The void rippled with unnatural hunger. Vorax loomed above Earth's Moon, his silhouette etched against the cold expanse—humanoid in shape but dripping with contradictions. His body was a shifting mass of bone-white spires, shrieking mouths stretched along his arms and ribs, and a voidcloak that drank in all sound and light. He knelt not upon lunar stone, but drifted just above it, feeding on the stillness of space itself.
Far below, Earth trembled with unease.
The Batwoman Who Laughs stood at the edge of the stratosphere. Her tattered, corrupted cape fluttered despite the vacuum, eyes like bleeding rubies peering down upon the world she once might have saved. She had watched the rise of fear with amusement. Now it was time to crack the world's first true defense.
In Salem, the Tower of Fate pulsed with protective spells, sigils burning gold against the darkening sky. Inside, Zatanna, Constantine, and Doctor Fate finished the final glyphs of a forbidden ritual they had sworn never to utter.
"We're not going to survive this," Constantine muttered, sweat slicking his brow. "This isn't buying time—it's painting a bloody target on the tower."
Zatanna didn't flinch. "Then let them come. We need this circle to hold—long enough to summon the Circle of Nine."
Doctor Fate's helm flashed. "The gods will not answer. Not anymore."
"They'll answer her," Zatanna whispered. "If the world burns, they go with it."
Suddenly, the air warped. A ripple—subtle but chilling. Doctor Fate raised a hand, casting out a ward of detection.
"She's here."
The Batwoman Who Laughs stepped through the veil as if walking through paper. No doors opened. No portals screamed. She simply was—inside the tower, standing on the ceiling like it was the floor, smiling with blood-soaked teeth.
"Well now," she said. "I hoped to catch Kent alone. But this is delicious."
Constantine pulled a dagger from his coat, its blade etched with Atlantean wards. "You're not getting the key."
"Oh, Johnny. I already have the key. I just want to see how long you scream before giving it up."
She leapt down, not attacking—but circling the ritual as the golden energy spiraled upward. For a moment, she merely watched, tilting her head like a curious child admiring an ant farm.
"This magic reeks of desperation. Fear. Oh how I adore fear."
Zatanna stood between her and the circle. "Step back. Or I'll erase your name from the Book of Souls."
The Batwoman's smile only widened. "Zee. I liked you. You still bleed hope."
Without another word, she vanished—her laughter echoing in every wall, in every breath, in the beat of each heart.
The three sorcerers collapsed to their knees. The spell held. But something vital had been tainted.
---
In the Hall of Justice, Batman watched satellite feeds flicker and fail. Earth's defense systems—both mundane and mystical—were beginning to collapse under an unseen pressure.
"She touched the leyline," he said flatly. "Just by entering the Tower. She infected the ritual."
Wonder Woman's jaw tightened. "We need to evacuate civilians."
"There's nowhere to run," Martian Manhunter replied. "Neptune is gone. The Moon is contaminated. Our fallback colonies are dead before they're born."
Green Lantern scanned for signals from the Watchtower. None came.
"She's not alone," Batman finally said. "She's the knife. The hand holding her… is worse."
Silence answered him.
---
Back in the void, Vorax stirred. The last breath of a dead star echoed through his bones. He extended his hand toward the shattered remnants of Neptune's orbit—ghosts of planetary rings and magnetic storms clung to his form like shrouds.
He did not consume out of hatred or vengeance.
He devoured because he existed.
Below him, the Moon began to change. Cracks formed—subtle, black veins stretching across its pale surface. Not of tectonic origin. These were fractures of reality. Pieces of the Dreaming itself bled from them—Lucid space, madness made form.
A being of silence reached toward Earth, and in his shadow, chaos danced in anticipation.
---
At the Oblivion Bar, hidden from the eyes of mortals, a congregation of magical beings gathered. Phantom Stranger. Madame Xanadu. Klarion. Even Swamp Thing lingered near the roots of a dream-grown tree.
"We're too late," Xanadu said, her voice ragged with visions. "The Laughing Queen is not the herald. She's the key."
Phantom Stranger turned toward the growing rift in the sky. "No. She is the lock. He is the key. And the door is already opening."
Klarion laughed manically, but even his bravado faltered.
"We'll need him," Zatanna said, entering from a rift, barely able to stand. Her skin was pale. Her hands trembled.
Everyone knew who she meant.
No one wanted to say it.
Even summoning Trigon seemed safer.
---
Deep in the Tower of Fate, the final glyph sparked violently. Blood—not ink—dripped from the page.
"Was that part of the ritual?" Constantine asked, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his thumb.
Doctor Fate said nothing.
The floor began to split.
"We didn't summon the Circle of Nine," Zatanna whispered, stepping back.
"No," Constantine said, exhaling smoke. "We summoned their corpses."
---
And outside Earth's atmosphere, the Batwoman Who Laughs floated above the clouds, arms spread wide.
Below her, cities sparked with panic. Fires without origin. Screams without direction. Fear soaked the air like perfume.
"Soon," she whispered, her voice entering the dreams of children, the prayers of dying men, and the static between every television screen. "Soon you'll all see what the Bat saw… when he finally laughed."
And far behind her, the moon split—just once.
A crack in its crust.
A scream.
And then silence.
Vorax's shadow finally touched Earth.