Previously in Wonder Woman…

Daughter. Princess. Warrior. When the amazon queen, Hippolyta, begged the goddesses of Olympus to breathe life into a body of clay, she never imagined that girl would grow into the champion of her people, known in the world of men as Wonder Woman!

Former Eden employee Dr. Marina Maru, after long experimentation on the altered body of her deceased colleague, Jason Woodrue, ferments a new kind of toxin; one whose hosts have eyes set on Wonder Woman.

A TOUCH OF DEATH

PART III

By Miranda Sparks

“Ki-i-ill… youuuuu… Ki-i-ill youuuuuu!”

It was a hatred deeper than Diana had ever witnessed. More than some villain defying her with prejudice. These twisted beings, whatever they were, were zealots who worshipped her death. Her very being was a sin, and one they would wipe clean with the utmost ferver.

The hospital speakers crackled to life. “You’d better run, Wonder Woman,” said a female voice. “Your life depends on it.”

There was no concern in the woman’s voice; only a statement of fact. No glee, no malice, but still an eagerness. For what exactly?

Steve snatched her arm. “Diana! Let’s go!” And she did, matching the Colonel’s pace, then scooped him into her arms so she could move faster.

The mob barreled after her like a tidal wave, hungry for her flesh, like something from those terrible movies where the dead sprang to life. But not even filmmakers whose thoughts were steeped in horror could dream up such a terrible foe; nor could they fathom the agony that burned in her arm. Death is an extant state of being. A body still lives in a fashion through rot and other natural processes. But the touch of the creature was more than that. It was dark and stagnate, as though the very composition of her being was dissolving.

“There’s dark magic at play,” Diana said. Perhaps that sounded mad to a non-amazon, but she wasn’t known to exaggerate; at least in the eyes of friends.

She stumbled, crashing through a wall of cold that consumed her body. All things trended toward entropy, but the dread that Diana cradled ran so much deeper. There was no light at the end of the tunnel; no path to reincarnation where her atoms spread and found new shapes – only a lack of being.

The semi-conscious throng closed in. Steve grunted and threw her arm over his shoulder. So much for Diana carrying him. The amazon’s feet dragged on the linoleum.

“What are you, made of bricks or something?” he huffed.

Diana lifted her head. “It’s… not polite… to… comment on a… woman’s… weight.”

“Now you make jokes!” he snapped. “Come on, Diana! You need to lift your feet! I thought you amazons were supposed to be tough! Move it, soldier! Or you’ll be cleaning latrines for a week!”

There was a reason Colonel Trevor made a poor drill sergeant, but Diana was true to his instruction. She pressed one foot after the other through the daze, focused on a singular point at the end of the hall, and clung to her balance as the world turned.

“I… can take them,” she seethed.

“You can kick ass later,” Steve said. “But first we make a tactical retreat.”

Diana wanted to protest, but didn’t. The Golden Perfect burned at her side. It knew just as she did that she could not stand up and win. She had her pride, but even that wasn’t so great as to blind her to danger.

From the mass emerged a woman in a flannel shirt. She screamed with the voice of a banshee – a human shape with the feeling wrung out of her. Whether it was a smile or gnashing teeth no stranger could tell, only that they were snapping at Wonder Woman.

“Ki-i-ill youuuuuu!” she screeched.

Where some might have been afraid, Diana felt only sorrow. What horrible force could twist a person into… this?

“Don’t worry,” she groaned. “I’ll… I’ll save you!”

This time there was no mistaking the creature’s cackle, or the murderous gleam in her cloud washed eyes. She quickened her shambling pace, and reached out.

“DOOOOO I-I-I LOOK-K-K LIKE I WAN-T TO BE SAAAAVED!?” 

Asteria spat. “Witch! I’ll have your head!”

She writhed under the invisible force pressing her to the ice-crusted asphalt. Circe sipped her coffee and opened her free hand, projecting through it the unseen fingers cracking the ground.

“Have the amazons become so carefree that they’ve forgone the art of stealth?” she projected between sips.

The warrior thrust impotently against her bonds. “More magic. You must have eyes on the back of your head?”

