Nemo - SMW IV - Extreme Justice

by Spaceman

Nemo - Survivor of the Myriad World - Book 4 - The Heroes of Horai enter a new world, a Earth of a DC Universe. A world that mixes the histories of many worlds/ They don't know why they were sent to this world, but they will ensure JUSTICE! Young Justice x Justice League Crossover. Bi-Monthly Updates. No Commissions.

3. Chapter 3

Nemo – Survivor of the Myriad Worlds IV

Extreme Justice

SIOC multi-crossover

Story Start: November 16, 2024

Disclaimer:

My Hero Academia (Boku no Hīrō Akademia) is the property of Kōhei Horikoshi and Shueisha.

Marvel Characters belongs to Marvel Comics.

Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima and Kodansha.

BLEACH belongs to Tite Kubo and Shueisha.

Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takakashi (as does all her other works)

Yuyu Hakusho belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi (as does all his other works).

Sailor Moon belongs to Naoko Takeuchi and Kodansha.

Justice League was created by DC Comics, developed by Bruce Timm and produced by Warner Bros. Animation

Young Justice was created by DC COmics, developed by Brandon Vietti and Greg Weisman for Cartoon Network and distributed by Warner Bros. Domestic Television.

OCs belong to Spaceman (Me).

All characters and Ideas belong to their respective owners. This is a work of non-profit and no offense is intended. This fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only.

Cover art by Perchance.

Notes:

Reviews

Guest – Hal lives. A little crispy, but not out.

Alan – Yes.

Chapter 03 – [Atlanteans]

*Nemo*

2005

In the grand throne room of Poseidonis, the capital of Atlantis, the air was charged with tension. King Orin, known to the surface world as Aquaman, sat at the head of a long, ornate table, carved from a massive coral forming the centerpiece of his underwater kingdom. The walls, adorned with shimmering mosaics depicting the victories of Atlantean warriors and the deep sea's bounty, surrounded the convening assembly of his ambassadors and advisors—each representing the diverse and tumultuous city-states of Atlantis.

Orin looked around the table, his piercing ocean-blue eyes glinting with the wisdom of his ancestors. To his right sat Ambassador Crastinus, a stocky man with a long beard that reminded one of arctic tides. Crastinus began, his voice resonating almost like a rumbling wave, "Your Majesty, the Arctic Council has expressed grave concerns. The melting of the polar ice caps is not just an existential threat to our kind but a harbinger of disaster for all oceanic life. While the people of Greenland maintain their cordiality, we cannot remain idle as the waters rise—and the fish populations dwindle."

The king nodded, somber. "I understand, Crastinus. We must devise a plan to collaborate with surface nations, perhaps engage with environmental organizations. If they witness the consequences firsthand, they may finally act. We cannot afford to wait for them to acknowledge our plight."

To the left of the king, Ambassador Shayeris interjected, her voice cool and calculating. "In the North Atlantic, we've been cleaning up the aftermath of accidents between American and European vessels. While we have fortified our standing with surface dwellers to a degree, the constant flow of maritime traffic is a disastrous concern. Just last month, we salvaged a wreck that had released toxic materials into our waters. I fear that we need tougher regulations on surface vessels traversing our highways."

"Indeed, Shayeris," Orin replied. "We must emphasize these regulations in our next communications with these nations. Let them see that safeguarding our oceanic highways is not merely a local concern but a global imperative."

He motioned for the next ambassador to speak as the tone shifted. King Ryus Nereus of Xebel, a stern-looking figure with a trident etched with ancient symbols, rolled his eyes. "And then, of course, we have our ever-pressing issue. To put it bluntly, Orin, your very existence is a thorn in our side. We have been plagued with traditionalist dissent from our people. If you were a son of Xebel, they might consider your authority more legitimate. Instead, you are a king wed to an outsider."

Mera, sitting beside Orin and taking his hand, glared at Ryus. "Your stubbornness is clouding the judgment of our city. It was I who chose to unite our kingdoms through love, rather than letting ancient rivalries dictate our futures."

Orin raised a calming hand, feeling the weight of the room's growing tension. "There will always be challenges, Ryus. The path before us is not easy, but together, we can prove that unity can conquer the chaos in our waters."

The Nigerian ambassador for Tritonis spoke next, clearly frustrated. "Your Majesty, we face the menace of illegal fishing practices—our native populations are struggling as industrial fleets deplete our waters. They encroach upon our territories, disrupting not just our fishing but also straining our food supply. I propose we bolster our marine patrols."

Orin felt his brow furrow. "A proactive approach is necessary. We could collaborate with both surface and Atlantean enforcement agencies. Let your people's voices be heard—this will take time, but we can rally support."

The storytelling continued as Ambassador Calda of Lemuria chimed in, her dark hair floating fluidly around her. "We face increasing pollution from the surface world, particularly from petroleum and plastics. Atlanteans are suffering. We have filed complaints, but they fall on deaf ears! Perhaps more clandestine operations against these flouting nations are necessary."

"We must choose our battles wisely," Orin cautioned. "While my heart urges immediate action, we need robust evidence and unity to combat these threats without resorting to war. Tensions are high enough."

The summation of grievances came from Nuvola, the ambassador from Nanauve. "The polar ice is melting, King Orin. This problem compounds all that we face. As sea levels rise, low-lying island nations are threatened. We stand on the brink of a humanitarian crises. We cannot allow this to escalate into warfare; we must seek dialogue to avert conflict."

With sighs of frustration and concern echoing through the room, Orin rose, gathering the focus of all in attendance. "We stand at a precipice—each city-state contributing its own burdens to our dialogue. Each complaint is a piece of a larger puzzle. We will strategize, establish alliances, and more importantly, demonstrate our unified front—not just for ourselves but for all oceanic life. Our survival hinges on cooperation and understanding, and together we will make the surface world aware that Atlantis will not be silenced."

As he spoke, the quiet determination in his voice mingled with the currents of the ocean, instilling hope within the ranks of his advisors. The deep sea beckoned—a kingdom that fought for its rightful place, ready to protect both its people and their shared waters.

*Nemo*

The Metropolis Museum of History, a sprawling architectural marvel, towers over the city's cultural district with its gleaming glass facade and intricate stonework. It has become a symbol of knowledge and exploration, housing a vast array of artifacts that span centuries and continents. Inside, visitors wander through grand halls adorned with treasures from diverse civilizations—a testament to humanity's creativity and ingenuity. However, beneath the polished exterior and the soft hum of whispered awe lies a brewing controversy.

Among the museum's most noteworthy exhibits is a collection of artifacts from the lost city of Atlantis—ceremonial masks, intricate pottery, and shimmering bits of what can only be assumed to be Atlantean technology. This collection, drawing flocks of curious patrons, holds immense cultural significance, yet it comes with an undeniable shadow. Many citizens of Atlantis, who have kept their existence hidden from the world for eons, feel that these relics are a significant part of their heritage, violently extracted from their rightful resting places by those who saw only value in their antiquity.

As the deadline approaches for the transfer of these artifacts to the Atlantis Historical Preservation Society in Xebel, tensions mount. Activists from both Metropolis and Atlantis gather to voice their concerns, fearing that without proper acknowledgment of their origins, history will continue to repeat itself. Meanwhile, the guardians of the artifacts—the museum's curators and political influencers—gather in hushed meetings to determine the future of these pieces, caught between the moral weight of colonialism and the allure of public fascination.

Nemo Horai stared intently at the Atlantean artifacts on display, his imposing silhouette framed by the soft glow of the museum lights. At a towering height and possessing a muscular build that bespoke strength and agility, he commanded attention without trying. His coal-black skin shimmered under the museum's warm hues, and his eyes, hidden behind sleek wraparound sunglasses, concealed his true nature and thoughts. Dressed in dark clothing, punctuated by a long, flowing coat, he felt like a figure plucked from a gothic novel—mystical and enigmatic. Beside him stood his wife, Irene, exuding an effortless charm that drew the gaze of other patrons.

Irene, with her voluptuous figure and striking braided red hair cascading over her shoulder, wore a form-fitting red dress that accentuated her curves. Many onlookers mistakenly perceived her as a wealthy heiress and took Nemo to be her formidable bodyguard. Their looks suggested a pair of glamorous and untouchable elites—but beneath the surface lies an adventure-filled history they shared, echoing through millennia.

"Those who read the books truly never see the full scope of this world," Nemo remarked, his voice deep and resonant, echoing with a timbre that caught the attention of nearby teenagers. A couple of girls blushed, caught off guard by the gravity of his tone, even if they didn't grasp the full meaning of his words.

"There are a lot of stories that don't get into the books," Irene replied, a smirk playing on her lips, her amusement evident. After all, she was more than just a dragon in human form; she was an ancient spirit who found joy in the absurdity of the modern world even after a thousand years. "Did you hear about Clark Kent and Lois Lane? They were caught making out in a closet at the Daily Planet, and now those idiot tabloids are screaming that she's cheating on Superman! The irony is simply delightful."

Nemo let out a low chuckle, recognizing the complexities of human relationships. "There's also Wonder Woman's unwavering support of the LGBTQIA2+ community. It's amusing how some people delude themselves into thinking Amazons were all chaste holy maidens when they were, in fact, rooted in the liberated ideals of Ancient Greece. And speaking of absurdity, in Gotham, the tabloids are buzzing about Poison Ivy's recent trip to a nudist beach. Apparently, several high-profile politicians are now involved in the Gotham Hedonist Society."

"Don't forget about the new serial killer," Nemo quipped, leaning a little closer to Irene, his tone lowering conspiratorially. "She's been going around dressed in body paint. Honestly, it seems like Gotham is just one big caricature at this point."

"Oh, absolutely," Irene replied, her laughter ringing like music in the air. "And let's not overlook the Oreo Incident with Martian Manhunter, which resulted in Oreos and their knockoffs, those Chocos, being banned on Mars! Can you imagine?"

"I would have loved to see that!" Nemo said, shaking his head in disbelief. "And Giovanni Zatara, that magician, took a turn for heroism after losing his wife to cancer. It's such a wild world we live in."

"Isn't it?" Irene said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And the weirdest tale has to be the time Green Lantern stopped a bizarre extraterrestrial invasion of creatures that looked like pasta and sought to control humanity through food. They were thwarted when their 'Boss' was boiled into a limp noodle—incredible!"

Nemo turned to her; his expression incredulous yet amused. "That actually happened? I thought Green Lantern was hallucinating due to some rogue mushroom mixed with his Italian takeout!"

The couple shared a hearty laugh, surrounded by a museum filled with the treasures of ancient civilizations while pondering the whimsical chaos of the modern world—a perfect thematically fitting blend of past and present. Their playful banter not only solidified their bond but also suggested that even amid historical gravitas, a sense of humor could prevail—a truth as enduring as the artifacts themselves.

