Ard El-Khof - The Land of Fear [Talia, League of Assassins]

[Deleted]

There was a loud cry of celebration, angry chanting from the crowd, cheers and celebration, for this was the thirty fourth day of justice, after the death of Asim Muhunnad, may his name be cursed for all time. The benevolent leader had come again to bring justice. The Bell tolled repeatedly as the cheer rose, and then stopped with the sound of rams horns being blown. A piercing sound that came over the crowd, repeated along the minarets and giant statues. The crowd quieted, and then listened to the speaker at the palace.

"On the thirty fourth day of justice, in the reign of Teth-Adam: The benevolent leader, king of kings, he who hath returned from death to bring the waters of life: The traitors and destroyers have pressed upon us for too long. For the cursed Asim Muhunnad who hath conspired with the enemies of the people and the king, is dead. And those who supported him are found together."

Upon the balcony four men are held bound, they wear dark clothing, hooded, arms bound behind them. The speaker continued. "These men were found conspiring with the enemies of justice."

"For too long our people have been kept under the pressed thumb of shadowy forces, influenced and tormented by a league of hidden purpose. Those who sought justice, were lost forever. Those who sought out the shadows of our oppression, were silenced in death. The League of Shadows had many friends, foreign and yes, local. But it was that the great king returned."

Along the sides men sang and pounded staffs against the ground in unison. A chant with almost religious fervor. The hoods are removed from the men as they are sent to see the crowd. One stares at the crowd silently, another appears afraid. A third is shivering, while the fourth. Doesn't seem to care at all. He's looking around himself.

"It was said that Teth Adam, the great king of ancient times was killed by the treachery of Ahk-Ton in the time of ancients. That his family was destroyed. But he has overcome death itself to return to bring justice to the people. To rule with benevolence, his nation of Khandaq! He comes now for justice!"

Overhead above the crowd, the sound of distant thunder and lightning, a dark figure hovered in air, for the laws of gravity held no sway over the God-King of Khandaq. He hovered, arms crossed as he stared at the four guilty.

The speaker continued "Oh great and glorious Teth-Adam, the Lord of All, King of Kings, Father of Nations, we plead to you, to bring justice to the people! Justice to Khandaq!"

Teth Adam hovered, staring at the four, he moved closer, feet standing on the balcony before them. His glare was that of judgment itself, his form small amongst the statues and buildings, but large in the looming sense of history and raw power. Teth-Adam was a Prophet! A King! A Hero! A God made Manifest! His feet did not touch the ground like normal mortals.

The four were silent. One started crying, in a blur Teth-Adam is gone along with the third man. A rush of wind blowing through the courtyard, a gasp from the crowd. The sound of distant thunder, the flashes of lightning as storm clouds rose over Shiruta. The distant sound of screams.

[Deleted]

----- TWO DAYS PRIOR ------
"It's quite well documented, you know," Sivana says, a dour, yet wistful look on his face. "The city of Shiruta was ancient centuries before the birth of Christ. It has a lineage that dates back into times of legend. Named for the ancient queen Shiruta, who was slaughtered by the high priest Ahk-Ton... It’s said that she was the beloved wife of the historical culture hero Teth-Adam." The word is almost venomous. "You know his history? There's some talk that he may have been the son of Ramses. He ruled with benevolence as king, and so on and so forth. He was quite a mythic figure, said to have command over the lightning, the strength of whole armies. They said he could float above the ground like the sunbird at the bush, soar like the eagle in summer, and run like the desert wind.”

There's a soft, sharp little "Heh, heh, heh" as the doctor looks down his spectacles. "Miracles and mysticism from a bygone era, eh? Or so science would have said fifty years ago. What seemed like lunacy then... Well, we have since seen those that can do more, haven't we?"

He continues at a measured pace. “So, the death of Shiruta. Murder and attempted coup. I bring up Teth-Adam because it was said that he, the King of Khandaq, avenged both crimes. It's said that he himself founded the city in memory of his lost beloved." His voice, all at once turns harder, crueler. "Even now, a hopelessly backwards place, built on a foundation of shaky stone and shakier history. Nothing short of shameful that so much of LexCorp international's assets were seized, so blasted many of our people lost, in the recent unpleasantness. Its extensive underground networks of tunnels and caves were well suited for our operations." He pinches the bridge of his nose and furrows his brow. "And the loss of that blathering cheese of a dictator! An utter fool, no two ways around it. My work could have defended him, if he had only used the technology I offered him, but naturally he felt that he was too strong for our help. As so many are."

He looks up at his young student. "A setback for us, but no great loss for the world. The fool was a strong-arm thug, a strongman who died when a stronger man came about. As will always be the way. He never understood the importance of a comprehensive scientific worldview, Alexander, never saw the benefits it could bring him and his people. Never saw the chance of breaking the cycle." Sivana gives a small snort and turns his head to one side. "Sadly, our best hope to salvage the situation would be to hope his successor would be a more reasonable man. Given that the successor in question is the same big black cheese who's been grinding this country under his bootheel since time immemorial, if we're to believe his accounts... I would have to suggest you not rely on diplomatic measures. The Black Marvel has only ever respected strength, Alexander."

