Komeca Shuun Leiampa

December 13, 2015:

In a chance meeting, Shayera and Carter Hall battle a Daemonite

Some Museum


NPCs: Some college kid, and armed guard.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

<~It was just a coincidence…~>

Afternoon in New York's premiere museum, and archaeologist Carter Hall is into his fourth cup of coffee. The man finds himself in the Egyptian exhibit, perusing inscriptions upon ancient tablets, cover-stones etc. At least this time he has managed to have a shower, a couple of decent meals and put himself in a fresh change of clothes — compared to how he looked when he first flew into New York yesterday.

"Uh, excuse me, sir," a security guard addresses him. "You can't have food or drinks near the exhibits…"

Carter turns around.

"Oh! I'm sorry Doctor Hall, I didn't recognise you. Are you donating more to the museum, today? Or just passing through."

Carter smiles and taps the exhibit's plaque. "Donating? Not today. I remember the day I brought this in, though." And he indicates the cover stone with a wave of his coffee-holding hand (without spilling). "Feels like a lifetime ago…"

The guard frowns. "Um, you didn't donate that piece, Doctor Hall."

Hall blinks. "I didn't?"

"No," the guard explains. "That one came to us from your great-grandfather, or something…"

Hall turns toward the plaque again, staring at it. The guard was right. It had been the doctor's ancestor that had brought the cover-stone into the museum - long before Carter was even born.

<~So why do I remember doing it?~>

Who in the world puts a small boutique in a museum? It almost makes Shayera angry, that the worlds history could be demeaned by little treasures such as gloves, globes, necklaces.. and everything else under the sun after one's studied a piece about Rome. But, she was there either way, buying little trinkets and gifts for those who reside at the Watchtower and Halls of Justice. She was even buying Thor something. Curse that man. A globe at least so that he could find his way, miniature.. as it were.

Money exchanged hands with a fretful smile, and soon.. she was out of the door, making her way back into the museum proper, her mind somewhere else as she glances at all of the exhibits. There was that feeling.. that feeling that most feel when they know that they need to go home but..

..just a few more seconds.. just a few more minutes and something magnificent would happen.

She stops right behind the two men who are admiring an exhibit, her hand lifting to check the watch upon her wrist to compare it towards the clock, soon.. her bags were upon the ground in a nice little huddle as she begins to toy with the device, muttering beneath her breath.

"By the gods, if I ever try to attempt to be normal again.." She murmurs to herself.

"I could have sworn I brought this one in myself…" Carter murmurs aloud, his words heard by the security guard - who now appears to think that the good doctor might be on drugs, or seriously sleep-deprived. The guard just nods while rubbing the back of his neck, frowning at Carter Hall as though trying to figure him out.

"Well, I'll leave you to… catch up, or something, Doc…" he remarks as he turns away to continue on his rounds.

Carter leans against the plaque, having drunk the last of his coffee, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to concentrate. "I remember," says he to himself. "I remember… It was raining, the horses were tired - I'd driven that carriage all night. I…"

Cursing loudly in Thanagarian, the archaeologist takes a few steps back from the cover-stone and turns around. The foam cup from which he had been drinking his coffee falls to the ground - empty - and he balls his hands into fists in pure frustration.

He has not noticed Shayera yet.

But nearby in the museum… other eyes have.

And they are not human.

Shayera could hear him speak, but she pays it no mind, only glancing up for a quick second to watch the two men until the guard wanders off. Just as she was about to stand, the cup rolls and lightly bumps against her foot, her hand reaching out to snatch the cup with a slight hint of anger as it was palmed and soon, she was on her feet. "The disrespect that you've shown this day by littering in this ha.."

Words were soon cut short as she stares at the man, her bottom lip trembling almost immediately. Those curse words.. that.. face. Her features wrinkle ever so slightly and yet..

« I want you to call him. You call him and profess your love to him, and I will let these people go! »

// I will not! //

« Do it Hawkgirl, or all of these people will die! »

She knew of his existence, when she did manage to call him he was somewhere across the world on a dig. But that all turned out to be a lie. It was just a figment, an illusion made in order to hurt and turn her life upside down.

"Ka.. I.. I'm sorry.." She immediately blurts out, the cup soon clutched within her trembling fingers. She had to get out of there, and fast.

