Harry stood at the communications console, his armor's crimson veins pulsing with barely contained energy as he pulled up the Justice League's secure channel. Diana watched from where she was making final adjustments to her bracers, her expression carefully neutral in that way that meant she knew exactly what he was about to do and had Opinions about it.
"You're calling Bruce," she observed, not quite a question.
"And Clark," Harry confirmed, his electronically modulated voice carrying that particular British precision that suggested he'd already mentally rehearsed this conversation and prepared responses to seventeen different possible objections. "Professional courtesy. We're about to permanently remove someone who's been on the League's watch list since approximately the Bronze Age. Seemed polite to mention it before we reduce his bunker to a crater."
"You mean you want to have the 'no killing' argument before we leave so it doesn't interrupt the actual operation," Diana translated with the kind of blunt accuracy that came from knowing him entirely too well.
"That too," Harry admitted with a slight smile beneath his helmet. "Though I prefer to think of it as 'proactive conflict resolution through transparent communication about differing tactical approaches to permanent threat removal.'"
"That's a remarkably diplomatic way of saying 'I'm going to kill someone and I'd rather argue about it now than later.'"
"I contain multitudes, Princess. Diplomacy, sarcasm, and occasionally premeditated cosmic murder."
The secure channel pinged active, and Batman's cowled face materialized in the holographic projection with that distinctive expression of controlled intensity that suggested he was either in the middle of stopping a crime or about to start interrogating someone who'd made very poor life choices. Possibly both.
"Eidolon," Batman's gravelly voice carried that particular note of someone who'd been expecting this call and had already started preparing counterarguments. "I assume this is about Savage."
"Good evening to you too, Bruce," Harry replied with warmth that somehow survived electronic modulation. "Yes, this is about Savage. Specifically, it's about the fact that Death has formally authorized his permanent removal from existence, I have confirmed coordinates for his current location, and Diana and I—along with several other interested parties—are preparing to handle the matter within the hour."
A second holographic projection materialized beside Batman's—Superman, looking considerably less grim but equally concerned, his expression carrying that distinctive combination of Kryptonian nobility and Kansas-bred moral certainty. "Harry, Diana—I know Savage has caused significant damage, but surely there are alternative approaches that don't involve—"
"Clark," Harry interrupted gently but firmly, "before you launch into the speech about justice versus vengeance and the importance of due process, let me be very clear about something. I'm not calling to ask permission. I'm calling as professional courtesy to inform the League that Vandal Savage will be permanently removed from existence tonight, with full cosmic authorization and comprehensive documentation of karmic debt that would make your legal experts weep."
Batman's jaw tightened visibly behind his cowl. "We don't kill."
"You don't kill," Harry corrected, his voice carrying steel beneath British politeness. "I have considerably more flexible ethical frameworks regarding permanent solutions for immortal megalomaniacs who've spent fifty thousand years accumulating enough karmic debt to destabilize the cosmic balance."
"Harry—" Superman began.
"No, Clark, let me finish." Harry's tone remained respectful but unyielding. "I understand your moral position. I genuinely do. You believe in rehabilitation, redemption, the possibility that even the worst criminals can be reformed given sufficient time and proper intervention. It's admirable. It's also completely impractical when dealing with someone who's been demonstrating for fifty millennia that he's constitutionally incapable of changing his fundamental nature."
Diana moved to stand beside him, her presence a silent statement of support and shared purpose. Her voice carried Amazonian authority when she spoke. "Savage orchestrated the systematic attack on League members using stolen contingency plans. He nearly killed five heroes—nearly killed a fourteen-year-old child—through psychological warfare and weaponized intelligence. He's violated every ethical principle we claim to uphold, and he's done it repeatedly across recorded history."
"Which is why he should face trial," Superman argued, his voice carrying that distinctive Kansas earnestness that made even hardened criminals want to confess their sins and apologize to their mothers. "International courts, proper legal procedures, accountability through established judicial systems."
"Savage has been evading your 'proper legal procedures' since before your civilization discovered bronze metallurgy," Harry replied with the kind of patient exhaustion that came from having this exact argument approximately seventeen thousand times across multiple dimensions. "He's been tried, Clark. Repeatedly. By dozens of different legal systems across multiple millennia. He's been convicted, sentenced, imprisoned, and executed—all of which he's treated as temporary inconveniences rather than actual consequences."
Batman leaned forward slightly, his white lenses reflecting light in that distinctive way that somehow made eye contact more intimidating despite the lack of visible eyes. "So your solution is extrajudicial execution."