He pauses. "... Are you sure about this course of action? We've lost... how much already?"

[Deleted]

Lex Luthor listened to Thaddeus Sivana, the large window behind him bright, with blue skies shining through the polarized glass of LexCorp’s main office. The office made up much of a top floor, the screens on the wall played footage from all over the world. Lex Luthor considered what Sivana said.

“He might actually be a returned Teth-Adam.” Lex Luthor stood up and looked out the window onto his city, moving smoothly. A blue blur in the distance, he pursed his lips. “Another God come to rule over mortals. . . strength. . . they really only respect strength.” He sighs and looks out over the city, thinking.


“We had arrangements with Asim Muhunnad, considerations and his death destabilizes the region, and puts LexCorp at significant risk. Not to mention our people there . . . and after receiving the missive.” He looks at the letter again, and then sighs, crumpling it up and putting it into the small box on his desk where it would instantly incinerated.


“Already fifty employees have died, and we’ve lost our equipment, destroyed with any luck. . . but there’s more remaining in the country.” He sighed and put his hands behind his back. “I’d best pack well. Dr. Sivana, might I trouble you to assist me in preparations for my trip? I trust your unique insight, and frankly, I might be gone for a time.”


Sivana snorts again. "How big a suitcase can you lift?"


---- NOW ----




Lex Luthor straightened his glasses as he stood dressed in local clothing, staring at the distance through the enhanced spectacles. The sound feed was clear, he could hear it all, watch it all as he stood in the back of the crowd near the edge of the tunnel leading to the grand market.


The bodies was broken, Teth-Adam stared over the crowd for a time and turned to the fourth man. Bounds broke, and the fourth man moved in a blur, flipping backwards off the balcony and hurling the blades at the King. It struck his chest and bounced off as he stared with arms crossed, irritated. The assassin ran along the side of the building and kicked off, starting to climb the minaret, grasping a woman as he went and holding a knife to her.


Teth Adam watched with growing anger as the assassin held the knife to the woman’s throat backing slowly away. .


“I am of the shadows, I do what I must for the Glorious Purpose!” He held a knife to her throat. “Do you think you can reach me before I slice her throat?”


An eyebrow raised by Teth Adam, a whirlwind, it almost appeared for a moment that Teth Adam remained in one spot, a crack of a sonic boom as he moved, the computer was unable to clock the speed effectively, but estimated it well in excess of Mach 2. The arm was broken before the assassin had a chance to finish his sentence. The woman dropped as Teth Adam . . . stared into the eyes of the assassin.


A hidden blade came from the man’s wrist as he struck the King. The blade snapped, the king appeared unmoved. A quiet word came out. “Shazam” The lightning came down, striking the assassin. He stood in place shaking as he was blasted towards the wall.



He never struck, however. For Teth Adam was already behind him, the assassin had blood coming from his eyes. “Shazam” Lightning struck again, “SHAZAM!” The third bolt struck, turning the assassin into a pile of charred bone and ash. Lex Luthor watched the scan, the sensors he’d placed earlier were doing their work, the satellite image upfeed was giving him a suite of information, none of it immediately useful.


The crowd was silent and then cheered as the dark figure rose up over it. Lex Luthor for a brief moment felt a sense of being watched as he saw Teth Adam’s eyes move over him, linger for a moment, and then move on. He stared directly into the floating man’s eyes. Through the glasses. And then he started to walk away through the crowd. He knew better than to find his contact. She’d find him before too long, if she wasn’t already here.

[Deleted]

Teth Adam, a man who thought he could cheat death clearly did not know the
daughter of the Demon's head. And that was purposeful, for the great Ra's al
Ghul tended to cast aside his children begat and born. They were never worthy.

Save for her. His light in the darkness. His Lailah. But this second Adam was
a mockery. He utilized far too many theatrics for her liking. But it was still
an interesting show, even if you had seen better in the sky, or on a cool
windless desert afternoon. Neither of which was this debacle. It was a pity
the fourth had been caught. In another life, she may have called him a friend,
instead of a soon-to-be corpse. They were too far to reanimate him.

Wailing in time with the rest of the crowds, she pantomimed interest at the
spectacle, her own loose-fitting clothing marking her as a local. As a
fanatic. As one of the newly fanatical followers of this god-returned, of
this new-found savior! It was comical, at least to her in how cyclical human
nature was. Disaster, survival, a man that sets himself out from the rest,
death, repeat. And even through her own years lived, her own father had never
been esteemed for his true worth. That fact would trouble her heart, if she
gave it any credibility in her rationalizations.

But the fourth did have no fear, his taking of the woman interesting. The
blade slipping. His notable dedication would not be forgotten, not with her
eyes here. And forever as he moved to the irreversible death, his body now
limp from the crash of the sky. Now she was to move as the crowd swelled with cheering and writing bodies.

Finding the man was not difficult. Hariq. A truly fitting name to the flame
haired boy she had known. Fingertips would flutter along his arm as she
paused a second in passing him, her words another layer to the stirring wind
and the exultation to the new redeemer crowned in lighting. "You linger too
long at the festivities," she breathed, turning right to a staircase cut into
stone.

