But not Jimmy. Dressed in his Sunday best, he strolled down Hob’s Lane whistling a pop tune. Two of his priciest cameras dangled from his neck. His press pass was pinned to the lapel of a designer jacket. The rubber soles of his deluxe running shoes slapped against the dirty pavement. Jimmy figured he made a pretty tempting target, which was the whole idea. He had even considered donning a bow tie for the occasion, but that might have been push' fog it.
His nonchalant air was just an act. A trickle of sweat, running down his temple, betrayed his anxiety. Walking around Suicide Slum like this was just asking for trouble.
I gotta be nuts,
he thought, but how else was he going to figure out what was up with his on-again, off-again superpowers? As nearly as he could tell, they only manifested under stress, like when he or someone else was in danger.
This isn’t suicide,
he told himself.
It’s a scientific experiment.
Sort of.
“S’up, fellas?” he cheerfully greeted a trio of tough-looking customers who were camped out on the stoop of a graffiti-covered crack house. Matching red bandannas and pyramid amulets tagged them as members in full standing of the Sphinxes, one of the city’s most violent street gangs. Tank tops, baggy trousers, and spiky Mohawks made an intimidating fashion statement. They glowered at the towheaded interloper who’d had the nerve to address them so familiarly. “How about those Metros?”
“Metros suck, yo!” The punks jumped to their feet, all too obviously spoiling for a fight. Their eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty anticipation. Clenched fists gave away their intentions. “We’re Yankee fans!”
“In fact,” a second tough explained, “we’re on our way to a game right now.” He grinned maliciously. “Maybe we take your cameras, so we can get some pictures, and your money, so we can buy the tickets.”
“And your shoes,” the third hood added. “Just because.” They surrounded Jimmy on the sidewalk, cutting off any chance of escape. Nearby pedestrians hurried away in the opposite direction, doing their best not to get involved in the fracas. Part of Jimmy wished he could join them.
Here goes nothing.
“Oh yeah?” he challenged them. Raising his fists, he charged forward and kicked the nearest gang member in the kneecap. “You and what army?”
It wasn’t the snappiest repartee, but it had the desired effect. “Hey!” his injured target blurted angrily. His face flushed red. A cocky smirk was instantly replaced by a look of genuine outrage. A metal chain rattled against his hip as he drew back his fist.
Jimmy gulped.
Okay, powers, do your stuff'....
Tattooed knuckles flew at his face. Jimmy threw his head back, expecting his neck to elongate like before. Poised leg muscles waited eagerly for another burst of superhuman speed. Boy, were these antisocial bruisers in for a surprise when his astounding new abilities kicked in any minute now... !
Nothing happened—except that the punk’s fist collided with his jaw.
The blow sent Jimmy reeling backward into an overflowing trash can. He crashed down onto the pavement amidst a heap of spilled garbage. Tasting blood in his mouth, he probed his front teeth with his tongue. Nothing was missing, thank goodness, but a couple incisors felt loose. A gong rang loudly inside his head. It took him a second to focus his blurry eyes.
And right about then, he thought to himself,
Maybe I should’ve told Superman I was coming here, just in case.
The Sphinxes weren’t done with him yet. Led by the snarling hood who had laid Jimmy flat, they converged on the fallen reporter with clenched fists and bellicose expressions. Jimmy scooted backward, only to bump into the overturned trash can. Outnumbered three to one, he suddenly wished that he had left well enough alone.
“O-okay guys,” he stammered, trying in vain to talk his way out of a severe beatdown. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Have a good time at the game. Popcorn’s on me.” He smiled weakly up at the sneering hoodlums. “Uh ... go Yankees?”
“Go nothing, fool.” The gang leader grabbed Jimmy’s throat with murder in his eyes. His fingers tightened on the reporter’s windpipe. “Nobody messes with me and keeps suckin’ oxygen!”
Oh my God,
Jimmy realized in horror.
This guy’s playing for keeps!
A tingling sensation rushed over his body. Before he knew it, needle-sharp spines poked up from his skin like the quills of a porcupine. The spines shot from his face and palms, spearing his attacker, who recoiled in pain and surprise.