"Look, lady - this is practically my exhibit, and…"

The words die on Carter's lips as he finally focuses upon the woman's face. That hair, the fierce temper burning in those eyes, the fullness of those lips… He finds himself glancing quickly down at her hands, and somehow… somehow he knows there is strength in them.

<~It's no use - the troops broke in. They had torches…~>

<~And the library? What happened to the library?!~>

<~It's gone.~>

<~That imbecile


"Shayera…" Carter blinks his blue eyes, and blinks again - staring into the woman's face. It takes a moment before he realises what he is doing, and he lifts a forefinger and thumb to rub his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in apparent fatigue and consternation.

"Uh, what was I saying?" he wonders aloud. "It's, uh… I'm Carter Hall, Doctor. I mean, Doctor I'm Carter H — my name's Carter." He pauses.

"Who're you?"

Across the other side of the exhibit the inhuman eyes watching Shayera now turn toward Carter… and widen. Words no human tongue would ever (usually) be able to pronounce are whispered into something - possibly a communications device - and the whisperer itself moves through the museum.


"Look, lady - this is practically my exhibit, and…"

The words die on Carter's lips as he finally focuses upon the woman's face. That hair, the fierce temper burning in those eyes, the fullness of those lips… He finds himself glancing quickly down at her hands, and somehow… somehow he knows there is strength in them.

<~It's no use - the troops broke in. They had torches…~>

<~And the library? What happened to the library?!~>

<~It's gone.~>

<~That imbecile


"Shayera…" Carter blinks his blue eyes, and blinks again - staring into the woman's face. It takes a moment before he realises what he is doing, and he lifts a forefinger and thumb to rub his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in apparent fatigue and consternation.

"Uh, what was I saying?" he wonders aloud. "It's, uh… I'm Carter Hall, Doctor. I mean, Doctor I'm Carter H — my name's Carter." He pauses.

"Who're you?"

Across the other side of the exhibit the inhuman eyes watching Shayera now turn toward Carter… and widen. Words no human tongue would ever (usually) be able to pronounce are whispered into something - possibly a communications device - and the whisperer itself moves through the museum.


"Look, lady - this is practically my exhibit, and…"

The words die on Carter's lips as he finally focuses upon the woman's face. That hair, the fierce temper burning in those eyes, the fullness of those lips… He finds himself glancing quickly down at her hands, and somehow… somehow he knows there is strength in them.

<~It's no use - the troops broke in. They had torches…~>

<~And the library? What happened to the library?!~>

<~It's gone.~>

<~That imbecile Caesar! I told you he wouldn't listen - now we try it MY way!~>


"Shayera…" Carter blinks his blue eyes, and blinks again - staring into the woman's face. It takes a moment before he realises what he is doing, and he lifts a forefinger and thumb to rub his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in apparent fatigue and consternation.

"Uh, what was I saying?" he wonders aloud. "It's, uh… I'm Carter Hall, Doctor. I mean, Doctor I'm Carter H — my name's Carter." He pauses.

"Who're you?"

Across the other side of the exhibit the inhuman eyes watching Shayera now turn toward Carter… and widen. Words no human tongue would ever (usually) be able to pronounce are whispered into something - possibly a communications device - and the whisperer itself moves through the museum.


Her shoulders, they once remained straight and full of confidence now whithered down into nothing as eyes were locked and a step was taken back. When she returned to the Terra, she had hoped she wouldn't have ran into him because of this. She was engaged to a Prince upon her world, and thought that if their lives were separate.. that would mean no death for them. None what so ever.

"Carter.." Her words were but a whisper, her head twisting left and right as she tries to figure out a proper exit without hurting the mans feelings. She could always take the strong armed route, bashing him upside the head to render him unconscious, but it was clear that she didn't want to hurt a bone in his body.


"I.. I know who you are.." She stammers out, trying her best to smile. "You're.. you're famous. At least.. according to the books and this museum.." She takes a step back, bending carefully to retrieve her bags. Was Shayera gushing? Nah.. just a trick of the light and sound.

"Me? I'm leaving." Smooth.

And just as smooth as those words were she immediately turns around, her dark, curly locks a flourish.. yet something within her memory flickers.. for the last sight she's saw of him was him in white. Gold leaflets encircling his head and his hand outstretched to find her..

