WARNING:
This story is fictional and is not intended to portray any real persons,
living or dead, nor is it at all intended to encourage the type of activity
portrayed here. It is strictly a fantasy/parody, intended for the personal
enjoyment of those who appreciate female costumed characters in fear for
their life or the violation of their body. The story describes and/or hints
at graphic sexual situations, including bondage, violence, non-consensual
sex, and other elements unacceptable in certain communities. It is NOT intended,
nor is it at all suitable, for minors. If you are under the age of 18, or
if this type of thing offends you, you shouldnt be reading it. If you
are a person who does find the material described above, then I invite you
to enjoy this story.
The story
contains characters of my own creation, but also characters who are the property
of various established comic book companies. Those characters are used without
any permission by the owners of those characters and are included only to
offer a fan's expression of those characters in a situation that would not
be seen in mainstream comics. This story is strictly done for non-profit
enjoyment by other fans interested in this adult genre. This story may not
be moved to, or included in any website that requires payment for content.
The Haunting
of
Batgirl
by Alias
the Rat
Part
One
The Dark
Damsel of Gotham City was going along on her nightly patrol and had not run
into anything at all tonight. This
was one night she was pleased it was quiet. Just the evening before
she had happened upon the Penguin and a bunch of his goons who were up to
no good. She'd handled them and they were all in jail now, but they had not
gone easily and Batgirl felt the after-effects of the fight. Barbara's right
shoulder hurt like hell, and every time she tried to swivel her head the
back of her neck complained. The vibrations from the bike weren't helping
that. She finally decided to cut it short and go home to wrap her shoulder
in ice and just take it easy.
But as soon
as the thought formed in her head, she heard sirens. They were approaching
her from the west and the north, and judging by the pitch they were not police
cars. Sounded more like fire trucks. She looked to the south-east, and saw
the clouds in the sky were reflecting a red glow in that direction. She turned
her bike and headed that way. She might be able to help. After a few blocks,
she saw the fire. It was the old Peterson district, and at least half of
it was engulfed in flames. Accident or arson, a hellish inferno was going
to clear away a sore spot on this side of town.
The Peterson
district had started out as a manufacturing section of Gotham. But by the
fifties most of the firms had built or rented newer, more efficient locations
in the suburbs. Then the Peterson family bought up the area and converted
the area to "low cost" housing. They were too tight-fisted, not wanting to
spend much on the conversions or on maintainance. The housing deteriorated
quickly and the area grew to be called the Peterson slums. Finally the places
were deemed unfit for habitation and the city ordered them condemned. The
money the family had not spent on the apartments went to lawyers, and the
city could not wrest control of the property away from the Petersons when
legal proceedings bogged down. Drawn out like this for years, the area grew
to be the ugliest, most wretched part of Gotham
City. Then a miracle. A consortium
bought the property from the family and announced wonderful plans for a
renovation. Hell on earth would become a paradise! New condominiums, shops,
plazas. Everything that people would want to see. That was a few years ago.
The consortium had ideas of getting tax breaks from the state, financing
from the city, and loans covered by government bonds. The various governments
had balked at paying for the plans of a private corporation, and the
conglomerate's media people kept up a line of how the Mayor and the Governor
were keeping this wonderful project from developing. Public opinion just
thought the place was a cursed area where nothing good would ever happen.
The corporation's public image took a big hit recently when a reporter dug
through the ownership records and discovered that Paradise Renovations
Corporation was partially owned by the Peterson family. So people were starting
to doubt the fancy plans would ever come about.
And now the
flames would clear away some of the wretched hovels. An improvement? Babs
doubted it. Two fire engines were already there, and at least half of the
district, that covered several city blocks, was engulfed in flames. It was
too far along to save much, and the fireman were trying to keep the fires
from spreading into the inhabited neighborhoods that bordered the Peterson
district. Winds had kept the flames pushed to the northern half of the district,
but in case the wind shifted the fire
chief was sending men into the
other parts of the area to be sure the buildings were clear. They didn't
want anyone trapped in there if the fires did start moving that
way.
Batgirl stood
there, acting only as a spectator to the mighty inferno, when she heard the
gunshots. It sounded like it had come from one of the buildings the firemen
were trying to clear. Barbara flipped on her bike's radio and began scanning
the frequencies the fire department used. She found what she was looking
for, a man's voice rang out. "This is Blake in the 718 building, third floor.