[Deleted]

He felt a faint smile come over his face, he tended to whenever he felt Talia,he always felt her before he saw her. There was something oddly comforting about the deathbringer's presence. She cut like a fine diamond, her sharp edge the source of her beauty. In some ways she was his oldest of companions, at least one of the few he's ever considered an actual companion, not a mentor to wrest knowledge from, not a subordinate to order and move about.  "You do know how I like an exhibition, Lailah" 

She was an enemy and a friend, and in Lex Luthor's vocabulary that often meant the same thing. He followed after her, looking over his shoulder. One frame of the glasses replaying and processing the information, not that he needed it to. The processing of data moved quickly as he let part of his mind process the information. The energy signatures were intense and unknown, fitting no previously encountered reading. . . except for those legendary theoretical energy isotopes that Dr. Sivana used to talk about in Freshman year. . . and Sivana did know a lot about Teth Adam. . . it seemed that the Good Doctor continued to have hidden depths. Luthor was constantly surprised at the evergreen nature of his mentor's mind, and the hidden depths of experience that continually surfaced.

But now was not the time for gushing admiration of artistic genius, he moved through the ancient marketplace, cut into the rock , along the edges of the city cut from rock. "I have to admit, though, it looks bad. It honestly appears to be a fully realized Dominus Scenario." He'd talked to her about that before, the idea of a biological metahuman taking full control politically, socially and economically, establishing themselves as a God. It was theoretical at one point, a discussion about her father and the implications of applications of his abilities, theoretical discussions of science and hidden knowledge. This was before the rise of the Metapowers. Before the coming of the Alien. The outside context situation, where the other came with implacable and unstoppable powers to establish domination. The Dominus Scenario, the inevitable endpoint to a hampered humanity.

He took a left through the Souk, the covered marketplace carved from stone in the time of legend, when Teth Adam ruled . . . before. 



They blended as they moved through the largely empty corridors, a man with a beard watched, impassively. Another leaned against the wall. Were they allies? Were they spies? It was impossible to tell. He moved with a certain amount of subdual and quiet, near Lailah, blending as best as he could, although without her level of grace and style. Sub Rosa was not something Lex Luthor was used to, and while he could do it on occasion, he often never bothered. 

The lights were on, powered by a generator, the flickering suggested an output of approximately 5 Killowatts, just from the view of how things moved. . . a single household generator, probably gas powered, not enough for construction. The lights in the stores were largely off.

5 Killowatts for a Souk. The infrastructure was starting to crumble already, Lex could see it. But what he saw next out of the corner of his eye caught his interest. A barber's stall, the light overhead on and glowing freely, the flickering was different. A different power grid? But still with enough drain to suggest that there was more power use elsewhere. He looked at Talia and started to move towards the Barber Shop. "Friends of yours, Lailah?"

[Deleted]

"Parlour tricks," she'd murmur as they descended and turned
corner's that were delicately hewn into stone. Without sure
footing, death would take you down the steep precipice in a
moment's notice. It was with a faint smile she hastened
her pace. She knew his steps would ring true. And while
she had not been quite sure where Teth Adam's powers
stemmed from, it was enough to cause her a moment's
reflection. No remorse at the loss of men, no sadness at
their falling. It was their own duty they were held to, and
in being caught by this so-called King, they had failed.
And yet in being true to her father to the end, they would
hopefully find their own peace. That was not her concern.

As they whispered through the passageways and were spat out
into the marketplace again her pace changed. Walking
beside the flame haired man, a friend, if she dared to use
the vulgar term for it, she poised differently as they
continued their journey. As he mentioned one of the many
oft discuses theories he had of his own faith; this science
taught to him by his mentor, the man Sivana, she took note.
Years before he had mentioned Dominus and it's
ramifications. It was one of the few things that gave her
pause, much like when he had taken the time in her father's
stronghold to explain to her the Helvetica Scenario. As
much as she had understood of it at the time, she had still
mused, and ran to one of her guards. Because the daughter
of the Demon never showed fear, or anything less than a
passing concern. But his vivid descriptions and use of his
Western Magicks had startled her. Death was no adversary to
the young girl in those dusty caverns hewen from aged
sands, but this man's vivid words describing things she had
never heard of had been electrifying, and when she had been
younger, even frightening.

Her eyes flash to his at the mention of one of his
aforementioned Scenarios coming to fruition. She'd never
thought he would be a prophet, but her father has always
had other ideas of the Flame. Hariq, as she'd taken to
calling him. His hair was not only flame-kissed, but in
years past, he'd been able to conjure up lightening, in
ways not much different than Adam had. But later, in her
own journies, she'd been able to understand the differences.
The farce, the theatrics. And what was a true gift of the
gods.

"This is why I am here, before you, to bring you where you
are needed. You and your toys." Her hand waved
dismissively at his glasses, at the various tools and errata that gave him a rather rotund physique beneath his robes. It was not of meat, of the flesh, but of whatever toys he had been compelled to bring with him. Always his things. It was a pity his tutelage under her father had never caught hold as it should. Nor had their arrangements in bartering caught either. He always depended on his toys.

