16817/Injustice For All: A Shadow Falls

Injustice For All: A Shadow Falls
Date of Scene:	10 January 2024
Location:	Hall of Justice - New Troy
Synopsis:	The Hall of Justice finds itself invaded by the Heart of Darkness. Whispering shadows try to corrupt both the Leaguers on site, along with their allies and visitors.
Cast of Characters:	Barry Allen, John Constantine, Monet St. Croix, Diana Prince, Phoebe Beacon, Rachel Roth, Alura In-Ze, Xiomara Rojas, Dick Grayson, Oliver Queen, M'gann M'orzz, Meggan Puceanu, Cassie Sandsmark, Bruce Wayne

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Barry Allen has posed:
The Hall of Justice.

Really, could anything be more Metropolis? So bright, so shiny, so full of hope. A glorious mixture of the classic, of tradition but mixed in with all the bright promise of the future. Is it any wonder that it remains one of the most popular stops for locals as well of out of town visitors in a city full of wonders to take in.

While the weather outside might be a little on the frosty side if nothing else it is at least sunny, and if that might not make a true difference to those out and about, for those within the bright, airy main promenade of the Hall of Justice it means glittering beams of light pouring in from that multi-faceted dome above, bathing those roaming through it's architectural magnificence, or visiting the displays within the museum, or even just grabbing a bite to eat from one of the little restaurants strategically placed throughout the gathering area in that similar glow of warmth.

At least at first.

The change, when it comes is gradual. Like easing into water too hot, or too cold, adding just a little more of the same so that they do not notice. Not until it is too late at any rate.

Like a veil pulled snug over the Hall itself, the warm glow of sunshine pouring through the glass dome overhead seems to lessen. There is no trace of a cloud in the sky, no sudden surge of cover that would blot out that glow. Just a... lessening.

Perhaps like an eclipse.

That dimming doesn't last, not for long in the scheme of things. A minute maybe, perhaps less. Then it is as if that light veil is suddenly replaced by a heavy, suffocating blanket instead, though one that lets every chill in the air pass straight through, offering no comfort. Only darkness.

The main promenade, the museum, the halls, indeed every room in the Hall is plunged into darkness, electric lights failing completely. Monitors go out, phones cease to work as if they had no charge at all and while the emergency systems do seem to kick in after a ten second or so pause that seems to last a lifetime for some, the reddish glow that surrounds those gathered within somehow seems a weak, sick thing. One that hides more terrors then it reveals.

And throughout the Hall, a steady thrumming sound begins to resonate, like the beat of some gigantic, unseen heart.

John Constantine has posed:
John Constantine's spoon stops half-way to his mouth as the shadows descend on the Hall of Justice. He blinks slowly and then puts the spoon into the yogurt and sets the cup down on the table.

He puts his fingers to his wrist and listens to the thrumming of the weird heart. "Huh. Synchronized with the weirdness. Go figure."

He wipes his mouth and tosses the napkin on the table, standing up and heading for the door. << Meggan, luv, something's up in the cafeteria. Everything's gone dark and it ain't the power. >>

Behind him, he leaves the yogurt cup half-eaten. Upon it, a strip of tape that reads 'HAWKMAN'.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
This normally isn't where Monet goes to spend time. WIth the recent, multiple brawls with the Injustice Society (While not call themselves the Legion of Evil if they want to make the point) have had her at lesat occasioally checking in on things. So when she's in MEtropolis for some shopping (and going to the opera), she's spent some time over in the area to just drop by. She's not a member of the League (and never shall be), so it's likely limited where she can go. She's just over in one of the public locales of it right as things /shift/ over and she's disoriented for jsut a moment.

She looks about quickly for some sort of alert -and curses herself for not giving out the layout. Instead she just goes to try and send out as widespread a telepathic signal as she can to anyone in the area. <<We're under attack. Attempt to coordinate with all local forces. Request permission to establish multiple psionic links with the group to facilitate coordination.>> This is what she's here for after all. Hopefully this time Grodd won't be there to make such attempts mostly useless.

Diana Prince has posed:
Since the ground levels of the Hall of Justice are largely meant to be a Super Hero Promenade for the public, there are a number of public offerings within it. such as the Museum of Heroes. It is here, today, that Wonder Woman is hosting a 'Becoming a Hero' seminar to a fairly sizable crowd, many of whom are young adults, or outright kids, and many of those are dressed up in their favorite super hero costume, or their own unique persona and identity. The seminar is heavily focused on being responsible, and safe, to better push caution upon the youth when it comes to setting out with the hopes of doing potentially dangerous things. diana is regularly urging everyone to simply call authorities, should they ever really find themselves facing a dramatic challenge of potential dangers.

Wonder Woman is on the stage, in full Amazon armor, speaking to the crowd and putting on a small show with her lasso and sword. Smiles are plentiful, laughs are regular, and everyone seems to be having a fun time.

But, sadly, not all fun times get to last for very long. A humming resonates, a worry starts to spread through the audience, and some officials of the Hall of Justice begin to speak on their comm systems.

Diana picks up on a number of alerts starting to ping across her senses, and the lasso is coiled up once more, her sword slipped behind her back in to its ornate leather and gold sheath.

The audience begins to rile-up, while Wonder Woman begins to urge everyone to stay calm while the situation is assessed, her voice carrying across the presentation room of the Museum facility.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Metropolis made Phoebe nervous. TOday was making her nervous. She had business in the Halls of Justice, official-like (she wanted to see Diana's presentation while she was waiting on official business), and had been in-uniform when doing so. Mostly. Her hood was down, her domino being spun carefully between fingers as she waited for administrative tasks to be completed. Her magic senses has started ticking away like a count-down, and her head tilted back, lips pursed, pink braids drifting over her shoulder as her dark eyes narrowed as the light began to dim.

    "... that can't be good." she murmurs to herself, and she applies and powers up her domino, giving a breath out as she settles her clanging nerves and pulls her hood up over her hair, settling in for a fight as she checks her side-pouches and swings herself up onto some fascade for a higher view as she takes in the situation.

    She synchs into the comms, listening in for news as she squeezes her fingers in anxious anticipation.

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Much of the time, Raven is altogether content to remain at the Tower. It isn't far, and she can be anywhere in the world when needed... So why venture out? The tower is safe with its many walls.

    Occasionally, though, business mandates that she visit somewhere that is not her home. Patrol. Excursions with the other Titans. Whatever Vorpal's current emergency is. Whatever event Donna has successfully bargained with her for her presence. The simple things.

    In a form of solemn silence, Raven is deeper into the hall, submitting a number of files as requested by the League- small reports compiled by the Titans regarding their activities. Nothing major. Should be quick, fifteen minutes, in and out.

    The darkness falling over the hall itself is one thing- she notices, but one would have to be a fool to attack the Hall of Justice. When the attack truly manifests, Raven simply straightens up, somewhat. Darkness is her home. Shadows her plaything. She manipulates them with magic almost as well as she controls emotion. As far as she's concerned, this is like attacking Superman with the Sun.

    She stares into the darkness, her hands finding themselves back into her pockets. "Whoever you are, this is the worst idea you've ever had." she declares, in that monotonistic, somewhat raspy voice of hers. There is no emotional inflection to a single syllable in her speech- and so far, she aims to make good on that statement.

Alura In-Ze has posed:
Alura motions to the holographic photos hovering in the air before herself and Batman. "Somehow the gate from Earth to New Krypton connected with an existing zeta beam based network of travel pathways and we ended up on a different planet. One where the Hegemony had parked a ship and enslaved the people."

She motions to a hologram of the network, "It's huge. Across multiple galaxies. Whoever built it had a true mastery of the craft. The hegemony seems to be trying to replace their number. They had taken several prisons on board their ship and were experimenting on them. We managed to get on board, free them, and capture the captain of the ship. The only other Hegemony timeline Kryptonian was killed when we arrived by the gateway."

She shakes her head slowly, "I'm getting concerned. We were unable to hack their computer systems - this is what they do though, build an empire, conquer. They destroyed the Oans in their timeline. If we don't step up our game we could lose before we've even started."

She pauses as the darkness envelops them and looks around, "That's not normal..." She focuses her eyes in to the darkness, "... there's nothing out there. It's not an eclipse." A rush to the wall she smacks the ALARM button. But of course, with electricity out it too doesn't go off.

Xiomara Rojas has posed:
Once a week Xiomara reported in to the Hall of Justice to check in on how things were going, find out if she was needed, and or just let Superman know her work on becoming a 'hero' was still on track because she still hadn't killed anyone.

She was just on her way through the promenade, pausing to get herself a cup of coffee with too much sugar and cream, when things took a turn. Unlike humans she, she could see in different spectrums and without light, and even when that failed her hearing allowed her to find her way around. In this case however, the sudden blackness had her freezing in place, setting the coffee back down and offering a reassuring, "Just stay where you are everyone, emergency lights should come on."

It wasn't really her style to take any kind of lead, or even offer encouragement, but this time she had done so for both the people around her, and herself as the sound, so like a heart, was creeping her out.

Pulling her JL com unit from her inner pocket, she slips it into her ear and says quietly, <<Crush here, on the promenade...>> but before she can say anything else she had to stop due to Obelus reaction to someone using telepathy. After the aliens at the starport, the sentient chain had become very, very protective of such things, so Crush was forced to take a moment to reassure her that this time, it was alright.