I came to a room to tell somebody to evacuate and he shot me! I need
assistance."
The Dark
Damsel dashed over and entered the doorway with an address of 718. She ran
up the stairs to the third floor and in the hallway saw one door open with
a fireman prone in the doorway. She dashed over to him and looked over his
wounds. He had been shot once in the left shoulder, once in the right leg.
The bleeding was slow, so the slugs hadn't hit a major blood vessel or bone
in either wound. That was lucky. The fireman had a first aid kit strapped
to his back next to his breathing apparatus. She pulled out bandages and
wrapped the leg, then stuck a pad under his shirt to slow the bleeding on
his shoulder. She heard movement downstairs. More help was coming. He thanked
her, and then she asked where the shooter had gone. No one had come down
the stairs as she came up. Blake pointed to a door on the far side of the
room and murmurred, "If you're going after him, be careful. He had a crazy
look." She nodded, and went on the shooter's trail. In the next room she
saw another prone figure. This was a woman, naked and bound on a cot in the
corner. She lay on her side and Batgirl only saw her back. As Barbara approached
the figure she saw bruising and blood and wondered if the woman was still
alive. That question was answered when the figure twitched and coughed harshly.
Babs reached out and rolled the woman to see her face. Here too she was in
terrible shape, but what made Batgirl gasp was what she saw on the woman's
chest. Someone had taken a red-hot metal instrument and burned her. She was
branded with a letter "B" on her breast. Now Batgirl knew she was pursuing
a fiend that no-one (except his victims) had ever seen, despite a massive
police effort to find this torturer and killer of women.
In the past
year four bodies had been found in the swamps near Gotham River. Each of
the victims had been a young woman who had disappeared at least a month before
her remains were found. Each body showed evidence of rape, torture, mutilation,
and incredible savagery. And each had the letter "B" branded into the right
breast. Each grisley find had whipped the media into a frenzy and sent shudders
of horror through the women of Gotham City. The papers called him "The Bluebeard
Killer" and offered huge rewards for any lead to his discovery and capture.
But no clues were found and whoever the maniac was, no one in the underworld
had any information to sell on him. When the police or costumed heroes of
Gotham got ahold of anyone for questioning, they were always asking about
this fiend. But there had never been any lead. Until now. Batgirl went back
to the doorway she'd come though and saw several firemen and a policeman
helping the wounded fireman. She called the cop over and told him to get
the victim she'd found out to safety while she tried to track down the madman
before he got away.
She went
on though the delapidated apartment, searching for another way out. One doorway
lead her to a closet. She gasped. She thought the woman she had rescued in
the other room had been his fifth victim. She was wrong. That would have
been number six, as she found the body of victim five was tossed in the closet,
probably waiting to be disposed of. Batgirl found a back door that led to
a hallway that was covered in dust. She noticed one set of new footprints
leading to the left, where she saw a back stairway for the building. And
coming up the stairway she saw smoke. The fire was spreading this way. She
looked down the stairwell and a shot rang out, barely missing her. She saw
a man on the landing below her and her bat-a-rang whipped down, knocking
the gun from his hand. She saw that he was trapped. The stairway between
the first and second floor had collapsed. And the smoke was heavier. The
flames must be below them by now. She charged down at the man and tackled
him. He lashed out at her and she reeled back from a blow to her jaw. She
tried to grab him once more and when he backed away from her, his foot went
over the edge and with a scream, she saw him drop. She saw he had one hand
holding on to the edge, trying not to plunge down into the flames that were
below. She tried to grab his hand, but the landing under her creaked and
groaned as she got closer to the edge. She wrapped her climbing line around
a support and twisted the other end around her left arm, holding it tight
in her left hand. She eased back and reached over the edge, using her right
hand to grab the man's arm. He lashed at her, screaming. "No, you harlot,
You will not lay a hand on the archangel of God and impede his holy mission
to punish all daughters of Eve for the sins they have committed and will
commit. These flames will aid my holy quest and brand you a bitch like the
judgement you deserve!" So, Barbara thought, the papers got it wrong. The
"B" didn't stand for Bluebeard...
