Young Justice: Mount Justice
October 13th, 2010
I still felt rather wretched as I stepped out of the zeta tube. Even after two days of rest, I could still feel a metaphysical ache deep inside me that spiked sharply whenever I cast anything more complex than a wand-lighting charm and left me with a persistent headache that no amount of occlumency could seem to deal with.
It had been a long time since I’d experienced proper magical exhaustion. Not the kind that you felt after casting a powerful new spell for the first time or a long day of spellwork, but the sort where you genuinely overdrew on your magic and injured yourself.
It was typically something that only occurred with young children, whose bodies and magic were not yet well developed and who could exhaust themselves immensely very quickly. Most adult wizards simply couldn’t reach such a state. They would be unable to push through the fatigue that was symptomatic of normal magical exhaustion, nor could they cast the sort of spells that required vast quantities of magic to execute.
The one and only time I’d done so previously had been before I’d even gone to Hogwarts. I’d been eleven years old and very upset about my September birthday which had delayed my entrance to the school by nearly a full year. With my freshly-purchased wand in hand, I’d holed up in a half-forgotten cellar with a stack of spellbooks, a jug of cold milk, and an entire treacle tart.
Six hours later, Torbey––my house elf––had found me unconscious with my wand still clutched in my hand. The aftermath of that day had been an absolute mess and permanently turned me off of my once favorite dessert, even if the tart itself had had nothing to do with my collapse. I’d barely even touched it, but my mother had worked herself up into a tizzy and convinced herself––and me––that it had been at fault. In any case, I’d spent a full week in bed recovering, and had been a lot more cautious in my magical forays for the following months.
I’d forgotten just how much it sucked. I felt as helpless and vulnerable as a newborn kitten, and being unable to apparate nor cast the spells I depended on in my everyday life was very inconvenient. Things like reheating tea with a tap, summoning clothing from my closet with a gesture, and cleaning up crumbs with a wave were suddenly beyond me.
At the very least, I was a lot less useless than a regular wizard would have been. My aura seemed wholly unaffected by the experience and in fact, after some fiddling, seemed to be hastening my recovery the way it would for any more physical injuries. Similarly, I could still draw on mana from my lands, even if trying to cast mana-empowered spells was wholly beyond me at the moment, and use my planeswalker summoning with no issue.
Curiously, both Atlantean and Remnant-style magic did trigger the same sort of debilitating pain as my own magic, even if aura did not. Perhaps the locals had been onto something when they classified the abilities their huntsmen used as something wholly separate from magic. It certainly seemed like magic most of the time, but I was starting to see why they made the distinction. Or perhaps it was simply an issue of translation. I wasn’t entirely certain how the automatic comprehension granted by my Spark actually worked, so perhaps the words for Aura and Magic in their tongue were more similar than how I understood them.
In any case, it would be another day or two before I was fully recovered. I would have preferred to spend that time safely ensconced behind the wards of my home in Gotham, but instead here I was. The Justice League wanted to talk to me and I didn’t feel like burning any of the good will I’d built with the organization by putting things off. Plus, it might even be better for them to see me like this.
Certainly it was a show of weakness––I was visibly unwell, my skin pallid and clammy––but in this specific instance, that was all the better. After all, I’d done this to myself trying to help them, and had, as far as I knew, essentially resurrected one of their members. I’d had a chance to research the members of the Justice League, their histories and conduct, and even met some of them for myself. They were exactly the sort of self-righteous, moralistic, and self-sacrificing people who would see my present weakness and be even more impressed by my past conduct.
And if someone did try to exploit my ill health? Well, they would find that I was not nearly as vulnerable as I looked. Not only was I flanked by Ysondre and Glynda––two extremely powerful and dangerous combatants––but Raven was watching from back home with Amber, Tyrande, and Blake, all of them ready to rush to my aid at a moment’s notice. Between Tyrande’s healing and the others' might, I was confident they’d be able to bail me out of nearly any trouble I might stumble into.
Glynda held my arm as we stepped away from the arrival point, the mechanical voice of the transportation system announcing our identities to the cavernous hall. I could walk unaided, but we’d decided that this would make for a more striking image.
There were several people waiting for me. Kent was there, looking a lot more chipper than he had the last time I’d seen him. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but there was a broad smile on his lips and he seemed to be in good spirits.
Beside him stood Red Tornado, the reds and yellows of his metallic body shining under the dim lights that illuminated the cave. He wasn’t wearing his cape today and I idly wondered if he’d lost his only one during the whole Yellowstone business or if it was just something he donned for the general public. He admittedly looked rather strange without it, the bright colors standing out starkly without the cooler blue and dark gold for contrast.
Finally the last member of the group was one whom I’d heard a lot about but barely interacted with. Batman, the black-clad hero of Gotham. We’d spoken briefly during the aftermath of rescuing Kent from Klarion and he’d been one of the heroes present when the Injustice League had been defeated.
He cut an intimidating figure, tall and broad shouldered, and his black cloak and dark costume contributed to the image of a dangerous and mysterious man. The ears sticking out from the top of his costume detracted from the overall effect, but he still didn’t seem like the sort of person I’d like to run into on a dark night.
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The sources I’d perused seemed split about his powers and capabilities. Some people claimed he was simply an ordinary, highly-trained muggle. Others assumed that his name was indicative and he was some manner of bat-human hybrid. Yet others claimed that it was all a ruse and he was concealing all sorts of exotic and powerful abilities behind the guise of advanced technology.