A smirk curled the witch’s lip. “It’s your smell,” she said. “By the gods, woman! When was the last time you bathed? I’ve scented nomads less pungent.” Of course baths were few and far between in the wilderness of the frigid north.

Circe’s grip tightened, and the road buckled under her enchantment. The amazon choked for breath while pedestrians looked the other way. Even the cars navigated around them, despite being in plain view. But Asteria cared little. Her eyes remained fixed, like a wolf closing on its prey, regardless of her position. All she needed was one hand…

“I know you,” the witch mused.

Asteria spoke not with her mouth, but the hate burning through her gaze.

“You were Diana’s bodyguard,” said Circe. “Yes, you were there that night. I recall that you weren’t too fond of the princess. Now it makes sense; why you’d come all this way, sacrifice your home, to kill her.”

Were it only so simple. Asteria could have screamed, but to what end? Visions of the past crashed in her mind in shapes and sounds she couldn’t comprehend, and only a self-serving witch could make sense of.

“I see this is a sensitive topic,” Circe continued. “Perhaps we can talk about it over a light meal. Brunch?”

With a flick of her hand the world blinked. Asteria crashed into a seat at some warm, cozy little cafe – the sort with daily clipboard menus and drinks served in mason jars. The bitter aroma of coffee mingled with milk, coupled with bacon and eggs cooking in the back, stirred Asteria’s gut. Bringing her to such a place was a subtle torture.

She lunged at the sorceress – who was perusing the specials – only to feel her feet anchored like weights under the table. There were no weapons in reach, save the silverware or water glasses, but they too were fixed in place.

“Settle,” said the witch, with her mouth and not her mind. “Brunch is the fourth most important meal of the day, and I shan’t have you spoiling it. Order what you like. It’s my treat.”

“What game do you play?” Asteria hissed.

“I’m partial to the eggs benedict,” Circe hummed. “Oh, and a house made tropical punch. ‘Get the morning pick me up you need with this blend of pineapple, orange, passionfru-”

The table rattled under Asteria’s fists. “Who was that little girl!”

Circe lifted her eyes, and tossed her fiery red hair back. She sighed a long suffering sigh, and folded her hands on the table.

“I assume you’re referring to Diana’s ‘twin’,” she said.

Flashes of memory ran before Asteria. The water, the witch, the princess split in two and both parts made whole. It was like something out of a dream or born from a seer’s brew. Were it not for Gaea’s thread that was comprised of truth incarnate she might have dismissed such a thing as madness.

“A… a simulacrum?”

“More than that,” Circle told her. “A simulacrum is but an imitation of humanity. What you saw was… I supposed you’d call it a ‘homunculus’. Perhaps a facsimile. The princess you’ve known all these years is a replica, forged from scraps of the original.”

A trick, surely. Magicians thrived on half-truths; a sadist like Circle doubly so. But what if she spoke genuinely, and wielded that past like a dagger to the amazon’s honor? Asteria gripped the table cloth, but it would not yield. She darted to her feet, but was drawn back with sudden force. Her offense boiled hot.

“Cursed woman!” she spat. The waiter paid no mind as he served the complimentary breadsticks.

“I think a part of you must have known,” Circe continued. “Your tolerance for young Diana was always middling at best, and through that lens your regard for my ‘imposter’ fermented.”

“Shut up!”

“How it must have twisted you, to nurture a contempt you couldn’t understand…”

“No!”

Asteria shook with a well of emotion. All of her thoughts crashed like boats falling over waves and smacking the water. All she knew was crumbling beneath her feet, feeding her to the hidden truth dogging her heels.

Circe giggled. “You murdered your queen for loving a false daughter,” she said. “Such an act would have been unthinkable for the royal guard I met that night!”

Some truths are kind and loving, but others are cruel, casting cold light onto things best left forgotten. Perhaps with hatred driving her on Asteria could have lived with her sins, had she believed her actions justified in the face of a great wrong. In the absence of that assumption there was only dread to fill her.

“I will deliver you to death myself for what you have done,” Asteria seethed. 