Barbara's
right shoulder screamed pain at her as she tried to pull up the man when
he resisted her. The madman twisted away from her grip and plunged. Batgirl's
efforts had swung his body a little to one side. He would have gone straight
down into the flames and died a terrible death, but he was spared death in
flames only to land awkwardly next to a support girder. She saw his head
crash against the girder and his neck snapped like a twig. Looking down,
she knew he was dead. She crawled back the way she'd come, through the thickening
smoke. Halfway down the hall she found the policeman, gun drawn, trying to
see through the smoky hall. The officer asked her, "I saw what was in that
closet. Where is he?" Batgirl gasped and choked as she responded. "Dead...
back there... can't get to his body." The policeman, with a cold look in
his face, said "No need to try to get him out of there. Where he's going
he's gonna burn anyway!" The two crawled along the floor, beneath much of
the smoke. They crawled as fast as they could and got back to the front stairway.
The fire had not spread that far yet, but they barely got out before the
building was totally engulfed in flames. An ambulance standing by gave them
oxygen, and detectives spoke to Batgirl about the man she'd encountered.
Once the woman they'd rescued was able to talk, they would try to piece together
enough to figure out who the madman had been.
Barbara moved
to her bike. Now she definitely was heading home. The battle in the stairwell
had wiped out any reserves she had, and she was exhausted. Her shoulder and
her neck hurt more than before, and she kept feeling the weirdest sensation
in her neck, a faint feeling of pressure there. When she got back to her
apartment, she really needed to take a shower, but she could feel the fatigue
pulling at her. If she took a bath she'd fall asleep in the tub. If she did
shower, any relief from it would not offset the energy used to keep standing.
She gave up, pulled off her uniform and just dropped on her bed, allowing
sleep to claim her.
Part
Two
The dream
was different. She'd dreamed before, and had nightmares. But now she was
standing, with a man's hands wrapped around her neck. He was squeezing her
throat and cutting off her breathing. She struggled but his grip was too
strong. She was blacking out, and she heard the voice screaming, "YOU KILLED
ME!" In most nightmares, this was when she would wake up. But she didn't.
Instead the same dream came back. Hands on her neck. Blacking out. She could
not figure out how many times she felt herself black out from the attack.
Finally she did wake up. Looking out her window she saw the sun was up. She
must have slept for hours, but her mind and body felt like there had been
no sleep at all. She pulled herself up and stood, starting for the bathroom.
A faint voice -- "YOU KILLED ME!" Did she hear that? Or was she just remembering
what she'd heard in her dream, over and over? She suddenly felt a hand on
her shoulder. She spun around to attack whoever was there. But the room was
empty. There was no one there. Nerves, she thought.
She
went into the bathroom and entered the shower. First she ran the spray hard
and ice cold over her body, trying to wake up. That helped a little. Then
she turned it up as hot as she could stand, and let the water run over her
as she lathered her body and let the dirt and sweat run away. Muscles, though
still sore, eased up and felt slightly better. The shower had really helped.
She opened the shower door and, through the steam, went to the sink, grabbing
a towel. She stopped with a start. In the condensation on the mirror something
was written. A cold chill ran though her as she read it. "YOU KILLED
ME!"
She stepped
back, pressing her back against the cold, clammy tiled wall of the bathroom.
She could not take her eyes off the words in the mirror. After a moment,
she reached over and pressed a button in the panel at the room's light switch.
"Computer, security scan double alpha." she said. A small speaker next to
the button spoke after less than a minute. "All entries secured. Sensors
indicate one person present. Location. Bathroom." Batgirl, knowing the type
of world that existed outside, had designed her computer-guided security
system to make her apartment the one place where she was totally safe. There
were times she needed a place to feel secure. She was alone here. She knew
that. Her security system was better than Fort Knox. But
how...
Batgirl grabbed
a robe, then went up to the mirror and examined the words traced in the moisture.
She suddenly recalled that Batman had once told her about how he had been
the subject of a subtle attack by the Joker... no, it was Scarecrow! The
villain had used complicated special effects to try to convince Batman that
he was going mad. It had almost worked until the Dark Knight saw through
the subtrefuge. Was this a plot by one of her enemies to attack her mind?
