#rampante

[tararira2020]

| Air |

Días enteros en las ramas

Guillermo Piro

Lo que más sorprende de la aventura de Cósimo Piovasco de Rondó no es haberse encaramado a una encina del jardín de la casa paterna para no volver a bajar nunca más de las alturas ni sentir nostalgia por la sensación del suelo bajo los pies. Ni siquiera resulta sorprendente –para nosotros, los que, como decía Cortázar, “vivimos nuestra vida”– el impulso, que en un principio, a una mente distraída como la de cualquiera de nosotros, puede parecer irracional. Me refiero a la causa, que no deja de ser casual, y que Cósimo, en El barón rampante, convierte en el pilar sobre el que más tarde edificará su propia terca condición rampante: no quiere comer caracoles. No quiere. Lo que es más o menos comprensible: todos hemos sido niños y recordamos haber intentado construir discordias como esas, levantar pequeñas o grandes razones con las cuales establecer ciertas coordenadas, ciertas dimensiones, trazar linderos de aldeas imaginarias, trincheras mal disimuladas en las inmediaciones del cuarto con las que señalar nuestros confines, nuestras propias líneas divisorias, atravesadas las cuales resulta lícito abrir fuego.

    Lo que sorprende en Cósimo es otra cosa. Se trata de la formulación, en palabras, de las reglas que regirán su vida de allí en adelante. Una corta serie de mandamientos improvisados que a diferencia de los divinos van precedidos por una breve explicación que les otorga fuerza lógica, gravedad, volumen: esculturas hecha discurso. El amo y señor de la levedad esboza una serie de razones de peso frente a las cuales no queda otra solución que quedarse mudo. Es interesante cómo Cósimo, subido a una encina, en pleno furor de furia dogmática, consigue meditar argumentaciones de una lógicas tan irreversible, tan perfecta. Cósimo avanza de una rama a otra, suspendido sobre el jardín de sus padres, y se instala entre las hojas y las flores de la magnolia del vecino, el marqués de Ondariva. La hija del marqués lo confunde primero con un ladrón, y luego le exige que se baje de allí, acusándolo de haber “invadido territorio ajeno”. “Nunca he puesto los pies en vuestro territorio”, dice Cósimo, “y no los pondría ni por todo el oro del mundo”, dicho lo cual vomita una pequeña sentencia maravillosa: “¡Donde yo estoy no es territorio y no es vuestro!”

   Todo es suyo allá arriba, solo suyo –y al tiempo que dice esto Cósimo hace un gesto impaciente y ampuloso con el brazo extendido señalando las ramas circundantes, las hojas, el cielo–, “en las ramas de los árboles todo es territorio mío”. Me parece el momento más interesante de la novela –y estamos en el segundo capítulo, apenas hemos leído una veintena de páginas– porque Cósimo improvisa algo, exigido por la necesidad de defenderse de la acusación de invasor.

   Heinrich von Kleist aconsejaba que cuando uno quiere saber algo y no es capaz de averiguarlo meditando, lo que debe hacer es hablar del asunto con el primero con quien se tope en la calle y esté dispuesto a escucharlo. Conversando, decía Von Kleist, uno puede averiguar lo que quizá no hubiese averiguado con horas enteras de cavilación solitaria. Y no es que se espera que ese alguien nos diga el sentido exacto de una palabra; tampoco debe esperarse que esa persona nos guíe con preguntas sagaces hasta el meollo de la cosa. Lo que hay es alguna noción vinculada lejanamente con lo que uno está buscando, y si con osadía encuentra un punto de partida, una excusa para iniciar el viaje, la mente, a medida que el discurso progresa, forzado a encontrarle un final digno de ese comienzo, troquela la confusa noción inicial hasta conferirle plena nitidez, de forma tal que el conocimiento de pronto se encuentra listo para acabar el período oratorio. Son cosas interesantes. Uno intercala sonidos inarticulados, locuciones conjuntivas, palabras que en realidad no son necesarias; uno se vale de artificios que dilatan el discurso con el objeto de ganar el tiempo necesario para que “la idea se forje en el taller de la razón” (Von Kleist). (También Emil Cioran amaba rodearse de gente sencilla y conversar con ella; tenía la impresión de que en esa gente se encontraba la verdad.) Probablemente Cósimo solo quería ver a su pequeña vecina columpiándose, nada más, pero de pronto se ve obligado a trazar en el aire –literalmente– los preceptos bajo cuyo yugo vivirá el resto de sus días –la limpieza y pulcritud de sus razonamientos aumenta cuando recordamos que quien los pronuncia solo tiene doce años–:

   1) Su territorio se extiende hasta donde consiga llegar andando sobre los árboles, lo que incluye Francia, Polonia, Sajonia y más allá –pobre Cósimo, no sabe mucho de geografía.

   2) Su vida no estará regida por el egoísmo, como la de sus vecinos: la niña podrá visitar su territorio cuando quiera.

   3) El columpio es de ella, solo de ella, pero al estar sujeto a una rama depende de él, solo de él.

   4) Mientras uno toque el suelo con los pies está en su territorio, pero al levantarse en el aire pasa a estar en el de Cósimo.

   5) Cósimo no bajará jamás, porque eso lo convertirá inmediatamente en un esclavo.

   6) Todo lo que no sea las alturas es territorio enemigo.

   ¿Por qué Cósimo se autoexige esa serie de reglas? Creo que, porque a edad temprana consiguió transmutar su vida en obra de arte, es decir en vida establecida dentro de ciertos límites precisos, inviolables. Todos los artistas se autoexigen una serie de reglas a seguir, todos delimitan su territorio de influencia, todos sentencian mandamientos inamovibles. Adolfo Nigro, en ese sentido, parece haber entendido bien algo –no ahora, quiero decir, no exclusivamente ahora, en la ocasión particular en que decidió medirse con Italo Calvino y su barón rampante, como antes lo había hecho con el Qfwfq de Las cosmicómicas. Nigro sabe ciertas cosas como se saben ciertas cosas en los sueños: porque se saben–: hay que ser fieles a la ley fundada por uno en un rapto de locura ejemplar, en la ocasión más o menos propicia, negándose, por ejemplo, a comer un plato de caracoles, o a no traspasar los límites de un marco, o a traspasarlo. La ley. Su ley.

   Quisiera que las “Equivalencias” de Alfred Stieglitz no existiesen, o mejor dicho, quisiera que no se llamaran así, porque de esa forma podría evitar la referencia y transferir el título exquisito a esta exquisita obsesión que tiene el barón rampante como protagonista. En sus “Equivalencias”, Stieglitz fotografió nubes, nubes que al encontrarse enmarcadas y que al carecer de cualquier otra referencia espacial (un cable, una antena, la rama de un árbol) carecen de derecho y revés, de arriba y abajo, de izquierda y derecha. Stieglitz fotografió nubes equivalentes, pero no equivalentes entre sí, sino en sí, nubes para ser vistas en repetición, como las reales, desde puntos de vista diferentes, siempre diferentes. Nigro dibujó equivalencias, pequeños cuadros no de la vida aérea de Cósimo, sino de sus posibles visiones, de sus posibles miradas. Pero no se trata tanto de visiones reales, de fotografías posibles, alteraciones retinianas de lo vasto visto desde las alturas. Como siempre en Nigro, se trata de un mapa mental, pero lo que sorprende aquí es que a la exigencia de esa ley autoimpuesta por el artista se suma el ejercicio esquizoide de trazar el mapa mental de otro, de Cósimo. Es por eso que las equivalencias se multiplican como nubes, los dibujos no parecen tener derecho ni revés, tampoco referencia espacial explícita alguna. Todo revela no tanto el sentido de una composición fortuita, de un arreglo accidental, sino más bien cierta resistencia de los objetos a sucumbir a un ordenamiento interno. Lo que prevalece es un postulado de irrelevancia compositiva. Hay solamente un gesto de recorte y elección, de fragmentación del tejido, y es éste el gesto que, cualquiera sean sus intenciones, engendra efectos de composición, se lo domine o no.