"What of when you are stripped of it all, Hariq?" She'd taunt him, his faith leaving him with nothing other than what he had been born into the world with. His hands, his wits, his knowledge. What then?

Their decent into the marketplace was a quiet hush. Echo's of the new King's antics has blanketed the evening with a mournful respect. One she'd openly scorn at once they met their goal for the time they were in. As she moved effortlessly, and paused at one stall to look over a few items of fruit, another she looked at a bolt of silk. All looked as if by chance. In truth they were notes in an orchestra for those to hear. As the lights flickered, she would catch the mote of interest in his eyes. He was not a stupid man by far, and she would turn to him, her arm encircling his, her fingertips brushing against this or that beneath his robes. "A good friend, Hariq. Shall we pay our respects in light of the new King?"

[Deleted]

Luthor was concerned by the loss of men, while the Demon's Head and the followers of the League of Assassins often had little concern for loss of manpower, moving forward with a philosophy that embraced the value of death for progress, sacrifice for the greater good, the idea that losses were acceptable and that reserves were plentiful, Luthor came from a different tradition, and it was a philosophy that often put him at odds with the Demon's Head before that "apprenticeship" had ended. Luthor was a proponent of the force multiplier: investment of resources and support into assets you hoped to see grow stronger. In many ways it led to a similar end: Both Luthor and The Demon's Head was served by some of the deadliest and strongest in the world, Luthor through investment of energies, Ra's by artificial selection. To survive long in the service of the League of Assassins required a certain level of inner strength and capability that drove anyone towards the excesses of achievement: The lovely Talia al Ghul was evidence of that, as was David Cain, poached so carefully from Ra's employ. . . still, it was a random effect. Those who achieved and excelled in the service of the League of Assassins did so with baggage, undesired additions of emotional, physical and randomized trauma that was often ignored, provided it did not distract from the essential purity of operational excellence. Luthor's techniques were newer, but crafted with careful study and with scientific scrutiny. The Alchemist vs. the Scientist. Ancient and accidentally discovered knowledge that led to a pruning vs. careful application of resources.

Yes, the loss of men hurt Luthor, they all represented investment in time, effort, energy, money. Brilliant minds were not so easily replaced, and no level of loyalty and internal strength of survival could make up for the ability of one brilliant mind to change the world. 

Teth Adam was a game changing truth based in a mythic history, revived at the worst possible time with the inevitability of entropic destruction. He was no outlier. Teth Adam represented the horrors of time past, and the inevitable fate of the human race if nothing were done to change things. 

Dominus was here, he'd whispered it to her in hidden caverns lit by desert stars. When he was young she came to him only in shadows, haunted his dreams with the faint smell of lilac and with the distant touch of wind. He never knew when she'd arrive when he was younger, at first he thought she was a mirage, never setting off the motion detectors, never visible in cameras, it wasn't until he'd been able to track old heat signatures that he even had proof she watched him sleep. 

He'd told stories to the shadows while playing with his toys in his meditation chambers, until one day she had arrived with a question. Luthor played Scheherazade to this shadowy girl at one time, until she revealed her voice from the shadows and finally her beautiful face. Stories of a decadent west had caught her ear, stories of the stars and dreams had caught her attention. Dominus caught her mind. 


"No amount of bravery, training or skill can conquer a God, Lailah. . . it was not spirit of courage nor strength of arms that took the caveman from the cave to conquer the predators. Even the strongest man or the bravest man or the most skilled man is nothing in the face of a mountain." He smiles as he says "Without the proper application of mind." They always thought he'd learned nothing from Ra's al Ghul, master of the ancient arts, he who could craft the minds of men towards a fanatical edge, like a master honing a sword. 

"What of when you are stripped of it all, Hariq?" She'd taunt him, his faith leaving him with nothing other than what he had been born into the world with. His hands, his wits, his knowledge. What then?
"Then I'd rebuild, he'd respond. I am never disarmed." 


He moved solidly as she took his arm. He wished he could feel the caress through the pseudoderm that covered him. Her touch was electric, and as bittersweet as a memory stored only as emotion. But there were sacrifices to be made, and he could feel nothing of her touch, although part of him yearned for it. She was dangerous, she was brilliant, and sometimes he felt she could stare through him as if he weren't even there. There were women in the world, and there were men. . . and then there was Talia, and no matter how smart Lex may have felt, how accomplished, how strong or skilled he was, he knew she'd still look through him like he was the 17 year old in the cave. He had her attention, but he wondered if he'd ever really understand her thoughts. Some part of him hoped he'd maintain enough of a mystery that he could keep her attention, and another part hoped she'd never actually notice his desires. 

They went through the barber's shop, the silk dealer. "I believe respects should be given, Lailah. Show me your power." He smiled as he was led behind the silks, into the outcroppings, down the hidden passageway. . . 

Underground: 

There were men gathered, the generator was kept from the grid as well as possible, haggard lost men and women, huddled together in necessity, the bare rock of the wall visible. Luthor looked over at Talia for a moment, then back at the group. "How many remain in the capital?"

