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EnarrAnd so the angel fell in love with the deathbringer.
The pair were offered a choice: to face death as judgment or to choose to go on living, bonded together. With her hands on his face, the angel embraced her deathbringer with a kiss, redeeming the fallen to the light. Together, they chose life, despite the guilt it would carry. Neither knew this choice came with a further burden, an eternal life, doomed to be reincarnated across time and space until they saved as many lives as they had ended.
Doomed to fall in love again and again, only to watch each other be ripped away by the throes of death, over and over. Each life born ignorant but when awakened, burdened with the pain and guilt of the last, urging them forward again and again until the debt was paid.
An impossible debt that had to be repaid in full.
The pair were offered a choice: to face death as judgment or to choose to go on living, bonded together. With her hands on his face, the angel embraced her deathbringer with a kiss, redeeming the fallen to the light. Together, they chose life, despite the guilt it would carry. Neither knew this choice came with a further burden, an eternal life, doomed to be reincarnated across time and space until they saved as many lives as they had ended.
Doomed to fall in love again and again, only to watch each other be ripped away by the throes of death, over and over. Each life born ignorant but when awakened, burdened with the pain and guilt of the last, urging them forward again and again until the debt was paid.
An impossible debt that had to be repaid in full.
|| 1936 - Giza, Egypt
“The tomb of Prince Khufu!”
The musty air filled the lungs of those entering the Great Pyramid. Hal Jacobs rubbed his hands together excitedly, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat upon his head. Beside him, the men in grey uniforms stood guard as the venture’s sponsor, Dr. Anton Hestor, followed behind the archaeologist.
“Do you believe the Claw is here, Herr Jacobs?” Hestor asked, adjusting the small, round-framed dark glasses that sat atop the bridge of his nose.
“The Claw of Horus?” Hal replied, “It’s possible, but not a certainty. The Claw was created by Nabu the Wise and then ally Teth-Adam. Nabu was Prince Khufu Maat Kha-Tar’s royal adviser, court magician, and confidante. A gift for his king, there’s reason to believe Khufu was buried with it.”
“Prince Khufu,” Hestor turned the name over in his mouth like a bad taste. Smacking his lips as though he wanted to be rid of the taste before speaking again. “Prince Khufu was not of royal blood was he? History has very little about the late prince beyond outrageous claims of him being Horus in human form.”
“Claims some took very seriously,” Hal replied, kneeling beside a wall of hieroglyphics. “The story goes that Khufu fell from the skies, so struck with love that Horus gave up his divinity to be with Queen Chay-ara. The Queen was said to be the most beautiful woman to ever grace the shores of the Nile. Even Hathor herself paled in comparison compared to Chay-ara.”
“And where did this queen come from?”
“The glyphs tell us she was found by the High Priest, Hath-Set, who assumed by her golden adornments that she must have been a pharaoh sent from the sky. Hath-Set positioned Chay-ara as a puppet leader, at least until Khufu arrived and the two fell madly in love.” Jacobs explained.
“In his jealousy, Hath-Set drove a knife forged of a celestial bronze through the heat of Chay-ara only to die at the hands of Khufu moments later before he too succumbed to his wounds. The Court Magician, Nabu the Wise was the first to discover the dying Priest and royals, administering aid but ultimately unable to save any of them.” Jacobs continued.
“A myth states that their souls were bound from that point on, Khufu and Chay-ara destined to find each other in every subsequent life. Their love causes Hath-Set to return only to destroy and begin the cycle anew.”
“And what of the claw?” Hestor asked, “A silly love story isn’t exactly what Shmidt was hoping to uncover here.”
“It was buried with Khufu.” Jacobs replied, following the detailed wall further and further into the tomb.
“These tombs,” Hestor began, following between Hal flanked on either side by men in black uniforms bearing a tentacle bearing skull. “They are usually, how you say, booby-trapped, nein?”
“Not in the way the stories or moving pictures would have you believe, Doctor,” Jacobs replied. “There are no trigger tiles and certainly nothing reanimated wandering the halls.”
“On zat, we will have to agree to disagree.”
