The Justice League was born right before Marcus's eyes.
He watched from the shadows of the ruined parademon nest, a slight smile playing at his lips as the heroes gathered in a loose circle. The irony wasn't lost on him—the most famous superhero team in the DC universe was forming here and now, built on a foundation he'd laid years ago as a parting gift.
What they called the Demon Hunting Council had been his insurance policy, a way to protect Earth when he couldn't be around. Warriors bonded by the Incinerator Rings, united by a sacred oath, hunting the things that crawled out of Hell's darkest corners. It had started small, just a handful of people willing to stand between humanity and the demons that slipped through the cracks.
But people had a way of growing beyond their original purpose.
The Council wasn't just about demons anymore. Their mandate had expanded naturally, inevitably. Any threat to Earth, any invasion force, any entity that saw humans as prey or playthings—all of them fell under the Council's jurisdiction now. And that meant busier schedules for everyone involved.
Bruce stepped forward, the light from his ring casting strange, warm shadows across his cowl. It was such a contrast—a bat who lived in darkness, radiating multicolored light like a beacon of hope. Marcus could see the symbolism wasn't lost on anyone present.
"Before we distribute the remaining rings," Bruce said, his voice carrying that natural authority that made people listen, "you need to understand exactly what you're signing up for. The power these bring isn't just a weapon. It's a responsibility."
Victor Stone—Cyborg—and Arthur Curry—Aquaman—exchanged glances. They were the newcomers here, the ones who'd fought alongside the Council during the Steppenwolf crisis but hadn't yet been formally inducted. Marcus could see the curiosity burning in their eyes, the questions they were too polite to voice.
Bruce raised his hand, and the ring on his finger flared with brilliant light.
The energy that poured out wasn't like anything from a typical power ring. It was warmer, more alive, tinged with gold and white and traces of blue. The light condensed in Bruce's palm, solidifying into a longsword that gleamed like captured starlight. The weapon took shape without any dramatic gestures or incantations—one moment Bruce's hand was empty, the next he held a blade that looked like it had been forged in Heaven itself.
Pure energy, Marcus knew, but given physical form through the Incinerator's unique properties. The rings didn't just create energy constructs like the Green Lantern Corps. They manifested something more fundamental, drawing on faith and conviction to make the impossible real.
"Wait, hold on." Victor's optical sensors flashed rapidly, running every scan in his arsenal. "That's not... that shouldn't be possible."
"The energy signature is completely stable," Victor continued, his voice tinged with disbelief. "It's not a projection or a hologram. That sword is real. Solid matter created from pure energy." His scans cycled again, as if he couldn't quite believe his own readings. "The amount of power required to sustain that kind of materialization should be... it should burn through any conventional power source in seconds."
Arthur reached out, his hand stopping inches from the blade. Even without touching it, Marcus could see he felt the power radiating from the weapon.
"That's not just strong," Arthur said slowly, his experience as Atlantis's king giving him perspective the others lacked. "That kind of power signature... even in Atlantis, only our most sacred relics put out that kind of energy. And those took centuries to create, blessed by the old gods themselves." He looked up at Bruce, reassessing. "You're telling me anyone with one of these rings can do this?"
"With practice and dedication to the Oath, yes." Bruce dismissed the sword, the energy flowing back into his ring like water finding its level. "Oliver and I have been using these for years. When the parademons first appeared, we used this power to hold the line until reinforcements arrived."
"Those parademons outside the nest didn't stand a chance," Oliver added, materializing his own construct—a bow that glowed with that same heavenly light. "Energy arrows, energy blades, shields, whatever the situation requires. And the best part? It's especially effective against supernatural threats. Demons, dark magic, entities from other dimensions—the Incinerator's power cuts through them like they're made of paper."
Victor's processors were working overtime, Marcus could tell. The young hero was trying to quantify something that existed beyond pure science.
"What are the requirements?" Victor asked. "There has to be a catch. Power like this always comes with a price."
"The Incinerator Oath," Bruce said simply. "chose one of the eight virtues, not just recite. humility, honesty, mercy, courage, justice, sacrifice, honor, or spiritual strength. Break those tenets, fail to live up to them, and the ring won't answer you anymore."
"It's not about being perfect," Oliver clarified, seeing the concern flash across Arthur's face. "It's about genuinely trying. The rings know the difference between a mistake and a betrayal of principles. They judge intent as much as action."
Marcus felt a subtle pull on his awareness—the collective power of all the rings in the area, resonating together. Bruce was right about one thing: the rings had grown stronger since he'd first created them. The faith of countless people around the world, the gratitude of those saved from demonic threats, the hope kindled by the Incinerator lanterns spread across every continent—all of it fed back into the rings themselves.
What had started as a useful tool had evolved into something approaching a genuine power source. Not quite on par with the emotional spectrum the Green Lanterns tapped into, but getting there.