Laughter echoed through the Metropolis Museum of History, filled with a light-heartedness that enveloped Nemo Horai and his enchanting wife, Irene. In a heartbeat, that joy shattered. Dark figures emerged abruptly from the shadows of the exhibit, clad in sleek black uniforms that blended advanced technology with magical prowess. They had an unsettling appearance, sporting scales that glinted in the light, webbed fingers, and various aquatic animal features that hinted at their origins in the depths of the ocean.

Before the patrons could fully register what was happening, one of the attackers unleashed a powerful water-based magical attack. The torrent of water rocketed toward two unsuspecting teenage girls, ripe with enthusiasm as they examined the Atlantean artifacts. Time slowed for Nemo. With a surge of superhuman speed, he sprang into action, darting forward just in time to pull them out of harm's way. The water bullet intended to pierce their skulls instead slammed into the stone wall with a deafening crash, sending a shower of dust and debris into the air.

Panic rippled through the museum as patrons scattered, desperate to escape the chaos. In that moment of turmoil, Irene's instincts kicked in. With a graceful wave of her hand, she conjured a trail of eldritch energy that spiraled outwards. Ancient magical seals blossomed under the feet of each terrified visitor, creating invisible cylindrical barriers that sprang up around them, shielding them from the onslaught. The magic coursed through the air, a protective bubble against the violent energy of the attackers. While the Conservatory of Magic had trained many Atlanteans for centuries, none could match the prowess of a battle-hardened dragon sorceress who had lived for over a millennium.

As the invading Atlanteans unleashed wave after wave of energy attacks, they quickly realized their magic was ineffectual against Irene's barriers. In frustration, they shifted tactics, lunging forward with melee weapons and their own deadly claws. Yet, Nemo, also known as the Black Dragon Hero Abyss, was always a step ahead. Drawing upon his mastery of shadow manipulation, he summoned tendrils of darkness that snaked across the floor, binding the attackers and immobilizing their movements entirely.

"Do you see them?" Nemo asked, his voice low and commanding as he locked eyes with Irene, who nodded with a look of grave understanding.

"Got them," she replied, her demeanor shifting as she focused intently on the dark collars that adorned the Atlantean attackers' necks. Hidden beneath layers of dark clothing, these collars were imbued with malicious magic, evident by the pulsing runes that glowed briefly when Irene manipulated her own magic against them. With a decisive gesture, she unleashed a counter spell that caused the collars to shatter, falling away like brittle shells, leaving the Atlanteans bewildered.

Gasping in fresh air and releasing their minds from the oppressive bonds of the dark magic that had enslaved them, the attackers looked around in confusion, eyes darting from their surroundings back to Nemo and Irene, now entangled in shadows. A wave of applause erupted from the patrons safely enshrined within the magical barriers, an expression of gratitude towards their unexpected saviors. However, amidst the cheers stood two figures clad in dark clothing, bearing an air of menace that suggested they were far from innocent.

The taller of the two, an athletic woman with pale skin and long, flowing black hair, exchanged glances with her companion, a smaller, lean man with piercing green eyes and a bald head. They shared the same generic dark clothing, as if crafted specifically to obscure their identities without drawing too much suspicion.

"You two," Nemo commanded, his voice a rumble of authority, "Tell me what Ocean Master and his cult are after. Now."

"I don't know…" the woman stammered, her nerves fraying under the mounting tension. As sweaty palms gripped her sides, Nemo's imposing presence surged with a menacing aura—his draconic essence unfolding around him. The dark, powerful force engulfed the room, and both she and her companion felt paralyzed by primal fear, akin to being at the bottom of the darkest ocean trench, face-to-face with an elusive apex predator. Horrific visions of their gruesome deaths danced before their eyes, repeating mercilessly as their minds fought to escape the relentless grip of the aura.

When the terror lifted, they found themselves on their knees, gasping for breath, pale and trembling. The exposure to that draconic aura was more than just intimidating; it was traumatizing.

"Answer," Nemo demanded, his gaze unyielding, his presence casting an intimidating shadow over the two on their knees, now realizing they stood before a living embodiment of untold power.

"The golden artifact!" the man blurted out, desperation lacing his voice as he pointed with a shaky finger at a sleek, ancient relic displayed nearby. "Ocean Master wants that one. It's part of a set that belonged to Arion. I don't know any more. Please don't kill me!"

"Why did you use collared slaves?" Nemo pressed, uninterested in the panicked plea for mercy.

"We wanted to frame the Impure. If our operatives failed, it would've been a chance for us to reset. If they succeeded, we could leverage public opinion against the rights organization. The collars were supposed to kill them if they failed," the woman explained, her voice shaking as she relayed the twisted logic behind their actions.

"Impure?" one of the teenage patrons, still encased within Irene's protective barrier, asked, eyes wide with confusion.

Irene stepped forward; her expression fierce yet composed. "Thousands of years ago, when Atlantis sank, a portion of the metahuman and homo magi populations developed the ability to breathe underwater, their descendants eventually conquering much of the known world. What most don't realize is that some air-breathers survived the sinking of Atlantis without transforming into water breathers. Some found refuge in forming homo magi families, like the Zatara lineage, while others chose to dive deep into the ocean's embrace using magical grafting practices. This led to a spectrum of looks and abilities among Atlanteans. The racist ideologues who propagate hate against those with animal traits are called Purists. They've become a neo-Nazi cult following the villain Ocean Master."

"What did you do to them?" the second teen asked, bewilderment etched across his face.

"I used my draconic aura on them," Nemo replied, his voice steady. "The most primitive parts of their minds are still grappling with the fear of no longer being at the top of the food chain."

The weight of the situation hung heavily over the museum, shifting from panic to revelation, laying bare the darkness that lurked beneath the surface—a reminder that the world was still fraught with battle lines drawn between ancient truths and modern morality. As both the heroes and the spectators absorbed the gravity of this Atlantean conflict, a shared understanding emerged: together, they would confront the challenges that lay ahead, shadows and light intertwined in their stand against prejudice and oppression.

"Let's get some more information directly from the source." says Nemo looking to his wife.

*Nemo*

"Another day, another Heroic Quest," Nemo Horai mused, his deep voice resonating with an air of calm resolution. His thoughts wandered back to the first time he ever submerged himself underwater in this current life—a memory tinged with the humiliation of his childhood. Reincarnated as a human in a world filled with Quirks, heroes, and villains, he had started as nothing more than an abandoned child, the unfortunate offspring of a prostitute in a parallel Earth starkly different from the mythical worlds of his past. He discovered his unique ability, [self-sustenance], when a group of relentless bullies had pushed him off a dock. Instead of succumbing to the depths and sinking into the watery abyss, he sank without fear. His lungs filled with water, but it didn't matter; his innate power rendered the need to breathe irrelevant. This remarkable ability meant that even after enduring countless biological and magical transformations, he no longer needed to eat, drink, sleep, or breathe. The boundary between land and water blurred for him, making him feel at home in either environment.

Presently, Nemo found himself seated at a circular table, flanked by his wife, Irene, the Atlantean King Orin—better known to the surface world as Aquaman—and his regal counterpart, Queen Mera. In the center of their gathering lay the golden artifact, encased in a vacuum-sealed plastic container adorned with the Metropolis Museum's ID codes. The object was a tablet made of a gleaming golden metal, intricately decorated with images of mythical sea serpents winding among stylized trees, each detail a nod to its ancient origins.

"Arion was the first ruler of Atlantis," Orin began, his voice steady and authoritative as he shared the knowledge known to few outside the Atlantean realm. "After being bestowed power from the Lords of Order, he became the progenitor of all Homo magi and, consequently, of all Homo mermanus through his Homo magi descendants who survived the sinking of Atlantis when their Meta-Genes activated. Unfortunately, Arion himself did not survive the cataclysm that laid low our great civilization. This piece of history is well-known to any Atlantean child, yet the implications of Arion's decisions following his ascension remain obscured to many."

Nemo listened intently as Orin unveiled the hidden intricacies of their past. "Arion and his most knowledgeable children delved into the mysteries of magic and stumbled upon an ancient subterranean ecosystem deep within the Earth, teeming with colossal, primal beings known as the Leviathans—manifestations of the living elements. In an effort to ensure peace, Arion forged a magical contract with these creatures, promising that they wouldn't harm any Atlantean who entered the ocean, provided the Atlanteans would remain in their own world. In return, the Lords of Order guaranteed that none would disturb the deep."

"As the tale goes, when Arion died, the tablet he had forged shattered, and the Leviathans fell into a deep, unyielding slumber. Only a descendant of Arion could reunite the fragments of the tablet and command the Leviathans from their ancient sleep," Orin concluded, the weight of history evident in his tone.

"So, Ocean Master is a descendant of Arion?" Nemo interjected, already well aware of the secret swirling in the depths of the king's troubled heritage. It was not common knowledge among those closely connected to Atlantis that Aquaman's half-brother, Orm, wore the mantle of villain Ocean Master. Nemo is currently under a restriction that prevents him from telling all of Orm's secrets to Aqiuaman.

"Indeed," Orin replied, his brow furrowing. "Though records of Arion's lineage are extensive, many of his descendants often have large families. This has undoubtedly led to the political fragmentation we see today, with Atlantis splintering into various City-States. Additionally, any homo magi could trace their lineage back to Arion."

Nemo absorbed the implications of their conversation, recognizing how entwined their histories were—how the weight of the past shaped the very fabric of their present struggles. He considered the relevance of the artifact, its potential to impact not just Atlantis but the delicate balance of power across the world and the reverberations of Ocean Master's ambitions.

"Your Majesty, there is a disturbance outside—rioters!" A young guard burst into the chamber, his voice strained with urgency.

"What? Why?" Aquaman replied, alarm flashing in his eyes.

Outside the grand palace, a chaotic scene unfolded. A crowd of over a hundred individuals filled the streets, their voices rising in a cacophony of anger and frustration. They were all grafted Atlanteans, bearing animalistic traits inherited from various sea creatures: shimmering scales, tentacle-like appendages, and the sleek forms of marine mammals. Their faces were etched with defiance as they shouted slogans in unison, brandishing signs that echoed their grievances. "We stand for the Atlantean people!" read one. Another declared, "No more oppression from the purists!" They demanded better protection, their voices united in a desperate call for justice.

As the sounds of chaos reached a fever pitch, Irene's keen senses detected something amiss among the crowd. Within moments, it became glaringly apparent that the rioters were being manipulated, much like the invaders at the Metropolis Museum weeks before. With a swift and determined motion, she raised her hands, and the hidden slave collars clasped around the necks of half the rioters glowed ominously before shattering into pieces. The chain of control that bound them was broken, freeing them from their unseen captors.