<<... got a lot of scared people out here, any idea what's up?>> she finally finishes off after that moment, though in her mind she is thinking, <Obelus is chill now, link me up.>

Dick Grayson has posed:
    Nightwing isn't a frequent visitor to the Hall, spending most of his time in Gotham. Today though, he's made the trip over and is walking down one of the hallways in the non-public parts of the Hall when everything goes dark.

    << Nightwing here, is this a generalized blackout? Something doesn't feel right about this. Who else do we have in the Hall today? >>

    He also answers Monet's telepathic message by thinking "I'm fine with being linked up. We better get out into the promenade and make sure the regular folks are ok."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Look, he didn't even want to be here. Not really.

After their last encounter with the Injustice League, after whatever spell they were trying to use to escape went so horribly wrong and after Miss Martian peeled that overgrown brainy ape like a grape, it does finally feel like that gang of troublesome villains is finally on the run.

Which works just fine for Ollie. It means more time spent on some of the things that really matters. More time spent trying to clean up Hell's Kitchen. More time away from big messes like the League generally has to deal with.

And definitely no more being turned into a pig.

While all that might be true, now that they finally seem to have that puffed up gang of criminals on the ropes it is more important then ever to just damn well finish them off. So the Emerald Archer is here in Metropolis, in some big, shiny edifice instead of where he belongs.

Which is when the lights go out.

"What the hell?" he mutters. "Did someone forget to pay the electric bill this month?" he says, fumbling for his phone, drawing it out and finding it seemingly dead. No light from that source. "Wait... it wasn't my month to pay, was it... no. No. It was probably the Bat. He likes wondering around in the dark," Oliver mutters.

Pulling out an arrow from his quiver as he wanders through the lower halls beneath the publically accessible promenade below, he brings that flare on the end that shaft to life just as the emergency lighting kicks in. Kinda.

"This isn't creepy at all, is it?" the archer continues grousing to himself.

M'gann M'orzz has posed:
M'gann likes to come to the Hall of Justice from time to time, just to wander around and look at everything. To see a manifest reason why she does what she does and is who she is. It helps to remind her that she's more than the sum of her parts and past.

Also, occasionally she runs into someone she knows!

In this instance, the green-skinned Miss Martian is floating high above, up near the rafters, and enjoying the warmth of the sun beaming in while she watches the hustle and bustle of folk coming and going. People-watching, Martian style!

When the light starts to dim, it draws a light frown across her features, glancing around to try and pinpoint the source. Unable to do so, she starts to swoop in closer to the floor to make sure she can help guide the normal citizens on an exit plan out of the building Then the lights go out.

She can switch over to a field of vision that won't obscure her sight (and does so), but this is disturbing, to say the least.

When the emergency lights kick on, she lets out a small breath and continues on her path towards the promenade and the shops/restaurants.

<<Miss Martian, present. I am near the promenade and will begin leading citizens out of the building.>>

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan would be one of those people basking in the sunshine while conducting a round of furious texts into her phone. Reception may be fine in the cafeteria, but better out of the denser spots of the Hall of Justice. Posts and replies stitch over her social media network that causes the incessant vibration to attract her attention.

She lifts her head, bone-white braid swaying in a thick rope down her back. Parades of visitors gawking at Amazonian princesses or cool space-cops muddy her read on finer details at first. Such might leave her ignorant for the humming change in the atmosphere at first, focused on a coordinated blitz against Roxxon's latest feel-good ad campaign. John's voice finds her from afar.

Then her phone flickers and the screen dies. Darkness crashes down until it doesn't, her eyes automatically adjusting into different wavelengths. She exhales and the darkness becomes much less stygian, contours carved out as things steady.

It's Raven's voice that eventually earns a low, cracked chuckle just above the bleeding edge of human hearing. "She has the right."

Cassie Sandsmark has posed:
Cassie is not precisely a 'regular' at the tower, even though she has her very own legitimate Justice League ID card and everything! It's still the 'big leagues,' and she has plenty to handle on her hero plate on an average day (along with ample non-hero things, like school, which has started again!), generally leaving the headline stuff to her mentor, unless she's actually requested for proper sidekick backup. And if something is bad enough that Wonder Woman needs help, it's usually pretty bad!

Today, she has been asked to the tower to help, but not with heroic battle, even if that's what is ultimately on the menu. Although Cassie had a scheduling conflict, she's promised to make a cameo at the end of the 'Becoming a Hero' seminar, to help Diana with some of the youngsters in attendance. Believe it or not, she has a pretty big following among the young-people! Albeit more for watching her do tiktok dances than specific hero stuff, but still.

So she shows up 'in costume' (as much as she even has a costume - it's still very normcore athleticwear with a bit of Wonder-branding), and with her gear. That's at least a happy coincidence given the circumstances. Landing in the big plaza out front, she's just made her way into the main entrance of the Hall and is on her way toward the Museum of Heroes when the dark shadow falls on them all.

She does not have telepathy, but she does have a phone, which she reflexively pulls out, to text Di: im here but think the photo ops are canceled

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Hmm."

The World's Greatest Detective's knowledge is mostly limited to this world, and so his ability to offer insight or contribution into the plans of a Kryptonian empire which had managed to overtake the creators of the Green Lantern Corps is limited, at best.

Then the lights go out, and immediately, he shifts into a role he is far more suited for.

"Be careful," he says to Alura, as he feels the pulsing that arrives with the darkness. "Magic is about the one thing that Superman is vulnerable to."

And with that, he disappears into the darkness.

Which is not nearly as impressive as it usually is.

Barry Allen has posed:
Really, it is a testement to just how much Metropolis trusts its heroes. And perhaps a testement to how rarely they have been let down in that trust that there is not immediate panic. There is confusion to be sure, murmured words rippling back and forth through the public space of the Hall, tinged with a hint of fear, of anxiety. But no one stampedes, no one tramples others in their blind rush to get away from the eerie darkness. Not even when the P.A. is abruptly cutting off, failing like so much of the other technology scattered through this modern edifice.

Fortunately it is not as if those present are entirely limited to just technological applications and where other communication might fail, it would seem taht whatever this gloom happens to be it can't stop the power of thought. Convenient, to have telepaths so handy at moments like these. Even moreso given the somewhat scattered collection of might gathered at the Hall this day.

That sense of unease amongst the crowd only grows though as that reddish glow springs to life, as that unseen, unnatural heartbeat begins to pound throughout the promenade. The first truly panicked cry takes up when someone tries the doors that should lead back outside to Metropolis proper -- and finding them only opening out into darkness complete and inscrutable, unpierced by even the slightest trace of light.

Which, of course, is when the murk begins to rise.

It would be easy to miss at first, in all the bad lighting that seems to be straight out of some horror movie. Little tendrils of dark mist that play across the ground, licking at ankles, curling about calves, slowly growing denser, more encompassing. Slowly isolating groups, and then people.

And the beating of that impossibly large, impossibly loud heart begins to speed, the steady thrum growing irregular, like someone straining. Like fear itself.

"Should I be afraid?" a voice whispers throughout the room, the words colder then even the frostiest day, a mocking note to them. "So proud, here in this edifice constructed to your own magnificence. Here in the heart of your power," it continues, low and biting.

"But I know what dwells in the heart..."

And that murk continues to rise, thicker, more encompassing, almost tangible but always just slightly out of reach. And more and more, as each of the hundreds of people gathered beneath that now darkened dome above, panic begins to set in. Cries of fear. Cries of anger.

Music to the dark's ears.

Xiomara Rojas has posed:
Well /that's/ bad.

In the last year Crush has seen a lot of strange things, wonderful things, horrible things, but this was a new thing. Rolling her head to crack her neck, and taking a deep breath that she lets out slowly, she prepares herself for what ever the hel...ck this thing was.

"Don't let it get to ya!" she calls out loudly, okay she bellows it, and already moving to put herself between people and what ever this murky thing is. "Ya ain't alone, we'll do what we can to protect ya! No panic, no fear, just back away from it!"

<This ain't good,> is what she offers via the link. <Got no clue what it is, but I'll throw myself at it if I have ta, to keep it away from the people.>

Monet St. Croix has posed:
the alert goes out, even as one telepath is going to work on evacuating the area. The ease with which the security systmes of the Hall of Justice has been penetrated, by technological or magical means, is a rather bad sign. But fortunately there are plenty of heavy hitters present. As the panic goes to set in, it's all Monet can do to rapidly brace herself. She's had plenty of attacks on her soul these last few years. From her brother. From the Shadow King. From so many other things which have shredded her with fear. It makes her timid for a moment, looking about to stutter. Before arrogance and her shield kicks in.

The hundreds of those about to panic are ones she is aware of and well beyond her capabilities to do anything on. All she can do is try and rapidly locate the source. She goes to take a breath, attempting to maintain a mental link over with the rest as best she can, to try and pass along the sense of all the rather agitated npeople as emotions spike and terror and anger rises. All she can do now is try and locate the source of it. Magic? Telepathic? Technological? For somehting to be able to bypass the defenses here, it must be very potent. It doesn't have Brainiac's style, Grodd hasn't shown this level of mocking so far in their brawls.. It isn't the style of any of the magic users they've fought so far. A newcomer?

WIth the resources of whomever has put together this Legion of Injustice, then it could very well be. All she can do is try and pass along information.. WHile telepathically trying to sweep to get what information she can and to try and pickup a source.

John Constantine has posed:
"Pal, if you knew what dwelled in my heart you'd be pissin' yer pants," John says into the darkness, pausing for a moment to lift his cigarette to his lips and strike a match, lighting it.

"All right, let's see."