The arab man looked haggard, tired, covered in soot. "24. The rest are dead. He came to my home and destroyed it.  . my wife. . . " Luthor shook his head and raised a hand. He started to remove the gown covering the top of his torso, stripping down, revealing the round and portund gut and the fat of his arms. Touching his chest while the refugees looked with confusion, he started to unload the equipment he had strapped to himself under the pseudoderm. A small round object placed down first, he flipped the switch and then let it glow. The small other device attached to it scanned the area, lights and lasers coming out from it, and then a dull recording. He raised his finger to his mouth and said "Silence." The room grew quiet and then the light on the second device turned blue. Luthor nodded "That will stop any uninvited ears from listening, with any luck." 

In case Teth Adam had the hearing of a Kryptonian, this would do the trick to avoid any sort of unwanted attention. Luthor had fought Gods for some time, this was nothing new. 

Luthor looked up at the refugees. "24 in the capital." He turned to look at Talia for a moment, a silent thought. "Do we have any remaining refuges outside of the Capital? We may need to regroup at them, especially if the purge continues." 

[Deleted]

"The wind, the waves, the iron, Hariq. You forget it is not always man that whittle away at the giant, but forces man is able to harness." She smiles in return. She had learned since they had been children in the caves. Her and her questions. Him and his fanatical stories of Western Magicks and his toys. Always with his toys. But as she had honed her skills, her only weapon her hands, her skin, her mind, he had furthered with his own contraptions. Still, he was a gale force unharnessed, only diverted.

She would laugh lightly, her voice the tinkling of bells as they moved through the canals silently. "You are always prepared. Like those child adventurers your lands speak of. Queer, but educational is how they do it. Always prepared!" She would mock him with a rigid spine and a salute, a specific look in her eye before her hand rest on his arm for balance. Not only balance but disguise. Her actions were never with less than importance of motion. Never without purpose. But even as her fingertips beneath silk felt his skin, she recoiled. It was not him. It was some of his contraptions a falsehood that appalled her.

Narrowing her eyes she didn't glare at him. But her breath hitched at the flame haired man in unnecessary spectacles beside her as they coursed through shop after shop, a smile here, a silk held over the lower half of her face as need be. As they descended she laughed once more, the tinkling of bells echoing as they walked through rainbow silks.

They exchanged a knowing glance. A motion perfected before he had known her face when she was only shadow and darkness, no form. What he had not been aware of is that it had been a test. To appear without appearing before him. To twist in the wind, to fill the spaces abandoned. Only when he was ready had they communed. And from then on, they had learned to speak without tongues. It was useful.

When he disrobed she paused. This was precursor to his unveiling of a new toy. Never machines, or the other fancy names he used. They were always toys. Despite her securing the area, he was always a skeptic. Always. But in these times his Western Magicks were of use. Not that he would have the luxury of hearing such platitudes falling from her lips.

"We have resources outside the capital in two camps. One east, another placed southwestern. We can have word to them by daybreak." Was he honestly contemplating what she was reading on his face? Was he that mad to risk it? She stood and walked to his side, a map in her hands as she did not point to the locations. Even with his device, wandering eyes could lead to ambush.

[Deleted]

Lex Luthor was in remarkably good shape, he'd worked hard to maintain that through a combination of fitness regimen and advanced equipment, a sound body was the foundation of a sound mind, and while he was not at quite the peak Olympian level that some of the masters of the League of Assassins were, he was strong enough and fast enough to keep up. His toys more than made up the difference. His keen senses and mind, however, often put him over the edge. He recalled a sword fight in the desert, maybe more, against the ancient master. He remembered at age 19 fighting him to a standstill. Cheating, they said. . . surviving said the Master. He'd learned early in his life to never magnanimously grant away an advantage out of some sort of misplaced sense of fairness. That was a luxury for those lucky enough to be born with the world on a silver platter: people much like the Alien, or like Bruce Wayne or even like the beautiful woman across from him who captivated his interest on so many hot summer nights. She was born heiress to the world, Lex Luthor was born weak, son of a failure, defined only by the cruelties visited upon him. Lex Luthor was fated to be dead and forgotten, another broken soul in a cesspit named for despair. 

Luthor never had much truck for fate or fair play, it's why he was who and where he was, and why it was so many heirs of the world bent knee to him. How much more trouble could a Godking be? "Preparation is the better part of victory, Lailah. You know this." He smiled to her, she'd known hardship as well, though. Despite being an heiress her path had been harder than his in many ways, although much more curated, more guided. She might be one of the few people that could understand his Mad Genius. . . although he wondered sometimes if he was just as alien to her as so many people were to him. 

True skin revealed, the layers of Pseudoderm spread on the table like an odd cloth, strapped to it an arrangements of tools, toys, bits of metal and glass and chemicals, weapons and crystals. An arsenal of junk, although Talia would know that from this small pouch of equipment, Lex Luthor could easily destabilize a regime or recreate one. Whether it was enough to overthrow a Godking .. . well that remained to be seen. 

