Planar Overlay: Two Worlds, One Fate

BY : Dibbley777
Category: DC Verse Cartoons > Batman: The Animated Series
Dragon prints: 2952
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this includes anything Marvel, DC or Magic the Gathering specific.

Summery: A stranger in a strange new world seeks to find answers and allies before its too late. What awaits him along the way? Find out! A Magic the Gathering/DC/Marvel crossover. OC centric, will have graphic violence, cursing, lemons, and character death. This is also the first in a series of stories I plan to write, so if you have any costructive feedback I would love to hear from you. I am sorry for any mistakes this contains, I wanted to post so badly that I have not fixed all of the spelling and grammer errors as of yet. Please bear in mind that this is my first story. And to all you flamers whom have nothing better to do, please feel free to suck my fic.

DISCLAIMER: I own naught but my own original characters, and the derranged whispers in my head; and I sure as shit make no money from either.

"Speech"

'Thought'

Spells

Locations and Scene changes

Chapter One: First Night in a New World/ Dreams and Nightmares in Red and Green Pt. 1

AN: Poison Ivy appears exactly as she does in the 1992 Batman the Animated series cartoon, voice and all. As for The Robed Figure, I imagine his voice as what would happen if you threw the voice of True Blood's Russel Edgington in a blender with the voices of Starcraft's Arcturus Mengsk and Morgan Freeman ( a man in so many things his mere name should be enough), and blended the whole thing for ten minutes on Extra Smooth. His accent was patterned after that of New Orleans.

Important update/Lightbulb: I had it pointed out to me rather recently that a fair amount of my content assumes some familiarity with Magic: The Gathering. Upon inspection when I was not sleep deprived and set on stupid, oh boy does it ever. So for those of you who want to check any of the cards to see a visual representation of the powers I have given my OC (and several others in both the Marvel and DC universe) just cut and paste any bold name into the field you will find at http://gatherer.wizards.com/Pages/Default.aspx This should bring up the card, and even let you go through various card art. All of my descriptions of spells are atleast loosely based on card art I have used as inspiration. I intend to eventually put together a whole devient art profile to host the custom cards I may make for this story, so I will keep people posted on that. This story will seem almost entriely DC at first, becuase the first Arc will take place entirely within Gotham City. This is my first story posted anywhere, so I will most likely have a lot of work to do, for that I appologize, but I will not stop working until I can get it right, on that you have my word. I have also had it braught to my attention that I am both long winded, and at times can over explain things, I will try to get better with this as we go, but it shall take both time, and practice.

And of course, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving my story the chance to be read, even if you wish to burn me alive for my mistakes, or smite me about the head with blunt objects for caring so much about what characters think, then so be it, and thank you regardless. Last warning, some of the details on the main OC of this fic are vague at first, because I had not decided them all until later, and also I was trying to go for a "First Appearance" As opposed to an "Origin Story" Thus, this character is both established, and quite powerful before we learn a damn thing about him, you will see why as the  story unfolds, I promise.

Unknown location: Christmas Eve

The first sound to assault his sensitive ears was the howl of the icy wind. It wailed with a fierce keening edge, in sharp contrast to the sounds of what he realized, must be part of this world's evening. Said sounds included a rather enthusiastic pack of hounds hellbent on adding their own mournful voices to the wind. Blaring cacophonies of horrendious noise echoed around him from every concievable direction; seeming to come from some rather advanced moterized vehicles that lined the street in all shapes and sizes.

He silently gawked at all of this from the shadowed mouth of a dark allyway, rife with filth and graffiti. His sharp otherworldly senses continued to expand his perception by the moment, and if one were capable of seeing his eyes at the moment they would have noticed that they had gone from their customary molten quicksilver couloring to that of a glowing, pupilless, azure blue.

 Plunging inward as his awareness expanded outward around him like a speeding silent shockwave, he drew unto himself the memories of many of the worlds he had Walked upon in his long life. Memories of oceans and isles, of deep rivers and soaring skies. Memories of mists, mysticism and Merfolk. He drew all of this up in his mind and melded it with his perceptions, calling upon millenia old techniques as they fused to immerse him in one of the colours of his Magic.

His Blue Mana, with its power over the all aspects of the mind, the ebb and flow of time, as well as the elements of Air and Water, surrounded him like a lover''s embrace.

It had a certain indescribible weight to it, like a mantle of power, a halo of invisable energy that was more felt than seen until it was given form. It roared through him like a silent tidal wave, suffusing his entire being with its power, deep as the ocean, and as old as time. Knowing that he had by now accumulated the neccissary energies for his spellwork, he began; his still azure eyes blazing like twin portals of endless living sky.

The quasi-tangible haze of power that had risen around him suddenly coalsced into a visable surge of energy as the application of his will caused the spell to take the form of a pale golden aura, now resting as a legitimate mantle about his shoulders; awaiting only the spell's name to trancend the barrier from concept to reality.

"Pemmin's Aura"

His voice, is a soft yet resonating baritone, both rich and sonorous.  It carries even over the whipping wind, filling the night air with the power of the spoken spell name. He supposed that he did not have to actually speak the name, a quiet thought of it would have done just as well. However he had been around long enough to know names were names for a reason. Names held power, authority vested in them by the truth of their being, and to forego something's true name once it was known to you, could in some cases be seen as an affront to the power of the person or concept it represented.

The Multiverse, as well as the truths within it, had a strange sense of humor, and had a way of taking such things personally.

Now suffused with the gentle golden glow of Pemmin's Aura, he felt his perception of time slow down until it was measured in fractions of a second, his innate Magic now responding to his call at such speeds that it was for all intents and purposes instantanious. Drawing deeply upon the well of Mana deep within his being he braught the images of his spells, of his power, to mind, like a celestial lens snapping into focus, reaching into a pocket demension for one of the only artifacts in his collection that  he felt he could safely  use on this world.  Knowing an incantation would make the transferance somewhat easier, and feeling slightly theatric the still shrouded figure intoned a few words, his deep rich baritone a study in contradictions, being both slightly gravelly, yet also posessing a smooth roll to their cadiance like a southern drawl.