“Yaaaahh!”
the hood shrieked as the barbs punctured his skin. Looking like he had just run face-first into a cactus, he scrambled backward into the arms of his fellow Sphinxes, who appeared equally frightened by Jimmy’s bizarre transformation. Their startled eyes bulged from their sockets.
“Let’s bounce!” a spooked hooligan exclaimed. Assisting their limping comrade, the gang members beat a hasty retreat. They booked down the sidewalk as fast their drooping trousers permitted. “Dude’s a
freakl”
Jimmy barely noticed their departure. He was too busy staring in shock at the quills projecting from his hands. For a second, he feared that he had permanently turned into some sort of human porcupine, then breathed a sigh of relief as the pointy spines retracted back into his flesh. Within seconds, they had vanished entirely. Only a scattering of fallen quills upon the pavement proved that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
I don't understand,
Jimmy thought.
Why’d they come out when that guy tried to choke me, but not when he slugged me? And why shooting spines, anyway?
His experiment had been a success of sorts, but had left him even more confused than before. Gathering his things, Jimmy clambered to his feet and made tracks toward the nearest subway station. His jaw ached. A dizzying mix of fear and excitement had his brain awhirl.
What’s
happening
to me?
32 AND COUNTING.
GOTHAM CITY.
No
longer bound by gravity, Mary Marvel soared through the heart of a raging thunderstorm. She thrilled in the fury of the tempest and her newfound powers. The night sky serenaded her. The thunder roared like a symphony of drums, as though the very atmosphere were drawn tight over the planet and hammered on with the fists of gods. Turbulent winds caressed her, and driving sheets of rain baptized her rebirth. She could hear the dark clouds scrape against each other and the raw elemental forces cycling through the air around her ... for
her.
Forty thousand thunderstorms happened every day, and right now she could feel ten thousand storms scattered between Gotham and Beijing. She was one with the lightning.
This is amazing,
Mary exulted.
It’s even better than before.
She twirled high above the city, exhilarated by the sheer bliss of being able to fly once more. All her prayers had been answered—and then some.
How on Earth could Teth-Adam walk away from a feeling like this?
She wasn’t just powered by magic anymore. She
was
magic. Her entire body was attuned to the mystical energies flowing unseen through the city below. She felt a subtle distortion in the ley lines and realized that something was seriously amiss. Perhaps that was why Madame Xanadu had tried to warn Mary away from Gotham before? As it turned out, however, she needn’t have been concerned; with the combined powers of Black Adam and Isis at her disposal, Mary felt more than ready to deal with whatever occult menace awaited her.
Time to show the world that Mary Marvel is back—and better than ever.
She swooped down from the clouds toward an apartment building in Midtown. Her heightened senses drew her straight to the source of the disturbance. Five pregnant women, clad in matching white robes, knelt atop the roof of the building, chanting in unison. They faced each other from the five points of a pentagram. The pouring rain plastered their ceremonial robes to their swollen bodies. Thunderclaps punctuated the verses of their chant. Swirling fumes rose from a lit cauldron at the center of the pentagram. Freshly spilled blood traced the outlines of a five-pointed star. A nearby clock tower tolled midnight.
Okay,
Mary decided at a glance.
This can’t be a good idea....
“Stop!” she called out from overhead. “You don't know what you’re doing!”
But they knew enough to raise a little hell, apparently. Before Mary could call a halt to the blasphemous ritual, fire and brimstone erupted from the cauldron, instantly incinerating all five congregants. The sudden flare-up blindsided Mary, who threw up an arm to protect her face from the bright orange flames. By the time she lowered her arm an instant later, the hellfire had died away and an honest-to-goodness demon stood atop the roof, surrounded by the smoking remains of the careless coven. The falling rain quickly extinguished the glowing embers.
Mary wasted little time mourning the reckless women; they had brought their incendiary demise on themselves. Instead she concentrated on the grotesque apparition they had foolishly summoned from the abyss. Curved horns crested the demon’s skull. Fiery red eyes glowed like hell-fire, and cloven hooves stomped against the tar-papered rooftop. Arcane markings tattooed his bestial features. All pretty standard, in other words. What was really disturbing was what the demon was
wearing.
To Mary’s disgust, the creature appeared to be clad in a suit made up entirely of... dead babies?
