Science told everyone that the moon did not shine on its own. It was a cold, uninteresting mirror with nothing to do with romance, merely reflecting the sun.
But in humanity's instinctive intuition—or rather, in the concepts hidden beneath the world's darkness—that was not the case.
Within that dim silver glow lay a strange power. It drew the thoughts of certain people with its pull, like the wind drawing along branches, making everything happen naturally.
Just as the sun provided heat, the earth allowed all things to grow, and death took away souls, these were all laws of the universe.
The relationship between Witch's Moon and witches was the same, or at least it had been in the past.
From the moment Circe was ambushed, Wonder Woman and Cyborg had kept her tied up. She had not even had a chance to spare attention for her followers.
Amid the unending barrage of attacks, she swayed back and forth through the air like duckweed without roots, using all kinds of magic to keep herself from being hurt.
It was not Diana. Her attacks were neither here nor there; blades and swords could not defeat magic.
The true threat was something Circe knew nothing about and had always scorned in the past—technology. That large metal fly that kept buzzing about in the air.
In Circe's impression, Cyborg's role in the Justice League was much like that of a logistics captain. He either fiddled with computers in the Hall of Justice or cleared out minions around the edge of the battlefield. She had never imagined Cyborg could be this powerful.
Cyborg's hands and feet had all turned into cannons. Six more cannons extended from his shoulders, beneath his arms, and around his waist. Every volley unleashed ten beams.
And he was not firing