Week 1 | Day 4 — Atlantis — Royal Palace — Queen's Chamber
"What are you hiding, Mother?"
Arthur's voice cut through the silence. He stood in the doorway, jaw set, his expression unreadable. He'd held back during the entire briefing with Batman and Cheetah, watching the carefully choreographed dance—his mother's calculated pauses, the knowing glances between the Kings, Mera's evasive responses. But his patience had run out.
Since the timeline restoration and confirming his feelings for Mera, Arthur had softened toward Atlantis. He visited regularly, helped maintain order in allied territories, attended royal functions as Mera's fiancé. After rescuing his mother and returning King Atlan's legendary trident, he'd even begun thinking of this underwater realm as home.
But moments like this dragged all the old resentment back to the surface. His brother was missing, potentially tampering with forces beyond comprehension, and they were still playing political games.
"Arthur, I—" Atlanna's voice faltered.
She sat alone, wine glass in hand, looking every bit the regal queen. But Arthur saw through the facade. Since Orm's disappearance, guilt had been consuming her. He'd seen it in the way she stared into nothing during council meetings, the tremor in her hands when Orm's name was mentioned.
Tonight, drained from maintaining the charade, she'd retreated here to drown her thoughts in wine. She hadn't expected this confrontation.
"Mother, please." Arthur stepped inside, his tone firm. "I need the truth. What are you hiding?"
"Arthur, you can't just barge into the Queen's chamber!" Mera rushed in behind him, breathless, guards filing in after her.
"It's all right, Mera. He's my son." Atlanna managed a weak smile, glancing at the doorway where four unconscious guards floated. "Take the injured to the healing chambers."
Once they were alone, Atlanna set down her glass. "Was violence really necessary?"
"They wouldn't move." Arthur's expression softened when he saw the pain in her eyes. "I apologize for that. But I need answers. No more secrets."
Atlanna's shoulders sagged. She moved to a seat overlooking the palace gardens and gestured for him to join her. Mera positioned herself by the wall—close enough to intervene if needed, but giving them space.
"We kept this from you because we feared how you'd react." Atlanna held his gaze. "After Orm disappeared, we launched an investigation. In the months before he vanished, he'd been accessing the restricted archives repeatedly—never once consulting the High Council. The archivist tried to intervene, but as king, Orm's authority went unquestioned." She paused, weighing her next words. "He was researching the Unspoken Waters."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "The Unspoken Waters. The same place you and the Kings called a myth when Batman brought it up? You put on quite the performance—skeptical until he showed proof, then reluctantly accepting it." His voice hardened. "You knew it existed all along."
"Yes." The word came out barely above a whisper.
"Why lie?"
"Because it's forbidden." Atlanna looked away. "Arthur, it's called the graveyard of sea gods for a reason. No one from Atlantis—especially not royal blood—must ever venture there."
"Why? What's down there?"
"We don't know. That's what terrifies me." Her hands clenched. "Everything about the Unspoken Waters is deliberately vague. The full records were destroyed ages ago. All we have are fragments—warnings in the oldest dialects. And there's something else." She paused. "Every Atlantean feels it. A compulsion. An instinctive revulsion at the thought of going there, as if our ancestors encoded the warning into our very blood."
She finally looked at him again. "But Orm found a way around it. If he's truly there, he bypassed something that should have been impossible. Not just for himself—for his men too." Her voice cracked. "How much pain did we cause him, Arthur? How much suffering did we ignore that he'd willingly venture into a place our ancestors warned against?"
Arthur stood abruptly. "And you didn't think to tell me? I don't have this compulsion you're talking about. Why not tell the League? If this place is as dangerous as you say, Orm might be tampering with something dangerous that's sealed there. We could be facing another catastrophe."
"We hoped he'd fail to find it. That he'd give up and return."
"But he hasn't." Arthur's voice turned cold. "And because of him, dangerous artifacts are lost. One fell into the hands of an enemy—an enemy of Orach, the warrior I told you about. If Orach gets angry, this entire world is doomed. Do you understand how serious this is? How long did you plan to keep this secret?"
Atlanna rose, tears finally breaking free. "I don't know. I'm his mother. Part of me hoped he'd come back, that I could talk to him, understand what drove him to this." Her voice broke completely. "I failed him. I failed both my sons. And I don't know how to make this right."
Arthur's anger wavered as he watched this powerful queen—who'd survived so much—finally break. He moved closer and pulled her into an embrace. She clutched his armor, crying. They stayed like that for a long moment.
"I'm sorry," Atlanna said weakly when they separated. "That was unbecoming."
Arthur placed both hands on her shoulders. "What's done is done. Now we fix it together. But no more secrets. Whatever happens next, we face it with complete truth."
Atlanna nodded, wiping her eyes. "There's more. Your friend was right. The entry to the Unspoken Waters exists where the physical and metaphysical meet—in the deepest part of the ocean. Our ancestors called it the Threshold. No one who's crossed it has ever returned." She paused. "The vessel we gave Batman's team can withstand deep water pressure, but beyond a certain point, even our strongest ships fail. I don't doubt your friend's ingenuity, but constructing something capable of reaching those depths..." She shook her head. "The odds aren't good."
"Mother, I know Atlantis's history with the surface world hasn't been easy. But we need to cooperate—genuinely cooperate." Arthur's expression was serious.
"What are you proposing?" Atlanna asked warily.
