The street reeked of iron and old fire, sour on the tongue, bitter in the lungs. Even through sirens, orders, and the churn of boots, that other stench lingered: the breath of a place that never knew civility.
Diana had long since abandoned counting. Arithmetic was useless here; for every demon slain, three slipped through the breach. Only rhythm mattered. See. Judge. Strike. Shield. Push. Repeat.
Then the commander arrived.
He stepped out of the portal like inevitability carved to shape. Not swollen and sloppy like the thralls, but precise. Armor of basalt, veins glowing molten. A crown of shattered bone arched from his skull. His cuirass writhed with faces that whispered in unison, and the horde around him shifted into formation at his presence.
He was not hunger. He was will.
Diana advanced. She had no choice.
Her lance split the seams of his armor, ichor hissing. He answered with a sweep of bone that crashed against her shield, the force ringing down her arm into her jaw. She shoved him back anyway, using his strength against him, trading pain for position. For a moment she thought she had him.
Then he vanished.
A ripple of fire, and the commander reappeared at her flank. Claws raked across her shoulder. Shallow, but burning. She spun, lance arcing, but struck only smoke.
Teleportation. Not power, not endurance. Trickery.
And it worked. Each reappearance was a sting — a nick on her thigh, a scorch across her ribs, a gouge down her gauntlet. Shallow cuts that added weight to her shield and ache to her lungs. Chip damage. Death by attrition.
"Face me!" she snarled, pivoting with shield raised.
He laughed — the sound wrong, a chorus of broken instruments — and dissolved again. A flicker to her rear, claws dragging fire across her back.
Zatanna's voice crackled across comms, strained:"Every time he blinks, the portal tightens. He doesn't need to beat you — just bleed you long enough."
Diana's jaw clenched. "Then bind him."
"I can't hold him more than a breath."
Her eyes swept the shadows. He flickered — above her this time. She raised her shield, caught the blow, the weight driving her into the pavement. Asphalt split under her knees. Sparks clawed across her vision as his talons dragged against steel.
The lasso snapped out, golden coils wrapping his wrist, truth burning against molten skin. "You don't win by strength," she hissed, yanking him down. "You win by stealing seconds."
He screamed in many voices, severed his own flesh to slip the rope, and vanished again, leaving his blood hissing on the street.
She rose, breath heavy, her armor scored with shallow cuts that would not heal. He circled unseen. Always waiting.
—
Elsewhere, the team strained.
Superboy was a blunt instrument swung until the edges cracked. Runes glowed along his shoulders, keeping him from splintering outright, but every punch made the street groan. He hurled thralls into riot shields, smashed demons into heaps for the medics to drag away. His grin had died an hour ago. Now his mouth was tight with worry.
Kid Flash ran like desperation personified. Yellow arcs blurred through alleys as he swept civilians back, yanking them from thrall jaws, shoving them into safe zones. He shouted constant, stupid jokes, desperate to keep panic from breaking the line. But his lungs burned, his calves screamed. The wards Zatanna had laced into him were fraying, their light sputtering.
Still, he ran.
Above, Zatanna bled herself dry to hold the rift. Runes spiraled across the rooftop, silver lines etched into the night. Every sigil was a cost paid from her chest. Her voice cracked as she forced language into shape. "Hold—" she whispered to herself, then louder across comms: "Hold and I'll give you the hole you need."
She lied. She was running out.
—
The commander shifted his strategy.
He blinked not behind Diana, but above — on the rooftop.
Zatanna froze as shadows bled up behind her. A clawed hand raked across her warded circle, and the runes screamed as they shattered. The rooftop cracked under the strike.
"Zee!" Diana barked, shoving forward, but she was too far.
The roof caved. Zatanna pitched forward into empty air, light spilling from her hands like broken glass. Her scream was torn from her throat as she plummeted.
—
"ZATANNA!" Wally's voice cracked as he saw her fall. He blurred forward, lightning tearing the street in two.
But the horde knew his intent. The commander's hand lifted, and thralls surged from the portal like a wave, converging on the speedster.
"MOVE!" Wally roared, shoulder-checking two aside, diving toward the falling magician. His hand stretched, fingertips grazing nothing but air—
—and then claws and teeth dragged him down. A dozen monsters piled onto him mid-stride, their combined weight slamming him into the asphalt. He screamed fury, vibrated, tried to tear free — but there were too many.
Above him, Zatanna kept falling.
—
Diana's heart slammed as she broke free of another teleport strike, her shield dented, her body cut in a dozen small places. She saw Zatanna's body tumble in the corner of her vision, Wally buried under monsters, Conner breaking himself against the tide.
And the commander? The commander laughed, flickering from shadow to shadow, always present, never fixed. A trickster bleeding them one wound at a time.
Nightwing's voice burst through comms, strained but near."Ten seconds! I'm almost there!"
Ten seconds was a lifetime. Ten seconds was a death sentence.
Zatanna fell, her cloak a broken wing, the ground rushing up to meet her.