JustIce League: The Malignant Uprising

The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend

The Grave of Kara

Hawkman and Martian Manhunter exchanged a worried glance. Manhunter's eyes gleamed with sorrow and regret. The feelings mixed and knotted together in the most unpleasant of ways that made his abdomen feel sick. Manhunter watched Hawkman carefully. His eyes were still, but observant. Manhunter knew that Hawkman needed less emotions to deduce a conclusion, and Manhunter grew fearful while observing the twisted evil silence in the air between the three men.

Manhunter stood still and rigid. Human emotions were the most complicated thing he had experienced while staying on Earth. They drove his friends crazy one way or another. They lead anybody to act too quickly and not think about the consequences. This war was no different from the others. This time emotions had blocked clear logic for everyone, including himself.

Superman stood defiant. His eyes were red as he looked toward the dusty horizon like a tall, emotionless drone. A robot. Clark thought about what to do. He knew he wanted revenge, a thing he thought that would fill the void inside himself. He stopped his busy thoughts. What would revenge mean? Superman doesn't kill anyone or anything. Murder is wrong, but capturing her didn't work. It didn't end her. She was an irritating wasp that only stung harder the more you pinned her down, but bugs die when their stingers are eliminated.

Clark had to end her. He had to eliminate the source of the nest. The infection. The disease. He turned toward his teammates and relaxed his shoulders.

Manhunter took slow steps toward Clark. "Think carefully about the next words you choose to say."

Clark released the fists at his sides, "I have ruined the team." Manhunter and Hawkman held their tongues as he continued his speech. "I have ruined the team and there's no doubt in my mind that I just ruined everything we worked so hard to build over the past years. I let my rage and anger lead me blindly into a war they wanted me to fight. There is no question of how this will affect us. Who knows how many of us have died following me into a battle we can hardly fight. I'm sorry." Clark turned away and let out a sigh.

Manhunter looked at Hawkman and then back at Superman, "are you sorry?"

"For killing Hawk Girl? No." Hawkman clenched his fists and turned away from Clark. He didn't understand how he could say such a thing.

"She would have killed more people, more of us, if I didn't stop her. I'm sorry she won't come back, but it wasn't my fault she became what she did. It was the Complex."

Hawkman spread his wings and stared at Clark. He wanted to kill him. He folded them back. He knew that this was what the Complex wanted. He knew that they wanted to make the heroes fight against each other and make everyone part ways so that the Complex could pick them off one by one.

Manhunter stepped away from Clark and closer to Hawkman. Clark had turned into a killer. He was the monster.

Superman lifted his head to see his friends driven away by fear of what he had become. He swallowed and spoke again with a raspy voice. "We don't have to like each other. Clearly, this has made us different. I can't say that we won't be the same people we were after this and we don't have to be, but we have to fight together. Overcome our differences and defeat that crazy girl. That's what being a hero is all about."

Manhunter cleared his throat to speak, but was interrupted by the low, deep, and echoey voice of Hawkman, "We will fight with you one last time." He walked to Superman so that they were eye to eye and shoved him backward so that Superman stumbled. Clark looked back in surprise. "But there are no such things as heroes. You've proven that yourself."

Clark got up and nodded. "Let's go." He began to fly high in the air. Searching for a way to see through all of the fire and smoke. His new enemies followed closely behind him.

******

Vestra's Base: Unknown Location

Vestra smiled as she closed the portal behind Amanda. Ms. Waller was a special person with special information. Vestra let herself laugh as she grew consumed with joy for her plan. She rubbed her hands together and then turned her attention back to the screens.

Soon. You are going to have everything soon.

Vestra reached to her ear and pressed a communications radio. Static soon gave way to a high pitched voice of a male. "I'm almost there."

"Perfect. I'll be waiting at the drop point."

"I still don't see why I can't just come to you."

"Patience Enigma."

"You people and yo-"

"Give me proof of life."

"Fine," Enigma sighed.

Vestra heard shuffling sounds as a creaky door swung open. "Arrow, someone wants you to say something!"

In pain, Green Arrow yelled, "Who are you?!" He was struggling with his bonds.

Vestra relaxed at the sound of his voice. You'll have him soon. "That's enough Enigma. Now be on your way."

"As you wish." Childish laughter mixed with static filled Vestra's ears as she began to walk into the dark halls.

Vestra's shoes clicked through the dark corridors as she walked with a fast intent. Her guards bowed their heads as she walked past while her hood continued to conceal her face. She stopped at a grey brick wall at the end of the hallway. She waved her hand in front of the wall and a purple opening appeared. She stepped through and was greeted by her secret room. Her living place. The area where she contemplated her plans.

The room was small and concealed by her powers. No one knew about it. The simple room had a large glass window at the far wall. It looked over her guards and her small grey base. On the left side of the room there was a chair and on the opposite side a mirror. The only thing in between was a rectangular faded rug. It's medieval designs portrayed a knight slaying a griffin.

Vestra walked over to the mirror and pulled back her hood. Blonde hair covered her cheeks as her eyes stared at the scars on her face. There were three red lines that stretched from the corner of her forehead to the bottom of her chin. One of her eyes was clouded gray from the scar. She traced the gnarled lines with her fingers and then took off her cape.

Vestra wore a black armor that fitted to her legs and torso. The sleeves cut off at her shoulders. The cape daintily fell onto the ground as Vestra stared at more blood red lines. They covered her arms and hands and they ranged from short to long as Vestra's eyes looked over herself.

She shook her head and walked toward her window. Nothing was out of place. They were well hidden. Vestra crossed her arms and closed her eyes, "only time will tell."