Justice X

by G O G E T A 9 0 0 0

After a visit from his younger self, Ben Ten Thousand reevaluates his life. Before he can act on it, an enemy's mistake hurls him into the DCAU, where the Justice League has fallen to a Thanagarian invasion. Can he help free their Earth? How will he adapt to this new reality? And what will he do when ghosts from his past resurface in this strange new world? OS Timeline.

10. Ultimatum

I don't own Ben 10 or Justice League or Justice League: Unlimited

Italics will be used for telepathy, thoughts, comm. etc.

…

Justice X

Chapter X: Ultimatum

…

Watchtower – Infirmary

"One by one, every last one of you heroes will learn what it feels like to be helpless," Kevin's voice echoed, dripping with venom, as the words pierced through Ben's rapidly fading consciousness. His vision, already hazy from the relentless assault, dissolved into a swirling void of blackness. Every nerve in his battered body screamed in protest, the searing pain from Kevin's merciless blows reverberating through him like a cruel symphony of agony.

Distantly, like echoes in a dream, Ben registered the deep rumble of shockwaves splitting the air. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble, though the sensation felt muted and distant, as if the world itself was slipping away. Then, a new sensation—a sudden shift as strong arms hoisted his limp form over a shoulder. The motion was disorienting, a sickening lurch that barely registered through the haze of his failing senses.

The frigid bite of the night air clawed at his skin, filling his lungs in ragged, shallow gasps. It was the only reminder that he was still alive, though even that flicker of awareness was fleeting. With each passing second, the cold receded, the sounds around him dulled, and his body grew heavier, until at last, oblivion consumed him entirely, pulling him under like a dark and endless tide.

Suddenly, Ben gasped, his chest heaving as he bolted upright in the narrow hospital bed. The cold touch of metal railings on either side of him anchored him to the unfamiliar setting. His eyes darted around the room, wide and frantic, taking in the sterile white walls that seemed to close in on him. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, their glare painfully sharp, forcing him to shield his eyes with a trembling hand. For a moment, the brightness overwhelmed him, and he squinted, lowering his gaze to the crisp, white sheets covering his legs.

As his breathing began to steady, his attention shifted to a figure slumped in an armchair beside his bed. At first, the sight was nothing more than a blurry silhouette, unfamiliar and distant. But as his senses sharpened and the fog clouding his mind cleared, recognition dawned. Diana. She sat curled up in the chair, dressed casually in a light-blue jacket layered over a white cropped blouse and well-worn denim jeans. Her head rested against her hand, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of peaceful sleep. For a fleeting moment, the sight of her there—calm, untroubled—brought him a strange sense of comfort.

Ben let out a slow breath and sank back onto the bed, the mattress creaking faintly beneath his weight. He stared at the ceiling, the lights still too bright but no longer unbearable, and tried to piece together the fragmented memories that had brought him here. He felt a faint, nagging sense of shame, a gut-deep certainty that he had failed. Closing his eyes, he pressed his palms against them as if to force his mind to focus. The effort unearthed flashes of his last battle: Kevin's fists slamming into him, the disorienting sting of each blow reverberating through his skull, the way his vision blurred with every strike. The echoes of Kevin's taunts rang faintly in his ears, cruel and unrelenting.

His eyes snapped open as the memories sharpened. A surge of humiliation and anger surged through him, hot and bitter, but he shoved it down quickly. He couldn't afford to linger on the sting of failure—it would only cripple him further. He turned his head to glance at Diana again, his gaze softening as it rested on her sleeping form. Her face was serene, framed by loose strands of her dark hair that fell across her cheek.

How could he protect her—protect anyone—when he couldn't even protect himself? Kevin was stronger, faster, and utterly relentless. The weight of that reality pressed down on him like a vice, but the thought of Diana being caught in Kevin's crosshairs steeled something deep inside him.

Ben clenched his fists against the sheets, his jaw tightening. If there was one thing he couldn't allow, it was for her to pay the price for his weakness. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times he failed, he would have to keep standing back up.

The soft rustling of sheets brushing against the cold metal railing stirred Diana from her slumber. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly before her hazel eyes opened fully, adjusting to the room's sterile light. Turning her head, she spotted Ben sitting upright in the hospital bed, his expression groggy yet alert. Relief flooded her features, and almost instantly, a radiant smile curved across her lips as their eyes met.

"Ben, you're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice alight with joy as she leapt to her feet and hurried to his bedside. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around his upper body, pulling him into a firm, almost desperate embrace. "Thank Hera," she murmured fervently, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "I knew you'd pull through."

Ben stiffened slightly, a sharp groan escaping his lips as a fresh wave of pain radiated from his ribs. "Ugh… Diana…" he rasped, his voice strained as he shifted in her grip, "I'm happy to see you too, but… that really hurts."

Startled, Diana released him immediately, stepping back with a look of wide-eyed concern. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her cheeks flushing as she offered him a sheepish, nervous smile. "I didn't mean to hurt you—I just got a little… carried away. I thought you'd be in better shape by now."

Ben blinked, his brow furrowing at her words. "By now?" he echoed, his voice laced with confusion. "Diana, how long have I been out?"

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip as if reluctant to deliver the news, "About two weeks," she admitted softly, her tone gentle yet apologetic.

"Two weeks?!" Ben's voice rose sharply, the disbelief etched plainly across his face. His heart pounded at the revelation, the weight of lost time crashing down on him. Two weeks of unconsciousness, two weeks of recovery—and two weeks of Kevin out there, unchecked.

Diana placed a comforting hand on Ben's shoulder, leaning in slightly so their eyes met directly. Her voice was soft, reassuring, as she knelt beside him. "It's alright, my love," she said with a warm smile that eased some of the tension from his shoulders. "Things have been relatively quiet. There's been no sign of Cadmus or Kevin since that night. The League has been monitoring everything closely."

Ben exhaled, relief washing over him at her words. He reached up, placing his hand over hers, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. "That's good… I think," he murmured, his voice still tinged with uncertainty. Shifting in the bed, he pushed down on a lever beneath the railing, collapsing it with a faint click. Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed, testing his balance as he sat upright. "At least I'm just sore now. Guess sleeping through two weeks of recovery has its perks," he said with a weak grin, trying to make light of the situation.

Before Diana could respond, the observation room's door hissed open, sliding aside to reveal two familiar figures stepping in—Batman and the Atom. The former was as stoic as ever, his piercing gaze immediately locking onto Ben, while the latter held an electronic tablet, scrolling through data as he approached.

"It's good to see you awake and mobile," Atom said with a nod, his eyes flicking up from the screen. He tapped a few final boxes on the tablet before addressing Ben directly. "How are you feeling? Any lingering pain or discomfort?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, his expression flat. "I was beaten to a pulp and barely made it out alive," he said dryly. "Yeah, I'm in a bit of discomfort."

Atom winced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Right. Sorry, Ben, I should've been more specific. The thing is… we've been monitoring your recovery, and despite you not having any meta-human or alien DNA, you've managed to heal at an extraordinary rate. Seven broken bones, twenty-six minor fractures, and severe internal bleeding—all of that repaired in just two weeks. Batman brought me in to analyze your progress. It's… remarkable."

Ben shrugged nonchalantly, his tone casual as he replied, "Oh, that. Yeah, I kind of forget sometimes. The Omnitrix gives me an accelerated healing factor. I don't get injured often, so it's easy to overlook."

The room went silent for a moment as the three League members exchanged confused glances. Diana's shrugged reluctantly, obviously already knowing about this, while Atom looked downright baffled. Even Batman, unreadable as ever, shifted his gaze toward Ben with an almost imperceptible flicker of interest.

"And," Batman said, his voice low and deliberate, "I reviewed the footage from both hologram projection chambers in Nuvo-Gen… You also conveniently left out at least three transformations mentioned by Kevin in your arsenal capable of destroying this planet."

Ben froze at those words, his casual demeanor faltering. He looked up into Batman's penetrating gaze, memories of Kevin's taunting words suddenly rushing back to him.

"What's wrong, Tennyson? Holding back on me?" Kevin's voice was mocking, laced with both fury and amusement, echoing through the hero's memory, "Don't want to use Blackout? What about Velocity or Rage? Or is the great hero too afraid of destroying the planet to use a real transformation?"

The words lingered in Ben's mind, sharp and unrelenting, twisting deeper with every echo. He swallowed hard, his chest tightening under the weight of the secrets he'd kept hidden. "That wasn't… it's not—" he started, then stopped himself abruptly. Letting out a slow, measured breath, he ran a hand through his unruly brown hair, the motion doing little to calm the storm inside him. "Look," he said finally, his voice low and edged with frustration, "I don't talk about those forms for a reason. Nothing good comes from them."

Batman stood motionless, arms crossed over the sleek black plating of his armor, his unyielding gaze fixed on Ben. It was clear he had been waiting for this confrontation, possibly since the day Ben was admitted into the medical bay. "Then why not be transparent about them from the start?" he asked, his tone cutting and methodical.

Ben sighed deeply, the sound heavy with exhaustion. He turned his head to meet Batman's gaze, his green eyes shadowed with something darker—regret, perhaps, or a burden he'd carried for far too long. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "There's… bad memories tied to them. Stuff I don't like to think about." He winced slightly, his hand drifting to his temple as though the memories themselves caused him physical pain. Closing his eyes, he continued, "Why is this so important anyway? There are dozens—no, hundreds—of transformations in my watch that you don't know about."

Batman didn't flinch, his tone as unyielding as ever. "After what we've seen, and what Kevin has said, it's clear these forms are significant—and dangerous. If Kevin sees them as a threat, the League needs to understand why. What are their abilities?"

Ben opened his eyes again, this time glaring at the Dark Knight as he massaged his temples, irritation beginning to creep into his voice. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand. It's not that simple."

"Try me," Batman replied firmly, stepping closer. "This isn't just about you, Ben. It's about this world's safety. We need to know—"

"Enough!" Diana's voice cut through the air like the snap of a whip, halting Batman mid-sentence. She took several deliberate steps forward, her boots striking the floor with force as she placed herself between the two men. Her finger pointed accusingly at Batman, her expression fierce, the usual warmth in her features replaced by fiery determination.

"Maybe it's none of your business," she said sharply, her voice laced with frustration. "Maybe, after everything Ben has done for this team, for this world, he's earned the right to keep one secret to himself—one thing that no one, not even you, can guilt him into sharing." Her gaze shifted between Batman and Atom, who stood awkwardly to the side, clearly caught in the crossfire. "This constant interrogation of his life—his choices—every time something happens is getting old."

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension thick and palpable. Diana's words hung in the air, her unwavering defense of Ben cutting through the unspoken doubts that had been building. Ben looked up at her, a flicker of gratitude crossing his face. For the first time in a long while, he felt like someone truly understood what he needed—not answers or explanations, but a moment to breathe.

Batman's stoic expression remained unshaken, his cold, analytical glare cutting through the tension in the room. "Be that as it may," he said, his voice calm but unrelenting, "every member of the League has a complete assessment file detailing their abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. Ben is no exception to that standard." His gaze shifted back to Ben, who sat on the edge of the bed, his discomfort still evident in the way he carried himself. "I expect a full explanation of these so-called banned transformations, sooner rather than later."

Ben didn't respond. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the floor, avoiding the weight of Batman's piercing stare. A thick silence hung in the air until the intercom crackled to life, breaking the standoff. J'onn J'onzz's calm, authoritative voice echoed through the room from the control center, "Wonder Woman, Batman, we have an alert from the Exxon oil rig in the Pacific Ocean. Aquaman is requesting immediate support."

The words snapped everyone's attention to the pressing matter at hand. Ben, without hesitation, swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose to his feet. Ignoring the soreness in his muscles, he reached for the IV line attached to his arm and swiftly detached it. The faint sting barely registered as he stretched his arms above his head, testing his range of motion.

Diana turned toward him, concern flashing across her face. "Ben," she began, stepping closer, her voice gentle yet firm, "are you sure you're ready for a mission? You've only just woken up after two weeks of recovery, you're still healing."

Ben met her gaze, his emerald eyes alight with determination. There was no hesitation in his voice as he answered, though the hint of faked enthusiasm in his tone was subtle enough to fool even her. "Of course I'm ready," he said with a confident nod. "I feel great… really."

Diana studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as though she wasn't entirely convinced, even still his smile warmed her heart. Ben's conviction, or at least his ability to mask his exhaustion, seemed to win her over for the moment.

Batman, as always, remained silent, observing Ben with his usual unreadable expression. Whether he believed Ben's bravado or not was impossible to tell.

…

Beneath the crushing depths of the ocean, nearly a thousand feet below the surface, Aquaman moved like a living torpedo, cutting through the water at supersonic speed. The dim light of the ocean floor illuminated the massive steel supports of the Exxon Bermuda oil rig, a towering structure anchored into the seabed. At its center, a colossal mechanized drill sat still, though it was obvious it had been recently drilling into the earth, carving into the ocean floor.

As the King of Atlantis drew closer, his sharp eyes caught sight of something unnatural. Emerging from the gaping crevasse created by the drill, a swarm of bipedal creatures made entirely of molten magma had been scaling the steel support beams. Their glowing forms contrasted sharply against the dark water, their jagged limbs melting through the metal as they climbed, inching their way toward the oil rig platform above.

Through his earpiece, Aquaman's voice carried with an unmistakable urgency, somehow clear despite the crushing depths. "The new Bermuda Exxon platform is under attack," he reported, "If it collapses, we'll be looking at the worst oil spill in recorded history. I'm moving to intercept."

Without hesitation, Aquaman angled himself sharply upward and shot toward the surface like a missile, his Atlantean strength propelling him through the water with effortless speed. Breaking the surface with a powerful burst, he launched into the air, droplets of seawater cascading off his shirtless pecs as he landed on the oil rig with a thunderous impact.

Standing tall amidst the chaos, he scanned his surroundings, taking in the situation. Nearly two dozen magma creatures swarmed the rig, tearing into its infrastructure with unrelenting force. Their searing bodies left trails of molten steel in their wake, and their destructive path threatened to destabilize the entire structure. Aquaman's expression hardened, and his jaw tightened with anger. "I've told these fools to stay out of my ocean," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with disdain.

His enemies didn't have the chance to react before he sprang into action. With a swift motion, he hurled his Atlantean steel prosthetic—a razor-sharp hook forged for battle—with pinpoint precision. The weapon tore through the air like a streak of silver, pulverizing three magma creatures in a single strike and sending their shattered remains tumbling off the platform and into the churning waters below.

Superman's voice came through the comm-link, calm yet focused as always, "ETA: two minutes. I'm en route," he reported, having just diverted from halting a sandstorm that threatened a village in the Middle East.

Diana's voice followed shortly after, her tone steady but laced with a hint of amusement, "Right behind you, Superman," she said, a smirk audible in her words. Flying beside her was Chromastone, glowing brilliantly in hues of dark purple and violet as he streaked through the sky at Mach 4, his alien physiology shimmering with energy.

Aquaman fought with every ounce of his strength, his fists and blade-like prosthetic carving through the swarm of magma creatures. He delivered a devastating right hook to what passed for one creature's face, the force of the blow shattering it into molten fragments that scattered across the platform. With seamless precision, he wielded his Atlantean-steel hook, slashing through the advancing attackers one by one as they lunged at him.

But even the King of Atlantis couldn't hold his ground indefinitely. For every creature he destroyed, two more seemed to emerge from the shadows, climbing up the steel supports or advancing from the edges of the rig. The swarm pressed in on him, their searing heat threatening to overwhelm him as they clawed and melted their way toward him.

Then, a brilliant flash of emerald energy erupted in the night sky above, briefly bathing the rig and the surrounding waters in an otherworldly glow. Before Aquaman could glance upward, a streak of bright yellow hurtled down from the heavens, moving at several times the speed of sound. Cannonbolt, encased in his near-indestructible armored shell, slammed into the rig with the force of a meteor. The sheer impact sent a shockwave rippling through the platform, punching a hole through the steel surface and scattering molten fragments of magma creatures in every direction. Half a dozen of them were launched into the air, their molten forms disintegrating mid-flight.

The opening allowed Aquaman to regain his footing, wasting no time in counterattacking. With renewed vigor, he charged forward, his prosthetic hook slicing through the advancing horde with lethal precision. Each slash sent fragments of glowing magma tumbling to the ground as he kept the creatures at bay.

