And here we are at issue four. The cataclysmic conclusion to this shocking tale.

Or something like that.

Honestly, Moore and Rio gamely try to bring this thing to an end...as well as a new beginning...but honestly, aside from a bunch of New Orleans voodoo terminology, and semi-unclothed women, this entire story is rather vacuous.

And to make matters worse, shy, quiet, no agency Voodoo herself suddenly spouts, "I used to be a superhero," then kicks all kinds of ass all over the place (of course, in a mini-skirt). She does this ridiculous about face that we're supposed to just accept.

Sorry, no. I don't accept this.

I literally only picked this up because the Great Alan Moore wrote it. But I'll tell you right now, had his name not been all over it, I never would have touched it, and as it stands, having read all of it now, I'd truly like to contest the authorship of this.

I mean, this is not good, even by Moore standards (yes, I'm looking at the last few League of Extraordinary Gentlemen volumes as I say this). This is Moore slumming. Or collecting a quick paycheque.

Or sleeping at his keyboard. I don't know.

It's terrible. ( )