   Pienso en la escena archisabida del desamparado en medio del mar o del desierto que intenta poner en funcionamiento el motor de un avión (es decir, activar algo concebido para “trabajar” dentro de ciertos límites, algo que es necesario que a toda costa “entre en acción”): vierte en el depósito el último galón de gasoil que le queda, hace contacto, reza, impulsa la hélice con la fuerza de sus brazos. Y el motor explota, una, dos veces, tres veces: funciona. Los dibujos del barón (nombre escueto que fue elegido con cuidado: los dibujos del barón, los hechos por Nigro, pero también los que hubiese podido hacer el mismo Cósimo de haber sabido dibujar, o de haberse autoimpuesto, en algún momento de su vida rampante, representar a escala el mapa de su mente) juegan a actuar el papel de la hélice del aviador desamparado en medio del mar o en el desierto. Los dibujos giran. Funcionan. Entran en acción.

   ¿Y qué hay allí? El archivo finito de todo lo visto: la escalera, las ramas, las hojas, los insectos, los nidos, los pájaros, un paraguas, sus manos y sus pies. Caracoles. He allí la pista definitiva, lo que me hace decir en voz alta, pero hablando para mí: “Lo tengo”. Omitiendo los caracoles. Nigro hubiese podido echar a perder el último galón de gasoil con el cual hacer funcionar su motor helicoide. Si el caracol no estuviera asomando sus antenas, la lectura, necesariamente, debería ser otra; no ya el mapa mental de Cósimo sino, tal vez, como tantas otras veces, el mapa mental del propio Nigro, con su invasión indiscriminada de insectos malignos y benignos, su fauna marina, sus edificaciones portuarias. Es un desplazamiento inocente, un giro tímido, como el de una hélice que intenta poner en funcionamiento el mismo motor que luego la hará girar a una velocidad vertiginosa, pero sin ese giro incompleto, sin esa sacudida mágica, no habría movimiento, no habría vuelo, no se podría vencer la ley de gravedad. El caracol es también y sobre todo un dato que sirve de anclaje, que permite descifrar esa maraña loca de cosas adheridas a la red mental de Cósimo. Necesariamente todo tiene un principio, y en Cósimo ese principio son los caracoles.

   Dicen que al morir uno ve pasar la vida delante de los ojos. No necesito de los testimonios de los que volvieron de la muerte para entender lo que significa y para asegurar, sin experiencia previa, que eso es cierto. ¿No será eso ahora que lo pienso? Creo que lo que Nigro dibujó no es otra cosa que el veloz inventario de esos días enteros en las ramas. Recuerdo a Cósimo a los sesenta y cinco años. En la cima de un nogal ya no habla, a las preguntas que se le hace contesta apenas con un gesto de la mano. Envuelto en una manta hasta la cabeza se sienta en una rama a disfrutar del sol, exactamente como un caracol. Ya no se desplaza. Una vieja del pueblo (probablemente una antigua amante suya) sube a asearlo, a llevarle algún plato de comida caliente. Consiguen izar una cama al árbol, y Cósimo se acuesta. Un médico sube a verlo. Al bajar, lo único que dice es: “Llamen a un cura”. El cura sube, y detrás de él, el monaguillo. Pero Cósimo se niega a recibir los sacramentos. Hasta que en el cielo aparece un globo aerostático con flecos y franjas y bolas y guirnaldas, con una barquilla de mimbre colgada, dentro de la cual dos oficiales con charreteras de oro y bicornios miran con largavistas el paisaje que se extiende bajo ellos. Y Cósimo también levanta la cabeza para mirar con atención esa cosa que surca el cielo.

   De pronto el globo comienza a ser sacudido por el viento, comienza a girar como un trompo, y los aeronautas arrojan un ancla para tratar de aferrarlo a algo, a cualquier cosa. El narrador, el hermano de Cósimo, escribe:

   El ancla volaba plateada en el cielo colgada de una larga cuerda, y al seguir oblicuamente la carrera del globo ahora pasaba sobre la plaza, y estaba poco más o menos a la altura de la cima del nogal, hasta el punto que temimos que golpeara a Cósimo. Pero no podíamos suponer lo que un instante después verían nuestros ojos.

