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A/N : Reviews:

Mr. I Hate Znt Nobles N' Kill 'EM

Perhaps. But Billy doesn't exactly have any real concept of actual ironic punishment at this point. He'd still rather defer to the proper authorities. This is of course subject to change as time goes on.

Sandrake111

Thank you. I agree that Billy will certainly have his differences with the superhero community, but he's still a ten year old on the inside. Any shift towards an anti-heroic personality will take time, and be a gradual thing. As for Malal, I have heard the name in passing, but it was my understanding that he was retconned out when confusion arose over who owned the character. As I'm not familiar with the character and wish to keep the chaos god's down to four (For now), I don't have an current plans on incorporating Malal into the story.

Jouaint & Warmaster Tzeentch

Thank you. I intend to continue with this story for the time being, as well as all my stories. This will most likely be my last new story until at least summer break, at which point I'll have more time to write and thus more time to update my older stories as well as this one.

Fawcett City had been hurt badly by the recession. Businesses closed, loans defaulted, and buildings were condemned due to lack of maintenance. A lot of the majorcorporations that had called Fawcett home had moved on to greener pastures. While it was still a big city, Fawcett had taken a back-seat in terms of the national limelight as Metropolis became America's premiere business and economic powerhouse. Even cities like Gotham with serious crime, poverty, and public health issues attracted more dollars than Fawcett, usually with extremely lax business regulation legislation voted in for precisely that purpose.

Consequentially, abandoned warehouses like this one were an all too common sight at the docks and around the harbor. During its heyday, Fawcett was a major maritime trading hub, so there was a lot of leftover infrastructure not currently in use by anyone. This was to the advantage of orphans like Billy, who would often take shelter in warehouses, subway tunnels, or old buildings. Billy was using this particular warehouse for just that purpose at the moment.

He had managed to make record time when he snuck over to the harbor, still two hours before dawn. Of course, the wharves had been far from empty. Plenty of sailors and dock-loaders or other workers were already up, loading ships with cargo and getting ready to depart on their voyage. Fortunately, there were a lot more alleyways to duck into whenever he saw someone coming in the tightly packed, low buildings of the docks.

A few people had caught a glimpse of him at one point or another, but that was all. Just a shadow over in the alleys, or the end of cape rounding the corner. People tended to disregard such things as mere tricks of the light. His footfalls were the real issue.

Obviously his enormous mass and weight made it difficult for him to sneak effectively. He compensated for this with taking extremely soft footsteps wherever he could. He avoided sidewalks or anything that could be knocked over, and had to hunch his back just to avoid being seen over some of the smaller buildings.

Fortunately, he had made it to the warehouse before dawn. The wire fence over the abandoned building had done laughably little to deter him, and he carefully chose a spot where the support poles met and simply uprooted one for a moment to move the wire mesh aside. When he was done, he carefully placed the stake back into the ground where it had been planted and stuck it there again. The fence looked pretty disheveled after that, but most people would probably just attribute it to the wear and tear of Fawcett's industrial decay.

The building itself was essentially just a series of hallways and one very large room at the center of the building. The hallways were devoid of light bulbs, windows, or anything else really. There were still some boxes crate platforms lying around and a lot of papers and trash was scattered across the floor, but that was it.

The main room at the center of the building was a high, three-story equivalent ceilinged storage hold. Huge stacks of boxes, crates, and containers were all stacked in rows or adjacently. Billy knew from experience that most of these would be empty or full of those foam peanut-shaped things that were supposed to protect whatever was inside. The boxes all turned the room into a gigantic maze of aluminum, plastic, and wood.

Billy had always needed a flashlight when he used to hide out in buildings like this before. Now, though, even though there were no lights and the room should be pitch black darkness, he had no trouble seeing everything clearly. He could actually read the labels and brands on the crates at one end of the room from the other end.

His footsteps echoed throughout the empty and voluminous building over and over as he wandered through the maze of empty stacks of boxes and crates. He eventually found a good spot to sit down and think for awhile, at the center of the room. It was a square-shaped clearing in the boxes, and there was a forklift there in the corner.

This was the first time that he had really had to stop and think about what to do. Before, when he was…normal, all of his time had been spent scrounging and scrimping, diving through dumpsters for scraps of food and scouring the streets for pennies. Everything he did, he did because it was necessary for him in order to survive on the harsh and unforgiving streets.

But now that wasn't even his biggest problem. True, even though it'd already been almost a whole day, he had yet to begin to thirst or hunger. His stomach didn't growl and his throat didn't get dry. It was almost like he didn't even need food or sustenance anymore. Maybe he didn't.

But that was a comparatively minor issue. The real problem hear was that his current form and appearance made a normal life of any kind almost impossible. Billy wasn't stupid. He knew that anyone that saw him just walking down the street would completely freak out. The behavior of the thugs he'd scared off in the alley downtown was clear evidence in that regard; His mere arrival and visage had prompted gunshots and violence, as well as fear. Pure terror had replaced arrogant and naked aggression when they realized that their very limited firepower was useless against him. When he'd somehow turned that weapon into the flamethrower-gun he could now summon at will, they'd crumpled completely.

But what could Billy do? He may be big, now, but he was still just a kid on the inside. He didn't have any real skills besides knowing how to just barely survive on the streets, and he apparently didn't have any immediate needs to fulfill. He'd considered trying to change back…to become human again…but honestly? He couldn't find any reason to want that.

Before, he'd just been another orphan wandering the streets of Fawcett city in vagrancy. Now…He had was some kind of awesome medieval sci-fi knight guy who'd scared off a whole gang of thugs who even had a gun! For the very first time in his life, Billy had real power. Not just the power to determine his own fate, but also to alter the destiny of others.

It was daunting, yes, but also invigorating. For once, Billy's decisions really mattered. He'd been given a chance by those…ghosts, spirits, whatever they were…to really make a difference.

Billy knew what he had to do. He swore, to himself and to his dead parents who'd gone before their time due to the negligent and callous actions of another, that he would use this power for good. It had been a good thing he'd done last night, saving that woman's life. He would do it again if he could, a thousand times more. He wasn't just some orphan anymore. He was a hero.