Why does he look heartbroken in that memory?

Was it something she forgot..?

"Famous?" Carter exclaims, tilting his head forward so he can scratch at the back of his head, his expression awkward. "Well, I wouldn't know about 'famous' - I just, you know, share a passion for things lost and hidden in the Past, to bring them into the Present." He lowers his hand, still talking as one reading from a script.

"You know, if I can just bring back one small piece of our history, we come to learn so much about who we are and where we're going - as much as where we're from, and — "

He cuts off mid-spiel, and chuckles.

"Uh, listen to me; I'm like it's first day of school - teaching that is. I did that for a while. I think." The man frowns. "Sorry, you said you were leaving. And me, I'll… heh," and he picks up that empty coffee-cup which he had thoughtless dropped upon the museum floor. "I'll, uh, put this away. Save the planet and all that."

"Excuse me, dear," says a brittle old voice from behind Shayera. It belongs to an old woman, bent over a walking frame, head wrapped in a scarf, who appears to be trying to get past. "Could you please tell me where the — my, aren't you a pretty one!" And she looks at Carter. "Is he yours?"

Shayera, for the moment, was all yeah yeah. But that memory totally gave her pause, it may have been something she had willingly blocked out or.. was traumatic enough for her to forget. She still didn't have full use of all of her lifetimes, there were some things that were left buried and this was one of them. But.. seeing Katar here.. Carter.. it was starting to give her a mild headache.

"Save the scripts.." She found herself murmuring..

The older woman's voice beat through the cloud of her memories as she looks down towards her, a rare, warm smile drawing across Shayera's face with a hand reaching out to lightly rest upon the woman's shoulder. "I..thank you.." She starts, then glances back towards Carter, her brows nearly raised in trepidation. "Yes. I mean.. No. He's not mine. Come.. let us find what you are looking for, shall we?"

Do not blush.. do not blush..

Carter sighs.

He's used to this response.

Not everyone is as passionate about ancient history as he is — or maybe it's just the 'the script' he finds himself repeating that scares women away? It's probably 'the script'. And just plain old simple bad luck.

These realisations and others are written all over the man's face as he chuckles, looking down at the floor, and reaches up to his face to pinch his nose with his free hand. "I'll, um, see you 'round…" He is too busy staring at the ground to see Shayera's blushing cheeks.

"It's just here, dear," replies the old woman to Shayera, reaching out to grasp her hand reassuringly. "Such pretty hands you have, dear," she adds then with admiration. "Such pretty skin. Ohhh, I can just picture myself in it…"

Something about the old woman's tone becomes… hard. Cruel. Sadistic. She looks up into Shayera's eyes with both avarice and malice in equal measure - but also allowing Shayera to see partly beneath the hood. The old lady's skin is torn around her neck and behind her ears, but not like skin. Rather, it is like parchment.

Poor wrapping paper around a moving parcel…

"Yeah. See you around.." Shayera offers up with a little smile, turning to roll her eyes at herself as the woman grasps her hand. It takes Shayera off guard, her jaw tensing as she nearly tries to withdraw, the words that come from her mouth has her eyes nearly widening and lips parting. "Wha.."

She knows those tones.. the hardness, the sadism, her fingers grasp and try to pull her hand away from the older woman as she continues to move them along, Shayera staggering in her step. She.. she couldn't see..

What was this feeling? Was it fear? Shayera Hol never knew fear and if she did, she stared at it right in the face and smashed it completely..

And her wings.. where were her wings.. the Nth.. she could feel it crawling beneath her skin but something wasn't allowing it to come out. And it began to hurt.

"Auugh.. LET GO OF ME-…"

The skin, the skin of the woman is what sets her off, her body immediately trembling as she feels her knees grow weaker by the second; she couldn't breathe. She couldn't get away.. she remembers the constant battling, the attacks, Apokalips.. and she was truly scared.. "..help.." Her voice was small, so small.. and she felt so ashamed..

The old woman's grip is like iron.

Nails of iron, bent and twisted.

Part of the skin around her hands peels away, revealing much darker flesh - spiny flesh - beneath, and she is strong. So very strong. "Come now, dear," she croons in a voice more like cracked parchment than anything human. "I've been looking for you for a while, now - you're beautiful, so beautiful." She leans in a fraction more closely.