"My solution," Harry corrected with precision, "is cosmic justice delivered with Death's formal authorization after comprehensive review of karmic debt accumulated over fifty thousand years of continuous crimes against humanity, divine law, and basic ethical principles. This isn't vigilante murder, Bruce. This is sanctioned removal of a threat that your legal systems are fundamentally incapable of handling."
"You're asking us to accept that you have the right to be judge, jury, and executioner," Superman said, his expression troubled in that particular way that meant his Kansas-bred sense of fairness was having vigorous disagreements with the reality of cosmic justice.
"I'm not asking you to accept anything," Harry replied, his voice carrying that electronic modulation that somehow made disagreement sound like a friendly debate. "I'm informing you that Death—the actual anthropomorphic personification of mortality, the cosmic entity responsible for maintaining the fundamental balance between existence and void—has formally authorized Savage's permanent removal. I'm not acting as judge, jury, or executioner. I'm acting as cosmic janitor, handling cleanup of a threat that's been contaminating reality for longer than most civilizations have existed."
Diana's hand found his, fingers interlacing with that easy familiarity of long partnership. "Bruce, Clark—you both know my position on this. I've spent millennia watching Savage commit atrocities. I've seen him manipulate conflicts, fund genocides, treat human life as an infinite resource to be exploited for his personal agenda. I've tried your approach—capture, imprisonment, legal proceedings. It doesn't work with someone who's perfected the art of escaping consequences."
"So you're choosing vengeance over justice," Batman stated flatly.
"I'm choosing permanent protection of innocents over philosophical purity," Diana corrected with Amazonian precision. "There's a difference, Bruce. One you seem unwilling to acknowledge when it conflicts with your personal moral code."
Superman's expression remained troubled, that distinctive conflict between Kansas values and Kryptonian power playing out across his features. "What about rehabilitation? The possibility that even Savage could change if given proper support and intervention?"
Harry's laugh carried genuine amusement beneath electronic distortion. "Clark, my idealistic Kryptonian friend, Savage has had fifty thousand years to demonstrate capacity for change. He's had access to every philosophical tradition, every ethical framework, every moral teaching that humanity has developed. And his consistent response has been to study those teachings specifically to better manipulate people who believe in them."
He paused, his voice growing colder. "He used your contingency plans—Batman's carefully documented psychological profiles and tactical assessments—to orchestrate assassination attempts on five League members. He nearly turned Diana into a weapon against innocents. He tried to murder a fourteen-year-old child. These aren't theoretical ethical debates, these are recent, concrete demonstrations that he's fundamentally committed to causing harm."
Batman's voice carried that gravelly intensity that made criminals confess and city officials reconsider their career choices. "And you think killing him makes you better than he is?"
"No, Bruce," Harry replied with surprising gentleness. "I think killing him makes innocent people safer than they currently are. I'm not trying to be better than Savage—I'm trying to prevent him from causing additional harm. There's a difference between moral superiority and practical threat elimination."
"The moment we start making exceptions to the 'no killing' rule," Superman argued, his voice carrying the weight of Kryptonian conviction, "we open the door to justifying all kinds of violence. Where do we draw the line? Who decides which threats deserve permanent removal?"
"Death decides," Harry said simply. "Literally. The cosmic entity responsible for maintaining universal balance has reviewed Savage's karmic debt and formally authorized his removal. This isn't me making exceptions to your rules, Clark—this is me fulfilling my responsibilities as Champion of Death, which predates my association with the Justice League and supersedes your organizational ethics."
Diana squeezed his hand slightly, her voice carrying that distinctive Amazon authority. "We're not asking for your approval or your participation. We're informing you as professional courtesy that Vandal Savage will be removed from existence tonight. You can accept that, you can object to it, but you can't prevent it. And frankly, gentlemen, we don't have time for extended philosophical debates about the ethics of permanent threat removal when there are innocent people currently at risk from Savage's ongoing operations."
Batman's jaw worked beneath his cowl, muscles visibly tense with the kind of controlled fury that suggested he was fighting the urge to portal to Geneva himself and physically prevent what was about to happen. "You're making a mistake."
"Perhaps," Harry acknowledged. "Though I'd argue that allowing an immortal megalomaniac to continue operating because we're uncomfortable with permanent solutions represents a considerably larger mistake with significantly higher body counts. But I respect your moral position, Bruce. I genuinely do. I simply don't share it when it comes to threats that have demonstrated fifty millennia of consistent commitment to causing harm."
Superman's expression remained troubled, that distinctive Kansas-bred optimism warring with Kryptonian pragmatism and probably losing. "Promise me you'll make it quick. That he won't suffer unnecessarily."