Morning came and went, and night fell upon Fawcett City once more. Billy had done a lot of thinking, that day, and had made his decision for the future of his new life.

He would be the hammer of justice, striking where the police couldn't or the courts wouldn't. He would be a hero, a vigilante of justice and the protector of the innocent. He'd be like Zorro, or the Masked Avenger. Or like that Bat-Dude or Superguy they were always talking about on the news nowadays! He had his helmet to obscure his face, so he supposed he had the mask part down-pat. Not that anyone would recognize him anyways, because obviously it wasn't his face to begin with.

Of course, Billy had needed to avoid the streets during the day. This left him with a lot of time on his hands with which to concoct his plans as he paced through the warehouse maze. He found that the process was surprisingly easy.

For some reason, as he brainstormed on how to best go about his newly chosen career as a crimefighter, several ideas had immediately come to mind. It was almost like his brain had been completely rewired to be able to find a logical and rational solution to any problem, no matter how abstract. Upon investigating this new ability, he found out that he was now really good at math and stuff. It sure would've come in handy before he dropped out of school.

Anyways, his first and initial idea had been to prowl the streets or leap across the rooftops in search of evildoers. Of course, even though his jumping and running around in the warehouse when he got bored earlier had proven that he was almost certainly capable of such feats despite his mass, his newly analytical and logical mind soon deduced that that method would be perilously inefficient and very likely to get him caught by the cops or some guy's cellphone camera. Although some small, childish part of him would have relished the media attention, he intellectually realized that it would probably be more trouble than it was worth. He had seen how the media circus loved to find scandals and faults with celebrities and actors on TV, and he imagined that the effect would only be magnified if they found out about a real-live superhero. Besides, it wasn't really being a hero if you did it for the attention. Good was supposed to be it's own reward. Or at least, that's what all the comic books he'd ever read always seemed to agree on.

The next method that came to mind made a lot more sense to him. The idea was that he would wait until nightfall- then he would comb the warehouses and wharves nearby for some kind of smuggling mafia types or something. If that course of action bore no fruit, he would move on to the alleyways in the north side. The north side had a lot of low-income housing and some small businesses in the better areas, but the police didn't have as strong of a presence there as they did in downtown or the suburbs on the south side. Billy had been there a lot in his time as an orphan, along with many other homeless families and children. He knew that a lot of crime went on in that area of town unpunished, especially at night.

Billy stalked through the alleyways slowly and crouched like a ninja from a kung-fu movie. Apparently, that pose really did work, as his footsteps became much less pronounced and obvious as long as he was careful.

There were several dozen warehouses at the docks, all owned by some different company or another. The abandoned ones were always closed up by a metal fence or boarded up with wooden planks, but criminals probably wouldn't bother with them. In gangster movies, the crooks always had 'sit-downs' or meetings in warehouses at the docks whenever the wanted to make a deal or something. Or maybe gun-runners would be selling illegal firearms smuggled in from Russia. Or they were Somali pirates or Iraqi terrorists or something.

Unfortunately, the pickings seemed to be slim that night. He searched all over the warehouses, as much as possible without actually breaking in. A lot of them had windows he could peek through thanks to his height. There were no signs of gangsters or forced entry into any of the active warehouses, or any of the other businesses that operated out of the harbor. It was around 2 a.m. before Billy finally decided to call it quits at the docks area.

Or at least, he was about to. But he caught sight of something intriguing further down the docks.

There were a couple of men, youngish and wearing typical business wear and sauntering over by one of the cargo docks. Those big, rectangular metal red and green boxes that were always on cargo ships were stacked up around them, obscuring Billy's view. He could actually make out their features even from here thanks to his enhanced vision. They all had dark hair, and one of them had a neatly trimmed beard and sunglasses. Their appearance here was suspicious, he decided, especially since they clearly weren't dockworkers. At the very least it warranted investigation. He tried to tell himself he wasn't just grasping at straws because this was literally the only suspicious activity he'd detected all night at the docks, even with his enhanced senses.

He made out their voices as he slowly snuck over to that area of the docks, careful to remain outside of their field of vision and making sure to keep his footsteps quiet. His black armor helped a little, but the glowing ruby red eye-decorations and the golden trim sort of negated any potential benefit from that. He had summoned his pistol earlier that night, before he even left his warehouse. He'd decided that it was better safe than sorry, and he might need it if they had any big weapons like a rocket launcher or something. He was again surprised by how light it felt despite it's huge bulk. It would've been impossible for any normal grownup to wield it effectively, but he could keep it in one-handed grip indefinitely and almost forget he was holding it.

'So, what'd the boss say we was supposed to be doin' out here?' Asked a gruff voice from the interior of the outdoor shipping-crate maze.

'He just said to get the package. That's all we gotta do. S'all we get paid to do. Just get the package from crate S7108815- let's see…that should be…that one!' A second voice responded, apparently having found their quarry. Boss, huh? Billy thought. Must be some kind of secret smuggling ring or something coming to retrieve their ill-gotten gains. Not if I have anything to say about it!

He made his way into the alley between the crates.

To say that the three sharply dressed goons were surprised to see him would have been an understatement. Unlike the thugs he had frightened off in the alleyway, these guys immediately drew their guns and Billy heard the distinctive clicking sound of a hammer being cocked three times.

'Who the hell are you?!' Asked the man with the neatly trimmed beard. Billy's response was to take another step closer to them and say

'I am…' Billy remembered that he had yet to think of a proper superhero name for himself. But, he supposed, none of the superheroes ever did. In all of the comics he'd ever read, the media or the townspeople would always come up with the name. Shrugging, he continued ominously '…Your doom!'

The sunglasses wearing thug laughed out loud at that, albeit a little nervously. 'Get a load of this joker, eh Lenny? I bet he's really just some fatass under that Halloween costume and that toy gun! Probably some 30-year old virgin comic book geek tryin' to be a hero…' The one called Lenny, over to the right, did not respond. He merely eyed Billy warily and kept his gun trained on his face.

Billy, hoping to show shades over there that he was no joke, prepared to execute a maneuver he'd seen done many times on TV and in movies and comic books. He accomplished his goal…though perhaps not in the way he had intended.