Queen Mera, head of the Conservatory of Magic, instinctively sensed the remnants of dark magic woven into the collars. Drawing upon her profound understanding of the arcane, she channeled her energy into a spell of her own, shattering the remaining collars with a burst of vibrant brilliance. The crowd erupted in relieved shouts, the sudden weight of control lifting as they regained their autonomy.

Amid the tumult, Nemo's sharp eyes spotted the hidden Purists lurking at the edges of the commotion, their dark hooded cloaks obscuring their identities. They were coordinating the riotous energy, ensuring chaos unfolded as a diversion for their schemes. As they attempted to slip away unnoticed, Nemo's resolve hardened. No one would escape his judgment.

With a quick incantation, he unleashed his shadow manipulation powers, dark tendrils unfurling from the palace's shadows like serpents in the night. The shadow tentacles snaked towards the retreating Purists, wrapping around them with a firm grip that sent them cascading into a panic. Their screams were swallowed by the encroaching darkness, and before the crowd could fully comprehend what was happening, Nemo dragged them into the depths of shadow.

In an instant, the shadows released their grip, materializing in a burst of dark energy, dropping the disoriented Purists in front of Aquaman. The Atlantean King stood tall, muscles taut, his eyes ablaze with fury. He looked ready to unleash his wrath on these vile figures who dared to enslave any of his people.

Unfortunately, while Aquaman, Queen Mera, Nemo, and Irene were fully engrossed in confronting the enslaved protesters and apprehending the scheming Purists, an unseen threat quietly lurked in the shadows. The relic fragment—the golden tablet that held the key to unlocking ancient powers—had fallen victim to the machinations of an agent loyal to Ocean Master. With chaos erupting outside the palace, a cunningly disguised operative, expertly trained in subterfuge, slipped through the cracks of the unfolding tumult.

Utilizing the distractions provided by the rioters and the ensuing rescue efforts, this agent moved with the stealth of a deep-sea predator. Their stealthy approach was facilitated by Aquaman's naïveté regarding his half-brother's true identity; the King remained blissfully unaware that his familial ties extended to a supervillain bent on overturning the very foundations of Atlantis. The agent quickly outmaneuvered the palace guards, exploiting the calculated chaos to blend within it, reaching the chamber housing the coveted relic fragment without raising an alarm.

*Nemo*

In a hidden base nestled deep near Poseidonis, the Purists had constructed a sprawling facility disguised as a recycling factory. This massive structure, ostensibly dedicated to processing the surface world's metal and refuse to protect their underwater environment, was positioned at the very bottom of the ocean. Its crude purpose was to serve the Atlantean people and curb the pollution invading their sacred waters. However, beneath this facade of altruism lay a dark secret; part of the factory had been repurposed into a grim prison for the "impure" Atlanteans—those deemed unworthy by the zealous Purists.

Inside this bleak confinement, desperate souls languished, powerless to escape the cruel confines of their captivity. Ensnared in magic collars that shackled their will, these unfortunate Atlanteans could only follow the whims of their captors. Their days revolved around what little sustenance was provided, and bathing was merely a privilege, dictated by the heartless masters who held them in thrall. Fulfillment of their basic needs was controlled ruthlessly, reducing them to mere tools of the Purists' ideology.

As the Purists convened in their hideout, an air of panic settled among them. The arrival of two surface heroes, Abyss and the Dragon Sorceress—known as Lady Irene Horai—who had recently garnered the attention of King Orin and Queen Mera following their disruptive intervention at the Metropolis Museum, triggered urgent discussions. The Purists could sense that their grip on power was faltering, especially as both Mera and Irene had begun to detect the dark magic underpinning the collars that oppressed the prisoners. With their minds swirling in confusion, the Purists debated their next move: should they resort to execution to eliminate any witnesses, or should they use the captives as leverage against Aquaman and the burgeoning alliance of heroes?

Before a decision could be forged in blood or deceit, the choice was abruptly snatched from their hands. Without warning, a powerful magical barrier enveloped the cells containing the "impure" slaves. This impenetrable force blocked all sight, sound, and magic, effectively severing the imprisoned souls from their captors. Anyone on the inside who dared to touch the barrier collapsed into unconsciousness, while the Purists who attempted to breach it found themselves met with excruciating shocks that hurled them backwards, leaving them in stunned disbelief.

The atmosphere shifted dramatically as the Purists braced themselves, their eyes wide with dread, when the very doors to the prison area were blasted away in a spectacular display of sheer force. Two formidable figures strode into the chamber without haste, exuding an intimidating presence that commanded instant respect. Dragon Sorceress (Lady Irene Horai) and Black Dragon Hero Abyss (Lord Nemo Horai) advanced through the wreckage of shattered barriers as if wading casually through a thick Irish fog. The stark contrast between the deluded Purists, blinded by their obsession with blood purity, and the majestic draconic figures of Irene and Nemo was palpable.

As they closed the distance, Nemo suddenly opened his eyes wide, unleashing his draconic aura at its fullest intimidation level. The moment this dark, all-encompassing energy enveloped the room, panic erupted among the Purists. Those channeling magic or arming themselves were immediately incapacitated by a wave of overwhelming blood lust that descended upon them like a monstrous tsunami. Their senses screamed as if they were drowning in the abyssal black waters of the ocean's depths, their very souls crushed under an oppressive weight of unfathomable power.

When Nemo retracted his awe-inspiring aura, a deathly silence fell over the chamber. The Purists were irrevocably broken; some had curled into fetal positions, trembling and praying for deliverance from this living nightmare. Others were so mentally shattered that foam gathered at the corners of their mouths, the gravity of their terror too much for their minds to bear. A rare few lay still, lifeless, having succumbed to the overwhelming horror of experiencing the full extent of the dragon's might—a power that transcended the natural world.

Accompanying Nemo and Irene were Atlantean guards, who had come to assist in arresting the Purists. Their faces paled with fear, recognizing the sheer magnitude of the authority that radiated from the Dragon King and Queen of Horai Island. In this moment, walking alongside such primordial forces felt like they were in the presence of dark gods, and the icy reality of their situation permeated the atmosphere. They were witnesses to a reckoning, one that would ultimately decide the fate of their world, as the oppressive reign of the Purists began to crumble under the weight of a power that sought justice for the wronged.

*Nemo*

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting shimmering rays across the vast expanse of the South Atlantic Ocean, where the city-state of Xebel lay nestled among the seaweed and coral reefs. A small, bioluminescent school of fish darted beneath the waves as King Orin, more widely known as Aquaman, and his wife, Queen Mera, breached the surface. Their mission was dual-fold: to recover the second fragment of the Leviathan Tablet and to navigate the complex political waters that simmered between Xebel and Poseidonis, the heart of Atlantis. With deep-rooted animosity towards Poseidonis festering among its citizens, Xebel was a land alive with tension.

As they approached the Atlantean Historical Preservation Society—a once-proud bastion of knowledge now wrapped in chaos—Orin's stomach tightened. A cacophony of violence erupted as Ocean-Master's mercenaries, alongside a horde of zealous cultists, assaulted the building. Inside, Prince Orm—Orin's half-brother and an ally in this tumultuous landscape—fought valiantly alongside a cadre of armed guards, desperately defending the relics housed within.

The air crackled with electricity, punctuated by the clash of metal against metal. Orin felt the familiar surge of his Atlantean heritage coursing through him, igniting his resolve. He shared a brief, determined glance with Mera, and in a synchronized motion, they dove into the fray, their royal blood empowering them in the midst of battle.

Orin's connection to the ocean manifested as he summoned a tide of microscopic creatures from the depths. The tiny organisms surged forward with surprising force, infiltrating the masks of Ocean-Master's henchmen. Faces contorted in panic as they choked, the once-imposing attackers now scrambling for breath against an enemy they couldn't see. Mera, standing at Orin's side, wielded her magical prowess like a tempest. Brilliant blasts of energy flew from her hands, embedding the mercenaries against the walls with a freezing grip of magical ice. Her voice echoed with an authority that commanded not just the elements, but the very spirits of the ocean.

Together, the royal couple turned the tide of battle, their synergy a beacon of hope amid the chaos. Aquaman found pride swelling within him as he caught a glimpse of Orm amidst the clashing bodies, wielding his sword in defense of their shared heritage. Yet, in the depths of his heart, a gnawing unease flickered; something felt off, as shadows danced on the edges of his consciousness.

As the mercenaries began to retreat from the Preservation Society, regrouping under the banner of their enigmatic leader—Ocean-Master—the tension reached a breaking point. The masked villain, realizing the futility of his attack, cast one final, resentful glance toward Orm before plunging into the depths, swallowed by the dark waters.

With the immediate threat quelled, Orin and Mera emerged, soaked yet resolute. Mera's eyes burned with determination as she approached Orm, her voice a commanding whisper. "Have you secured the fragment?"

"Right here," Orm replied, holding out an ornate box, the contents glowing faintly with an otherworldly radiance. As Orin leaned closer to inspect the artifact, an unsettling tension gripped his heart. The fragment, intricately carved and undeniably ancient, beckoned to them—but a deeper instinct warned him of an unseen danger.

Mera delicately traced the obverse of the tablet, her expression shifting from hope to horror in an instant. "This..." she stammered, the gravity of her realization weighing heavily on her words, "is a fake."

The revelation struck like a thunderclap, echoing through the Preservation Society. Orm's mask of stoicism cracked just slightly, revealing the raw concern simmering beneath the surface. "It must have been switched during the melee. Someone anticipated our movements, just as they did with the first fragment."

Orin felt his heart sink further, dread pooling in his stomach. They had been ensnared in a web of deception before, where rioters turned out to be individuals under the sway of malevolent magic. "We cannot allow this to slip further from our grasp," he murmured, a fierce determination igniting his voice.

Unbeknownst to Orin and Mera, the Orm standing before them was weaving an intricate tapestry of lies, a façade that concealed his true identity. He was not just Prince Orm; he was the real Ocean-Master, a fact hidden even from his loyal followers within the Purist faction who believed they were serving a noble cause. The true stakes of this confrontation extended far deeper than the ocean itself, threading through the murky depths of loyalty, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of power within the great underwater empire of Atlantis.

*Nemo*

Gotham City was a place not for the faint of heart. Dark, foreboding, and steeped in a history marked by brutality and betrayal, it stood as a tribute to mankind's capacity for both creation and destruction. The origins of the city were tangled in a shroud of mystery and stained by the sins of generations. From the deaths of Indigenous people to the bloodshed wrought by European colonists, the land itself seemed to weep for its past.

In 1635, European colonists, led by the mercenary-sailor Captain Jon Logerquist, established a settlement in the area. Having fought valiantly during the Thirty Years' War, surviving the horrific carnage of the Battle of Nördlingen in Swabia, Logerquist sought refuge from the religious wars that consumed Europe. His decision to flee to North America heralded the founding of what would become Gotham, but it was a grim birth—for every generation that followed was marked by corruption, deception, and crime. The city's harsh architecture, a desperate attempt to impose moral order, only deepened its shadowed visage.