The table, with all the glasses and cutlery, flew across the room, along with the chair under Asteria. Circle’s hold loosened, and the amazon’s movement was restored. The sorceress groaned while summoning a xiphon into Asteria’s hand. She made no other attempt to move. Around them, the cafe staff started to arrange the furniture and clean the other mess, as though such confrontations were unremarkable in their world. It was amazing the things people could endure while enchanted.

“You get one shot,” Circe said with a yawn, then sharpened her gaze. “Make it count, amazon.”

The world swam through a haze of twilight, sticky and humid and heavy in a way that tested even an amazon’s endurance. With every step Diana waned. Her weight fell on her friend like candle drippings. She clung to him like a castaway held to land, but his voice was a million miles away. 

“Diana? Diana, stay with me!”

No greater foe was there than that which hung under her eyes. How tempting it was to sleep, to know peace, to never again collect scars or count the dead. For all its savage beauty the world of men tormented her. The only place she could call a home was the resting place of her sisters, in Elysium.

The Golden Perfect burned at her side. It tolerated no falsehood, even those tailored for comfort. On some metaphorical plane the truth was clear; Diana was a solitary torch lost in a world of darkness, and her light – fragile and precious – was to be preserved, no matter her hardship.

She winced and clung to Steve, clung to consciousness. Somewhere deep down was the strength to stand. There was always another well waiting to be tapped, no matter how many times the fates tested her.

“What’s going on?”

“Clear the halls! Get everyone into rooms! Pack them if you have to!” Steve bellowed.

Diana lifted her head. They were in a hospital. Why was she surprised by that? They’d come to investigate a supernatural pestilence; their enemy, said the Perfect. Something beyond rotten, beyond entropy – death, but more so.

Her arm was no longer cold. She looked down, surprised to see it was still attached. It would not move, no matter how she willed it. But it lived. The handprint on her forearm pulsed like a putrid thing feeding poison into her veins. The wild part of her might have cut it off had not the lariat bound her to reason.

The voice crackled through the PA system. “Subjects are on the fifth floor, oncology. K-11 through 14.”

Who…?

Steve repelled off the enforced security doors, taking Diana down with him. They smacked the linoleum with all the grace of a brick, and nursing pain amplified by exhaustion lacked the will to pry himself up. Not that they had the option to dawdle.

“I assure you, the building is quite secure,” said the voice.

Diana felt the hands beneath her and rolled onto her back. It was Steve; Steve Trevor, the handsome Air Force Colonel who ‘played for the other team’, like Achilles. Were only she so lucky as the gentleman who’d yet to find his heart.

“Stay with me,” Steve rasped, all but shaking her.

What a beautiful dream…

“I’m not a cruel person,” the voice continued. “As a scientist, I do only as circumstances demand. My intention is not to harm you, or anyone else in this building, but it is essential that I see results. Give up now, Wonder Woman. The sooner you do, the sooner everything goes back to normal, and your agony ends.”

Steve grit his teeth. “I know that voice,” he spat. “You’re that… that… manic that worked for Eden!”

The voice spoke volumes in its silence. But Diana’s concern lay elsewhere. Through the fog came the hiss of the unliving. They carried death; not just of the body, but of the soul – a death that burned in the amazon’s arm, hollowing her from the inside out.

Steve removed his firearm and unloaded round after round at the creatures, center mass. He roared, as though his voice could propel the bullets through their leathery hides. Alas, though his aim was true his targets were unfazed.

“Any ideas?” he asked the weary amazon.

Wonder Woman climbed to her feet as most would climb Everest, then pushed further. A hard boot landed against the double door, shattering the lock and allowing them to pass; though it cost the princess all her strength. She crashed to the sterile floor, head spinning, as the voices around her faded into nothingness.

“Diana!”

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but when Diana woke it was from a place beyond dreaming, where time had no measure.

Under the wave of disinfectant were other odors; soil, rot and ash, like the hills of countless battlefields rolled into a moment. She dreaded opening her eyes, and when she did saw a path leading from the hospital wing and into the void; and at the threshold was a man – more than a man – with wings that bled into the dark.

“You know who I am,” he said, answering her silent question. “Hello, Diana. It’s good to finally meet you.”