"Come forth my Extraplanar Lenses, and dare to light my way in the shadowed darkness that ensnares this, locus of population."

A pair of magnification lenses appeared on the bridge of his nose a moment later, focusing specificlly upon his memories of  two of the lands he had visited, two delightful stretches of forest from his homeworld to which he was boneded. When he could remember every detail he had ever learned, thought, or felt about them; he poured his memories into the Extraplanar Lenses. No sooner had he done so, then a remarkable transformation took place. First, the two lenses took on a deep dark viridian colour, radiating their now absorbed power with a soft emerald sheen. Secondly the two Lenses, once seperate artifacts in their own right, began to meld together, reforming as a pair of sleek dark green sunglasses. As the power of the fused artiface settled about him he felt the connection to his lands, to his Mana, deepen as the lenses began acting as magical foci.

With one of  his most distinctive features now masked, the shadowed figure began to draw upon his Blue Mana once more. Knowing that he would need not only knowledge of this new world, but an identity, amd a history to cloak his true nature, at least for now. Centering his mind, and focusing the Blue Mana at his command took a moment longer than it should, howling wind,  alarms, and a new sound, loud like thunder seeming to rip into the night itself... ah gunshots, yes those also made for such wonderous distractions!

The power around him once again seemed to solidify with a low near audible hum. Focusing to draw forth the divining powers inharent in the magic of the isles and skies, he whispered a single word with a slight rush of victory, knowing he had at last found the spell he needed.

"Soothsaying"

The name of arcane power rolled off of his lips like honey poured from a jar, slow and resonant, filling the narrow confines of the alleyway with the weight of its invocation. His eyes, still concealed behind his new choice in eyewear blazed with a fierce azure light. Guided by his will he felt his perceptions shift as he began to look backward through the mists of time to see this world's history.

What he saw was both amazing and horrifying.

 Apparently this world, was once two seperate worlds, that had been fused together by an event even his powers would not allow hm to identify. In fact much of this world's timelines were obscured from his sight, a fact that hinted at some dark mystic interference that he could not yet name. He immediately suspected his most hated foes of some sort of sinister trickery, but he would have to wait and see if his suspicitions bore fruit. Even he understood that a pathological tendancy to blame his enemies for such things blindly would only lead to costly miscalculations, and tragedy.

Still  from what he could gather these two worlds, and their previous universes, had both had mystical forces that existed within them for ages untold, slowly shaping a world which now was experiencing a metahuman population boom that had started shortly before both world's second world wars and continued to present day. Both timeline echoes before they merged indicated that the activation of simillar artifacts on both worlds was responsible for the current amalgamated state of affairs. However, it also seemed that whatever forces acted to fuse the two tinelines had instated it as its own indapendant universe allowing new forms of the previous timelines to fill the void and thus not negate both parent branches of possibility.

Bottom line, whomever accomplished this had an obscene amount of skill and power.

But it was the events of the Metahuman population boom and its resultant shockwaves that seemed to have the most effect on both worlds. Said booms had given rise to entire generations of masked heroes and villans, and all of the grandiose, potentially world ending antics that entailed. And perhaps worst of all was the amount of naked technological dependance. Such a world, without the proper protections, would fall quickly before the wrath of the Enemy. There was so much work to do, perhaps the only saving grace however was that it did not seem he would have to do so alone, for with so many uniquely powered indaviduals in this universe, surely there would be some that would see the worth of his cause?

He sincerely hoped so, for as the images of thousands upon thousands of superpowered beings continued to pour into his mind, he realized one truly shocking fact.

Thease worlds, and their corrasponding multiverses, had more Legendary indaviduals than any other collection of planes he had ever seen.

The sheer scope of potential resources that either side would seize in the coming conflict was astronomical. Billions of lives on the planet itself, let alone its Mana nd metahuman population. Even if he could not understand what would make one little blue and green world SO interesting that the Fates had seen fit to spin out fifty two seperate universes to chronicle its various adventures. However, that confusion would not stop him from recognizing the key role such a group of worlds would play in any coming conflicts. His ever growing suspictions of the planet's identity were confirmed later with a single statement that informed him of the success of his location spell.

"Welcome to Gotham City USA! In the proud state of Delaware! We hope you enjoy your stay on Earth 17! Have a nice day!"

The voice was far too chipper and polite, and excited to be a real person. For just a single, eternal, moment he regretted being stuck with a smarmy smartass for a mental construct. But alas he then remembered that it was only capable of behiviors he himself posessessed. Thus, it was a smarmy, overly chipper smartass, because he could be just as obnoxious if he chose to be. Sadly this meant that despising the voice for its ability to irritate him would be the highest form of hypocricy.

That being said, it was still far too chipper for the ominous and dark environs that greeted his enhanced sight.

'Come to think of it, why was the intolerable din of this thrice accursed cityscape still increasing? Oh yes, the gunshots!' And now, added to them was a sound that one did not need to speak the local dialect to decypher, a high pitched terrified scream that echoed into the night over the sound of several  alarms.

That, finally got him to step from the shadows of the alley, but not before shrouding his entire form in a thick all concealing deep forest green robe that he caused to materialize with a wave of his hand. Thus when he strode forth fully into the flickering lamplight of the ajoining Gotham street there were still very few details clear about his current appearance. He was tall, that much was certain standing just two inches shy of six and a half feet in height. He was also apparently rather broad shouldered, even though most of the rest of his form was hidden by the robe. He moved with the silent stalking grace of a jungle cat. Effortlessly choosing the surest course of movement almost on instinct, his feet moved with the light poise of a dancer, and it seemed as if shifting his bodyweight for maximum efficiancy of movement was second nature to this man.

Illuminated fully in the globe of flickering light for only a few moments before he once again vanished into the shadows, one truly startling detail about the mysterious figure became clear.

Both of his hands were clad in a set of matching bejeweled gloves, which sparkled like diamonds beneath the streetlight. They were a very peticular choice of accessory, especially since the figure had clearly gone to great lengths to stay concealed, they each had a set of ten specific gems that were mirrored on both gloves in identical pattern. On the knuckle of each thumb was a ruby, glittering crimson and filled with all the latent power of the mountains, as well as the elememts of Fire and Earth. For these were the domain of Red Mana.