"I want Atlantis to join the UN. You—or someone you trust who isn't me—should be Atlantis' spokesperson. That way we can access surface resources and have our concerns heard on equal footing. We can work with the Justice League openly, develop trade and alliances." He leaned forward. "Mother, Atlantis can't face what's coming alone. Orm's anger is directed at all of us. Best case, it's only me he targets. But worst case—and let's be honest, we usually face worst cases—he'll come after everyone. He has an army and whatever power he's seeking in that place. It'll be like a civil war. This way, we can achieve together what we can't alone, with reinforcements if needed. Please, trust me on this."
"Arthur... you know I love your father, right?"
"Of course. What's your point?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.
Atlanna hesitated, then sighed. "After I met your father, everything changed for me. I wanted Atlantis to open dialogue with the surface. But it wasn't just Atlantis resisting—we saw the greed, the exploitation firsthand." She reached up, cupping his face. "People like your father, like your friends—they're rare, Arthur. That's why trust was never established."
"But—"
She placed a finger on his lips. "But that was before your time. Much has changed. You've helped change it. So I'll listen to your counsel and permit Mera to represent us—provisionally, until we help your friends build that vessel. For everything else, I'll defer to Mera's judgment. Clear?"
"Clear. Thank you, Mother."
"We'll call a council meeting tomorrow. Share everything with you and the League. No more half-truths."
"Good. Because if we're going to stop whatever Orm's set in motion, we need every advantage."
As Arthur turned to leave, Atlanna called softly, "Arthur?"
He paused.
"Thank you. For not giving up on him. On us."
Arthur was silent for a moment. "He's still my brother. Even if he hates me, I won't let him destroy himself—or the world." He paused, then met her gaze directly. "Besides, I need him to sit on that damn throne."
Atlanna's eyes widened. "Arthur, what are you saying?"
"I'm not blind or stupid, Mother." He held her gaze as he continued. "I'm not suited to be king. I never wanted it." His voice was steady but firm. "I lived through it once in that alternate timeline. I saw what I became—what that throne turned me into. A monster." He shook his head. "If that's the price of ruling Atlantis, I want no part of it."
His expression softened. "I'm happy with my life as it is. You, Mera, my friends—that's everything I need."
'I don't remember those events anymore, but the feelings remain. That man's life was filled with nothing but regret,' Arthur thought as he turned to leave.
Atlanna stood frozen, his words weighing heavily on her. 'He knew. All this time, he knew.'
Mera, who had stayed quietly by the wall throughout the conversation, finally stepped forward. "Your Majesty, shall I—"
"Let him go," Atlanna said softly, staring at the empty doorway. "He's right. About everything." She looked down at her hands. "I've been such a fool, Mera. I convinced myself Arthur was meant for the throne—that every sign pointed to it being his destiny. I even started backing your movement." Her voice cracked. "But in all that, I ignored what he wanted. Worse—I failed to see what Orm needed." A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her lips. "What kind of mother chooses a vision of destiny over her own sons' happiness?"
Mera moved closer, her expression serious and sincere. "For what it's worth, Your Majesty, you're making the right choice now. Atlantis can't remain isolated forever. It will only hurt us in the end." She hesitated. "And as for Orm... we all played a part in pushing him toward this path."
Atlanna smiled sadly. "I just hope we haven't realized it too late." She turned from the window. "I hated Orm's father, but I love both my sons—flaws and all." Her voice steadied with resolve. "Go. Make the preparations. Draft a proposal for UN membership. Tomorrow we meet with the council and plan how to reveal ourselves to the world. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."
"And the League?"
"Arthur will handle his friends. Focus on our people." Atlanna straightened her shoulders. "Tomorrow, will mark the beginning of a new chapter for us all."
Mera bowed and departed, leaving the Queen alone with her wine and her regrets.
Week 2 | Day 9 — Five days later — Northern Atlantic
While Queen Atlanna coordinated the search for Orm and prepared Atlantis for its historic entry into the United Nations, a new crisis emerged from the depths.
Cargo vessels crossing the Northern Atlantic reported a disturbing phenomenon. Vast patches of ocean had turned translucent slate gray, their surfaces littered with floating corpses of fish, dolphins, and countless other sea creatures. Within hours, footage spread across social media. News networks dispatched crews. Scientists arrived with equipment, running test after test, but their instruments couldn't explain what had killed the marine life or turned the water that unnatural color.
Then more patches appeared in the south.
The Justice League coordinated with Atlantis, and Arthur volunteered to investigate alongside Cyborg. An Atlantean scout vessel carried them toward the largest dead zone in the northern Atlantic, with Vulko accompanying them as advisor.
As their ship descended into the affected region, the vibrant blues and greens of healthy ocean gave way to something fundamentally wrong.
"Visuals coming on screen now," the navigator announced.
The water ahead looked dull, lifeless—a sea of translucent slate gray that seemed to swallow light itself. Dead fish, sharks, and countless other marine creatures drifted in the current like autumn leaves.
Arthur stood at the viewport, his expression darkening with each passing moment. "What the hell happened here?"
Cyborg's cybernetic eye glowed as he interfaced with the ship's deep-range sensors. "I'm detecting faint traces of a metallic compound and something else—exotic matter of some sort. I've never seen readings like this. The water's like a sterile environment." He looked up. "We'll need direct samples."
"It's the silence that bothers me most," Arthur said quietly.
Cyborg turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"I can communicate with sea life—you know that. But it's more than communication. I'm always hearing them, feeling them. The ocean is alive, Vic. It's never quiet." Arthur's jaw tightened. "But here? Nothing. It's like sailing through a graveyard."
"That might be more accurate than you think," Vulko said, stepping forward with a grim expression. He pointed toward a whale floating nearby, its body showing no signs of attack.
Cyborg pulled up holographic displays showing data from surface world investigations. Images of dissected fish rotated in the air between them. "According to the forensic reports, none of these creatures show signs of physical trauma. No poison, no disease, no visible cause of death."