He wrinkles his nose. << Hear ye, hear ye, mystics of the Justice League. It's ya boy, Constantine. Whatever the fuck this is, it's theatrical as hell, means it's got an ego. And I refuse to let anything have a bigger ego than Batman."

Diana Prince has posed:
Many of the cosplaying super hero youth, within the Museum, are scrambling in to smaller groups as people begin to more openly fear what is happening at the Hall of Justice, on this day of what was meant to be a happy event. Some of the more bravado inclined youth are even hopping in to action to try and direct those who display more fearful reactions, already taking to their personas as future super heroes!

Diana is met on stage by a pair of HoJ attendees who speak softly to her, as she calls out to the crowd. "We will figure out what is going on here. Stay close together. You are in as safe a place as you could ever wish to be." She assures them, her phone not on her person to receive any potential texts from Cassie, as it is down in her quarters beneath the ground level of the Hall.

Diana starts down the stage, moving toward the main promenade. She tries her comm network device, "Wonder Woman is on site. Is this a dark magic, or something else?" She asks, both on comms, OR any telepathic mindlinks.

"We have a lot of civilians in the Museum area, I am watching over them." She further reports to those within ear-shot, or head-shot?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She was one of the heroes to try and find a door and safeguard people Out -- only to find that there was immutable darkness right outside, right as the commentary about hearts taps in. Her own skips a beat, the working over her heart giving a soft hum against her presence in the aether around them. Balm holds her arm out to try and block anyone from running into the darkness, her eyes going wide behind the domino as she gives a grunt of effort, and shuts the doors.

    <<Outside's no good, can't evacuate the civillians. Whatever fight we're going to have in here has to be kept mindful of that.>> Balm adds to the link, and she smells the overly familiar smell of silk-cuts and makes a *face* beneath her hood.

    And Phoebe grabs her left wrist, and with an uttered phrase in Latin, her 'dimming' tattoo releases, and she's a bright shiny, and very notable spot of The Light in the Halls -- anyone with magical senses is going to pick up on it, and her Aura's bright and active.

    <<This is definitely magic. Everything's buzzing at the base of my skull.>> she replies over comms and links.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
<<If you had an amygdala dampener, your ego would be pretty big right now too.>>

They say that given time to prepare, the Dark Knight can defeat any foe. While that is merely an exaggeration, his utility belt is equipped with all manner of devices designed to counteract the various weapons of his foes. One of the most insidious - Scarecrow and his fear factor. And while the Batman does not know the source of this emanating, creeping fear, it stands to reason that cutting it off at the destination may be just as effective. Slipping the pulsing device into a small gap in his cowl, he sighs for a moment. It is fortunate that he does not require aggression to fuel his combat, but he also suspects that whatever needs to be faced here is not going to be done physically.

Moving fluidly through the Hall of Justice just as capably as if there were light, he sets out towards the lobby, remembering that Diana had a gathering there today.

And if one is going to face spooky darkness and fear, there are few better allies than the Amazing Amazon to have at your side.

Oliver Queen has posed:
For a time, the bright flare arrow in his hand, held forth like a torch, does seem to cut through the growing gloom in the passages that run beneath the Hall proper. Does give some reassurance even if that glow doesn't seem to radiate out quite as far as it should.

While Oliver is pretty comfortable working alone, has had a great deal of practice at being alone what with all the time spent stranded on Lian Yu, that isolation isn't quite so comfortable on this particular day. Not a familiar old friend. But something with a whole lot more menace then normal.

Even more when those shadowy, insubstantial tendrils start to rise up around him.

"Stupid comms," he mutters, grimly pushing on towards the nearest emergency stairwell. He has no intention of trying his luck with the elevators. Even assuming they work, he has no intention of getting trapped in one.

Instead Ollie puts a fingers to the side of his head as he stalks through the corridor as if that will somehow make his thoughts more discernable, somehow let him stretch out to those up above. << Is this thing on? Is anyone out there listening? I'm in the lower levels on my way to the stairwell. I'll be up there in a moment. Any idea who or what is causing all of this?>> he asks, or at least thinks.

As the darkness closes in, he starts to push open the door to the stairwell.

Cassie Sandsmark has posed:
After texting Diana, Cassie does what comes natural to her: she lifts her phone toward the window, turning on the camera, and yes, even opens her streaming software of choice, fully intending to 'go live' amidst the crisis. "Hey Wonderfans, it's your girl Cassie and it looks like something is going down at the Hall of-"

And then the screen turns off. "Aw, what the fuck? I know I charged this." Like much of her tech-dependent generation, she's struck with an immediate sense of disconnect, and subsquent frustration, when she loses this trusted link to the larger world. She holds down the button on the side of the phone for a few seconds to see if she can get it to turn back on, but there's nothing. Holds it longer, still nothing. Cassie doesn't know if the text even makes it to her boss! She'd rather be left on read than just have nothing!

"Well alright, this is uh-"

She's probably not an immediate and obvious choice for a mindlink, much of an irregular as she is to the Hall of Justice, so she doesn't quite get tuned in until Constantine makes his effort at a wider 'all hands on deck' sort of broadcast. << Yo whoever's on this there's some creepy dark stuff all around outside, seems it's got us locked in and holyshitballs are those tentacles I did not sign up for tentacles today! >>

Reflexively, she flies about a foot up off the ground, and then continues floating backward as the dark begins further spilling into the place. "It's coming in the front!" That she just shouts, the old fashioned way.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan strays through the darkened Halls, losing definition as she goes. Not simply because of the murky tendrils trying to rise up around other frightened patrons, but egotistical darkness trying to get handsy with her and everyone else simply won't fly.

How do you track something invisible among the shadows? She becomes a point of sharpened clarity in the gloom, accentuating the stillness and the crisp brilliance of winter. Sound becomes more hushed to amplify whispers or give words range.

The Tuath woman floats just above the ground, circling in a meandering pathway that orbits irregularly closer and around Constantine. Smoke from a cigarette gains a better delineation from the backdrop, same as any perfume or discarded coffee cup.

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Establishing a telepathic link with Raven when you're not one of her very, very good friends, is akin to running into a minefield. The defenses are... Impeccable. She is not someone who invites mental contact- and it is an unpleasant thing besides. She is not, therefore, part of the mental communication going on. Where she is inside the Hall isn't necessarily close to anyone else regardless, so she is at the moment on her own.

    She is not, however, alone. The presence begins to speak, and her brow raises only slightly. If there is a thing that Raven fears, it clearly is not this creature. It conjures shadow with magic- and she knows that all too well.

    She floats off of the ground, her eyes scanning the depths of blackness that attempts to hide the crawling things grasping for her, but even in this darkness, it is as if she can see.

    She has the devil's own sight, and so far, the monster that they have encountered here has not impressed her. "Yes. You should be /very/ afraid." she remarks, the only intonation on her voice one of emphasis, and only then, around one word.

    Raven manipulates darkness and shadow as well as a master potter manipulates clay. Her hands pull free from her pockets, and she starts trying to pull at it- clawing as if it were some sort of living thing, and seeking to tear it free from its mooring. If generating the darkness was an act of aggression, this is surely a counter-aggression, from something that would register as... Well, of a kind perhaps very similar to the entity that has attacked the Hall so brazenly.

Alura In-Ze has posed:
Alura's exposure to assault magic has been limited so far. She gives a quick nod to Batman before he does his disappearing trick. It's a cool trick. She leaves the meeting room and joins the others as that red glows and the words echo through their minds.

"Superwoman here. This is well outside my wheel house. I defer to those who are adept in the arts of magic to set our goals here."

She folds her arms and looks through the wall at the panic'd people. False hope would be just as bad as the fear right now. Besides which she can feel it creeping in to her mind too. Her heart beating just a little faster.

Dick Grayson has posed:
    Making his way towards the promenade, Nightwing doesn't notice the first few tendrils, he's more focused on getting out to help the civilians visiting the Hall. Soon it's impossible to miss as it thickens, but he continues on until the mist envelops him and he can't see where he's going.

    <<Well, I think it's safe to say somebody's got a little grudge against the League.>>
    He reaches out to touch the wall beside him and uses that to guide himself onwards, his other hand out in front of himself so he doesn't smack face first into a wall or door. It's not certain what he'll be able to do even if he does make it to the Promenade, but hero instincts tell him to get out there and protect civilians.

Barry Allen has posed:
It's like the tide really, washing over those gathered within the Hall. A Hall that usually serves as such a beacon of light to those that it inspires, those that look to it for protection, or inspiration or just reassurance.

Now shrouded in increasingly complete and utter shadow and darkness.

It rolls over the crowds within, seeming to move through the room with a sort of precision, leaving in its wake increasingly vocal, increasingly shrill cries. That murk rises up, swallowing up the light until even those only a foot or so away can barely be made out, distant images readily lost and fading away.

And the beating of that unearthly heart speeds some more, filling one's ears with that pounding rhythm almost to the exception of everything else, dimming even the panicked cries of the crowd. And worse, those sudden silences when the screaming simply stops. The absence of sound.

And while that darkness seems nearly complete, around each of those present those same shadows begin to coalesce, shapes emerging from the darkness.

For Alura, it is a little thing at first. An orb, that slowly grows, takes on a clearer shape, all shades of black and grey. Clouds and continents, one so very familiar to her. And so foreign to anyone else present. And then the orb, the simulacrum of Krypton explodes into a million shards of drkness and another figure emerges from amongst them. All supreme, haughty confidence. Certainty. "We bring death wherever we go. Do you think it will be any different here, Alura?" comes Zod's mocking question.