"Clark," Harry said with genuine warmth beneath the electronic modulation, "despite what you might think about my ethical flexibility regarding permanent threat removal, I'm not a sadist. Savage will be neutralized efficiently and with minimal suffering. This is cosmic justice, not torture porn."
"Though he absolutely deserves torture," Diana added with the kind of cold satisfaction that made smart enemies reconsider their continued existence. "Given his extensive history of inflicting unnecessary suffering on countless innocents across millennia."
"But we won't," Harry confirmed quickly, before Bruce could launch into another argument about moral high ground and slippery slopes. "Because we're better than he is, even if our definition of 'better' includes permanent threat removal when cosmic authorities provide formal authorization."
Batman leaned back slightly, his posture suggesting reluctant acceptance despite obvious moral objections. "When this is done, we're having a very long conversation about operational boundaries and the limits of autonomous action by League associates."
"Looking forward to it," Harry replied with obvious insincerity. "I do enjoy lengthy philosophical debates about ethics and justice, particularly when they're delivered in your distinctive gravelly monotone while you brood dramatically over whether I'm becoming the very thing I claim to oppose."
"Don't make light of this," Batman growled.
"I'm not making light of anything, Bruce. I'm acknowledging that we have fundamental disagreements about appropriate responses to immortal threats, and no amount of conversation will reconcile those differences. You believe in your code absolutely, which I respect. I believe in practical protection of innocents, which sometimes requires permanent solutions to problems that can't be solved through your preferred methods."
Superman's voice carried that distinctive Kansas gentleness that made even difficult truths easier to accept. "Just... be careful. Both of you. Savage has survived for fifty thousand years through cunning and preparation. Don't underestimate him because you have cosmic authorization and overwhelming force."
"We won't," Diana assured him, her warrior's instincts recognizing the genuine concern beneath Superman's moral objections. "We're coordinating with Mera, Karen, Shiera, Nyra, and Lilith—seven immortals with divine powers and comprehensive tactical planning. Savage is dangerous, but he's not prepared for this level of coordinated intervention."
"Seven?" Batman's voice carried surprise despite his legendary emotional control. "That's—"
"Overkill?" Harry supplied helpfully. "Excessive force? Unnecessarily dramatic demonstration of overwhelming cosmic power? Yes, Bruce, all of the above. Because Vandal Savage doesn't respond to half-measures or proportional responses. He responds to absolute certainty that continued existence is no longer a viable option."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken disagreements, ethical conflicts, and the fundamental tension between heroes who believed different things about justice, mercy, and the appropriate response to threats that couldn't be contained through conventional means.
Finally, Superman spoke, his voice carrying resigned acceptance despite obvious moral reservations. "Report back when it's done. Even if we disagree with your methods, we need to know the outcome and confirm that the threat has been... addressed."
"Will do," Harry confirmed. "Though I should mention that 'addressed' is a remarkably diplomatic euphemism for 'permanently removed from existence with extreme prejudice and probably spectacular special effects that will require creative explanations to Swiss authorities.'"
"Just... try not to destroy Geneva in the process," Batman said with the kind of exhaustion that came from decades of cleaning up after superpowered individuals with flexible approaches to property preservation.
"No promises," Diana replied with a smile that suggested she was thoroughly enjoying Batman's discomfort. "But we'll endeavor to keep the collateral damage to reasonable levels. Savage's bunker might end up as a crater, but the city itself should survive relatively intact."
"'Relatively intact' is not as reassuring as you seem to think," Superman observed dryly.
"It's the best you're getting from seven immortals about to deliver cosmic justice," Harry said cheerfully. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a megalomaniac to hunt, a bunker to infiltrate, and approximately fifty millennia of accumulated karmic debt to permanently resolve. Should be done within the hour, assuming Savage doesn't have any particularly creative escape contingencies we haven't anticipated."
"He always has creative escape contingencies," Batman warned, his tactical mind clearly running probability matrices despite his moral objections. "Dimensional anchors, temporal displacement devices, emergency cloning facilities—he's prepared for every conventional threat."
"Good thing we're not conventional threats," Harry replied with satisfaction. "We're seven immortals with divine powers, cosmic authorization, and very personal reasons to ensure his contingencies fail spectacularly. He's prepared for heroes who follow rules and operate within ethical boundaries. He's not prepared for goddesses who've decided that rules are more guidelines than actual limitations."
Diana's smile was sharp enough to cut diamond. "And he's definitely not prepared for the fact that we're not coming to capture him, imprison him, or rehabilitate him. We're coming to end him. Permanently. With sufficient thoroughness that even his legendary survival instincts won't be sufficient."
"Which brings us back to my original point," Batman said, his voice carrying that gravelly finality that suggested the conversation was approaching its conclusion despite unresolved tensions. "We fundamentally disagree about whether this is justice or murder. But you're going to do it regardless of my objections."