She would get to the bottom of this! The path of the words on the mirror
ran down and near the bottom, she saw it. A little hair spray had misted
along the lower edge, and in this slightly sticky area she saw a fingerprint!
She went to her desk, grabbed some fingerprint powder and cellophane tape,
and went back to pull off the print. She scanned the print into her computer,
and went online to her clandestine back door connection into the Gothan Police
computer network. She sent the print and waited for it to be identified.
She felt
better now. She was working on the problem, not just reacting to what was
coming after her. The computer connection was working slowly. The machine
beeped, and data came up on the screen. First the text. The print was identified
as a Marcus Peterson. A long record for violent crimes. All against women.
Time spent in prison. Described as a black sheep of the big Peterson family.
Barbara didn't recall ever having any contact with this guy. So
he...
Batgirl gasped
as the picture downloaded and came on the screen. She stood up quickly, her
chair falling backward. She took a step back, and almost fell over it. She
could not pull her eyes from the screen. She could not pry her eyes off the
mug-shot of Marcus Peterson. She'd seen that face before. Just the previous
night, when she'd seen him twist from her grasp and fall to his death! Then
she heard it. It was very faint, but it was there. "YOU KILLED
ME!"
She felt
the hand on her arm, but when she looked down there was nothing there. She
screamed, "Computer, security scan double alpha." But again the machine told
her the only person in the apartment was her. But she felt the touch on her
back, her face, her breasts... oh god... fingers went to her cunt and probed
and pinched her and she shuddered from the sudden, extreme assault on her
sex. She clasped her hands over her pubic region, but stil she felt fingers
inside her, sending erotic sensations running through her body. She dropped
to the floor and rolled, but there was no getting away from this exotic attack
on her person. Her body tensed as she was brought to extreme excitement,
but then the fingers stopped, leaving her trembling, needing release. Her
own fingers went into her as she tried to bring release to the agony. She
came, and her fluids streamed out over her hands, covering her thighs.
Any relief
she might have had was short lived. Again she felt the unseen hands move
over her. There was a sensation at her throat, but it wasn't hard enough
to constrict her breathing. Then they ran over her body. She felt the hands
everywhere, and she twisted turned and moved as much as she could, but it
was useless. The hands... the ghost, she admitted... had her. The probing
and touching finally moved back to her cunt. She heard the faint voice. "Harlot,
you will be punished for what you did to the archangel of Almighty God. My
crusade against the daughters of Eve will not cease. Even from beyond the
grave, I will use the power the Almighty has given me to punish you and all
bitches on earth!" Again, he tortured her sex, pushing her to a high level
of pain and pleasure. Again she had to jerk herself off to get down from
the plateau of sexual tension.
And then
he attacked her again...
Part
Three
Supergirl
landed on the roof of Barbara Gordon's apartment and went through the roof
access to the stairs. They had made plans to meet for lunch today, but Babs
had not returned Kara's call. She hoped the Dark Damsal hadn't gotten tied
up on some case. The Kryptonian always liked getting together with her friend
and talking over their lives. They were so different. An alien young woman
with powers to do amazing things, and a lass who used her brilliant mind
and superbly toned and trained body to accomplish what she did. But they
were the best of friends. Supergirl rang the bell at Barbara's apartment
and her acute senses felt the sensors scan her and transmit to Batgirl's
computer system who was at the door. She knew that the computer would announce
her, and without even thinking, her super-hearing concentrated on hearing
what was inside the door. She heard the computer state, "Visitor at door.
Identification, Supergirl." Kara knew if Barbara wasn't home, a signal would
go to her telling her about the person waiting back here, and she
wondered...
Only because
she still was using her super-hearing did Kara get it. A very faint moan,
a groan. The sound of someone in pain. She went through the door. A steel
reinforced doorjam and titanium door would have held out nearly anyone, but
it was barely any resistance to a determined and worried Kryptonian. The
Maid of Might scanned the room and saw her friend on the floor in front of
her. She lay there with a white bathrobe on, but it was open and the front
of her body was revealed. Barbara's hands were cupped over her crotch, and
her bush and thighs were covered with the dried remains of vaginal emmisions.