It had been simple. Billy was going to shoot the gun out of shades' hand, and look really cool and heroic while doing so. A perfect plan…

Except, Billy realized, only after he pulled the trigger, that he had no prior experience in the use of firearms or marksmanship. The resounding and deafening bang that sounded like a miniature explosion in his ears punctuated the point, as did the agonized scream the man he'd just shot let out as he crumpled to his knees.

Billy could only watch, in paralyzed horror with his arm going limp to his side, that he had…missed. He had been aiming for the gun in the man's hand, but had instead hit joint of his elbow. If it had a normal gun, it might not have been so bad…but this gun apparently used special ammunition, and the deadly effects were self-evident.

Where there had once been a muscular and toned arm leveling a pistol at Billy, there was…nothing. Blood spurted out from the shoulder area of the man's torso, as it appeared that his entire arm had simply exploded from the inside. A thin mist of blood had splattered all over the crates and the sunglasses wearing thug's compatriots. Billy didn't even notice or feel the bullets that ricocheted off of his armor as the man whose arm he had just blown off stopped writhing on the ground and simply lay still. A huge puddle of blood had pooled beneath him as his arm spewed the human ichor everywhere, and the man had been left to die by his friends who took cover behind some more crates over to the side of the wharf.

Billy…he…he had just…accidentally…killed someone…

Billy shot someone. He had shot them-however accidentally- and they had died because of it.

What…what had he done?!

Oh god, oh god…I…I didn't mean it! No, I didn't-I didn't mean for him to die! I didn't mean to kill him! I never wanted to hurt anyone! He silently cried in his tusked helm.

Tears of horror and shock ran down his face…he felt like he should be on his knees, though…but his leg's were too strong to just fall and give way. What…what did that mean? He was too strong…but that didn't give him the right to kill anyone! So what if he was a bad guy?! Good guys aren't supposed to kill anyone…not even bad guys…

Billy realized then that he was in way over his head. He wasn't some good guy. He wasn't a superhero. That had become woefully apparent. He was just some kid, in over his depth…

The goons before him, of course, did not realize that. All they saw was a giant, terrifying monster in pitch black armor covered in golden skulls, spikes, and industrial wiring. They saw that he had a gun that could blow up a man's arm with a single shot, and that he was apparently very willing to use it. And if there's one kind of power a criminal respects- it's the power of a gun.

'Shit…Larry…'

'Fuck, man. We're sorry! You can have the package! We-we don't wanna die!'

Billy was too stunned to say anything. He…he had murdered a man…A man was dead because of him. He was no better than these criminals…

'Go.' He gestured to behind him, stepping to one side of the crates. The two remaining felons dropped their guns to the ground immediately and bolted as fast as they could. They left Larry on the ground where he lay; forgotten.

Billy just stood there for awhile. It might have been hours. He took his helmet off again, because at some point while he was just standing there, he threw up. The bile from his stomach landed on the ground as he shook his helmet absently. It melted straight through the concrete foundation of the wharves, leaving a deep hole that led into the waters below. The hissing sound of melting concrete and the green smoke snapped him out of his daze.

Billy had killed a man tonight. Not on purpose, no, but it had happened. He would have to deal with that.

It was one thing to look like a bad guy, but it was another thing entirely to act like one.

After awhile, Billy sighed. He went over to Larry's corpse. The vacant eyes were creepy, and the look of horrified shock on his face wasn't very pleasant either. Billy dismissed his gun in disgust, and it vanished in a flash of red flames once more. He should've known better than to treat his powers like a toy…

Those four spirit guys were probably so disappointed in him! They'd shake their heads in remorse at having chosen such a foolish and thoughtless boy to give their powers too…He bet even now that they were coming to take their powers back…leaving behind only Billy Batson, once more a powerless orphan.

But they never came. After minutes or hours of waiting- he couldn't tell- He was still just standing there. It disgusted him how relieved he was that he'd get to keep his powers, when he decided that they weren't coming to take them back after all. Even after he'd used them to kill a man…Billy was still relieved that he wouldn't go back to being a plain old normal orphan. It sickened him.

Whenever a normal person killed someone, they had a trial and went to jail. Even if they didn't mean it or didn't do it on purpose. But…Billy didn't want to go to jail…

It was a sad, pathetic excuse, he knew. There was no justification to take an innocent life. And while Larry was almost certainly far from innocent (given his possession of a firearm, willingness to use it, and the obviously illegal nature of the package they were retrieving.) it had still been a life.

What would his parents say? What would they think that the son they'd left behind and sacrificed so much to raise up to when he was nine had turned out to be a killer? Billy didn't want to think about it. He wanted a way out.

He didn't know what to do. How could he make up for what he did? It was too late to fix anything…Larry's corpse had already grown cold and stiff. There was the 'package' they had been after…

Billy decided to at least look at it. A man had died because of he wanted to stop him from taking it…So it he should at least see what it was.

He opened the crate they had been trying to jimmy the lock on with contemptuous ease. Both of the doors flew of their axes and he let them fall to the ground.

Inside the crate was a single box, made of a sleek metal material that shone in the moonlight. At least, it did, until Billy's gargantuan shadow overtook the entrance and blocked out all of the light.

With subdued consternation, Billy realized that he couldn't actually fit into the crate. He was too big. He had to reach into it with his arm to the middle of the crate and drag the metal case forward with the edges of his fingers. It was only because his digits were so supernaturally strong that he was actually able to drag the heavy metal case to him using nothing but his fingertips.

Taking a closer look at it, he saw that it resembled a thick briefcase. It was locked on all four sides, which did little to deter him as he peeled the container apart by pulling the two parts of the case away from each other.

Inside was a black foam mold that contained a single object. Well, it was actually more of an artifact. It was made of a shining, chrome-like blue. It was shaped like a bug…with six legs and long pincers jutting from the front of the head. It had a round shell carapace for an abdomen. It looked like…a beetle.

But as Billy held it in his hands, the same bright light that once engulfed the pistol he'd caught in the alleyway sprung from nowhere to encompass the blue beetle relic now in his hand. He dropped it immediately, remembering all of the 'good' his gun had done him. But it was too late. The damage was already done.