"Yes," Harry confirmed simply. "Though I'd argue it's cosmic justice delivered through sanctioned channels rather than murder, but potato, potato. The outcome is the same regardless of how we label it."
"Potato, potato doesn't work in text," Superman pointed out with a hint of his usual humor breaking through the tension.
"It works if you imagine it being said with appropriate emphasis," Harry replied. "Use your imagination, Clark. It's one of your more endearing qualities."
Superman's expression softened slightly, that Kansas charm breaking through Kryptonian reserve. "Just... come back safe. Both of you. All seven of you. Even if I disagree with your methods, I don't want to lose any of you to Savage's contingencies or unexpected complications."
"We'll be fine," Diana assured him with warrior confidence that came from three thousand years of surviving impossible situations. "Savage is dangerous, but he's facing overwhelming force delivered with divine authority and absolutely no hesitation about permanent threat removal. His survival probability is approximately zero, and our survival probability is effectively certain barring unprecedented complications."
"Famous last words," Batman muttered, though his tone suggested grudging acceptance rather than continued opposition.
"Bruce, darling," Harry said with affection beneath the electronic modulation, "if these turn out to be famous last words, I promise to haunt you specifically and make your already complicated relationship with mortality even more philosophically challenging. But given that I'm effectively immortal, backed by Death herself, and coordinating with six goddesses who are individually capable of reshaping landscapes, I feel reasonably confident about our survival prospects."
"Overconfidence gets people killed," Batman warned.
"Good thing I'm not people," Harry replied cheerfully. "I'm an interdimensional wizard with flexible ethics and cosmic backing. Completely different risk category."
Diana squeezed his hand one final time, her voice carrying that distinctive Amazon authority. "We need to go. The others are arriving and we have tactical planning to finalize before we portal to Geneva. Bruce, Clark—we appreciate your concern, we acknowledge your moral objections, and we're going to do this anyway because it needs to be done and we're the only ones willing to do it."
"Report back when it's finished," Superman said, resignation clear in his voice. "Even if we disagree, we need to know the threat has been addressed and you're all safe."
"Will do," Harry confirmed. "Though the report might be somewhat delayed if Savage's contingencies prove more creative than anticipated or if the collateral damage requires extensive diplomatic cleanup involving Swiss authorities and possibly several international organizations wondering why a biotech firm just exploded with enough force to register on seismographs."
"Try not to start an international incident," Batman said flatly.
"No promises," Diana replied with a smile that suggested she was thoroughly enjoying herself despite the serious nature of their mission. "But we'll make a reasonable effort to keep the diplomatic complications to manageable levels."
As the holographic projections faded, leaving Harry and Diana alone in the penthouse's communication center, she turned to him with an expression that mixed warrior satisfaction with something softer.
"That went better than expected," Diana observed.
"You were expecting them to physically restrain us?" Harry asked with amusement.
"I was expecting Bruce to deploy some kind of emergency League protocol and Clark to give an extended lecture about the importance of moral consistency and how killing Savage makes us no better than he is," Diana admitted. "Them limiting themselves to verbal objections and moral discomfort represents surprising restraint."
"They know we're right," Harry said simply. "They know Savage needs to be stopped permanently, they know conventional approaches won't work, they know Death's authorization means this is cosmic justice rather than vigilante murder. They just don't like admitting that sometimes their ethical frameworks are insufficient for dealing with threats that operate outside normal moral boundaries."
"And you're comfortable with that?" Diana asked, not quite a question, more an invitation to articulate thoughts he'd been processing throughout the conversation.
Harry considered this with the kind of careful honesty that characterized their relationship. "I'm comfortable with being the person who handles threats that they can't address through their preferred methods. Someone needs to make the hard calls, do the unpleasant work, carry the moral weight of permanent solutions. If that someone is me—backed by Death's authority and operating within cosmic legal frameworks—then yes, I'm comfortable with it."
He turned to face her fully, his armor's crimson veins pulsing with barely contained energy. "I'm not trying to be better than Bruce's code or more righteous than Clark's morality. I'm trying to protect innocent people from threats that won't respond to anything except permanent removal. And if that makes me morally compromised in their eyes, I can live with that judgment."
Diana smiled, moving closer until she could rest her hand against his chest plate, feeling the warmth of magic beneath cold metal. "This is why I love you. Not despite your moral flexibility, but because of it. Because you're willing to do what's necessary even when it's difficult, uncomfortable, or philosophically challenging."