Next upon his ring finger knuckle was set a deep clear emerald. Within it rested the pure untapped power of the forests. Nature in its rawest and purest form.  It was the coulor that beat closest to his heart, it was Home, it was Power it was Life, that was the domain of Green Mana.

Upon his middle knuckle was set a beautifully luminecent pearl. Within its heart lay the power of Law, Order, healing, Light, and Hope. It was the free heartbeat of the open plains, it was light and faith to hold against the darkness; it was the glorious immortal power of White Mana.

His ring finger knuckle held a brilliant sapphire of the deepest blue. Shining with the power of the isles, with all the mysteries of the mind,  all the currents of time, and the sublime storm of the elements of Air and Water. This was the power of trickery, of arcane knowlege and temporial trancendance; this was the domain of Blue Mana.

And finally upon his smallest, and final knukle rested a polished, and gleaming Jet. Darker than midnight, and holding all of the forbidden power of the Dead and Forgotten. It was Death, and mastery of it, it was decay, and darkness, it was the whisper of Night that ended all days. But in fullest truth it was sacrifice for the power to do almost anything. This was the terrifying power of Black Mana. It was the coulor he drew upon least, not because of some misguided belief that the Magic itself was evil. He understood that it was will and intent that guided morality, while Magic simply IS. Instead it was because of the hate and madness it stirred in his soul when he drew upon it, the memory of every dark day his long life had held. Sadness and hate were things he had felt to great depth at different points in his life, it was not always easy to drag such things up while trying to focus.

In addition to the emblazoned knuckle stones, each hand had a strange five sided symbol made by the remaining stones. As with the order of the stones upon the knuckles this symbol was also identical. A five sided pentagonal shape with the pearl at its formost point, flanked on either side by the emerald and sapphire, with the ruby and jet forming the rearmost points set directly across from one another. Where they were not covered in the five specific gems associated with the coulors of Magic, the gauntlets seemed to be made of a material that glittered like diamonds, but was flexible and free to move, but the stranger also knew that those gloves were hard enough to allow him to punch through solid stone. All in all, his Mox Gauntlets were an amazing, if odd, sight to behold.

Swift as a shadow and just as silent he headed for the other side of the street in a dead run that somehow made no more sound than his breathing, even and calm in the cold night air.

The bank that greeted his keen eyes was one of the smaller branches in a city the size of Gotham. with a sturdy sign out front that proudly proclaimed it The Miller Harbour Savings and Trust. Despite its lack of needless grandour, it was still one of the older banks in the city that had not yet been redone since its opening. Always a feat worthy of note in a world filled with superpowered criminals.  But niether the current lack of supervillans on the scene, nor the bank's reputation could allay the interest of a large group of darkly dressed criminals, who were currently in the process of a hostile takeover of the front lobby.

The scream he had heard was from a rather attractive blond teller, whom was currently staring down the twin barrels of a leveled shotgun. Honestly the giant piece of hardware looked like the bastard offspring of an old school streetsweeper shotgun and an elephant gun, so to descibe it as a simple shotgun was a slight injustice. The eyes of the young woman, eyes, which he offhandedly noticed were a very pretty shade of cornflower blue; tracked the movements of the gun with rapt terror, and she regarded its wielder, the apparent leader of the thugs, with a mixture of professionalism, and desperate, trembling, heart-stopping fear.

"Hurry it up there Sweetheart, I already told you, me and the boys here intend to get paid for this little job one way or the other, so either the bank foots the bill..." At this point his face took on a perverse open leer, and his tone dripped poorly disguised lust, "or you do."

As she shivered a little in revulsion, she tried to tune out the obligitory laughter of several goons standing behind him, along with one yes man's peanut gallery comment of "You tell 'er Boss!"

Suddenly several things she could not explain seemed to happen all at once.

The power to the building flickered for a second before the back up power kicked in, and for a brief moment the bank was plunged into darkness. When the concealing shadows lifted, a single new shadow remained, for standing in the middle of the bank, just a few long strides from the commotion was none other than the green robed figure.

The gaggle of goons were momentarily stupified, but recovered quickly. As it turned out, since the Dark Knight himself was often known for appearing from nowhere, being suprised by the heroes was not uncommon for the criminals of Gotham City. Fearing the possible Bat Family connection, the goons all had their guns trained on the figure, nervously waiting for him to make a move.

"It is most uncooth indeed to threaten a lady in such a fashion. You gentleman, and I use the term loosely in this instance, are a disgrace to our already admittedly flawed society."

One of the goons, noticing the strange gloves the figure wore, which besides the hooded robe he wore were the most distinguishing feature, decided to crack wise to hide his growing unease.

"And just who the fuck are you then? A lost member of the gay pride parade? Or did Michael Jackson get named as the new fuckin' grim reaper while no one was looking?"

A low, rumbling, humorless chuckle emitted from the hood as the figure spoke.

"Oh, very good! I would not have expected such advanced humor from a gorrilla the zoo had so recently trained to speak, I must say I am impressed; you almost sound like a real boy."

Their boss, obviously having tired of the banter, and knowing that his opperation was on a tight schedule if he wanted to avoid The Bat, came to an executive decision.

"Boys, waste this fuckin' clown."

Over a dozen fully automatic weapons snapped up and began barking out long, measured, bursts of fire. The bullets sceamed toward the figure in loose formation, seeking to end the existance of this interloper, to the goons the bullets moved impossibly fast, tearing toward the doomed idiot in his forest green robe.

But to the robed figure, the bullets looked like they were doing a dance in slow motion through thick gellotin. As they approched he did not bother to move. Instead he sent a slight pulse of Blue Mana into the Pemmin's Aura, its soft golden halo concealed for now beneath his robes.

The bullets slammed into the figure moments later, and the ringleader cheered mentally as he heard the suprised, and panicked gasp of the female teller. That would teach this asshole for sticking his nose were it didn't...

Something was wrong, there should have been the sound of impact when the bullets slammed home, than the sound of a body falling. Instead there was nothing, just a silience that hung in the air like a spectre.