   El agonizante Cósimo, en el momento en que la soga del ancla le pasó cerca, pego un salto […], se agarró de la cuerda, con los pies en el ancla y el cuerpo encogido, y así lo vimos volar lejos, arrastrado por el viento, frenando apenas la carrera del globo, y desaparecer en el mar...

   Adoro imaginar estos dibujos de Nigro como el rápido repaso que Cósimo hace de su propia vida colgando del ancla, volando, cada vez más lejos de la tierra que abandonó a los doce años, el día que se negó a comer un plato de caracoles. Como teoría reconozco que es débil, ¿pero qué teoría no lo es? Si fuese matemático me gustaría escribir ahora: los ojos de Nigro, puestos sobre la conciencia aérea de Cósimo, son el resultado de la plenitud rampante del trazo autoexigido elevado a la tercera potencia de Calvino. Así, como si enunciara un teorema.

   Pero no lo soy, estoy condenado a escribir imprecisiones. Solo puedo decir que veo en estos dibujos las hélices locas que dentro de un instante comenzarán a girar, el torbellino sin freno de los recuerdos de Cósimo mientras ve cómo se desplaza del suelo bajo sus ojos, colgando del ancla del globo, siendo llevado hacia el mar, que no devolverá el cuerpo de su víctima, recordando, siendo llevado, colgando, siendo llevado.

-Este texto pertenece a: A causa de un equívoco banal y transparente, Aurelia Rivera editorial, Buenos Aires, 2022.

[eastgaysian]

me when i dont know anything about feminism in rok

[adrianomaini]

Le prime edizioni del "Barone rampante" furono sempre dedicate a Viola

Tornando al carteggio, si segnalano, tra l’altro, anche alcuni commenti sul “Visconte dimezzato” in cui Calvino sembra essere d’accordo con certe critiche mossegli dalla De Giorgi: ‘le cose che tu dici io non le respingo mica […]. È un libro freddo, piuttosto meccanico, con i pregi di una perfetta coerenza in se stesso e con qualche finezza là dove è meno meccanico e chiuso'<173 e aggiunge alcune…

[bagnabraghe]

Le prime edizioni del "Barone rampante" furono sempre dedicate a Viola

Tornando al carteggio, si segnalano, tra l’altro, anche alcuni commenti sul “Visconte dimezzato” in cui Calvino sembra essere d’accordo con certe critiche mossegli dalla De Giorgi: ‘le cose che tu dici io non le respingo mica […]. È un libro freddo, piuttosto meccanico, con i pregi di una perfetta coerenza in se stesso e con qualche finezza là dove è meno meccanico e chiuso'<173 e aggiunge alcune…

[collasgarba]

Calvino non sa ancora che la risposta gli sarebbe stata data con "Il barone rampante

In sostanza, anche se in forme diverse, prima ne La nuvola di smog con il Protagonista e Claudia, poi nelle avventure de Gli Amori difficili così come ne Il barone rampante con Cosimo e Viola, la figura di Calvino-De Giorgi si snoda disegnando i gesti di ogni momento della vita. Come vediamo dall’analisi dei racconti, un elemento molto rilevante è che, alla stabilità del personaggio femminile,…

[weakzen]

lmao adobe/pantone charging a subscription fee for color palettes & replacing those colors with black on old pieces of artwork if you don’t pay up

[1982brucespringsteen]

some good news!! the spanish state's ministry of equality has finally passed one of the most progressive trans laws on the planet, shielded free and universal access to abortion and banned conversion therapy and genital surgery for intersex babies, among a lot of other feminist policies. the minister of equality irene montero gave a speech thanking spain's lgtb and trans associations for helping her draft these legislations. couldn't be more proud!!