“Very well, but in my experience you’re more likely to find maze-like hallways which confuse and disorient the intended tomb raider leaving them to a long and agonizing death. Or even more simply-”
Jacob’s arm suddenly shot out, grabbing the front of Anton’s attire before his guards hands shot to their weapons.
“Pitfalls.” Jacobs added, motioning towards the ledge just beyond their toes. “A fall at this height is more than certain to break something, the least of which is not your neck. Surviving the fall, even worse.”
“Danke, Herr Jacobs,” Anton nodded as the archaeologist looked around for a way to cross.
“The pit at least should mean we’re close to the sarcophagus.” Jacobs muttered, the fire of the torches flickering against the intricate wall.
“Some of these symbols, they appear irregular, alien, nein?” Hestor asked as Jacobs moved closer to the wall. Gold etchings within the brickwork felt as though they were calling out to him.
“I think I can translate them.” Jacobs replied, an electrifying sensation passing through his body as he touched the strange metal inserts. A pulse shot through his skull, pain as though his mind was suddenly opening every last pocket within his brain.
A Pinkerton badge was gripped firmly in his hand.
The jolt of sudden movement from a horse between his legs.
The clang of a hammer striking an anvil.
The smell of lavender, mint and thyme inside a congested mask.
The feeling of steel striking against his own steel sword.
The embrace of a woman while the people chanted for Prince Khufu.
An alien world and a living metal.
And then darkness and a single word.
“Ah, it would seem that the myth was not correct.”
A sudden shot rang out, the sound of the gun nearly deafening within the stone walls of the ancient tomb. Jacobs felt his eyes widen in shock, a hand moving to his forehead before blood-stained fingers faded to black. His body slumped to the ground. Only now, after touching the Nth Metal, did he recognize the face of Hath-Set.
“Sorry, mein freund, there will be no love for you in this life.” Hestor replied, crushing Hal’s hand beneath his boot. “I couldn’t risk the Claw falling into the hands of my oldest enemy. Not when my new allies have a war to win.” He holstered the smoking gun, the Mauser easily sliding into his holster.
“I’ll see you in the next life, my Prince.”
The musty air filled the lungs of those entering the Great Pyramid. Hal Jacobs rubbed his hands together excitedly, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat upon his head. Beside him, the men in grey uniforms stood guard as the venture’s sponsor, Dr. Anton Hestor, followed behind the archaeologist.
“Do you believe the Claw is here, Herr Jacobs?” Hestor asked, adjusting the small, round-framed dark glasses that sat atop the bridge of his nose.
“The Claw of Horus?” Hal replied, “It’s possible, but not a certainty. The Claw was created by Nabu the Wise and then ally Teth-Adam. Nabu was Prince Khufu Maat Kha-Tar’s royal adviser, court magician, and confidante. A gift for his king, there’s reason to believe Khufu was buried with it.”
“Prince Khufu,” Hestor turned the name over in his mouth like a bad taste. Smacking his lips as though he wanted to be rid of the taste before speaking again. “Prince Khufu was not of royal blood was he? History has very little about the late prince beyond outrageous claims of him being Horus in human form.”
“Claims some took very seriously,” Hal replied, kneeling beside a wall of hieroglyphics. “The story goes that Khufu fell from the skies, so struck with love that Horus gave up his divinity to be with Queen Chay-ara. The Queen was said to be the most beautiful woman to ever grace the shores of the Nile. Even Hathor herself paled in comparison compared to Chay-ara.”
“And where did this queen come from?”
“The glyphs tell us she was found by the High Priest, Hath-Set, who assumed by her golden adornments that she must have been a pharaoh sent from the sky. Hath-Set positioned Chay-ara as a puppet leader, at least until Khufu arrived and the two fell madly in love.” Jacobs explained.
“In his jealousy, Hath-Set drove a knife forged of a celestial bronze through the heat of Chay-ara only to die at the hands of Khufu moments later before he too succumbed to his wounds. The Court Magician, Nabu the Wise was the first to discover the dying Priest and royals, administering aid but ultimately unable to save any of them.” Jacobs continued.