The outer carapace of the blue beetle began to glow white hot, flames tinged with cobalt blue. As the chassis began to melt, advanced looking circuits actually began to be revealed. Glowing power cores, microchips, wires, and circuitry began to melt into the shifting and whirling vortex of liquid metal that had taken shape on the ground. It began to float up, in midair, even as the concrete beneath it turned to an arcing electrified crater of ash.

The flying whirlpool of white-hot glowing metal began to shift and turn and twist in the air. Billy's eyes widened in fascination, temporarily forgetting all about the corpse behind him even as it rotted away at an unnatural rate, already a partially skeletonized cadaver.

What was once an ethereal blue glow now took on a sickly green hue. The molten metal formed into a sphere in midair, hardening and cooling until it was the color of obsidian, but still haunted by green flames that almost made him feel nauseated to look upon. But his eyes kept their place, locked on to the black sphere now floating before him. It had brought itself to about chest-level before it ceased it's ascent, and now it began to throb and pulsate as if it were made of flesh rather than metal.

The black sphere took on a new shape, now. Spindly legs burst forth from the base even as pincers so sharp and serrated that they could have been used as an instrument of torture took form at the top of the sphere. It stretched and elongated, just a little, so that the abdomen was no longer a spherical shape but now more closely resembled an egg. It was no longer a blue beetle. It was now…a Black Scarab.

It…floated, still hanging from nowhere. Billy dodged to the left, avoiding it…But he was not its target. Larry, just a few feet behind him, was its mark. It floated downward, gradually, until the scarab rested on the chest of the dead gangster.

With sharp and jerky movements, the legs of the scarab began to animate. Before Billy could even think to do anything, they plunged into Larry's chest. Billy was shocked by the seemingly brutal and pointless action of the apparently living artifact, but did nothing. He allowed himself a sliver of hope. Maybe… maybe it was… No…there was no way that the world would be so generous.

Unseen by Billy, the tendrils of the Black Scarab sunk deeper and deeper into corpse's chest cavity. As they went, they injected a slimy, visceral green ooze that seeped into the veins and capillaries of the dead man's empty circulatory system.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the ruined the veins were filled. Glowing green blood seemed to fill every crevice of the body, until even the skin took on a sickly green color. The eyes themselves glowed green, and the glowing ooze began to seep from the man's missing arm stump. But it did not touch the ground.

No…instead, they simply suspended there, in the shape of veins, capillaries, muscle, and bone. More and more of the slime was added, until it gradually took on the shape of the dead man's arm. And slowly, ever so slowly, the tendrils in the heart began to emit a low electric pulse. Billy could only look on at the ritual, stupefied into silence with a twinge of hope and excitement.

The heart began to beat once again. The arm, now having taken full shape, was complete. It was a perfect and healthy and completely whole human appendage. The ooze began to alter, down to the molecular level. It shed its haunted and warp-tainted chemical components and expelled them in the form of a noxious gas that billowed from the now alive but not yet living man's mouth. The toxic gas gradually dissipated into the sea salt breeze of the docks, until it faded away into nothing.

Now that all of the unnatural and unholy chemical components had been ejected, the ooze had transformed into a more viscous and fluidic substance. It had become blood, and the veins were now red. The skin had returned to the same color that it had been before Billy had tragically shot the man by accident, and even the eyes changed back to sky blue from glowing green, the sunglasses once worn by the thug lying broken on the concrete foundation of the wharf.

Suddenly and without warning, Larry gasped for air. His lungs filled with the salty, ocean and fish scented air. For the first time in hours, his corpse drew breath. The unnatural rotting had reversed itself with the intervention of the Black Scarab, which now withdrew its tendrils and healed the wounds along their way out of his body. The Scarab floated again, once more, and quickly flew towards Billy. It came to a rest on his own chest, extending its pincers and curving them around his neck. The glowing green aura ceased along with whatever force allowed it to defy gravity, and the Scarab hung there from Billy's neck like some sort of macabre amulet.

Billy was in awe. He watched as the once dead gangster began to struggle to his knees, rapidly panting as he circulated air into his slightly deoxygenated bloodstream. Larry was alive!

His mistake, something that he would never have been able to make up or atone for, had been undone! Now that Larry was alive, it was like Billy had never killed him in the first place! Wow, he thought, as he twirled the scarab hanging from his neck in his hand, I really need to thank those ghost guys if I ever see them again. These powers…they even let me bring dead people back to life and-

A stray thought crossed his mind, then. If this thing brings dead people to life again, then maybe my parents-

No. His parents wouldn't have wanted that. He knew. They had been good people. His analytical mind told him that they would be up in heaven now, settling there for over a year already now after a virtuous life. It wouldn't be right to take them all away from that just to fulfill his own selfish wishes.

That bird ghost had told him 'Now we shall see, what will you do with your power?' And Billy realized now what he had meant. These abilities…these powers…this form…they were a test. A test of character. Of personal strength and resolve.

The gun had been his first test, he now believed. He had been given power over other human beings. The power to kill. At first, he did well, only using it to scare the men in that alleyway. But tonight…tonight he had failed. Now he realized that he shouldn't have been treating such terrible power like a toy. He should have been more responsible, more careful. He should have shown such power the respect it deserved.

He regarded the scarab hanging from his neck. This one must be the second test.

The Black Scarab gave him the power to bring the dead back to life. That much was plain to see. But now, now the real test came.

He had, mercifully, been able to reverse his mistake in accidentally killing Larry. He got the feeling that something like that was probably not going to happen if he misused the Scarab, though. The power to kill was nothing new. People had been killing each other for thousands of years. But the power to resurrect the dead? Nothing had that power. Nothing…except the Scarab.

If he used it to bring back his parents, just because he missed them and wanted to be with them, he would be tearing them away from…whatever afterlife they had been in for the last year. What if they were in heaven, now? What if he was taking them away from a paradise and happiness that they had earned in life? What if they hated him for that? He wanted to take them away from the eternal rest that they'd rightfully earned just so that they could come down to Earth again and raise him, which was made more complicated by his new body…In fact, he probably didn't need parents in order to survive now…It would just be a selfish wish on his part. It wasn't like bringing back Larry, who he killed this very night. That was his responsibility. It hadn't been God's choice to take Larry back. His life had been cut short by a careless shot from a foolish child. And that child had most fortuitously reversed his mistake.

