and my poor wife able to do nothing but catch some of the venom in a bowl and whisper that she loves me."
Thor's response was thunderous. He seized Loki in both hands, rattled him as if he were a rickety piece of furniture, and roared: "You deserved it! You murdered Balder!"
"I saved him. Thanks to me, he will survive Ragnarok. Afterwards, he will return from Hel and take his place as one of the new gods, ruling over the new world," said Loki, with a smug grin. "Besides, you didn't punish me for causing Balder's death. Not for years afterwards. Instead, you punished Hod, who was just as much a victim as he was." Twining his neck so that he could lean closer to Odin, he whispered, "You raped Rind, who gave birth to Vali, who grew up and slew Hod before a single day had passed. Was that justice? No, of course not. And what you did to me wasn't justice either. You and the other gods decided to punish me, not because of what I did to Balder or how I tricked Hod or any of the other crimes I had committed, but because I embarrassed you at dinner. Because I insulted you and revealed a few truths you'd rather have kept hidden. And that, more than anything else I'd ever done, was why you sentenced me to be tortured for thousands of years."
"I will pull out your lying tongue and strangle you with it!" cried Thor, fastening a meaty hand around his neck.
"Is there a point you want to make, Loki? Or do you just want to unburden yourself, now that you have the chance?" asked Odin.
"Even now, you need me to be your handyman, to solve all your problems for you, just like I always did. That's why you brought me here," said Loki, whose grin remained fixed despite Thor's attempts to throttle him. "Therefore, this is my advice to you: I wish you would accept Tanya's offer. With her help, you may survive Ragnarok, but you cannot hope to defeat the one she calls 'Being X'. He created everything from nothing and can unmake it just as easily. What do you think he will do if you defy him? I have no doubt he will punish you far worse than I have been punished, for the rest of eternity. And then, I will rejoice in the knowledge that you will suffer a far better revenge than any I could have dreamed of."
Odin signalled that Thor should drag Loki away. He would be returned to his underground prison, where a snake would drip venom into his eyes and he would be bound with his son's intestines, just like before. Nevertheless, he'd given wise advice, even if he'd done it in an unnecessarily hostile way. For that, Odin was grateful.
"None of them want to accept my offer! They've all refused!" Tanya cried out in disbelief. "Pretty words, but 'no' means 'no', even if you dress it up in elaborate finery."
She paced back and forth across the floor of Dream's throne room, feeling as if she might tear her hair out with frustration.
"They're afraid. Not everyone is as strong as you," he said.
"Does it take strength to oppose someone who would utterly destroy you otherwise? Unless they put up a fight, they will be erased from existence. It will be as if they had never been. Don't they understand that?" It was a rhetorical question and Tanya knew there was no answer that would satisfy her. "I'd have thought that at least some of them would be desperate enough to join me."
Dream arose from his throne, drifted over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "They're frightened of what 'Being X' will do to them if they rise up against him. Oblivion is preferable to endless suffering."
"I'd rather suffer than cease to exist. That's why I continue to fight," said Tanya. "Even if I have to do it alone."
"You won't be alone," said Dream. "What about all those who look up to you, who admire you, whom you've inspired to be much more than they were? Hastur, for example. He was a crude, foul-smelling brute, but thanks to your leadership he has proven himself to have courage and honour."
Tanya didn't think Dream had ever met Hastur and was unsure as to how he knew so much about him, but presumed that it must be because the Endless had all kinds of nebulous powers related to their particular sphere of influence. Perhaps being the Lord of Dreams gave him special insight into Hastur's daydreams of bettering himself. "He's done his best to clean himself up, so his scent is barely noticeable these days, but he still can't wear a business suit without looking like a walking laundry pile," she said.
"And Scumspawn… He greatly admires you, to the extent that he was able to overcome his natural cowardice for your sake."
"Yes, he says he loves me," said Tanya, with a weary sigh.
"Love is not always based on admiration – or on anything more than physical beauty – but perhaps it should be," said Dream. "Those who love and admire you, like Scumspawn and Hastur, will follow you until the end, whatever that may be."
For a moment, Tanya leaned against him. His arm embraced her. Then, as if she'd suddenly remembered herself and who she was, she straightened up and took a step forward, out of his reach. In what seemed like an excessively formal voice, she said, "Thank you for attempting to lift my morale. I appreciate it. Now, I must be going. There is much I still need to do today."
"Important business matters, no doubt," said Dream, with some amusement.
She gave him a stiff nod. "Indeed. Farewell."
"Farewell," he echoed her. There was more he wanted to say, but he held his tongue and let her go. It was the right thing to do, for both their sakes. He would have no regrets.
Author's Notes:
Thanks to everyone who has liked or left comments on this fic so far. I find it very encouraging. You've spurred me to keep writing for a lot longer than I thought I would.
I've been busy at work recently, so it's taken me longer than a month to write this latest chapter. Also, I recently (within the past few days) found out that Neil Gaiman has been accused of sexual assault by multiple women, which… Okay, I understand that 'accused of' is not the same as 'convicted of', but it still doesn't make me feel particularly enthusiastic about continuing this fic, which is heavily based on two of Neil Gaiman's works (The Sandman and Good Omens). Hmm.
Oh well. I hope you enjoy reading this latest chapter. I don't know when or if I'll get around to writing the next. Be seeing you, I guess.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Check the sources, he is innocent until proven quilty, is what I say, otherwise separate the art from the artist.
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