Meanwhile, Cannonbolt's momentum carried him through the platform and into the churning waters below. As he struck the ocean's surface, another explosion of emerald light illuminated the depths, and within moments, Ripjaws emerged from the transformation. His sleek, aquatic form glided through the dark waters with ease, his powerful tail propelling him at incredible speeds—though not quite as fast as Aquaman's own. His razor-sharp claws gleamed faintly in the murky water as he dove toward the swarming magma creatures scaling the support beams.

Ripjaws tore through the creatures with ferocity, each pass resulting in multiple enemies shredded by his claws. Their molten forms hissed violently as fragments cooled in the ocean water, but their numbers seemed endless. For every creature Ripjaws eliminated, more emerged from the gaping crevasse below. The sheer scale of the enemy was staggering.

Recognizing the futility of continuing a melee fight underwater, Ripjaws paused, his glowing green eyes scanning the depths. The crevasse where the creatures emerged loomed ominously, spewing molten figures like a volcanic wound in the ocean floor. Realizing what he needed to do, Ripjaws surged upward with a powerful flick of his tail, cutting through the water with incredible force. As he neared the surface, he propelled himself into the air in a powerful leap.

Mid-flight, another flash of emerald light enveloped him. By the time he landed on the rig, his form had shifted once more. WaterHazard stood tall, his vibrant red and black armor glinting under the platform's lights but, something was off. He was already breathing heavily, as if he'd been fighting for hours though, he just arrived on the scene but, he didn't think much of it, assuming it was just a lack of stamina after two-weeks of rest. His clawed hands flexed as water from his body dripped onto the metal beneath him, steam rising as it met the lingering heat of the creatures' molten attacks, his breath straining as he heard clearly the scraping of metal behind him.

WaterHazard turned and fired a powerful jet of water into a group of three magma creatures that had just clawed their way over the edge of the platform behind him, knocking all of them back into the ocean; after dispatching that small group, he scanned his surroundings, noticing that Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman had all been right behind him, currently doing their best to hold off these creatures.

Diana moved with precision and grace, her golden lasso flashing in the dim light as she expertly ensnared a cluster of magma creatures. The enchanted rope tightened around them, glowing with divine energy as it bound their molten forms together. With a fluid spin, Diana used her immense strength and combat mastery to swing the creatures in a powerful arc, launching them off the platform and into the ocean below. Even as she dispatched them, several more came from behind her, locking their molten-hot arms around her from behind in a bear-hug as they each merged their arms atop her, forming a hardened magma-ring trapping her.

Nearby, Batman moved with calculated efficiency, his dark silhouette a blur of motion amidst the chaos. He vaulted over one of the creatures, using its broad shoulders as a springboard to somersault gracefully through the air. The moment his boots hit the platform behind it, he pivoted smoothly and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to another advancing enemy, sending it stumbling backward.

Unbeknownst to the first creature, Batman had left a small explosive tomahawk embedded in its shoulder during his leap. The device blinked ominously for a split second before detonating in a controlled blast, obliterating the creature in a burst of molten fragments. The explosion silhouetted the Dark Knight as he continued to fight, his movements precise and unrelenting, though their numbers were equally so. Batman was forced back as a group of six creatures encroached on him, prompting him back first into Aquaman who was in an identical predicament.

The Atlantean King stabbed through the solid-magma chest of one of the creatures charging at him, shattering the creature into fragments of molten charcoal; Batman launched two electrified bat-a-rangs into the two closest creatures, tens of thousands of volts send the creature to its knees, leaving an opening for the dark-knight to right-left hook combination the creature into fragments, "These geniuses dug right into the Earth's magma," he turned and slashed through another creature attempting to blindside him, "Never occurred to them there'd be anything living down there."

At the highest point of the oil rig, Superman stood resolute, his red cape billowing in the sea breeze as he surveyed the chaos below. His piercing blue eyes glowed with intensity, twin beams of scarlet heat vision erupting from them in precise bursts. Each blast tore through the molten creatures, vaporizing them mid-climb before they could reach the platform. From his elevated vantage point, he systematically eliminated as many threats as possible, his unwavering focus keeping the platform secure—for the moment. However, the creatures weren't mindless. One of them, larger and more agile than the others, leapt from the shadows with startling speed. Before Superman could react, the magma beast slammed into him with immense force, knocking him off balance. The two plummeted back to the main platform, the impact of the Kryptonian's landing denting the steel structure beneath them with a deafening clang. Superman barely had time to recover before more of the creatures swarmed him, their numbers overwhelming as at least a dozen piled onto him, their searing hot bodies pressing down with incredible weight. Pinned beneath the mass of molten attackers, Superman grimaced, the heat of their bodies enough to scorch even his nigh-invulnerable skin. The platform beneath them groaned under the combined weight and pressure, threatening to buckle further.

The battle raged on across the oil rig, chaos and heat pressing down on the heroes from every side. Every punch thrown and blast unleashed seemed to barely make a dent in the unrelenting swarm. Water Hazard, his red and black armor coated in a fine mist of condensed steam, staggered back after blasting yet another molten creature off the platform. His breaths were heavy, his body working overtime to maintain the intensity of the fight. Each inhale felt labored, as if his very lungs were struggling against some unseen force. "I can still end this…" he muttered under his breath, recalling the idea he's had when staring down at the crevasse beneath them, clinging to the hope that he could turn the tide.

A surge of emerald light engulfed him, and with a flash, his body morphed into a new form. When the glow faded, a navy-blue, insect-like figure emerged; his delicate, translucent wings unfurled with an ethereal shimmer as he launched himself into the air, rising above the chaos below. Big Chill's glowing cyan eyes scanned the battlefield as he hovered in place, frost forming on the edges of his wings. He took a deep breath, preparing to unleash his cryokinetic powers to freeze over the rig, halt the magma creatures in their tracks, and seal the crevasse all at once.

Diana, struggling below against the molten rock that bound her arms tightly to her sides, caught sight of him ascending through the thick, smoke-filled night sky. For a moment, her struggle paused, her blue eyes widening as she watched him with a mixture of hope and concern. She could see the resolve in his movements, the determination to protect his friends. Yet, just as Big Chill unlatched his jaws to unleash his cryokinetic power, his body jerked unnaturally. He clutched his elongated fingers to his abdomen, his thin frame shuddering as a violent coughing fit overtook him.

Big Chill faltered in the air, his wings trembling as he lost altitude, dropping several feet before catching himself. His breathing grew ragged, each gasp for air sounding like it tore through him. Pain shot through his body in waves, but he forced himself to keep going, focusing every ounce of his strength on staying aloft. "I can still—" he started to say, but another fit overtook him. This time, dark crimson blood sprayed into his clawed hand. He stared down at his palm, barely comprehending the sight of the liquid glistening against the faint glow of his body.

Before he could react, his entire form was engulfed in a brilliant explosion of crimson light. The eruption illuminated the rig, casting ominous shadows as his transformation failed, his body reverting back to his human form. Ben's unconscious figure plummeted from the sky, limp and lifeless, descending toward the churning ocean below.

Diana's heart clenched as she witnessed him fall, "No!" she roared, her voice filled with anguish and fury. With a single, defiant flex of her arms, she shattered the charcoal-like bonds that had held her captive. The molten restraints crumbled around her in fragments as she darted toward the edge of the platform in a blur of red and gold, her determination etched into every movement.

Ben's body hit the water with a muted splash, disappearing into the depths. Diana didn't hesitate. She launched herself off the edge of the oil rig in a flawless dive, her form cutting through the air like an arrow as she pierced the water.

The darkness enveloped her, the chill of the ocean biting at her skin as she swam deeper, her powerful strokes cutting through the turbulent waves. Her keen eyes scanned the murky depths until she spotted him sinking lifelessly. His arms hung limp, his brown hair swirling like a halo in the currents. Diana pushed herself harder. She wrapped her arms around his torso, holding him close as she propelled herself upward, her movements powerful and purposeful.

Breaking the surface, Diana took a deep, relieved breath, her grip on Ben unyielding. She wasted no time, lifting him effortlessly in her arms as she rose into the air, flying back toward the platform with urgency. The cold night air whipped past her as she ascended, every second feeling like an eternity. Her only thought was getting him to safety, her warrior's heart refusing to let him slip away even as the magma creatures continued to wreak havoc.

With the oil rig as their only foothold in the middle of the vast ocean, Diana had no choice but to descend back onto the besieged platform. She landed with grace and precision, her boots barely making a sound as they touched down on the steel surface. Carefully, she lowered Ben's unconscious body to the ground, positioning him away from the thick of the chaos. Straightening, her sharp gaze swept across the rig. A handful of the magma creatures had noticed her arrival, their glowing, slagged forms turning toward her with ominous intent.

Diana shifted into a defensive stance, her posture firm and unyielding as she planted herself protectively in front of Ben. Her golden bracers gleamed under the harsh floodlights of the rig, her lasso hanging at her hip, ready to be drawn. The creatures hissed and gurgled; their movements unnervingly fluid for beings of molten stone. One stepped forward, its jaw unhinging grotesquely, revealing a core of swirling lava within its chest. With a guttural roar, it expelled a pressurized stream of molten magma directly toward her.

The attack came fast, but Diana was faster. With a blur of movement, she dodged the fiery blast, the superheated stream scorching the air as it shot over her shoulder. It narrowly missed Ben's prone body, the lava splashing harmlessly into the ocean beyond the platform. The princess wasted no time. As the creature reared back, preparing for another attack, Diana dashed forward, her speed blinding. She delivered a devastating right hook to its molten face, the force of the blow shattering its slagged features into fiery fragments that scattered across the platform.

Before the glowing embers of her first target could settle, she pivoted sharply, aiming to repeat the maneuver. However, as her arm drew back, it was caught mid-motion by another magma creature, its burning-hot grip locking tightly around her wrist. She grimaced at the searing pain but didn't falter. Another creature joined in, grabbing her other arm, their combined strength forcing her to halt mid-struggle. Diana growled in frustration; her muscles taut as she strained against their grip.

But the creatures didn't stop there. More of them swarmed her, their jagged claws and molten limbs wrapping around her arms and shoulders like living chains. Despite her struggles, the combined weight of their numbers began to overwhelm even her Amazonian might. She thrashed against them, her teeth clenched in defiance, but their grip tightened, pinning her arms against her sides.

As if to mock her efforts, the creatures began vomiting molten magma at her feet. The viscous substance spread quickly, hardening into a thick, obsidian-like crust that anchored her to the platform. Each splash of magma hissed and steamed, the intense heat radiating upward as it cooled into an unyielding prison around her boots. Diana's jaw tightened as she pulled against their hold, her muscles rippling with raw power. The ground beneath her groaned under the pressure of her struggle, but the creatures only pressed down harder, their low growls echoing ominously around her.

"Grrr," Diana growled through clenched teeth, her voice low and filled with fury. Her sapphire eyes burned with defiance as she continued to fight, even as the odds stacked against her.

Just as the League seemed to be teetering on the brink, a voice boomed out from a higher level of the oil rig, confident and theatrical. "Fear not, noble heroes," it proclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone on the platform below. The League glanced upward to find five figures standing atop a steel girder, their postures exuding exaggerated bravado. They were immediately recognizable from their relentless media campaigns and their recent, albeit minor, victories against low-level criminals.

"The Ultimen have arrived!" the leader declared, striking a dramatic pose at the center of the group. The announcement was punctuated by a gust of wind from one of their members, blowing sparks from the rig into the air like confetti.

"Not them again," Aquaman muttered under his breath, this team having made a name for themselves in the passed few weeks.

Without waiting for a response, the group sprang into action, scattering across the platform with the precision of a choreographed performance. Two of the Ultimen, identical twins, a brother and a sister with skin as pale and smooth as marble, sprinted toward Wonder Woman, who was still grappling with the molten creatures restraining her. Despite her relentless struggles, three additional creatures lumbered toward her, their glowing eyes fixed on her immobile form.

Before they could reach her, however, a sudden deluge of water slammed into the trio with the force of a tidal wave, knocking them clear off the platform and into the dark waters below. The source of the attack revealed itself as one of the twins, who dissolved into a liquid form, his watery body twisting and flowing as he directed the next blast with precision. He reformed moments later, standing beside his sister, who folded his arms smugly.

"Gotta admit, Downpour," one of the twins said casually, her tone dripping with mockery as she gestured toward Diana, "Wonder Woman used to be my idol when I was a kid. I mean, she's a legend, right? But…" She trailed off, her brother picking up the thread as they exchanged a smirk.

"Let's be real," the other twin said, tossing his damp hair over his shoulder, "She's getting old. It's not her fault or anything—it happens to everyone eventually." His voice carried the kind of false sympathy that made Diana's blood boil.

"Old?!" Diana roared, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. The molten creatures restraining her had no chance to react as she flexed her arms with a burst of raw strength, shattering their fiery grips as though they were made of brittle clay. Her sapphire eyes burned with fury as she brought her golden bracers together with thunderous force.

The collision released a mystic shockwave that radiated outward in a blinding flash, crackling with divine energy. The entire platform trembled under the force of her power as the wave obliterated every molten creature within a fifty-foot radius. They disintegrated into harmless embers, their charred remains swept away by the residual gust.

Diana stood tall amidst the wreckage; her form illuminated by the lingering glow of her bracelets. Her chest heaved as she shot a glare toward the twins, who now stared at her with wide eyes, their earlier smugness replaced by stunned silence. "Care to repeat that?" Diana asked coldly, her voice laced with a dangerous edge that made it clear she was only just holding back.

"Old but spry, ma'am," one of the twins said, raising her hands up in mock surrender, "Old but, spry."

Superman suddenly burst free from beneath the dog-pile of creatures pinning him down, erupting from the other side of the platform like a living missile. With a single mighty flex, he sent them flying in all directions, their bodies tumbling helplessly through the air before crashing onto the metal surface several feet away. Straightening up, he took a deep breath, eyes scanning the battlefield with razor focus. Without hesitation, he pivoted on his heel and launched a devastating right hook into the nearest attacker, his fist connecting with a sickening crack that sent the creature sprawling. He didn't stop. Flowing seamlessly into his next move, he twisted left and drove an earth-shaking uppercut into the chin of another, the impact producing a deafening clap like thunder rolling across the sky.

But before he could fully reset his stance, something massive clamped onto him from behind. Thick, magma-coated arms wrapped around his torso in a crushing bearhug, heat searing against his suit as the creature tried to hold him in place. Superman's eyes narrowed. Without missing a beat, he spun in place at several times the speed of sound, the sheer force of his rotation creating a powerful shockwave that sent loose debris scattering across the platform. The moment he stopped, he expertly leveraged the momentum to hurl his attacker high into the air. The beast sailed like a missile, colliding with two more creatures in its trajectory and sending all three crashing into a tangled heap of limbs and guttural growls.

Superman barely had a moment to process before, yet another wave of the creatures closed in, surrounding him from all sides. Their grotesque forms heaved with barely contained rage, muscles coiled and ready to pounce. He exhaled sharply. Fine. If they wanted a real fight, he'd give them one. Just as he was about to shift into high gear and blitz through the entire group, a sudden gust of wind kicked up between him and the creatures.

Descending from above with effortless grace, a figure in sleek, white-red armor landed between the Kryptonian and his attackers, his feet barely touching the ground as a small whirlwind churned beneath him. Wind-Dragon. The name alone felt almost comically on the nose—between his Asian heritage and the distinctly focus-grouped government branding, it was clear someone in an office somewhere had decided on maximum marketability. But name aside, the man knew how to make an entrance.

"Don't worry, Superman, we're here to help!" Wind-Dragon declared, raising his arms, summoning a powerful vortex of air that howled across the battlefield. The sudden gust sent all eight surrounding creatures flying backward, their bodies tumbling uncontrollably before they were flung off the platform entirely, vanishing beneath the waves of the ocean below. The air settled, and Wind-Dragon straightened, placing his fists firmly against his hips, casting an enthusiastic glance toward Superman before turning his attention back to the rest of his team engaging with the enemy.

Perched atop a rusted water tower on the oil rig, Batman and Aquaman stood back-to-back, fending off the relentless swarm of magma creatures clawing their way toward them. Every second was a battle for ground as the beasts clambered up the structure's legs, their molten bodies radiating waves of blistering heat. Batman moved with surgical precision, slashing through advancing foes with razor-sharp bladed shuriken, while Aquaman wielded his Atlantean steel hook with brutal efficiency, cleaving through molten rock with every stroke. But despite their combined skill, the creatures just kept coming, an unending tide of heat and rage.