Not bad at all, Marcus thought, letting his awareness drift through the network of rings. Though it's still not enough to advance another Warframe to Prime status.
The Incinerator's power had grown exponentially, but it was still just one planet's worth of faith and belief. To truly evolve his armor required something more—multiversal recognition, power on a cosmic scale. Still, he wasn't disappointed. The fact that one of his Warframes had already achieved Prime status was more than enough for now.
Besides, watching these heroes grow and evolve was its own reward. The rings would become more powerful naturally as the Justice League's legend spread. Give it time, and who knew what heights they'd reach?
"So," Marcus said, his voice cutting through the technical discussion Victor and Oliver were falling into, "now that the Justice League is officially established, what's your first act as a team?"
Everyone turned to look at him, and Marcus could see the moment they realized they hadn't actually planned beyond "defeat Steppenwolf" and "save the world."
Barry—the Flash—was the first to recover, his perpetual energy manifesting as a wide grin. "Pizza!" he declared, snapping his fingers. "There's this place downtown that makes the best pizza you've ever tasted. Like, I'm talking perfect crust, cheese that actually stretches, toppings that taste like heaven itself descended into tomato sauce form."
The suggestion hung in the air for a moment, and Marcus watched as the different economic realities of the team became suddenly, hilariously apparent.
Bruce and Oliver, both billionaires who could buy the pizza place on a whim, exchanged glances that spoke volumes. When was the last time either of them had eaten pizza? Bruce probably had Alfred prepare five-star meals every night, and Oliver likely had a personal chef to maintain his training diet.
Meanwhile, Barry and Clark—a forensic analyst and a reporter respectively—probably had pizza every other day because it was cheap, filling, and didn't require cooking after a long shift.
"Pizza," Oliver repeated slowly, like he was tasting a foreign word. "You know, I honestly can't remember the last time I had pizza. Must have been... god, before I got stranded on that island. Before the Green Arrow was even a thought in my head."
"Before the beard too," Barry quipped, earning a laugh from the group.
Bruce tilted his head thoughtfully. "Alfred occasionally includes pizza in my rotation when he thinks I need 'normal food' to stay grounded. Though knowing Alfred, it's probably from some artisanal place that charges fifty dollars per slice."
"Fifty dollars?" Barry's eyes widened comically. "Dude, that's a crime. The place I'm talking about charges twelve bucks for a large. Twelve! That's the whole pizza!"
"I could eat twelve pizzas," Clark admitted with a sheepish smile. "Maybe more if I've been using my powers a lot. The calorie requirements are... significant."
"And I can eat them faster than the restaurant can make them," Barry added, already vibrating with excitement. "But I won't! I'll eat at normal human speed, I promise. Mostly. Probably."
Arthur snorted. "Pizza sounds great, actually. In Atlantis, the closest we have is... well, it's not pizza. It involves kelp and fish paste, and surface dwellers definitely wouldn't like it."
"Hard pass on the fish paste pizza," Victor said, though he was smiling. "I can't eat much anyway with these upgrades, but I can taste a slice or two. Be nice to do something normal for once."
Bruce studied the group, seeing how the simple suggestion had already lightened the mood. They'd just fought an alien invasion, saved the world from apocalyptic transformation, and destroyed a massive parademon nest. Some greasy comfort food and casual conversation might be exactly what they needed.
"Pizza it is," Bruce agreed. "But first, we have unfinished business."
He gestured toward the nest looming behind them. Even damaged, it was an imposing structure—alien architecture mixed with scavenged Earth materials, creating something that hurt to look at directly. And inside that twisted fortress lay countless weapons, technology that had no business existing on this planet.
"We can't leave this intact," Bruce continued, his voice taking on that Batman edge. "The weapons alone are dangerous enough, but the technology could be reverse-engineered. The wrong people getting their hands on parademon weaponry would be catastrophic."
"Plus," Oliver added, drawing his bow, "it's ugly as hell and ruins the property values. Can't have that."
"The Mother Box we recovered will give us plenty to work with," Victor said, his systems already interfacing with the alien technology they'd secured. "We don't need these scraps."
Marcus nodded approvingly. They were thinking tactically, considering consequences beyond the immediate battle. That kind of strategic awareness would serve them well in the years to come.
"Then let's light it up," Clark said, his eyes already beginning to glow red. "Everyone ready?"
The heroes spread out, taking positions around the nest. Marcus could feel the power building—heat vision, energy arrows, Atlantean strength, Cyborg's weapons systems, and the Incinerator rings blazing with holy fire.
"On three," Bruce called out. "One... two... THREE!"
The world exploded into light and thunder.