"Then what killed them?" Arthur asked.
Cyborg hesitated. "The reports suggest they simply... stopped. As if they forgot how to breathe. They drowned, Arthur. In their own ocean." He highlighted another section of data. "And there's something else. Normally, dead marine life decomposes rapidly. The bodies should be bloated, decaying. Instead, they turn this dull slate gray color and become rigid. Almost petrified. Like they've been frozen in time."
Arthur frowned. "How do fish forget to breathe?"
Vulko's expression grew distant, troubled. A thought seemed to strike him, but he shook his head and dismissed it. "Let's bring some of the corpses aboard for examination. With all due respect to surface world science, we possess more advanced analytical capabilities." He turned to Cyborg and bowed slightly. "No offense intended."
"None taken," Cyborg said. "I was about to suggest the same thing. I can erect a stasis field around the bodies. If they're diseased, I can contain them during examination. I suggest we bring at least five specimens."
"Do it," Arthur ordered.
Within minutes, a soldier in full protective gear retrieved five dead marine creatures. As Cyborg and the Atlantean expert dissected and examined each one, they documented their findings. By the fourth specimen, they'd reached the same conclusion: all had died identically, within moments of each other.
As they moved to the fifth, Cyborg noticed something. "Wait. I'm detecting a faint heartbeat. This one's still alive—barely."
"Perfect," the Atlantean expert said. "We can't save it, but we should be able to understand the phenomenon by studying its death in real time."
"Sorry, little guy," Cyborg muttered as they began attaching sensors to the creature's body. When they made the first incision, it showed no reaction to pain.
"The fifth subject shows a faint heartbeat, but the brain..." The expert paused, confusion in his voice. "The brain isn't responding to stimuli—light, pain, nothing. I can see neurons firing, but it's like the commands aren't reaching the body."
"What is that?" Cyborg said suddenly. "A hum?"
His sensors picked up a faint humming frequency.
[WARNING: THREAT DETECTED. DISENGAGE NOW!]
[WARNING: THREAT DETECTED. DISENGAGE NOW!]
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[WARNING: THREAT DETECTED. DISENGAGE NOW!]
"What the—" Cyborg's mechanical systems erupted with warnings. He immediately stepped back. "Everyone stop! Get away from that specimen and jettison it now!"
"What? Why?" the expert demanded.
"Do as he says!" Arthur ordered.
A soldier moved quickly, and within moments, the fish was ejected back into the sea where it finally died.
As everyone exited the examination room, the expert turned on Cyborg. "What was that? I demand an explanation! You said something about a sound. What did you detect that warranted destroying our specimen?"
"I don't know exactly what I found," Cyborg admitted, "but my systems don't throw multiple warnings unless there's a serious threat. This tech has only activated against genuinely dangerous phenomena. Just be glad I acted fast."
"Why you—"
"Enough!" Arthur stepped between them. He looked at the startled expert and continued firmly, "I understand your frustration. But I've fought beside this man and trust him with my life. If you don't trust him, trust me."
The expert hesitated, then nodded and backed off respectfully.
"Thanks, man," Cyborg said.
"Don't mention it. You okay?" Arthur asked.
"Yeah, just letting my systems settle. The Mother Box usually develops a countermeasure when it encounters a threat, so hopefully it can tell us something once it finishes analyzing—unless this thing is seriously dangerous at the level of Orach."
"God I hope not." Arthur shuddered.
"Can it be..." They heard murmuring from behind and turned to see Vulko lost in thought, muttering to himself.
They exchanged a glance. Arthur stepped forward. "Vulko. You okay?"
But Vulko didn't respond. His mind was replaying each detail from the examinations, especially the last specimen. His expression grew more disturbed as a dismissed thought returned with terrible clarity.
Finally, Vulko's face went pale. "Spiritual death," he whispered. "By the gods... but that's impossible."
Arthur and Cyborg both turned sharply toward him.
"Vulko," Arthur said carefully, placing his hands on the old advisor's shoulders. He shook him gently. "Get a grip. Do you know what we're dealing with?"
The old advisor met their eyes, visibly shaken. "I pray I'm wrong, Arthur. But if Cyborg's description is accurate... if what I suspect is true..." He took a steadying breath. "We need to contact your mother immediately. This is far worse than we imagined."
Arthur and Cyborg exchanged a glance. Arthur gave a single nod, then turned to a nearby soldier. "By order of the Crown, call for more ships and quarantine this entire region. No vessels in or out." He turned to Cyborg. "Coordinate with our scientists—I want a specialized team examining every inch of this site." He faced Vulko. "You and I are contacting Atlantis. Now."
Vulko nodded grimly and followed Arthur toward the communications chamber, while Cyborg headed to the bridge.
Minutes later, in Arthur's private quarters, a holographic projection materialized. Queen Atlanna appeared, seated in her throne room with Mera standing beside her.
"Arthur," Atlanna said, concern evident in her voice. "Vulko sent word that it was urgent. What have you found?"
Arthur gestured for Vulko to step forward. "I'll let him explain. Vulko believes he knows what we're dealing with."
Vulko bowed his head respectfully. "Your Majesty, I hope I am mistaken, but based on what we've observed..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The creatures didn't die from poison or injury. They died because their souls were taken. Ripped from their bodies while they still lived."
Atlanna's expression shifted from concern to alarm. "Soul extraction? That's ancient magic, Vulko. Dark rituals from the Age of Gods. Are you certain?"
"The evidence fits what ancient texts call the 'Hollowing' phenomenon, Your Majesty," Vulko said gravely.