Billy made a vow, then. He vowed that he would use the Scarab responsibly, as a force for good. He wouldn't use it to fulfill his own selfish desires. Instead, he would use it as a tool to protect the innocent and those whose lives were undeservedly cut short.

Billy turned around to go, his mind full of whirling thoughts. His head was positively spinning, trying to wrap itself around the night's events. But before he left, he remembered Larry.

He looked down at the helpless and exhausted gangster. He was alive, but only just. He was getting better though, by the looks of it, as he no longer looked half dead as he had when he first re-entered the world of the living.

When Larry saw Billy looking his way, though, his own eyes shot open in alarm. Doubtlessly he was remembering dying by Billy's hands. Billy winced at the memory that was so fresh in his mind but seemed so long ago.

'No…no please! Not again! Please don't kill me again! I…I want to live! I want to live!' A new energy took Larry, and he crawled away from Billy, dragging his prone body on the hard concrete ground.

Billy opened his mouth to respond. 'I…' He thought for a moment. Sure, Larry was alive now, but Billy had still killed him. Billy decided that the criminal had probably learned his lesson about the inherent risks involved in 'the business', and would now probably do his best to find a way out. 'Go!' Billy pointed to the harbor, away from the sea. 'Leave this place, and pray that we never meet again!'

Larry nodded his head frantically in assent, and righted himself with his arms. He somehow summoned the strength to limp away from the wharf, and he had entered the maze of buildings in the fish markets in the harbor in just a minute or two.

And so ended Billy's first day 'on the prowl' as a real-life superhero. It had been a very productive one, in his opinion. Not only did he learn a very valuable lesson of the responsibility that came with such awesome power, but also gained a powerful new tool in his quest to protect the innocent from the evil.

The sun would be up in an hour or two. There were already a few fishermen and dock workers up and about, ready to get a head start on their day. Billy did his best to keep out of sight as he headed back to his warehouse-hideout.

Days later, Casa Cardenas

El Paso, Texas

Billy's recent lesson may have been an important learning experience, and the chance to get an impressive addition to his arsenal, but it would have far-reaching consequences for the days ahead. Unbeknownst to Billy, the newly dubbed Black Scarab had once been a very rare and valuable artifact of mysterious origins. An artifact that a very wealthy collector had paid a very large sum to be delivered to her home discreetly, and with prompt haste.

So it was understandable that when Amparo Cardenas, known to all but her closest of associates and relatives as the ruthless and enigmatic crime-lady La Dama, heard the news about how her gofers had somehow lost a priceless and irreplaceable artifact of immeasurable occult power, she was rather angry. No, she was downright livid.

'What do you mean you were intercepted?' She asked tersely. The men-and she used that term loosely-cowered down further before her. Her suit-clad and armed enforcers blocked the only exit from her foyer where she received these incompetent fools. 'I ensured that la policía were paid off for the whole week. None of them would have stopped you. None of the rival gangs knew about this…Unless one of you is a tablero…' The angry Latina woman hissed. Her ordinarily stunning features were marred by rage. She did not become the most feared Capo of the Latin-American Mafia and a woman by being soft.

'No! No, Ma'am, that's not it at all!' Pleaded a man with medium length raven hair and sharp features. Amparo might have found him handsome, in any other situation.

'Idiota! Shut up and tell me what happened, before I change my mind and just have you feed my piranhas…personally.' She wasn't bluffing. You'd be surprised how many alchemical recipes had piranha scales as a supplementary component. She was always sure to keep a healthy supply of them in stock…and they had other uses as well, such as making an example out of people who crossed her.

'W-we went to the docks like you told us…we found the container, a-nd we was gonna open it up and get the package…but then…he showed up.' His voice went quiet towards the end, and unusually cold. For the briefest of moments, Amparo thought she felt a chill run up her spine. She raised an eyebrow. A normal person might have disregarded such a circumstantial sign, but her dabbling in the occult led her to believe that such things should be heeded by the savvy capo.

'Continue' She said neutrally, but it was obvious by her expression that her rage was only barely constrained. The thug kneeling before her nodded and did so, while the others kept their peace. Amparo took note of the haunted expressions on their face, though…

'We got stopped…' His hollow voice rang out like a sloth on a cold day, drawling on in a disturbing monotone. 'But not by no man. He…he was…a monster.' Amparo rolled her eyes.

'Describe him.' She ordered glibly, curious as to what sort of man might have such an effect on these supposedly hardened criminals.

'He was twelve feet tall, and wore this…this black armor. He was right on us as soon as we got to the docks…'

'Black Armor? Twelvefeet tall?' Amparo scoffed. 'What, like some kind of gigante basquetbolcaballero?

'No…No. He looked like something out of a horror movie…or outta hell. It was covered in all these…these things' He waved his arms in the air, and Amparo was momentarily taken aback when his haunted eyes rose to meet hers. 'These, these skulls and these eyes! The eyes! They, it was, it was like they was followin' us around…His armor had these big, red eyes that looked…they looked right into your soul…' Tears began to well up in the grown man's eyes as he recounted the memory, and Amparo found herself…intrigued, despite herself. He wasn't even finished. 'He-he-he hurt! He hurt, just to look at!' His crying intensified until it developed into full-on sobbing. 'He had this thing…this gun. It was…It was huge. He held this big rifle in one hand and…and…he shot Larry! He killed him, just like that! Just one shot, and the next thing we know, Larry's arm explodes and I'm…We-we're covered in blood and guts and bone and stuff…' His cries began to annoy her, so she gestured for Andre to remove him and his cohorts. She would deal with them later. Not with her piranhas, but death was certainly still on the table. She just didn't want to give the little cuties indigestion.

'Looks like it was a good thing you called me after all, La Dama.' Came a smooth voice from the corner of the foyer. He had just been sitting there, in the shadows, on top of an antique chair. Amparo grimaced. She supposed he was right. If what those incompetent, useless goons had told her was true, none of her…conventional…annoyance removal agents would do for this one. 'It's one of them…' he finished, stepping into the light for the first time. She grimaced at his garish costume.