By the 1930s, Gotham had solidified its reputation as a dark, dystopian metropolis where crime and corruption reigned supreme. As organized crime families struggled for control, a newer wave of villainy, with flamboyant supervillains and grotesque schemes, began to take hold. The stage was set for chaos, as Gotham emerged as a battleground for both traditional crooks and more extraordinary adversaries.

But within this urban nightmare emerged a savior clad in shadows—the Dark Knight. Batman, who required no throne or coronation, was determined to confront both the old corruption and the new madness erupting in his city. His legend loomed like a storm cloud over Gotham as he stood ready to defend it against any who dared to invade.

On this particular night, the Batmobile roared into existence, slicing through the darkness, destined for the Gotham Museum. It was here that the forces of Ocean-Master—Atlantean terrorists who combined superior physical prowess with advanced magical technologies—intended to seize the second fragment of the Leviathan Tablet. They were well aware of the dangers they would face, yet their arrogance concealed the truth: they were in Gotham now, a world governed by the rules of fear and stealth, not brute strength.

As the lights within the museum flickered ominously and plunged into darkness, the Purists and Mercenaries sensed they had stepped into a trap. Enhanced eyesight, a common gift for those who lived in the deep ocean, did little to illuminate the creeping dread that enveloped them. They found themselves lost in the suffocating shadows, where one figure emerged as the embodiment of terror—the caped crusader, trained by the League of Assassins to be a weapon of precision and non-lethal force.

With an agility and speed that seemed to defy the laws of nature, Batman struck. He dropped down silently, taking out the first Atlantean terrorist, his movement a fluid dance that belied the violence entailed. Panic spread swiftly among the mercenaries as the Dark Knight wove through the shadows, each attack executed with precision, leaving his foes incapacitated and fearful. They were criminals, not soldiers, and in a battle for which they were sorely unprepared, they quickly became mere shadows of their former selves, rendered next to helpless against his stealthy prowess.

In the back room of the museum, the situation grew dire. A museum curator—a diminutive man with a balding head and thick glasses—knelt on the floor, whimpering. His face was marred with bruises, evidence of his brutal treatment at the hands of the mercenary commander. The commander, towering over him in blackened Atlantean armor, gripped a fake version of the treasured fragment tightly in one hand, his expression a mixture of anger and contempt.

"This is a fake. A poor one," he sneered, crushing the imitation effortlessly with his superhuman strength, sending a rain of white dust and gold leaf cascading to the floor. "Where is the real one?"

The curator's voice trembled. "Please... I can't..."

With a swift, merciless motion, the commander seized the curator's arm, twisting it and breaking one of the man's fingers with a sickening crack. The sound echoed in the tense atmosphere.

"Stop! I'll tell! Please!" The curator's pleas were laced with desperation. "It's a smuggling operation... run by The Penguin. We send photos; he makes fakes... the real ones are kept in a warehouse near Pier 6. Number 6!"

His words hung heavy, mingling with the dust of crushed deception. Just then, a Batarang sliced through the air and barely missed the commander. Growling in annoyance, he turned, adrenaline coursing through him.

"I was wondering when you would arrive, Batman," he said, grinning as he recognized his formidable opponent.

"Surrender," came Batman's deep, commanding voice, resonating through the dark like an incantation.

"You shouldn't focus on me," the commander replied, a malicious glint in his eye as he pointed toward the curator's neck.

There, glinting ominously in the dark was an explosive collar fitted with a countdown timer. "What's more important: my freedom or this man's life?"

Batman's gaze narrowed as he assessed the situation, the gravity of the choice weighing heavily. The commander's figure then vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind a brand of uncertainty. Time was now of the essence for Batman as he raced over to the curator, quickly assessing the detonator poised to spell doom.

Minutes later, the Atlantean terrorist commander was on a communicator, swiftly relaying his findings to Ocean-Master as he made his way toward Gotham Bay.

"Objective found in Warehouse 6, near Pier Six. The Penguin is involved," he said, urgency tinging his tone.

"Bat?" Ocean-Master's voice crackled over the line, probing for details.

"He's been distracted by the explosive collar," the commander replied, exasperation creeping in. "If he had backup, both of his objectives could have been achieved."

"Despite the formation of the Justice League, Bat is still territorial about Gotham," Ocean-Master replied coolly, his thoughts considering the implications of this developing situation.

As the two forces kept their own battles waged, the stakes were rising higher, a precariously balanced dance of motives swirling beneath the depths of Gotham and the ocean alike. The Dark Knight would not back down; both he and the Atlantean threat were locked in a struggle that blurred the lines between honor, survival, and chaos—all on the night when shadows converged.

*Nemo*

The alleys of Gotham City throbbed with a pulse of savage ambition and treachery, the kind that clung to its bricks and echoed in its shadows. At the heart of this chaos, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, more commonly known as The Penguin, presided over his empire like a dark monarch in a sordid fairytale. His club, the Iceberg Lounge, served as both a social hub for Gotham's elite and a front for his intricate web of criminal operations. With his deformed physique—round, stout, and congenitally altered—he had become a caricature of the very name that taunted him. Yet, behind the mockery, Cobblepot had transformed his humiliation into a ruthlessly cunning persona, one that inspired both respect and fear in equal measure.

His nefarious endeavors had recently culminated in an operation to smuggle gold artifacts out of the Gotham Museum, an enterprise he approached with both audacity and bravado. He relished the thought that the Egyptian government itself was financing his illicit project, having tasked him with retrieving items originally taken from them by the British Museum. A smirk formed on his lips at the irony of it all—a notorious Gotham crime lord laundering artifacts for a foreign nation, his pockets fattened by their naivete.

But on that fateful night, as Cobblepot's men prepared to execute their plan, chaos erupted. Without warning, the heavy doors of his warehouse burst open, and a wave of Atlantean terrorists surged into the room, clad in battle-hardened black armor designed for the ocean's crushing depths. The very air seemed to chill as their menacing silhouettes loomed in the dim light, weapons gleaming ominously. An unholy union of crime and calamity was about to unfold.

Cobblepot's diverse criminal crew was armed to the teeth, equipped with Glock-series handguns, Winchester 1300 shotguns, AR-15 rifles, and an array of knives and grenades. They were well-supplied, perhaps more so than the traditional crime families of Gotham. Yet, against the relentlessly impressive might of the Atlantean warriors, their firepower proved to be woefully insufficient.

The initial exchanges of gunfire morphed into a symphony of carnage. Atlantean guns fired luminescent blue beams, eerily reminiscent of water jets, but they possessed the ferocity to pierce steel. The blue shots glided through the air with an ominous elegance, turning what had initially appeared to be a secure warehouse into a killing field. The Atlantean warriors unleashed hell on Cobblepot's men, as the blue beams penetrated crates and shipping containers alike, showering the room with violent sprays of blood. Dismembered limbs and lifeless bodies quickly filled the space, a testament to the stark difference in power and resilience.

The Penguin, ever the resourceful tactician, brandished his signature umbrella—a clever device bolstered with gadgets and weaponry—a true testament to his cunning. He lunged forward, catching one Atlantean off-guard, piercing through the soft flesh of its neck with the blade that extended from his umbrella, managing to bring one enemy down amidst the chaos. But for every small victory, the odds continued to stack further against him. The relentless onslaught and superior firepower of the Atlantean warriors were overwhelming, revealing the fatal flaws of Cobblepot's bravado.

As the tide of battle shifted irrevocably, a blue beam punched through the air, striking The Penguin's arm. The world suddenly dimmed, and an agonizing pain coursed through him as his right arm was severed, the grotesque sight causing fresh ripples of terror among the remaining criminals. Cobblepot collapsed to the ground, horror stricken, his blood pooling around him, starkly contrasting with the cold concrete floor.

The cacophony of battle began to fade, the sounds of despair and death replaced by a more sinister presence. Emerging from the shadows, Ocean-Master strode forward, holding the final fragment of the Leviathan Tablet—a small piece of gold that glinted dangerously in the half-light. Concealed within his fist, it shimmered like a beacon of promise lost amid the blood-soaked chaos of the day.

"This is what your life is worth, Penguin," Ocean-Master intoned mockingly, a cruel smile stretching beneath his mask. "What it was worth."

The words felt like a death knell, reverberating through Cobblepot's fading consciousness as helplessness washed over him. He was no longer the feared crime lord but a pitiful shell, brought low by the very ambitions he had nurtured. As his vision blurred and the taste of blood tainted the air, he grappled with the dark humor of it all—his life's work reduced to a cruel jest, one final affirmation of his worth in a world he had sought to dominate but ultimately could not control.

In that warehouse, a legacy writhe in blood and betrayal teetered on the edge of oblivion.

*Nemo*

Ocean-Master stood on Pier 6; a solitary figure silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of Gotham Bay. The moonlight danced across the surface of the water, casting ripples of silver and shadow, while he reveled in the dark power he was about to unleash. In his gauntleted hands, he held all three fragments of the legendary Leviathan Tablet, their surfaces glinting tantalizingly in the ethereal glow of the night.

With a fluid motion, he produced a small vial containing his royal blood—deep red, thick as liquid rubies. He paused to relish the moment, feeling the weight of destiny settle upon his shoulders. As he poured the blood over the fragments, an immediate transformation took place. The moment the crimson liquid touched the golden surfaces; they began to shimmer with a captivating brilliance. An aura of shining gold danced around the shards, intertwining with dark crimson flames that flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows on the pier.

Suddenly, the tablet fragments reacted like magnets, drawn irresistibly toward one another. As their edges connected, a fiery glow enveloped them, illuminating the night sky. For a brief moment, everything seemed to pause, the world around him reverent in anticipation. When the glow finally faded, Ocean-Master beheld the tablet, now fused back together with an artistry that made it appear as though it had never been shattered. The crimson aura dissolved, replaced by a radiant gold that pulsed with power, arcs of white lightning crackling around it like fiery veins of ancient magic.

"Διεκδικῶ τὴν πλάκα διὰ τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ Ἀρίωνος. Ἐγείρω ἐκ τῶν βαθέων, τοὺς Λευίταν."

"Diekidkó tin pláka dià tou haímatos tou Aríonos. Egeírō ek tôn vadéin, tous Levítan."

"I claim the tablet by the blood of Arion. I awaken from the depths, the Leviathans."

Overhead, the atmosphere crackled with overwhelming magical energy, and Ocean-Master's dark armor radiated with the same golden hue as the tablet, casting a surreal glow over the pier. His laughter, manic and triumphant, echoed into the night, a chilling announcement of his victory over both the tablet and those who dared oppose him.