He looked to where the body should be, and recieved a terrible shock when he saw the figure not only still standing, but apparently completely unharmed.

"What the fuck ARE y....?" As he began to speak, he noticed the figure raise both of his hands, the deep green emeralds lighting up with a deep virdant green pulse of energy.

"Spore Cloud" The sonorous baritone called out, the words laced with enough power and authority to transform them into proper nouns.

A thick cloud of green smoke materialized amidst the startled thugs, they cried out in suprise, and in so doing, they drew in lungfuls of the green vapors, and promptly colapsed to the floor coughing uncontrollably.

The young teller and several startled customers looked on in a strange mixture of relief and horror at the fate of the armed robbers. The green smoke had somehow only effected them, leaving the innocents unharmed, the robbers however were quite firmly incapacitated, but also, undoubtedly alive.

Drawing deeply upon the foundations of law and order he grasped hold of his White Mana, and searched for a simple spell he could  use to effectively contain the thugs until whatever passed for the authorities came to claim them. Fixing the life signatures of each of them in his mind he spoke in a calm, cool tone that easily carried throughout the bank, filling it with sa single word.

"Arrest"

The nearly two dozen thugs found themselves suddenly bound in golden chains of solid force, unable to move or act in any way. They now sat muttering in sharp discontent, since the magical bands did not even allow them to form sensable words, in order to prevent possible spell casting. Seeing that the potential threats were delt with for the foreseeable future, he turned to the still somewhat stunned teller, who was now looking at him with an expression of mystified wonder.

"I do believe they shall be more than adiquitely imobilized until the authorities can be summoned. Are you unharmed young lady? His voice, while not laced with the crackling power of his Mana still rolled over her with a quiet, nearly musical bass. It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her, given that the last few moments had been hell on her heart rate, still, he was polite, so she figured the best course of action was to respond in kind.

"Yes, I am ok, thank you for that by the way." Her tone was now the far more relaxed polite, professional tone she used while working, but the smile she wore, and the brightness in her eyes marked genuine nature of her warmth, rather than mere polite affectation.

"You are most certainly welcome young lady. Thank you kindly as well for your politeness, as it is a rare thing to see in a place such as this. Having only recently arrived myself, I am glad to have met someone who understands the importance of first impressions. Though if I might be so bold as to inquire your name miss?"

"Oh, sorry, blonde moment plus the whole nearly dying and all my name is Katie, Katie Winters, it is wonderful to meet you mister?"

The figure paused for a moment as if considering what answer to give. After all, he did not have an identity in this world as yet, an oversight he would have to rectify before evening's end. Also there was the rather valid concern of keeping his own identity and past a secret for now. Hopefully that would delay the inevitable hounding and mistrust that beings of his nature caused by their presence and continued existance alone. Still, she had been very polite to him in a strange and horridly noisy city whose air stank of fear and death. As such, he did not have the heart to lie to her completely.

So instead he concentrated for a moment, banishing his bejewled gauntlets with an effort of will, revealing instead a pair of large and powerful richly tanned hands, whose fingers were slender, strong, and calused by what must have been a lifetime of work. Gentley taking her hand in his own he braught the back of it to his lips for a momentary kiss. Katie gasped quietly at that, for  when his lips brushed her flesh a jolt of pure joyful energy surged from the contact point into the fibers of her very being, as if a quiet current of plesure had suffused her.

"Mister Farstrider  shall suffice for now Miss Winters . It is a surname of sorts that I have aquired among my peers for being extensively well traveled. Even among a group of people whom pride themselves as such."

Katie was still a little woozy from the rush of pure endorphins that had washed through her system a moment ago, it took her a few extra seconds to respond, and when she did she had a deep blush on her face.

"Thank you for giving me your name, I can only imagine that you want to conceal your identity, are you a superhero?" Her tone was curious and intrigued, she had never heard of either a hero or a villan matching his description, and living in Gotham City, she was fairly well appraised of most of the better known heroes and villans of the world.

The figure seemed to freeze, standing slightly more rigid at the mention of the term 'superhero', before he regained his composure and continued in a cool smooth voice, with just a hint of reproof. "I am most certainly no such thing, and before you ask, no, neither am I what you would term a supervillan. I find such designations bear with them conotations and expectations that are fueled by foolish imaginations. I am merely a new visitor to this city who has decided not to define themselves by a spandex clad moral spectrum." After a moment he seemed to grow far more contemplative, and though she could not see his face, Katie had the impression he was smiling before he continued. "I am entirely certain that before the week is through some may call me hero, villan, monster or worse, and yet in the end I am just another person trying to make sense in a world gone mad, much the same as anyone."

Katie let out the breath she did not know she was holding when he quickly confirmed he was not a supervillan, it seemed strange that he would be so reluctent to classify himself as one or the other but she felt she understood at least part of his reasoning. Still, knowing that he was so secretive about himself she doubted he would be here for long, so she tried to ask the questions foremost on her mind.

"Will I ever see you again? I mean not that I see you now, but if you are in the city will I ever see you again? And if I do, how will I know its you? I mean, its not as if you intend to open Mister Farstrider's Fresh Fish and Chips is it?

This time, when he responded, she could hear the bubbling rich mirth in his tone clear as day. "Now now Miss Winters, please do not panic. I am certain that even with my insistance on remaining unknown that we shall see one another again, though I dare say it shall most likely not be at my new Fish and Chip themed eatary."

Katie laughed, a slight bit of relief laced in her voice for his choice to take her absurd brain fart of a sentance and make a joke rather than mock her. 'I mean Fish and Chips, seriously Katie? Is that the best you can do?' Her inner smart ass was out to make this very stressful day even more awkward than it already was, wonderful.' ' If you are my brain, and that just came out of my mouth, isn't this partially your fault too?' She asked, somewhat tarsely at that, rather put off at arguing with herself. 'Oh believe me, I may be your brain, but I had NOTHING to do with that, that was all you.'This latest response of her mind was dripping with enough sarcasm to stop any forthcoming reply.