But beyond the toys, though, was a will. An uncontrolled flame that would destroy all it touched if it felt the need, or could be the light of civilization. Talia knew that Lex Luthor dared to challenge the world itself, and would glare it down out of sheer spite because he could. It was a rage and a pride that threatened to burn all around it that it touched, although Talia was careful to dance around the flame so that it would never burn her. 

He felt comfortable with her, in a way that he wasn't comfortable with anyone else. She'd known him longer than most, and they could share a comfortable silence that communicated more than speeches. Lex Luthor often ranted, spoke and crafted words as prodigiously as he crafted weapons and tools, but with her. . . he fell silent after a time. Sharing little more than presence in the dark dunes of Al Qadif, in the carved stone halls of Alamut or in Nanda Parbat. They sat in shadows and waited for the morning, staring dreams at eachother, him of a new world, her of a new life. They spoke of duty, they spoke of hope, they spoke of desire, they spoke without saying a single word. . . 

Then again, Luthor was always a man in love with the sound of his own voice. He was not a man to work in shadow when he could declare himself from the mountaintop. In a way it was a weakness of his that her father would exploit, if he could but tame the raging fires. As for now, he was focused, 

"This is workable, although the question would be how secure the message system is, or how secure your men are. I would assume that if these groups were compromised, they would not be there anymore. Teth Adam does not seem like the sort to rely on subtlety or patience. When he has knowledge, he acts with immediacy. He also doesn't seem to be using his own powers as an intelligence network. We HAVE to learn how it is he's been able to compromise your cells in country, and we have to create a secure safehouse for them. It's best to keep the people scattered for now, until we know for certain that there is no threat of compromise. . . once that occurs we could gather the remainder of our personel and leave the country. . . " He grew silent as he looked at the map, and then at the assembled remainder of men and women and children around him. She could see the look on his face, though. 

He wasn't thinking of leaving the country, and he wasn't thinking of taking the people out. She'd seen the look on his face during the execution, and when the Godking of Khandaq declared himself. He was thinking something rash. There was always that moment when Lex Luthor looked up into the sky and saw the haughty staring down that he felt the choking rage in the back of his throat. The utter hatred at the temerity of those that stared down on those below. There was always that brief second where it almost seemed as if his rage and pride would elevate him above mere gravity and physics, that moment where it almost seemed as if Lex Luthor was going to punch God in the face. To wrap his fingers around the throat of the world itself and scream in its face, to open his heart and let every iota of hatred, rage, arrogance and life push outwards like one of Lex's own experimental weapons. To blast God Himself in the face and watch the life eke out of creation and consume himself in the process. 

There was always that moment, that flash in his mind as if it seemed he'd pour his very essence and power into a self destructive blaze of glory. . . and then it would pass, the logical mind would take over, but the fire would remain unquenched. . . 

Lex Luthor would not leave Khandaq untouched. He would not be defeated by something as petty as a God. His was the might and the glory and the rage of Mankind Ascendant. It was his birthright to seize from the universe through right of trial. Talia knew this, could see it in his face even when others couldn't. She'd known him too well and known him too long. 

"How do we make certain that the remaining cells are secure? And how do we learn how Teth-Adam is compromising our people?"

[Deleted]

If only he knew the struggles she had faced. The nights of tears she had struggled to keep from trailing unforgiving down her cheeks, as she was from birth nothing but failure, and disappointment. How when she struggled to achieve a height entirely beyond her reach, and each time, there was no compassion, only death. And not a lasting reprieve from the lessons that life sought to bless her with, but the rebirth into a life that she was already believed to had failed.

And yet, through her years, she had somehow grasped those un-achievable heights, and surpassed them. Not without loss, not with grace in those first years. Soon enough, the lessons of her Father were instilled in her, a certain poise expected of the great Heiress. Yet in her own tongue, that of the Demon, she was only the daughter, and not the beloved son.

And even while he sought to disrobe, she stayed as she was, covered in garments that placed her as one of the masses, her dark hair covered by a nearly translucent scarf, tucked in tightly around her head to ward off the sun, and dust, among other things.

And while her friend of her youth spoke on about his tools, she had to remember that she had been honed in an entirely different method. A method deemed cruel by those who would have been privy to know. A method that few came from unscathed. A method that tore down the body, the mind, the psych, the soul; and created something of illusion. Of adaptability. Of a skill-set that could only be expressed by fluids that took concrete shape, and yet still moved to vapor. She was a living, breathing wraith if that is what she needed to be at the time. At her core, she was strength, honed by her father's disappointment.

And not tools, such as Hariq was now dismantling from his skin. Even as his falsely rotund form shed it's fake skin, she kept nothing but a neutral expression on her face. Him and his toys, which now seemed to extend to false disguises. She had been aware the man was strapped with something. His walk was not of a man used to extra pounds, his gait the light step of the fit rebel she knew. And now, she had to sigh quietly, for he was not able to alter his appearance with what he was given, and yet again turned to what he had made. The fact he had come this far still did not bring the sense of amazement-she was far too experienced to attribute such a feeling for this scheme of his, and instead let the small breath of air speak as they had those distant nights. Her mild amusement, her slight disapproval.

