The Earth trembled as the skies shattered.
Parademons rained from the crimson heavens, blotting out stars. Omega Beams scarred the skyline of every major city. The first wave had arrived—and with it, war.
In Metropolis, Superman led the charge. His fists tore through metal and bone, his eyes cutting through darkness. To his side, Shazam cracked the sky with thunder.
In Gotham, the streets became fire.
But the center of the storm…
Was Coast City.
And standing at its heart—
Was Darkseid.
His arms folded, his presence alone bending the air. Omega energy pulsed beneath his skin like liquid hatred.
Around him stood his Elite: Kalibak, Desaad, Grail, and the reborn Steppenwolf.
And before them…
Stood Raga, the Wheel of Adaptation humming softly behind him.
At his side: Zatanna, cloak torn and blood on her lip. Behind them, Wonder Woman, Batman, Flash, John Stewart, and Martian Manhunter—all battered, but unbroken.
Kalibak laughed, hefting his war club. "They send a half-god with no soul and a handful of mortals. Pathetic."
"No," Raga said quietly. "They send the willing. That's what you never understand."
Darkseid stepped forward, his voice a blade.
"You refuse destiny, Raga."
"I am destiny—unwritten."
"You were made to serve," Darkseid said. "You were born in a forge of death. I offer you place, purpose, order."
Raga's eyes glowed. "You offer chains, wrapped in grandeur."
The wheel turned once—not in response to harm, but to declaration.
Darkseid's eyes narrowed. "So be it."
With a gesture, his Elite surged forward.
The battlefield ignited.
Kalibak lunged at Raga with a roar—his war club crashing down like a comet.
Raga caught it with both hands.
The ground cratered beneath him.
The wheel turned once, adapting to the sheer force. He twisted the weapon from Kalibak's hands, then drove his palm into Kalibak's chest, sending the brute flying into a truck that exploded on impact.
To the side, Zatanna wove spells into spirals of flame and chains, binding Desaad in a circle of fire. "Burn in the name of the free!"
Desaad shrieked and teleported away, vanishing in a cloud of black mist.
Wonder Woman tangled with Grail—swords clashing like thunder. "You fight like your father," Diana spat. "Which means you'll fall like him."
Batman and Flash coordinated strikes on Steppenwolf, while John Stewart formed a massive construct around the city to evacuate civilians.
In the center of it all, Raga moved like a force of nature.
The more they struck, the more he learned.
The more pain they tried to cause, the more his body adapted—faster, more fluid, more precise.
Until none of them could touch him.
Darkseid finally stepped forward.
The battlefield quieted.
The Elite, battered, backed away.
Raga turned to face the god of tyranny.
"You stand in defiance of divinity," Darkseid said. "You think free will is strength. But it is weakness disguised as choice."
"No," Raga replied. "Free will is the only truth worth bleeding for."
"You are becoming human," Darkseid said with a trace of disdain. "You feel. You doubt. And that makes you breakable."
"Maybe," Raga said. "But at least when I die—I die on my feet."
Darkseid raised his hand.
Omega Beams ignited.
Then—
A ripple.
Reality buckled.
Time paused.
And in the moment between the clash of gods, the multiverse stirred.
Above them, in the veils between realms, eyes opened.
In a throne of void and silver flame, Lucifer Morningstar sipped wine and chuckled. "Oh, this will be interesting."
In a realm of screams and desire, Trigon bared his teeth. "Something not of any Hell dares resist the dark?"
In the Halls of the Endless, Destiny turned a page and found no writing where there should have been.
Dream stirred from slumber. Despair wept softly.
And Death watched with a calm smile.
"Choose well," she whispered. "Or everything burns."
Time snapped forward.
The Omega Beams struck.
Raga vanished—
—then reappeared behind Darkseid.
The wheel had spun—twice.
He was adapting not just to damage, but to omega energy itself.
He struck Darkseid square in the back, sending the god sprawling forward.
A sound passed through the battlefield no one had ever heard:
Darkseid grunted.
Raga stood firm.
Darkseid rose slowly, eyes narrowed.
"You are... rewriting."
Raga said nothing.
The wheel spun again.
This time, it glowed silver, edged with black stardust.
Not just adapting to power.
But adapting to presence.
Darkseid stepped back—not in fear, but recognition.
"You have become your own myth."
Raga took a step forward. "I will not be your soldier. I will not be your key. I am not your mistake to fix. I am my own."
Darkseid stared into the soul of the weapon who no longer obeyed.
And smiled, faintly.
"Then this war becomes holy."
Overhead, Boom Tubes opened again.
More parademons.
More war machines.
The multiverse was watching.
And it would not stay silent much longer.
Raga looked to Zatanna. To the League. To the broken skyline behind them.
Then to the heavens.
"I was born to destroy gods," he said. "Now I will protect their graves."
And the wheel turned.
Faster.
And faster.