"Care to explain what this Hollowing phenomenon is?" Arthur asked.
Vulko nodded. "The slate gray coloration, the petrification of bodies, the complete absence of spiritual energy—these are all symptoms of soul extraction described in the ancient texts." He turned to Arthur. "When you said you couldn't sense any life, that the ocean felt dead... you weren't describing an absence of physical life. You were sensing an absence of souls."
Arthur absorbed this silently.
"It's a dreadful phenomenon, Arthur," Atlanna said gravely. "Think of it this way: when a soul is severed from its shell, the body remains like a clock, ticking until the gears wear down. The body may be alive, but the driver—the self—is gone."
Arthur's expression darkened as he grasped the full horror.
"Vulko, the gods—even the Greek pantheon—haven't descended to the mortal realm since the Thanagarian invasion. They're bound by the agreement between pantheons. So I can only think of demons or a handful of artifacts capable of such a feat. What are your thoughts? If it's demons, I understand—souls are nourishment for them. But what mortal would harvest souls?"
"I... it's still too early to say definitively. Perhaps I'm wrong. I've grown old. Let's wait for young Victor's full report," Vulko hesitated.
"Vulko," Atlanna interjected solemnly. "I've known you long enough to recognize when you're hiding something. If you're trying to protect my feelings, don't. This is dangerous, and the more information I have, the better decisions I can make for our people. So, my trusted friend, I need your honest opinion."
"My queen... very well." Vulko sighed, then continued with resolve. "While I don't know what was used to extract the souls, there's another concern. Have you heard back from the other sites?"
Atlanna's eyes narrowed. She turned to Mera.
Mera nodded. "Yes, Vulko. Before we contacted you, we received word from the southern Atlantic. We've detected three patches there with the same conditions. Why?"
"I see. Surface world reports say this northern patch is about 100 meters wide. How large are the southern patches?" Vulko asked.
Mera's brows furrowed. "The sizes varied. Each one was larger than the last. The smallest, like the one you're observing, is about 100 meters wide. The others are 200 to 300 meters." Her eyes narrowed. "Vulko, what are you getting at?"
Atlanna's expression darkened. "It's a weapon test."
Both Mera and Arthur tensed. Vulko's expression remained solemn as he nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. I've reached the same conclusion. Someone has developed a weapon capable of extracting souls."
Atlanna's expression turned livid. "If there's a weapon that can attack the soul at such a scale, we're in grave danger. Do you think this is a surface world weapon?"
"Please wait, Your Majesty!" Mera interjected.
"Hold on, Mother!" Arthur said simultaneously.
Both were alarmed.
"Your Majesty, I wouldn't rule them out," Vulko said carefully.
"Vulko! What are you doing? Do you want a war with the surface world?" Arthur's expression darkened. "We have to investigate fully before making such accusations."
Vulko sighed shaking his head at Arthur then turned to Atlanna. "My queen, while it's true we can't rule out the surface world, we must ask critical questions."
He lifted a finger. "First, are they capable of manipulating souls? Last I checked, we're more technologically advanced. And while the Higher Realm—with Orach up there—has brought advancements, they still haven't tapped into matters of the soul. Neither have we."
He raised another finger. "Second, where are the souls? If this weapon extracts souls, what happens to them afterward? The victims' souls should still be in the ocean depths. Though invisible to most, someone as deeply connected to the ocean as our prince would have sensed something. But he felt nothing—only silence, as he put it, like traveling through a graveyard. This wasn't simply an attack. It was a harvest. I can only think of a few artifacts capable of such a feat."
He raised a third finger. "Third, what are their goals? Why harvest souls? According to ancient texts, souls are massive forms of energy that demons and gods feed on to grow stronger. But if this is a weapon wielded by a mortal, what do they need that much power for? I don't want to consider this possibility because it's horrific, but what we're observing could be more than field tests—it could be a precursor to something far worse. This could be an engine siphoning energy to power another, more devastating weapon designed for a large-scale attack. Given the scale, the likely target would be the surface world."
The room fell silent. Mera's face paled while Arthur's body tensed. He wanted to refute it but couldn't.
Atlanna clenched her fists, thinking about the possibilities and the face that flashed in her mind. Her body trembled. She looked up to meet Vulko's knowing gaze. "Vulko... do you suspect my son did this?"
The question stunned Mera and Arthur.
"Yes, Your Majesty," came Vulko's heavy response. "While I don't know the mechanism behind this attack or how he plans to use the souls, we know one of the stolen artifacts King Orm obtained is the skull-shaped box—the fabled Pandora's Box. The same legendary artifact that once sealed seven powerful demons. It's a powerful relic that, if used correctly, could siphon massive amounts of energy, like souls. And if he's planning a massive attack, such an attack would likely target the surface rather than Atlantis. After all, he doesn't need such a devastating weapon to attack Atlantis when he's always been keen on ruling it."
"No," Mera whispered, taking a step back in horror. "Then this is Orm's doing?"
Arthur's hands clenched into fists. "Orm... did this?"
"If my son has learned to weaponize souls..." Atlanna trailed off, unable to voice the implications.
"Mother, is there a way to defend against the Hollowing phenomenon?" Arthur asked urgently.
Atlanna paused, then shook her head. "We have no defense against such a weapon. Physical armor means nothing. Magical wards might slow it, but we don't have enough information. Against a powerful attack of this magnitude..."
Vulko shook his head. "Your Majesty, if I'm right and Prince Orm has developed such a weapon, then wherever he deploys it—even if, by some chance, he attacks Atlantis—that place will be destroyed."