He wore somewhat conventional, if heavy, steel plates over a black jumpsuit. He wore steel-toed combat boots and heavy steel knuckles.

But the most striking feature of the get-up was the thin yet fully encompassing metallic helmet-one side painted some kind of coppery orange color and the other pitch black. The coppery side had a single eyehole to see through and the mouth region had four narrow rectangular slits for breathing.

'Bring him to me.' She said simply. There was a chance that he-whoever or whatever he was- would have hidden the Beetle, and would require…persuasion, to reveal its location. Besides, his armor might make a nice decoration for her study.

'And Deathstroke-' She warned. '-You'd better not screw this up.'

He somehow seemed to give off the impression of a grin through that ridiculous mask of his, and he gave a short, mocking bow. 'As you wish, 'My Lady' And vanished. He seemed to melt into the shadows, not from sorcery or high-tech gadgets, but from years of training and mercenary experience. She may talk down to him in order to maintain face, but she was actually fairly confident that if anyone in her employ could get to the bottom of this, it'd be Slade Wilson, or as he was now calling himself, Deathstroke the Terminator.

While the most recent yet unwitting addition to the disciples of the dark gods was making a stir of things on Ancient Terra, the ripples of his effects had a far greater impact than even Tzeentch could have predicted. Indeed, the very nature of the dimension that the Daemon's had conspired to make their dumping ground for good deeds disallowed them from any further direct intervention from this side of the warp. Traveling so far between dimensions, space, and time had left even their prodigious energies somewhat drained. So now, they rested, if only for a short time. And while their servants still rampaged across the galaxy with insane vigor, the dark gods themselves were content to merely observe for the time being.

'…What did you say, Farseer?' Asked the melodious voice of Taldeer, his confidant. For her part, she viewed him as something of a mentor or father figure. He supposed it was only natural, given his advanced years and their shared path of the seer.

'I see tidings of doom…' He said. There was no point in denying the truth. If anything, denial would only serve to assure the path of destruction was the one taken. By him and her and by all of their kind.

'Doom?' She asked.

The most esteemed and powerful of all Eldar Farseer's nodded. Only his raw power tempered by centuries upon centuries of experience allowed him to catch even the faintest glimmer of a vision of what was yet to come, and if truth be told; It frightened him.

Even through his stoic countenance, the feeling was too strong. He ordinarily prided himself on his composure, but the threat was so great! Taldeer reached out to him in concern.

'Doom. For Ulthwé, for us…for everyone. The Tau…the Mon'Keigh…All of us are threatened.'

Taldeer's smooth face adopted a look of greater concern now, but her brow furrowed in determination. 'Then we must fight to preserve our home.' She said, with authority and conviction.

'I am glad you agree.' He said truthfully. 'For my vision revealed to me but one course of action that might steer us away from ruin and death, and your participation is of paramount importance. '

About A Second Remaining El Capitan

'I see…' She said. She then locked eyes with him, with steely resolve. 'What must I do? Where must I go to combat this threat?' She demanded.

'Not where…' He replied cryptically. 'Or rather, less where and more when.'

'…What?' She asked him, even her considerable intellect confused by his words.

'The Ruinous Powers are crafty, and they have grown more cunning still.' He explained. 'For they have levied a threat to us not here where we may fight them with our superior weapons and sorceries, but rather, they have chosen to tear open a rift in time itself…spitting their essence into the past where none might obstruct their way.' His words were a growl, and he spat out the name of his hated foes.

'Then…how are we to confront them…?' Taldeer asked, now less sure of her ability to defend the craftworld. Understandable, given the circumstances.

'I will bring us there.' He allowed, much to her surprise.

'But…how?'

He grinned sardonically. 'The warp, while chaos and destruction may churn it's foul winds, has it's uses.'

And with that, the obelisk in the center of the antechamber began to glow an eerie and ethereal blue aura. Taldeer's jaw slackened in surprise, but only momentarily. She regained her composure a moment later, but her eyes narrowed. '…I never had any choice in this, did I?' She asked quietly.

He shook his head. 'Fate rarely alters it's course at the whims of mortals.' He said mistily. 'Besides…this is bigger than you and I. If you had refused my call, untold trillions would suffer for it, among our own race and the infants.'

'Why would I have refused?' She bristled at the implied mark on her honor in the eyes of the man she most admired. 'Have you not made clear the severity of this Chaos plot? Do you believe I would not die in a moment to protect the craftworld and my people?' She asked hotly.

He made a placating gesture. 'Certainly not. I meant no insult. Merely…travelling through the warp in this manner can be…' He gestured to the glowing obelisk at the center of the room, which right at that very moment arced out towards them. The winds of the warp licked out at them even as the event horizon opened up a hole in space and time before them. The screeching of vicious daemons and maddening monstrosities was barely a whisper beyond the aegis of the webway, but it was there. Only a whisper…but always there. '…Somewhat daunting.'

She found herself contemplating the floor, trying not to look into the terrible portcullis that practically oozed uncertainty and terror. '…Is there no other way…?' She asked, in a hushed, whispering tone.

He shook his head in the negative. 'No. And we have little choice in the matter.' He intoned. 'After all…When there is no other way, the perilous path is the only road to salvation.' And with that, he stepped through the portal and it flashed with power. Only his formidable skill and raw power in the ways of the warp allowed him to sail through it so unmolested…wherever his destination was.

Drawing a deep breath-one that might be her last if her own power was not equal to the challenges of the warp- she followed after him.

I thought I might want to clarify a few things here. This won't strictly be a Young Justice universe story, but will be set between the Warhammer Universe and a blend of several aspects of the DCU. So far, my plans include elements of the New 52, Young Justice, Teen Titans, Justice League Unlimited, and several miscellaneous entries in the DCAU.

As for Taldeer and (SPOILER ALERT) Eldrad, I apologize if there is any OOC-ness with their representation. I'm not all that familiar with either of them and I only know of Eldrad from his Wiki article. If any of you want to point out any discrepencies, feel free to do so. Suggestions and criticisms are welcome and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It's a little shorter than usual and the last part may feel a little rushed, but I have less time to work on my writing with exams coming up. I might come back and edit this chapter later if reviews are negative enough.