Meanwhile, the Batmobile roared down the winding roads of Gotham, Batman's mind racing as he recalled the life he had just saved—the curator, clutching his wounded arm, had been a fleeting victory in an otherwise unrelenting battle. He had arrived too late. The distorted skyline of Gotham loomed ahead, and as he approached Pier 6, the weight of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

As he reached the pier, the sight that greeted him sent a jolt of horror through his veins. The waters of Gotham Bay began to withdraw, retreating as if a great beast were rising from the depths. The harbor was emptied in an unimaginable display of raw power, indicating the impending arrival of a calamity—the kind that could shatter the very fabric of the city. Ocean-Master's laughter faded into insignificance against the mounting chaos, and Batman's eyes widened in realization: a city-shattering tsunami was on the way. Desperation ignited within him as he prepared to race into the fray, determined to stop the tide of destruction that threatened to swallow Gotham whole. The stakes had just escalated beyond anything he could have anticipated.

*Nemo*

The city of Gotham, a sprawling urban jungle with its iconic skyline piercing the heavens, was struck by a catastrophic tsunami, an unprecedented event that shattered the mundane rhythm of city life. As the waves approached, a harbinger of chaos unfurled over the horizon, the water reflecting a metallic sheen, foretelling the wrath of Ocean-Master, the Atlantean villain whose ambitions for power had summoned nature's fury against the city that had wronged him.

Unbeknownst to the citizens, their lives hung by a thread. The tsunami was not merely a series of towering waves; it was an unstoppable force of nature, an embodiment of destruction, unleashed with the ferocity of a thousand tempests. The moment the tsunami breached Gotham's shores, it swept over the docks, engulfing ships of all sizes—cargo vessels laden with goods meant for trade, modest fishing crafts that had seen generations of toil, and the shadowy vessels that ferried Gotham's hidden sins into the night. The salty brine churned as debris rained down, and the chaos spread like wildfire.

Gotham's warehouses, cloaked in secrets and shadow, crumbled under the relentless assault of water. They collapsed in a cacophony of noise, bricks and metal succumbing to the surge, while their illicit contents—drugs, weapons, and stolen treasures—were sucked into the swirling depths. Streets that had been bustling with the afternoon's activities morphed into chaotic rivers, swallowing cars and people alike.

The desperate cries for help echoed through the damp air, a poignant reminder that within the shadows of Gotham lurked suffering that often went unseen. Those who lived in the dilapidated buildings, barely held together by the slimmest of budgets, faced instant devastation as they writhed in terror, wrestling with the deluge. But for every soul descending into darkness, hope was about to break upon the horizon—brilliant and unwavering.

In the depths of the chaos, Batman, ever the sentinel of Gotham, hastily commandeered his Batmobile, transforming it into an amphibious mode with the flick of a switch. Instinctively, he reached out to the allies he had always counted on in times of crisis. "Crisis situation!" he transmitted urgently over the comms. "Gotham needs us."

And like living legends, the Justice League responded.

Superman surged forth, an unstoppable force as he defied the very nature of the tsunami that crashed against Gotham's vulnerable shores. With a capitulating roar, he flew at supersonic speed, creating a counter-wave that disrupted the massive tidal swell. He locked onto a crumbling high-rise, catching its weighty structure just as it began to yield to the water's fury. The Man of Steel, a paragon of strength and resilience, held the building aloft, gasping civilians exiting the wreckage moments ahead of total collapse.

Meanwhile, Wonder Woman danced through the rising waters with an elegance that belied the terror of the city around her. Her Amazonian strength became a lifeline as she single-handedly maneuvered a trapped passenger bus, thrusting it toward safety while providing a reassuring smile to the frightened individuals within. Adrenaline fueled her determination, and as nearby buildings gave way, she would not abandon the soul of Gotham's infamous pleasure district—the prostitutes and marginalized, who found themselves at the mercy of her savior heart.

The Flash illuminated the drab landscape as he zipped through the devastation, a blur of red against the backdrop of despair. Wielding his mastery over the Speed Force, he was everywhere at once—lifting people from submerged vehicles, pulling them from the clutches of collapsing structures, weaving through chaos with a confidence and vibrancy that infused the air with hope. Every life he saved invigorated his spirit, reminding him why he fought.

The Martian Manhunter cut through the panic with his seamless blend of strength and empathy. As buildings crumbled in the wake of the tsunami, he transformed from an ethereal presence to a guardian of the lost, breaking through barriers of fear. He extended reassurance through the telepathic tendrils of his mind, urging terrified citizens to move towards the boats and emergency shelters. When a massive explosion erupted from a drowning fuel station nearby, he unleashed his Martian vision, extinguishing the flames in a brilliant burst of emerald light.

Green Lantern, Hal Jordan, having drawn upon his indomitable willpower, conjured a colossal barrier of emerald light, a luminous shield that resisted the surging wall of water. The air crackled with energy as the ocean slammed against his construct, but he held steady, knowing that lives hung in the balance. With every ounce of his will, Hal maintained the protective barrier, channeling the very essence of hope for those around him.

In the higher rooftops of Gotham, Hawkman and Hawkwoman soared like guardian angels, plucking terrified citizens from the heights as buildings succumbed to the deluge below. They descended with fervor, declaring that no one would be left to face the chaos alone. Their strong arms kept Gotham's unfortunate from meeting the fate that waited below.

Yet in the darker corners of the city, amidst the rising waters and splintering wood, new heroes began to emerge. Whispers of latent abilities awaken within civilians—ordinary people transformed by a sudden eruption of metahuman potential unlocked by fear, hope, and the psychic fallout of desperate power. Individuals previously written off as mere victims discovered new strengths within themselves, diving into the swirling waters to save their neighbors, to drag families from collapsing structures, embodying the spirit of a city reborn.

As the Justice League worked in harmony with newfound metahumans, Gotham became a crucible of resilience and unity. Each person joined the struggle to outlast nature's wrath, determined not merely to survive but to redefine what it means to call Gotham home.

*Nemo*

As the colossal tsunami unleashed its wrath across the eastern seaboard, the multiple towns and cities lining the Delaware Bay quickly recognized the cataclysmic threat that loomed on the horizon. From Atlantic City, New Jersey to Ocean City, Delaware, the Atlantic's ferocity ushered doom in its wake. Yet among these cities, the shining beacon of Metropolis stood resilient, an embodiment of progress birthed from the ambitious vision of its most controversial yet transcendent figure—Lex Luthor.

Metropolis was the epitome of technological advancement, a bustling metropolis glimmering with steel and glass, its skyline punctuated by structures that scraped the heavens. Here, every building was a testament to human ingenuity, incorporating cutting-edge resilient designs that enabled them to withstand the potential for natural disasters and extreme weather. Lingering high above in this engineered utopia, immaculate skyscrapers loomed, their expansive windows mirroring the distress unfolding in the world beyond.

As Ocean-Master's ethereal embrace of destruction spread, the ominous waves gathered momentum, racing toward a city forged in the fires of ambition, determination, and—some whispered—hubris. Superstrong and cohesive, the structures of Metropolis braced themselves, designed for adversity. The city's defenses included Luthor's patented kinetic-absorbing materials, created to absorb shock and dissipate energy in times of crises. Generators dotted the skyline, ready to serve as last-line defenses against natural calamities, their humming heartbeats offering a whisper of reassurance.

In the Control Center deep within LexCorp Tower, the advanced command systems buzzed to life. Technicians were deployed, tirelessly monitoring the colossal wall of water and evacuating civilians from danger zones. Lex Luthor, devoid of his superhero counterpart, relied on cold, calculated plans to direct the chaos, issuing commands with the precision of a military general.

"Activate the Defense Grid! Deploy the energy barriers along the waterfront!" he barked, his commanding voice resonating through the high-tech facility. Luthor never shied away from utilizing his vast resources for the public; for all his nefarious schemes, the safety of Metropolis was among his pet projects. He was determined to protect his city, however self-serving it might be.

As the tidal wave crashed into the seaside city, it met a newly constructed, multi-tiered energy barrier that glistened with a luminous blue aura. The barrier pulsed with energy, absorbing the colossal force of the tsunami, nullifying much of its destructive power. Luthor had engineered this system for a rainy day, and the day had arrived.

Metropolis, unlike its grim counterpart, Gotham, had spent decades improving its infrastructure. Buildings stood tall, their foundations reinforced by cutting-edge research and design. The stainless-steel structures absorbed shocks and swayed with the force of the water, mirroring the waves rather than buckling beneath them.

At street level, citizens of Metropolis, faced with the unfolding chaos, found solace in Luthor's preparations. As some took refuge in robust train stations that morphed into emergency shelters, others rushed towards the nearest high-rise, ushered by proactive city workers and volunteers trained for crises. "Stay calm! Follow the signs to the evacuation shelters!" echoed through the streets as the energy barriers shimmered against incoming waves.

In one pocket of the city, Lex maintained control through coordination among emergency responders. Lifeguards from local beaches that had transformed into makeshift rescue teams dove into the swirling chaos, navigating through debris-strewn waters to save stranded individuals until safety measures took effect. Their efforts were bolstered by Luthor's drones, which swooped in to identify and relay the locations of those in need, transmitting vital data back to the command center.

Despite the chaos, Metropolis didn't feel helpless. High above, vigilance was palpable. The Justice League's absence was swiftly filled by its technology, a manifestation of Luthor's relentless fervor to outdo adversaries, superheroes, and traditional notions of power. And in an odd turn of fate, civilians began to chant in unity, inspired by Luthor's vision. "We are Metropolis! We will not fall!" The sound reverberated in tandem with the rumble of the waves beyond the city's perimeter.

But as the tsunami wreaked havoc, the air was thick with tension. Luthor monitored the flooding through drone images, fixated on the battle unfolding in Gotham, where Superman, the Justice League, and a host of evolving metahumans wrestled with the deluge that the Atlantic unleashed. A flicker of envy sparked within him. With the Man of Steel absent, nothing was stopping the tide from surging directly toward Metropolis's edge.

Racing against time, Lex strategized, hopeful that his technology could save the day. He peered into the sprawling digital maps laid out before him, overlaying real-time data on the tsunami's trajectory. "Reinforce the barriers! Activate the siphon systems to redirect any overflow! Now!" he commanded with unyielding certainty.

His orders transformed the Defense Grid, redirecting excess water back out into the ocean. Onlookers witnessed torrents of water inexplicably rerouted through an intricate series of invisible siphons that connected the structures, draining excess back to the ocean like a controlled release valve. The engineered design, initially scoffed at and labeled overzealous, now proved its worth as citizens gazed in awe.

As waves crashed against their combatants, the city remained steadfast. Metropolis's towers stood vertically—sturdy bastions of resolve against nature's fury. Citizens felt the sting of tumult around them but knew one undeniable truth—that they would not be alone as long as they stood worthily united.