"Don't struggle and I promise I'll be gentle. There's a dear…"

Carter doubles over.

He does not understand quite what is happening; the cry of THREAT echoes throughout the museum, bouncing off walls and exhibits and back to his ears so loudly that he cannot ignore it… but what is he to do with it? However, the danger in the air is not half as poignant as a different 'call' within his body.

Deep within his body.

His very marrow.

The pain builds in him again - those thousands of needles beneath his skin, threatening to break free. "Gnnngh…" he groans between his teeth. <~No…~> he grates in Ancient Egyptian. <~By the wings of Horus

He reaches out with a hand to push the old woman - who is clearly not an old woman - aside, only to have the creature hiss at him and thrust him mightily away with its walking frame. Carter Hall goes flying backwards, crashing into the very cover-stone he had been examining earlier, smashing it to pieces.

"You're hurting me!" Shayera manages to find her voice, her fingers still trying to tear at that iron grip, right until she was upon her knees and struggling to drag herself away. Her backs were soon tossed aside, mixed in with her kicking.. "Stop! Get off of me!"

The promise of gentle or not, Shayera was going to struggle. It was a given fact.

But what Shayera does know, is that Nth calls to Nth. His pain was her pain, and she felt it deeply even as hers fight to reveal itself. That mental block, that pause that makes a person stop and think, that hesitation. She cries out and tries to kick at the daemonite, but it was the push from Carter that finally sets her free. And she scrambles, fingers slapping against the ground as the Nth pours through her skin, her back at an arch as those hands raise to her face, bursting her into a lick of flame through her veins and gold that coats to form vambraces and a helm along her arms and head. Wings burst through her back at a flourish as she staggers to a stand, her hands reaching out to grasp the iron that encases the exhibit proper, her teeth at a bared grip as one hand strikes out to bleed Nth which forms her mace in quick order.

"You.. dare.." She hisses out, the beast was loose..


The old lady hisses in triumph. She had been right about her quarry - this woman, this winged-warrior before her. She had been right to pursue, right to make her move, right to… reveal herself.

And so she does.

With an awful tearing sound, the creature goes flying backward as Shayera kicks at it - strips of what may or may not be flesh coming off its arm and falling to the ground. It, too, obliterates an exhibit - several - as more tearing continues. Flesh falls away from the daemonite (for that is surely what the creature is: an alien parasite, as ugly in soul as it is in appearance, telepathic and capable of possessing hosts… to wear), just like the clothing it had worn. It stands there across the Egyptian exhibit in all its hideous glory:

A beast of black flesh, covered in spines, a lizard-like head, clawed arms and feet, and two massive horned wings spreading out either side. It is a creature of nightmare, salivating upon the scarf once worn by its most recent victim.

"Thanagarian witch," the daemonite menaces, its long serpentine tongue snakings its way out between its lips. "What ssshall it tasste like?" Alarms go off all over the museum. People flee the scene, screaming. The security guard with him Carter had been conversing reaches for his sidearm, only to find himself suddenly impales upon the spines of the daemonite's wing.

"Yess," it hisses at Shayera. "I dare!"

Carter, meanwhile, stirs beneath the rubble of the massive cover-stone - shattered though it is - on top of him…

Shayera knows now, that the other Nth proprieter is in the vacinity, and she knows now.. that this marks the end of days for the two Thangarians. Something she's tried to prolong, by having another life away from Carter, by dismissing his existence and living long as she could away from him for the both of them. That came to an end this day.

If only she had left when she had the chance.

"Katar Hol.." She hisses underneath her breath, turning with her arms outstretched as the Daemon reveals herself. Flinching as the guard is impaled upon a spiny wing and turning away from the gruesome sight.

"KATAR HOL!" She hollars out, her steps slow, fingers curlinginto a fist as her wings strike out.. coated in Nth.. razors threatening.

"REVEAL YOURSELF! EMERGE AND FIGHT BY MY SIDE!" It's been a long time coming.. mixed with regret and yet longing. Longing.. something that Shayera in this life doesn't understand. What was that feeling.


She takes off, her wings snapping out to keep her course true, both hands clutching the hilt of her mace as she draws it back with all of her might, intending to bring it home to the chest of the Daemon to knock it back into the wall. At least.. to buy Katar some time..