She gasped, and her body twitched. Kara saw Barbara was dehydrated, her lips
dry and cracked. Supergirl sped to the kitchen, moistened a towel, and saw
a couple bottles of Gatorade inside the fridge. She thought that would be
better than plain water and grabbed them and streaked back to Barbara's side.
This had taken 4 seconds. She poured a little liquid into her friend's mouth.
Barbara choked for a minute, then thirstily gulped down the refreshing cold
liquid. Supergirl wiped Bab's forehead and the sides of her face with the
damp towel, and asked her, "Barbara, who did this to you?"
She heard
the voice. "I punished her for killing me and for being a cursed harlot.
And you too will feel the vengeance of the hand of God!" At this, Batgirl's
eyes opened, and she forced her voice to squeak out a message. "Kara, get
out of here. Don't let him get you..." The Dark Damsal groaned, and suddenly
her body stiffened. On her back, she tensed her body and it arched upwards,
her hips hips pushing her crotch towards the ceiling. She growled and moaned
and her hands clenched her crotch as her fingers went into her cunt, trying
once again to releive the pain and sensation the ghost inflicted to her there.
Kara watched this in terror, then felt hands run over her body. Unseen hands
that stoked and probed all over until her clit was assaulted. She too dropped
to the floor and was startled by how quickly her vagina moistened and her
body spasmed with the sexual tensions that wracked her body. She was driven
to mastrubate to relieve the cramps in her body. She realized this was what
had happened to Barbara and fearfully knew she was in the clutches of a menace
far beyond what she could handle.
She forced
her right hand up to her ear and tapped her earlobe. In her ear canal a tiny
unit hummed to life. Kara managed to cry out through clenched teeth, "J'onn
-- emergency level red four... under magical attack.. help... ARGGH!" The
pain shot through her body, and she blacked out.
High in orbit
above the world, J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter stared at the monitor
screen in front of him as he sat at the consoles of the Justice League
Watchtower. The voice, though strained, had been recognizable as Kara's.
The computers had automatically analysed the message and confirmed it was
Supergirl who had reported an emergency. The screens also identified the
source of the signal. It came from Gotham City, the apartment of Barbara
Gordon -- Batgirl. A red emergency indicated the sender was in very serious
trouble, and the code level four meant another costumed person was on the
scene and in even worse danger. It would be logical to assume that refered
to Batgirl -- in terrible danger -- also being there. And magic was involved.
The martian tried to co-ordinate this data to form the best possible response.
Superman and Batman were both available to respond, but J'onn took into account
that neither of them was suited to face a menace based on magic. Also, they
both would deny it, but with his cousin in danger, Superman would not face
the situation with a mind that was cool and collected. Batman's feelings
for his young protege would also be affect him, though not as much. He glanced
at the screen of the monitor that indicated the status and availabilty of
persons at that instant and his cold, calculating Martian mind formed a plan
to respond the the cry for help.
In the cafeteria
of the watchtower, two women sat at a table, sharing information about magic,
and super-powers. One, dressed in a narrow cut blue bottom, white bustier
type shirt, jacket, fishnet stockings and top hat, was Zatanna Zatara, the
reserve member of the Justice League whose knowledge of magic was extensive.
She spoke with a visitor from the Marvel universe who was at the Watchtower
in an information exchange mission. The other woman, clad in one piece crimson
swimsuit, pink tights, long red cape, scarlet boots and gloves and a red
cloth tiara that framed her face, was the Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff.
She sipped her glass of white wine and spoke. "This headquarters of yours
is rather overwhelming. In the Avengers, we are based in a mansion in the
middle of the city. Don't you feel a bit out of touch here?" "I'm only a
reserve member, but some of the League feel that way." Zatanna replied. "With
the teleporters, we can be anywhere as fast as we are needed, but there is
a feeling of being reserved and not connected to the people who we are trying
to help. It makes the people feel the JLA is a group that are distant and
hard to relate to..." The conversation was interupted by a message from the
speaker at their table. The voice of J'onn J'onzz boomed out. "Zatanna, there
is a magical emergency. Would you go to teleport pad three, I will meet you
there. You could ask your guest to accompany you."