[greelin]

“ceo of [character]” in bio and they’ll have some of the worst takes they accept as fact you’ve ever seen in your life

[crabsnpersimmons]

I got my hair cut the other day and of course I had to draw the dca boys running a hair salon:

Sun would be so effortlessly charming. Always chatting away with customers, explaining each product he uses and how to best maintain and style their hair.

Moon I can see being popular with the less chattier customers (like me) but over time they begin to open up. I imagine he hums while working. Otherwise, he's all ears for the newest gossip.

(The clipped up hat idea came from @bamsara's solar lunacy doodles!)

Also I love the popular headcanon that the dca can speak other languages, so I can imagine them being a hit with the aunties.

The full sketch page under cut! And some of my other thoughts

Other thoughts about this... AU? Can I call it an AU? Feels kinda small for an AU, but whatever:

Eclipse works there too! Haven't decided if it would be canon or fanon Eclipse, though I really like the image of 4-armed Eclipse working on 2 clients at once (plus, the nickname Clip is perfect for this scenario)

of course they're great with kids! They'd be able to console kids that get scared of getting their hair cut. Sun would do a little trick and tell them how good and brave they are all the way through. Moon would console them and hum a soothing song (or hey maybe they notice the kid's wearing a disney shirt and starts humming some showtunes). Every kid gets a candydrop and a balloon on their way out.

y/n works at the hair salon as a part-timer and does tasks around the salon like sweeping, arranging bookings, washing hair, etc. They don't really care too much about their own hair, but the boys are always offering to style it, dye it, braid it. With y/n's permission, the boys always toy with their hair—patting it, combing their hands through it, brushing it over y/n's ear, ruffling it.

[thedesertpenguin]

I go on Twitter for like two seconds and im already seeing people go “Michael was one of my fave characters how dare they change that??” And like babes…they’re the same character. Their story is most likely going to be the same, they’re still going to be them. Just say you don’t like sapphic romances.

[theminecraftbee]

occasionally i remember that the king ren storyline started up because a dick-measuring contest caused such severe inflation of the diamond standard that the economy rapidly spiraled out of control on hermitcraft. no other comments here just "occasionally i remember that and i lose it",

[vintagebunnies]

when working as a waitress in a shoddy little diner out in the middle of nowhere, you encounter a lot of strange faces on a daily basis. the occasional truck driver stopping in for a bite to eat after 24-hours on the road, a construction worker from down the street. but nothing compares to this guy who walked in.

it was later at night, business was slow, so it was no doubt a macabre sight to see a hulking guy in a skull face balaclava walking in with a menacing aura.

it seemed like the plot of every horror movie; the lone waitress working at night getting preyed on by the scary murderer who walks in.

you could feel the hair on your arms raise as he sat down, clearly just a tad too big for the leather booth he decided to sit in at the far corner of the diner. you swallow the dry lump in your throat as you walk over to him, shoes squeaking against the sticky linoleum floors.

“do you need a moment with the menu?”

the strange man just grunts in response, your eyes flickering everywhere but the man’s face. he was looking straight at you, dead eyes staring back through a ruinous facade.

“just a tea. black.”

the man’s voice was a vibrating rumble that you could feel through your bones. you nodded with a sweet smile, trying to cover up the fear you were no doubt experiencing.

“of course.”

you quickly turn, a shiver running down your spine as you walk away. it was even more chilling knowing that it was only you and one other person working tonight, the perfect setting for a murder to take place without a single trace of the perpetrator.

you could feel the dimness of the man’s eyes searing a hole in the back of your head while you prepared his tea. your nails were impatiently tapping a soft rhythm on the countertop near the kettle.

the loud whistle of the kettle penetrated through the thick air, the sound echoing off the walls of the building. you meticulously poured the tea into the mug, sweaty hands gripping onto the porcelain while you walked it over to the man in the booth.

“would that be all?”

the man didn’t reply, just stared right into the dark color of the tea. you took that as the cue to walk away. not super talkative, gotcha.

you walked to the back of the diner where your coworker was, wanting to stay as far from the man as possible.