Clark's heat vision carved through the nest's support structure like a hot knife through butter. Arthur's hydrokinesis, amplified by his ring, summoned a massive water spear that punched through the alien metal with pile-driver force. Victor's sonic cannon added its devastating frequency to the assault, making the entire structure vibrate itself apart. Oliver and Bruce unleashed energy constructs—blades and arrows and hammers made of heavenly light, each impact creating expanding circles of purification that ate through the corrupted materials.
And Barry? Barry ran. He circled the nest at supersonic speeds, his Incinerator ring creating a vortex of pure energy that wrapped around the structure like a tornado made of divine fire.
The nest didn't stand a chance.
Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, glowing with the combined energies pouring into it. Chunks of alien metal and corrupted circuitry began falling away, disintegrating before they hit the ground. The parademon weapons inside detonated in chains of secondary explosions, creating a light show that could probably be seen from space.
Marcus watched the destruction with satisfaction. They were being thorough, making sure nothing remained that could be repurposed or studied. Smart.
The final collapse came with a sound like a dying god's scream—a deep, resonant boom that shook the ground and sent shockwaves rippling through the air. The nest folded in on itself, crushed by the weight of its own destruction, and then the concentrated energy at its core detonated.
The explosion was beautiful in its way—rainbow light mixed with golden fire, alien technology meeting divine retribution. When the dust cleared, nothing remained but a crater and scattered ash.
"Well," Oliver said into the silence, "that's one way to redevelop the neighborhood."
The tension broke, and everyone shared a tired laugh. They'd done it. The threat was neutralized, the weapons destroyed, and the world was safe again.
A low hum announced Alfred's arrival before anyone saw the jet. The advanced aircraft came in low and smooth, Alfred's piloting expertise on full display as he set down nearby without disturbing the ash and debris too much.
The hatch opened, and Selina Kyle stepped out first, stretching like the cat she was named after. Constantine followed, looking rumpled and annoyed in his trademark trench coat, a cigarette already dangling from his lips despite Alfred's certain disapproval.
"Well, well," Selina purred, surveying the destruction. "Looks like you boys had fun without me. Should I be jealous?"
"We saved you the cleanup," Bruce replied, his tone warming slightly at her arrival. "Thought you'd appreciate that."
"How considerate." She walked over, and Marcus noticed how Bruce's posture shifted subtly, becoming less rigid. Those two had history, complicated and unresolved, and apparently everyone could see it except them.
Constantine flicked ash from his cigarette, his eyes scanning the crater with professional assessment. "Steppenwolf's handiwork, yeah? Nasty piece of business, parademons. At least they're not demons proper—those are a right pain in the arse to clean up."
"You dealt with your demon problem?" Oliver asked.
"Small town, middle of nowhere, population of about three hundred." Constantine's voice took on that sardonic edge he used when discussing the darker side of his work. "Turns out a nest of demons had set up shop. Smart bastards too—possessed the locals, acted normal during the day, hunted at night. And they had a memory-eater among them."
"Memory-eater?" Victor asked.
"Demon that can modify memories," Selina explained, checking her claws for damage. "After the demons fed, this thing would wipe the victims from everyone's memory. Missing persons became forgotten persons. Pretty clever, really, in a horrifying kind of way."
"How'd you find them?" Clark asked, his expression darkening at the thought of people being erased from their loved ones' minds.
"Dumb luck and psychic intervention," Constantine said with a shrug. "Was tracking a different demon entirely when a medium I know had a vision. Wrong demon, right problem. Took Selina with me since everyone else was busy playing with Steppenwolf."
"It wasn't much of a fight," Selina added. "Constantine's magic and my claws made short work of them once we knew where to look. Though Alfred had to come extract us, so he got his feet wet too."
"I managed quite well with the Incinerator Ring's enhancements," Alfred said primly, descending from the jet. "Though I must say, demonic ichor is rather difficult to remove from one's clothing."
Constantine was already moving, his hands weaving through complicated gestures as the power of his ring flowed out in geometric patterns. The golden light formed a triangular magic circle in the air, each point marked with sigils that hurt to look at directly.
"Just want to see if these parademons have any relation to demons proper," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The circle flared bright, and space tore open with a sound like reality hiccupping.
Through the temporary portal, Marcus could see deeper into the nest's ruins. Constantine reached in and pulled out a relatively intact parademon corpse, dumping it unceremoniously on the ground.
"Ugly sod, ain't you?" Constantine circled the body, studying it with the critical eye of someone who'd seen too many monsters. "Looks a bit like a demon, I'll give you that. Similar bone structure, same general 'designed to terrify' aesthetic. But..."
He knelt down, forming his hands into a mystic seal. Pure white light poured from his ring, enveloping the corpse completely. The flesh began to smoke and blacken, breaking down at the molecular level. In seconds, nothing remained but dust.
"Yeah, not demons," Constantine confirmed, standing and brushing off his hands. "Demons resist the Incinerator power like crazy—built-in defense mechanism. These things? They go up like dry kindling. Stronger than demons physically, maybe, but without the supernatural resilience."