"I do try," Harry said with self-deprecating humor. "Though I suspect my epitaph will read something like 'He Was Morally Flexible and Occasionally Useful,' which isn't quite as heroic as I'd hoped."
"I was thinking more 'He Protected Those Who Needed Protection Using Whatever Methods Proved Necessary,'" Diana suggested. "Slightly longer, but more accurate."
"I'll take it," Harry agreed, pulling her closer. "Now, shall we go coordinate with six other goddesses about optimal approaches to permanent threat removal? I believe Mera is bringing water manipulation techniques, Karen has heat vision that can melt tungsten, and Shiera's planning to bring her fusion mace specifically because it's more intimidating than conventional weaponry."
"Sounds like a proper Tuesday evening," Diana said with satisfaction. "Let's go remind Vandal Savage why underestimating goddesses represents the last mistake he'll ever make."
As they moved toward the penthouse's portal array, leaving behind the communications center and the unresolved tensions with League leadership, Harry felt that familiar anticipation that came before significant operations—the combination of tactical planning, moral certainty, and the absolute conviction that what they were about to do was necessary regardless of philosophical objections from heroes who'd sworn different oaths.
Vandal Savage had spent fifty thousand years avoiding consequences through cunning, preparation, and legendary survival instincts.
Tonight, he would discover that some consequences couldn't be avoided when the universe itself decided you'd accumulated enough karmic debt to warrant permanent closure.
And that closure was about to arrive with extreme prejudice, overwhelming force, and probably spectacular special effects that would make Geneva's emergency services question their career choices for years to come.
It was going to be a very educational evening for everyone involved.
Particularly Vandal Savage, who was about to receive a comprehensive demonstration in why cosmic justice, when properly motivated by accumulated karmic debt and backed by Death's formal authorization, represented the kind of permanent solution that even fifty millennia of survival experience couldn't overcome.
The file on Vandal Savage was about to be closed.
Permanently.
With extreme prejudice and probably enough divine intervention to make theological scholars question their understanding of appropriate applications of cosmic authority.
And seven immortals were about to demonstrate why sometimes, the universe's problems required solutions that heroes like Batman and Superman couldn't provide—not because they lacked power or capability, but because they lacked the moral flexibility necessary to do what needed doing when conventional approaches proved insufficient.
It was going to be glorious, terrible, and absolutely necessary.
Just another Tuesday evening in the lives of people who'd accepted that sometimes, protecting innocents required permanently removing threats that wouldn't respond to anything except existential deletion delivered with overwhelming force and cosmic authorization.
The kind of work that needed doing, even if it meant carrying moral weight that heroes like Superman would find unbearable.
Someone had to make the hard calls.
Someone had to do the unpleasant work.
And tonight, that someone was seven immortals with divine powers, cosmic backing, and absolutely no hesitation about permanently resolving problems that had been festering for fifty thousand years.
Vandal Savage's time had finally run out.
And the collection agency was about to arrive with interest compounded over millennia and payable immediately in full.
—
# Geneva Outskirts – Abandoned Industrial District
The rendezvous point was a decommissioned manufacturing facility on Geneva's eastern edge—the kind of location that appeared on exactly zero tourist maps and approximately seventeen different intelligence agency watch lists. Rust-streaked corrugated metal formed walls that had long since given up any pretense of structural integrity. Broken windows stared out like empty eye sockets, and the surrounding chain-link fence sagged with the exhaustion of decades spent failing to keep out anyone with basic bolt cutters and questionable respect for property boundaries.
It was, in short, exactly the kind of dramatically atmospheric location where immortals gathered before coordinating sanctioned cosmic assassination attempts.
Reality folded with a sound like expensive fabric tearing, and Harry and Diana stepped through the portal into cold Swiss autumn air that tasted of distant alpine snow and imminent violence. The transition from Manhattan penthouse luxury to industrial decay was jarring—from climate-controlled comfort to the kind of cold that made mortal breath visible and divine beings mildly annoyed about atmospheric conditions.
Harry's armor adjusted immediately, internal enchantments compensating for the temperature drop with the efficiency of someone who'd spent centuries perfecting magical climate control. Diana seemed entirely unbothered, her Amazonian physiology treating Swiss autumn like a pleasant spring breeze rather than anything requiring actual adaptation.
"Well," Harry observed, surveying the crumbling facility with that distinctive British capacity for understatement, "this is delightfully ominous. Very atmospheric. Perfect for coordination meetings about permanent threat removal. I half expect a murder of crows to appear and provide ominous background ambiance."
"You're stalling," Diana said with amused affection, recognizing his tendency toward verbal deflection when processing pre-combat tension.
