After leaving the cafe, Phil opened the duffle bag slung across his shoulders. It held most of the arcane hardware he had managed to collect this past year. Reaching in, Phil ignored the large metal helmet to get his cloak. It billowed out in the sea breeze of Star City, a blue so dark it was almost black. In a minute, the mantle was around Phil’s neck, hood drawn, and Phil himself was flying over the city, buildings and people raced by far below. 

Phil wasn’t ready to go back to the headquarters, not yet. He still had nightmares on rare occasion about the Deathstroke incident. The fingers on his left hand flexed, going through their limited range of motion. The scars still hurt, were still fresh, both physically and mentally. John had said that wounds from that magic blade were hard to heal. Zatanna hadn’t spoken on the matter.

The clangor of battle interrupted Phil’s thoughts. A giant of stone was fighting authorities on the Star Bridge. The transportation truck was in shreds like a tin can that had gotten run over by a lawnmower. Phil reached into his bag once more, dawning gold gauntlets and a gold mask. The mask was ornate but not magical, It looked like a death mask of a long dead pharaoh, but without the false beard and headdress. The gauntlets were likewise golden, but had magic about them. Reaching the site, Phil quickly put them to use by casting a large dome-shaped shield to protect civilians from the debris that the stone giant was hurling. 

[i]I sure hope the rest of the team gets here soon,[/i] Phil thought as he strained against the onslaught.