“A myth states that their souls were bound from that point on, Khufu and Chay-ara destined to find each other in every subsequent life. Their love causes Hath-Set to return only to destroy and begin the cycle anew.”
“And what of the claw?” Hestor asked, “A silly love story isn’t exactly what Shmidt was hoping to uncover here.”
“It was buried with Khufu.” Jacobs replied, following the detailed wall further and further into the tomb.
“These tombs,” Hestor began, following between Hal flanked on either side by men in black uniforms bearing a tentacle bearing skull. “They are usually, how you say, booby-trapped, nein?”
“Not in the way the stories or moving pictures would have you believe, Doctor,” Jacobs replied. “There are no trigger tiles and certainly nothing reanimated wandering the halls.”
“On zat, we will have to agree to disagree.”
“Very well, but in my experience you’re more likely to find maze-like hallways which confuse and disorient the intended tomb raider leaving them to a long and agonizing death. Or even more simply-”
Jacob’s arm suddenly shot out, grabbing the front of Anton’s attire before his guards hands shot to their weapons.
“Pitfalls.” Jacobs added, motioning towards the ledge just beyond their toes. “A fall at this height is more than certain to break something, the least of which is not your neck. Surviving the fall, even worse.”
“Danke, Herr Jacobs,” Anton nodded as the archaeologist looked around for a way to cross.
“The pit at least should mean we’re close to the sarcophagus.” Jacobs muttered, the fire of the torches flickering against the intricate wall.
“Some of these symbols, they appear irregular, alien, nein?” Hestor asked as Jacobs moved closer to the wall. Gold etchings within the brickwork felt as though they were calling out to him.
“I think I can translate them.” Jacobs replied, an electrifying sensation passing through his body as he touched the strange metal inserts. A pulse shot through his skull, pain as though his mind was suddenly opening every last pocket within his brain.
A Pinkerton badge was gripped firmly in his hand.
The jolt of sudden movement from a horse between his legs.
The clang of a hammer striking an anvil.
The smell of lavender, mint and thyme inside a congested mask.
The feeling of steel striking against his own steel sword.
The embrace of a woman while the people chanted for Prince Khufu.
An alien world and a living metal.
And then darkness and a single word.
Deathbringer.
“Ah, it would seem that the myth was not correct.”
A sudden shot rang out, the sound of the gun nearly deafening within the stone walls of the ancient tomb. Jacobs felt his eyes widen in shock, a hand moving to his forehead before blood-stained fingers faded to black. His body slumped to the ground. Only now, after touching the Nth Metal, did he recognize the face of Hath-Set.
“Sorry, mein freund, there will be no love for you in this life.” Hestor replied, crushing Hal’s hand beneath his boot. “I couldn’t risk the Claw falling into the hands of my oldest enemy. Not when my new allies have a war to win.” He holstered the smoking gun, the Mauser easily sliding into his holster.
“I’ll see you in the next life, my Prince.”
"Yako ajaw Camazotz!"
"Yako ajaw Camazotz!"
"Yako ajaw Camazotz!"
"Yako ajaw Camazotz!"
"Yako ajaw Camazotz!"
|| Present - St. Roch, Louisiana
|| Several Weeks Ago - St. Roch, Louisiana
It starts as fleeting dreams.
First come the nightmares.
Then the déjà vu.
Faces don’t change; the same eyes live on from generation to generation.
Suddenly, a smell, a taste or a touch jogs another memory. An alien planet appears before his eyes. A woman with red hair looks into his eyes, before a hand caresses his face.
“Katar Hol, my body, no, my soul, is forever yours. Bonded to you.”
Their chambers disappear, replaced by a cockpit that Carter doesn’t know how to navigate and yet effortlessly handles the controls. Turbulence rocks the ship from side to side as the whirling worm hole threatens to rip it apart before the vessel is suddenly swallowed whole.
The smell of smoke fills his lungs. The ship had been torn apart, the cabin depressurized. Where was Shayera? Katar could feel the Nth Metal wrapping around him, cocooning him within his wings before the sudden impact lurched him awake, and suddenly Carter Hall finds himself alone in a bed torn askew.
