The demons lay in ruins. The once-roaring temple fell silent, its air still vibrating from the clash.
On the ancient throne, the Old Wizard finally allowed himself a breath. His eyes closed for a moment, his weathered face softening as life returned to his features.
At his side, Liam had already shrunk back into his human form, the giant of light gone, leaving only a tall man with steady golden eyes.
"Thank you for your help, outsider." The Wizard's voice carried both weight and weariness. "Though it pains my pride to admit it… without you, the consequences today would have been catastrophic."
"You don't seem all that shocked to see me," Liam noted.
The Old Wizard's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"I have lived for nine millennia. In those years, I have witnessed the fall of Old Gods and the rise of New. I have seen worlds end, and I have seen the Spirit of Vengeance raise the Blade of Judgment itself.
Believe me—after nine thousand years, nothing is truly surprising. You are unlike anything I have seen before… but you are not beyond what a Wizard has learned to accept."
Liam had to concede the point. For someone who had lived so long, who had walked among gods and monsters, his existence as Ultraman was probably just another chapter in a very long book.
The Wizard's shoulders sagged slightly. "But age weighs heavy. I feel it more each day. Soon, I must choose a successor. Without one, this temple will fall unguarded."
He studied Liam with tired eyes, sighed, and said quietly, "In truth, you would make a fine candidate. Your spirit is pure, your will strong… though not yet tempered. What a pity."
Liam caught the unspoken part. The Wizard's power was meant for humans. Liam, reborn as something beyond that, no longer fit the mold. Fate had its rules, and destiny already had its chosen heir: somewhere, inevitably, Billy Batson would be found.
The Wizard straightened slightly, stroking his long beard. "I cannot give you the six gods' power. But a Wizard does not let an ally leave empty-handed." His eyes narrowed, calculating. "You… you carry the essence of light. Magic sees it clearly."
Liam blinked. "Light magic?" he echoed.
The Wizard raised two fingers. A spark ignited between them—sunlight itself, condensed, reshaped, crystallized into a glowing ruby.
"Take this."
Liam hesitated, then accepted it. The moment his hand closed around the gem, he felt it: a heat like sunlight pouring into him in thin threads, refreshing his body and spirit as though he'd just flown through a burning star.
His eyes widened slightly. It's like solar charging… a portable sun.
The Wizard smiled faintly. "This was a gift from Apollo after the Great War. For me, it has been nothing more than a trinket. For you, it will be strength."
Liam instantly understood the implications. In DC's tangled pantheon, Apollo's power had always been solar. Superman himself had once been supercharged by the sun god's blast, his energy levels quadrupling in an instant. If a gem could store even a fraction of that…
A power bank. A literal solar battery. Plug-and-play.
Liam tucked it away carefully.
"So," he asked, "you'll keep searching for a successor here?"
The Wizard shook his head. "Not here. I have been absent from the world for too long. If I do not step into it again, I cannot hope to understand the people I must entrust it to. My days are numbered, Liam. I only wish to pass on the torch before they end."
Nine thousand years of battles and burdens weighed in his voice. "Chaos will rise again, as it always does. But the world will find its new Guardians. Perhaps they will do better than we did. Perhaps they will not only protect—but also guide humanity into the light."
He patted Liam's shoulder, then turned and began walking slowly toward the temple doors.
Liam watched him go, quiet, thoughtful. For all his age and frailty, the Wizard carried himself with dignity. He had never been the protagonist of any tale—merely the mentor, the one who handed the torch. Yet he had fought in the dark for thousands of years, unthanked, unseen. Even in decline, all he thought of was the future.
…Then Liam remembered something.
"Wait, Wizard—when you said your days are numbered, exactly how long are we talking?"
The old man chuckled softly, as if amused by his own mortality. "Who can say? Perhaps twenty or thirty years. Perhaps fifty."
Liam stared at him. "…Right. Should've known."
For a man with nine thousand years on his back, "near death" apparently meant "several decades of retirement."
"All right then," Liam pressed, "what's your actual plan in the meantime? This successor search of yours could take years. Where will you live? What will you eat?"
The Wizard blinked. For all his grand wisdom, he had clearly never considered the very practical question of food and lodging.
By the time they stepped back through the portal and into the Gotham alley, Liam seized the moment. "I happen to run a coffee shop nearby. Business is steady. Been thinking of adding baked goods, maybe some meals. And wouldn't you know it—I'm short a cook."
The Wizard's eyes went wide. His beard practically bristled. "You dare suggest me—the Guardian of the Eternal Rock, founder of the Council of Eternity, the greatest Wizard of this age—be reduced to your cook?!"
Liam just gave him a look. The kind that said: Consider it.
The old man scoffed, arms crossed, chin raised defiantly. "Never! Absolutely not! Impossible!"
Then his stomach growled. Loudly.
The Wizard: "…"
---
One day later, at the HISHE Café on the corner, the staff gained a new member: an elderly man in an apron and chef's hat, beard blowing like storm clouds, glowering at everyone who dared look his way.
"Listen well!" he barked at the young barista. "Gotham is a crucible of souls. A single day here teaches more than a month elsewhere! If one wishes to know this age, this city is the perfect classroom!"
Liam leaned against the counter, grinning at his zero-salary recruit. "See? Told you it'd work out. Free food, free roof, and the best integration program you'll find. Oh, and the kitchen gear might be new to you, but it's easy enough. I'll walk you through—"
The Wizard raised a hand proudly. "Nonsense! Mortal tools hold no mystery to me. By sunset, every machine in that kitchen shall obey my command!"
"Sure," Liam said, smirking. "Good luck with that."
Two minutes later, a loud BANG! shook the café.
The smell of smoke wafted out from the kitchen.
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Here we go."