Mayan Smith-Gobat (born 1979) is a professional big-wall climber from New Zealand and, as of 2019, held the record for fastest all-female team ascent of El Capitan's The Nose in Yosemite, California at four hours and forty three minutes. Smith-Gobat, along with climbing partner Libby Sauter, completed the climb in October, 2014. Other notable ascents include her 2012 first female ascent (FFA) of Punks in the Gym (5.14a) in the Arapiles climbing region of Australia, and the first all female Half Dome/El Cap link up in Yosemite in 2013.

Early life[edit]

Smith-Gobat is from Christchurch, New Zealand. Although she became interested in alpine and sport climbing around Mount Cook as a teenager, her focus turned to alpine skiing for several years. In 2000, she was competing in extreme skiing competitions and ranked as the best female extreme skier in New Zealand.^[1] Smith-Gobat recalls that 'when I left school I became side-tracked by skiing - I followed winters around the world and barely climbed for a couple of years... until a skiing accident turned my attention back to climbing' at the age of 21.^[2] Smith-Gobat had been skiing in Breckenridge, Colorado at the time of the accident, a run-in with a pine tree. The collision broke a heel in one leg and ankle in the other, and left her with a temporarily wired-shut jaw and six months of crutches. Grounded from skiing, Smith-Gobat turned to climbing as an outlet for her energies.^[3]

Climbing Achievements[edit]

After recovery from her accident, Smith-Gobat began racking up a string of sport climbing and bouldering accomplishments. Starting in 2002, Smith-Gobat made FFAs of many New Zealand-based bouldering routes and won the New Zealand National Bouldering Series in 2002, 2003 and 2004, and the Christchurch Indoor Bouldering Series in 2005. By 2007 she was climbing up to 8b+ (V10/5.14a) level routes, including a first ascent Heaven/ Little Babylon (8b/8b+) in Milford, NZ.^[1] By the late 2000s, Smith-Gobat was one of the leading climbers from New Zealand, male or female, as the first New Zealander to complete an 8c level climb, with L’academicien in Ceuse, France.^[4]

Salathé Wall[edit]

By 2009, Smith-Gobat was climbing in Yosemite and interested in taking on big-wall challenges. The Salathé Wall is a classic route up El Capitan in Yosemite Valley. At approximately 3500 ft and 35-pitches, it is also one of the longest routes, known for its difficult, off-width crack sections. A single female climber, Steph Davis, had previously free climbed Salathé. Smith-Gobat spent the summer of 2010 working out the beta for the crux sections before making a ground-up attempt. Unfortunately, a five-day rain storm hit while she was in the upper reaches of the climb, forcing her to bail out.^[5] In 2011, Smith-Gobat returned and, in a six day final push, managed to complete the remaining pitches, becoming only the second woman to do so.^[6] Later, she described the experience as '900m of air under my feet and only one single flared crack splitting the sheer overhung granite wall. It felt so good.'^[7]

Speed Climbing The Nose[edit]

Smith-Gobat became interested in attempting to break the women's record for climbing speed on The Nose after hearing how slow the old one was. 'I first started thinking about doing it when the women’s record was 12 hours, basically because I felt that this was almost an embarrassment to us.'^[8] In 2012, she and partner Chantel Astorga set a new record with a seven hour and 26 minute climb of The Nose. They then linked to Half Dome, becoming the first all female team to complete the linked climb in under 24 hours (at 20h:09m).^[9] Smith-Gobat also broke the mixed-gender record for The Nose, finishing it in three hours and 29 minutes with partner Sean Leary.^[10] By the end of 2012, between Salathé, a FFA of Australia's iconic Punks in the Gym (8b+) in October, 2012 and the Yosemite speed records, Planet Mountain would describe Smith-Gobat as 'certainly one of the world's leading rock climbers.'^[6]

In 2014, with partner Libby Sauter, Smith-Gobat would set a new women's record, four hours and forty three minutes. The women made several attempts that season, improving in speed each time. Smith-Gobat noted that they had to work both on developing trust and communication and to learn a different style of climbing that emphasized speed over safety. The team decreased the number of bolts, increasing the height of any potential fall. On easier sections, the climbers simul-climbed, a higher-risk climbing technique, while on harder sections, they employed a short-fixing style.^[11] Smith-Gobat described the technique they used to increase speed as 'pretty risky...if I fall off, I'm hopefully not going to die, but I'm going to fall a hell of a long way before I hit the end of that rope.'^[12] She noted that 'the main difference between us and the guys who are climbing it in 2:30, is that they simulclimb more of the upper half of the route, where we are short-fixing more to keep it within the safety margin we are happy with.'^[11]

Riders on the Storm[edit]

2016 Attempt[edit]

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By 2016, Smith-Gobat had turned her focus towards making the first free ascent of Riders on the Storm, a massive 1300 m (4265 ft) route up the east face of Torre Central in Torres del Paine, Patagonia. The region surrounding Torre Central is notorious for fickle weather and poor conditions. Several key pitches are nearly always encased in ice, and the route, crusted with unstable rock, requires strength in a variety of styles, including crack, roof and face.^[13]Wolfgang Güllich and Kurt Albert put up Riders on the Storm over the winter of 1990/1991 using a mixed aid climbing technique.^[14] The original climbers were able to free climb pitches up to 7c (5.12d) and aid climb to A3. While the first free ascent of Riders is considered a 'plum objective throughout the big wall climbing world,' according to PlanetMountain , the region's notoriously bad weather and the allure of more popular routes nearby at Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre, limited the number of attempts. Up to 2016, three teams successfully reached the summit following Riders on the Storm, none making a free ascent.^[15]

Over the course of 15 days in January and February 2016, Smith-Gobat, climbing partner Ines Papert and photographer Thomas Senf broached the climb.^[16] The climbers began with a rare stretch of good weather, and were able to establish a five-pitch free climbing variant to avoid a section that had previously only been possible with aid climbing. They also succeeded at free climbing two previously unconquered upper pitches and became the fifth team to reach the summit on February 6. The duo endured numb hands and feet and near-miss rockfalls. At one point, they developed an innovative, but disconcerting, technique to deal with the ice, wearing a climbing shoe on one foot and an ice boot with crampons on the other.^[13] After summit day, with deteriorating weather and 110 mph winds in the forecast, the team resolved to try to complete the remaining four pitches they had yet to free climb.

