the Defenders Who: Zatanna, Dr. Strange, Danny Rand, Jennifer Kale When: 2:31am, December 16 (forward dated) Where: A shared dream What: A vision of terror. A call to arms. Rating: PG13 - R
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
"Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds."
"The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"
-the Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
A peal of thunder. On the horizon, the ruins of a city. Skeletons of skyscrapers hang over streets littered with burned cars. The smoking wreckage of the SHIELD Helicarrier leaves a path of destruction in it's wake. Horrifying, inexplicable creatures crawl over the dead, reality bends at their touch- as though recoiling at their very presence. All eyes and tentacles and mewling, sucking mouths spewing bile.
At the city center, a park. The trees burn, as a sickly green light washes over the city. Bodies litter the ground. A blackened corpse in red and gold armour, a man in a blue uniform with a 4 emblazoned on his chest- stretched across the battlefield like so much taffy, his body limp and unmoving; a silver skeleton, all traces of flesh burned clean from it's bones- at the end of each hand, three long claws set amidst the knuckle bones. There are other traces. A shield, a hammer, a red and gold crest with an S emblazoned on it.
Figures fight amongst the ruins. A man with the soul of a dragon, whirling and striking, flipping and kicking- his hands wreathed in mystical fire. Against him, an ancient samurai with the symbol of a dragon emblazoned on his armour. His sword burns with the same fire as his foe, and as they circle it seems they harness the same power. A beautiful magician in a tophat throws curses in a strange backward tongue. Against her, a fay sorceress who brought down a kingdom, who harnesses the power of the very earth against her. A young girl with the soul of a demon and the heart of a hero weaves spells of her own, harnessing the power of her bloodline. Against her, a girl with a young face but an ancient soul, whose naked form is drenched in blood. She moves with uncanny speed, changing form into a great and terrible wolf as she fights. An old man wielding ancient magics which are his charge, bleeds from a dozen wounds. Before him, a shirtless figure, muscular and terrible, with a dark beard to match his hair. In his right hand, a spear, glowing red- upon his brow, a mark burning against his forehead. He lunges, his movements a blur, and the spear pierces the sorcerer's magics, impaling the old man.
The victor raises his hands to the sky, roaring in bestial fury. The earth cracks beneath him, and from the rents titanic tentacles slide forth, each longer and thicker than any skyscraper. They squeeze at the earth, tearing the cracks bigger, revealing a great, black, eye. It looks at us, into our very souls, and we feel a cold, wet hand upon our chests.