Arthur slammed his fist against the wall. "We need to find him. Now. Before he—"
"Arthur." Atlanna's voice cut through his anger. "I understand your fury, but we must be smart. Right now, all we have are speculations. There's a small chance it isn't your brother. But even if it is him..." She took a deep breath. "We have another problem. Did you observe any trace of an advanced vessel in the vicinity? Where did the attack originate? If a ship carried out the siphoning, there should be traces. But the waters in the south—and I suspect you'll find the same once you complete your analysis—show no trace of any specialized vessel. So the question is: has he managed not only to travel between our world and the Unspoken Waters, but also to attack from there?"
Silence fell over the room once more.
Atlanna sighed. "Your friend is still working on modifying the vessel we gave him. We knew the chances were slim, but we still need him to come through. Hopefully, with our remaining scientists also working on designing a capable vessel, we'll soon have a way to reach Orm. But right now, our options are limited."
"Then what do you suggest?" Arthur demanded. "We just wait for him to kill more innocents?"
"Sadly, we have little choice. But we won't sit idly by," Atlanna said firmly. "We prepare. Vulko, I want every scholar in Atlantis researching countermeasures. Ancient texts, magical defenses, anything that might protect against soul extraction. Work with the Justice League's magical division. Mera, coordinate with our military—double all patrol routes and set early warning systems to maximum sensitivity."
She turned her full attention to Arthur. "And you, my son, need to inform the Justice League. If this really is Orm and he deploys this weapon on the surface world, they need to know what they're facing."
Arthur nodded slowly, his anger cooling into grim determination. "I'll contact them immediately."
"One more thing, Your Majesty," Vulko interjected. "Obtaining powerful artifacts is one thing, but they can't simply be operated because you possess them. If whoever we're facing has truly developed a weapon using these artifacts, they require a power source—something capable of channeling immense spiritual energy. In the old legends, these artifacts were always paired with heroes blessed by the gods, demigods themselves, or other divine artifacts."
Atlanna's eyes widened slightly. "You think he has more than just the Box and the other stolen items? You think he has access to divine power?"
"We should assume he does," Vulko said carefully. "These artifacts require enormous power just to activate, and there's often a cost. Given that he's been planning this for months, possibly years, I don't believe he's acting alone. He likely has divine backing or made a bargain with a god—or something equally powerful. That's the only explanation for how he's weaponizing these stolen artifacts."
The hologram flickered as silence fell. Finally, Atlanna spoke again, her voice heavy with emotion.
"We need to stop my son before he crosses a line he can never return from." She straightened her shoulders. "Arthur, inform the League. Vulko, work with them. We end this before more innocents die."
"Understood," Arthur said quietly.
The transmission ended, leaving Arthur and Vulko standing in the dim chamber.
"Before he crosses that line," Arthur muttered, staring at where his mother's hologram had been. "We have to reach him before it's too late."
Vulko placed a hand on his shoulder. "You have my support, Arthur. Always."
Arthur nodded, then turned toward the door. "Come on. We have a League meeting to call."
As they made their way back to the bridge, Cyborg approached with a grim expression.
"Arthur, I've completed the initial analysis," Cyborg said. "The Mother Box identified the frequency—it's a resonance pattern designed to destabilize spiritual energy. If I hadn't pulled back when I did..."
"What would've happened?" Arthur asked.
"The frequency would've latched onto my cybernetic systems and used them as a conduit to extract my soul," Cyborg said quietly. "Whatever created this isn't just targeting marine life. It targets anything with a soul."
Vulko's expression darkened. "Then we were right. It's a weapon. And it doesn't discriminate. If deployed at full scale..."
"Millions could die," Arthur finished grimly. "We need to move fast. Cyborg, gather all the data. We're taking this to the Hall of Justice."
"Already on it," Cyborg confirmed.
Arthur looked out at the dead gray waters surrounding their vessel, his expression solemn.
"Orm," he whispered. "How could you do this, brother?"
Three days earlier — Week 1 | Day 6 — Unspoken Waters — Orm's Base
Orm stood on the command bridge of his new warship—a grotesque fusion of Atlantean technology and divine remains. The vessel had been forged from the bones of a dead sea god and the hull of his old flagship, one of five ships to survive the journey to this cursed realm. Fossilized ribs ran along its flanks, reinforced with circuitry that pulsed like veins. The bones served as the ship's primary sensors, capable of detecting life across kilometers. At the bow, a massive vertical opening gaped like a hungry maw, ready to devour whatever crossed its path.
In his hand, Orm gripped his dark blue trident, watching his crew run final diagnostics on the weapon system.
Six months. Nearly half a year of construction, training, and waiting in this timeless void. His men had maintained their connection to reality through threaded probes—specialized devices that pierced the barrier between dimensions at three strategic points: the Pacific, Atlantic, and Indian Oceans. Launched by an advance party three months prior, these probes intercepted communications from passing vessels, anchoring the crew to their world's timeline while feeding vital intelligence back to base.
Still, the new flagship wasn't yet fully complete. But today marked the first live test of the weapon that would become the cornerstone of his grand design. Today, Orm would discover if all his patience, all his bargains, all his sacrifices had been worth it.
"My king," his lead scientist approached, eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement. "All systems are green. We're ready to begin the first test on your command."
Orm tightened his grip on the trident, closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath. This place had already claimed casualties—soldiers who lacked the mental fortitude to withstand the Unspoken Waters' crushing emptiness. Even in death, they had apologized for failing him. These men believed in him as they had believed in his father. They saw him as their rightful king, and he would not let them down.
Excitement warred with nervousness in his chest, but when his eyes opened, they were cold and ruthless. "Commence the test."
The scientist snapped to attention. "Commencing test. Stage one, begin!"