Early on in the attempt, they were delayed for several hours when they found that their cached ropes and equipment had been buried under an avalanche and needed to be dug out. During the ascent, the predicted high winds hit, and after struggling to reach the portaledge, they decided to descend.^[17] Continuing bad weather ended the trip without the first free ascent, although they achieved the summit and free climbed several new sections, extending the difficulty level to 7c+ (5.13a). The women had several near misses, surviving a rock fall into their portaledge and another that split Papert's helmet, and a nearly spliced rope. While Smith-Gobat wanted to give the route another try, Papert decided to forgo a second attempt, saying 'I have had a lot of luck on the wall. Even though the prospect of coming back is very tempting, I have decided the level of risk is not worth it.'^[13]

2017 Attempt[edit]

Smith-Gobat recruited a new partner for the second attempt, up-and-coming climber Brette Harrington, who, at 25 years old, was making a name for herself with trad and free soloing accomplishments.^[18] Prior to her return, Smith-Gobat allowed that she wondered why so few others had successfully reached the summit. However, Torre Central presented a new face in 2017, one that made it clear exactly how difficult the task was going to be. 'When Brette Harrington and I approached Torre Central our hearts sank: the lower slabs were covered in ice and ice snow, unrecognizable from last season.' The climbers struggled through the lower sections to reach the four remaining pitches. They had originally planned to free climb all the lower pitches as well, but given poor conditions, they resolved to get to the crux pitches any way they could. In 2016, it took Papert and Smith-Gobat two days to reach the crux, but nearly four weeks the second time.^[14] Each morning they would wake at 3am, hoping for a break in the weather, only to encounter punishingly high winds, ice covered slabs, and wet rock. In the end, they were only able to work on the crux pitches for two days out of the six week attempt. Afterwards, Smith-Gobat would write of the experience 'all I wanted to do was leave and never come back. It felt as if we were forcing something that was not meant to be—like swimming against a strong current. I was exhausted ... deep down I knew that leaving would mean never returning to Riders on the Storm. In this moment I hated the place. Hated that it was forcing me to face the one thing that had always terrified me about climbing in Patagonia—to sit still in a tent and wait with nothing to do for weeks on end; to sit and watch all that hard-earned strength waste away, and to what end?'^[19]

Despite falling short of the goal, Harrington and Smith-Gobat free climbed two of the four remaining pitches^[14] and felt that, even with the poor weather, they had been very close on a third.^[19] Harrington later wrote that she believed 'the crux pitches could go,' setting up a possible return trip for the duo.^[20] However, as of 2019, both Harrington and Smith-Gobat were focusing on other goals,^[21][22] with no public plans for another attempt on Riders on the Storm.

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References[edit]

1. ^ ^abLaeser, Luke. 'New Zealand's Mayan Smith-Gobat'. Climbing Magazine. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
2. ^'Mayan Smith-Gobat interview'. PlanetMountain.
3. ^'Mayan Smith-Gobat: Climber For All Seasons'. Rock and Ice.
4. ^'Mayan Smith-Gobat, first female ascent of Punks in the Gym at Arapiles'. PlanetMountain.com. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
5. ^'Salathe Wall'. Mayan Smith-Gobat. Retrieved 2019-03-31.
6. ^ ^abFox, Amanda. 'Mayan Gobat-Smith Frees Salathé Wall'. Climbing Magazine. Retrieved 2019-03-31.
7. ^'Mayan Smith-Gobat climbs The Salathé Wall on El Capitan'. PlanetMountain.com. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
8. ^'Walls Without Balls: All Women Big Wall Ascents'. cruxcrush.com. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
9. ^'climbing : Smith-Gobat and Astorga's records in Yosemite Valley'. www.climbandmore.com. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
10. ^'Adidas Five Ten | Speed Climbing is Addictive - Mayan Smith-Gobat | adidasoutdoor'. www.adidasoutdoor.com. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
11. ^ ^ab'Yosemite Hardwomen: An El Cap Speed Ascent Debrief - Alpinist.com'. www.alpinist.com. Retrieved 2019-03-28.
12. ^Video: Speed Climbing El Cap Is a Game of Micro Improvements, 2018-07-12, retrieved 2019-03-28
13. ^ ^abc'RIDERS ON THE STORM'. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
14. ^ ^abc'News - Petzl Patagonia: Mayan Smith-Gobat tests her mettle on 'Riders on the Storm' - Petzl USA'. www.petzl.com. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
15. ^'Torres del Paine in Patagonia: Riders on the Storm too stormy for Mayan Smith-Gobat and Brette Harrington'. PlanetMountain.com. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
16. ^'Riders on the Storm, Central Tower East Face, Torres del Paine, Patagonia - climbing, rock'. www.planetmountain.com. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
17. ^Smith-Gobat, Mayan. 'That One Time: The Ultimate Training Day'. Climbing Magazine. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
18. ^Andrew Bisharat (2016-06-30). 'Brette Harrington's Solo Soul Serenity'. Evening Sends. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
19. ^ ^ab'Riding the Storm on Torre Central, Patagonia - Alpinist.com'. www.alpinist.com. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
20. ^'Blog - Brette Harrington - Riders on the Storm'. www.sportiva.com. Retrieved 2019-03-29.
21. ^Germany, Norbayerischer Kurier. 'Weltklasse-Kletterin: Mayan Smith-Gobat lässt sich in Plankenfels nieder - Nordbayerischer Kurier'. www.nordbayerischer-kurier.de (in German). Retrieved 2019-03-29.
22. ^'Brette Harrington and Rose Pearson follow their 'Life Compass' to complete a new route in a 21.5-hour push in the Canadian Rockies - Alpinist.com'. www.alpinist.com. Retrieved 2019-03-29.

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