The nightmares had been increasing since he had returned from Brazil.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” An incorporeal voice stated before the glowing silhouette of a man appeared in front of Carter.
“Craddock.”
“Hello, Hannibal,” Craddock replied merrily, “I thought I’d hang around for a bit.”
“You make one pun…” Carter muttered, his voice trailing off as he pulled himself up from the bed. Grabbing a half empty bottle of amber liquid from his nightstand, Carter took a sniff before pouring it into a nearby mug.
“Isn’t there supposed to be some coffee with that Irish?”
“Can I pour you a drink?” Carter deadpanned. Craddock scoffed at the other man’s retort, his ghostly hands coming to rest on his immaterial cane while he floated above the desk.
“You made quite an impression on the underworld. You know this business isn’t done.” Craddock continued while Carter dressed himself.
“Camazotz has marked you as a Deathbringer, and he won’t stop until he gets his Eternal Night.”
“I already told him, Carter Hall doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Not even Shayera?” Craddock laughed, “Come now, old lad, you killed for Katherine’s honour and dignity, Hanibal, it must be driving you up the wall that even after touching your fabled Nth Metal, Kendra feels nothing for Carter Hall.”
“Are you only here to comment on my lack of a love life?”
“No, old friend.” Craddock replied sorrowfully. “I’m afraid this is a warning. The next time we meet won’t be as friends. In the coming war against life and death, I’m afraid my lot has already been cast and my loyalties will oppose yours.” The gentleman ghost paused.
“Unless, you reconsider becoming the Deathbringer.”
“You already know I won’t, Craddock.”
“Very well, then I suggest you start polishing your mace before the bodies begin piling up in St. Roch.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No,” Craddock shook his head sadly, “No, Hannibal. It’s a warning.”
First come the nightmares.
Then the déjà vu.
Faces don’t change; the same eyes live on from generation to generation.
Suddenly, a smell, a taste or a touch jogs another memory. An alien planet appears before his eyes. A woman with red hair looks into his eyes, before a hand caresses his face.
“Katar Hol, my body, no, my soul, is forever yours. Bonded to you.”
Their chambers disappear, replaced by a cockpit that Carter doesn’t know how to navigate and yet effortlessly handles the controls. Turbulence rocks the ship from side to side as the whirling worm hole threatens to rip it apart before the vessel is suddenly swallowed whole.
The smell of smoke fills his lungs. The ship had been torn apart, the cabin depressurized. Where was Shayera? Katar could feel the Nth Metal wrapping around him, cocooning him within his wings before the sudden impact lurched him awake, and suddenly Carter Hall finds himself alone in a bed torn askew.
The nightmares had been increasing since he had returned from Brazil.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” An incorporeal voice stated before the glowing silhouette of a man appeared in front of Carter.
“Craddock.”
“Hello, Hannibal,” Craddock replied merrily, “I thought I’d hang around for a bit.”
“You make one pun…” Carter muttered, his voice trailing off as he pulled himself up from the bed. Grabbing a half empty bottle of amber liquid from his nightstand, Carter took a sniff before pouring it into a nearby mug.
“Isn’t there supposed to be some coffee with that Irish?”
“Can I pour you a drink?” Carter deadpanned. Craddock scoffed at the other man’s retort, his ghostly hands coming to rest on his immaterial cane while he floated above the desk.
“You made quite an impression on the underworld. You know this business isn’t done.” Craddock continued while Carter dressed himself.
“Camazotz has marked you as a Deathbringer, and he won’t stop until he gets his Eternal Night.”
“I already told him, Carter Hall doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Not even Shayera?” Craddock laughed, “Come now, old lad, you killed for Katherine’s honour and dignity, Hanibal, it must be driving you up the wall that even after touching your fabled Nth Metal, Kendra feels nothing for Carter Hall.”
“Are you only here to comment on my lack of a love life?”
“No, old friend.” Craddock replied sorrowfully. “I’m afraid this is a warning. The next time we meet won’t be as friends. In the coming war against life and death, I’m afraid my lot has already been cast and my loyalties will oppose yours.” The gentleman ghost paused.