In the end, as the tsunami began to recede, the heart of Metropolis beat steadily beneath the surface scars left behind. The collaborative spirit ignited through adversity not only forged a newfound kinship among its residents but mused on Lex Luthor's legacy—whether savior or villain, he remained the architect of their safety.

As a testament to resilience, Metropolis breathed a collective sigh of relief, hopeful and resolute as they collectively began to rise from the depths of disaster. Portions of the city grumbled in the aftermath but thrummed with life and renewal. If Ocean-Master believed he could turn Gotham and its neighboring cities into ruins, he had triggered a fervent awakening in Metropolis that would challenge even the ocean's darkest tides.

*Nemo*

Ocean-Master stood at the precipice of destruction, gazing out over the churning depths of the ocean. As the Leviathan Tablet pulsed in tune with his own blood, a connection forged in ancient magic, he could feel the very fabric of the sea responding to his call. Waves roared as if in acknowledgment, their fury intensified by the awakening forces beneath the surface. The ocean trembled, cracks like lightning rending the sea floor, and from these fractures, something primal stirred—a force that transcended mortal understanding.

From the deepest realms of the abyss, echoing through the ocean's depths, a resonant roar emerged, a sound akin to the haunting songs of whales, yet imbued with a darkness that invoked shivers of primal fear. It reverberated through the water and thrummed inOcean-Master's chest—a call to arms that heralded the ascendance of the Leviathans. These mythical creatures, once thought to have faded into legend after the fall of Atlantis, were now summoned forth by his hand.

The Leviathans unfurled from their slumber, serpentine bodies breaking through the surface in a mesmerizing display. Massive, draconic forms shimmered in the stormy seas, their iridescent scales glistening like silver and blue under the roiling clouds above. With each motion, they exuded an overwhelming aura, commanding both reverence and fear from all who beheld them. Their eyes, dark as the abyssal depths, held unfathomable intelligence—each gaze a sentinel of the mysteries of the ocean, a reminder of the power that lay beneath mankind's fleeting dominion over the earth.

Ranging from fifty to more than a hundred meters in length, these creatures were living embodiments of the ocean's might. Each scale was as formidable as a piece of armor, glinting with an ethereal light while their long, reptilian snouts were adorned with rows of ivory-white teeth, sharp as swords and capable of rending flesh—and ships—through sheer force. When they coiled and twisted in the water, their fin-like appendages spread wide, resembling the wings of ancient dragons, terrifying and awe-inspiring as they soared through the depths. These Leviathans were not mere beasts; they were the embodiment of chaos in its most raw form, with the power to shake the very foundations of civilization to its core.

Ocean-Master reveled in the majesty unfolding before him, feeling the pulse of the Leviathans launching his own ambition into ethereal realms. With each passing moment, he was consumed not only by pride but also an insatiable hunger for dominion. Perhaps he was not merely their master but a harbinger of a new order.

The storm that brewed above mirrored the chaos below—a swirling maelstrom of dark clouds that engulfed the sky in shrouds of ominous gray. Howling winds whipped through the air, lashing against the water's surface, summoning sheets of rain that fell like daggers into the ocean, as if the very heavens mourned for what was to come. Magic radiated through the atmosphere, visceral and electrifying, as the Leviathans stirred, awakening the primal magic that lay dormant since Arion's demise.

Yet among the frenzy, one Leviathan remained distant, bound by its duty to safeguard the secrets of the past. A massive, primitive red Leviathan guarded the sacred undersea resting place of King Arion deep beneath Xebel's seafloor. This creature, a throwback to ancient times, was brutish compared to its iridescent brethren. With monstrous jaws and a rough, scaled hide, it existed apart from the might and brilliance of its kin and took no heed of Ocean-Master's call. Its loyalty to Arion transcended the ambitions of mere mortals, a sentinel of the oceanic history intertwined with the rise and fall of Atlantis.

Ocean-Master's gaze flickered in frustration; he sought to command an army, to harness the power of the Leviathans at his whim. Yet, beneath the pride and ambition, he felt a shiver of unease. These creatures were not beasts to be controlled; they were ancient forces, with their own laws and intentions rooted in the mysterious depths of aquatic existence.

With a flourish of his hands, the tides responded to his will. "Leviathans!" he bellowed, his voice barely holding its quaver. "Obey me! Rise and destroy all who oppose me!" The primal awakening echoed in his very veins—a visceral connection that made him realize the gravity of what he summoned.

With a churning rush of water and unyielding purpose, the Leviathans answered, thrashing through the waves with colossal tails that crashed against the ocean, uprooting floating debris and sending waves crashing onto the shores of the cities nearby. As they surged forth from the depths, Ocean-Master's heart pulsed in rhythm with the ancient magic coursing through the world, and he felt a surge of elation: he was poised on the edge of his destiny. With the Leviathans at his command, nothing could stand in the way of his ambition.

In that pivotal moment, he was no longer just Orm—he had become Ocean-Master, an avatar of destruction and rebirth.

*Nemo*

In the heart of the tumultuous ocean, an unholy aura enveloped the very essence of the waves. Ocean-Master stood at the apex of a jagged rock formation, his platform swelling with an unyielding power drawn from the mystical Leviathan Tablet. The embodiment of chaos that surged around him was intoxicating, fueling the primal rage against the surface world and his own brother, Aquaman. The serpentine Leviathans circled beneath the waters, monstrous and magnificent, representing both dominion and terror. His followers, a motley crew of zealots known as the Purists, accompanied by armed mercenaries, unleashed fervent chants that echoed off the ocean's depths, vibrating with fervor. They adored him, a chaotic god presiding over the unrelenting tide.

But then, ominously, a shift in the atmosphere stirred the cold waters. A presence emerged, dark and oppressive, casting a sinister net over the fanatical cultists who promptly fell to their knees, their screams drowned in primordial dread. The air thickened with despair as Abyss emerged from the obsidian shadows of the ocean's depths, donned in a military-style costume that accentuated his powerful frame. His expressive eye mask, sleek and refined, shone like a beacon amidst the chaos, cultivating an ethereal connection to something dark and formidable that whispered of death and destruction.

As the mercenaries, brave yet foolish, opened fire, their weapons crackled with luminescent blue beams, sending arcs of energy into the waters. Each blast had the capability to pierce steel and flesh alike—but against Abyss, they were as innocuous as water balloons. With utter disbelief, the mercenaries watched as the formidable hero stood unyielding, absorbing their attacks into his formidable aura, the luminescence merging with the darkness that surrounded him.

Ocean-Master, renowned for his cunning and ruthless nature, dismissed the ineffectiveness of the mercenaries' assault. With a sneer curling upon his lips, he drew upon the ancient powers of the Leviathan Tablet, channeling a rush of swirling water charged with magic. The torrent erupted like a geyser, cascading toward Abyss and his wife, the enchanting Dragon Sorceress, who stood poised like a sentient storm.

With an effortless wave of her hand, the sorceress conjured a formidable barrier of shimmering energy—magical and ethereal. The deluge surged toward her, but like a tempest meeting a wall, it splashed harmlessly aside, leaving the couple untouched at the eye of the storm. Abyss's eyes glinted with amusement, a chilling smile breaking his otherwise stoic demeanor. "We could have beaten you all before you fools could react, but his Majesty wants a crack at you," he said with a calm, mocking confidence that resonated unsettlingly throughout the tumult.

Aquaman, the sovereign ruler of Atlantis and defender of both ocean and shore, burst forth from the depths, his golden trident glistening like a spear of sunlight piercing through the surface. He wielded the power of the ocean itself, and rage and determination ignited his spirit as he charged at Ocean-Master. In seconds, he closed the distance, launching a fist deep into Ocean-Master's stomach. The impact was like a seismic tremor—a powerful strike that folded the would-be conqueror in half, gasping as his grip on the Leviathan Tablet nearly faltered.

Yet, fierce through the pain, Ocean-Master held onto the Tablet, empowering him amidst the brutal skirmish. The two clashed, Aquaman's strength eclipsing Ocean-Master's wit and cunning. Every flourish of Aquaman's movements was a beautiful dance of purpose and fury, while Ocean-Master became desperate, desperately throwing out enchantments to keep pace.

Outside their personal battle, chaos erupted in the depths as the colossal Leviathans continued to clash with the Justice League. Superman grappled with one monstrous beast, a 100-meter-long Leviathan that writhed and growled, pain reverberating through its form from Superman's iron grip. The creature was bewildered—how could something so diminutive hold back its trawling mass? Superman, fueled by the sun's energy, stood resolute, his muscles straining as he held the leviathan at bay, preserving the precious lives of those affected by Ocean-Master's tsunami.

Meanwhile, Batman piloted his aquatic Bat-Sub with stoicism, a testament to his meticulous nature, converting his trusty Batmobile into a vessel prepared for the extraordinary challenges of the ocean world. Adorned with sonic weapons and outfitted with advanced torpedoes, he was ready to wage a war against the impossible, matching wits with creatures born of chaos.

Wonder Woman, strong and regal, had taken the throne atop a Leviathan, her golden lasso gleaming against the seething waves. Riding it like a Fremen conquering the roiling sands of a great dune, she wielded her lasso with masterful precision, keeping the creature at bay with strength and grace, ensnaring it when necessary, but equally respecting the majesty of the colossus beneath her.

Green Lantern, with his vivid ring sculpting chains and anchors of bright energy, worked to restrain the tumultuous forces of nature that threatened them. It was a monumental task, but he focused, concentrating the green light into thick, encompassing bands designed to keep the leviathans confined, his mind racing with thoughts of strategy and imminent victory.

Martian Manhunter morphed into an immense cephalopod, stretching his tentacles wide to ensnare one Leviathan, but even he quickly learned the brutal lesson of the ocean: size and strength were necessary but not sufficient. The Leviathan, swifter than anyone anticipated, twisted and turned, revealing its formidable bite, revealing the shocking realization of being a Giant Squid caught in the jaws of a relentless Sperm Whale. The experience was both horrifying and bizarrely enlightening—Manhunter would emerge without his limbs, but just as another day in his life, he deemed the ordeal as simply "unpleasant."

As the tides of conflict raged on, the mercenaries attempted to use the chaos to their advantage. One poorly calculated sniper sought to cross the shadows and take aim at Aquaman, believing him a vulnerable target amidst the backdrop of chaos. However, before he could pull the trigger, Abyss moved with effortless swiftness, ripping the rifle from the mercenary's hands. Like tearing apart wet paper, Abyss crumpled the weapon into an unrecognizable mass of metal and debris.