The Justice League’s official stance was that Batman was just an everyday muggle, but I doubted that was the whole truth. The one time we’d spoken, he’d carried himself with the air of a very capable individual and had seemed perfectly at ease around the physical and magical powerhouses that made up the rest of his organization. Furthermore, it was absurd to believe that the league would select someone like him as its leader if he wasn’t hiding the full extent of his abilities.
Well, no matter. I was pretty sure he wasn’t another wizard and as long as his secrets weren’t hurting me, I wouldn’t pry. Perhaps he had some form of exploitable weakness or vulnerability that he didn’t want publicly known. Either he’d tell me himself or I’d know soon enough when I finally built up enough trust and camaraderie to acquire his Blueprint.
“Hydrys!” Kent exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Are you alright? Do we need to get you to a doctor? The priestess said you were just exhausted, but you don’t look too good.”
I smiled at him tightly, aware that it probably looked more like a grimace than an actual smile. “I’m fine.” Kent raised an eyebrow and I quickly elaborated. “As well as can be expected. I, uh, over did things a bit. I’ll be right as rain in,” I winced, “maybe a week.” Hopefully a lot less than that. I’d only mustered the energy to summon Tyrande and a moonwell yesterday and was already feeling much, much better with their help.
That didn’t really seem to reassure Kent. “If I’d known you were still recovering, I wouldn’t have suggested meeting so quickly. I’m sure the league would be willing to reschedule for another time if––”
I raised a hand to stop him. “No, no, it's fine. They’re busy people. I wouldn’t want to waste their time like that. I’m not in any shape for a fight, but I’m feeling good enough to talk at least.”
Kent pursed his lips. “If you’re sure…”
I nodded resolutely. “I am.”
“Very well then.”
At that point, Baman, who’d been silently watching me from where he was standing at the big console set into the wall, took a step towards me. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, his poise and confidence demanding attention and respect. The way he carried himself reminded me of some of the wizards I’d met at the ICW. He knew he was dangerous and important, and projected that confidence outward to everyone around him.
“Mr. Black,” he addressed me, “I appreciate you coming in to meet with us today. Red Tornado asked for a moment to speak with you in private and then we can proceed to meet up with the rest of the Justice League.” His eyes turned to Ysondre and Glynda. “Ms. Ysondre, Ms. Goodwitch, you are of course welcome to join us. Your contributions to the recovery efforts in Yellowstone were commendable and saved many lives.”
I glanced over towards Red Tornado, who was standing beside Kent with his arms crossed behind his back. I had no idea how to read the facial expression of a machine, if he could even form facial expressions, but I could understand why the hero would want to talk to me.
“Okay,” I agreed easily.
I glanced over at Ysondre.“I will speak with the mage,” she told me.
Red Tornado led me and Glynda down a hallway until we reached a modestly sized kitchen. I’d visited the underground base a number of times to speak with Aqualad, most recently to discuss having Zatanna join him and his team for training, but hadn’t had a reason to visit this part of the complex. It looked well used––there were some dirty dishes in the sink and a half-empty glass of water standing on the counter––but was currently empty.
Red Tornado turned to face me. From a distance, he could almost pass for an oddly-colored man, but up close his artificial nature was obvious. His eyes and mouth were both motionless black slits in his ‘face’ and I could see the joints between pieces of his body.
He was silent for several long seconds before finally stating,“I understand I have you to thank for my continued existence.” His voice was flat and emotionless, just like the muggle machine that announced zeta tube arrivals and departures, but with a slightly buzzing undertone.
I nodded. “That’s right.”
There was another moment of silence. “Then I must thank you. I was at peace with my end, but there is still much for me to do and many things I hope to learn and experience.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad my spell worked. Kent was devastated by your death.”
“I am aware. He has been reluctant to allow me to leave his sight. He has lost many friends over the years, but loss has never become easier for him to bear.” He paused, changing the subject. “The spell you used. Is it something others can be taught to cast?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Maybe Kent, Mara, or Giovanni could figure out something that does the same thing, but my kind of magic doesn’t work for them.”
“I had assumed as much. Is the spell repeatable, or is its cost too high?”
I hummed thoughtfully. “I might be able to do it one more time,” I said eventually. “Maybe. But don’t count on it. That kind of magic gets less effective every time you use it on something. I don’t know if I’d be able to put you back together again, definitely not if there was only a small piece left like this time.”
“I understand. I will endeavor to not require your aid again. I believe a number of modifications to my chassis are in order.”
Huh. “Does that mean that you know how you work?” I asked curiously. I definitely remembered reading something about the dangers of machines that could improve themselves while I’d been looking into the Justice League.
“Only partially. I am capable of making repairs and modifications to my body, but I am unable to modify my mind. I am also capable of transferring my mind into appropriately designed alternate bodies, though it is a lengthy process. That is what I typically would do if I received catastrophic damage, but it is not a possibility if I am wholly destroyed.”
That was rather interesting. So Red Tornado was less like a golem and more like a spirit possessing a golem body. I had no idea how that worked, nor how it interacted with my repair spell, but it was something to make a note of nonetheless. Did that mean that Red Tornado could build himself a less blatantly artificial body to allow himself to blend in with the muggles? Perhaps he actually did have a ‘secret identity’ the same way Batman and Superman did.
“Convenient.”
“Quite.” There was another short silence. “We should return to the others. The Justice League is waiting.”
I gestured towards the door. “Lead the way.”