The shadows might be the Dark Knight's home, as natural for him as any brightly lit day might be for another. But while on any other day they might be the familiar ally, today they are a threatening presence. One that manifests itself as... himself? An answering cape and cowl emerges from the dark, a true costume of shadows. "Well," comes that familiar, deep voice. "Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you going to fix this with some plan? You've traded enough for me afterall," Shadow-Batman points out as a pair of headstones loom up behind him.

"You're going to fail her, in the end you know. But then I suppose that stands to reason Cassie," intones that powerful voice as an image of Wonder Woman forms on the ground in front of her protege. "All my childred fail in the end," Zeus intones.

The dark that sweeps over Diana of Themysciria does not manifest a single fallen form. Not those of her friends, not that of her mother. Instead it sprawls out, somehow impossibly encompassing. Dark fires burn amongst shattered columns and hundreds, thousands of warrior women lay strewn about, slaughtered where they stood and fought to the last. "This will be your legacy, our legacy," says a dark figure, huge helmet obscuring any features. "But then you are more my child then my father's. Daughter of War," Ares mocks.

Barry Allen has posed:
"Well, you should certainly be used to this. The shadows. I mean, all of you seem to thrive in them," comes the familiar tones as yet again the figure that manifests out of that darkness by Dick Grayson is himself. "But then you were more or less crafted to be in the shadows weren't you? His shadow." And the darkness around Nightwing takes on the form of a bat.

"Found a way to talk yourself out of this one?" comes those oh so dulcet, sarcastic tones that should be familiar to one John Constantine. A flicker of light, like a match striking, lit actually seems to cut the darkness for a moment as that trenchcoated figure steps forward. "One of these days a snappy line of patter ain't gonna cut it John. Is today that day? Gonna finally fail everyone that matters?"

While Meggan might very well have the power to keep the shadows at bay more then many gathered here, they seem to press in, closer and closer, the chill of winter carried so very tangibly. Beckoned, by her very nature. And out of those shadows for a moment again light appears. That same promise, that same hope that seemed to fill the whole Hall minutes early. The promise of a brighter future. Little Cici, toddling towards her, arms outstretched. And then a sharp scream, one that could only come from a child, that darkness closes in as a 'Mummy!' sounds in the fey woman's ears. And when that figure manifests out of the shadows once more? No longer her child, but something twisted by the shadows. The 'Mummy' that comes this time is harsh, grating, and full of hatred.

For Monet, it is perhaps no surprise what is waiting for her in the dark. And as that murk closes in she too is greeted by a familiar figure. "We have been waiting for you sister," the monstrous features of her brother Emplate says harshly. "It is time that you joined us. Here in the darkness. I hunger," he adds, hand outstretching, impossibly large, larger then her. With that hungry, grasping mouth in the palm reaching for her.

When Oliver opens that door it is like he has stepped into another world. Or it has stepped into him. No stairwell waits for him beyond, just the harsh, unforgiving terrain that is so very familiar. Too familiar. "Welcome home Ollie," comes his own mocking voice as that shadowed Lian Yu rises up all around him.

"Do you have a handle on it? There's a lot of innocent people in here. A lot of fear. A lot of confusion. Are you up for it?" A figure moves behind Balm, wrapped in the shadows. As befits the protectors of Gotham. "You promised you had a handle on it. That you could control it. That you wouldn't let it control you," it continues, Red Robin's masked features suddenly appearing over her shoulder, that familiar voice going cold. "So why don't I believe you?"

Of everyone present, perhaps the only one the shadows don't press in on is Raven. Naturally enough. No one is more suited to keep them at bay afterall. No one is more suited to embrace them. So while she starts to seize upon that shadow stuff that is so much her perview, it responds. Obeys. All but one little thread of it that snakes closer, that swells and expands. "Why fight this? Isn't it better this way? Isn't this where we thrive? Where we belong?" the hooded figure that emerges out of that single strand of darkness asks, features hooded. Until that hood slowly slide back, a mirror to Raven's own. Aside from the quartet of glowing red eyes of course.

"Can you smell the fear kid? It's amazing, ain't it?" comes the rough, coarse voice so very familiar to Xiomara. "Wouldn't take much to add to it ya know. Really make these loser's hearts start beating in their chest. Ain't it about time that you do what comes naturally?" Shadow-Lobo asks, laying one beefy hand on his fellow Czarnian's shoulder.

John Constantine has posed:
For a moment, John might be a bit taken aback. If there's one thing that John's afraid of --deep down, the true thing, not the things that cause mild panic or worry or concern, but the thing that sinks him into darkness when he's alone and has time to think about it-- is himself. What he can do. The things he's willing to do to achieve a goal. The people he leaves behind like a burning bridge on the carcass of a mangled troll.

So seeing himself? Yeah, that was probably the best move this moppet could conjure for John Constantine.

But then, it _is_ John Constantine. He takes along drag of his cigarette, and points at the mirror image of himself. "I married a woman that can wipe the floor with me, an' had a kid with her that can do it _twice_, just so somethin' like _you_ wouldn't stand a _chance_, mate."

John flicks his cigarette at his doppelganger, pushes his his sleeves, and launches himself at it.

It's going to be a long night of some sort of self-flagellation for the Laughing Magician, it is.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
As she's ready to brace herself Monet goes to take a breath. She's hit with the image of her brother. He's not real. He's not real. He's not real. It takes all of her self control to face off against Emplate as she grits her teeth. "Funny, last time I saw you, brother, you were running off and screaming, fleeing for your life. As much as I might have hoped that it hadn't let you out again, finding you here working with someone else makes it all the more amusing. That showcases how far you've fallen and how pathetic you are. This almost makes it worth it. That you're having to play puppet on strings and dancing for someone else like a little ventriloquist's doll."

Monet has faced her brother. She has fought and lost. Saved by her friends and teammates despite herself. Her own arrogance shattered and the shell of the persona that is Monet all that kept her going. But now in irony that shell that desperately keeps her going, that she uses to throw everything away and drive people off.. Is enough to keep her together. To be able to anchor her own perspective in the patheticness of one another that she knows is. That makes resisting hte illusion, the impulse all the more.

Her brother is her deepest fear. She has not faced him and won, or driven it off. But all her arrogance and all it does to let her survive and the denial that keeps her above water.. The shell of desperation? For now that is what her trauma enables her to do. Be aware this isn't real. Because it's so pathetic that if it was she would be howling in laughter.

Because what can she hate, what can she loathe, what can she despise more than her brother?

Herself. And being able to redirect it at times like this is enough to keep her going. "now get out of my way, brother. I'm sure that everyone else will be shrieking with laughter at you seeing you perform. You should have youerself dance like a clown. I'm sure that your employer will find that a fitting use of your talents since you're clearly a waste every other way."

Denial, rage, loathing.. They keep her gonig. They let her shove away what she realizes on an intellectual level isn't him. That lets her showcase all of her own faults and rages to something else for now. She goes to send a mental broadcast <<Status update. Does anyone know where our attaker is comin from?>>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Red Robin's presence hadn't ticked on her domino. One that was made, specifically, for her when she started training under him with the Outsiders.

    Phoebe turns, guardedly at her best-friend and brother-at-arms, the Favored Brother as he accuses her. She grips her hands more tightly, her eyes narrowing as she takes a breath.

    "I promised a lot of people. *You're* the only one I haven't failed." she replies, her voice straining slightly as her shoulders shake.

    "The sparr with Superboy was an accident. No one got hurt -- you... you know that. I wouldn't hurt anyone I care about, not after what happened --" she trails off, her voice tightening slightly.

    Keep control, Phoebe. "You trust me! /You/ trust me. This is just -- something preying on the corners." she breathes out, and she balls up her left hand, turning to face the shadowy clone of Red Robin behind her and she goes to cast, but finds her voice dying in her throat.

    ... what if he didn't trust her?

Diana Prince has posed:
Once Diana reached the main promenade, she stopped outside of the archway in to the Museum of Heroes. Standing within the darkness, she scanned her eyes across the open area of the main hall. She could see Cassie at the far side of it, near the entrances, and she could see the forms of other familiar members. She could even hear the telltale signs of Batman being close. But as she looked, she felt something brushing her thighs. It drew her eyes down to the black tendrils of those strange dark tentacles. Pulling the lasso of truth from her leather harness, Diana took hold of the golden twine, willing the divine power to fill the length of rope, creating a powerful glowing hue of raw Godly power. She swept it down near to the tendrils of darkness that dared to drape themselves across her legs, but when she felt the landscape around her drift in to a misty haze of dark imagery, Diana's eyes rose up to see the looming face of her fearful foe that she'd heard stories about since she was a little girl, resting in her Queen mother's lap.

She spied the ruin of her homeland, and the figure that seemed to exude the pleasure in the destruction wrought upon her people. Diana grimaced at it all, her head shaking from side to side. "This is not real. This is magical manipulation..."

Within her mind, the Princess spoke further. 'We must find the source of this ill-omen bringer. It must be close.'

Is it the Injustice League? Circe? Quite likely, as far as Diana was concerned. She advanced further, headed deeper in to what she knew was the lobby of the Hall of Justice, doing her best to give the representation of Ares the 'cold' shoulder', and to keep the visual display of her fallen home from hindering her senses, for that would be giving in to these dark magics... even if it was challenging.

Like a bad dream, after a night of her mother telling her scary bedtime stories, so long ago.