"Stage one initiated," the operator called out, his fingers dancing across the holographic interface. "Engaging abyssal silt extractor."
Deep in the ship's core, two specialized chambers housed the heart of the weapon. The first chamber had a double-layered design, an inner pressurized chamber where a silver wheel hung suspended, and an outer dry chamber above it. In the outer chamber, a comma-shaped jade object pulsed with faint holy radiance, positioned directly beneath a pneumatic striker mounted on the ceiling. The second chamber, shrouded in darkness, contained a skull-shaped artifact—Pandora's Box.
As stage one commenced, matte slate-gray liquid began flooding the wheel's inner chamber. The abyssal silt circulated rapidly, its unique properties eliminating all molecular friction and creating a perfectly frictionless environment.
"Abyssal silt has reached optimal density," the operator reported. "Chamber pressure stabilized. Moving to stage two. Initiating striker sequence."
In the outer chamber above, the pneumatic striker hissed as it rose into position. The comma-shaped jade object floated between the striker and the sealed chamber below, its holy aura intensifying.
"Three... two... one... strike!"
CLANK.
The striker fell. Metal met jade with a thunderous impact that sent a visible shockwave rippling through the chamber.
BOOM.
A massive thunderclap erupted. Jagged bolts of lightning crackled along the conducting rails and slammed into the silver wheel below. The ancient artifact trembled violently—then vanished into a translucent blur as it shattered the laws of inertia and began spinning at impossible speeds. The runes carved into its surface screamed with released power.
"It's working! Rotational velocity climbing exponentially!" the operator shouted. "Sir, prepare for stage three. The moment we hit twelve thousand RPM, you must insert the trident!"
"I'm ready," Orm replied, stepping toward the ornate pedestal before his throne.
"RPM at six thousand... eight thousand... ten thousand... twelve thousand!"
The instant the wheel crossed twelve thousand RPM, reality buckled. Space around the ship tore open like ripped fabric, creating a crackling rift into the fifth dimension. The breach pulsed with unstable energy, projecting a gravitational anchor that reached across worlds—piercing through thousands of kilometers of their home dimension to lock onto a hidden formation in the Northern Atlantic.
On Earth's surface, the ocean responded immediately. In a region of the Atlantic, the water suddenly flattened in an unnatural circle, pressed down as if an invisible hand had descended from above. The gravitational anchor had found its mark.
"Now, sir! Insert the trident NOW!" the scientist bellowed.
With a grunt of effort, Orm drove his trident into the pedestal's receptor socket.
CLANK.
The trident locked into place, serving as the weapon's barrel and focal point. It immediately began channeling the wheel's rotational energy, converting raw kinetic force into a concentrated wave of dimensional power. The energy surged through the rift, traversing the barrier between worlds in an instant before converging on its predetermined target in the Atlantic.
On the seafloor of the Northern Atlantic, hidden beneath tons of sediment and rock, a star-pattern formation of obsidian monoliths carved with ancient script ignited with ominous light as it absorbed the incoming energy. The monoliths pulsed once—twice—then unleashed a devastating wave of energy that resonated like the death scream of a god.
The killing wave rippled outward in all directions. It phased harmlessly through water, rock, and metal, but every living thing it touched simply died. Fish, whales, sharks, plankton—every creature caught in its path had the light extinguished from their eyes as their souls were torn from their bodies, leaving only empty husks to drift lifelessly in the current.
"Stage four!" the scientist shouted over the rising hum of machinery. "My king, reverse the trident's polarity and activate the second chamber!"
"Understood!" Orm gritted his teeth and twisted the trident counterclockwise. Divine power surged through the weapon and up through his arms, searing through his veins like liquid fire.
The monolith formation pulsed again, but this time the energy signature inverted. Deep within the ship's core, the second chamber roared to life. Pandora's Box, connected to crystalline conduits running throughout the vessel, activated its collection protocol.
The box functioned like a metaphysical magnet, exerting irresistible force on the severed souls. Through the monolith formation and the dimensional rift, the souls were pulled across impossible distances—dragged through deep ocean trenches, yanked across layers of reality, wrenched through the barrier separating dimensions, and finally drawn into the Unspoken Waters. One by one, the box consumed them, absorbing their essence like a black hole devouring light.
"Energy readings are climbing! The influx is exponential!" one operator called out, his voice filled with awe as he watched soul energy flood into the artifact at an accelerating rate.
"HAHAHA!" The lead scientist spun toward Orm, his weathered face transformed by triumphant joy. "My king—it's working! The box is successfully collecting the souls! We've done it! We've proven the theory works! The first test is a complete success!"
A surge of triumph pushed back Orm's mounting exhaustion. He straightened, projecting regal authority as he addressed his crew. "You have all performed admirably. Today marks not merely the success of a weapon test, but the first step toward our ultimate goal—the dawn of a New Atlantis!" His voice rang with conviction. "Be proud, my brothers and sisters. Every sacrifice we've made, every hardship we've endured in this cursed place—none of it was in vain."
The command deck erupted in cheers and fist-pumps, but Orm raised his hand for silence.
"End the trial," he commanded. "I want full documentation of all results. Run complete diagnostics on both weapon systems and the ship's structural integrity. Leave nothing to chance." His gaze swept across his officers with steely determination. "Then prepare for the second test. We have no margin for error. The next trial commences in six hours."
"Understood, Your Majesty!" the crew responded in perfect unison, their voices resonating with renewed purpose.
The operator turned back to his console. "Beginning shutdown sequence. Disengaging power flow."