Between strikes, Batman shot a glance toward his ally. "Can you make telepathic contact?!" he shouted, his voice sharp over the cacophony of combat. He drove another shuriken deep into the chest of an oncoming beast, sending it plummeting back into the inferno below.

Aquaman barely spared him a look as he rammed his hooked hand through the torso of another attacker. With a savage twist, he tore it apart, molten fragments scattering like embers in the night. "Do these look like fish to you?!" he snapped, swinging wide and obliterating another creature in a spray of shattered rock.

Before Batman could respond, a massive shadow loomed over them. Rising up to their level, a young Native American man clad in traditional-style, sleeveless tan armor had grown to an astonishing thirty feet in height. His massive form dwarfed the water tower, his expression calm yet resolute as he regarded the two seasoned heroes.

"It's an honor to be working with you," he said, his deep voice carrying easily over the battlefield.

Without hesitation, the towering figure reached down and, with a flick of his immense hand, cleared the water tower's support of the frenzied magma creatures. The monstrous attackers were sent tumbling helplessly into the abyss below, their screeches lost to the ocean's roar.

Diana stood her ground, unwavering in her defense of Ben's unconscious body. Every passing second made the task more difficult as the creatures continued their relentless assault, their molten forms surging forward without end. She pivoted, delivering a devastating roundhouse kick that sent the head of one magma-beast flying, its body collapsing into a crumbling heap of molten rock. But for every one of them she felled, more took their place. Tightening her stance, she adjusted her fighting stance, her gaze flickering briefly toward her fallen boyfriend behind her.

"There's too many of them! We need a new strategy!" she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos as she prepared for the next wave.

From above, a voice rang out with theatrical confidence, "Fear not, chums!" Wind-Dragon propelled himself into the air, positioning himself at the very center of the platform. Hovering in place, he outstretched his arms, conjuring a powerful whirlwind that rapidly expanded around him.

The howling vortex swept across the battlefield, lifting loose debris and forcing the creatures to brace against the force. Then, with a deliberate flex of his fingers, he condensed the storm, channeling the winds into an arctic blast. The effect was immediate. The supercooled gusts surged outward, targeting the magma-creatures directly. They shrieked in agony as their molten bodies rapidly solidified, encased in thick layers of ice. Within moments, the battlefield was transformed into a frozen graveyard, jagged ice sculptures replacing the once-relentless horde. But the storm did not stop there. To his own surprise, Wind-Dragon's arctic winds rapidly continued expanding, layering the entire oil rig in a thick sheet of ice. The frozen mass cascaded downward, coating the rig's supports and spreading across the ocean's surface. In mere moments, the once-roaring waves had been transformed into an expanse of solid ice stretching for hundreds of feet in every direction, locking the battlefield in a deep freeze.

As the whirlwind subsided, Wind-Dragon slowly descended, his boots crunching against the newly frozen platform. He looked down at his own hands, flexing his fingers as he processed what had just happened.

Beside him, a final figure materialized in a crackling burst of electricity. Dressed in dark blue armor with yellow trim, the newcomer observed the transformed battlefield with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. His voice carried a faint, static-laced hum as he spoke, "I didn't know you could do that."

Wind-Dragon exhaled, his breath visible in the freezing air. "Neither did I…" he muttered, still staring at his hands in disbelief.

…

Watchtower Infirmary

"Finding new sources of fuel for an energy-starved world is truly a worthy endeavor. But in man's quest to better himself, he must respect all of the world's creatures, including those poor beasts whose homes you've disturbed," Wind-Dragon declared, standing tall before a gathered crowd of reporters. Camera flashes flickered across his face as microphones hovered in his direction, capturing every word. His red-and-white armor gleamed under the afternoon sun, the wind stirring ever so slightly around him as if responding to his presence.

"It's imperative that we learn to share our planet if Earth is to survive." He swept an arm toward the frozen expanse surrounding the oil rig, his voice carrying the practiced confidence of someone keenly aware of the spotlight upon him, "Harmony with nature is not just idealism—it's survival." His words hung in the air, met with the eager scribbling of journalists and the steady click of cameras documenting the moment.

From the Watchtower, Superman watched the broadcast on a large overhead screen, arms crossed as he listened. His expression was unreadable, though the slight tilt of his head suggested mild amusement.

"He's certainly… earnest," he mused, glancing to his left.

Beside him, Shayera stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her wings twitching slightly as she narrowed her eyes at the screen.

"I think the word is corny," she replied flatly. Her tone was dry, unimpressed.

Superman let out a quiet chuckle at Shayera's remark but offered no further comment. Instead, he turned away from the broadcast, his expression quickly shifting back to one of concern as he refocused on the far more pressing matter at hand.

In the center of the Watchtower's medical bay, a hospital bed stood surrounded by some of the greatest minds and heroes on the planet. Batman, The Atom, Professor Hamilton, and Diana were gathered around it, their faces grim as they observed the unconscious figure lying ominously still before them. The soft hum of machinery filled the otherwise silent room, monitors displaying a steady but uncomfortably slow rhythm of breathing. Ben remained motionless, his chest rising and falling with an eerie sluggishness, as if even the act of drawing breath was becoming an increasing effort.

Superman approached the group, his gaze sweeping over the various screens and devices hooked up to the young hero before settling on The Atom, who stood closest to the bed, a tablet in hand. The Kryptonian's voice was calm, but firm, tinged with an underlying urgency, "What do we know?"

Ray Palmer exhaled, his brow furrowing as he glanced from his tablet to the Omnitrix still secured around Ben's left arm. The device was hooked up to an array of scanners, wires feeding data into the Watchtower's most advanced systems, yet the readings they provided remained frustratingly cryptic.

"Honestly? Not much," Palmer admitted reluctantly, shaking his head, "Physically, he's in perfect health—no injuries, no internal damage, nothing that would explain this condition. And yet, his vitals keep deteriorating," He gestured toward the monitors, where Ben's heart rate and other biological functions were fluctuating in unpredictable patterns. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say it has something to do with the device on his arm. But the truth is… we can't make heads or tails of it."

Professor Hamilton, who had been silently studying the scans of the Omnitrix from a slight distance, finally stepped forward. His expression was a mixture of frustration and awe as he gestured toward the alien technology with an almost incredulous wave of his hand, "This device is… perplexing," he began, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had spent half a lifetime dissecting the impossible. "At a glance, it appears remarkably simple, however, its inner mechanisms? They are complex beyond anything I have ever seen," he turned to Superman, his tone growing more animated as he continued, "I have worked with countless forms of alien technology over the years. I've studied Kryptonian data crystals and even had the rare opportunity to analyze remnants of Brainiac's systems. And yet…" Hamilton turned back to the Omnitrix, his eyes narrowing as he observed the hourglass symbol at its center. Normally a vibrant emerald, it now pulsed with a deep, foreboding crimson, the glow casting ominous shadows across Ben's still form.

"I've never encountered anything remotely as advanced as this," the professor admitted, his voice tinged with reluctant defeat. After a moment's hesitation, he sighed and stepped back, rubbing his forehead before turning toward the exit. "I'm sorry. I wish I had more answers, but there's nothing more I can do here."

Superman gave him a small nod of understanding, stepping forward to shake his old friend's hand as he passed, "Thank you, Professor. We appreciate you coming up here," he said sincerely. "J'onn will teleport you back to S.T.A.R. Labs."

Hamilton gave a weary nod before departing, leaving the remaining heroes in heavy silence as they turned their attention back to the unconscious young man before them.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Diana asked, stepping forward, her eyes scanning the faces of her fellow heroes. There was an urgency in her voice as she gestured toward the alien device locked onto Ben's wrist. "There has to be someone on this planet smart enough to understand that thing."

For the first time since the crisis began, Batman spoke. His gaze shifted from the group to the Omnitrix, his expression unreadable. "What do you do when a watch is broken?"

Superman exhaled, crossing his arms as he considered the implication. "You find the watchmaker," he admitted. His brows furrowed. "But Ben is from another universe. How are we supposed to do that?"

Batman didn't hesitate. "We've managed the impossible before. We'll figure something out."

The Atom stepped forward, adjusting his visor as he examined the Omnitrix more closely. "I might be able to help. If I shrink down small enough, I could slip between the exterior plating and scan for any kind of design signature or manufacturing mark. If there's anything that can tell us where this thing came from, it'll be in the details. Even if the creator is in another universe, we might find a clue on how to reach him."

Diana didn't miss a beat. "Do it," she ordered, her voice firm with conviction.

…

Maxwell Lord sat comfortably across from a well-known reporter on a nationally televised interview, the sleek, modern office set behind him bathed in warm studio lighting. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, he radiated confidence, his polished demeanor exuding the charm of a seasoned businessman.

"Mr. Lord, your Ultimen have taken the country by storm over the past six months," the reporter began, maintaining a professional yet inquisitive tone. "Why do you think they've resonated so strongly with the public?"

Maxwell leaned back slightly in his chair, offering a practiced, self-assured smile. "It's simple, Mike," he said smoothly. "People trust them. They see themselves in the Ultimen—heroes who are accessible, relatable, and, above all, dependable. They don't operate from some untouchable ivory tower, removed from the people they claim to protect. Unlike certain other heroes, they don't place themselves above ordinary citizens, passing judgment from on high."

The reporter tilted his head slightly. "Are you referring to the Justice League?" he asked, his tone even.

Maxwell smirked, feigning confusion. "Who?" he quipped, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Rather than press the point, the reporter continued with another question. "There are those who have criticized you for the immense wealth you've accumulated through licensing and endorsement deals tied to the Ultimen brand. Some argue that profiting from superheroes raises ethical concerns. How do you respond to that criticism?"

Maxwell gave an exaggerated shrug before closing his eyes briefly, as if amused by the familiar line of questioning. With a relaxed gesture, he spread his hands and replied, "Every dollar generated through the Ultimen's success is reinvested directly into the team. Crime-fighting isn't cheap, Mike. Advanced technology, training, logistics—none of it comes for free. And let's not forget, even superheroes have to eat." He chuckled lightly, the very picture of a man who had nothing to hide.

The audience watching at home might have taken his words at face value, but the knowing gleam in Maxwell Lord's eyes suggested otherwise.

Superman exhaled sharply, a rare expression of frustration crossing his face as he pressed the button on the remote, shutting off the television mounted on the ceiling of the Watchtower's hallway. The screen went black, cutting off Maxwell Lord's smug rhetoric mid-sentence.

"I can't listen to any more of this," he muttered, turning back to face his teammates—Batman, Aquaman, and Wonder Woman—who stood just outside the infirmary. His jaw tightened as he shook his head. "That man is dripping more oil than that platform ever did."

Aquaman crossed his arms, his ocean-blue eyes darkening with irritation. "And he has the audacity to take cheap shots at us?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

Batman, standing with his usual composed intensity, remained unaffected by the theatrics but spoke with quiet certainty. "I know Maxwell Lord," he said, his tone carrying the weight of experience. As Bruce Wayne, he had crossed paths with the businessman on more than one occasion. Lord had built a reputation as a ruthless corporate shark, someone who valued profits over principles. That was, until recently—when he suddenly rebranded himself as the altruistic benefactor behind the Ultimen. "All he cares about is money."

Diana raised a brow, folding her arms as she regarded the Dark Knight. "It takes money to do what we do," she pointed out. "And not everyone is fortunate enough to be independently wealthy." She wasn't wrong. Not everyone had the limitless resources of Bruce Wayne.

Batman's expression didn't waver. "Lord is a walking ego, willing to do anything for a buck and a little free publicity," he countered, his voice steady and firm. "If he's involved in this, it isn't about helping people."

A sudden tap on the reinforced observation glass drew the heroes' attention. Turning toward the source of the sound, they saw The Atom standing on the other side, fully suited in his advanced nanotech-enhanced costume. His hands rested on the intricate mechanisms of his utility belt, his stance brimming with readiness.

"I'm prepared to begin, assuming everything is set on your end," Ray announced, his voice calm but focused.

Superman and Batman exchanged a glance before turning to Diana. She stood resolute, her expression unwavering as she gave a firm nod—silent confirmation that he had their approval. That was all The Atom needed. With a swift motion, he pulled his mask into place and placed a precise hand on his belt buckle, fingers expertly twisting the dial.

A pulse of golden energy rippled over his form as his body rapidly decreased in size, his mass compressing in perfect proportion. Even as he shrank, he executed a flawless leap, landing with precision atop the metallic plating of Ben's gauntleted forearm. His form continued to diminish until he was small enough to slip seamlessly beneath one of the segmented plates leading toward the Omnitrix's dial.

Static crackled in the comm-links of the waiting heroes before The Atom's awestruck voice filtered through. "I'm in," he confirmed. A brief pause followed, then a quiet gasp, "This… this is incredible. Unlike anything I've ever seen before."

His voice carried a mixture of wonder and trepidation as he took in his surroundings. "Emil wasn't exaggerating—this device is far more advanced than anything Earth has ever encountered. The complexity is staggering. I don't even know where to begin…"

As the transmission settled into silence, the weight of The Atom's words hung heavy in the air. Then, without warning, an unfamiliar voice cut through the channel, resonating not only in the heroes' earpieces but echoing strangely within the vast interior of the Omnitrix itself.

"Shrinking the space between atomic structures without destabilizing the proton-electron ratio… an impressive feat, for a human."

The voice was that of an elderly man—calm yet laced with an air of condescension. Yet, despite its clarity, there was no discernible source. Inside the Omnitrix, Atom's head snapped upward, scanning his surreal surroundings for any sign of the speaker.

Batman's reaction was immediate. Pressing a hand to the communicator in his ear, he demanded, "Who is this? How did you access this frequency?"

Diana's expression hardened, suspicion and frustration evident in her stance as she activated her own comm-link. "Are you the one interfering with Ben's Omnitrix?"

The voice responded, a tinge of impatience seeping through. "Interfering with it? Why would I do such a thing? Humans—so shortsighted."

Atom, now more alert than ever, tightened his fists as he echoed their initial question. "Who are you?"

A moment of silence passed before the voice answered, matter-of-factly. "I heard you were searching for me. My trans-dimensional frequency emitter has locked onto your reality's coordinates. I'll be there shortly."

Superman's eyes narrowed, the implications dawning on him. "Does that mean he's…?" Before he could finish his thought, a brilliant flash of emerald light exploded in the center of the room, momentarily blinding them all.

When the light faded, The Atom was standing at full size once more, no longer within the Omnitrix. But he wasn't alone.

Perched on the edge of the observation table, mere inches from Ben's unconscious form, stood a diminutive amphibian-like creature. No more than four inches tall, the being had greyish-green, leathery skin, a hunched bipedal stature, and long, thin whiskers that hung from his chin like the beard of an ancient scholar. His large, intelligent eyes scanned the Omnitrix with the scrutiny of a craftsman examining his finest work.

Diana's breath caught as she processed the sight of the unexpected visitor. Instinct taking over, she slammed her palm against the wall-mounted scanner, causing the reinforced sliding doors to hiss open as she stormed inside.

"Who are you? How did you board the Watchtower?!" she demanded, fists clenched.

Before the small creature could answer, Batman's voice cut through the tension, calm but certain. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked, watching the visitor intently as he ran his tiny fingers over the glowing crimson core of the Omnitrix. "He's the creator."

At that, the creature finally turned to face them, his long fingers stroking the whiskers on his chin in quiet amusement. When he spoke, his tone carried the weight of immeasurable knowledge, an unshaken confidence that made it clear he saw himself as the smartest being in the room—perhaps the smartest being in existence.

"Greetings," he said smoothly, "I am Azmuth of the Galvan. First Thinker, Greatest Mind in my Universe, and Creator of the Omnitrix," They all stared at the tiny alien in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief, yet Azmuth paid their reactions little mind. His own gaze remained fixed on the gauntlet-device latched onto Ben's arm, his sharp, calculating eyes scanning its every detail. The tension in the room thickened as the heroes exchanged uncertain glances, none daring to speak at first. Finally, after several moments of awed silence, Diana stepped forward, her voice carrying a mixture of hope and urgency.

"So… you can fix him?" she asked simply and blatantly, her piercing blue eyes locked onto Azmuth, searching for any hint of reassurance in his expression.