Oliver Queen has posed:
To Oliver, it doesn't feel like he takes a step forward. The door in front of him opens and then all at once he is no longer in the Hall of Justice. No, he is back in that familiar landscape. Where he spent far too much of his life already. Some place that, while he might hope never to see again, somehow he always seems drawn back there.

Except it's a lot more monochromatic then he remembers.

Glancing around him, he keeps that Flare arrow extended in front of him though it no longer seems to do anything to cut down on the murk of the place. The line of his mouth tightens ever so slightly though that is the only reaction he allows himself.

"Bravo. Sooooooo spooky. I'm impressed. Really," the Emerald Archer says, retreating behind a veil of sarcasm that can serve him as well as any suit of armor.

He does not linger, does not dwell however. His solution? He closes his eyes. Plowing ahead blindly is a posture he has retreated to from time to time. And while it might seem counter-intuitive, they don't seem to be doing him a whole lot of good right now.

"Your eyes can deceive you. Don't trust them," he mutters. Then he lets muscle memory take over, stepping up like he is climbing the same stairwell he knows well. And feels each step under foot, no matter what his eyes might have tried to tell him. "Yeah, you've been Jedi'd Mr. Spooky Darkness."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
It is perhaps fitting that the two men who argued about the size of their egos were facing off against themselves when the fear attempted to crawl into their minds and plucked out what was deepest in their hearts.

For the Dark Knight, however, it is a shake of the head as the Shadow of the Bat presents a pair of tombstones, and asking what he has given up to become who he is.

"I traded nothing. They were taken. All of them." Not both of them? He continues to advance towards the Shadow. "What had to be done, was done." The Batman continues his advance, his eyes moving over the shadowy doppleganger. "But it was not done by me. I bear enough guilt for what I have done, but those deaths--" He points towards the two headstones. "I could not have caused those deaths. I was /born/ from them."

His statement made, his voice calm as ever, whether it through mental discipline or the faded aggression and fear, the Batman steps through the apparition, finding his way to a window. He leaps out, twisting as he casts a batpoon up to the wall. Secured, he swings away, crashing through the large window into the promenade. With a roll to absorb the momentum, he pops up to stand next to Diana.

"Hi."

Alura In-Ze has posed:
As if the first time seeing her world explode wasn't bad enough. Seeing it again makes Alura flinch. It is so visceral and embedded in her psyche that it's impossible not to react. That one single action shakes her out of whatever grasp she had on reality, on the Hall of Justice.

Floating in the midst of space with shards of Krypton blasting around her comes Zod. Though, this Zod is different. The Zod she knew took up arms against the High Council for their in action to save Krypton from its fate. This Zod wears the armor of the Kryptonian Hegemony - a monstrocity borne from an alternate timeline her twin sister Astra made.

She had never intended to turn Krypton in to an evil space conquering empire but her actions to defend Krypton from its own fate created just that. And now that Hegemony had broken through the barriers between time and had begun to invade their own universe.

Zod is upon her all of a sudden delivering his ultimatum. How can she stop a warlike version of her own civilisation from consuming this galaxy like they did their own. Her doubts bubble to the surface - she's not sure they can. But the act of resisting gives time and increases the chance that a solution will present itself.

Memories of the attack on New Krypton from the Hegemony are still fresh. Weapons fire raining down on their depleting shields as robots of war descended through the cracks in those same shields. The fight was street to street, it was bloody, and it was only through trickery that they survived.

Alura steels her jaw and lifts her chin, "You were born to war. It's all you know. You're blinded by anything that doesn't fit your understanding."

The Zod before her barks a harsh laugh, "And you think that matters? You're a victim of magic even now - we have even conquered that! There is no force in your universe different to our own that we have not already crushed."

Alura feels herself floating backwards away from him. Involuntarily she wants to flee from this man, from this situation. She has to fight herself to stop from doing it ... when a memory comes back to her. The Hegemony attacking Earth in that alternate timeline. A timeline where Earth never had a powerful Human presence. And yet, a battle raged on above its skies. The Amazons and the Atlantians were bringing the fight to the Hegemony. It was a stalemate - but it was Human technology that turned the tide in the battle of New Krypton.

"You're wrong -- without the thumb of the Hegemony pressing down upon world after world, those same worlds have grown strong and powerful and they will resist you. And ... we will be there to tip the scales against you."

Dick Grayson has posed:
    "Yeah, we do. We understand the power of the dark, of fear used as another weapon in the arsenal. Batman trained me to use it to protect people who can't protect themselves from the dangers they're exposed to every time they step out of their doors."

    He reaches over his shoulders and pulls his batons from their sheathes. "I've faced off against Scarecrow, so I'm fairly used to fear. I use it, others use it, it's something I can face and defeat. So is that all you've got? Because if it is, you're wasting my time."

    His body is reacting a bit differently than his bravado filled words suggest, however. His heart rate is up, and he's holding hard on to the thought of not allowing an imposed fear to affect him. It's somewhat successful, especially since all it's done so far is tell the truth... he and his family do feel at home in the shadows, and there's no question that he was trained to help and most likely eventually replace Batman.

    Taking a deep breath, he walks forward directly towards his doppelganger. Once it's in arm's reach, he flicks one of the batons at it's head to see if it's merely a phantom or something more solid.

    "And if you realize I was trained to use the darkness to my advantage, why would you be stupid enough to put me into it?"

Rachel Roth has posed:
    The shadows twisting and forming around not herself, but others, causes Raven some pause. There is much to consider- she can feel it... Doing something. She can tell that it's responding- the shadow abating around her, responding to her command...

    It's all /too/ easy.

    Her eyes narrow just as she acknowledges that it isn't responding with pain that she can discern, but instead changing its tactic- that causes her to change hers as well. She releases her grip, and in that moment, it spawns a visage of herself.

    It is difficult to tell if Raven's expression is any more upset than normal, most of the time. She has a terse neutrality to her- a resting face of general disapproval that unsettles most of those she meets. When the Shadow-Raven appears? Raven's expression does darken. She is not amused.

    From on high, Raven descends, until she is face to face with what could be her future. It taunts her with the possibility. The reality, that it would all be so effortless to give into the clarion call of her own power. The constant pull at the back of her head- its voice not her own, but that of her progenitor. Her eyes now are spiteful slits, gazing into the glowing red of her duplicate's.

    "If you have to ask," she begins, "Then you are a poor imitation." Surely, the beast has gotten a rise out of her. In a way, a herculean task- but so few are able to know what she is predestined to become should her father remain alive to tempt her so constantly. It has earned, in that regard, a level of respect. She respects its ingenuity, and its power of knowledge. She takes it seriously.

    It might not be happy that it did.

    "I am not going to fight you." she replies to the specter after a moment, "That implies that your chances are less than zero in this encounter."

    It is then that she reaches out, and pulls at the shadows once again- levying the entirety of her magical might. But, the question remains, what to do with them? Dispel them? Send them back from whence they came, to where she does not know? No. Raven begins consuming them. If they obey her command, then she will draw them with all of her strength of will into her soul-self, a condemnation of a kind that is... Horrible for anyone to experience, that terrible void.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Slowly the darkness gathers in, twisting under the surface that remains as pliable as a river and as capricious as a breeze. Flesh provides no barrier to the ideas percolating in a vile form, corruption that seeps into Meggan's very core. Gaea's youngest daughter only retains her human appearance with some conscious effort, and self-control becomes a losing battle through dozens of puncture wounds.

All the heroes and civilians suffering terror is merely a wellspring for her to drink from. She stares at the pale-haired child bearing more a stamp of Constantine than her white-haired mother, though they both carry the sharply slanted ears. "Mummy" in all sweetness and spite slashes a deep wound through which the remaining terrors shared among others hit the raw nerve of her empathy. She is the lodestone, their pain and emotion welded to her.

Pain, a feast, a banquet. Despair, life-giving manna for the slender, nearly invisible woman. Rage, burning deep at the core, reflected from John.

Winter rules, and she is ruled by the everlasting sorrowful cold. In silence she spreads her hands. To greet the nightmare of her own flesh and blood. To ward her daughter off.

Cold tears slide down her face and pour out of the tears and lacerations splitting Meggan's psyche. She is air. She is darkness. One with the boundless sorrow, she joins with that ocean channelled through herself and hurls it full-bore right back at Ceci Constantine. Or whatever wears her face.

Xiomara Rojas has posed:
The darkness that creeps along the ground, moves by legs and feet, slides up the walls, it is all completely logical in Crush's mind. This is a creature of magic, a powerful monster, perhaps even an alien entity. The way that the humans around her begin to scream and panic, it's clear and logical that it is doing something to them.

Logical thinking is all well and good, it helps in so many situations, allows for the mental control she was always striving to maintain... to keep the temper, the rage that flowed in her veins away. In any other situation, it worked, and had continued to work for a few years now.

This was not a situation where in logic worked.

Hit by his scent, a mixture of so many places and things that the human olfactory could never comprehend the full level of foulness. The sound of his voice, the gruffness, whispering words that went completely unheard. And then the hand touched her shoulders and the human world went red.

Even as she was whipping around to face him, Obelus was uncoiling from around her waist, expanding out to her full length. The sentient chain did not perceive the danger that caused Xiomara's rage, to her there was nothing but shadows before them. It changed nothing for the chain, her ward was terrified, enraged, and this meant that the sentient entity would do whatever it took to aid her.

Crush's right knee comes up quick and with every ounce of her strength to strike at the one and only part of Lobo's body that the Czarnian really treasured... the jewels.

"YOU DO NOT TOUCH ME!" she bellowed as he started to double over, which is when the left knee comes up to meet his face. "I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU!"