Her companion, seeming to sense her desire, and failure, to find the right thing to say, pushed on smoothly with his portion of the conversation. hoping that by doing he could both remain correctly well mannered to a young woman who had been quite kind to him, while at the same time avoiding the very authorities he had told her to summon.

"I would like to perpose a deal to you Miss Winters. I shall gift you with a talisman that will reveal to you my identity when next we meet. In return, all I ask of you is that you tell no one the name I have given you until such time as I declare it safe for public knowledge. Are my terms acceptable to you Miss Winters?"

"Yes, that is more than acceptable, in fact, it is very kind of you to trust me with something like that, thank you." Her voice was quiet, but held once more the confindance and certainty that came as a byproduct of being genuinely good at dealing with people.

"I have learned well the value of politeness and conduct when attempting to make a suitible first impression. The fact that you have conducted yourself this well, dispite the various obsticles and pitfalls in your path speaks valumes for both your professionalism and character. As such, and seeing that you are also the first human being in this city to be considerate of my existance, I would feel remiss if I did not respond with equal consideration."

 As he finished telling her this a part of her mind idliy noted that he was very concise in his speech; to the point of clearly defining each sylible. Even with the rolling smoothness of his voice lending his words a smooth legato rythem, each part was nonetheless susinct.

Drawing lightly upon the deep virdent strength of his abundant Green Mana, the robed figure concentrated for a brief moment before  aura of emerald energy encased his right hand. Less than a second later the field of mana condenced and focused,  gathering in his right palm. There, it shone softly until the combination of his will, and his skill in a field of magic known as Biomancy, gave it the form and shape of a small, rich and smooth mohogany sphere . Adding a small bit of Artiface, and marking the construct as his own, he then awakened the power of the mystic construct  with a final utterance.

"This Wooden Sphere shall tell you when I am nearby, and also help to keep you safe in some small way should it proove neccissary. Now though, I am afraid I must bid you adeu, for as you know, mysterious robed figures are seldom welcome to stand about in banks for long without conciquince. Until we are fortunate enough to meet again, farewell, Katie."

 Before the words had even left his lips he began to draw upon one of the powers that set what and who he was appart from the average sorcerer. He gathered his Mana, fimished what he had to say, and then simply stepped forward; and between the second it would have taken his foot to touch the ground again he was gone. No sound, no flash of light, no feeling in the air, just gone, as if he had simply Walked away.

Katie was still partially mesmerised by the simple, elegent beauty of the sphere, so it took her a moment to respond. "Yeah I guess your right, but with the number of heroes and villans that pop up on a weekly basis you think they would be used to it by...." It was at tis moment she noticed two things, the first was that whatever strange effect had kept the world in stasis while she spoke to the figure was gone.

 Secondly, apparently, so was he.

Subconciously still cluctching the Wooden Sphere in one hand Katie began to answer the questions of her curious co-workers, drawing strength from the smooth orb in her grasp. Its beautiful wooden surface was all the proof she needed that the events of the last few minutes had not been some bizzare dream or nightmare. No, what she had just seen was sweet, confusing reality, and on some level she knew that things had changed, not just for her, but for all of Gotham, maybe even all the world.

She had to smile to herself as the first sirans pulled up to the bank seconds later, 'Well, he was right, it really didn't take them long to get here at all.' This was followed by logical question 'Who the hell wears sunglassess at night in December?'

Her inner sarcasm had to get in one last shot at that moment as she heard a know-it-all reply. 'Corey Hart'

Meanwhile half way across the city

Having travelled what he assumed would be a safe distance from the now active crime scene, the tall green robed figure rested for a moment in the concealing shadows of a nearby building. He was glad that he could help someone like Katie. For while he would never consider himself a hero with the rivers of blood on his hands, (not to mention the fact that he was not above repeating those  actions if neccissary); he still tried to conduct himself as something of a gentleman when faced with politeness rather than pitchforks. Gaia's mercy!  He hated pitchforks, not that they could actually harm him, but the sheer absurd notion itself backed up by the hate fueled mob mentality always made him feel ill and frusterated with their titanic stupidity.

Finally able to process rather than simply react, his mind began piecing together information at inhuman speeds. Those men at the bank were nothing but a gang of low level street hoods on the surface, but it had been child's play to read their minds whilst the group was engaged in what passed for banter. They worked for a man named Carmine Falcone. From what he could gather this Don Falcone was easily one of the most well conected non superpowered villans in Gotham. A man whose plans for the city were even larger and darker than the skyscraper shadows that shrouded its night sky.

That robbery was apparently part of a wide spread crime wave smokescreen, a large number of seemingly unrelated incidents covering the entire lower spectrum of villany in order to spread the authorities thin, and force the various heroes of the city to devide and conquer with already limited manpower. In fact there was a stupendus amount of effort being put into distracting one specific indavidual. Gotham's fearsome Dark Knight, the man known as, The Batman. Falcone apparently was so desperate to distract The Bat that he had even hired a man who called himself The Riddler to  create an entirely seperate crime spree of his own, knowing that as a standing member of The Batman's Rougues Gallery, he would be given a mental priority higher than that of petty mob crime, for now. Falcone was not stupid, he knew that The Batman would only require time to trace the entire mess to its origin, it had happened too many times before for him to doubt it now, and thus his only concern was how much time he could buy.

As for the purpose of such an endevor, he currently did not know, none of these men were high enough in the orginization to know that much, even between them, and while it is true that he could see both into the past, and future if he used his Magic to do so, it was not always easy to determine which one of the endlessly shifting futures would occur. Also, while it was true he could read thoughts, he would have to use specific spells to attain the answers he desired, and those spells often left a large magical signature, something he was currently attempting to avoid.

Perhaps the most intriguing bits of information he attained concerned his plans for a well known villaness by the name of Poison Ivy, a young woman whom apparently had the ability to control and manipulate plants. In addition, she also possessed a poison kiss, along with ability to release a wide veriety of pheromones which would render any male helpless before her and subjigate their will with her own. As impressive as these powers were however, he respected her perhaps most greatly for having enough skill in the study of flora based life forms, a science known as Botany, to be capable of using her powers to moify and create spores and strains to give rise to entirely new forms of plant life. He found it positively amazing that a non-spellshaper would possess such abilities, let alone gain such a connection to Nature itself by artificial means.