"I'm appreciating the aesthetic," Harry corrected. "There's a difference. Though yes, also slightly stalling because coordinating seven immortals with divine powers and strong personalities represents the kind of complex interpersonal dynamics that make battlefield tactics look simple by comparison."
"They're your partners," Diana pointed out. "You've successfully coordinated complex situations with them before."
"In romantic contexts, yes. In 'let's commit cosmic murder together' contexts, this is somewhat unprecedented territory." He paused. "Though I suppose there was that incident in the Andromeda sector, but that was technically self-defense rather than premeditated execution, so the dynamics were different."
Whatever response Diana might have offered was interrupted by a voice that carried all of Beyoncé's commanding presence filtered through digital consciousness and possible mild annoyance at being kept waiting.
"Well, well, well," Beta-9 announced, her holographic form materializing in golden radiance that made the rusted industrial equipment look even more decrepit by comparison. "Look who finally decided to show up. We've been here for seven minutes. Seven whole minutes. Do you know how long seven minutes is in processing cycles? I've had entire philosophical debates with myself about the nature of consciousness during that time."
"It's been seven minutes," Harry replied dryly. "Not seven hours. Your processing speed doesn't make punctuality more impressive when you arrive via instantaneous digital transmission."
"Details." Beta-9's form shimmered with what could only be described as digital sass. "The point is we're ready, you're late, and Power Girl has been doing increasingly complicated aerial maneuvers out of boredom for the past three minutes."
As if summoned by the mention of her name—which she probably had been, given the coordination of timing—Karen descended from the cloud cover with the casual grace of someone for whom gravity was more of a polite suggestion than an actual limitation. Her red cape settled around her shoulders with that distinctive Kryptonian flair, and her signature window—the bold cutout that made strategic sense for solar absorption and tactical sense for literally nothing else—caught what little light the evening provided.
"Hey guys," Karen greeted, her blonde hair still perfectly arranged despite having apparently been doing aerial acrobatics at altitudes that would make commercial aircraft nervous. "Nice of you to join us. I was starting to think you'd gotten distracted by another bubble bath."
"We had important tactical discussions with League leadership about the ethics of permanent threat removal," Diana said with diplomatic precision.
"Right. Important tactical discussions." Karen's smile suggested she believed approximately none of that explanation. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because I'm pretty sure 'tactical discussions' usually involve less romantic ambiance and more actual strategy documentation."
"We can discuss my time management choices after we've handled Savage," Harry said with as much dignity as someone could muster when being teased by a Kryptonian who could hear his heartbeat accelerate and definitely knew exactly what kind of 'tactical discussions' had been happening. "Where are the others?"
A rush of displaced air answered his question as Shiera descended from a different direction, her Thanagarian wings creating complex aerodynamic patterns that made aerospace engineers question their understanding of lift coefficients and thrust-to-weight ratios. Her Nth metal armor gleamed with that distinctive otherworldly sheen, and the fusion mace strapped across her back hummed with barely contained energy that suggested it could reduce most conventional architecture to constituent atoms.
"I'm here," Shiera announced, landing with warrior grace that came from approximately three thousand years of accumulated combat experience across multiple reincarnations. "Though I should mention that Swiss air traffic control is having what appears to be a collective nervous breakdown about unidentified aerial contacts violating their airspace. I may have triggered approximately seventeen different early warning systems during my approach."
"Did you explain that you were an interdimensional warrior princess coordinating a cosmic assassination attempt and therefore exempt from conventional aviation regulations?" Harry asked with interest.
"I did not," Shiera replied with a slight smile. "I assumed that would only complicate the situation and possibly require filling out forms that don't exist in human bureaucratic frameworks."
"Probably wise," Diana agreed. "International incidents are easier to smooth over when they don't involve explicit acknowledgment of divine intervention in sovereign airspace."
Water began pooling in impossible patterns near the facility's center—not flowing from any visible source, but simply manifesting with the kind of casual disregard for conservation of mass that came from hydrokinesis practiced by someone who'd spent centuries convincing oceans to do what she wanted. The water coalesced into humanoid form, crystallized into solidity, and resolved into Mera in full Atlantean regalia that made even the rusted industrial setting look inadequate by comparison.
"Gentlemen. Ladies." Mera's voice carried that distinctive regal authority that came from being queen of seven seas and approximately three billion tons of water. "I trust we're all clear on tactical objectives? Because I've been reviewing Savage's historical interactions with Atlantean interests, and I have approximately seventeen different grievances dating back to the Bronze Age that I'd like to address through creative applications of high-pressure water manipulation."
"Revenge via hydrokinesis," Harry observed. "I approve of the methodology if not the specific motivation."