To the amazons Thanatos was a friend, though few rushed to meet him. He was a rare guest to paradise, but a stalwart companion on ancient battlefields, guiding their weapons’ purpose and comforting the fallen. He was neither cruel nor kind, good or evil, but ever-present; a truth every woman must come to terms with.

Diana shook her head. It wasn’t death she feared, but the work still undone. She had a mission, her honor, and a world in need of her strength! Neither Elysium or Tarturus offered a continuation of purpose.

“You think yourself headed to an afterlife, but Achlys would deny you that fate,” said the deity.

Achlys, the infernal poison to whom even gods were susceptible? As a girl Diana’d heard whispers, but even the most devout of the gods followers considered it a myth; for even if something made a god ill, they were without end.

“Untrue,” Thanatos said. “Even a god can die, but as their body and soul are one they do not transcend their plain. When a god dies they face oblivion, and as the divine rots in your veins, Diana, so do you.”

Diana screamed, but her breath had abandoned her. She peered into the void that echoed in her heart. Past Thanatos was another figure, a second Death, waiting for her to fall.

Diana jumped. She was still in the hospital, sat upright in a wheelchair, while activity blurred around her. Between heavy blinks she struggled to comprehend; nurses and orderlies grabbing every object they could to seal the ward. Steve was among them, dragging a filing cabinet across the floor. Strange that so strong a man should struggle with something half his size, but as one who could bench press a bus it wasn’t her place to judge. Had she only that strength to lean on in the present.

Monstrous fists beat through the doors. Their volume rattled through the veil over her senses. With the enemy at the gates she was compelled to move, even if it meant further losing the tug-of-war battle sapping her life.

“No, you sit,” Steve told her.

“I… have to…”

“Swallow your pride, Di! You’re in no shape!” he snapped.

The amazon swayed in her chair, lost. Something was said, but she’d yet to grasp it.“‘Die’?” No, she wouldn’t – she couldn’t!

Patients wandered from their rooms – some in better shape than others – only to be ushered back by staff. Few could reckon the nature of monsters, or how powerless they were against them; but a noble bravado was the kindling of heroes across the ages.

“What do we do?” wailed one of the orderlies.

Steve Trevor pulled a mop from the janitor’s cart and snapped the head over his knee. With his other hand he grabbed a chair to use as a makeshift shield. They may not have been the work of Hephaestus, but he’d be damned to face the breach unarmed.

“Grab anything you can! Chairs, bedpans, something sharp if you can find it!” As though that would be enough.

The vents rattled with movement; something large, something heavy. Steve thrust the makeshift weapon into the passage, but barely made a dint. The creature shrieked from the inside, not with pain but with fury. It shredded the aluminum and snatched the stick from Steve’s hand.

Diana fought to lift her head. She knew that monster. It was the same flannel-wearing beast that had marked her for oblivion. Despite the absence of anything human, the monster giggled with the same sick glee.

“Ki-i-ill youuuuuu!”

The princess wheeled against her will to the far exit with Steve gripping the handles. Her world turned with the sudden movement, near yanking her from consciousness.

“Get out of the way!” Steve roared. They charged toward the exit, and another set of double doors sealed shut. “Someone get this thing open!”

“We can’t,” said one of the orderlies. “Biohazard protocols are in effect. It’d take a bulldozer to get through!”

The voice hummed through the PA. “Stand aside, Colonel Trevor. We only want Wonder Woman.”

But the Colonel would not be deterred. Diana failed to protest as he stood before her, a one-man wall against the supernatural. He was like an amazon in that regard; willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of another. 

Perhaps she should have been afraid – either for herself or her friend – but rather Diana was overcome with admiration. Who would have thought a man could be so noble? That, she decided, was a rare gift worthy of protection.

Wonder Woman rose to her feet, pulling strength from a phantom well in her heart. Following her adventures it seemed that new sources were endless, and could always be found in times of need. Awkwardly, feebly, she pushed past her friend.

“Diana…”

“I’ve got this,” she said, and lifted her spinning head high. “Speak your name, demon, so I may mourn the woman sacrificed in your name.”

The zombie shifted, considering her next move.