Apparently, Falcone had plans for the parcels of land currently occupied by several of Gotham's larger parks, as well as the local Botanical Gardens; plans that would send the villaness on a massively destructive rampage were she to become aware of them. Thus he felt he had only one option, to remove her from contention as a variable, in layman's terms, he wanted her dead. However, since no man alive was safe from Ivy's charms without considerable forethought, equipment, and luck, such a thing had to be handled in a very thurough manner. This manner was fire, more fire than even a criminal of his calibur should have access to. Flame throwers, molitov cocktails, various explosives of military grade, rocket and grenade launchers, and somehow even a targeted carpet napalm bombing from seven stolen stealth bombers. Quite simply he intended to level the entire vacinity even if he had to leave it as nothing but ash, glass, ruin and death. He already had several overseas extremists ready to claim credit for the entire incident, he had even spent three months slowly filtering in the hired terrorists, all in ways that would never leave him as the first or even fiftieth suspect. To this end a massive co-ordinated strike was planned for this evening, while Poison Ivy would be busy laying waste to a peticularly toxic factory, one as fate would have it, that was owned by his chief rival Salvatore Maroni( funny how things just worked out like that.) The co- ordinated strikes would systematiclly wipe the four target locations from the face of the earth. All from a distance meant to minimize the effect of Ivy's capabilities. (The lot slotted to recieve flamethrowers was made up of only the most zealous and passionate of the men he had access to, exceptional, and expendable.) The idea was to leave Ivy nowhere to run and no allies to call upon, then they were to eliminate the target with all of the best long range options availible.

He had to admit, based on the information he currently had access to, that plan just might work, and that possibility distressed him somewhat. Here was someone who might actually share his love of the land, perhaps even agree with some of his harsher concepts of justice.  Given that she herself was a proclaimed villaness. Deep within his soul, from the very core of his Magic he felt the urge to first find out more about this young woman, than to find her; if even just to converse with someone who might understand his perspective.

But it would be harder to talk to her if she was dead, don't get him wrong, he could do it, but it would be harder.

Realizing both that he was on a clock, and that, while possible, his first instinct to just place the entire city in a bubble of frozen time would be too costly to avoid utterly destroying his secracy. The amount of Mana that he would require to accomplish such a feat would give off a magical signature that might be felt by every mystic on the planet, and that was something he did not wish, not yet.

In a dark corner of his mind, where his power met his natural hubris (nothing and no one becomes what he was now without gaining, or enlarging an ego) a more savage and primal version of his own voice urged him to cast open the gates to his power, and drink of the Mana he had secreted across thousands of worlds.  To openly challenge the power of any and every being upon this world, and do glorious battle until he proved supreme among them, or fell to an opponent stronger than he. After all, the voice continued, he was not some White Mana clutching cleric, trying to excuse his actions under the doubious edicts of some false God so that he might become a morally justified murderer. He killed those who were unfit to live without hesitation. He obayed the Laws of Nature, not the Laws of Man! He was the rising hurricane, an oncoming storm that swept entire worlds before it! He was ancient, he was ageless, he was GREEN! Not the colour, but the Colour, proper noun intended. He was the very incarnation of Life and Power, he was quite simply, a force of Nature.

He was also trying not to go mad.

Slamming his willpower into the voice, as if he intended to banish it magically, he then slowly forced his breathing under control and released his grip on his Mana. Both the Power and the Madness ebbed inside of him as he fought to regain his calm. No good would come of him trying to force this world to its knees. After all if he killed every living thing on Earth so too would he destroy its Mana, and that was one of the many outcomes he was trying to avoid. He wished that they were not so interlinked, the Power and the Madness, but everything in the world has a price, and in order to wield power like this, you had to be more than a little crazy.

Still even those brief moments seizing his power were enough, for one of the powers that every being of his classification shared.  Every last one of them had the ability to learn the True Name of any being with little to no effort, perhaps even more easily than they traveled from one place to another. It was one of the things that made anyone like him instantly feared, and often hated throughought the Planes themselves. For no one ever felt safe with beings out there who could learn any of their history and secrets without ever actually meeting them. In fact in a world so filled with secret plots, secret identities, and intricate lies, this simple power to access every threat on the battlefield made him arguably one of the most dangerous men on the planet.

For knowing something's True Name gave you the power to effect it with Magic, at least if you knew what you were doing. Suffice to say, he knew what he was doing, in fact after all this time going from world to world battling The Enemy; he knew what he was doing in spades. Clearing his mind so that he could focus on her, and her alone, he began to intone words for a spell that would tell him all he needed to know. As his Mana once more formed a halo around him, this time with a mixture of Blue and Green Mana, he began to speak; the power running through him making his voice boom out into the night. The slow, sonorous, southern sylibles of his speech rolled off of any surface they contacted, filling the very air with the undeniable weight of his authority.

"Pamela Lillian Isley! The verdant villaness known as Poison Ivy! By whatever name thou call thyself, with the utterance of your True Name, and by the strength of my will; I hearby cast open the Gates that seal you past from sight! Pamela Lillian Isely, reveal to me the truth of your existance!"

 One might expect the spell in question to be Blue in nature, since it was undoubtedly the most suited of the Colours for this task. But he conisdered the nature of his target, or perhaps he should say the Nature of his target, and chose a spell from among the Colour that bound both of thier souls to this world. The splendid and immortal beauty of The Green. Reaching the final incantation of his spell ritual, a spell he might add, that was not only powerful enough to view a being's past, but to also retrieve things from it if neccissary.

Pamela Lillian Isley, by the coulor shared between us mine spell hath been cast, I beseech thee, show me thy secrets that Dwell in the Past!"

The energies fo the spell took hold of him, and though his body did not move, his conciousness was flung backward in an instant that lasted beyond an eternity, as he viewed her entire personal timeline. He reflected for a moment that he would never truly get used to that, the strange feeling of finding out everything there is to know about another sentient being in the space of an instant. Even with all the worlds he has seen, all the places he has Walked, that feeling never ceased to amaze him.