He turned toward Marcus, and the transmigrator felt the weight of Constantine's gaze. John Constantine was many things—drunk, cynic, bastard, hero—but he wasn't stupid. He'd seen things, made deals, walked between worlds. And during the time Marcus had been crafting the Incinerator Ring system, Constantine had watched closely enough to understand just how powerful the man called Void really was.
Marcus met his eyes steadily, neither confirming nor denying whatever conclusions Constantine had drawn. Let him wonder. Mystery kept people cautious, and caution kept them alive.
Constantine looked away first, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Right then. Threats neutralized, world saved, usual Tuesday. Are we actually getting pizza, or was that just Allen running his mouth?"
"We're getting pizza," Barry confirmed, vibrating with renewed enthusiasm. "Best pizza in the city, I swear on my badge."
While they argued about pizza joints, Marcus found himself standing beside Alfred. The elderly butler looked distinguished as ever, his posture perfect despite the long day, but there were new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"It's been too long, Alfred," Marcus said warmly. "You're looking well."
"Master Marcus." Alfred's formal tone softened. "I must say, it's a relief to see you again. Your timing, as always, is impeccable—arriving just as we face yet another world-ending crisis."
"I try to keep things interesting."
"Yes, you certainly do that." Alfred sighed, looking over at Bruce who was talking with Selina, their body language speaking volumes about things left unsaid. "Though I fear some matters remain stubbornly uninteresting, despite my best efforts."
Marcus followed his gaze, understanding immediately. "Still no progress on that front?"
"None whatsoever," Alfred said with exasperation. "Master Bruce has grown into a fine man, a capable leader, everything I could have hoped for. He and the others no longer need my constant oversight—they've proven themselves time and again as Earth's defenders."
"But?" Marcus prompted, knowing there was more.
"But the Wayne family remains without a new heir." Alfred's voice carried the weight of old worry. "Master Bruce is not getting any younger, and neither is Miss Kyle. They clearly care for each other deeply, yet they remain trapped in this... this perpetual courtship that goes nowhere."
Marcus bit back a smile. "Maybe they're waiting for the right moment."
"The right moment passed several years ago," Alfred said firmly. "At this rate, I'll have to take matters into my own hands. Perhaps an extended vacation, forcing them to spend time together without the distraction of vigilantism. Lock them in a remote cabin somewhere until they work through their obvious feelings."
"That might backfire spectacularly."
"I'm willing to risk it." Alfred straightened his jacket. "I've served the Wayne family faithfully for decades. I believe I've earned the right to see at least one Wayne wedding before I leave this world."
"You've got plenty of years left, Alfred. The life serum saw to that."
"Age is more than just years, Master Marcus. It's about seeing the next generation secured." Alfred's eyes softened as he watched Bruce laugh at something Barry said. "I just want to know the family will continue. Is that so much to ask?"
Marcus clapped the butler gently on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think Bruce is lucky to have you worrying about him."
"Someone has to," Alfred replied. "The man fights gods and monsters but can't manage a simple conversation about his feelings. It's enough to make one's beard fall out from stress."
They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the newly formed Justice League argue about pizza toppings and debate whether pineapple belonged on pizza at all. These heroes, these legends in the making, were still so wonderfully human in moments like this.
The Justice League had been born today, rising from the ashes of the Demon Hunting Council. They would face greater threats in the years to come—Marcus knew that for certain. But right now, in this moment, they were just people who'd fought hard and wanted some greasy food and good company.
"Come on," Bruce called out, waving everyone toward the jet. "Alfred, you're driving. Everyone else, pile in. And someone keep Barry from vibrating the whole trip—the last thing we need is motion sickness before we eat."
"I make no promises!" Barry called back, already halfway to the jet.
As the team filed into the aircraft, laughing and joking and falling into the comfortable camaraderie of shared victory, Marcus hung back for just a moment. He looked at the crater where the nest had been, then up at the sky where stars were beginning to emerge in the twilight.
The Justice League was established. Earth's defenses had grown stronger. And his Incinerator Rings had evolved beyond his initial design, becoming something greater through the faith and determination of those who wore them.
Not a bad day's work, all things considered.
With a thought, Marcus activated his void step and vanished, leaving the heroes to their well-earned celebration. They didn't need him hovering over them—they had each other now. That was the whole point.
Besides, Alfred was right about one thing: Bruce and Selina really did need to figure their situation out. Maybe he'd mention it to Selina next time they crossed paths. Nothing like a little outside perspective to nudge stubborn people in the right direction.
The Justice League's story was just beginning.
And Marcus? He had other worlds to explore, other threats to handle, other pieces to move into place. But he'd be watching. Always watching.
After all, someone had to make sure his gift didn't go to waste.