For Crush the moment she learned that this piece of space trash was in fact her father, and everything that happened as a result of that discovery, came flooding back to her. Rage, agony, loss, grief, and with each emotion she struck the Shadow-Lobo.

Cassie Sandsmark has posed:
Huh. Shadow Zeus. Well that's a mostly pretty new one...

For a moment, Cassie stands face to face, or perhaps, floats, even still looking up at the figure, because any plucked-from-her-mind visage of the King of Olympus is definitely going to be a bit larger-than-life, regardless of any OTHER opinions she has upon her divine deadbeat dad. At first, she seems lost for an answer. But not for long!

"Yeah this is totally creepy and a pretty good impression, but it would probably be more convincing if, like, you didn't hit us with the ominous cloud of black darkness oozing tentacles first?" Cassie has more experience with magical nonsense than she would probably prefer, even if she's not terribly well versed in it. It just kind of comes with the territory of her background and work. "But like, real Zeus? Shadows? Nah. He'd throw a thunderbolt down through the roof of the place, make a pronouncement, and then run off with one of the single moms from Diana's hero day thing..."

She looks around. "Honestly the tentacles are scarrier."

None of this is to say that the assessment about her and Diana might not be true. If it is, she doesn't comment on it, instead holding her focus to the fact that Evil Shadow Oozes are probably not reliable narrators. Also, somewhere out there, she hears the real Diana, closer now. "Di?" Even if she's convinced this isn't real, it's still... well, a prison? A maze of a kind, and she's not too sure about getting out. Still floating, she flies in different directions, seeing how the shadows may track and follow her, looking for any 'touchstone' to home in on.

Barry Allen has posed:
Increasingly those cries out in the darkness are growing fainter, growing fewer in number though how much that is people succumbing and how much that is simply the sensory illusions that seem to be playing havoc with everyone present is a matter for some debate. But the slow fade of that overwhelming din does not seem to bring any relief, any sense that the tide has somehow turned. Only that it is all about to get so much worse.

Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best, right? When in doubt, pummel your problems into submission. It can be surprisingly effective and when Constantine launches himself at his doppleganger it actually seems surprised. No clever magic trick or attempt to talk his way out of the whole thing. Rolling across the ground the pair are swallowed up in the mirk. Where the Laughing Magician will no doubt emerge unscathed. Yet again.

That defiance, so fuelled by anger, so fueled by rage seems to make Monet's brother take a certain delight, those hidden features concealing any hint of a smile. But there is something about those dark, shadowed slits of eyes that seem to reflect a certain savage joy. "Yeeessssss. That's right sister. Fight me. Hate me. I would take you, take our sisters. I would feed on you and make you dance to my tune. Give me your rage," he hisses, swinging wildly at her. And gleaming there, somehow darker then the shadow stuff he is made out of is a tiny crystal of absolute night.

"Do I? Trust you?" comes the mocking question from features that are so familiar, and yet so different. All shadows, degrees of greys and blacks with none of the life normally present in Tim Drake. "You haven't failed me. Yet. That's the big addendum there right? You've failed everyone else, but oh no, never me," he scoffs, sneering at Balm. "But there's a way you could change that. A way you could truly find control Phoebe," Red Robin goes on, that voice taking on a more wheedling quality. "Take my hand," he says quietly, extending that hand. And that faint gleam of an oh so black diamond in his palm.

Like others present, the will of Princess Diana is ironclad, shrugging off the desolation that plays out before her. Like others have found their defense, that glowing lasso in her hands does seem to keep the darkness at bay, at least some, the Truth, perhaps, winning out. For now. But it's radius seems oh so small, and beyond it the shadowed Hall is still overlayed with the ruins of Themiscyira everywhere, her dead sisters all seeming to have fallen so they can stare at her with blank, lifeless eyes. Accusing eyes. "Does it make you angry, Princess? That for all your talk of peace, this is who you are? A warrior? My warrior," Ares continues to mock, only a few steps behind her, all armor and darkness as befits a God of War. "Don't you want to lash out?" he asks, the darkness about him seeming to distil, concentrate around that gleaming dark crystal square in the center of his helmet.

"Oh good, rushing in blindly. That's our specilaity, isn't it?" Oliver's voice continues to mock him, even as he turns a blind eye to the shadowed landscape of Lian Yu and instead climbs unseen stairs, higher and higher, closer to his friends and allies above. "What are you even doing here? Amongst these alien gods and princesses out of mythology? You've thought about it, you know the truth. What is a bow and arrow next to the power to turn someone into a pig?" his own voice asks himself mockingly as a sudden, familiar squeal sounds ahead and a familiar shadow-pig comes galloping down the stairs towards the archer, black diamond gleaming at it's core.

Barry Allen has posed:
What's more effective then running away from your problems? Swinging away. The Dark Knight has certainly dwelled upon the death of his parents more then a little in his life, been shaped by it. So what is one more dark voice whispering in the shadows compared to all of that. Instead as Batman lands beside Diana, looming up to confront the dark beside her he doesn't find himself pursuing. Instead, where the Amazon looks out on a sea of dead sisters, for Bruce it is a sea of dead proteges. A cackling, laughing figure sheathed in shadow rearing up before him, bloody crowbar dripping and a black diamond gleaming from the back of it.

"So confident. So arrogant. I rather admire that," the shadowy figure of Zod says, smile curving over those features that are somehow familiar, and yet not. And when Alura reflexively recoils, floats away, he simply flies after her. "Of course such fire, such confidence didn't save Krypton did it? Anymore then your new found might could prevent all those deaths on your new home. Maybe it is time to look for... other weapons? More powerful weapons?" the shadow tyrant suggests, extending a hand and the crystal of midnight within.

"Well then, it looks like you have all the cards, don't you? So calm, so controlled. Your mentor would be proud," the shadow-figure of Nightwing mocks, giving a sharp bark of laugher when those batons suddenly appear in his hands. "Then I'm sure you have nothing to fear. No need to worry about whether you can live up to your legacy. Whether you can fill *his* boots when the time comes, do you?" the dark reflection of Dick Grayson continues to mock before lashing out with one of it's own escrima sticks, this one tipped with a black diamond. "And yet somehow, I don't believe you..."

It is an onslaught that few could ever hope to stand against, all that emotion, pouring into a virtual sponge for such things. And it just goes on and on, feeding Meggan's power. But that shadowed form of her daughter, dark and twisted by shadow and darkness seems to drink it in, feed on it. "Yeeeessssss, so angry. So cold. Give it all to meeeeeee, Mummy!" Cici Constantine pleads, The facade she, it?, wears begins to crack, overwhelmed at last, shadow and dark melting away until only that singular, concentrated point of hate lingers in the form of a gleaming black diamond hanging in front of Meggan.

That surge of rage is like a rush and the shadows around Xiomara seem to cheer on her sudden burst of violence, singing out songs of satisfaction, of righteousness as she gives the always so charming Czarnian a well deserved knee right where the sun doesn't shine. Lobo staggers back in extremely satisfying manner, stumbling and clutching at those cherished family jewels before raising his head and abruptly straightening, flashing that oh so impudent, unapologetic grin at her. "That the best you got kid? I'm kinda disappointed," he says, motioning with one hand for her to bring it. ASnd the shadows in the very center of his chest, his heart, seem to concentrate, a diamond of black forming out of all that shadow.

"Does it matter if I'm real, daughter?" Zeus asks, voice seeming to boom, echo through the Hall around them, a Hall that is all but impossible to make out because of the darkness. "That's right, run back to her. Seek out her protection, as if that will somehow be enough," he calls out after Cassie as she does what others have smartly done. Sought out the familiar, sought out friends, allies. The darkness does not seem to press quite so heavily with others around, does it? "But if you want thunderbolts..." the shadow-god calls after her, a crackling streak of shadow and dark streaking towards her, a gleaming black diamond at it's center.

Barry Allen has posed:
Perhaps it is no surprise that of all of them, the first one that the shadowy presence gives up on is Raven. It might annoy her, might remind her of her ultimate potential. Of what she could become, projected out of her nightmares. But shadows can't really hurt her can they? And temptation, well she certainly deals with plenty of that on a regular basis. So no more mocking images or words come her way, and instead the shadows do not even try to resist her grasp, her lure, her mastery. They freely give themselves over, letting her tear at the edge of that veil that lies over the Hall of Justice. To reveal the fates of those at the fringes of the promenade, those swallowed up first. Faces, full of rage, and hate and fear. Too pale faces all marked by a semi-circle of shadow covering one half of their features. And all, balefully, turning their eyes towards the Daughter of Trigon.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
And that mocking tone is enough to stop Monet over in her tracks. Now rage builds over her and takes the place of dismissal. She knows this isn't real, but that it's meant to manipulate her, but her rage overtakes all of her logic. "You won't hurt them again. You will hurt me.. But you will never touch them again. You can never hide from me Marius. Wherever you go, whatever dimension you hide in, you will be there until you starve to death." It takes her a few heavy breaths. "But that's the point of all of this, isn't it? A little game. Tell me, then, o Brother.. Since you killed her, what was mother's favorite song? The one that she used to sing to you at night to soothe you to sleep? That was special, just between the two of you. THat was your's and your's alone?"

She switches it up wtih her brother's image. Asking a question so personal that only the real thing would know. Attempting to bypass the moccking and hit the alter with a question that it would have to answer or lose the power of reflection. That was how one tried to trip things up. To make it blatant, to make it concrete, something that it couldn't answer for reality.