His senses reached out as if on reflex once he had recovered from the near overload of information, 'sweet merciful Godess  how ever did these mortals ever manage to do so much, with so little time?' Brushing off his moment of curious reflection, the figure extended his senses, letting himself feel the Colour and life force of every living thing in the city of Gotham. Such a glorious city with such potential hidden in its shadows. It was beautiful in a sinister way, even with the dark stains on its  Mana, Gotham was beautiful  to him dispite the darkness and the madness, for any mere mortal who could survive in this urban jungle was a credit to Darwinian theory. This city may breed evil, but it also bred those who could withstand its cruel crucible.

Case and point, the young woman whose signature he had finally locked on to, for there truly was no other like it within the bounds of this dark distopia. Where the world about seethed in shadow, she was a pulse of pure life force, like Nature herself given glorious form to bring new life to a world choking on smoke and ashes. Even without the power of his Mana hammering in his veins he knows he would recognize that signature anywhere, for its call feels like that of a siran to one such as he, it is so vital, so alive, so, Green!

Clearing his head of all other petty distractions, he let himself get lost in the virdant vitality of her very heartbeat, narrowing his focus until there was no other feeling in the world, save for her presence. He then gathered both his power and his will, took half a step toward her, and Walked in the space of an instant to her location,

Smith, Smythe, and Stone Waste Treatment Facility

'This is almost too easy.'

Those were the merry thoughts of one Poison Ivy as she sent another wave of Sal Maroni's hired goons running with the aid of her beautiful children. They scattered before her wrath like foul mouthed ants. Though she did notice that mot only were there a fair number more than she would have expected, they also were armed with more deadly weaponry than she would have though Maroni would bother with. Reacting to their latest, mostly ineffective, salvo of attacks, she sent a peticularly vicious command to painfully ensnare one of the goons after an improvised explosives actually managed to set one of her babies aflame. She would make an example of that one; but only after he told her all she wished to know.

She and her children began to press toward the main structure of the chemical plant proper. She refused to consider this blight producing hell furnace a treatment facility, that was like calling a hammer to the face theropy. Admittedly she had heard that comparisson before, but given both that one of her only true friends was Harley Quinn, and said woman both had an insane beau and a rather imprssive hammer fixation, one should not be suprised.

The factory walls would be no more an obsticle than the high, thick concreate outer curtain wall had been. Plants of all types had been industriously finding there way through such obsticles for quie a while now. And as luck would have it. giant mutations of deadly varieties certainly held an edge in this greater than that of your average flower. Moreover, she supposed it helped that she knew for a fact that the man put in charge of overseeing this factory for Maroni happened to be a sexist ass who believed a woman's only place in a work force was on a convenient corner, or perhaps a well placed pole. (He apparently made that joke often and considered it hilarious.) Thus she knew he had an all male security force, which would make this far easier for her.

Speaking of said security, she sensed the living signature of the shift captain approching, though her abilities were limited to plants in most respects, her ability to sense life force through The Green allowed her to distinguish life forms, and even surface emotions if she conccentrated or had the time to look. Telling her children to stay back, Ivy slipped silently into the shadows alone.  Using a combination of her senses, along with some very impressive stealth and agility skills for one not trained as a ninja or covert opperative, she made her way souldlessly toward her prey.

The poor hapless bastard never stood a chance.

By the time he even noticed her presence it was already too late. A blur of red hair and a flash of beautiful green eyes was all he saw before a strange dust enshrouded his face. In but a moment all thought fell away, all care fell away, and then there was only Poison Ivy. His voice rang out in a hollow, semi emotionless tone that still managed to convay mindless devotion:

"How may I serve you, Mistress Ivy?"

"You will go forth and use your access card and codes to disable all of the security systems in the factory. Once that is done you will report back to me with your success. If anyone questions your actions you are to explain that this is a neccissary systems check due to a problem that you noticed with the cooling system. Am I understood?" Her voice was a strange mix of commanding and suductive, with a smoky quality to it that sent shivers down the spine of any who heard it.

"It shall be as you command Mistress Ivy." Came the devoted droning of the brainwashed shift captain. After stating his compliance to her will he resumed his patrol back toward the factory, ony a slightly stiffer gait and somewhat dopey look hinting at his currently compelled condition.

Another wave of guards passed her by on patrol a moment later , wondering where she had gone. She listened to their mutterings and complaints as they passed within earshot, various factors of their biology alerting her to the fact that her presence was still unknown to them.

"Wonder where that crazy bitch went? The Boss ain't gonna be happy if we don't have something to tell him other than the fucking crazy plant lady busted down our wall, broke a bunch a stuff, and then left. His first question is gonna be why the fuck did we let her leave? And his second question is gonna be phrased in the form of bullets, so let's just find her and get this over with."

"I don't know Louie, maybe that last wave  o' the boys scared her off, they did manage to light up a few of those freaky plants a' hers, maybe she couldn't stand ta hear ' em cryin' and fucked off?" At this point the thug exploded into deep mocking laughter, clearly amused by the scene he was picturing.

The previous thug, Louie, just turned to the other younger criminal and stated dryly. "We're criminals in Gotham City Eddie, when has our luck ever been that good?"

Seething silently in the shadows, Ivy smiled grimly at the proclaimation of the more cynical criminal. 'You have no idea how right you are' She wanted to tear the younger one to pieces for not only mocking the pain of her children, but also for being one of the few that even entertained the thought that she could hear her babies scream; and then drawing joy from it! She would not, and could not forgive that. Still she could not tip her hand yet, not until she had baught her pawn more time to complete his task.

"You know, just because you lack the perception to hear something scream, does not mean that it cannot still feel pain."

 The words were smooth, sweet and deep, washing over her senses with a power that was strangely electrifying. But those same beautiful words held a calm, cold, fury that promised death to those who heard them. Even though the energy of this new player had her wary and on edge, she could not deny a small thrill that went through her at the sound of his anguish. For he had spoken truly, she could hear her children, and not only did he accept this, but he was also furious they had been hurt! No one but her ever considered her beautiful babies anything but monsters, to hear someone defend them was perhaps the last thing she would ever expect.