The two women
lept to their feet and moved quickly towards the corridor. Zatanna asked,
"Wanda, this isn't your world, are you sure..." Her companion in red cut
in, "In the Avengers we react the same way to an alert. I'm here, and I would
be glad to help." They met the Manhunter at the teleport pad. He gave them
the scant information he had, and warned them. "Kara is not very knowledgeable
about magical menaces, only vulnerable to them. We have no idea what you
will be facing, and you will only be our first response unit with some knowledge
of magic and an ability to face it. Thank you, Miss Maximoff, for offering
to assist. I always feel disturbed when confronting a magical threat. Too
many of our personnel are helpless against it. I hope the two of you can
handle whatever is down there or at least hold your own until I can contact
mages of greater power who will respond to whatever threat might reside in
Batgirl's residence." Zatanna responded. "Don't worry so, J'onn. I can handle
magical trouble pretty well, and Wanda is also a very capable woman in that
respect. We will do what we can. Wait for our initial evaluation of what
is going on down there. It might just be a gremlin who has gotten out of
hand." The Magician Mistress didn't really think it would be that easy, but
J'onn was always so serious about matters and he seemed to always think things
were worse than they really were.
The two mystical super-heroines went to the teleport pads, and the
energy hummed as they were transported earthward.
Part
Four
The pair
appeared in the corridor, just outside the doorway that Kara had smashed
in. It was procedure, when possible, to teleport to an area just outside
the target, to give heroes a chance to scout out a location before getting
into any battle. Both looked into the room and saw Barbara and Supergirl
prone on the floor in the room, twitching and moaning. Their rescuers looked
around, trying to identify the threat. Their eyes and powers scanned around,
looking for a magical entity that could have done this to the downed heroines.
But nothing seemed to be there. Had the menace fled? Wanda and Zatanna entered
the room, still keeping their guard up as they kept scanning back and forth.
Zatanna dropped to one knee next to Kara and asked her, "Supergirl, what
attacked you?" The Kryptonian's eyes opened and she murmurred, "...get ...get
out while you can. Leave us behind and save
yourselves!" The Witch and Zatanna
then felt themselves attacked, and their magical defenses seemed to be useless.
As had happened to Barbara and Kara, they felt the assault on their cunts
that drove them to drop to the ground. Marcus Peterson's ghost had grown
in power and ability quickly, and he was able to continue to torture more
that one subject now. A low man's voice came from Batgirl's mouth as she
put her head up. "More harlots come. Ones with the power of Satan himself
come to face the archangel of a vengeful Almighty God. But I serve him well
and will use the new powers I have found to call down damnation on these
bitches and all of the daughters of Eve. You will die, but first you will
suffer long and hard at my righteous hand!" The two rescuers had failed.
They were helpless in the clutches of a mad ghost who meant to destroy half
of the human race.
A golden
glow appeared in the air in the apartment as another hero appeared there.
Clad in blue and gold, Kurt Nelson wore the golden helm of Nabu that transformed
him into the mighty sorcerer, Doctor Fate. He took in his surroundings and
at once sensed the menace was residing in the form of Barbara Gordon, on
the floor in front of him. He sent beams of magical energy at the figure,
trying to destroy, or at least weaken the evil entity that was there. But
Peterson's maniacal hatred was strong, and it fed the energy he had been
gathering and using since he died. Again, Fate attacked the villain and tried
to imprison him, but his energy was repulsed or disappaited by the power
of his opponent. The ghostly voice came from Barbara's lips. "I have the
power. No one can stand against me or stop me from taking God's vengeance
on the daughters of Eve. They will all die. It is their fate. And you, Man
of Evil, you try to help them. I see in your mind, there is a woman whose
lust holds you prisoner. I will go and take this Izra Nelson and you will
see her suffer and die by my hand. You will be freed of her temptress' body
and will then join me in my crusade." Fate was amazed at the logic the madman
used. Kurt Nelson deeply loved Inza, so he was "her slave" and needed to
be "freed" to join this horrid crusade. But fear grew in Doctor Fate's heart.
He had been holding back, not wanting to use his most powerful magics that
would destroy the body Peterson's ghost was hiding in. But more and more
powerful magic had been sent against the ghost and he had
shielded himself
and Barbara's body from the assault.
While the ghost used the helpless victim as part of his shield, Fate realized
he was failing. And he worried that Inza, his loving wife, would be facing
a torture as horrid as that which gripping the four young women in misery
in front of him.