“would you mind closing up once he leaves?”

your heart pummeled into your stomach once you heard those words. the last thing you wanted tonight was to be left here. alone. but maybe you were just paranoid. maybe the giant, frightening man was just awkward. don’t judge a book by its cover, and all.

you stuttered out a ‘that’s fine’ before your coworker was hurriedly making their way out through the back entrance. it felt even more eerie knowing that it was just you now. you looked through the window of the door to the kitchen and just watched the man. he sat there emotionlessly, mask pulled up slightly over his mouth to sip at his tea.

you could tell there was a scar that bisected right through his lip. the puckered skin not allowing his lip to fully cover his canine. you worked up the courage to go back to the dining area, wiping the sweat off of your brow before decidedly walking out.

you cleared your throat as you stood at the man’s table.

“um… do you want the check now?”

you approached him slowly, like he was a wild animal that shouldn’t be around sudden movements. like he’d pounce any moment. sink his sharp teeth right into the soft flesh of your carotid.

you cursed yourself for even saying anything when he slowly turned to look at you, still not speaking. your eyes fluttered as you handed him the check anyways. you hastily walked away, wanting to be as far away as possible at this point. this man seemed to only know how to communicate in grunts or mean stares.

a few minutes that felt like hours passed by, you checked to see if he was still here, and by the grace of some godly force, the man was gone. you released a large exhale and went over to the table to collect the cash but… there was nothing on the table. he left without paying!

“fuckin’ bastard!”

you crumbled up the check on the table, and angrily grabbed the empty mug. you should’ve known this would happen. a strange man walking into a diner late at night, only ordering tea, and then completely disappearing without paying. a measly 3-quid wouldn’t hurt his wallet, you were sure.

either way, you had to just take it for what it was. the man was finally gone, and you could now clock out for the night. you decided to just pay the missing money yourself, you’d rather not take this problem to your boss. essentially causing more problems than not.

you sighed heavily as you got into your car, the weight of the day falling off your shoulders finally. you still had the creeps from that man, but he could just be added to the long list of shady customers.

you only got down the street from the diner before your car started to sputter. you pulled off to the side of the road, a deep and dark forest on both sides of you. you quickly hopped out of the car, popping the hood to see if you could spot anything yourself. there was no service out here, so either you would have to check for problems yourself, or just wait it out.

just as you were intently looking around, a pair of bright headlights and the loud bellow of a truck pulled up right behind your car. you recognized the face in the drivers seat as the ominous man from the diner.

you fell right into the predators territory.

[bagnabraghe]

Calvino non sa ancora che la risposta gli sarebbe stata data con "Il barone rampante

In sostanza, anche se in forme diverse, prima ne La nuvola di smog con il Protagonista e Claudia, poi nelle avventure de Gli Amori difficili così come ne Il barone rampante con Cosimo e Viola, la figura di Calvino-De Giorgi si snoda disegnando i gesti di ogni momento della vita. Come vediamo dall’analisi dei racconti, un elemento molto rilevante è che, alla stabilità del personaggio femminile,…

[shantechni]

They've been feuding since the dawn of time

[timothylawrence]

"this fandom is so queer friendly!!" okay but is it a safe and fun space for fans of color? (spoiler: no its not)

[bet-on-me-13]

Unknown, the Wandering Hero

So! We all know the typical Vivisection AU, right? Danny is revealed to his parents and they take it in all the wrong ways. They capture him, Vivisect him, and eventually he manages to escape with the help of his friends.

But what about his Rouges?

Sure, we all like to think of some of the more friendly ones like Ember, or Sydney, or Johnny 13 and Kitty, but he has WAY more Evil Rouges than good ones.

Without Danny there to reign them in, the Rouges spread out across the world to fulfill their obsessions, unhampered by the Heroes and Villains of the world that have no means to fight them.

And Danny? He feels responsible. He was the one to open the Gate, he was the Sacrifice, the one to let them through. And when the going got tough he just up and left? No, that won't do.

His Obsession is Protection for a reason, and nothing has changed. All he needs to do is expand his area of focus a little.