As the weapon systems began their cool-down cycle, Orm carefully extracted the trident from the pedestal. The moment the connection severed, his body nearly betrayed him. Waves of pain lanced through every muscle, and his vision blurred dangerously. He gripped the trident shaft with white-knuckled intensity, forcing himself to maintain perfect posture as he walked off the command deck. His crew couldn't see weakness. Not now. Not when their faith in him was absolute.
He made it to his private quarters just as his legs began to buckle. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing him away from prying eyes. His fingers finally lost their grip, and the trident clattered against the metal floor as Orm collapsed face-first onto his bed.
Agony consumed him. Every muscle screamed in protest, every nerve ending burned with phantom fire. His body felt as if it had been torn apart at the molecular level and crudely reassembled. Channeling the trident's divine power had pushed him far beyond his limits.
The weapon itself demanded this price. Forged from the remains of a Poseidon's Trident—one that had fallen into the Unspoken Waters after its universe collapsed—the artifact carried echoes of divine authority. Orm's advance party had discovered it during their initial scouting mission, and his new allies had reforged it as a gift, cementing their partnership. But such power came at a cost, and he paid it with every fiber of his being each time he wielded it.
Yet even as consciousness slipped away, even as exhaustion dragged him toward oblivion, a smile crossed his face. The pain was worth it. The weapon functioned exactly as designed. Soon—very soon—he would possess the power to enact his long-awaited revenge. Soon, his half-breed brother would understand what he'd taken. Soon, his mother would comprehend the true cost of her choices.
'Soon, half-breed... soon, mother... soon, all of you will pay for what you've done to me.'
The thought echoed in his fading consciousness as darkness finally claimed him.
Week 2 | Days 9–15 — Metropolis — LexCorp Tower — Executive Office
Lex Luthor stood behind his desk, fingers pressed together as he studied the monitors. Every chart, graph, projection—all told the same infuriating story.
Wayne Tech had reclaimed the global lead.
"Every single time," he said, voice dangerously quiet. "Every time we build momentum, those two pull this." He swiped to another screen, jaw tightening. "And then there's this."
His company's portfolio materialized. A recent transfer glared back at him: $10 billion. Gone.
Just like the others.
For months, funds had been vanishing from LexCorp accounts—siphoned by that Higher Realm being's AI, slipping through every firewall and security protocol like smoke through a screen door.
The worst part? He couldn't even complain.
While he didn't know exactly how the stolen money was being used, he knew enough: a significant portion funded orphanages, relief organizations, and humanitarian efforts worldwide. All under his name. Lex Luthor, the great philanthropist. His reputation had actually improved because of the thefts, making any attempt to recover the funds impossible.
What could he possibly say? "Those charitable donations everyone loves? Yeah, I want them back—they were stolen from me." The optics alone would destroy him. There would be no coming back from that kind of PR disaster.
Every quarter brought thank-you notes from around the world. Videos of smiling children calling him "Uncle Lex." Mercy found it hilarious. Lex found it infuriating.
The pattern had been consistent since Orach's arrival—a few million each month. Annoying, but manageable. Recently, though, the thefts had escalated dramatically. What was once millions became billions. In just three months, including this latest $10 billion heist, he'd lost $50 billion total.
"What kind of torture is this?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.
Mercy stood to his left, tablet in hand. "Wayne Tech's new consumer HRE offerings are dominating the gaming market, especially in Japan. Two major studios have already partnered with them for immersive game releases. One brings holographic creatures to life in a card-battle format. The other lets users project and battle with custom mecha designs. Early adoption numbers are shattering projections."
She swiped her tablet, casting data onto the nearby display. "They've also locked in contracts with universities. Medical schools are using HRE tech for surgical training simulations. Police academies for scenario-based drills. Unlike the MedPods, they're making this technology accessible to everyone."
"Mercy," Lex said flatly, "are you seriously praising our competitor right now?"
"I'm being realistic." Mercy raised an eyebrow. "Our long-term plans require patience. Right now, we need to focus on immediate strategy."
She gestured toward the data. "Yes, their Hyperspace demonstration was impressive. But I seriously doubt they have a full-scale ship ready yet—demoing a shuttle prototype is one thing, but building an entire operational vessel? That takes time. The real threat is HRE technology. That's what will impact our market position immediately."
"How's our stock?" Lex asked coldly.
"Down six percent over three days." Mercy brought up comparative analytics. "Market analysts are calling it 'Wayne's Renaissance.'"
"Show me the comparison."
The display shifted, overlaying LexCorp's performance against Wayne Tech's surge. Where LexCorp showed steady growth, Wayne Tech had exploded with innovation and aggressive expansion.
"The good news is our military contracts remain solid," Mercy offered. "Defense is still our strongest revenue stream. General Swanwick's team requested accelerated production on the armor systems. Our advanced materials division is performing well too—automotive contracts are stable. But consumer electronics..." She let the numbers speak for themselves.
"They've outmaneuvered us," Lex finished, turning from the display. "Wayne Tech finally unveils their latest projects, and we're left playing catch-up."
"Strategic repositioning," Mercy corrected smoothly.
Lex's lips quirked slightly. "Always the optimist."
"Strategist, Lex." She pulled up new projections. "Wayne Tech may dominate consumer markets, but we control defense. Our armor demonstrations exceeded expectations. General Swanwick wants accelerated production—the original timeline was three months, but they're willing to pay premium rates for faster delivery. I've also secured preliminary agreements with law enforcement in twelve major cities."
"Expand on that," Lex said, studying the figures.
"I'm already on it. Now, to meet the accelerated timeline, I've started reassigning personnel from lower-priority projects. That way we maintain quality standards while speeding up delivery—and solidify our position as America's premier defense contractor."