He sensed
another presence suddenly enter the room. No one was seen, but he knew that
in the air floated a strange astral figure, with a garish white face and
the red costume of a circus trapeze artist who was murdered in the midst
of one of his performances. Deadman entered the room and was started by what
he saw. Four women, in the midst of some kind of sexual torture, surrounded
Doctor Fate, who was casting spells and mystic attacks at the almost nude
redhead. The attacks were being repulsed by the helpless looking figure.
Rama Kushna had sent Deadman here, telling him that a severe danger to the
balance of good and evil had come to be and that he had to do what he could
to bring balance back to the universe. He wondered what the hell was going
on when he first noticed it. When ever he possessed a living person and
controlled their body, a golden glow surrounded the figure that only he could
see. And Barbara Gordon' body showed a trace of that kind of glow! The menace
that was here, the one Fate was fighting, was inside the young woman's body!
Deadman floated towards her and started to merge into her figure. But this
was different. He had never encountered such difficulty in doing this. He
realized the ghost inside the body was resisting him. But he had done this
so many times. He sensed that the ghost inside was unaccostomed to the ability
and Boston Brand pushed and struggled mystically into the body. He found
himself in a small black room, facing a man whose raged with fury. "Another
evil ghost of Satan trying to stop me as I pursue God's quest to punish and
destroy the daughters of Eve. All the bitches will die and no perverted minion
of Satan will stop me!" The man rushed at Deadman and they locked in a struggle.
Deadman was startled and unsure at first. It had been so long since he physically
founght an opponent. But he was as he died, a man in peak physical shape,
and he fought back successfully to pin the madman down. Then the figure
vanished.
Boston found
himself in Barbara Gordon's body, alone. He turned and spoke, with Barbara's
voice, to Doctor Fate. "Hey Doc, what happened? He was in here and then he
vanished." Doctor Fate replied. "You drove him out. Without even knowing
it, he had been using the essence of a good, righteous women as a protective
shield, one even I could not pierce. But now..." Fate gestured and mystical
tendrils of energy spread from his hands and burst into explosions of light
and colors on the far side of the room. In Barbara's body, Boston went to
the other women and dragged them out to the corridor. They moaned and seemed
to be recovering. Fate continued to send magical attacks at the
invisible menace in front of
him. "You're trapped, Peterson!" Fate screamed out. "No more hiding behind
a woman's innocence. I will totally destroy you!" Boston looked around at
this. Destroy?? Not capture? What had happened here? In Barbara's body, Boston
approached Doctor Fate and asked, "You mean to capture him, don't you? Not
destroy him." But Fate had been affected by the fight. Looking on the tortured
bodies in the apartment, his mind reeled at the thought that the manevolent
ghost had threatened the woman Kurt Nelson loved. This had driven the man
behind the mask to want a vengeance far beyond what was right. He was out
of control. Then he suddenly stopped. His head sagged forward and he relaxed.
Boston asked, "what... what happened? Did you destroy him?" Fate shrugged
his head. "No, I couldn't. The spirit of Nabu in my mask brought me to my
senses in time. The ghost fled through the wall." Deadman pointed at the
wall. "Shouldn't we go after it... er,
him?" Now Fate shrugged again
and said. "There is no need. Another waits for him. His end is
assured."
Part
Five
The ghost
fled the building and floated away. Could the evil stop him? Was his God
not going to help him in his quest? He could not comprehend such a thing
in his tortured mind, and it added to his madness. Then he was surrounded.
Gray bars appeared around him and formed a mystical cage that trapped him.
He looked up and saw the bars were the extended fingers of a horrible being
that filled the sky above him. A white ghostly figure wore green shorts and
a green cape. The hood covered his head and only glowing red eyes were seen
there. The Spectre's voice spoke. in a voice that was terrible and frightening,
even to a man who was dead. "Marcus Peterson, you claim to be on a mission
for God. No god stands at your side. The gods that I have met look on you
as less than dust and worthy only of their disgust. But even you deserve
a measure of justice. I cannot destroy you. When you died, the flames were
waiting to consume you. But the acts of Batgirl, kind as they were, pulled
you aside and you died a different death. The wrong death. Destiny meant
you to die in flames. It is the only way to end your existence. In your present
form, flames mean nothing to you. You cannot die, but you can receive
justice..."