The would-be assassin's eyes widened in horror as he beheld the destruction of his instrument of death at the hands of one man—his muzzle now directed at him. Abyss, with calm, lethal precision, delivered a slap powerful enough to send the mercenary tumbling through the water. He flew through the air, crashing painfully against a rock formation before ultimately imprinting into the ocean floor, the silt and sand engulfing him as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Aquaman, with his heritage as the King of Atlantis surging through his veins, adeptly dodged the crackling blast of magic unleashed by his treacherous half-brother, Ocean-Master. While he deftly shifted to the side, a glimmer of that pulsing energy managed to graze his arm—a sly serpent of destruction that ripped through skin and layers of muscle, reducing them to a grotesque, liquified mass. Pain erupted like wildfire through Aquaman's body, and he couldn't help but cry out, the cry echoing hollowly in the vast ocean around them.

Despite the agony coursing through him, Aquaman's indomitable spirit ignited with righteous fury. As Ocean-Master reveled in what he thought was a new advantage, Aquaman lashed out with the very hand that reeked of blood and battle. He struck hard, the hit carrying a weight of vengeance, and Ocean-Master stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer ferocity of his brother.

No sooner had the dust settled than a shaft of mystic energy shot through the water, striking Ocean-Master squarely in the back. Mera had decided that this terrorist—a man who thought himself a ruler through fear and savagery—did not deserve the privilege of an honorable duel. The energy bolt, crackling with raw power, caused Ocean-Master to lose his grip on the glowing Leviathan Tablet.

Glaring back in shock, Ocean-Master's surprise swiftly shifted to rage, a tempest feeding his madness. He scrambled to reclaim the Tablet, the source of his power, barely registering the searing heat left from Mera's blast. Yet Aquaman anticipated this, positioning himself like a living barricade between his half-brother and the Tablet, unwilling to let Ocean-Master have any foothold in this battle.

Fury and desperation morphed Ocean-Master's body into a flurry of frantic motions; his high-quality armor absorbed the brunt of Aquaman's retribution but didn't grant him total immunity. In a surge of anger, he seized Aquaman's injured arm, the skinned remnants a testament to the pain, and twisted ruthlessly. Aquaman's roar echoed through the water, an unspeakable agony piercing through him. But even in suffering, he harnessed the fury of the ocean, determined not to fall prey to his brother's cruelty.

Abyss, unyielding in determination and fueled by the need to protect not just Aquaman but the fragile balance of power in the sea, unleashed a swirling blast of primordial darkness. The powerful energy surged through the water and struck the Leviathan Tablet with a catastrophic force just milliseconds before Ocean-Master could reclaim his prize.

The ancient Tablet shattered, its mana bonds disintegrating under the insidious blast, and the resulting explosion of golden light was so overpowering it sent out a shockwave akin to that of a car bomb detonating just off the shore. Waves churned violently, and the Leviathans, previously trapped under Ocean-Master's magical yoke, were propelled into a frenzy, ominous growls resonating from the depths as they felt their bonds severed.

In the aftermath, nothing remained of Arion's Leviathan Tablet—not a single fragment or a whisper of its magic. It was all consumed in a cataclysmic explosion of light and darkness, wavelengths intertwining with the seafloor, leaving only hints of mana and plasma bobbing in the turbulent currents.

Ocean-Master staggered back, disoriented by both the shockwave and the realization that the object of his dark ambition was obliterated in an instant. He felt shattered, not just in spirit but in body. Though high-quality armor cushioned him somewhat, he couldn't ignore the deep-seated injuries worsening within him. The drugs pumped into his system dulled the outcome—his body was alive but battered; internal injuries throbbed against the provocation of the explosion. His vision swam; the world around him became a haze tinged with red. Madness began to seep into his consciousness, a slow drip of insanity primed to overflow.

In a moment borne from desperation, he called out to the Leviathans, commanding them to unleash chaos on the surface world, to wreak vengeance as he was too injured to continue this fight. The water echoed with his cries, yet the creatures' instincts took over. Freed from Ocean-Master's influence, the Leviathans coiled in entropic rage, the very embodiment of the ocean's fury.

But as they surged forward, a new and omnipresent darkness encircled the tumult, suffocating the madness with an energy that turned fear into submission. Abyss unleashed his draconic aura, an overwhelming force that clasped everyone—heroes and villains alike—in a vice-like grip. It was as though they'd been dropped to the very depths of an unfathomable ocean trench, the crushing weight of Abyss's power drawing them down into a primal abyss where every shred of will was stripped away.

The Justice League bravely fought against this overwhelming presence, but the strength of Abyss, known in truth as Lord Nemo Horai—the seven-century-old Apocalyptic Black Dragon King—was unknowable. Sensing a figure of dominion amongst their kind, the Leviathans recognized the truth of his being; the aura that enveloped him radiated authority. It was the aura of Alpha, and they responded instinctively, bowing and offering forth melodious, whale-like songs that resonated through the ocean depths, a symphony of thunderous yet serene homage.

Amidst pain and madness, Ocean-Master continued to scream at the Leviathans, harping them, blinded by his delusion of superiority. Finally, having endured enough of his incessant bleating, one of the Leviathans snapped. With astounding speed, she lunged forward, jaws agape wide beyond mortal comprehension, swallowing Ocean-Master whole.

Aquaman and Mera looked on in shock as the guise of Ocean-Master was consumed by the depths, powerless to intervene; it was too late. Inside the leviathan, Ocean-Master felt the crushing darkness envelope him, realizing, in those fleeting seconds, that his life was reaching its end. Panic coursed through him even though survival instincts shrieked in vain. The belly of the Leviathan brimmed with ethereal acids and primordial magical fluids, a fate worse than death awaiting him.

As he tumbled deeper into the Leviathan's innards, he could scarcely muster a scream as the acidic enchantments began their work, dissolving his armor and flesh in mere moments. He was not merely dying; he was being unwoven from existence itself, including the very essence of his spirit. Every shred of his being was being annihilated.

In whispers of despair and unholy agony, the final remnants of Prince Orm, Ocean-Master, ceased to exist. Deader than dead, he was obliterated, vanishing into the world's memory like a shadow swept away by the breaking dawn, leaving chaos in his wake as the ocean prepared to reclaim its sanctity.

*Nemo*

Poseidonis

Days Later

In the wake of the catastrophic Leviathan Awakening, the world is slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy, albeit one shadowed by the immense loss and devastation. It has now been several days since the terrifying events unfolded, and while search and rescue operations continue across Gotham and the East Coast, assistance is pouring in from neighboring states and the Atlanteans, who have taken to heart their role as guardians of the sea.

The tsunami unleashed by Ocean-Master's reckless pursuit of the powerful Leviathan Tablet wreaked havoc throughout numerous coastal cities, crushing communities under the weight of its fury. In a surprising twist, Metropolis—with its monumental resources and unwavering fortitude—has transformed into a beacon of hope for restoration efforts. Under the leadership of Lex Luthor, Metropolis has become the hub for coordinating humanitarian aid and rebuilding initiatives, showcasing a unity that belies the usual political rivalries.

Meanwhile, deep beneath the waves, the majestic Atlantean city-states of Poseidonis and Xebel are grappling with their own aftermath. The ocean is now mostly free of the massive daikaiju-sized Leviathans, with only a few remaining in the Atlantic depths, while the others have retreated to the mysterious realms of Hollow Earth. Ocean-Master's forces—comprised of a vast array of fanatical cultists and mercenaries—have been effectively vanquished, leaving the Atlantean authority to root out corruption among their ranks and investigate the families supporting them. The devastating impact on the Purist movement has been unprecedented; a movement that had thrived under Ocean-Master's dark agenda now finds itself on the brink of collapse with his untimely demise, swallowed whole by the fury of an enraged Leviathan.

Despite these victories, King Orin—known to the world above as Aquaman—faces significant backlash for his decision to allocate Atlantean resources toward disaster relief for the American coastal cities. Many of the older aristocratic families within Atlantis express vehement discontent, arguing that the kingdom should prioritize its own recovery rather than extend support, however necessary, to a foreign superpower, even one embroiled in the aftermath of an Atlantean supervillain's actions.

All of this turmoil sets the stage for a surprising new chapter as Doctor Nobunara Oda, the brilliant and eccentric leader of Horai Biomedical, makes his entrance in Poseidonis. Aquaman is taken aback by the sudden arrival of this human scientist, clad in a cutting-edge environmental suit, a testament to his genius and adaptability. Moved by the persuasive advocacy of Abyss, a legendary hero renowned for his mastery over the Leviathans, Aquaman grants Oda entry, not fully recognizing the ripple effects this meeting may have on the future of both Atlantis and the surface world.

Abyss, revered across the Atlantean city-states for his extraordinary abilities, recently actions altered the tide of pending disaster. After destroying the mystical Leviathan Tablet, he summoned forth an awe-inspiring dark draconic aura, a sentiment so potent that it commanded the attention and respect of all Atlanteans. The Leviathans, previously writhing in chaos, calmed in his presence, becoming gentle giants akin to tranquil whales. This staggering display of power has left even the most self-important nobles in a state of reverence, unwilling to contest the decisions made by such a formidable figure. With the stage set and all eyes on Poseidonis, a new chapter is poised to unfold, one that could redefine the relationships between land and sea.

Guest Room

In the subdued lighting of the guest chamber, Doctor Nobunara Oda stood poised, his advanced helmet glinting subtly against the luminous walls of Poseidonis. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're such a charmer," he remarked, his voice teasingly muffled by his armored suit.

"Oh, shut up," retorted Abyss, known in another life as Lord Nemo Horai, the revered Black Dragon King. The expressive eye mask he wore only partially concealed his embarrassment, his cheeks slightly flushed beneath the mask's border.

Before the banter could continue, the atmosphere shifted as Dragon Sorceress, better known as Irene, gracefully entered the scene. Her regal presence filled the room. "What's going on, Doctor Oda?" She inquired, sensing the playful tension.

Oda straightened, his expression shifting to one of confident seriousness. "Abyss's draconic aura is immensely powerful, as expected of the apocalyptic Black Dragon King. The Leviathans perceive him as the Alpha of Alphas in human form," he explained, gesturing expansively.

Irene raised an eyebrow. "So?"

Oda continued, "The Leviathans that have chosen to remain are all young females. Those whale songs you hear? They're mating calls."

At this, Irene's eyes widened, barely containing a burst of laughter. "You aren't leading those poor girls along, are you?" she teased, her tone light, yet curious.

"No, my only goddesses are you and Izumi," Nemo interjected, a warm smile gracing his lips as he mentioned his first wife and Irene's co-wife. The three had shared their lives across more than six centuries, a bond forged through time, trials, and transcendence.

Oda chuckled playfully, "You don't find their scales charming?"

"They're stunning, yes, but not as breathtaking as my wife in both dragon and human form," Nemo affirmed earnestly, casting a loving glance towards Irene.

"Charmer," Irene replied affectionately, snuggling closer to him, their deep bond evident in the intimacy of their gestures.

Just then, a soft knock resonated through the chamber before Atlantean guards entered, their presence imposing yet anxious. The lead guard cleared his throat, his voice wavering slightly as he addressed the trio. "Doctor Oda. Lord Abyss. Lady Sorceress. The King requests your presence in the throne room now."