"Fix him?" Azmuth repeated with a scoff, his tone laced with mild irritation, as if the very question insulted his intelligence, "There's nothing to fix. I would have thought even your rudimentary scanning systems could have told you that much."

Diana faltered for a moment, exchanging a glance with the others. Atom furrowed his brow before stepping forward, clearly dissatisfied with the response, "So, there's nothing you can do?" Atom pressed; skepticism evident in his voice.

Azmuth let out a sigh, extending his tiny hand, palm open, as if waiting for them to catch up to the obvious. "You humans…" he shook his head disappointedly, "What could I have possibly said that would give you that impression?" he questioned, his tone as dry as ever. Without another word, he snapped his fingers, summoning another burst of emerald energy. Though this flash was considerably less blinding than the last, it still illuminated the room in an eerie green hue. When the glow receded, a slender, pen-like device now rested in the three-fingered grip of the Galvan scientist.

He wasted no time. With practiced ease, he pressed the single button at the device's end, unleashing a sharp, high-pitched frequency that tore through the room with a piercing intensity. The heroes visibly flinched, their ears ringing from the unexpected assault, but the effect on Ben was far more immediate. The sound sent a jolt through his system, his body reacting instinctively as he lurched upright in bed with a strained, gasping breath.

"I'm up, I'm up!" he exclaimed, still breathless, his body tense from the sudden awakening. Ben's heart pounded against his ribs, his disoriented gaze darting around the room, taking in the sight of the concerned heroes surrounding him. He blinked rapidly, his mind racing to catch up with reality, "What happened?"

As soon as the noise ceased, Diana swiftly moved to his bedside, stepping around to his right, her expression shifting from concern to relief. Without hesitation, she reached for his hand, gripping it firmly in both of her own, offering a comfort that only she could provide, "You collapsed on the oil rig," she told him gently, her voice steady despite the emotions behind it. "You're in the intensive care unit aboard the Watchtower.

Ben blinked at her, his breathing slowing as he absorbed the information. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, but in that moment, he found solace in the warmth of Diana's grasp, "Well, if you're here it can't be all bad…"

"Think again, Ben Tennyson," Azmuth spoke from his left, his small-stature causing the hero to almost miss him entirely as he turned to his left.

Ben exhaled a weary sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair as he regarded the diminutive Galvan with a knowing expression, "Oh," he muttered, his voice carrying a familiar note of exasperation. "You never show up unless something serious is going on. What did I do this time?" His tone was light, but there was an underlying edge of concern. He assumed, as he often did, that he had inadvertently triggered some catastrophic malfunction within the Omnitrix or perhaps violated some obscure interdimensional law simply by existing in this universe. Azmuth's appearances were rarely without dire consequences, and in Ben's experience, the First Thinker only materialized when the hero had truly made a mess of things.

Azmuth, however, remained composed, his gaze steady as he observed the young man before him. Then, to the surprise of everyone present, he spoke in an uncharacteristically even tone. "For once, I am not here to reprimand you," the Galvan stated, "I am here to offer you the most important choice of your life."

That simple declaration sent a ripple of intrigue through the room. Even the other heroes—many of whom had witnessed Azmuth's cryptic nature firsthand—found themselves leaning in slightly, eager to decipher the meaning behind his words. This being, whose intellect was unparalleled across countless star systems, was rarely so deliberately vague.

Azmuth continued, his voice carrying the weight of deep contemplation, "You have wielded my Omnimatrix in ways I, the greatest mind in half a dozen galaxies, could never have foreseen. You have achieved feats beyond even my most meticulous calculations, transcending what was once intended to be a mere prototype. Yet, for all its triumphs, the core housed within your Omnitrix—the very heart of its function—has been slowly diminishing in vitality. Over the decades, while the device has worked to harmonize with your DNA, integrating itself into your very being, its energy reserves have continued to wane."

With a swift motion, Azmuth reached into the folds of his robes, retrieving a small, silver-plated chip that gleamed under the artificial light. He held it out on his palm, and from the device, a cascade of holographic projections flickered into existence. The floating diagrams displayed intricate schematics of the Omnitrix, each pulsing with interwoven lines of data and rapidly shifting numbers.

"In your most recent confrontation with Kevin," Azmuth went on, his voice steady yet firm, "you expended the final remnants of the Omni-Energy stored within the prototype core. While the Omnitrix has become a seamless extension of your physiology, its depletion has placed you in considerable danger. Should the core's energy reserves be fully exhausted, it would initiate a catastrophic chain reaction—one that would lead to systemic failures throughout your nervous system. To put it plainly, Ben, if the core is not addressed, your body will begin shutting down, and I doubt even your extraordinary resilience will be enough to prevent the inevitable."

Ben's brow furrowed, and though he masked it with his usual bravado, a flicker of unease passed through his expression.

"Yeah, okay, don't like the sound of that," he admitted. "So… just replace the core, problem solved, right?"

Azmuth allowed a rare smirk to cross his diminutive features. "That is certainly an option. A simple replacement would resolve the issue. However, after everything you have sacrificed, after every hardship you have endured, do you not believe you have earned something more?"

Ben's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind working through the implications. "I'm not sure I follow."

Azmuth's smirk faded, his expression returning to one of quiet solemnity. He clasped his hands behind his back, his voice growing more measured, almost… wistful.

"After your final battle with Vilgax," he said, "You came to me with a request—a desperate plea from a young boy to have the Omnitrix removed so you could return to a life of normalcy. But by then, the genetic bonding had progressed too far. To remove it would have meant risking your life, and so you were left with no choice but to continue forward."

As he spoke, Azmuth slowly brought his hands forward once more, revealing an object that immediately stole the breath from every hero in the room. Resting in his grasp was a newly-forged Omnitrix core, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly radiance. A deep, emerald glow pulsed from within, exuding an energy so potent that it sent an involuntary shiver through even the most seasoned warriors present. The sheer magnitude of power emanating from the device was undeniable.

"Now, with the prototype core depleted, I present you, a grown man, with a choice, Ben Tennyson." Azmuth's voice was deliberate, his words carrying the weight of fate itself. "I can grant you this new core—one far superior to its predecessor. It would not merely restore the Omnitrix to full functionality; it would enhance it. Your abilities, your transformations, every facet of your power would reach levels never before imaginable."

He paused, allowing the gravity of his offer to settle over the room before continuing, "Or," he said, his tone carefully neutral, "I can render the prototype inert and begin the surgical process necessary to remove the base from your arm. Doing so would sever its connection to your DNA entirely, but it would also mean relinquishing your abilities forever. If you choose this path, I will take you back with me to our universe, where you can live a life free of this burden."

The room fell deathly silent.

The decision before Ben was unlike any he had ever faced—not a battle to be won, nor an adversary to overcome, but a choice that would irrevocably shape the course of his existence. For once, fate did not dictate his path; the burden of decision rested solely on him. And for the first time in years, Ben Tennyson found himself without words.

Azmuth regarded him with quiet scrutiny, his expression unreadable yet weighted with expectation. Then, with measured finality, he spoke.

"Twenty years ago, my Omnimatrix fell from the heavens, never intended for you—yet it was you who claimed it. Whether by fate or mere chance, it became yours, and in wielding it, you exceeded every design, reshaped every expectation, however, now, Ben Tennyson, the choice is no longer fates to make. This time, it is yours alone," Azmuth held the luminous core, its emerald radiance pulsing with quiet power as Ben stared at it floating an inch off his own palm, "The Omnitrix once chose you. Now, it's up to you to choose it."

…

Ultimen Tower – New York City – Penthouse

Downpour and Shifter sat across from one another at the far end of a grand, U-shaped marble-topped desk, their hands occupied with playing cards while a modest pile rested between them. The rhythmic shuffle and quiet clatter of the cards filled the otherwise still air as the game unfolded.

"So, last night," Downpour began, his tone edged with mock indignation as he tossed a card onto the pile, "Inside Celebrity did an entire segment on Wind Dragon. And naturally, Mr. Swelled Head over here didn't even think to mention the rest of us." He gestured toward Wind Dragon, who was seated at the opposite end of the table to his left, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone as if entirely uninterested in the conversation.

Shifter, unfazed by her brother's complaints, pressed a slow, affectionate kiss against the cards in her hand before laying them down in front of him with an air of triumph, her smirk deepening as she watched his expression shift.

Downpour, however, remained undeterred. Leaning back in his chair, he sighed dramatically. "When do I get to be team leader?" he demanded, feigning exasperation.

Wind Dragon, at last, glanced up from his phone, flashing a dazzling smile before winking. "When your teeth sparkle like mine," he quipped smoothly, his voice laced with effortless confidence prompting Juice and Long Shadow to chuckle in response.

At that moment, the sleek metallic sliding doors parted with a soft mechanical hiss, and Maxwell Lord strode confidently into the room. His tailored suit was immaculate, his every movement exuding the polished charm of a seasoned businessman who knew precisely how to command a room.

"Kids, kids," he cooed, his voice dripping with practiced charisma as he approached the card-playing twins at the far end of the table. "You two are gold with the tweens," he continued, gesturing animatedly as he came to a stop behind Downpour, resting a firm yet calculated hand on the young man's shoulders. "Your faces are plastered across the bedroom walls of just about every twelve-year-old in America!"

Downpour immediately shrugged him off, turning away with a huff of irritation. "I don't know about Shifter, but I'm sick of being a teen idol," he declared, crossing his arms with exaggerated defiance. "There's more to me than just a pretty face—"

Before he could finish, his sister scoffed loudly from the other side of the table, rolling her eyes as she deftly gathered the scattered playing cards back into a neat pile.

Max chuckled, unfazed, and with the effortless flair of a man who always had the upper hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his blazer. Producing a crisp, thin sheet of paper, he held it just within Downpour's line of sight. The moment the young man reached for it, Max released it into his grasp, allowing him to take in the impressively long string of zeroes printed at the bottom.

"Did I forget to give you the royalty check for the new water-spouting Downpour action figure?" Max mused smoothly, leaning down just enough to murmur into the young hero's ear. "And that's just domestic," Downpour's eyes widened in stunned silence as he absorbed the figure before him, his earlier indignation fading with remarkable speed. Quickly enough, the idea of being a teen idol didn't seem so bad after all.

A sudden chime from Maxwell Lord's pocket cut through the low hum of conversation in the room. With a practiced motion, he retrieved his phone, flipping it open in a smooth, familiar gesture. His sharp eyes flicked to the caller ID, and the moment he registered the name, his entire demeanor shifted.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, his voice taking on a tone of immediate deference. Though his expression remained composed, there was a subtle tension in his posture as he cast a fleeting glance toward the assembled young heroes. Their chatter continued undisturbed, oblivious to the gravity of the call he was now engaged in.

As the voice on the other end spoke, Maxwell's expression tightened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. Without another word, he turned on his heel and, with measured steps, quietly exited the room, slipping into the corridor beyond.

Minutes passed in terse, quiet argument as he paced through the halls, his usually unshakable confidence fraying at the edges. His voice remained controlled, but the urgency beneath it was undeniable.

"—But just because Wind Dragon has a new ability doesn't mean—" he began, only to be abruptly cut off. He paused, lips pressing into a thin line as he exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping momentarily to his polished shoes, as if searching for a retort that would hold weight against the unrelenting authority on the other end.

"Yes, I know, but—" he tried again, only to be overridden once more. His frustration mounted, but he swallowed it down, knowing full well there was little room for negotiation.

"Yes, but—" Another interruption. His grip on the phone tightened. He inhaled, steadying himself before exhaling in quiet resignation.

"Fine," he conceded at last, his voice quieter now, but laced with reluctant acceptance. "I understand. I'll check it out, ma'am."

Stepping into his office, he let the phone lower from his ear but didn't close it just yet. Instead, he turned toward the massive bay windows lining the far wall, his gaze sweeping over the city sprawled out beneath him. Rain lashed against the glass, distorting the neon glow of the skyline into a swirling, fragmented display of light and shadow.

His reflection stared back at him—a man caught between authority and obligation, between control and compliance. He tightened his jaw, exhaling once more as he lifted the phone back to his ear for a final concession.

"I'll check them all out."

…

Watchtower Infirmary

Recognizing Ben's need for solitude, the assembled heroes—including Azmuth—quietly exited the intensive care unit, allowing him the space to wrestle with the gravity of his decision. The only one who remained was Diana, staying at his request. Having changed back into the civilian attire she had worn earlier that day, she now sat beside him, offering her quiet presence as an anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty raging within him.

Ben exhaled, his gaze distant as he absently gestured to himself, the cables connected to his gauntlet swaying with the motion. "Ever since I was ten years old, I've been this," he murmured, the weight of two decades pressing into his words. "Ben Ten. A hero. And for the longest time, it wasn't even a choice—it was just something I had to be. There were no other heroes back then, not like this. And the Omnitrix… it was too dangerous. Wars would've been fought over it if I didn't protect it. If I didn't use it."

His voice softened, tinged with a quiet vulnerability he rarely let slip. "But now… I'm in a world where that burden doesn't have to be mine anymore. There are gods, champions, entire leagues of powerful people who can carry that weight. And yet, for twenty years, being a hero was who I was. If I let that go now… if I'm not that anymore…" His voice faltered slightly, his fingers curling into a fist atop the blanket. "Then what am I?"

Diana listened intently, her gaze never leaving his face. She could feel the turbulence within him, see the way indecision gnawed at his very sense of self. He had faced countless battles, impossible odds—but she had never seen him so utterly lost.

A small, knowing smile touched her lips as she reached out, resting a steadying hand over his, "A legend," she answered simply. Then, after a pause, her voice softened, "A veteran. A leader. Perhaps, one day… a husband again. A father."

Her words lingered between them, not as an expectation, but as a quiet promise—an unspoken vision of a life beyond the endless battles, beyond the burdens he had carried for so long. A life that, for the first time, was his to shape.

Ben let his gaze drift from the crystalline depths of her blue eyes to the sterile white ceiling above, his thoughts pulling him back to the reason he was here in the first place. His body still ached, a reminder of the battle that had nearly cost him everything.

"Yeah…" he murmured, his voice distant, almost wistful. "That all sounds great. I want that more than anything…"

Diana's smile, so full of warmth and hope, slowly faded as she caught the hesitation in his tone. She had known him long enough to recognize when his heart was caught in a battle his words hadn't yet spoken.

"But?" she prompted gently, her voice laced with understanding.

Ben exhaled a long, weary sigh, his fingers flexing slightly before he turned his hand over to grasp hers, squeezing lightly.

"But," he admitted, his voice steadier now, "I brought danger to this world. Kevin is here because of me. He has all of my powers, and he won't hesitate to use them against you—against all of you." His grip on her hand tightened, his expression darkening with the weight of responsibility, "My new friends… my new family… they don't deserve to pay the price for my past. If there's one thing I know about my world, it's that it's protected—to the point of boredom, honestly." He allowed himself a brief, humorless smirk before it faded just as quickly. "But here? With Kevin, with everything else that's coming… how could I walk away when there's still so much left to protect?"

For a moment, Diana simply watched him, her expression unreadable—until, slowly, a familiar warmth returned to her gaze. A smile, subtle at first, then full and bright, spread across her lips, as if reaffirming something she had always known.

"There's the man I fell in love with," she murmured, withdrawing her hand from his only to lift it to his face, her fingers brushing tenderly along his jawline.

Their eyes met, blazing emeralds locking onto calming ocean blue, and for a moment, the chaos of the world around them faded, leaving only the two of them and the unshakable bond they had forged.

"One day," he promised softly, "we'll have all of that. A life together. A future beyond all of this," Ben's lips curled into a familiar, determined grin, the fire in his eyes reigniting with renewed purpose.

"But for now?" She asked knowingly.

He nodded, her expression already mirroring his resolve, "It's hero time."

…

Ultimen Tower- New York City – Laboratory

"How long are they planning to keep us like this?" Shifter huffed; her irritation evident as she shifted uncomfortably against the restraints securing her to the examination bed. She and her teammates lay in a straight line, each strapped to similar medical tables within the stark confines of a high-tech laboratory. A series of scanners and monitoring systems beeped and whirred around them, their cold, mechanical precision making her feel more like a specimen than a person.