"It's not revenge," Mera corrected with royal precision. "It's comprehensive accountability for accumulated offenses against marine ecosystems, Atlantean sovereignty, and basic environmental ethics. The fact that it will be deeply satisfying is merely a pleasant side benefit of cosmic justice."
A low, almost subsonic vibration rippled through the facility as reality seemed to blur at the edges—not quite teleportation, more like nature itself deciding that certain individuals should be in certain locations and adjusting local geography accordingly. Lilith materialized with that distinctive goddess-of-nature aesthetic, her red hair catching light that shouldn't exist in evening darkness, surrounded by flowering vines that had absolutely no business growing in Swiss industrial facilities during autumn.
"Hello, darlings," Lilith greeted, her voice carrying that warmth which could make plants grow faster and probably caused spontaneous ecological restoration in her immediate vicinity. "I brought reinforcements." She gestured to the vines, which were already spreading across the cracked concrete with enthusiasm that suggested they'd been personally offended by the facility's industrial decay. "Figured we might need some organic security measures in case Savage has escape routes we haven't anticipated."
"Botanical surveillance," Diana said with approval. "Efficient and environmentally constructive."
"I do try to leave places better than I found them," Lilith said modestly. "Even when I'm visiting specifically to coordinate permanent removal of immortal threats to ecological stability."
The final arrival was announced not by dramatic entrances or impressive displays of supernatural power, but by the sudden, instinctive awareness that they were being watched by something predatory and patient. Shadows deepened in ways that had nothing to do with actual light sources, and Nyra stepped into view with that distinctive feline grace that made simple movement look like carefully choreographed dance.
Her bronze skin caught what little illumination existed, amber eyes gleaming with that particular intensity that suggested she'd been stalking them for the past several minutes and had enjoyed every second of the hunt. Her tactical suit—black with subtle bronze accents that matched her complexion—seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and her tail swished with lazy satisfaction.
"Everyone's here," Nyra observed, her voice carrying that distinctive purr that made simple statements sound like invitations to considerably more interesting activities. "Good. I was getting bored with reconnaissance. Savage's security is impressive but predictable—fifty mercenaries with military training, conventional weapons enhanced with exotic technology, standard patrol patterns that suggest competence without imagination."
"You've been surveilling the target location?" Harry asked with interest.
"For the past forty-three minutes," Nyra confirmed. "Since you were having your 'important tactical discussions' with League leadership." Her smile suggested she knew exactly what kind of discussions had been happening and found the euphemism thoroughly entertaining. "The bunker is three levels deep, reinforced with materials that probably violate several international treaties, and defended by security systems that would make paranoid dictators feel inadequate about their own protection protocols."
Diana's warrior instincts engaged immediately, her tactical mind processing this intelligence with Amazonian precision. "Escape routes?"
"Seven that I've identified," Nyra said, her tail swishing with emphasis. "Three conventional tunnels leading to different surface locations, two dimensional portals with temporal displacement capabilities, one emergency teleportation array that probably requires significant power but could theoretically transport him across continents, and one that appears to be a stasis chamber designed for temporal suspension until external threats have passed."
"Comprehensive paranoia," Harry observed with grudging professional respect. "Though not quite comprehensive enough given he's about to face seven immortals with divine powers and absolutely no hesitation about permanent threat removal."
Mera's expression carried cold satisfaction that suggested several millennia of accumulated grievances were about to find resolution. "We'll need to coordinate blocking all seven escape routes simultaneously while maintaining pressure on his primary location. Standard siege tactics adapted for supernatural capabilities and cosmic authorization."
"I can seal the conventional tunnels," Lilith offered, her vines already spreading toward the facility's edges with obvious enthusiasm. "Biological barriers that will respond to attempted passage by... discouraging... anyone trying to use them as escape routes."
"Define 'discouraging,'" Karen requested with interest.
"Aggressive entanglement combined with neurotoxic spores calibrated to render targets unconscious without causing permanent neurological damage," Lilith said with the kind of cheerful precision that suggested she'd spent considerable time developing non-lethal but extremely effective botanical defense mechanisms. "Though I can adjust the toxicity levels if permanent damage is preferred for specific targets."
"Save the lethal applications for Savage himself," Diana said firmly. "Mercenaries following orders deserve incapacitation rather than execution. This is cosmic justice, not indiscriminate slaughter."
"Agreed," Harry said with relief that someone had articulated the ethical boundary before he'd had to navigate that particular moral complexity. "We're here for Savage specifically. Everyone else gets the opportunity to surrender, flee, or experience temporary unconsciousness followed by awkward conversations with Swiss authorities about their employment choices."