The air grew electric with anticipation, and Doctor Oda spread his arms, enthusiasm bubbling just beneath the surface. "Let's go and blow people's minds," he declared, igniting a spark of excitement that rippled through the gathered heroes. United, the trio prepared to step into the heart of Atlantis—where destiny and intrigue awaited.

Throne Room

The majestic throne room of Poseidonis, with its intricately carved columns and bioluminescent walls shimmering with aquatic hues, was a breathtaking testament to Atlantean architecture. Although the Atlanteans had the means to drain the water from the room to cater to the comfort of their surface-dwelling guests, Doctor Nobunara Oda insisted they keep the water at its natural depth. Abyss and Sorceress had no difficulty breathing in the submerged environment, and Oda, encased in his state-of-the-art environmental armor, felt entirely at home.

Standing tall and confident, Doctor Oda prepared to make his presentation before the gathered court. Among the most interested spectators were King Orin, the revered High King of Atlantis, presiding over his aquatic domain with an air of authority; Queen Mera Nereus, the illustrious headmistress of the Conservatory of Sorcery and the Atlantean Minister of Magic; and Vulko, the wise and scholarly Minister of Science, who directed the Atlantis Science Center with a careful hand and an insightful mind.

Once the formalities were complete, Doctor Oda began, his voice ringing clear in the chamber. "Humanity has a long history of abusing the environment, and it is the people of Atlantis who now suffer the consequences of surface world foolishness," he declared passionately. "There are tens of trillions of microplastic fragments littering our oceans and hundreds of metric tons of plastic contaminating your waters! In addition to this, there are petrochemicals, pollutants from electronics, and toxic runoff from agriculture poisoning the very seas that are your lifeblood. As a result, countless Atlantean children are falling ill due to this rampant pollution, and some areas of your splendid kingdom are teetering on the brink of conflict because of it. I offer you a solution."

With a flourish, Doctor Oda placed a sleek, cylindrical container upon a pedestal, drawing the attention of the court as curious eyes followed his every move.

"Horai Biomedical has made significant strides in our research, starting with the exploration of the cellular structure of a particular jellyfish species. Initially, we aimed to enhance human health, but instead, we discovered a breakthrough: plastic-eating cells." With a flick of a switch, Oda opened the container with dramatic flair, revealing a jellyfish-like creature rising slowly into view. It was an iridescent, translucent blob embellished with bioluminescent markings shimmering like stars against the backdrop of the throne room, writhing gracefully as it floated upward.

"These are my Cnidarian Sea Cleaners," Oda announced with pride, showcasing the extraordinary creature to the assembly. The audience watched with rapt attention as the jellyfish pulsated in the water, its tendrils undulating rhythmically.

"Composed of synthetic cells, these Cleaners are designed to feast on plastics and chemical pollutants without harming living marine creatures or disrupting their environment," he explained, his enthusiasm infectious. "This little one here is currently in the process of purifying the water in this very chamber. They are my gift to the city-states of Atlantis."

Nemo, feeling the fervor of the moment, activated his holographic projector. A spectacular display unfolded before them, startling the guards with its lifelike quality. The magnificent images showcased various points around the globe, specifically focusing on areas afflicted by human-created pollution.

Oda gestured toward the projected images, showcasing scenes from the Great Pacific Garbage Patch to the South Pacific, Indian Ocean, and North Atlantic. The horrifying sight of enormous garbage patches, massive gyres of marine debris caused by the imbalance of ocean currents and rampant plastic pollution, ignited disgust, horror, sadness, and outrage among those assembled. The floating islands of poison created through careless human actions were a stark reminder of the injustices faced by the inhabitants below the waves.

The atmosphere thickened as the majestic, giant versions of the Cnidarian Sea Cleaners loomed into view from the depths, emerging from the water as titans of hope. They began to absorb the debris around them, cleaning the water with elegance. For a moment, awe filled the hearts of the Atlanteans, but surprise quickly turned to concern as Nemo noted, "I've already informed the Justice League and many other hero associations that these are not giant mutant monsters. They are bio-mechanical environmental clean-up devices… that happen to resemble colossal monsters." However, just then, he observed a troubling scene unfolding.

"Not all of them received the message," he remarked, his brow furrowing as he watched certain heroes in the Indian Ocean engage aggressively with these gentle giants. The screen displayed brave heroes launching into combat against the massive jellyfish, only to be ensnared by their incredibly swift tendrils. As the images continued to shift, the onlookers gasped; they witnessed the trapped heroes becoming engulfed in translucent goo, the very essence of the Cleaners dissolving synthetic clothing, before being carelessly cast back into the ocean, stark naked and bewildered.

"Fighting a plastic-eating creature while wearing pure synthetic clothing? What were they thinking?" Sorceress exclaimed, a mix of incredulity and jest coloring her voice. "Corporate heroes. They must have only been thinking of their paychecks," she added with a smirk.

"Incredible," Vulko marveled, captivated by the notion of harnessing nature for the betterment of both spheres. "You mentioned these are based on the cells of a jellyfish?"

"Yes, indeed," Doctor Oda replied, his exacting attention never wavering. "A unique specimen from the Red Universe known as the Gourmet Jellyfish. This jellyfish not only enhances the culinary and nutritional value of food, but when I experimented with the extraction of toxins, I discovered its synthetic cells could consume plastic and various petroleum products."

The air in the room grew tense as King Orin leaned forward, a serious expression settling on his face. "Is there any risk to the petroleum mining conducted by surface world countries?" His words resonated, indicating the growing importance of this inquiry. Although Atlanteans lived harmoniously without a petroleum industry, the tension stemming from foreign nations encroaching upon their waters to extract oil was a source of conflict.

"They will actively withdraw from oil rigs and transport ships unless a spill occurs," Oda explained, carefully crafting his response. "On the other hand, they will target untouched oil reserves in international waters. While the surface world may retain their current holdings, no additional oceanic petroleum extraction will take place in your waters."

A murmur of unease rippled through the assembly, culminating in Queen Mera's frowning reply. "That will undoubtedly anger several powerhouses such as China, the United States, Russia, and various Southeast Asian nations."

"Since when aren't they angry?" came Orin's quip, a fierce light in his eyes. "The High Seas belong to Atlantis, and we refuse to allow that black filth to poison our waters any longer."

The throne room erupted in a mixture of tension and hope, the flickering shadows of uncertainty and ambition coalescing within those gathered. It was a pivotal moment that could reshape alliances, enforce boundaries, and initiate societal change on an unprecedented scale. Today marked not just diplomacy between the surface world and Atlantis but also a declaration of sovereignty—a first step toward a future devoid of perilous contamination. Unknown to the multitude, the currents of fate were set in motion, and the heroes of both realms braced themselves for the battle that lay ahead, both in the waters and in the hearts of men.

*Nemo*

Cadmus Gamma

A month had passed since the pivotal events in Atlantis, and the world, shifting with turmoil and secrets, had resumed its rhythm—a rhythm that did not include the knowledge of what transpired beneath the ocean's depths. In the ever-bustling realm of genetic experimentation, Cadmus Gamma had emerged as a shadowed authority, one that blurred the lines between scientific advancement and ethical boundaries. The very name Cadmus stirred whispers of legend, tracing back to a heroic figure from Greek mythology who had slain monsters and sown fierce warriors. However, the Cadmus of today—known officially as Project Cadmus and Cadmus Labs—was anything but legendary. It was a covert network of advanced genetics research facilities scattered around the globe. To the casual observer, they were merely an unassuming biomedical company with a peculiar name; in reality, they pressed forward into the murky waters of genetic manipulation, undeterred by morality and bolstered by clandestine funding from formidable factions.

Nestled within one section of the expansive Cadmus Gamma facility, a starkly sterile environment hummed with mechanical life. A pale male humanoid, suspended in a chamber filled with oxygenated pseudo-embryonic fluid, floated serenely. Countless tubes and wires crisscrossed his form, diligently monitoring and regulating his biological functions. Attached to his head was a specialized helmet, designed to imbue him with absorbed knowledge and cognitive information. This unconscious figure was none other than Prince Orm, the enigmatic brother of Atlantis' High King Orin—and known to the surface world as Aquaman.

A duo of shadowed figures stood nearby; their gazes riveted on the sleeping prince. One woman, impeccably dressed in a lab coat that spoke to her authority, turned to her counterpart with a knowing smirk.

"Is the clone ready yet?" she inquired, a cool eagerness in her voice.

"Yes," her colleague replied, his fingers dancing over a console as he read the data flashing across the screen. "We have successfully replicated his memories up to a few months ago, covering the period before he became aware of the Leviathan Tablet and let ambition cloud his judgment. That was back when we still maintained a firmer grip over his actions."

A dry laugh escaped the woman's lips, her eyes glinting with a mix of irony and satisfaction. "It's poetic, isn't it? We originally engineered this clone to be Orm's body double, providing an ingenious way to dissociate him from his identity as Ocean Master. But now, the real Orm is dead—killed in his quest for power, consumed by one of the very leviathans he sought to command. And in a twisted turn of fate, this clone will replace both aspects of his life."

A sense of triumph suffused her companion's expression as he nodded. "The cover story is solid. He was injured during the Leviathan attack but was miraculously rescued. His caretakers—acting under our directive—were unable to contact the authorities for some time. When the truth comes to light, King Orin will be overjoyed to learn his half-brother has survived and will inevitably relish the news of Ocean Master's demise, celebrating the Cleaner's instrumental role in saving the oceans. It ties everything together perfectly."

"Did we manage to acquire samples of those jellyfish?" the woman pressed, her curiosity sharpening as she envisioned the potential applications.

"We procured a few synthetic cells, but analyzing them is proving as challenging as deciphering Kryptonian biology," he remarked, shaking his head in frustration. "Those 'hero' agents we dispatched ended up exposed on television, and now they're demanding hefty raises as compensation. Their embarrassed that their nudity has become live entertainment."

"It's not like they haven't been caught naked in front of cameras for money before," she quipped, rolling her eyes as they both shared a moment of bitter amusement.

The sterile air was thick with a blend of anticipation and mischief, and for a moment, it seemed as though all the shadows harboring dark ambitions had converged upon this single moment of creation. Unbeknownst to the broader world, what lay ahead for Prince Orm's clone was a future shrouded in intrigue—a life crafted from deceit and manipulation, which would either rise to power or meet a fate darker than the watery depths that once nurtured him. As the clock ticked forward, the claws of fate tightened their grip, while somewhere beneath the waves, the echoes of Leviathans continued to reverberate—a haunting reminder of the price paid for power and the tenuous balance that lay between heroism and monstrosity.

*Nemo*

END OF CHAPTER 03

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CHAPTER 04

[AMAZONS]

MARCH 15