Overlapping layers of emaciated infants squirmed all over the demon’s leathery hide. Their shriveled, wrinkly faces were more hideous than cute. Cyanotic blue skin was stretched tightly over their bony bodies. Scores of tiny, toothless mouths wailed incessantly, the shrill caterwauling quickly grating on Mary’s nerves. They smelled like a hundred dirty diapers.
That’s just gross,
Mary thought, making a face. She descended directly into the demon’s field of vision, hovering only a few yards above the rooftop. “So,” she challenged the vile creature, “what’s your deal?”
“Ha lo kamo sako!”
the demon snarled, baring its fangs. His guttural voice scraped at her eardrums.
“Devini morti! Formang’l al cii!”
Mary didn’t bother trying to figure out the monster’s infernal dialect. “Oh yeah, that’s what I would have said.”
“I am Pharyngula, the harvester of stillborn souls.” He scowled, as though annoyed at having to repeat himself. “Forgive me; I have not spoken English in over six hundred years, and your peculiar idioms are unfamiliar to me. Long have I been trapped outside this sphere of existence.” _
“No doubt for the betterment of humanity,” Mary guessed. She glanced at the steaming piles of ashes that were all that remained of the unfortunate coven. “Too bad those dimwits let you back in.”
“Yes,” Pharyngula agreed. “For you.”
He flung out his arm and a flood of writhing fetuses shot across the distance between them. Dozens of grabby
CSWNTDPHfli 11
little hands seized her with unexpected strength. Tugging painfully on her hair, clothes, and flesh, they dragged her down toward Pharyngula until the demon’s leering face was only inches away from her own. She felt his hot, sul-furous breath upon her face. The dead babies swarmed over her body, enveloping her in their greedy clutches. Her skin crawled beneath their clammy touch, and a forked tongue licked her cheek. “Hey!” she protested indignantly. “What do you think you’re doing, you pediatric pest!”
“How do you say in English?” He racked his brain for the right words, grinning evilly as he came up with an appropriate translation. “I’m going to devour your flesh and suck the digested waste from your intestines!”
Yuck!
“No way!” Mary declared. She wasn’t a just a frail, helpless girl anymore. If this revolting monstrosity thought she couldn’t defend herself against a pack of stinking rug rats, he had a lot to learn. Calling upon the strength of Amon, she tore herself free from the avalanche of stillborn infants. She shook off their mewling corpses like a dog shedding its fleas, but her stomach still turned at the thought of the satanic sucklings crawling all over her.
You ’re paying for that,
she thought, glaring furiously at Pharyngula.
Big-time.
A roundhouse punch connected with the demon’s jaw. He went flying off the roof and plunged seven stories to the street below, where he smashed through the roof of a parked Mercedes. The loud metallic crash caused windows to light up all over the sleeping apartment building. A blaring car alarm woke up the entire neighborhood. Worried faces peered out into the night. The sirens and flashing lights of emergency vehicles converged on the scene, no doubt attracted by the pyrotechnic eruption of a few moments ago. The unleashed hellfire must have been visible from blocks away.
Mary hoped that Pharyngula had survived the fall. She wasn’t done with him yet.
“Mortal harlot!” The demon rose from the crushed
interior of the Mercedes. Howling in pain and anger, he shook a taloned fist at his attacker. The tip of one horn had been chipped off. A noxious green ichor bled from his nose. “I will consume your filthy human womb!”
Watch your mouth,
Mary thought. Fists first, she dived toward her foe. His crimson orbs bulged in alarm as he saw her streaking down from on high. At the last minute, he ducked beneath her airborne assault, throwing himself facedown onto the mangled luxury car. Mary whooshed above his head, her gloved knuckles grazing the back of his skull.
Smooth move,
she conceded,
but don’t think you’re getting away from me that easily.
Without even slowing down, she grabbed on to the chassis of an empty SUV and carried it up into the sky with her. Whirling in midair, she raised the huge, gas-guzzling vehicle above her head and took aim at the demon below. Visibly alarmed, Pharyngula frantically shifted gears. “Child, wait!” he pleaded. “I merely desire to inhabit this world again. I will eat only what I need to survive!”