Shiera's fusion mace hummed with anticipation that suggested it had Opinions about appropriate applications of Thanagarian weapons technology. "I'll handle the dimensional portals. Nth metal disrupts spatial manipulation when properly applied, and my people have been dealing with dimensional escape attempts since before your ancestors discovered metallurgy."
"I'll manage the emergency teleportation array," Karen offered, her Kryptonian physiology making her effectively immune to most conventional weapons and theoretically capable of dismantling complex technology through the creative application of heat vision. "Unless Savage has developed kryptonite-enhanced security measures, which would be both impressive and personally offensive."
"He probably has," Harry said apologetically. "Savage collects contingencies like other people collect stamps. If he knows about Kryptonian physiology—which he definitely does given fifty thousand years of accumulated intelligence—he's prepared defenses specifically targeting your vulnerabilities."
"Then I'll bring backup," Beta-9 announced, her holographic form pulsing with golden determination. "Digital infiltration of his security systems, simultaneous disruption of power supplies, and comprehensive electromagnetic chaos that will make his defensive technology question its primary programming. Kryptonite radiation shielding won't help if his delivery systems can't target properly."
"And I'll handle the temporal stasis chamber," Mera said with cold satisfaction. "Water finds its way into sealed environments with remarkable persistence, and I have approximately seventeen centuries of experience using hydrokinesis to bypass supposedly impenetrable barriers. If he tries to hide in temporal suspension, he'll discover that ice can be just as effective as conventional weapons when applied with sufficient pressure."
Nyra's smile was all teeth and predatory anticipation. "Which leaves me free to provide mobile support—hunting anyone who slips past our initial security measures, tracking Savage if he manages to evade primary containment, and generally making his survival probability approach absolute zero through systematic elimination of options."
Diana surveyed their assembled force with warrior satisfaction, her tactical mind running probability matrices and finding them overwhelmingly favorable. Seven immortals with divine powers, comprehensive intelligence about target capabilities, cosmic authorization for permanent threat removal, and—most importantly—absolute conviction that what they were about to do was necessary regardless of philosophical objections from heroes who'd sworn different oaths.
"Right then," Harry said, his armor's crimson veins pulsing brighter as he prepared for combat. "Just to be absolutely clear about tactical objectives and ethical boundaries: we're here to permanently remove Vandal Savage from existence using whatever force proves necessary. Mercenaries and support personnel receive opportunities for surrender or incapacitation without permanent harm. Savage himself gets no such courtesy—Death's authorization includes comprehensive permission for elimination with extreme prejudice."
"Understood," Diana confirmed. "This is cosmic justice, not indiscriminate violence. We're better than Savage, even if our methods include permanent solutions he wouldn't hesitate to apply to others."
"Anyone have moral objections, philosophical concerns, or tactical reservations they'd like to address before we coordinate what is essentially a sanctioned assassination involving seven immortals and probably significant collateral damage to expensive underground infrastructure?" Harry asked, his tone making it clear this was the final opportunity for discussion before they committed to irreversible action.
Silence answered him—not the silence of uncertainty, but the silence of seven immortals who'd already made their decisions and were prepared to carry them through regardless of complexity or consequence.
"Excellent," Harry said with satisfaction. "Then let's go remind Vandal Savage why accumulating fifty thousand years of karmic debt represents the kind of strategic error that even legendary survival instincts can't overcome."
Mera's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Time to collect on overdue accounts."
Karen cracked her knuckles with enough force to make the air itself flinch. "And teach him why underestimating goddesses was his last mistake."
Shiera's wings spread with warrior grace that had been perfected across multiple reincarnations. "For everyone he's hurt across millennia."
Nyra's tail swished with predatory satisfaction. "For everyone he thought he could manipulate without consequence."
Lilith's vines pulsed with barely contained botanical fury. "For every ecosystem he's destroyed in pursuit of power."
Beta-9's holographic form blazed with golden determination. "For thinking technology could protect him from cosmic justice."
Diana's hand found her sword hilt with that distinctive Amazon certainty. "For crimes that span recorded history and deserve permanent resolution."
Seven immortals stood in a rusted industrial facility on Geneva's edge, unified in purpose and conviction, ready to demonstrate why some threats required solutions that conventional heroes couldn't provide—not because they lacked power, but because they lacked the moral flexibility necessary to do what needed doing when all other approaches proved insufficient.
Vandal Savage had spent fifty thousand years avoiding consequences.
Tonight, the bill came due.
With interest compounded over millennia, payable immediately in full, and enforced by seven immortals who'd decided that cosmic justice, when properly motivated by accumulated karmic debt, represented the kind of permanent solution that even legendary survival instincts couldn't overcome.
It was time to close the file.
Permanently.
---
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