The Daemonite shrieks.

The sound is like rusted nails, grating, drilling into one's ear.

It shifts its left wing into the path of the oncoming mace, absorbing part of the blow, but the attack has such force behind it that it drives the creature back through even more exhibits. As rock, ancient metal weapons and concrete fall around it, the alien horror counters with a swipe of its vicious, hooked claws - and makes as if to lunge toward the nearest of the departing civilians in the room. Security doors at each of the exits slam down to the ground one by one - at the risk of trapping people inside.


The words echo in the room loudly - but not so loudly as within the archaeologist's memories. There is something about them… something… right. More than that, the words are compelling, like echoes that will not stop reverberating until answered.

"Katar Hol…" he groans from beneath the rubble. The groan becomes a growl. The growl becomes roar… There is pain in that roar, the pain of Nth metal asserting itself all over the archaeologist's body, but there is rage also. So much rage.

In an explosion of glass, concrete, wood and ancient stone, HAWKMAN arises from beneath the debris his wings spread to their full span either side of him, his body encased in golden Nth metal armour, a clawed buckler on his left arm, and a wickedly curved ancient Egyptian sword - a khopesh - in his right.

He looks angry as he fills his lungs for a mighty cry:


The blow connects!

Hawkgirl tempers her steel and flies back at a pace that shows that she knows what she's doing, her wings buckling to stop the fly back and curling to burst with another row of speed like a battering ram to an immovable object. That was.. until she spies the anger of the daemon directed at a fleeing innocent, her path altered with a sideways tilt, her arm outstretched as her mace falls to the ground to intercept the stab from Daemon to human.


Claws find their way into her ribcage through the back, Shayera's grasping of the innocent was missed but the block? Not so much. And the blood? It surely falls.

"NNNNNG! KATAR!" She cries out, her hand stretching out towards the debris of where Carter Hall had lain, her vision fuzzy as it was before as the explosion rips and roars through her senses. Her Nth calls to it, so much that it negates itself upon her hand.. and where talons once were.. but the reach of five fingers that soon lose their tenseness and becomes lax.

The bellow that arises from Katar Hol's lungs is in Thanagarian - not that he himself is entirely aware of what he is saying, or how he knows it in the first place.

<~By Ixthultu, I'll have your head, Daemon!!~>

The daemon hisses, fixing its eyes upon Hawkman. The scent of Hawkgirl's blood hangs heavy in the air, and the creature lifts its claws - still stained with that blood - to its face, sniffing them. Its long, ugly tongue snakes out again to lick Shayera's blood from its talons, while it keeps its eyes fixed upon Hawkman, taunting him.

Katar launches himself into the air, both arms extended before him - claws of Horus upon one, Nth khopesh gleaming in the other. At the last instant, instead of slashing with either weapon, the Hawkman's wings spread - almost stopping him in mid-air - creating a massive force of wind to try and drive the alien monster back.

It is only after the buffetting attack that he slashes with his curved sword. Meanwhile, the human just rescued by Shayera struggles to his feet - it is a young man, possibly in his twenties, a college student - and tries to leave again.

He almost reaches the exit - the only one left - when he suddenly stops. He remains there, staring blankly at the wall, then turns back toward Hawkgirl… to her mace, in fact, as one who is walking in a dream-state…

Hawkgirl falls to the ground as the Daemon tears away from her, her body a hard thud which nearly bounces but gives her just enough of a shock to keep her awake and nearly lucid. Thankfully, the injuries weren't too damning, it was the pain and initial shock at being impaled through the back that had her nearly losing consciousness. But, he was awake.

With a slight roll upon her side, her head lifts in time to see the young man, the man she's saved.. stopped in place.

"You need to go!" Shayera calls out, her fingers pressing against the ground as she holds her side, her knees bunching up as she tries to crawl towards him.. mace forgotten. "What are you doing, you idiot! You need to get out of here!"

The buffet of wind causes her hair to fly into her face, lips bunching to spit as she rolls upon her back to watch the fight before her eyes unfold. And it causes her heart to skip a beat. He.. didn't have control… she could feel it. Nevermind the battle-form that he held and the way he excelled. His true mind wasn't in that fight.

"What have I done.."