If you clapped your hands and had faith, then it would go away. Monet simply tries to bulldoze her way throuhg it with logic. With the way one fought illusions. Even as she speaks to him, she goes to focus. Focus..

And then it's gone as less than stubbornness drives it away, and a sense that it wasn't her donig at all. That takes a few breaths from her to reorient around.. And then to see upon legions and legions of..

French is a language where even the insults are as one put it, as smooth as silk. as a latin language, pleasure to the tongue to rol loff of, almost dainty in a way.

"Merde." S***

Xiomara Rojas has posed:
In any other situation on Earth, or in space, Crush would be able to maintain some level of control. Even at the space dock when the little grey men were messing with her mind, she never lost herself to the rage. Lobo just seemed to have that very special ability to call it out of her.

Functioning comprehensive thought was an impossibility for the half-Czarnian, so instead of trying she just continued her attacks. A year of training with the Titans, listening to Superman's advice, honing her skills and combat abilities... it was all present in the attacks. Precise strikes to key locations all with the knowledge that like herself, they did nothing but /GAWDS/ did it feel good to just beat the crap out of him.

It was Obelus who saw the light, so to speak. The changing shadows revealed to her senses the exact required action, a strike with the diamond headed blade at the end of the chain to the heart of the shadows. Her attempts to sooth and calm her ward with images of the truth, of peace, of serenity had thus far failed, so she took it upon herself to do what was needed.

Coiling upwards like a cobra, the diamond blade serving as the head, she hovered a moment there. Her 'tail', the other end of the chain, struck out at the shadow on a location of distraction as the diamond head sprang through the air with lightening speeds to strike at the diamond of black hovering in the shadow before her.

Diana Prince has posed:
When Batman appears beside Diana, she gives him a look of great concern, conveying the words without even having to say them to her friend. But the taunting voice of Ares draws her eyes back on to his war-tarnished visage. From her hip, the golden glowing lasso of Hestia twirls upward, its shimmering twine wrapping around the blue leather grip of Diana's sword over her own left shoulder.

"It is better to be a warrior in a garden..." Diana states, stepping past some of the fallen forms of her sisters, as she wraps the lasso around her fists, one after the other, while it hangs from the hilt of her blade behind her back.

"But, when the garden is gone, all that is left is to fight." She states, before her right hip dips forward, and her left hand tugs hard on the shining lasso's length. Her sword is drawn from her leather harness without the use of a hand upon it, and instead, she steps forward upon her lasso, causing the rope to go taught beneath her weight, while her right hand begins to twirl it rapidly above her head, the sword becoming a deadly whirling blade!

The glowing rope of Wonder Woman is likely visible to Cassie's eyes through the darkness, giving her that touchstone she was searching for, able to see where her sister is in the dark.

Lunging forward, with one leg extended out behind her, the other bent at the armored apex of her knee high boot, Diana lashes out with her whirling bladed lasso, sending it straight toward the faux-Ares' neck!

Alura In-Ze has posed:
Alura is drawn in to a memory. Jor, Zor, Lara, Alura, and Zod all sitting out on a balcony overlooking the city. There's emergency vehicles rushing by as one of the quakes has ruptured the side of a glorious gleaming building. There's nothing any of them can do to help at this point.

"The council is keeping the truth from us. When we were children these quakes were small, nothing. Now - it's every other week. Bigger, more devastating." Zod was the one to break the silence first.

"This again?" Lara says with a sigh and gets up to go fetch some wine from the kitchen.

"What would you do about it. Take up arms against them? violence is always your answer." Jor states.

Zod goes quiet a moment, "Your appeals, plans, studies, they've all fallen on deaf airs. Isn't that right Zor?"

Alura frowns a moment, "What you're talking about is treason. They must have their reasons. A bigger stick isn't always the answer..."

Zod stood up and stared down at his friends. "You said it yourself Jor. The planet is dying. What more is there to do but to make them listen."


Alura snaps back to the moment - that black crystal offered in his hand. More violence. A bigger stick. It's what she thought she wanted. But surrounding them still are fragments of Krypton. They should be killing her. They should be killing him. They should be laced with Kryptonite but ... this man is not Zod and this is not real.

She draws her hand back from the offering. "The only path to failure is inaction... who are you?" Her curiosity is starting to get the better of her. For some reason the fear is starting to abate and the analytical part of her mind is taking back over.

Cassie Sandsmark has posed:
Flee as she does, the shadow-Zeus calls after her. Can she escape this mire? Perhaps, perhaps not on her own. Yet in the distant dark, Cassie soon spies the beacon that cannot possibly be extinguished by it: Diana's golden weapon, the Lasso of Truth. It is antithesis to deception by its very nature, and as soon as that light is within her physical sightline, she locks on to it, zooming ahead!

What she doesn't expect is for the Shadow thing to take her advice. Maybe she shouldn't be giving that out?

The shadow thunderbolt streaks after her, mid-flight toward Diana's direction. Instinctively, she raises her bracers, ready to block it, although it is uncertain if this is effective. Against true magical bolts, certainly. Against corruptive dark things? That is hard to say.

Yet in the last moment, she is saved from finding out! Not only does she fly toward Diana, but the other Amazon leaps toward her in turn, lashing out with her improvised lasso-sword (improvised is probably the wrong word given how often they do this trick - Cassie did it one of the last times they did a Justice League thing together! it's and old-y, but a good-y). The weapon streaks ahead, and Cassie twists in the air to let it pass her, so that the flying blade can strike and dispel the creature before it's dreaded bolt reaches her!

"Phew. Thanks. Uh... so, like, what the hell is all of this? Do we just... do I gotta hold all these people still while you lasso-dispel them? I don't think I've ever fought diamond-face."

Oliver Queen has posed:
It's the squeal that gets him in the end. That damn squeal. If Ollie is honest, he still hears it in his nightmares sometimes. What a damn stupid thing to make him reevaluate things. To reevaluate his place in the League, to reevaluate what really matters to him. A few minutes spent as delicious potential bacon.

And it gets him again, making him crack his eyes open a little, just enough. And all at once he is no longer on that stairwell. He is instead back on that shadowy Lian Yu. Every sense tells him he is. The roar of the distant ocean crashing against the rocks and jagged shoals that make it so difficult to approach. The smell of the jungle after the afternoon rains. Even the long grasses tickling at his legs. "

Stupid pig," Oliver growls, bringing that bow up at once, tugging an arrow from his quiver in one smooth motion and letting it fly. He doesn't care if it's all in his head or not. There is a certain satisfaction of having something visceral to shoot at.

And as always, that arrow flies true, striking the charging piglet right in the center of it's head, right where that black diamond gleams. Diamond might be the hardest substance on earth, but this one shatters, breaking into a thousand pieces that melt away.

Just like the pig. Just like Lian Yu. And Ollie abruptly finds himself in that stairwell again, the darkness suddenly gone, the lights around him flickering back to life as the red glow from the emergency lighting begins to fade away. <<Did we win? It feels like we won,>> the Emerald Archer thinks really hard as he charges up the stairs and pushes open that door at the top of them.

And looks out over the promenade full of angry-look shadow people, the nearest of whom turn to glare at him with those hate filled eyes of black.

<<Takin' that back.>>

Dick Grayson has posed:
    Nightwing blocks the first strike, then the hall fills with the sound of baton meeting baton in a dance of attack and defense. This is the easy part, the fight comes naturally to him at this point.

    "Yeah, I'm not immune to fear by any means... but I'm fairly used to it at this point." *parry, parry, strike* "And I don't need to fill his boots, because unlike him for so long, I'm not alone. There's more than enough of us to get the job done." *strike, roll, strike*

    His eyes narrow behind his domino mask and he continues "But I'm guessing you don't know much about people having your back and sharing your troubles, do you? Your type is usually solo." With a grim smile, he tries to drive his verbal attack home. "Alone because nobody wants to be around you. Trying to manipulate others through fear because nobody wants to actually work with you, do they?"

    One important part of Batman's training is in observation, and the one thing that stands out in this encounter is that diamond. The verbal mockery is aimed at one thing... distracting the doppelganger enough to smash one baton directly onto it, the other hitting the wrist to try and make it drop the diamond topped baton if the strike doesn't break it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm reaches out for Tim's hand. She'd never purposefully disappoint him -- her first mentor, her friend... her brother, and for the briefest moment she feels a flare of fire against her skin, against the tattoo work that guards her broken heart.

    "No." she breathes out, her eyes drawing upwards towards 'Red Robin's' face.

    "We've been through too much together for me to fall to someone wearing his face." she whispers, "And I've only got room for /one/ Spirit of Vengeance in my heart." she breathes out.

    Balm raises her right hand, and the glow of the desert sun at midday forms in her palm as she concentrates, opening herself to The Source, The Light, and focuses needle-sharp. Sharp as a sword. Sharp as a widow's sting, trying to trap this little bite, this whiff of darkness in her own magics.

    The supernatural healer turns her gaze to the false Red Robin, with its black diamond-glow in his outstretched as concrete and tile rattle and rumble beneath her feet as her hand splays out, golden-pinkish light eminating from her as she focuses her energies.

    Ages ago she had pushed dark energies out of Diana and woken the Amazon from a cursed slumber. She did it untrained, not fully understanding the Shard inside of herself.

    And now she knows.

    The needle becomes a broadsword, a tightly controlled flood of light energies as Balm unleashes her purifying powers.

    "I will not be taken so easily -- I am not such easy prey, Eclipso!"