Across from her, Downpour smirked, unfazed by their predicament, "What's the rush, sis?" he teased, tilting his head toward her with a playful glint in his eye, "You got somewhere important to be? Need to hurry home and wax that mustache of yours?"

A few chuckles rippled through the group at his jab, but Shifter was quick with a comeback, "Why are you so obsessed with my facial hair?" she shot back, arching a brow. "Still waiting to grow some of your own?"

Laughter erupted from their teammates, the friendly bickering offering a brief distraction from their otherwise tense situation.

Wind Dragon, reclining as much as his restraints would allow, took the opportunity to cut in, steering the conversation away from the sibling squabble, "Well, personally, I don't mind the wait," he said smoothly, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Gives me time to plan for my date later. I have to get her home by ten, after all," He flashed a confident wink, clearly enjoying the attention.

Behind a pane of one-way glass, in an adjacent observation room, a man in a white lab coat and glasses studied a series of five enlarged digital scans. His expression was grim as he analyzed the x-rays, each one revealing the skeletal structure, internal organs, and cellular composition of the five young heroes. His eyes flicked rapidly between them, searching for any sign of stability. He found none.

"This is worse than we anticipated," he murmured, his voice heavy with concern. His fingers moved swiftly across the touchscreen interface, dismissing four of the scans to focus on a single, more alarming case. "Wind Dragon, in particular, is showing advanced cellular atrophy. But the degradation is systemic across all of them… They're in the early stages of total failure."

Maxwell stood behind him, silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the screen. His jaw tightened; his hands clenched at his sides. This wasn't what he had promised them. These kids had put their trust in him, in the program. How could he now tell them they were dying? He exhaled sharply, forcing down the surge of guilt clawing at his chest, and turned to face the doctor.

"How long do they have?" he asked, his voice measured, though it betrayed an underlying tension.

The doctor hesitated, glancing back at the scan before adjusting his glasses. "It's difficult to say with certainty… Some may have months, others only days. But the deterioration will be painful."

Maxwell shut his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath before straightening his posture. He refused to accept this as if it was the end, "We do whatever it takes," he said firmly. "I'll fund every possible treatment, every experimental procedure. We can still save them—"

A voice interrupted him from behind—a voice Maxwell had nearly forgotten was still in the room. Authoritative, sharp, and unwavering, it cut through the air like a blade.

"That's not our priority."

Stepping out from the dim recesses of the room, Amanda Waller emerged, her expression unreadable, her presence commanding. The cool glow of the monitors cast sharp shadows over the contours of her face as she adjusted the sleeves of her navy-blue pantsuit.

Maxwell turned to face her, momentarily caught off guard. "B-But, Ms. Waller, I really think we could still save—"

He barely had time to finish before she dismissed him outright. "Since when did your opinion count for anything, Lord?" she snapped, not even affording him a glance. Her attention was already on the scientist at the console—Dr. Emil Hamilton. A man of dual allegiances, one foot in the Justice League's camp, the other firmly planted within the shadowy depths of Cadmus.

"How soon can you get the second team operational?" she demanded, her tone making it clear that this was not a request.

Hamilton hesitated for only a moment before replying, "If we push ourselves, five days."

Meanwhile, in the adjacent monitoring room, the Ultimen remained unaware of the full gravity of their situation. Reclined in their medical beds, the twins continued their usual bickering, their words masking the uncertainty they all felt.

"I swear, he still wets the bed," Shifter muttered, arms crossed.

Downpour groaned in exasperation. "Can I help it if I keep turning into a puddle all night?"

Juice, however, was no longer listening. His electrokinetic senses tingled, catching faint vibrations in the air—an unfamiliar phenomenon, as if the very currents in the room carried whispers from beyond the walls. He focused, straining to decipher the words hidden within the hum of electricity.

Through the static, Hamilton's voice became clear. "If we push ourselves, five days," he repeated.

"Shhh. Quiet," Juice hissed, his tone urgent. He listened harder, filtering out the background noise.

Then Waller's voice rang through, cold and unrelenting. "Do it in three," Juice stiffened. His mind reeled—who was this woman? What were they talking about?

Oblivious, Downpour continued to provoke his sister. "I saw her turning into Britney Spears in the mirror last week."

"Not true!" Shifter snapped defensively.

"Will you two shut up?" Juice whispered harshly, his pulse quickening as he focused back on the conversation beyond the walls. They all turned to him as they noticed him intently staring at the one-way glass.

Then, clear as day, he heard Maxwell speak again, his voice laced with unease, "But what about the Ultimen?"

Silence followed for half a second, then the woman's voice returned—flat, final, and without an ounce of hesitation.

"They're expendable."

Juice's breath caught in his throat. The weight of what he had just overheard settled deep in his chest, sinking like a stone into dark waters. The implications were chilling, but before he could warn his teammates, the quiet hum of the automatic doors interrupted his thoughts.

With a soft hiss, they slid open, and Maxwell Lord strode in, his usual air of confidence wrapped around him like a shield. His smile was easy, practiced—too easy.

"Great news, troops," he announced, his tone light, almost cheerful. "Dragon's new power is nothing to be concerned about."

A brief wave of relief washed over the team, the tension in the room easing for just a moment. But before they could fully embrace the reassurance, Maxwell continued, his words carefully measured.

"But just to be safe, Professor Hamilton wants to keep you overnight for observation."

Wind Dragon's heart sank. "Overnight?" he echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. His mind raced—his date, his one night of normalcy, slipping through his fingers.

Juice, however, barely reacted. He had already made his decision. He turned to Maxwell, nodding with an almost casual ease, but his eyes—constantly illuminated with that sharp electric-blue glow—held something deeper, something urgent.

"No problem, Max," he said smoothly. "We'll be happy to stay."

The others turned to look at him, confused at first, but the unspoken message in his gaze was clear: trust me.

Wind Dragon hesitated, his frustration flickering for a moment before something in Juice's demeanor gave him pause. He swallowed down his initial protest and forced a grin.

"Yeah," he said, masking his unease. "C'mon, guys, it'll be just like old times… back in training."

The rest of the team groaned in reluctant agreement, but Juice barely heard them. His mind was already racing ahead, piecing together an escape plan before it was too late.

…

Watchtower

As the last of the heroes filed out of the infirmary, leaving Ben and Diana to speak in private, a heavy silence settled over the space they had vacated. The decision before Ben was not one to be made lightly—his life would change irrevocably, no matter which path he chose. Yet, standing just beyond the glass, Batman was nearly certain of the choice the young hero would make.

Superman, Aquaman, and the Atom disappeared down the hallway, their footsteps fading as they made their way toward the monitor deck. Only one figure remained stationed near the observation window—Azmuth, the small yet brilliant Galvan, balanced on the windowsill, his large eyes fixed intently on Ben's room. He remained perfectly still, deep in thought, as Diana and Ben spoke in hushed voices.

Batman, recognizing the rare opportunity before him, approached Azmuth with quiet but deliberate steps.

"So, you created the Omnitrix?" the Dark Knight asked, his voice low but firm.

"Indeed," Azmuth replied, his tone curt, as if the question hardly warranted acknowledgment.

Batman studied the Galvan closely. Even standing atop the windowsill, Azmuth barely reached his chest, yet there was an undeniable weight to his presence, a quiet intellect that demanded respect.

"You mentioned that Ben used the Omnitrix in ways even you couldn't have anticipated," Batman continued, his piercing gaze locked onto the first thinker. "Tell me, what was its original purpose?"

Azmuth remained silent for a long moment, his small hands folded neatly behind his back. Finally, he turned—slowly, deliberately—to face the vigilante.

"You seem like a perceptive one," he said at last. His voice, though calm, carried a depth of something older, something weary. "Once upon a time, I was consumed by invention for the sake of knowledge. I created without care for consequence, driven only by the pursuit of what could be rather than what should be. In my hubris, I forged a weapon—a sword of unimaginable power, one that could cleave through the fabric of reality itself and expose secrets even beyond my comprehension."

He paused, glancing downward, as if recalling events long buried in the past. "In my arrogance, I alienated those closest to me. I caused devastation I could never undo. The destruction that followed…" His voice grew softer. "It broke my heart."

Batman, ever the strategist, quickly understood. "The rest of the universe didn't see what you did," he surmised. "All they saw was a weapon."

Azmuth's gaze lifted, his expression unreadable. "Precisely."

The Galvan inhaled deeply before continuing, his voice regaining its usual measured tone. "Centuries later, I created the Omnitrix as a form of reparation—to the cosmos, and to a certain individual whom I once hoped would return to me."

Batman's eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing the statement with quiet scrutiny. "She never did, did she?"

Azmuth exhaled slowly. "You are a perceptive one," he admitted with a weary nod. "Alas, the Omnitrix—like my first creation—became the center of conflict the moment its existence became known. Wars threatened to break out over it. I could not bear witness to such destruction again… So, I sent it away. I entrusted its delivery to one of my most reliable contacts in the Milky Way. It was meant for Earth, where the greatest human warrior in the galaxy resided."

Batman's analytical mind latched onto the phrasing instantly. His brow furrowed slightly beneath the cowl. "You've lost me," he admitted. "How could a ten-year-old boy possibly be the greatest warrior in any galaxy?"

Azmuth raised a brow, stroking his whiskers with one hand while keeping the other behind his back. "Ah, of course. I suppose he never told you."

Azmuth turned his attention back to the observation window. "The Omnitrix was never intended for a brash, reckless, stubborn human boy," he admitted, his voice tinged with something between amusement and regret. "It was meant for his grandfather—Max Tennyson, the greatest military agent the Galactic Plumbers had ever seen. A legend in his own right."

Batman processed the revelation quickly. "But something went wrong," he surmised.

Azmuth nodded. "The transport ship carrying the Omnitrix was attacked. Its guidance system was damaged, and the pod was forced to rely on its genetic redundancy protocols. It scanned for the closest biological match to Max Tennyson."

Batman's mind filled in the blanks. The Omnitrix, unable to reach its intended recipient, had settled for the next closest match: a ten-year-old boy who had stumbled upon it by pure chance. "If he was never meant to have it," Batman asked, his voice even, "why not remove it at the first opportunity?"

Azmuth scoffed lightly, turning back to the observation window where Ben and Diana still spoke in hushed tones. "I certainly intended to," he admitted. "But his grandfather persuaded me otherwise. Max insisted that Ben was the better choice, that he had the seeds of greatness." Azmuth sighed, shaking his head slightly as if recalling his own skepticism at the time, "Almost immediately, I thought I had made a mistake. Ben's arrogance, his immaturity—it all left a poor impression."

"But?" Batman prompted, sensing the shift in tone.

Azmuth allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. "But then I watched him grow. I saw his bravery, his ingenuity. Time and time again, he used the Omnitrix not as a tool of destruction, but as a force for good. He saved lives in ways that had never even occurred to me," His gaze softened as he looked upon the young man beyond the glass. "Me, the smartest being in over a dozen galaxies, and yet he surprised me. Again and again, he exceeded even my highest expectations."

Batman remained silent; his expression unreadable as he too turned his gaze toward Ben. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "I still believe no one should have that kind of power."

Azmuth let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Something you learn after observing the universe for over three thousand years," he said as Diana and Ben shared a warm smile, their conversation seemingly reaching a resolution, "You can't control everything," Azmuth continued, his voice measured. "But if someone must wield such power… isn't it strategically advantageous to have it in the hands of someone who chooses to do good?"

Batman remained silent, his thoughts lingering on Azmuth's words as he watched the Galvan, a being of unfathomable intellect, speak so highly of a boy who had once been chosen by chance. Before he could dwell further, an abrupt, repetitive beeping filled the corridor.

The red distress light above Ben's door flickered rapidly, signaling an emergency. Instinctively, Superman and the Atom moved with immediate urgency, rushing into the room—only to find Ben grinning mischievously, waving at them as if greeting old friends. Across from him, Diana sat with an amused yet exasperated expression, one hand covering her face as she shook her head lightly.

Superman exhaled, shoulders easing as the tension drained from his frame. Batman and Azmuth followed closely behind, stepping back into the room as the moment of false alarm passed.

The heroes observed Ben and Diana sitting comfortably, their demeanor calm, expectant. They were waiting—ready to deliver a decision that had clearly already been made.

Azmuth folded his hands behind his back, his gaze sharp but amused. "Well?" he asked, arching a brow. "Shall I summon my surgical equipment through the dimensional field?" His voice carried an almost sarcastic lilt, though the knowing smile tugging at his features made it difficult to tell.

Ben's own grin never faltered. "Come on," he said, tilting his head slightly. "I think you already knew you wouldn't have to."

Azmuth let out a small, satisfied hum. "Indeed," he admitted. "You have the heart of a true hero, through and through. I've learned not to doubt that."

With a simple motion, Azmuth lifted his right hand, snapping two of his three fingers together. In an instant, a surge of emerald energy ignited the room, engulfing them in a brief but dazzling flash of light. As the glow subsided, all eyes fell upon the object now resting in the first thinker's grasp. The new Omnitrix core gleamed brilliantly, pulsing with neon-green energy, its design more refined, more powerful—reborn in the hands of its creator, every form Ben took from now on would be on an entirely new level.

Ben's gaze remained fixed on the core in Azmuth's hand, the brilliant emerald light reflecting in his eyes. It pulsed rhythmically, as if alive, casting a faint glow over his face.

"I guess the decision's been made," Superman observed, a proud smile crossing his features. By now, he had warmed considerably to the young shapeshifter, relieved to see him embrace his path rather than walk away from it.

Ben exhaled, shifting slightly in his hospital bed. "So… is this gonna hurt or—?"

Azmuth barely spared him a glance. "Well, the energy surge required to fully reintegrate your nervous system and reassert all biological functions may… sting," he replied matter-of-factly.

Ben frowned. "Wait— 'sting'? That sounds like it'll do way more than sting—"

Without further warning, Azmuth sprang from his position with amphibious agility, leaping effortlessly onto Ben's bed. He strode forward, his small feet barely making an indent in the sheets as he walked up Ben's torso, then hopped onto his left arm. The new core hovered beside him, its glow intensifying.

"Ben Ten Thousand…" Azmuth began, his tone carrying the weight of something far greater than a simple procedure. With both hands, he grasped the edges of the Omnitrix's dial, his diminutive size requiring all his strength to manipulate the intricate mechanism.

Ben tensed. "Okay, hold on a minute, maybe we can think this through first—"

Before he could finish, the League's trinity—Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman—watched in silence as Azmuth twisted the dial with precision. With a sharp, deliberate pull, he wrenched the red-glowing core free from its base. The moment it detached, tendrils of crimson electricity lashed out violently, crackling through the air like living lightning. The raw energy danced between the severed core and the Omnitrix's base, sending erratic pulses through Ben's arm.

Despite the chaotic surge, Azmuth remained unfazed. He steadied himself, gripping the new core with both hands. His voice rang out with authority, each word laced with finality: "I, Azmuth of the Galvan, First Thinker, deem you worthy!" With no hesitation, he slammed the gleaming new core into the Omnitrix's vacant slot.

The moment it connected, an explosion of emerald energy erupted outward, engulfing the entire room. The sheer brilliance of it dwarfed any transformation Ben had ever undergone, flooding the space with a blinding radiance. The force of the activation sent shockwaves rippling through the air, shattering the observation glass to the room, and obscuring everything and everyone within its brilliant glow.

For a brief moment, there was nothing but light.

…

Ultimen Tower – New York City

After hours of idly waiting in their extravagant penthouse, the young heroes found themselves sprawled across a sprawling leather couch, their eyes fixed on the massive plasma screen before them. The movie blared with the sounds of gunfire and explosions, but none of them seemed particularly engaged. The energy in the room was restless, their thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Juice cast a subtle glance toward Long Shadow, who nonchalantly tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear. The action, seemingly insignificant, was a prearranged signal. With practiced ease, Juice inhaled deeply before exhaling as if nothing were amiss. A faint crackle danced over his fingertips as he discreetly channeled an electric current through his body. Resting his hand over the armrest, he tapped his fingers against the leather, allowing the current to slither unseen across the floor and up the wall.

The moment the surge reached the surveillance camera mounted in the corner, the device sputtered violently, sparks flying as its circuits overloaded. Within seconds, it was nothing more than a smoldering heap of fried wiring.

That was the cue.

Instantly, the Ultimen sprang into action. Long Shadow's body expanded rapidly, growing to a towering ten feet as he hurled himself forward with immense force. His massive shoulder slammed into the reinforced metal door, bending it inward before it gave way entirely, bursting off its hinges with a resounding crash.

