The Earth campaign. The Apokolips campaign. The Underworld campaign. Back-to-back battles had bottomed out Steppenwolf's divine reserves. To avoid being a drag on his nephew—or to prove he still had utility—he was squeezing every spare minute for fresh killings.
More hatred meant faster recovery.
The relentless campaigns had left him with a faint sense of something more: he was brushing, dimly, against the godhood of Fear. To strengthen that grasp, he kept the axe whirling. No support troops; just one man and one axe, slaughtering the defenders under their despairing stares, leaving a battlefield of corpses and rivers of blood.
He wiped the blood from his face. Slaughter was deeply satisfying—it cleared the gloom and restored his confidence. Take away the overpowered freaks who'd humiliated him lately, and he was still Steppenwolf, conqueror of worlds.
Knees slightly bent, axe in one hand, the other hand balled into a fist that pounded his chest, he let out a full-throated roar, venting the recent frustration. "Ahhh—! cough cough—"
Mid-roar, peripheral vision caught a portal opening beside him. A breathtaking woman in black stepped out. Bright, mischievous eyes took him in with evident curiosity—as if he were an idiot.
Steppenwolf choked. He nearly spat out a mouthful of blood.
He wanted to turn and shout. He wanted to fight her. But he didn't dare. He stood there, face dark, guarded.
"So," Thea said, eyeing the Steppenwolf-butchered corpses, "you're practicing your forms?" These creatures were hairy, vaguely resembling Earth spiders, but with four legs, long fangs, and shaggy limbs. They were unlovely by any standard.
She pursed her lips. Given how ugly they were, probably no Earth hero would fly over looking for justice on their behalf. This universe really did judge by appearances.
"I need to speak with Darkseid. Set up a meeting for me." The way she said it, you'd think she was asking to borrow a cup of sugar.
Steppenwolf wasn't about to commit on his boss's behalf. But he couldn't refuse either. He said he'd pass the message. Relatively safe—whether Darkseid accepted or not, he wasn't going to be eaten for relaying it.
He wanted more information. The Death Goddess willing to team up with the Evil Lord? Something huge had to be behind it.
Thea wasn't projecting hostility. He thought fast, looking for leverage.
"What do you want to discuss?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.
"The Anti-Life Equation." Thea dropped the bomb.
As the oldest New God, Steppenwolf's personal strength was underwhelming, but his knowledge was broad. DeSaad and Granny Goodness wouldn't have known what the Anti-Life Equation was. He did.
"You—you know about that? You know where it is?" He pressed, urgently.
Thea's smile was half-teasing. "Why? You want to steal it too?" She phrased it obliquely, but the subtext was: and who do you think you are?
"The Anti-Life Equation would be useful to you too, wouldn't it? Why not take it for yourself?" Steppenwolf was projecting. If he'd had that intel, he'd have gone after it without a second thought.
Thea was matter-of-fact. "First, it's too dangerous. Second, it's too dark. It doesn't fit my path." She meant it. She didn't want to touch the Anti-Life Equation. That ultimate force of destruction, pulled from the depths of the anti-universe—fused with her Death, it would produce a dark titan capable of ending the multiverse. A thing the likes of which the cosmos had never seen.
She had a clear sense of which powers she could take and which she couldn't.
She'd walked the dark road far enough, deep enough. Give her the Anti-Life Equation and the road would go pitch-black the rest of the way. Time to pull back.
The Life Equation—full of positive force—was her goal. The Anti-Life Equation wasn't an easy acquisition, either. Even once obtained, Darkseid wasn't a fit for it; a misstep could produce catastrophe. Let Uncle Darkseid tinker.
"I know Darkseid won't feel safe. Tell him the meeting can happen in Hell." Thea said this and teleported out.
Having received a piece of intelligence capable of rewriting the multiverse's power balance, Steppenwolf no longer felt like killing things. He fired up a Mother Box and returned to Apokolips.
His self-assessment was accurate. He reported the exchange to Darkseid word-for-word, objectively.
"The Anti-Life Equation...." Darkseid took the news more seriously than Steppenwolf had anticipated. The Evil Lord, rarely, showed a thoughtful expression in front of his subordinates.
Exactly like Thea, Darkseid had hit his ceiling.
He had studied the strategies of every predecessor, compared each to his own path, hoping to find the next step.
In the original timeline, Darkseid had set his sights on the godhood of Death, hadn't found traction, and ultimately gritted his teeth and gotten himself killed—discarding his accumulated power to start over and resurrect. Useless. He lost everything and gained nothing. In this timeline, he wouldn't be making that mistake.
Among his limited options, the Anti-Life Equation had always been a top-tier candidate. But artifacts born of cosmic law, like this one? Outsiders and regular beings had never even heard of them.
There wasn't a forum for top-tier power-users to swap tips, compare notes, shoot the breeze, trade intel. The handful of serious heavyweights all sat in their own little kingdoms. Nobody knew who had the Anti-Life Equation.
Unless Darkseid could conquer all eight regions of the Sphere of the Gods—and he couldn't. Not a chance.
For starters, Lucifer, Hell's sovereign, would flatten him. No contest.
For the Anti-Life Equation, Darkseid was willing to attend the meeting.
"Your Majesty, the Goddess thinks the Equation is dangerous. Perhaps you should consider caution—" Steppenwolf had cooled off, and he had his own reservations about the Equation. His boss seemed reckless. Was power really more important than life?
Darkseid waved him off. No need to continue.
Of course he understood the risk. Their paths diverged. The Anti-Life Equation was tailored to the Anti-Monitor—which meant it wasn't tailored to him. But he had no other option. Get it first, then assess. Not that subordinates needed to hear any of that.
He dispatched Steppenwolf to scout. A venue like Hell, he wasn't going to attend in person—Thea probably wouldn't either. Hell was actually a sensible meeting ground, because even if negotiations collapsed, they couldn't start a fight there. The ruler of Hell was simply too terrifying.
Steppenwolf flew solo to Hell. The meeting between the Underworld and Apokolips brass was unofficial; discretion was required.
Hell's air was saturated with chaos. The atmosphere was searing. Even a New God as thoroughly evil as Steppenwolf found the place uncomfortable.
Per the prearranged signal, he crushed a talisman. I'm here.
A moment later, a blood-red portal opened and a breathtaking female demon sauntered out with deliberate, exaggerated grace.