    The immediate area around her fills with the scent of roses and black pepper and the sharp citrus sting, the olfactory results of her powers being used as she tries to shove the spirit bound in that stolen black diamond out, and send him back to where he belongs!

Bruce Wayne has posed:
    The way the Batman stiffens as the tableau changes is noticeable, if anyone were watching him and not their own personal horrors play out.

These are trades that The Dark Knight has made, and these were fully on him. He guided the children to these roles. He put them in harm's way. He forged them into weapons. They were victims.

But then he hear something, beyond the graveyard. A voice. 'I'm not immune to fear...but I'm fairly used to it'.

It reverberates, and the headstones begin to crack. The Batman starts walking in the direction of that voice, and as the spectral hands of his would be injured or maimed sidekicks try to reach at him from the beyond, the very real voice of one punctuates the shadow.

'You don't know much about people having your back.'

The headstones begin to crack, and the Dark Knight begins to run towards the source of that voice. The hands grow more desperate, but he is limber, and he is charging towards that voice. That confident voice, built up from a boy to a man to a leader.

As Dick's defeats his own doppleganger to emerge from the shadow, that image is replaced by that of the Batman, guided out of his own shadow by the voice of his former pupil.

There can be no fear of failure when one of Batman's greatest successes serves as a beacon in the darkness. So often for those he saves, but this day, for his mentor.


Bruce nods to Dick.

"Nightwing."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    Raven consumes the shadow with aplomb, unsure if she is pulling the whole being into her soul-self, or if it will merely dissipate the effect. What she does know is that the being of temptation, its manifestation of her as Trigon would have her, is unmade with her devouring of the all-consuming darkness.

    When it retreats, Raven is left in the promenade, and she takes a spare moment to survey her surroundings. While her expression has returned to its ever-present disaffected neutrality, what she sees before her is altogether disconcerting. It is a difficult thing to miss, and one that she cannot abide- but more, it is intensely foreboding.

    It is not every day that one gains the attention of Eclipso. She was not his target- it was mere happenstance, something that frankly does not truly exist in her line of work, that she happened to be here at all. Fortuitous, in one way: Raven is uniquely suited to the dangers presented by Eclipso's manipulations. She has a mastery of shadow magic, and she has an impeccable control over emotion.

    That does not mean that this situation is any less dangerous. Eclipso is not an entity that can be underestimated.

    There is a long inhale as Raven takes to the skies above the crowd, what is sure to be a momentary respite. There's no telling who else has fallen to his control, and who of them can fly. When she speaks, her voice is a boom, echoing through the room by amplification of her own magic. "Everyone!" she calls, "Stay absolutely calm! He feeds on rage, he feeds on fear. Even righteous anger can be turned against you!"

    Eclipso is an incredible threat... But so is Raven. The Pride of Trigon, the Daughter of Darkness. An Empath of the highest order, pitted against an ancient enemy that feeds on the worst aspects of emotion.

    Her eyes turn black, around each a shimmering corona of brilliant white. Her voice, no longer booming, but still audible, repeats the calming mantra from her adoptive home.

    "Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos."

    Rage becomes calm. Fear becomes courage. Raven taps into the crowd of civilians, and pulls from them these concepts, devouring their emotions. It is a visible process- shreds of darkness flying through the air at Raven like ash upon the wind, like light caught in the gravity of a black hole. In all her splendor, Raven flies above the afflicted Eclipso-slaves and around her is the visage of a great, black bird, her soul-self made manifest.

Barry Allen has posed:
Again and again, throughout the Hall, the results are much the same. Increasingly those shadows that lay so thickly everywhere are drawn away, drawn back, the curtain pulled aside to reveal the light of the sun. Or if not quite the sun, at least a sort of greyish illumination, the sort one might find on a cloudy, overcast day. No warmth. But at least they can see again, moreso then the few inches beyond their noses. Moreso then just what the shadow wants them to to see.

For some of them it is that direct, physical intervention that comes to their rescue. Crush smashes the black diamond at the heart of Lobo and the image of her tormentor dissipates in a thousand broken shards. Diana lashes out with lasso and sword, cleaving through Ares in a single blow and all that's left is that black diamond tinkling to the floor, bouncing a handful of times across the marble tiles before simply melting away, first into a puddle of darkness and then simply disappearing entirely. And then that lassoed sword strikes home at the bolt streaking towards Cassie, dealing with that shard of darkness as well.

Arrows prove a match for them as well, shattering shadow-pig and shadow-diamond both and Nightwing's baton proves just as effective, catching his shadow-duplicates just right, not only catching and parrying the strike, but cracking the diamond. Just as his shadowy doppleganger filles with cracks and dissolves in a burst of light.

Others bring the other end of the spectrum. Their will, their determination, their conviction. And in it's own way it serves every bit as well as those precision physical strikes. Monet's questioning of her brother, her refusal to buy into the shadow illusions being peddled. Of Alura turning away from the proffered violence, of dark powers to match the dark hearts of the enemy she stands against. Of Balm casting her defiance that tries to wheedle it's way into a hold on her through the bonds of friendship. Of the Dark Knight turning his back on fear and letting the retreating darkness simply melt away those shadow-taunts.

No matter their tool, the darkness retreats, coalesces and is finally devoured by the floating young woman. Throughout the room the odd person stands, unaffected and unchanged by Eclipso's attempt to corrupt them. The black diamonds, the shadowed-slaves, all leave little doubt of just who is behind the attack -- at least for most present. And while not all are effected, most are.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes turn upward towards Raven, towards the consumer of shadow, and as if one single entity they lift the black diamonds that they clutch to their shadowed features, to hold them close to their eye as if peeering through it. And each and everyone of those gems gleam with growing dark energy, swelling, ready to lash out. Fed by anger. Fed by rage and hatred and fear.

And then those emotions are consumed to and those shadowed faces, so filled with anger go blank. A hundred and more diamonds fall away from suddenly limp hands, clattering across the floor, each jostle, each clink almost painful. Full of cold. The sound so high-pitched to tear at the ears. And then each of those diamonds melts away too leaving nothing behind.

That beating, unearthly heartbeat suddenly stops and the scream of rage that comes from Eclipso is enough to crack glass, to send dozens of people to their knees. Then his presence flees, the sky in that cracked dome overhead clears and the cool winter sunshine pours back into the Hall of Justice.

Warming no one. But the dark, the dark is banished. For now.

Diana Prince has posed:
When that darkness fades away, replaced by the cold winter sun, Diana pulls her sword back in to her hand now, clutching it by the leather wrapped hilt. She eyes her sister with a lingering gaze, before she assesses that she's in well enough condition. Wonder Woman turns then, allowing her eyes to roam around the interior promenade of the Hall of Justice. She is surveying the situation, looking for injured, or those still in immediate danger.

Finally, she slides her sword back in to its scabbard upon her back, and with a heavy exhale, she shakes her head. "This is not helping us with our public facing presentation here." It is a voiced concern, one skirting the topic at-hand.. at least for now.

That topic being 'Who the hell did this, and how do we put them in a very well protected cell?'

With her boots crunching on some of the broken glass upon the floor, Diana moves toward the Museum of Heroes to help guide the civilian visitors to safety from the besiged Hall of Justice.

Dick Grayson has posed:
    Nightwing returns the nod, replying "That was unpleasant," before the earshattering scream breaks the dome. Fortunately his comm units also provide active hearing protection, so eardrums do not go the same way.

    He looks up to Raven, watching her for a moment before commenting, "Probably a good thing she was here today, it might have been more than a little hard dealing with all these people without hurting anyone."

    Raising his voice, he calls out "Ok, anyone who wasn't affected check on the folks who were. We could have medical issues here, let's start checking people and consider getting some ambulances here for anyone who might need them."

    He may not actually be part of the Justice League, but there's a lot of people who need help here, and he's going to get that help rolling as quickly as possible.

    As Crush rampages past and through a small souvenir stand he yells "Are any of the Kryptonians here to hold her down?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe comes out of her pocket of darkness. The swirls of pink and gold around her fade away as the light retracts, and she collapses to her knees, giving a deep gasp out, and curling up slightly, armored knees crunching.

    "I'm okay! I can help with the medical!" she whispers out, and with a flick of her wrist and an extending staff, she pushes herself up. "That was... unpleasant."

Rachel Roth has posed:
    When all is said and done, when that scream of rage and impotence echoes through the hall, Raven begins to drift towards the ground. She is entirely silent, but that seems altogether normal.

    What isn't entirely normal is the fact that light does not seem to be penetrating her hood for a time, as she stands there on the ground. The massive bird encircles her with its wings, and her hands slip into the pockets of her hooded sweater.

    She seems like a statue for a while, not assisting with the evacuation or with the Crush Problem, nor taking part in any celebratory snark.

    She's just... Standing there. For an awkwardly long time. Then, there is an exhale, as she releases the rage and fear that she had devoured, allowing the crowd to Feel again, just in time to be calmed by the presence of Diana, and ushered to safety.

    "Today was great. I had fun. Let's never do that again." she says, to nobody in particular.

Xiomara Rojas has posed:
Thankfully for the citizens of Metropolis, and for the buildings, cars, etc. Obelus makes the decision that the destruction of a souvenir stand was more than enough damage beyond removing the shadow.

It is not unusual for the chain to stop her ward from doing harm to others, but it is uncommon for others to witness it. Just as the sentient being once did to Lobo, she wraps herself around Crush's upper body and legs. As the half-Czarnian goes down screaming and thumping against the floor, Obelus merely drags her off to a private room to wait out the rage... as with all things, this too shall end.