And still she was silent as he queried her. She did know about preparation. And how the knowledge of such came from failure, time and time again, of drilling a routine until it was as natural as the breath all creatures needed. As the objects surmounted, bits of this, that, and other things she could hear the yammering and exclamations around them. She was not surprised, her eyes lifting to this face, and that, to gauge exactly what they thought of this man come to help.

And as she took in each item, weighing it's appearance against what she knew it could be used as, and then again, and again as what she knew of Hariq's mind, she did smile. Only to stop, her eyes locking onto his as the sight of several haphazard, rectangular items. He had baited her. Waiting to see if she was really paying attention, and remembering one of her fondnesses. A Western tradition, he had explained to her, the crinkle of cellophane almost musical as he had answered each and every question of hers about the small confection.

And he had returned them to her.

He was mad, as she watched him continue to unload objects, focused as a dedicated observant of his peculiar religion that he called 'knowledge.' Perhaps it was a differing word in translation, because she knew his word as something else in her own lands. And it translated to something akin of her father, as well as the insanity of this Teth Adam.

Ceasing her own inward observations when a question was asked, she shifted slightly, looking to a trio of men clustered around the table now littered with what looked like trash. "I cannot explain everything, for while I am aware of who the messengers are, it has not been my place to understand how they are to achieve their goals." A slight gesture and the three approached Luthor, ready to answer any and all queries he need of them. "These are my men. I trust they are loyal to myself, and then my father, and would die on my word." She turned to the taller man, who was know the lithe, powerful figure she knew. "Trust me, to trust them to get the world out. That is all." Her words were not challenging, nor exasperated. She could bring up a time from their youth, but decided that no explanation would be needed. The loyalty of their people was a distilled, true form of those highly committed to humanity. And Hariq was quiet aware of what those standards entailed in her life.

Mulling over the question of just how the cells had been compromised made her focus on still waters and the lessons in music she had pulled upon in her later years. How? Men of al Ghul were swayed, at times, by the lure of power. Of fanaticism. And if they were able to see a being more alive than her own father, than yes, they could be swayed. Pleading their utter devotion to a false king, and being found lacking, they would die. But was that the case now? She could see a small percentage succumbing to such shallow wants and needs. Yet the rest?

Downcast eyes were evident as she failed to come to a response worth voicing. The antics of the false god had soured her own stomach as he had been carrying on with his shows of power and environment manipulation. It was thankful she had been given word to meet another agent, which had been him, to bring about a better solution that what had been occurring with the utter slaughter of her own people already entrenched in the lands.

“Simplicity itself, my burning one.” She put her fingertips together saying “There are plans in place for such a thing. Is not a society of shadows one that knows the value of loyalty and secrecy? We have tested those in each cell repeatedly, and we shall again.” She looked at him and smiled as she said, “Remember the tale of the ants.” Lex would recall this lesson from Ra’s al Ghul, the story of how the ants each moved in a separate direction, without communicating, each seeking food until tested by the spider. Of course, each member of the cell would be given a hint of where the cell would move. Each to a different spot. Only the messengers would know that they weren’t to move at all. . . after that, they would see which of the different places Teth Adam attacked. If none, then none were compromised. If one, then they’d know who the traitor was. A standard technique, but effective. It would be carried out, and then they'd know things were safe. This would give time for Lex and Talia to work out their next course of action.

[Deleted]

The tale of the ants, an old one to be sure. Lex Luthor remembered the story, just as he remembered being distracted from it on a sandy night amidst the dust storms, distracted from the dancing form of the lovely woman who told it by the improved alternator for the directional taser, letting it store kinetic energy and solar energy more effectively. He remembered the early schematics perfectly at a glance, and how he'd developed them entirely in his mind, in that "Mental Palace" that Ra's al Ghul taught him to craft, just as he could remember the feel of her breath as she whispered the story to him and took the device away. These were the benefits of a perfect recall, which Luthor was blessed with. He remembered what she wore the night she told him the story, and how the silk clung to her skin and how she laughed as he fiddled with the "toys." She'd never respected them as anything but props, crutches, even when her father had sent his men to teach Luthor lessons in humility. 

 He'd never learned that lesson, to depend on the skills taught to the assassin even when stripped without tools. They'd taken his toys from him many times, they'd sought to steal them, to sabotage them in his sleep, to replace them, to strip him in the desert and have him face death alone. He'd never learned how to face death without the tools of his trade, despite repeated lessons. Lex Luthor was surprised still that the League had never learned his lesson, though. . . that such lessons were irrelevant. Even naked in the desert, Lex Luthor was never unarmed.

The dancing river had called it cheating, called him weak, mocked and laughed even as he changed the world. What she had done with tenacity and sacrifice and burdensome yet glorious purpose. . . he'd accomplished through genius and a Western mindset: If you can't win the game, change the rules, and if you can't change the rules, you're not thinking hard enough. The two had come to an accord over the years, the way she danced and teased, the way she listened and the way she spoke. The way she bound men to her will while still pretending to be a pawn, the way she remained both hidden and visible, mastering the arts of her father. They'd come to an accord over the years, he couldn't understand her, he certainly couldn't control her and the thought of doing so almost seemed an anathema, she was a force of nature, like the river of the desert, never contained, changing in the face of pressure, continually wearing away and reshaping the landscape.