Without hesitation, they charged into the dimly lit corridor, their path illuminated only by the foreboding red glow of emergency lights. The rhythmic pounding of their footsteps echoed through the hallway as they raced toward freedom—only to be met by two heavily armed guards.

The men hesitated at the sight of the Ultimen barreling toward them, but Wind Dragon reacted before they could so much as raise their weapons. Panic flashed in his eyes as he instinctively flung his arms forward, summoning twin vortexes of powerful wind. The rushing torrents struck the guards with brutal force, lifting them off their feet and hurling them down the corridor. Their bodies slammed against the steel walls with a dull, sickening thud before crumpling to the ground, motionless.

The team didn't wait to see if they were still conscious. They sprinted past, reaching the elevator at the end of the hall and piling in one after another.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Shifter asked, her breath slightly labored from the run.

Juice pressed his palm against the control panel, his eyes narrowing. "Every time we pass the twelfth floor, I feel it—like a pulse, a buzz in my head. There's something there. Something between twelve and thirteen."

A flicker of determination crossed his face as his fingertips crackled with bright blue energy. He channeled the current into the panel, sending a surge through the system.

The floor indicators on the screen scrambled erratically, flashing through numbers before settling on two—the twelfth and thirteenth floors—flickering back and forth, as if struggling to acknowledge something in between.

The elevator lurched downward at a controlled pace, descending through the shaft with an almost deliberate slowness. The tense silence among the group was punctuated only by the soft drone of dull elevator music filtering through the speakers. The absurdity of it irritated them further.

Then, at last, the doors slid open with a quiet chime.

What lay before them was a floor they had never seen before—one that shouldn't exist.

Darkness stretched across the vast room, thick and suffocating. The air was stale, tinged with something unnatural. With a flick of his wrist, Juice sent a small pulse of electricity upward, triggering the overhead lights. The fluorescent bulbs flickered to life one by one, illuminating a chilling sight.

Rows upon rows of steel-barred cages lined the walls, each adorned with a stark red warning: DO NOT FEED.

Shifter hesitated, her curiosity drawing her toward one of the enclosures. She leaned forward cautiously, peering through the bars, her breath shallow. The moment she did, a feral snarl erupted from within. A monstrous figure lunged at her, its glowing eyes burning with raw aggression. Razor-sharp claws swiped through the air, missing her by mere inches before Downpour yanked her backward, his grip firm around her wrist. The beast slammed into the bars, snarling viciously as saliva dripped from its fangs.

Shifter's heart pounded. "What… is all of this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

A heavy silence settled over them as Wind Dragon took a slow step forward, his gaze fixed on something ahead.

"Over there," he murmured, pointing toward the far end of the room.

The others followed his line of sight, their eyes widening as they took in the sight before them—massive containment units, each filled with bubbling, viscous liquid.

Suspended within the glowing chambers were figures—horribly familiar figures. Each face was identical to their own, each body eerily motionless within the thick, bubbling liquid. The weight of the revelation struck like a sledgehammer, shattering any lingering illusions they had about their existence. Their stomachs churned as they stared at their own reflections, duplicated and lifeless, floating in eerie silence.

The implications crashed through their minds like an unrelenting storm. If these clones existed… then what did that make them? Had their entire lives been orchestrated? Were they even real?

Shifter clutched onto her brother's arm, her breath shaky, her voice barely steady as she whispered, "Wh-what are they…?"

"They called us expendable," Juice murmured darkly, his expression hardening as arcs of blue electricity crackled over his arms. His voice was steady, but beneath the surface, rage roiled like a storm. "That means these are supposed to be our replacements…"

The memory of Waller's cold, dismissive words echoed in his mind, "They're expendable."

His jaw tightened. He refused to be discarded like a broken tool, replaced by some lifeless copy without a second thought. The energy surging through him intensified, sparks crackling against the floor as he raised his hands, palms glowing with raw power. His fingers curled, prepared to unleash a devastating current into the chambers—to reduce them to nothing but shattered glass and charred remnants.

But before he could strike, Wind Dragon's firm grip clasped around his wrists, forcing his arms downward. Juice's glowing eyes met his, anger still burning in their depths.

"If we destroy it all," Wind Dragon reasoned, his voice steady but weighted with emotion, "there won't be any evidence left either."

Juice's breath hitched, his mind racing. Evidence. Proof. If they wiped this abomination clean, there would be nothing left to expose what had been done to them.

"What does it matter?!" Long Shadow suddenly burst out, his voice raw with emotion. His hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides. "It was all a lie. Our whole careers. Maybe our whole lives…" His voice broke slightly as he turned away, his broad shoulders slumping under the weight of realization. He exhaled a shaky breath, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. "I—I need to get out of here. I need to process this." His steps were slow, hesitant at first, but then more resolute as he made his way toward the exit.

Shifter and Downpour exchanged pained glances before silently following him; Wind Dragon released Juice's arms, taking a step back. "I won't stop you," he said simply, turning away and walking after the others.

Juice remained rooted to the spot, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stared up at the eerie reflections of himself floating in the glass containers. His anger warred with something deeper—something colder.

If these clones had his face, his body, did that make them guilty? Or were they just as much victims as he was? The fire in his veins dimmed. His hands slowly lowered as the electricity around him fizzled out. His jaw tightened, his breath coming in measured beats.

With a heavy exhale, he turned on his heel and sprinted toward the elevator, just as the others stepped inside. He barely made it before the doors slid shut behind them, sealing them away from the truth they had uncovered.

As the elevator descended, silence settled over them. Not one of them spoke.

…

Twenty Minutes Later

Dr. Emil Hamilton stood before the control panel, his fingers gliding across the illuminated interface as he monitored the status of the containment units. Rows of chambers stretched before him, each filled with a figure identical to one of the Ultimen floating in thick, nutrient-rich liquid. Their vitals remained steady, their systems functioning exactly as designed. With a measured breath, he turned to the others in the room.

"The clones are unharmed," he reported, his voice carrying the clinical detachment of a scientist whose work remained intact despite the unexpected setback.

Across the dimly lit laboratory, the rhythmic beeping of machinery was abruptly overshadowed by the sharp snap of a phone snapping shut. Amanda Waller's expression was a storm of barely contained fury, her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the unsatisfactory report she had just received. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, flicked toward Maxwell Lord, who stood stiffly beside the professor.

"Security can't find a trace of our Ultimen," she stated coldly, each word precise and brimming with restrained impatience. Without hesitation, she took a step forward, closing the space between her and Maxwell with an intimidating presence that far outweighed her stature. She jabbed a firm finger into his chest, her glare boring into him with the weight of an unspoken threat.

"But I want you to find them, Mr. Lord," she commanded, her voice low and unwavering, laced with the kind of authority that brokered no argument. "And I want them brought back."

Maxwell exhaled sharply, shifting uneasily beneath her scrutiny. He had known this moment was inevitable, but that didn't make it any easier to face. With a forced chuckle, he took a wary step backward, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

"They're not gonna trust me," he admitted with a bitter scoff, shaking his head. "Hell, they're not gonna trust anyone now that they know that we—"

"Bring them back," Waller cut him off without a shred of patience, her tone sharper than a blade. She let the words hang in the air just long enough for their weight to settle before delivering the ultimatum, "Or I'll call in the kill-squad to put them down."

A thick silence stretched between them. There was no exaggeration in her threat, no hint of hyperbole—only cold, calculated certainty. She had made her decision, and if Maxwell failed to deliver, she would not hesitate to act.

Turning away from him, Waller's attention shifted back to Dr. Hamilton, who stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, awaiting further instruction.

"I want this lab dismantled and relocated," she ordered, already striding toward the exit with the confidence of someone whose decisions were absolute. "No loose ends."

With that final decree, she disappeared through the doors, her heels clicking against the sterile floor, leaving Maxwell and Hamilton standing in the heavy silence of her wake.

…

Maxwell Lord exhaled heavily as he exited the building, the weight of Waller's ultimatum pressing down on him like a vice. He moved swiftly through the dimly lit parking garage, the sound of his expensive shoes echoing against the concrete. His car was just ahead—freedom only a few steps away. But before he could reach it, the air around him shifted violently.

A sudden, forceful gust spiraled into existence, whipping loose debris into a chaotic dance. Maxwell barely had time to react before the whirlwind engulfed him, his feet lifting off the ground as he was swept up into the eye of the storm. His stomach lurched as he spun through the air in a controlled ascent, disoriented as the world blurred around him.

Then, just as abruptly, the wind died. Gravity reclaimed him, and he plummeted downward, landing hard on a rooftop fifty stories up with a bone-rattling thud. Groaning in pain, Maxwell forced himself onto his elbows, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. As his eyes focused, he was met with a circle of figures towering over him, their faces cast in shadow against the backdrop of the city's distant lights.

"You lied to us, Max," Wind Dragon spoke first, his tone as cold and cutting as the high-altitude breeze.

Maxwell swallowed hard, his mind racing for a way out. He pushed himself up, brushing off his expensive suit as he adopted his signature, smooth-talking demeanor.

"I—I was only trying to protect you," he stammered, raising his hands in what he hoped was a gesture of sincerity. "From people who don't have your best interests at heart." He took a cautious step forward, glancing between their hardened expressions. "I've always been on your side. A-And I promise I won't stop until—"

His words were met with an irritated scoffed.

"Spare us the performance," Juice interrupted, his voice humming with barely restrained energy, the blue electricity crackling over his arms illuminating his scowl.

Maxwell's breath caught as a low, guttural growl rumbled behind him. He turned just in time to see Shifter morph seamlessly into a large, white-furred lioness, her muscles rippling beneath her sleek coat. She began to prowl in a slow, deliberate circle around him, her golden eyes locked onto his like a predator to its prey.

Maxwell stepped back instinctively, fear creeping into his voice. "What do you want me to say, huh? That you're not artificial life forms grown in a test tube? That your lives are still your own?"

His back foot scuffed the very edge of the rooftop, sending a few pebbles tumbling into the abyss below. He froze as Shifter lunged, her jaws snapping inches from his shin. He stumbled, arms pinwheeling, but managed to keep from toppling over.

"Well, I can't!" he shouted, his panic slipping into frustration. "Because it's the truth! You're barely a year old!"

The impact of his words was instantaneous. Shifter abruptly halted, her snarling expression shifting into one of shock as she slowly reverted to her human form. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their righteous fury warring with a dawning horror.

"That's a lie!" Long Shadow snapped, pointing a shaking finger at Maxwell. "I remember my parents! How much they loved me…" His voice faltered, cracking under the weight of emotion. He turned away, his shoulders shaking. "I was with my mother when she died…" A lone tear escaped, trailing down his cheek.

Maxwell sighed heavily, rubbing his temples before looking back at them with something almost resembling pity.

"Implanted memories," he said flatly. "Actors playing fake scenarios. Carefully crafted illusions to give you a sense of identity, to keep you obedient. This project—your project—was designed by Cadmus to create the ultimate superhero team. One that would be loyal to the government, unlike those 'loose cannons' in the Justice League."

Wind Dragon clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "And the clones?" he asked, though his voice had lost its earlier rage, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

Maxwell let out a humorless chuckle. "Why do you think?" he said, shaking his head. "If we'd mastered cloning technology, don't you think we'd have found a way to capitalize on it?" He studied their faces, waiting for realization to set in. "Your bodies are unstable. Your minds are deteriorating as we speak. And when you burn out, they will take your place—every thought, every emotion, every memory. Just like the last batch."

Juice's face twisted with fury as he surged forward, grabbing Maxwell by the collar and yanking him toward the ledge.

"How many?" he growled. "How many Ultimen were there before us?"

Maxwell grimaced, the wind whipping at his hair as he dangled precariously. "Just one," he admitted, his voice tight. "The prototype team. They lived their entire lives in a lab, testing their abilities until they…" He hesitated, his eyes darting toward the drop beneath him.

"We get it…" Wind Dragon said, closing his eyes as frustration and disgust warred within him.

"How could you do this to us?!" Shifter's voice was thick with unshed tears.

"We trusted you!"

Maxwell scoffed bitterly. "Me?" he echoed, his voice raw. "This goes so much higher than me. Even my superiors are just cogs in the machine. I was just following orders."

Juice's grip on his collar tightened, his eyes crackling with fury as arcs of blue lightning surged around his body. Maxwell barely had time to let out a strangled cry before thousands of volts coursed through him, his body convulsing violently.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the shock ceased. Juice's breath was heavy, his glare unwavering as Maxwell slumped forward, his body limp.

Wind Dragon reached out, resting a firm hand on Juice's shoulder. "No," he said, his voice eerily calm. "He's nothing. We want the big fish."

Juice held his gaze for a moment longer before exhaling sharply, releasing Maxwell's unconscious body with a shove. The man collapsed onto the rooftop, unmoving, as the Ultimen turned their backs on him.

…

Ultimen Tower

The opulent lobby stood no chance against the storm that ripped through it as Wind Dragon hurled the double doors open with the force of a hurricane. A deafening howl filled the air as the whirlwind surged forward, toppling furniture, sending papers spiraling into chaos, and shattering the floor-to-ceiling windows. Glass rained down like deadly confetti as the Ultimen strode in behind him, each member of the team unleashing their powers with merciless intent.

Juice extended his arms, electricity crackling along his fingertips before he sent a violent discharge arcing through the room. The energy surged into the grand chandelier hanging high above, overloading the delicate filaments and reducing the fixture to a smoldering ruin. Lightbulbs exploded in rapid succession, sending a fiery cascade of sparks down upon them, illuminating their march toward the rear elevators in an eerie, flickering glow.

As the elevator doors slid open with a pleasant chime, the passengers inside barely had a moment to react before their awe turned to terror. Seeing their supposed heroes standing before them should have been a moment of reassurance, but the cold, unrelenting expressions on the Ultimen's faces quickly shattered that illusion. Without hesitation, Long Shadow took the lead, his towering form stretching and swelling as he grew nearly a foot taller in an instant. His massive hands reached forward, roughly grabbing the two women inside and hauling them out with brute force. Their terrified protests were ignored as they were unceremoniously shoved aside, stumbling into the debris-ridden lobby as the doors sealed shut behind them.

The ascent was eerily silent, the team exchanging only glances as tension crackled between them, heavier than the scent of ozone lingering in the air. The moment they reached their destination, Juice reached out with his electrokinesis, sending a controlled surge through the system. The buttons flickered erratically before the elevator lurched to a stop at the hidden floor—one that no ordinary employee had access to. As the doors slid open, the team stepped out in unison, their eyes scanning the vacant space before them.

The stark, sterile scent of bleach filled their nostrils, and the fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. The floor had completely emptied—no signs of movement, no furniture, no equipment. Every trace of the operation they had come for had been erased.

"They're gone," Juice growled, his voice tinged with barely restrained fury.

Long Shadow exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as dread settled deep in his chest. "And we're dead," he muttered, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

He could already feel it—the slow, insidious creep of cellular degeneration gnawing at the edges of his body, a cruel reminder of the limited time they had left. Every second mattered. Every failure brought them closer to the inevitable. Panic clawed at his throat, but he swallowed it down, refusing to let desperation take hold.

"No," Wind Dragon snapped, his voice a thunderclap of defiance. His fury surged outward in a violent burst, the air around him whipping into a wild, frenzied gale. Loose debris lifted off the ground, spiraling in the powerful currents of wind that now howled through the empty space. His fists clenched, his stance brimming with barely contained energy. "They're here somewhere. They have to be."

Wind Dragon's command came like a gunshot: "Take this place apart."

Shifter wasted no time. Her form shimmered, morphing in an instant into a towering albino rhinoceros. Without hesitation, she charged forward, her massive horn lowering as she barreled straight into the nearest wall. The drywall crumbled on impact, sending chunks of debris flying as she tore through the barrier like paper. She didn't stop, plowing through the adjacent rooms with reckless abandon, caring little for whatever or whoever stood in her way.

Behind her, Downpour disintegrated into liquid form, a rushing surge of water cascading into every space Shifter created. The flood moved unnaturally fast, tendrils of water spreading into unseen corners, seeping through vents, pouring through the cracks in the floor. The lower levels of the building were thrown into chaos as workers scrambled to escape the sudden deluge, their shouts of confusion and terror rising over the destruction.