The human - the student - turns his head to dimly gaze back at Hawkgirl, but without any of the clarity or emotion of someone recognising who she is, where he is, or what is going on. His gaze tracks from her to the mace and he takes more steps toward it. Bending down, the student reaches for the mace just as Hawkgirl reaches him, and he lifts it above his head with every intention of bringing it crashing down upon the Thanagarian warrior.

<~Ich'k tha'arass y'dunn, grish Mekh!~>

The words make no sense. They sound like they have come from maw of a creature with an inhuman tongue - and too many rows of teeth. They sound like something a Daemonite might say.

Spoken by the human student.

Hawkman's less than ideal attack elicits a hiss of triumph from the Daemonite. It blocks the slash of the warrior's khopesh with a wing - striking Katar's forearm painfully. As Katar attempts to counter with the Claws of Horus, the Daemonite steps in close, trapping Katar's wrist beneath the creature's armpit, then the Daemonite lunges forward with its open maw.

Vicious teeth sink into Katar Hol's neck, and the winged man cries out in anguish, his head thrown back, his eyes clenched shut. The wings of the Daemonite practically envelop Hawkman in their macabre embrace…

The scrape of the mace against the ground draws her attention, the boy raising it high in to the air, bringing it crashing down upon her ..


Shayera was there, flat upon her back, Nth metal staff produced from the middle of her fingers, claws soon sliding against the railing to bring a harsh cry of metal upon metal as she twists the staff to light it afire with the electricty her weapons were born with. A twist of the staff knocks the mace from the boy's hand, the blunt edge of it soon drove into his stomach to give him a shock of a lifetime.. and with a quick and pained roll, she evades the falling body with a hand smacked to the ground and a struggle upwards.

It was time to let go.

Her hands twist again and snaps the staff into two, her eyes closing as she allows the baser sense to take over. The last time it was done, she nearly killed the people who were set to spar with her in the Watchtower.. but she couldn't afford to hold back now that Katar was in danger. She takes a deep breath, then starts off at a running limp, her wings spreading out to take her into the air as the glowing rods begin to twirl within her grip, raising soon high into the air to slam down with her whole strength, right atop of the daemons head.

Surely, Katar would suffer one hell of a bite from that. But she trusts the Nth to heal him.

But she didn't stop. Arm raising one after the other, intent to smash the daemon down brick by boring brick, legs soon drawn into the fray as her attacks become so vicious that the caps of her teeth soon burn gold to form vicious fangs meant to rend.

Daemonite, meet the asshole Thanagarian that your mother should have warned you about. At least in this lifetime…

The student drops to the ground, clutching his gut with both arms. First his rump hits the floor, and he topples backward, catching one of the rope-partitions with the back of his neck. The rope comes down with him, harmlessly, and he lies there on the ground, unconscious.

When he awakens, this will all be a terrible dream.

And a hell of a sore stomach.

The Daemonite shrieks again.

Beneath the blows raining down upon its head by the valorous Hawkgirl, it releases its jaw-grip on Hawkman, spitting blood and saliva at its attacker. Dark wings flare open wide and pound the air as it lets go of Hawkman altogether in order to strike back with its nightmarish claws. Katar drops to his knees, his shoulder and chest covered in blood from the bite marks left in his body by the alien parasite.

The Daemon attempts to fly upward, slashing at Hawkgirl's arms and wings - or trying to - its dark eyes burning with baleful hatred.

"I will wear you - or eat you, Thanagarian buzzard! One way or another, I shall end up in your skin! Or you in m — "


The Daemonite looks down, to see Katar Hol beneath it, his arm upraised, and the talons of the Claws of Horus (his buckler) buried to the wrist in the parasite's nether regions - assuming it has nether regions.

"Now, Imi-Ib," ('heart's desire' in Ancient Egyptian), he says through his teeth. "Now…"

Each hit rains home onto the Daemonite, Shayera does not stop even though claws rip and tear at her skin, cut and draw blood, (not that badly but hey, trickles), she does not give up. Not in the slightest. Hawkman was free and she allowed herself to be as well, that murderous intent within her eyes, causing them to seem vacant with a loss of soul in the meanwhile, even though the threats were spat, hissed, and skin torn asunder.

The URP in the Daemonite's words causes Shayera to stop and blink back, her eyes widening as she floats away but a space, her gaze fallen towards Katar as a little smile curls the corner of her bloodied lip.

