(The power of vengeance.)

Chapter one:

Hell yeah! I loudly rejoiced when the Spectre punched the daylights out of Lex Luthor, slammed the Legion of Doom, destroyed the brainiac armor like a wet paper and brought everyone down to their knees. Turning vividly graphic pages of the comic book. Scanning each and everyone of the colorful illustration's with pin point enthusiastic scrutiny. My toes curled in wild excitement, my heart drummed in my ears, my undivided focus on the book securely held in my cold palms. I was using my vacation well indeed.

The Spectre was my favorite hero. I know people who preferred Superman, Bat Man or even Green Lantern. But not me. No for me it was the main man, the Spectre. He was my favorite hero. I had villain games of his, multiple comic books and cartoons all centered on him lining my walls. I might have a slight obsession-it was a healthy one I swear.

Why do I prefer the Spectre? It wasn't because my dad used to kick my ass six ways to Sunday like Bruce Wayne's did. It wasn't because I might have gotten messed up in the head enough to nearly fall apart. No it was because to me the Spectre was real. Let me expand on that, the Spectre was real. He had his flaws, he had his faults, he made his mistakes he could never fix. For a celestial like being he was quite human. There was something I identified with in the Spectre that I find inexplicable myself. No, it's not some weird infatuation or delusion. I just relate with him, when I read him it's like reading me. He was unstoppable when he wanted to be, he was a natural disaster he was the closest thing to the literal embodiment of anger and rage. He's like young Kratos amplified and gray.

And he was the strongest there was, is and will be, in every sense of the word.

The Spectre, punched apart asteroid's larger than earth. He got so angry that every step of his caused literal earthquakes that shook the world. He tore down the demons of Hell and wrecked Trigon like he was a little bug. There was a scan where the Spectre's plaques tore apart the fabric of reality! The Spectre kicked the Anti Monitor's ass, that guy was the opposite of Perpetua. That guy was the literal devil of devil's, the hell lord. He wasn't the comic book Spectre that got beaten by Michael Demiurgos, comic book and cartoon Spectre is the real deal. He would beat the living shit out of Perpetua, literally tear her apart, that's how sick he is.

"Hell yeah!" I jumped from the seat in excitement of watching the Spectre bring down the sentry, aka DC'S angel of vengeance. What I didn't notice was water below my feet that should have never been there in the first place- I slipped. I was falling backwards, and my head would slam into the hard floor and I would die a very painful death. Fuck that, I swerved kicking the bookshelf. Pushing myself to land on the wooden edged glass table so it would break my fall.

Crash. The glass broke, tearing through my elbows and forearms as I fell backwards, leaving deep gashes on them, I would survive albeit with scar's.

Creeeeeake. I saw death before me. In the form of the falling mahogany bookshelf, the cover of the Spectre book being the last thing I saw as the large shelf forcefully drove my skull backyard's through sharpened glass, the leverage of the edges snapping my neck backwards...

This should have been the end. But maybe I was to angry to die. I floated above my dead body and lamented my demise. I had a family. I had a mother I cared about and a little sister I looked after. How would she take my demise? How would my little sister feel? I was the man of the house, I protected them... What now? They would have enough money from my insurance and savings. My mom has gone through much, would she be able to take this? I couldn't cry for I had no ducts.

Where the hell was the water I slipped on? It wasn't there anymore? And why would it? I don't bring liquids into the study, to avoid the potential destruction of my books. So how did it get here?

Beauty beyond words. A face looked like the smile of stars and hair that flowed like a river of fragrant black ink. A woman- nah that doesn't sound right, it was ill fitting-an angel without wings in Greek armor burst into my room.

I would have been lost in her radiant smile and resplendent eyes had I not been too worried about my family's well being. And maybe a bit angry than I should be about my death.

"Soul of a brave warrior that died after a magnificent battle." her voice sounded like a harmony of melodies. But her words had me perplexed. What battle? And who's this warrior? It certainly ain't me, the only magnificent battle I've been in was a legal one putting the bastard in jail. No, wait this is off topic. I'm going to heaven? Holy shit, me? Heaven.

"Come warrior, Themyscira awaits." Even as a ghost, I reactivity snagged her glowing arm that felt too soft to be normal flesh. It was like the touch of a heavenly baby's feet on my hard-I'm a ghost, that makes no sense. Wait, Themyscira?

I was drawn into the white light with the angel still holding onto my arm.

The world flashed and folded in an expansive stream of color's and light's.