“Raaaacheeel,” she said. “Raaaachel Maaaadd-ox! Daaaagh-ter offff the Fooourth Riech-ch-ch!”

“Maddox,” Diana echoed. “I met a man by that name in Montanna. Any relation?”

“Myyyyyyyyy faaaaaatheeeer,” she hissed.

It only stood to reason that one man should lead his family into the mouth of madness. He’d made certain his hate was theirs as well, along with his ill-conceived notion of ‘honor’. To slight one was to slight an entire family, and nothing would stand in the path of retribution; even their humanity.

Wonder Woman pushed through the weariness, praying to Hera her determination was sharp enough to see her through. A smart woman would know to flee. One touch was all that stood before the ultimate of ends.

“Yours is a wicked legacy,” she said. “A shame you would choose to follow it.” The amazon braced, despite her foundation. “Come at me, Nazi filth!”

The former Rachel lunged, wailing like the damned thing she was. She had no skill, no grace, no discipline, but something so lethal had no need of them. Even her saliva, thick as raindrops, flying from her feral jowls, were enough to reach an absolute conclusion.

Diana sidestepped the creature, keeping her distance, and cast her lariat across the room. It flew past nurses, patients and other staff, snaking through the air with an intended course. Her eyes fixed on her foe, trusting the golden rope to weave through an overhead light fixture, and dart around the zombie.

With divine precision it ensnared the beast, but it was not Rachel that burned. Diana drew at the makeshift pulley, dragging the creature away from her, but for how long? Her heart stopped, for never had she imagined that the rope spun from truth personified – pulled from the girdle of Gaia herself – would ever fray. 

“You think you can hold me!” she bellowed.

Rachel flexed, and though the perfect held her strength was enough to tear the lights from their fixtures. With both hero and weapon made weak by their condition, she was more than able to slip her legs free. With unnatural swiftness the ghoul leapt to her feet, and charged the amazon.

Diana’s perception trudged as though steeped in mud. Rachel moved faster than her reflexes would allow. No time for a counterattack, or to deflect; Diana leapt blindly toward the corner, stumbling over a bed in her path. The monster sprang, but stopped short when the bed launched into her chest. Both amazon and beast tumbled with the clumsy metal thing between them, until Diana found her balance again. She pulled the perfect tight, and with the last of her adrenaline forced her weight down.

Her fury cooled enough to see the monster’s face; so human, but not. Behind that twisted exterior was a woman first possessed by hate. She was a person, like Diana, worthy of compassion, and to a degree a victim of circumstance. Diana ripped a bar from the underside of the bed and raised it above her head.

“Yield,” she rasped.

The monster cackled. “Yoooouuuu… would hafffff to killllllll me f-f-f-fffffffffirst…”

More of her kind beat at the door, each as fanatical as the others. It might have been admirable were their hearts not so rotten. Crushing her skull might have been a mercy, yet the princess hesitated. Her breath stilled. The world of man, beautiful as it often was, was filled with death; and now, with a blow, she commanded it.

Her hand released the bar and let it fall. Were only she able to reason with her! “I… I…”

The last she saw of Rachel was the dark delight in her eyes, knowing that so long as Diana restrained herself that she would have an advantage. No amount of compassion would sway oblivion. Then, suddenly… 

BANG!

Diana jumped. The explosion rang in her ears, and a spray of blood ran down her skin. Rachel was still, save for the black ooze trickling from her head. Above her was a smoking gun, gripped tight in the hands of Colonel Trevor. She looked at him, agape. Why? But the question never reached her lips. Her mind swayed with shock. He’d done what she couldn’t, but that necessary evil was no less ugly.

The exit doors burst open, and through them raced men in Agency uniforms. They pulled anyone who could walk to safety, and barked at the Colonel. Their voices drowned in the fog and drifted so very far away. Wonder Woman let go of the world. She fell, struck the ground, and fell again; perhaps, even, into the arms of Thanatos. Her name rang through the darkness. 

“Diana!”

NEXT ISSUE: Dr. Maru’s plan is starting to bear fruit, but what new dangers sprout from these dangerous seeds? Find out in part four of ‘A Touch of Death’…