Peterson
blinked, and everything changed. He was standing next to a car, and he looked
at his hands, old and wrinkled. He looked at his reflection in the car's
window and saw a strange unfamiliar body. An old man, cigarette dangling
from his lips. The gas filler cap was open, suddenly knew he was gassing
up his car. He pulled out the hose and pushed it into his car, squeezing
the handle to get the gas flowing. Who was he? Why... The pain burst in his
chest. It was so extreme. A heart attack? He stumbled back, still holding
the gas line, and the gas sprayed over the car and bounced back off it, dousing
him in the fluid. Another spasm tore at his heart. He gasped, and the cigarette
dropped from his lips. It hit the gasoline and Peterson was engulfed in a
torrent of flames. The pain in his chest was duplicated all over his body.
Everything burned. He gasped, and the flames burned inside him. And he
died.
His eyes
opened. A different body, a different place. The suffocating humidity of
the jungle around him. He was a young man, oriental, standing on a path with
a weapon in his hand. Where... Another person yelled to him. A strange laguage,
but somehow he knew that man had said "Run!" Peterson did. He heard the jets
scream down towards his position. The canisters under the wings fell down
and burst on impact, spraying liquid over the area. Then in a instant the
napalm burst into a flame even harsher than the gas station. Every bit of
his body burned. And he died.
He opened
his eyes once again. He feared what he would see. He stood in an old building.
A can of gasoline was in his hand, and he was spreading it over the area.
He knew he was an arsonist and that three families were still sleeping upstairs.
He didn't care. No, this person didn't care. But Peterson's mind, which he
suddenly realized was in this body with the real tenant, thought killing
all those innocent people would be wrong. But the arsonist still rolled up
a newspaper and flicked his lighter. The paper burned and the arsonist stared
intently at the flames he loved. But a cop burst in and shouted, "Don't move!"
The arsonist threw the torch at the cop and started to run. The policeman
shot him twice, and the torch ignited the gasoline soaked room. In this body,
Peterson would have bled to death from the gunshots, but the flames got to
him first. And he died.
It happened
again. And again. And again. He wondered how many times he would wake up
and die in flames. How many times did he deserve to die? Now he was a young
woman, tied to a stake in old England. The people of the town surrounded
him/her and one accused him/her of being a witch and sentenced him/her to
be burned at the stake. He/she knew he/she was innocent. A jealous neighbor
had spread nasty rumors. In his soul, Peterson knew this women did not deserve
to die. But she did. In flames. He did.
He opened
his eyes again. Much was the same. This surprised him. All his deaths had
been so different. Except at the end, when he died in flames. That part had
always been the same. Again he was a woman, tied to a stake with wood piled
around the base. A well dressed individual approached, and said, "Maid of
Orleans, you have been condemned by your words and actions to death in flames.
May God have mercy on your soul." Then they lit the wood and the smoke began
to rise. He realized suddenly... Maid of Orleans, oh my, he was Joan of Arc
being burned at the stake. He looked deep into her mind and was startled
to see she was a kind, righteous women who was working as a servant of God.
The God he had claimed to serve. It came to him. Women were not evil, he
was. He saw the flames start to rise. He deserved to die. He deserved to
suffer an eternity of fiery deaths for his madness. But suddenly he did not
die.
He was sitting
in a room. The Spectre towered over him. The ghostly voice spoke. "You have
learned the error of your ways. You have been punished." Peterson reacted,
confused. "What... what happened here. Now what are you doing to me. What
horrors, horrors that I deserve, will you inflict on me
now?" The Ghost hero told him.
"The suffering is over. You have learned what you had to learn. Now you die
one last time. And there is no heaven or hell waiting for you, just your
last minute of existence. Then you cease to exist. That is your punishment."
Peterson looked down. "No suffering but horrible anyway. No less than what
I deserve. In fact, it is merciful. Thank you."
The Spectre
saw the being called Marcus Peterson fade away and cease to exist. He thought
this ending had been too merciful for someone as evil as this man. But the
Spectre had to follow orders of the one true God, known to so many people
by so many different names. That God was so good, and righteous... and merciful.
More merciful than any man would be. And so the matter of the haunting of
Batgirl came to an
end.