War-Journalist

Chapter Four By the time I'd met Liz and Abe at the Michigan installation, it was half-past one in the afternoon by the clock. But I'd left London at almost half-past one, so by my watch, it was almost nine at night. But it was still the middle of the day. And I don't sleep well on planes, so the jetlag was killing me. Thankfully Liz and Abe hadn't forgotten that, and had a fresh stogie waiting for me. And while it was nice to see her after so long, I was sort of glad that Liz needed to prep for their next assignment. I wasn't in the mood to be around people, anyway. Abe and I were given a boat and crew to sail out into the middle of the

Chapter XXIII Athena awoke, refreshed and prepared the following morning. After speaking with the dignitaries of Athens, she felt confident that her city would rise again as one of the great powers in Greece. This gave her good feelings for the day to come. And though Bubo was nowhere to be seen, he had left her a single feather at his perch by her bedside: a sign of good will from her favorite companion. She filled her day catching up on all that she had been avoiding the past several days. News from the world below was ever-changing, and more wonders were born every hour. Athena knew it to be her place to catalogue all that she could. S

Chapter XXII At Kratos's acquiescence, the tournament was begun. Testing their might against the most savage of beasts, and most unyielding of opponents from across the known world and beneath it, competitors came from the four winds for glory, for victory, and the prize: one favor from Hades, Lord of the Dead. But Kratos cared little for glory or favor. He wished only to prove himself. To Hades, to Olympus, to Sparta, and to himself, that he was still the great and noble warrior he had once been. And to Artemis, who had recently caught his eye. Her spirit was wild and cunning, her mothods tactful and precise. Her beauty was not a frail o

 The Joker died tonight. He finally left us a clue to where Tim was. He'd had him at old Arkham, doing... something. He'd brainwashed him. Maybe driven him insane. Or both. The poor kid. Nobody should have had to suffer that. I remember most of the fight. Bruce had chased Joker around while I dealt with Harley. We fought in the ruins of the asylum. Metal support struts and beams stuck out from the ruined concrete like bones sticking out of torn, rotten flesh. The demolition had revealed caverns under the asylum that went downward nearly a mile. Unstable minds over unstable ground. Fitting, I guess. Too dangerous even to tear down. Harley

Chapter Three McAnally's is a real, old fashioned pub settled right into the city. Most people don't notice it, because it's tucked away between two enormous office buildings, and you have to go down a flight of stairs to reach the doorway. An almost-physical wave of magical energy greeted me as I opened the door, blowing out like a sudden breeze. I basked in the spiritual heat, letting it melt away the physical cold I felt. I knocked my snowy boots off and stepped down to the floor. The whole place is set a few good feet into the ground, so that the thirteen high windows let in just enough light to tell you the time without breaking the at

Chapter Two I've never been much of a writer. I don't really like to think about a lot of things in my life. Decisions are a pretty easy choice between good and evil. Being born a demon will do that to you. But here goes. Harry Middleton's apartment was a well-kept flat in London. The furniture's nice and comfy, never dirty. Portraits are always clean and dusted. Fountain pens are rarely out of ink. And the electric bill is always paid. This is all pretty fantastic considering that Harry Middleton's been dead since 1984. He'd fought in World War II and lived to tell about it. He was a good man. One of those short, sweet, thin little balding

Chapter XXI From what the enchanted ceiling told her, it was only just into the dark of evening when Athena found what she had been looking for. Among the many different sun symbols listed in her library, she found one that matched the bags design perfectly. It was that of Achilles, the great fallen hero. It was strange that he chose the sun, considering that he had little to do with Helios, and Apollo had given Paris the strength to kill him in Troy. But this only intrigued and worried her further. Why would Kratos have a sack with the emblem of Achilles upon it? It had been years since his death, and he was no longer a public figure. So t