Mahoraga sat on the edge of a rooftop, unmoving, like a statue that had forgotten what it was supposed to represent.
The city below—Metropolis—glowed in the dying light of dusk. Cars crawled like insects, lights blinked in lazy rhythm, and the sky turned copper. Mahoraga stared forward, but he didn't see it.
He saw a battlefield of broken earth, stained with curses and blood. A massive creature—was it him?—struck down a deity of flames. A chant echoed across that other world, one he couldn't remember. Just fragments.
"Shikigami… Ten Shadows…"
"Uncontrollable… kill it before it adapts…"
He gripped his head, the memory a hammer driving against the inside of his skull. The wheel on his back twitched, spinning once, then stopped.
He was remembering.
But who he had been… was no longer who he was.
---
The alley shimmered behind him.
From the shadows stepped Zatanna Zatara, in her classic top hat and coat, her boots clicking softly on the concrete. Magic pulsed around her like a heartbeat—contained, focused, elegant.
She stopped ten feet away. Her lips parted slightly as she took in the sight of him. "You're him," she said. "The one Constantine warned me about."
Mahoraga turned his head slowly, gaze falling on her with quiet, inhuman stillness.
"I do not know who I am."
"You're something the multiverse wasn't built to contain," she said, crossing her arms. "You're a myth in the wrong mythos."
Mahoraga tilted his head.
Zatanna took a cautious step forward. "You fought the Spectre and survived. No one survives the Spectre unless he lets them. But he didn't let you. You adapted. That's terrifying."
"I only fight when struck first," Mahoraga said.
"You're adapting still, aren't you?" she asked. "Becoming more... aware."
Mahoraga hesitated. "Memories return. But they are fragmented. Alien."
Zatanna studied him, her fingers itching to raise a ward but holding back. "You're becoming someone," she said softly. "That's the dangerous part. Weapons are predictable. People aren't."
Mahoraga stood.
"I seek Death. But I remember a world without her."
Zatanna blinked. "You remember your universe?"
"Some. A place of curses and silence. A world of death without grace. And I… was not born. I was forged."
Zatanna frowned. "A weapon that grew a soul…"
Mahoraga looked up. "And now I am asked to walk among gods. I do not understand this path."
"You're not meant to," came a voice behind them—quiet, ancient, and dreamlike.
They turned.
Standing atop the water tower behind them was Dream of the Endless. Pale skin, star-flecked eyes, raven perched on his shoulder. The fabric of the air shimmered around him as if struggling to define him.
Zatanna gave a small bow. "Lord Dream."
Mahoraga watched in silence.
Dream stepped forward, each motion gentle, as if he feared disturbing the world.
"You are not a dream," Dream said to Mahoraga, "but you walk within one. You are memory, stripped of name. Law, without page. You exist outside the tale."
Mahoraga said nothing. The wheel turned once behind him.
"You are a living paradox," Dream continued. "Which means you are vulnerable."
"To what?" Zatanna asked.
"To purpose," Dream answered.
Mahoraga looked down at his hands. "Then what am I meant to be?"
"That," Dream said with a faint smile, "is the first truly human question you've asked."
---
Far beyond Metropolis, on the scorched metal world of Apokolips, beneath the fire pits that never ceased, Darkseid stood on a platform of carved obsidian, gazing into the swirling void between realities.
Beside him, Desaad trembled, trying not to look directly into the energy crackling before them.
"My lord," Desaad said quietly, "the anomaly you sensed… it does not register in the Book of Oa, nor in the files of the New Gods."
"It was not born here," Darkseid intoned. "It was pulled."
"Pulled… by Death?"
Darkseid's red eyes narrowed.
"No. Pulled by emptiness. Death merely recognized it."
The image flickered—showing Mahoraga's silhouette facing the Spectre in mid-air, then shifting to his presence in Dream's domain.
Darkseid studied it in silence.
"He survives divine judgment. He resists fate. He exists outside the Equation."
Desaad licked his lips nervously. "Then… is he a threat to your grand design?"
Darkseid turned slowly, stepping down from the platform.
"No."
Desaad breathed a sigh of relief—too soon.
"He is a key."
"To what?"
Darkseid's voice rumbled like stone grinding against itself.
"To Death herself."
---
Back in the city, Zatanna and Dream stood in silence as Mahoraga stared at the stars.
"What should I do?" Mahoraga asked, almost to himself.
Dream turned to leave, the raven flapping once before perching on a rooftop edge.
"Walk carefully," Dream said. "You do not know yet whether you are a salvation… or a mistake the multiverse cannot survive."
Zatanna watched as Dream vanished into mist.
Mahoraga sat once more, his wheel slowing.
Zatanna sat beside him.
"I'll help you remember," she said softly. "But when you remember what you were… you might have to choose whether to stay that way."
Mahoraga closed his eyes.
And far above, Death stood on a building no one else could see, watching.
Waiting.