"Good." Lex moved to the window, gazing down at Metropolis. "That aligns perfectly with our long-term strategy—and it helps offset the losses from those heists."
"Exactly. I've also arranged a meeting with the Secretary of Defense, for next week. We'll present the full scope of our capabilities."
"Including the advanced variants?"
"I'll leave that decision to you. How do you want to play this?"
Lex was silent for a moment. "Show them enough to pique their interest. The specialized units remain classified for now. Let them come to us with requests. Their desperation improves our negotiating position."
"Understood." Mercy made a note. "There's also Planet Watch. The prototype satellite is nearly complete and ready for deployment."
"Already?" Lex turned sharply from the window, his interest piqued. "When can we launch?"
"Within the week, pending final authorization. General Swanwick's department has indicated strong support. The recent Atlantic incidents have made early warning systems a top priority."
Lex's eyes gleamed. "Speaking of which—bring up the Atlantic data."
The display shifted to a map of the Atlantic Ocean dotted with red markers, each indicating an anomalous event detected over the past week.
"Four separate incidents," Mercy reported. "All in international waters, far from major shipping lanes. Whoever's behind this deliberately chose locations to minimize the chances of immediate detection."
"Did our prototype detect them?"
"Not the first two," Mercy admitted, shaking her head. "But after some recalibration, we picked up the third and fourth. The system works—it just needs refinement. We detected unknown energy signatures from deep ocean sources, but without the full satellite network, we can't determine specifics."
Lex raised an eyebrow. "Unknown energy signatures?" He turned to study the map more closely.
"Yes. Each incident registered massive energy spikes—strange, unnatural patterns we've never seen before. Then they disappeared just as quickly. We haven't identified the energy type, but the pattern repeats consistently every time."
"If it's happening the same way each time, this can't be natural." Lex leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"My assessment as well," Mercy nodded. "The scientific community is baffled. These energy profiles don't match anything we've seen before—no volcanic activity, no tectonic shifts, nothing geological that could explain this." She paused. "Publicly, they're attributing it to natural causes to avoid panic, at least until they figure out what's actually going on."
"Show me the timeline."
Mercy pulled up a chronological display. "All four events occurred last week, roughly six to seven hours apart. The first was a 100-meter disturbance in the North Atlantic. The next three happened in the South Atlantic—another 100-meter disturbance, then 200 meters, then 300 meters. No further activity since."
"Escalating scale," Lex murmured, his fingers drumming on the desk. "Someone's testing something—refining it with each iteration. We were right. These aren't random events." He looked up at Mercy, his eyes sharp. "This is a weapons test."
"I suspect the same," Mercy agreed.
"Now," Lex's expression became thoughtful. "The question is whose weapon? Given the deep-sea location, my first thought is Atlantis. But the marine casualties argue against that—they wouldn't devastate their own environment. Besides, Atlantis just joined the UN. They're playing politics now, testing superweapons openly like this would not make them look good right now."
"Could be a hostile Atlantean faction," Mercy suggested. "Someone opposed to surface integration."
"Or an entirely unknown player," Lex added. "We know embarrassingly little about what exists in Earth's oceans."
He stopped pacing. "This is exactly why Planet Watch needs to launch immediately. Modify the specifications—I want enhanced sensor arrays capable of detecting this energy signature. If someone's testing a weapon in our oceans, I want to know about it before the next test."
"The prototype can be launched within days after minor modifications," Mercy confirmed. "But fast-tracking the full network will require additional funding and authorization—"
"Then get it," Lex cut her off. "Frame this as global security. Post-Darkseid, world governments are paranoid. They'll approve anything that promises early threat detection. Use their fear, Mercy. Make them understand that Planet Watch isn't optional—it's necessary."
Mercy nodded. "I'll draft the proposal for the UN Security Council. The timing is perfect."
"Good." Lex returned to his desk. "Compile all available data on Atlantean technology. Everything we've observed since their integration. I want to know if their capabilities match what we're seeing in the Atlantic."
"And if they don't match?"
"Then we have a new player—and potentially a new opportunity." Lex's smile was cold. "Someone out there is experimenting with forces beyond our current understanding. Players like that are people I would like to meet because, my sweet Mercy—" He turned his head, meeting her gaze while maintaining that smile. "They either become useful allies or obstacles to work around."
Mercy suppressed a shiver under that piercing stare—half unsettling, half exhilarating.
"I'll compile the data," she said steadily. "Anything else?"
Lex glanced back at the market comparison still displayed in the corner, Wayne Tech's numbers gleaming in green. "Yes. Accelerate our project development cycles across the board. I want production-ready prototypes for our next-generation armor systems within three weeks."
"Lex, that's half the normal timeline—"
"I'm aware." His eyes were cold. "Those in power aren't idiots—they'll see the value in our offerings. Better to be proactive. Apply whatever resources are necessary. Pull personnel from other projects if needed. I want results."
"Understood." Mercy paused, then added, "One more thing. The specimens have been transferred to our new secure facility on the other side. Dr. Alva reports they're prepped and ready—he's just waiting for your authorization to begin the enhancement protocol."
"Excellent." Lex's expression shifted. "Tell Alva to proceed. I want measurable results within the month."
"Noted."
"Good. Let's get started. We have considerable work ahead." Lex dismissed her with a wave, already turning back to the data streams.
Mercy nodded and left silently, leaving Lex alone with his screens, his expression thoughtful.
"If someone really is testing a weapon..." Lex murmured to himself. "I might need to investigate personally."
Somewhere in the Atlantic, an unknown player was making their move. And Lex Luthor already had one big unknown giving him headaches—he didn't need another.