And then, with an earth-shaking crack, Long Shadow struck. His fist expanded exponentially, a monstrous, fifteen-foot hand erupting from the floor below like a vengeful titan. The ground fractured beneath the sheer force of the blow, tiles shattering as an entire section of the floor caved in. Desks, chairs, computers—everything was swallowed into the growing sinkhole as terrified employees fled, some diving for safety, others frozen in disbelief at the sheer scale of devastation.

As the Ultimen carved a path of destruction through floor after floor, frustration mounted like a thick fog settling over them. For all the chaos they unleashed, the building itself proved disappointingly ordinary—just another corporate high-rise filled with mindless office drones and meaningless paperwork. Aside from the hidden floor they had discovered, there was no sign that Cadmus had ever been here. No secret laboratories. No shadowy government operatives waiting in the wings. No files, no research, nothing.

Shifter, now in the form of an albino ox, rammed through a steel-reinforced door that led to the emergency stairwell, her hooves clattering against the concrete as she descended several flights in search of anything—anything at all—that might give them a lead. But after nearly twenty grueling minutes of senseless destruction of tearing through walls, ransacking offices, and sending terrified workers fleeing for their lives, it became painfully clear that their search was in vain.

The realization sat heavy in her chest, a weight that pressed down harder with each passing second. Anger simmered beneath her skin as she shifted back to her human form and stormed toward Long Shadow, who had since returned to his usual size. Her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor as she confronted him, her voice laced with frustration.

"What's the point of this?" she demanded.

Before Long Shadow could respond, Downpour materialized beside her, his watery form swirling and solidifying into his humanoid state. His expression was grim, his posture tense. Wind Dragon, who had spent the last several minutes tunneling through the building like a living cyclone, burst through the ceiling in a rush of turbulent air, landing in front of them with a resounding thud. Dust and debris settled around him as he turned to face Shifter, his brow furrowed in irritation.

She pressed on, her voice rising with each syllable, her emotions threatening to spill over. "We'll never find Cadmus. We'll never find a cure. It's hopeless!" The fight drained out of her as the words left her lips, and she slumped against the nearest wall, sliding down until she was seated on the cold tile floor.

Wind Dragon's expression darkened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took a sharp step forward, lowering himself to her level. His gaze burned into hers, his fury barely restrained. "Then what?" he challenged, his voice a low, seething growl. "We just give up? Lie down and die so they can replace us like we were nothing? No one ever knows we existed? That we mattered?"

His words hung in the air like a judge's gavel slamming down in finality. Downpour exhaled heavily, lowering his head as the weight of it all sank in. He could hear his own breathing, rapid and uneven. The pressure, the inevitability of it all—it was crushing him. He closed his eyes and whispered, "I say we just bring the whole damn building down right on top of us."

"No need to get dramatic," a voice called out from behind them.

Wind Dragon snapped his head around, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as his winds settled just enough to reveal the figures standing at the far end of the corridor. Ben Ten Thousand stood at the forefront, his stance firm and unwavering, flanked on either side by Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman—four living legends, each carrying the weight of justice on their shoulders. The sight of them alone should have been enough to inspire hope in anyone. But for the Ultimen, it was nothing but a bitter reminder of everything they would never be.

Ben took a measured step forward, his voice steady, devoid of hostility. "Atom scanned your cellular structures a few hours ago. We know what's happening to you," he said, his tone carrying a sincerity that contrasted sharply with the chaos around them. "And we can help."

Shifter let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she climbed to her feet. Her lip curled in disdain as she glared at him. "You idiot," she spat. "Do you really think you can help us? You think you can just wave a hand and fix everything?" Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "We were made to burn out! And nobody can change that."

Diana stepped forward, her presence radiating calm amidst the tension. Her arms extended in a welcoming gesture, her voice laced with understanding. "Whatever's going on, whatever Cadmus did to you, we will do everything in our power to—"

She never got the chance to finish.

"Yes. Power," Wind Dragon interrupted, his voice cold and distant. His gaze drifted downward to his own hands, clad in the stark white of his uniform. He flexed his fingers slowly, his palms trembling as fierce gusts of wind curled around them.

His mind felt like it was unraveling, pieces of himself fraying at the edges, slipping beyond his grasp. A part of him recognized it—the cellular degeneration creeping deeper into his cognitive function, warping his thoughts, twisting his perception. But the rage was stronger. The despair was louder.

"Power is what always comes down to, isn't it?" he muttered.

Ben arched an eyebrow, shifting his weight slightly. "Uh… did that sound like a villain-line to anyone else?"

Before anyone could react, a powerful concussive blast of wind struck Ben square in the chest, the force sending him hurtling backward through the corridor. He crashed through the drywall like a wrecking ball, disappearing from sight as the debris rained down in his wake.

Wind Dragon's arm remained extended, his fingers still curled from the strike. His breath was heavy, his pulse thundering in his ears. His eyes, once filled with desperation, now burned with a dangerous intensity.

"And that," he growled, his voice rising to a shout, "is the only way we'll ever be remembered!"

His arms tensed, and in an instant, he unleashed a roaring jet-stream of wind through the hallway. The sheer force sent papers flying, shattered what little remained intact, and forced the heroes into more defensive stances as the Ultimen instinctively moved in unison, lining up into their own battle-ready positions.

His next words rang out like a battle cry.

"If we're the ones who kill the Justice League, the world will never forget us!"

The air thickened with the weight of an impending clash, every muscle primed for the first strike. But before a single blow could be exchanged, the entire corridor erupted with a thunderous explosion of emerald light.

A shockwave of raw energy blasted outward, shaking the walls, sending shards of broken glass and rubble cascading to the floor. From the glowing green flare at the far end of the hall, a streak of black and white cut through the chaos like a lightning bolt.

In the blink of an eye, Wind Dragon was gone—ripped from his stance as a force faster than sound collided with him. The impact was a blur, an instant of pure speed and momentum. His strangled shout barely had time to echo before he was sent careening through the building, crashing through walls in a violent, uncontrollable spiral.

And then, just as quickly as it began, it ended.

XLR8 skidded to a controlled stop, the afterimage of his acceleration still shimmering in the air behind him. Wind Dragon, however, had no such grace. The momentum sent him hurling forward, his body twisting midair before he collided face-first into the far wall with a devastating crack, deep fractures splintering out from the point of impact.

Silence fell over the hallway, the dust settling around them as Wind Dragon groaned, slowly getting to his feet as the Ultimen engaged the League members in combat.

Diana sprang backward as Shifter and Downpour advanced in perfect tandem—one a relentless predator, the other an amorphous force of nature. In a seamless transformation, Shifter's form twisted and elongated, her skin bleaching into a sleek, ivory velociraptor. Beside her, Downpour collapsed into a liquid state, a sentient surge of water rushing across the battlefield to pool at Diana's feet before rising behind her like an impending tidal wave.

As she backpedaled with calculated precision, the Amazonian princess crossed her enchanted bracelets just in time to intercept the razor-sharp teeth snapping hungrily at her forearms. But before she could mount a counterattack, Downpour reconstituted himself, his watery limbs solidifying around her in a vice-like full-nelson, pinning her arms in place while Shifter lunged in for the kill. Reacting with the grace of a seasoned warrior, Diana engaged her core, lifting both legs in a powerful arc and clamping them around Shifter's reptilian neck. With a swift, explosive motion, she wrenched the creature downward, driving its skull into the unyielding ground.

The impact sent tremors through the earth, but Diana was already moving—snapping her head backward with unrelenting force, the back of her skull colliding brutally with Downpour's face. A muffled grunt of pain escaped him as the blow stunned him, his grip momentarily faltering allowing her to duck forwards, spinning around to re-engage her fighting stance.

Long Shadow's expression darkened as he watched his teammates engage the League, his resolve hardening. Muscles rippled beneath his skin as his body expanded, his frame swelling with sheer mass until he towered at twelve feet, nearly filling the corridor's narrow confines. Then, with a thunderous stride, he surged forward, the ground trembling beneath his immense weight. Like a living battering ram, he crashed into Superman at full speed, the impact sending them hurtling through the air.

The force of the collision drove the Kryptonian backward, both warriors slamming into the ground with an earth-shaking thud. Long Shadow landed atop him, using his sheer bulk to pin Superman against the unyielding floor.

Just beyond them, Batman already sprang into action, narrowly dodging as Juice unleashed searing bolts of crackling blue electricity in his direction. With a growl of effort, Long Shadow drew his fist back, his knuckles expanding even further, his hand swelling to grotesque proportions—an extension of his formidable strength. Then, with a single devastating punch, he drove his colossal fist into Superman's chest, the sheer force of the blow shattering the concrete beneath them. The Kryptonian was sent hurtling through the floor, crashing into the level below in an eruption of dust and debris along with the unstable ultiman.

Shifter's form twisted and expanded, sinew and bone shifting as she morphed from a sleek, predatory velociraptor into a towering albino gorilla. Her burly muscles tensed before she slammed both massive fists into the ground with bone-crushing force, narrowly missing the Amazonian warrior who leaped clear just in time. Diana twisted mid-air, executing a flawless backflip to escape the gorilla's reach as Shifter roared, swinging her powerful arms in wide, sweeping arcs in an attempt to swat her from the air.

Even as Shifter pressed her attack, Downpour reformed from his liquid state, his body coalescing into solidity just in time to witness Diana seize his sister's furry forearm with an unyielding grip. With a swift pivot of her hips, the Amazon harnessed her legendary strength, hurling Shifter's immense, 400-pound frame through the air as though she weighed nothing at all. The mutated gorilla crashed through multiple sheets of drywall, the force of the throw unrelenting, until she finally collided with a reinforced concrete support pillar. The impact sent deep cracks spiderwebbing across the stone before Shifter's unconscious body slumped to the ground, her form instinctively shifting back into its human state.

Through the jagged, gaping holes in the walls, Downpour's gaze burned with fury as he locked eyes on Diana. His sister's crumpled form barely stirred, and rage twisted his features into a mask of vengeance. Without hesitation, he turned his fury upon the Amazon, both his arms liquefying and extending into long, writhing tendrils of water. With a flick of his wrists, he lashed out, snapping them at her like twin whips.

Diana moved to evade, but the strikes were faster than she expected. One tendril coiled around her wrist, jerking her off balance, while the other lashed around her face, tightening like a python. Water surged into her nose and mouth, cutting off her air, drowning her in the very heart of the battlefield. She struggled, muscles straining as her lungs burned, her vision darkening at the edges.

But she was not finished yet. Summoning every ounce of strength left in her, Diana planted her back foot against the fractured ground, bracing herself. With a final act of defiance, she slammed her wrists together with all the force of a goddess.

A cataclysmic explosion of golden energy erupted outward in a blinding shockwave, radiating in every direction. The raw, divine power shattered the floor beneath them, the building groaning in protest as entire sections collapsed in on themselves. Dust and debris filled the air, and when the chaos settled, only the bottom half of Ultimen Tower remained standing.

Wind Dragon let out a snarl of frustration, his patience fraying with every failed attempt to land a hit. He lashed out, punching the air with raw force, sending bursts of highly pressurized wind whipping violently around him. His target, the alien speedster XLR8, was nothing more than a flicker of black and white, weaving effortlessly through the onslaught, each gust missing its mark by mere inches.

"You don't have to do this," XLR8 called out, his voice cutting through the chaos as he came to a sudden stop behind the wind-wielding warrior. The words barely had time to register before instinct took hold—Wind Dragon spun on his heel, unleashing another ferocious blast of air. But the speedster was already gone, vanishing in a streak of motion as the wind blast hurtled past him, obliterating a nearby wall. A deafening explosion followed as chunks of concrete and glass were sent plummeting twenty stories down, swallowed by the streets below.

For reasons he couldn't explain, Wind Dragon felt compelled to answer. The disease, the exhaustion, the mental strain—it gnawed at his thoughts, clouded his judgment, made him reckless. His voice broke with frustration as he finally roared, "It's all I know!"

His patience spent, he abandoned precision, instead drawing upon the full extent of his power. The air around him surged, currents twisting and roaring into a furious vortex, his entire form encased in a swirling wind-powered aura. The pressure in the room changed instantly as his abilities fed into a growing storm.

XLR8 skidded to a halt a safe distance away, his keen eyes watching as Wind Dragon's power expanded, the whirling mass of air thickening into a tornado that coiled around him like a living force. The building trembled beneath its might.

"You're confused, Dragon," XLR8 tried again, his voice edged with urgency. "Atom said the cellular degeneration would hit your cognitive thinking first!"

But Wind Dragon was beyond reason now. He groaned in agony, clutching his head as though he could physically force away the pain and the madness creeping into his thoughts. His eyes burned with defiance as he bellowed, "No more words!"

With a final cry, he surrendered himself to the storm. The tornado consumed him at its center, expanding wildly, its violent winds lashing out at the world around it. The entire building groaned in protest as the cyclone took hold, tearing through steel, concrete, and glass, peeling it apart floor by floor. The structure wasn't just collapsing—it was being devoured.

Elsewhere, Diana made her move. She launched herself through a shattered window on the nineteenth floor, her powerful frame breaking through the glass as she clutched the unconscious forms of Downpour and Shifter over her shoulders. With the grace of a warrior, she flipped through the air, landing on the sidewalk in a controlled roll before carefully laying her fallen foes on the cold concrete.

She turned back toward the crumbling tower, her expression solemn as the storm raged above. Then, a shift in movement caught her eye—Batman stood nearby, his form partially obscured by his billowing cape, his eyes locked onto the destruction before him. At his feet lay Juice's unconscious body, the Dark Knight having already subdued him in the chaos.

A sudden rush of wind and color shot past them. In a blur of blue and red, Long Shadow's unconscious form dropped unceremoniously onto the ground. Superman touched down beside them, casually dusting his hands off before turning his gaze back to the doomed building. His X-ray and microscopic vision scanned the integrity of the structure, his expression grim.

"The entire building's about to give," he reported, his tone calm but resolute. "If Wind Dragon keeps this up, he won't just take himself out—he'll bring half the block down with him."

Diana didn't hesitate. She exhaled, steadying herself, warmth flickering in her heart as she spoke with certainty. "Ben can handle this."

Across the street, XLR8 stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the colossal vortex as it consumed what remained of the building. The entire structure had been wiped from existence, the powerful winds scouring the foundation until nothing remained but swirling debris. The tornado stretched high into the sky, its roaring currents merging seamlessly with a looming cluster of dark storm clouds. Within the churning mass, flashes of lightning flickered, illuminating the chaos with bursts of white-hot energy. The storm had become something greater—an unstoppable force, feeding on itself, growing stronger with every passing second.

Wind Dragon was nowhere to be seen. His form had been swallowed by the cyclone, lost in the violent currents, spinning further and further from reach. For a brief moment, XLR8 considered his options. Then, clarity struck.

He didn't even need to transform again.

With a flick of his fingers, he activated the scanners built into his helmet's visor, the heads-up display rapidly calculating the tornado's rotation speed, pressure zones, and the precise vectors required to dismantle it. His mind processed the data in an instant, formulating the perfect countermeasure.

Drawing a deep breath, XLR8 tensed his muscles before launching into motion.

He became a streak of black and white, a blur of kinetic energy, circling the tornado's massive circumference with precision. His movements were calculated, every step placed with purpose as he ran counter to the vortex's natural spin. The sheer force of his speed generated a perfect opposing current—disruptive but controlled. He carefully balanced his velocity, ensuring he did not create his own competing vortex but instead unraveled Wind Dragon's from within.

From their vantage point, Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman observed in silence. The effect was almost immediate. Within seconds, the winds began to slow, their once-violent howls dimming to hollow echoes. The towering cyclone wavered, its spiraling force destabilizing. Then, in one final, decisive moment, the vortex collapsed in on itself, the air currents scattering harmlessly into the atmosphere.

High above, a figure plummeted from the remnants of the dissipating storm.

XLR8 reacted instantly. In a single fluid motion, he dashed forward, a blur of motion intercepting Wind Dragon mid-fall before he could crash onto the unforgiving pavement below. Without breaking stride, the speedster carried his unconscious opponent around the battlefield, finally depositing him gently on the sidewalk beside his fallen Ultimen teammates.

Then, as the last traces of the storm faded into nothingness, XLR8 stood tall, exhaling sharply as the dust settled around them.