“Unless, you reconsider becoming the Deathbringer.”
“You already know I won’t, Craddock.”
“Very well, then I suggest you start polishing your mace before the bodies begin piling up in St. Roch.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No,” Craddock shook his head sadly, “No, Hannibal. It’s a warning.”
|| Several Weeks Ago - St. Roch, Louisiana
“You really ought to get out. When was the last time you’ve been on a dig?”
Ray Palmer’s voice landed on deaf ears as his friend continued to pore over the ancient manuscript in front of him. The small dark-haired man smiled as he gently massaged his own temples. While there were many adjectives to describe Carter Hall, the most frequently used one was stubborn.
“Look,” Ray stated, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulders. “I know things with Kendra have been rough, y’know on account of you having all your memories and your wild, passionate past while she-”
Ray paused.
“Y’know, doesn’t.” He offered meekly as Carter’s pupil sharply pivoted to glare at him from the corner of his eye.
“How articulate for a man with four PhDs.”
“Oh, hey, a response that was more than a grunt, glad to see you’re still able to speak in at least one of the thousand or so languages you allegedly possess.”
Carter suddenly stood from his desk.
When Ray described his friend as a museum curator who taught part-time at St. Roch’s University, Carter Hall wasn’t exactly the image most people conjured up. Rearing to his full height, the dusty office full of unpacked crates overlooking the main exhibit hall suddenly felt a lot smaller.
“If we’re going to engage in snark-to-snark combat,” Carter growled, coming towards Ray.
“Then I’m going to need a drink.” He added, his expression softening as he nearly cracked a smile while reaching for a small pantry behind the small man and producing a pair of glasses along with a simple bottle.
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Ray smiled, accepting the glass while Carter poured a small amount of the amber liquid into it.
“This is from my grandfather’s collection.”
“Your son’s?” Ray asked as Carter topped his drink up.
“We are not playing that game tonight.” Carter shook his head. “The Hall family tree and my various incarnations are far too entangled.”
“Hank is a spitting image of you, Al was showing me photos taken after the last great war. Hawkman and Hawkwoman, the muscle of the Justice Society of America!”
“Those were the days,” Carter lamented while pulling open a drawer. “Cigar?”
“Not for me.”
“Suit yourself.” Carter replied before snipping the end off and lighting the thick cigar. He took a long drag before pulling a ring of smoke towards the ceiling. Swishing his drink about, he let out a heavy sigh.
“There was a damn kid touring the museum yesterday. ‘Bout seven, named Ethaniel. What the hell kind of name is that?” Carter said before taking another drag off the cigar.
“Does the guy calling himself, Hawkman, really get a say on picking names?” Ray chuckled.
“Ethan, Nathaniel, pick one, it ain’t hard.” Carter exclaimed, “And c’mon, the damn Atom, you’re not exactly the picture of originality yourself.”
“Better than Ant-Man.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Carter replied, the pair of glasses clinking as they touched.
A small knock came from the office door frame as Carter turned to see his dark haired grad student standing in the doorway. Ray could feel his jaw drop at the sight of the young woman, looking from her back to Carter. Gold-coloured eyes contrasted against her darker skin while the long hair perfectly framed a lithe frame that did little to hide its toned muscle.
“She’s a little young-”
“Yara Flor, the idiot speaking is Dr. Raymond Palmer, Dr. Raymond Palmer, Yara Flor.” Carter interrupted Ray with a swift elbow to the ribs that left Ray too winded to speak further.
“Miss Flor is my graduate student, top of her classes, she came highly recommended.”
“Sorry to intrude, Professor.” Yara replied, “But there’s a Ms. Elsa Bloodstone here to see you.”
“Please inform, Ms. Bloodstone that I’m in a meeting right now.” Carter replied dismissively, pausing only as Yara began to smile.
“Ms. Bloodstone said you’d say that.” She replied before holding out an object that had been hidden behind her back.
“So she sent this to ensure you’d see her now.”