Danny, after healing up, starts wandering the world in search of the Ghosts who have escaped into the Mortal Realm. He battles all of his old foes, as well as many new ones who he hadn't met before.

His travels take him far and wide.

He defeats Skulker in Metropolis, as he is trying to hunt down the Super Family for their pelts. They are the last of their race after all, so he is inclined to try and hunt them. Honestly dealing with Skulker was easy, dealing with the Rich Asshole who was funding him was a nightmare.

He chases down Spectra in Gotham as she tries to feed on the misery of an entire City. (Thanks to @impyssadobsessions for the idea, this Prompt specifically). She is actually a very tough fight, especially powered by both the Misery of an Entire City as well as his Own Misery, but he manages.

He defeats Technus is Central City, as he tries to Raid Star Labs for their advanced Tech. It actually took a while to beat him after he amped himself with all that Power, and he did need help from the Local Hero to deal with him. He's just thankful Technus is one of the more "Harmless" ones.

After every Victory, he sends them back to the Realms using the Banishing Spell that Sam taught him a while back (the only bit of magic he ever really managed to master).

He knows they'll eventually find their way back out, but it's all he can do anymore. It's his eternal Punishment for unleashing them out into the World in the first place. He was the Catalyst for this Situation, now he was tasked with Fixing it, no matter how long it took.

...

The Justice League is caught in a tricky situation a the moment.

In the past few months, they have been encountering more and more of these Extra Dimensional Beings known as Realms Ghosts across the World.

Justice League Dark has had some success in battling them, but even they are getting tired of having to deal with every single incident alone.

They did get approached by a Government Agency known as the Ghostly Investigation Ward that seemed to want to help, but it didn't take long to realize that their main Aim was to Genocide the entire Race. The JLA had quickly cut ties after realizing that, and took what little Tech and Information they had been able to gather.

Still, it wasn't easy to deal with these Entities.

Thankfully, they have had some outside help. An Unknown Being has been routinely showing up whenever a Realms Ghost appears and defeating them, before using a (as described by Constantine) "Rudimentary Banishing Spell held together by willpower and luck" to send them back to their home Dimension. There's honestly no way it should be functional, but he did make it work either way.

They don't know much about this Unknown, aside from the fact that he seems to be the only one able to consistently damage the Realms Ghosts. His Powerset leads them to belive he may be from the same Dimension, or at least drawing his power from the same Source, but as he actively avoids the League and takes every opportunity to not talk to them, they know they aren't getting any answers any time soon.

Over the past few months, they had affectionately started referring to him as Unknown, creative they know, because they could never get his Real Name. Sure, some of the Realms Ghosts seemed to recognize him, but they always called him stuff like "Whelp" and "Punk" and "Usurper", which were not very good names to use when referring to him. Although the last one was a bit concerning.

They had only managed to trade a few quick words with Unknown in the past few months, but it was enough to get the Gist of it. He was just doing his job, sending the Realms Ghosts back where they belonged. There was apparently a Tear in Reality letting them through, but he seemed hesitant to reveal what he knew about it.

After a few months of sparse interactions, they eventually managed to convince him to at least take an Emergency Communicator. Just in case. They even let him take it apart to look for any Tracking Devices, which earned them a small bit of trust. They took whatever wins they could.

Fortunately, it seemed he never did need it. In fact he was getting more and more efficient with every battle, defeating his foes in half the time it would have taken before.

Unfortunately, it didn't last forever. One day, the Communicator went off, a distorted voice quickly saying, "Need backup, some of them decide to Team Up" before cutting out.

They quickly rushed to his location, finding an active battlefield with no less that a dozen Ghosts battling Unknown. And he seemed to be on the ropes.

With their arrival, the combined force of the Justice League and Unknown eventually managed to defeat the Group of Ghosts. Justice League Dark volunteered to work on the Banishing Spells while the others cleaned up the damage from the Battle.

One of them approached Unknown to make sure he was ok, and froze.

During the battle, Unknown's Mask had been Torn off, and they could finally see the face of the Hero they had been working with for the past few months.

And he was a Child.