"I take it that means you're back to full strength?" Diana quipped, a warm smile gracing her lips as a brilliant flash of emerald light momentarily bathed the street. When the glow faded, Ben stood before her in his human form, stepping forward with an easy confidence.

He closed the distance between them, slipping his arms around her waist. "Better," he admitted with a small shrug, pulling her closer. "I'm stronger than I've ever been. Thank you—for standing by my side today, for always having my back."

Diana's gaze softened, her hands resting lightly on his arms. "I'll always have your back," she assured him, though her tone took on a note of quiet insistence. "Just… never scare me like that again."

They both chuckled, the tension of battle giving way to a brief moment of peace. But the reprieve was short-lived.

A firm, unfamiliar voice cut through the air.

"We'll take it from here."

The words carried an air of authority, drawing the heroes' attention. They turned to see a woman approaching—portly, African American, dressed in a sharp, dark-blue pantsuit. Her stride was purposeful, her presence commanding. Behind her, an armored silver transport truck rolled to a stop, flanked by a squad of heavily armed operatives, their weapons held at the ready.

"The Ultimen belong to us," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Ben's eyes narrowed slightly as he and Diana instinctively shifted apart, squaring their shoulders to face the woman directly.

"Belong?" Ben echoed, the word sitting uncomfortably on his tongue. There was something cold in its implication, something that didn't sit right.

"A poor choice of words," another voice interjected, smoother, more measured.

Maxwell Lord stepped out from the passenger side of the armored truck, his expression a mixture of regret and inevitability. As he approached, his gaze met the League's, and though his stance was non-confrontational, there was an unspoken finality in his demeanor.

"We'll see to it that their last days are comfortable," he assured them.

"As if we'd ever trust you, Lord," Ben shot back, his tone sharp with suspicion, "You'd probably turn them into weapons."

"More than you already have," Batman added coolly, stepping forward to place himself between Amanda Waller and the slowly stirring Ultimen behind him. His presence was imposing, his posture unwavering as he blocked her line of sight. "We won't let you take them."

Waller's expression remained steely, unshaken by the defiance before her. "They signed a contract—not just with Lord, but with the United States military," she countered, her voice edged with authority. "That gives us full jurisdiction to transport them wherever we see fit. And if you interfere, we will have no choice but to designate the Justice League as a terrorist organization." Her eyes flicked between them, daring them to challenge her. "Is that what you want? A war?"

Batman's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening.

"They're not objects, Waller. They're people," Superman interjected, his voice firm but tempered with quiet indignation.

"Then take it up with the Supreme Court," Waller shot back without hesitation. "They were created artificially—brought to life through methods and technology owned by Cadmus. As far as the U.S. government is concerned, they are intellectual property."

Ben's eyes widened slightly. "You're Cadmus?" He exhaled sharply, his mind racing, turning his head to make eye contact with Waller whom, until this moment, he assumed worked for Maxwell Lord, "You're the ones helping Kevin?!"

Without a second thought, he lunged toward Waller, his frustration boiling over. But before he could make contact, Batman's hand clamped down on his arm, restraining him with a slight struggle, "Calm down," he asserted as Ben struggled against his grip, his muscles tense with fury as Waller merely observed, a faintly amused smirk playing at her lips.

"I'm not here to discuss those matters, Mr. Tennyson," she said smoothly, folding her arms across her chest.

"You—!" Ben started, but the words never fully left his mouth. Batman gave a firm shove, forcing him back into Diana's waiting grasp. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him, her presence alone enough to ease the fire in his veins.

Diana looked him in the eyes with a hand caressing the side of his face, "If you'd touched her, she would have undoubtedly tried to have you arrested."

Batman turned his focus back to Waller, his voice cold as steel. "If you think any contract—any law—will force the League to stand by and allow this, you're delusional."

Before she could reply, another voice rang out, stopping the argument in its tracks.

"We'll go."

All eyes turned toward the Ultimen as they slowly pulled themselves to their feet. Wind Dragon stood at the front of the group, his face devoid of emotion, his words carrying the weight of a decision long made. One by one, the others—Downpour, Shifter, Long Shadow, and Juice—silently nodded in agreement, their expressions betraying no hesitation.

Wind Dragon's gaze locked onto Batman's, his voice laced with quiet resentment, "If you really think we'd ever trust the Justice League to help us, you're the delusional ones."

He stepped past Batman without a second glance, the dark-knight couldn't do anything more if the young-heroes consented of their own freewill to go with them.

A slow, victorious smile spread across Amanda Waller's face as the Ultimen, without coercion, made their way toward the armored transport.

Batman remained motionless, his expression unreadable, yet beneath the cowl, a flicker of frustration betrayed his otherwise impenetrable facade. The League could do nothing but watch as the Ultimen, without coercion, stepped willingly into the armored transport. The heavy steel doors slammed shut with a dull, resounding finality—a sound that echoed in the silence that followed.

His gaze lingered on the vehicle for a moment longer before shifting to Amanda Waller. "What is Cadmus?" His voice was low, measured, but beneath it lay an edge of quiet demand. "Who are you people?"

Waller stepped forward without hesitation, closing the distance between them until she was uncomfortably close. She met his unwavering stare with one of her own, her expression a perfect mask of authority and control.

"That's a national security matter," she replied coolly. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in just enough for only him to hear.

"If I were you, I wouldn't probe too deeply… rich boy."

Batman's eyes widened ever so slightly beneath the cowl. It was a fraction of a reaction—imperceptible to most—but within him, a storm of calculations erupted. The implications of her words were staggering. Not only did Cadmus know of his existence, but they knew who he was.

Before he could respond, Waller pulled away, her business concluded. Without another glance, she stepped into the waiting black limousine. The vehicle pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the city's shadows, leaving Batman standing in silence.

For the first time in a long while, the World's Greatest Detective found himself staring into the unknown.

…

Several Hours Later - Watchtower

Ben and Diana stood alone in one of the expansive conference rooms aboard the Watchtower. The large, circular table before them remained vacant, surrounded by seven empty chairs. Diana, her expression tinged with concern, rested a reassuring hand on Ben's shoulder. "Are you absolutely certain about this?" she asked softly.

Ben exhaled, steadying himself as he met her gaze. "I don't see any other option. Once I explain everything, I'm sure they'll understand," he replied, his voice calm but resolute.

The quiet hum of the sliding doors broke the silence as Superman, John Stewart, Martian Manhunter, and Flash entered the room in succession. The Kryptonian, moving with his usual calm authority, made his way to the seat at the head of the table while the others took their places. His sharp blue eyes focused on Ben as he spoke. "Explain what, exactly?"

Flash, never one to hold back his opinions, plopped into his chair with exaggerated impatience. "Yeah, this better be good. Do you know how freezing it is running at Mach 10 in a skin-tight onesie at three-AM?" he quipped, folding his arms and leaning back.

"I'm less concerned about the cold and more about the time," Shayera added dryly from across the table, her wings shifting slightly as she settled into her seat. "So, whatever this is, make it quick."

Ben took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling the weight of their combined attention. "Most of you know that I nearly died earlier today. Those who were there saw how the creator of my Omnitrix gave me a power boost which saved my life," he began, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Diana. Her steady presence gave him the confidence to press on. "But there's something I haven't had the chance to explain. Ever since that moment, I've developed a stronger connection to the Omnitrix—a deeper awareness of it. And because of that connection, I can sense something else… Kevin is still way stronger than me."

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment before Shayera let out a sigh, propping her chin on her palm. "Okay, that definitely doesn't sound great—but it still doesn't explain why this couldn't wait until morning," she said, her tone reflecting her impatience.

Ben scratched the back of his neck, aware that he was asking for more than just their time. "I know it's late. I just figured we all have so much going on during the day that this conversation needed to happen as soon as possible."

Superman narrowed his eyes slightly, his voice taking on a more measured tone. "What conversation, Ben? What are you asking us for?"

Manhunter, ever the keen observer, tilted his head slightly. "Should Batman not be present for this discussion?" he inquired.

Ben let out a small, frustrated sigh. "I tried. But he's… preoccupied. Ever since we lost the Ultimen to Cadmus tonight, he's been more tense than usual."

"I would be too if she whispered my civilian name," Superman remarked, his enhanced hearing having picked up Amanda Waller's not-so-subtle taunt during their last encounter.

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Is that what she said?"

Flash, drumming his fingers on the table, rolled his eyes. "Okay, I know I'm usually the last one to say this—but can we please stay on topic? What is it you need, dude?"

Ben took a deep breath, recognizing this was the moment to lay his cards on the table. "I don't really need all of you—but I felt it was only right to bring this to the founding members before moving forward," he began carefully. "Here's the thing—my Omnitrix has the ability to scan and replicate the DNA of any sentient species that isn't human. Between the four of you, you represent the most powerful alien species on this planet. If you agree to let me scan your DNA, I'd be able to access those forms—and, by extension, your powers. If I'm going to have any real chance against Kevin, I need every advantage I can get."

His words hung heavy in the room, the gravity of his request sinking in as the League processed the implications.

Shayera raised an eyebrow, still stifling a yawn as she leaned back in her seat. "You want… to scan us? How does that even work?" Her tone was curious but edged with skepticism.

Ben offered a casual shrug, his hands gesturing as he spoke. "Well, usually, the dial pops out, a big yellow beam shoots from the Omnitrix, and—"

"Not what I meant," she interrupted, sitting up straighter as her wings shifted behind her. Her expression grew more serious—though the exhaustion tugging at her features was clear. "So… you'd be able to transform into me? I'm not sure you could pull it off," she added with a playful smirk, brushing a few loose strands of red hair behind her ear. Despite her teasing tone, there was an underlying hesitation as she continued. "Still, the idea of someone else being able to walk around in my body? I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that. There are a lot of… implications."

Ben chuckled softly, the mental image of transforming into a female Thanagarian clearly amusing him—at least until Diana nudged him sharply with her elbow. The gentle but firm jab to his abdomen was enough to sober him up, and he quickly cleared his throat, "Right. Uh—no, it doesn't work like that. The Omnitrix doesn't copy your exact appearance. It randomizes the physical form and transforms me into a prime specimen of the species. And, for the record, it keeps my gender the same."

Shayera's expression softened as her concerns visibly eased. "Oh," she said simply, her posture relaxing again. With a casual shrug, she added, "Well, that was the only thing bothering me. Go ahead—scan away." She gave an exaggerated thumbs-up before resting her head on the table, her red hair spilling out in a tangled mess around her.

Ben allowed himself a small smile at her easygoing acceptance before shifting his attention to the others. His gaze landed on J'onn J'onzz—the ever-serene Martian Manhunter—whose calm demeanor hadn't wavered since the meeting began.

"You've shown nothing but dedication to the well-being of this planet," J'onn said, his voice smooth and thoughtful. "I sense no deception or ulterior motive within you. If taking on the Martian form allows you to better protect this world, then I would be honored to assist in that endeavor."

Ben's face brightened with genuine gratitude. Hearing those words from J'onn—a being who rarely spoke without careful deliberation—meant more than he could express. With two Leaguers already giving their approval, his confidence swelled as he turned his focus to the last two figures at the table—Superman and John Stewart.

Of the two, it was the Green Lantern who remained uncharacteristically quiet. John's arms were folded across his chest, his jaw tight as he listened without interruption. His silence was a contrast to his usual directness, and Ben couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

Superman, meanwhile, remained composed as always, but there was a thoughtful sharpness behind his gaze—a sense that he was weighing the implications far beyond what had been said so far. He remained silent for several moments, his expression thoughtful as he carefully considered Ben's request. His gaze drifted downward, focusing on his hands folded tightly over the table in front of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but weighted with the burden of experience, "I'm always cautious when it comes to other Kryptonians," he admitted. "I've seen firsthand how much destruction we can cause when that power isn't kept in check… and how easily it can be misused." His words hung heavy in the air as if he were recalling battles fought against others like himself—beings who hadn't shared his sense of restraint.

He fell silent again, his brow furrowed in quiet contemplation before his demeanor shifted slightly. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That being said," he continued, his voice warmer now, "When I was… seeing red during the Lexor City debut, you were the one who pulled me back. You were the voice of reason when I couldn't see past my own anger. That kind of judgment—the ability to stay grounded when the weight of power is pushing you in the other direction—it's not something I take lightly. You've earned my trust, Ben. If you believe this will help, you have my permission to… uh, scan me."

Ben felt a surge of relief at Superman's approval, but before he could respond, John Stewart cut in—his tone firm and no-nonsense as usual.

"I've been a Green Lantern long enough to see my fair share of intergalactic idiots," he said bluntly. "People who've got more power than they know what to do with—wasting it on crime, destruction, or just their own selfish impulses. And I've seen how easily that kind of power can corrupt." His sharp gaze softened slightly as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "But you? You've been a different story. It's been a refreshing change of pace watching how you've handled yourself these past few months. You've got a good head on your shoulders—and more importantly, you know what it means to carry responsibility. If you need my permission for this, kid, consider it given."

Ben's smile widened at the Lantern's words, the weight of their collective trust settling over him—not as a burden, but as a responsibility he was proud to carry. For a moment, he turned his head, meeting Diana's eyes. There was no need for words; the quiet support he found in her gaze had been there from the beginning. She believed in him—just as these legendary heroes now did.

Turning his attention back to the group, Ben straightened his posture, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "I can't tell you how much it means to have your trust. I know what I'm asking isn't small—this kind of power comes with responsibilities most people can't even imagine. But I promise you, the only thing I've ever wanted to do with the power I have—the only thing I will do—is the same thing I've always done." His expression grew more resolute as he finished. "Be a hero."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence, but in the faces of the League's most powerful members, there was no hesitation—only trust.

The Flash pushed himself to his feet, his movements sluggish and heavy with exhaustion. Even through the crimson mask that obscured most of his face, the fatigue etched across his features was impossible to miss. He ran a hand through his hair beneath the cowl before stretching his arms over his head. "Okay, great—everyone trusts everyone. Heartwarming stuff," he quipped, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Can we wrap this up before I fall asleep standing?"

Across the table, Shayera let out a sigh, shifting her wings as if the mere act of sitting upright required too much energy. "I hate to agree with Wally," she admitted, her tone dry and blunt. "But if all this is settled, let's get to scanning so we can all go back to bed." She propped her chin on her hand, her amber eyes half-lidded as she fought against the pull of sleep.

As the group settled, Diana stepped forward, moving gracefully until she stood directly in front of Ben. The soft hum of the Watchtower's systems faded into the background as she met his gaze. Her ocean-blue eyes locked onto his emerald-green ones with quiet warmth and unwavering confidence. A gentle smile curved her lips as her hand brushed lightly over his forearm, the touch both grounding and reassuring.

"So," she began softly, a trace of curiosity in her voice, "how does this work? Do we need to stand in a straight line or something?"

Ben chuckled under his breath, tilting the Omnitrix up to eye level. "Ehh… or something," he replied, his fingers already moving deftly across the device's dial. Each twist and click echoed softly through the room as he inputted a series of command combinations, the holographic interface flickering with faint green symbols, "It's been… what? Almost a decade since I've had to scan anyone," he admitted, his brow furrowing as he continued to scroll through the Omnitrix's hidden functions. "I'm pretty sure there's a wide-range scan setting in here somewhere—just give me a sec." His voice trailed off as he became more focused, the intricate workings of the alien technology demanding his full attention.

For several moments, the only sound was the soft click-click of the dial and the rhythmic hum of the Watchtower. Then, without warning, the Omnitrix emitted a sharp, high-pitched beep, the device's interface rising up slightly as if recognizing the presence of something new.

"Uncatalogued foreign DNA detected," the Omnitrix's automated voice announced, its smooth, mechanical tone eerily similar to Ben's own. The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before the device reacted on its own.

Without further prompting, a sudden burst of radiant yellow light exploded outward from the Omnitrix, filling the room with a blinding glow. The energy pulsed and expanded in a rapid wave, sweeping over each member of the League. The light danced across Superman's S-shield, shimmered against the emerald aura surrounding John Stewart's ring hand, and illuminated the sleek gold of Diana's armor. It even glinted off Shayera's Nth metal mace, though she didn't bother to lift her head from the table.

The scan was over in seconds, but the afterglow lingered—a shimmering residue fading back into the Omnitrix as the device emitted one final, satisfied click, sealing the newly acquired data within its core.

Read, Review, Favorite, and Follow!