The object itself was clearly Mesoamerican in origin, but there was something about it that immediately caught the attention of both men as they put their drinks down, Yara finally having their full attention. Ray’s eyes had gone wide as Carter stood, taking the object out of Yara’s hand, feeling it pulse against his hand as it reacted to his touch.
“Carter, that’s-”
“Nth Metal.”
Ray Palmer’s voice landed on deaf ears as his friend continued to pore over the ancient manuscript in front of him. The small dark-haired man smiled as he gently massaged his own temples. While there were many adjectives to describe Carter Hall, the most frequently used one was stubborn.
“Look,” Ray stated, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulders. “I know things with Kendra have been rough, y’know on account of you having all your memories and your wild, passionate past while she-”
Ray paused.
“Y’know, doesn’t.” He offered meekly as Carter’s pupil sharply pivoted to glare at him from the corner of his eye.
“How articulate for a man with four PhDs.”
“Oh, hey, a response that was more than a grunt, glad to see you’re still able to speak in at least one of the thousand or so languages you allegedly possess.”
Carter suddenly stood from his desk.
When Ray described his friend as a museum curator who taught part-time at St. Roch’s University, Carter Hall wasn’t exactly the image most people conjured up. Rearing to his full height, the dusty office full of unpacked crates overlooking the main exhibit hall suddenly felt a lot smaller.
“If we’re going to engage in snark-to-snark combat,” Carter growled, coming towards Ray.
“Then I’m going to need a drink.” He added, his expression softening as he nearly cracked a smile while reaching for a small pantry behind the small man and producing a pair of glasses along with a simple bottle.
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Ray smiled, accepting the glass while Carter poured a small amount of the amber liquid into it.
“This is from my grandfather’s collection.”
“Your son’s?” Ray asked as Carter topped his drink up.
“We are not playing that game tonight.” Carter shook his head. “The Hall family tree and my various incarnations are far too entangled.”
“Hank is a spitting image of you, Al was showing me photos taken after the last great war. Hawkman and Hawkwoman, the muscle of the Justice Society of America!”
“Those were the days,” Carter lamented while pulling open a drawer. “Cigar?”
“Not for me.”
“Suit yourself.” Carter replied before snipping the end off and lighting the thick cigar. He took a long drag before pulling a ring of smoke towards the ceiling. Swishing his drink about, he let out a heavy sigh.
“There was a damn kid touring the museum yesterday. ‘Bout seven, named Ethaniel. What the hell kind of name is that?” Carter said before taking another drag off the cigar.
“Does the guy calling himself, Hawkman, really get a say on picking names?” Ray chuckled.
“Ethan, Nathaniel, pick one, it ain’t hard.” Carter exclaimed, “And c’mon, the damn Atom, you’re not exactly the picture of originality yourself.”
“Better than Ant-Man.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Carter replied, the pair of glasses clinking as they touched.
A small knock came from the office door frame as Carter turned to see his dark haired grad student standing in the doorway. Ray could feel his jaw drop at the sight of the young woman, looking from her back to Carter. Gold-coloured eyes contrasted against her darker skin while the long hair perfectly framed a lithe frame that did little to hide its toned muscle.
“She’s a little young-”
“Yara Flor, the idiot speaking is Dr. Raymond Palmer, Dr. Raymond Palmer, Yara Flor.” Carter interrupted Ray with a swift elbow to the ribs that left Ray too winded to speak further.
“Miss Flor is my graduate student, top of her classes, she came highly recommended.”
“Sorry to intrude, Professor.” Yara replied, “But there’s a Ms. Elsa Bloodstone here to see you.”
“Please inform, Ms. Bloodstone that I’m in a meeting right now.” Carter replied dismissively, pausing only as Yara began to smile.
“Ms. Bloodstone said you’d say that.” She replied before holding out an object that had been hidden behind her back.
“So she sent this to ensure you’d see her now.”
The object itself was clearly Mesoamerican in origin, but there was something about it that immediately caught the attention of both men as they put their drinks down, Yara finally having their full attention. Ray’s eyes had gone wide as Carter stood, taking the object out of Yara’s hand, feeling it pulse against his hand as it reacted to his touch.
“Carter, that’s-”
“Nth Metal.”