The staff was soon slammed together as both fingers allow it to form, epsilon blade soon emerging from the middle as it's drawn towards the side in a swing that puts the full force of hip and wing into.

And the metal sings once it connects to skin, flesh and bone.. the only sound that bounces along the walls and echoes in the museum save for the heavy beat of her heart within her ears and the breath that rushes from her chest.

A Daemon dies in the museum, surrounded by shattered artifacts of the distant past, fragments of what was and what will likely never be again. Katar Hol stands to his feet, his clawed buckler still buried within the parasite's body, and slashes upward just as Hawkgirl's swing cleaves into the creature at the same time. Pieces of Daemonite crumple to the ground, and almost instantly start bubbling and liquefying into a disgusting black ooze.

Soon, there will be nothing left of the creature, only the works wrought by its hunger and rage.

Katar stands there, chest heaving with exertion - blood staining his body and his armour - glaring at the world. The warrior within him craves the next battle, the next opponent. Surely there are more of the creatures to fight? Surely there is more blood to be spilled? Surely the battle is not…


The khopesh in his right hand morphs into liquid and merges with his arm, allowing him to press his empty hand against the gouges left in his neck and shoulder by the Daemonite's teeth. Slowly, he sinks to his knees, his wings folding around him as he bows his head forward.

"What…" he breathes, his words tight with pain.

"Who… Who am I?"

It was over. The battle. The Daemonite was dead yet her hands still shook from fear. The fear she tries her best to swallow away as she lowers herself to the ground. Her own weaponry melts into that cool gold, sinking into her pores and leaving nothing but the tattered mess that she was behind, arms dropping to her side as she turns her gaze to look down towards Katar as he slowly becomes..

She was met there with a choice. To help him remember. Or to leave him wondering. How cruel, would she be, if she were to do that? And how right it would feel for it to happen?

She slowly approaches his side, her hand reaching out to lay one over his own that clasps against his neck and shoulder, the other reaching out to touch his face as her wings slowly fade from view. "Look at me." Her voice was quiet as she tries to lift his chin.

"You… you are Carter Hall." There was a bit of chain within her chest. Her heart was breaking. Her eyes were even beginning to water but one would consider it from the pain. "This.. none of this is your fault. You didn't do this. That kid over there?" She gestures with a tilt of her chin. "You saved his life by jumping in the way of the monster. But, remember. You are Carter Hall. You build this room of passions and you have to fix it and nothing else. Forget.. everything else."

Imi-Ib.. Komeca shuun leiampa..

Carter Hall looks into the eyes of his savior.

Even after her wings fade, he still sees an angel - there to rescue him from the warrior's rage in his heart, and the burden of knowledge he doesn't even know he has. He puts a bloodstained hand over Shayera's - the hand upon his shoulder - and slowly nods as if in relief. The wounds beneath have already begun to heal, and the rest of his Nth armour slowly disappears beneath his skin.

He does not even feel the pain it, this time.

"I am… Carter Hall," he murmurs, acknowledging his angel's declaration of his identity. The last visible remnants of the Nth metal vanish and he is left as he was before - if battered, bruised and bleeding. The injuries do not bother him. The destruction of several of his prized contributions to the museum does not bother him.

He is simply glad to know who he is.

"I am Carter Hall…"

"You are.." Shayera murmurs, bearing down upon his wound as she could feel the Nth within working at healing him, her fingers turning just enough to grasp his as she looks into his eyes, making sure he remains as focused as he could be as his memory slowly begins to stitch and knit itself together to deal with the trauma of change, something that should never happen again.

"Remember this. You are Carter Hall and no one else." Her fingers draw from his shoulder, each resting upon his cheek, her knees joining together as she leans forward to plant a soft kiss into the middle of his forehead. In that, was a silent prayer, for him to stay away.. to leave and never return.. to live his life in the shadows as she should have done and never left Thangar..

..even if it meant that the Prince would keep her prisoner and possibly killed her there after..

The sounds of shouting and banging against the door draws her away, sliding back far enough to stand and turn to run down the middle of the isle, her wings emerging as she bursts through the glass ceiling of the museum, leaving Carter in a hail of glass.. and soon rain which follows soon after her departure.

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