He was something beyond control and comprehension, whose strength of ego and rage and brilliance meant that he charted a trajectory like a comet through the sky. He appreciated her perspective, although he never quite comprehended it, unlike most people. He didn't understand her, and she didn't understand him, although no one ever really did. He appreciated her, though, and he suspected that underneath the show and veils of disinterest she appreciated him. At least she respected him enough not to play those stupid games like she did with the others.

He remembered the tale of the ants and 1,253 other tales spoken in secret laughter away from the prying eyes of those who followed him, secret hopes shared, dreams on moonless nights, an evocative image for a 17 year old man still finding his footing, full of rage and glory and ego. In many ways he was still the same man he was then, just tempered better through experience. In many ways she was the same as she was then, just deadlier and more practiced. Luthor was satisfied in all cases anyway. These thoughts, however important, were not what crossed Luthor's mind now. He was seething instead, considering the face of Black Adam, keenly imprinted in his mind. The arrogance of the powerful, he who carried life and death over the peasants as if it was his mandate. Hearing what Talia had to say was enough. She had the security situation well in hand, and indeed probably was better suited to it than Luthor was, she had lived such secrets.

"Once our people are secured. . . we'll need to develop a method to neutralize the Black King. Either to remove his power, to destroy him, or to neutralize him as a threat to our people. If we are discovered, we will die, instantly. We need to discover a force multiplier or find leverage to make certain that we don't die. While you make arrangements for the security of our people, and to make certain that we are secure. We can investigate Teth Adam and gather more information until we have enough to make a decision."

[Deleted]

--TWO DAYS AFTER ENTRY TO KHANDAQ--

“Lord Teth-Adam, long may he reign, has destroyed another nest of unbelievers.” At the cafe in the market on the television, a man spoke on the television. Talia knew that whoever had been found, it hadn’t been her people, they had been cleared, they had been vetted, they had been hidden away safely. The cafe was crowded enough, hot with a fan barely moving the air about, let alone cooling it. The drinks were cooling, at least, tea and wine. At first people had spent more time at home, off the streets as the revolution had ended quickly. They had hidden their faces for fear of the skies. At first it had worked as the God King had torn through unbelievers and counterrevolutionaries, supporters of the old Junta and undesirables killed and destroyed. Then, suspicion fell on those who remained hidden from view, those loners who remained inside. At first suspicion, and then questions, then accusations, and then the thunder, and then death. Quick and brutal, there were no second chances.

Now the public spaces were more crowded, people quick to show support to the God King. A man at the table laughed at the news. “How do you like that? Wonderful news. Counterrevolutionary forces destroyed, a victory for justice! Those dogs will see the might of Teth Adam and they shall regret the rape of Khandaq.” He smiled at the young woman nearby. “Are you not bejoyed, woman? The rapists and the murderers brought and torn asunder, brought before mighty justice. Did you imagine just one year ago that the Generals would be ripped asunder? It is as we prayed.”


Jarred to answer, she thought quickly of a non-answer that would seem pious and yet demonstrative of thankfulness in the same breath. "Blessed be he who rids the lands of the unfaithful. My heart is with those who have passed on, and will be unable to see the great works of our Teth Adam." Covering the lower half of her face with her scarf, she inclined her head slightly to the man and set her payment in coins on the table.

It was enough for her to hear of the continuing 'reign' of the feral man that the people were honoring as their new Godhead King. To her, she was hemorrhaging people that had been delicately placed not only months ago, but years. To suss out who was still alive was not an easy thing when communicating by signs and wonders, and not the toys and trinkets of the modern age. Of her peoples she had instilled close to the government, or what could so-called pass for such a body in this land, she had heard back from a middling few. The letters she had gotten were alarming, ranging from ideas of adulterous treachery, to woeful apologies as some of her people had found nothing. The few of note that had even a smidgen of information had shocked her. These few items she had tucked away both in mind and pouches to bring to Hariq. He needed to her not only of what was rumored, but what was fact. While her patience was unmatched by most of her peers, she was still contemplating how, in the long run, the tides would be turned against this false god, and how to restore the country to it's once glory, which was now so far from their works, she had half a mind to let her people die, and start again.

But that would cost time, and resources, and an entirely new theory to be brought into play in time that she didn't have. Perhaps now that she had the man of tomorrow with her, and his toys, and his tools, something between them could be brought up quickly, but quickly was not going to get the job done. Winding her way through the tightly packed bodies in the shop, she was one of the few even daring to venture into the streets, despite the throngs of people that now poured from their homes, showing their faces as proof they, themselves were not traders. She had touted herself as a translator, and the daughter of a man that was deceased, and had left his shop to her brother. Of course, yet again she would be subjected to a man, but that is how things were in these regions. A woman could not have the freedom she did unless tethered to a man. And thankfully she had that feeble cover of her 'brother.' And the family that she chose, that would understand who she was truly the daughter of.