The multiverse didn't shatter with a bang. It simply folded, like a worn-out page in a book no one reads anymore. And through that gentle crease, a boy stepped in.
Not a boy anymore.
Kairav had once been a human — curious, quiet, and fascinated by the stars. Now? He was the stars. Or rather, something beyond them. The embodiment of balance, the voice of creation and destruction, logic and chaos.
He was Alien X.
And yet… he just wanted coffee.
---
Kairav emerged on the rooftop of a modest building in Gotham. The city moaned beneath him—crime, corruption, fear, and flickering streetlights. Rain misted the air. The skyline was cracked with history and hidden monsters.
He adjusted his hoodie, tucked his hands in his pockets, and took a long breath.
"Smells like Bat-angst and wet concrete," he muttered, smirking.
Reality shifted to accommodate him without rippling. No portals. No boom tubes. No celestial trumpets. He didn't like drama.
He wanted peace.
He wanted to live — quietly.
---
He moved into a modest apartment above a used bookstore run by a half-deaf ex-journalist named Harold, who never asked questions and always offered tea. The room smelled of ink and old oak. It was perfect.
Kairav named himself Kai. Simple. Human.
---
Each morning, he walked to the local diner and ordered toast and coffee. He didn't need to eat — omnipotent beings didn't get hungry — but he liked the warmth. The ritual. The illusion of normalcy.
But Gotham never let anyone stay normal.
That week, the Riddler took hostages in a downtown museum, demanding a million dollars and quoting Latin riddles. SWAT surrounded the building. Batman was on his way.
Kairav blinked once.
And inside the museum, all of Riddler's guns turned into bananas. The hostages were asleep, dreaming of puppies. Edward Nygma himself found himself trapped in a recursive riddle box — every time he answered, the question changed.
Batman arrived five minutes later to find the crisis mysteriously resolved.
---
"Kai" just sipped his coffee and watched the news on a flickering diner TV.
"Strange," the anchor said. "GCPD reports no casualties and no explanation. The Riddler's now in Arkham… reciting knock-knock jokes."
Kairav smiled.
He wasn't here to fight.
He was here to tilt things — gently. A misplaced shadow here, a lost file there. Enough to let good win without noticing him.
Because when Alien X intervenes directly, planets collapse. Realities bend. Gods beg.
He wasn't here to conquer. He was here to heal. Subtly.
---
That night, while brushing his teeth, Kairav paused. In the mirror, his reflection shimmered. Not his human form — his true one. Black body sprinkled with stars. Eyes glowing with paradoxes. The form of a Celestialsapien.
"Still holding back," he muttered.
In the reflection, two voices argued behind his glowing gaze.
Bellicus, the voice of rage: "Why pretend? Why limit yourself? These mortals don't deserve your restraint!"
Serena, the voice of compassion: "They're fragile. Let him have peace. Let him be."
Kairav, the balance, overruled them both. "We're not gods here. Just tourists."
The voices fell silent.
He finished brushing his teeth.
---
The next morning, a small bat-drone scanned his apartment.
It buzzed near his bookshelf.
Kairav snapped his fingers. The drone turned into a moth and flew out the window.
Across the city, in the Batcave, Bruce Wayne frowned at the sudden signal loss. He didn't like mysteries in Gotham. Especially ones that wiped digital traces.
He made a note: "Subject: Unknown. Potential meta. Observe."
But no name. No face. Just… shadows.
---
Kairav sat in the bookstore that afternoon, reading a dusty copy of Leaves of Grass. Harold, half-asleep, muttered something about the past.
Kairav listened.
The world spun.
And somewhere, in the hidden places between dimensions, Darkseid felt a ripple in the fabric of control.
Something — someone — had entered the board.
But not to play.
To rewrite the rules.