"Yea and just who the fuck are you? Ranger Rick the plant fuckin' pri--."

 His insult got no further, for at that moment there was a sickening cracking sound. This was then followed by the sound of ripping meat, and finally a single, far louder, crunch; as a richly tanned hand exploded out of the chest of Eddie the foul mouthed thug. Said hand was clenched around  Eddie's still beating heart, presenting it before his eyes as the robed figure spoke.

Can you hear it, you arrogant trash? The sound of your last moments drawing closer, the ragged wheeze in your lungs, as the blood rushes in, and out? Perhaps you will have just enough time before you die to realize your error in mocking the natural order? No matter, for as your blood seeps into the Earth giving back the life you have wasted, take heart in knowing something far better than you ever were shall one day rise from the soil to claim new life."

Posion Ivy looked on in a strange mix of facination and horror as blood ran in rivults down the arm of the robed figure. He paid it even less mind than he paid the man whose heart he was holding if that were possible. She could not see his face, hidden in that hooded robe, but she could swear those unseen eyes of his were looking straight into her soul.

Strangely, as  the last beats of the man's heart  finally came, the figure did not release it, instead a brilliant emerald light surrounded his hand, and before her eyes the former fallen figure turned into finely shredded mulch.

"Oh Jesus, oh sweet baby Jesus, please, not like this, not like this. I beg of you Lord have mercy." These, were the franticlly whispered prayers of the formerly cynical Louie.

"While I do not know how much mercy your Jesus shall have on what passes for your soul. Given that you are by far the less offensive one, and that you were ultimately right upon the accessment of your misfortune, I am inclined to grant you the mercy of a swift death."

Even as the words left his mouth the figure had already closed the space to the poor paralyzed Louie in an instant.  Before Ivy's eyes had even had a chance to finish registering what was happening, she heard a sharp sickening crack, and Louie's head began to loll to the side at an angle that is impossible to accomplish without a broken neck.

As he turned back to her Ivy stared wide eyed into the all enshrouding darkness of his hood. Somehow even if she could not see his face, she had the strange feeling he was smiling. His voice, when it did reach her ears, was warm, rich, mirthful and amused, like thick honey mixed with smokey laughter.

"I believe that you are Poison Ivy if I am not mistaken? Please, forgive me if I do not shake hands."

The Robed Figure's POV

I stood nervously awaiting the reply to what I can already tell was a terrible pun, I mean certainly, the timing was spot on, but I may have just scarred this young woman for life. That, I reflected, would be beyond a tragic shame, for to scar one as beautiful as this would be like taking a blade to actual divinity! (Which is a truly difficult thing to do when you do not believe in the concept of Gods of any kind,  I assure you.) Quite simply put she was one of the most ravishing creatures I had ever had the pleasure of setting eyes upon.

She had glorious aubern tresses that tumbled gracefully past her shoulders, stopping just short of her mid back. Though they were carefree and unrestrained, they were not wild, instead her hair parted on the left side before sweeping into a gentle curl to the right side  of her face. Her eyebrows were high and slender perfectly suited to the bewitching and dainty heart shaped face she possessed. Her skin though slightly pale was creamy and soft to look upon, a small cute nose sat above a set of full, pouty, perfectly kissable lips. They were the kind of lips that would whisper secrets and bring the angels themselves to their knees, so soft and sweet, but made for sin. Even her ears were dainty, so graceful in their sweep that they nearly seemed gentley pointed, hidden within the silken strands of her hair.

Her eyes though, those deep, green, dancing devil's eyes! They felt as though their gaze pierced my very soul; and saught to steal my breath.

They were such an impossibly deep, inconcievably rich shade of forest green. Expressive beyond the talents of mortal tongues, and with a gentle tilt to them. This, when combined with her rich full dark lashes, gave her a perfectly exotic look. I was so lost in those glorious green orbs that I had to make certain for a moment that she was human, and not one of my own people standing before me. For such was her beauty, that it seemed otherworldly to me.

Then my eyes took in the rest of her form, and I had to wait a full three seconds for my heart to restart itself.

The unearthly glory that was her form, was a study in contradictons. She was at once slender and demure, yet she was impossibly long legged for her height and so curvasious that neigh any model on earth would be (quite fittingly) green with envy. She stood just two inches over five feet tall, meaning that I towered over her by more than a clear foot, and somehow, I doubted she would manage to way much over one hundred pounds soaking wet. Her skin was a beautiful creamy expanse of pure pale flesh. From her bare perfectly rounded shoulders to the high C low D cup breasts that proudly stood out upon her chest... She was femininity and sensuality given form, a goddess of Nature clad in flawless flesh. Clad only in a leotard that appeared to be made of naught but leaves she was the perfect homage to a greek nymph, utterly alluring, yet deceptively dangerous. I tried to center myself, realizing I was staring.

And all the while those neigh glowing green eyes danced with a thousand possibilities. Mirth, mystery, majesty, mischieviousness, mourning, misery, madness, and... murder?

Too late did I realize that my earlier show must have triggered her fight or flight responses, and given the fact that she was currently rooted to the ground in a mix of fear and facination; that left only one option.

"I, am so very sorry."

Those were the last words that slipped past my lips as the first of a furiously flying set of viciously violent vines slammed into my chest, and immediately began to try and burrow towards my heart. One of the last things I remember thinking is;

'Perhaps, I should have seen this coming.'

And CUT! That's a wrap for now, I wanted to post the entirety of this chapter in one go, but it is bloody huge,working on getting that sorted out as fast as possible however. Interesting side note for those that notice some of the changes, it had been a while since I had seen the Animated Series, forgot it listed her height as five foot two, had a good laugh about that. :-D I know there are errors still there, and the whole thing looks rougher than sleigh rides in Tarterus, but take hope, it shall get better.

Will our  hero survive? Or has the sinful seductress known as Poison Ivy claimed another hapless victim? And what of Falcone's plans for Ivy? Will his schemes succeed? Find out next time! Unnamed Bat-time, same Bat channel in our next episode:

Through the Eyes of Ivy/ Dreams and Nightmares in Red and Green pt. 2



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