The Watchtower hung silent above Earth, its orbit steady, its halls tense. The League gathered in the strategy chamber, still unsettled by what Wonder Woman had revealed in Khandaq.
Superman paced, arms folded. "Centuries? You really believe he's been here that long?"
Diana's voice was calm, firm. "Themyscira does not record myths, Kal. We archive truths. Oblivion walked man's world long before we stood together."
Batman leaned in the shadows, his silence sharper than steel. He hadn't spoken since their return, but his mind was already running through centuries of unexplained murders, toppled empires, assassinations too precise to be coincidence.
The sliding doors opened, and in walked Zatanna, cloak brushing the floor, her presence filling the room like starlight. Behind her, cigarette smoke curled as Constantine sauntered in, his smirk already mocking.
"Word is," Constantine drawled, "you lot have been chasing a ghost. Can't believe it's taken you this long to trip over him."
Superman frowned. "You know him?"
Constantine tapped ash into a tray, his eyes glinting. "Know him? Mate, Oblivion's been popping up in grimoires longer than you've been wearing red trunks. Goes by the same name every bloody time. Always tall, always charming, always dead in the eyes." He took a drag, exhaled smoke. "Scares even the demons, that one."
Zatanna slid a heavy tome across the table, its leather cracked, pages yellowed with centuries. "The Trismegistus Text. It mentions him during the fall of Constantinople. The description…" She flipped pages, stopping at a faded ink sketch — a tall man in a long coat, blades on his back. The lines were crude, but the eyes were rendered in careful detail, dark and luminous at once.
Wonder Woman stepped closer, her voice low. "The same presence I saw in Khandaq."
Superman stared at the page, then at the others. "That could be anyone."
"Really?" Constantine's grin widened, humorless. "Then explain this." He tossed another book onto the table, this one newer, from the 19th century. The sketch inside was different — clothing changed for the times, a high-collared coat instead of a trench, revolvers at his side instead of blades. But the eyes were the same. Always the eyes.
Batman finally spoke. "It's him."
The chamber fell into silence, broken only when the lights flickered. The Watchtower's systems momentarily glitched, monitors fuzzing with static. For a breathless instant, one camera feed displayed something impossible: Oblivion, standing in a dark corridor of the station, his coat trailing, eyes glowing faintly.
But when Superman blurred through the halls in a flash, the corridor was empty. Only faint cigarette smoke lingered in the air.
Back in the chamber, the monitors cleared. Constantine chuckled darkly. "That's the thing about him. Cameras can't catch him. Minds can't hold him. He's like smoke you think you've breathed in, but try coughing it out and—poof. Nothing."
Diana's fists clenched at her sides. "He's testing us."
Batman shook his head slowly. "No. He's reminding us he's always been here."
Far below, in the labyrinthine depths of London, Oblivion sat across from Constantine in a dim, private bar lit only by candlelight. The magician poured them both a glass of whiskey, studying the assassin with careful eyes.
"You know, mate," Constantine muttered, "you're really starting to make the League twitchy. Popping up in Khandaq, rattling their nice clean hero records. Not exactly subtle."
Oblivion's eyes gleamed faintly as he lifted his glass, his voice calm, resonant. "I was never meant to be subtle. I was meant to be forgotten."
Constantine smirked, though his unease was clear. "Funny thing is, you never are. You leave ripples. Always bloody ripples."
Oblivion leaned back, handsome face unreadable, his aura pressing like the weight of centuries. "Ripples fade. Balance remains."
He stood, coat brushing the floor, and for a moment Constantine felt the air thin, as though Death itself lingered in the room. Yet there was charm in him too, a magnetic pull that made even John hesitate.
"Where are you headed next?" Constantine asked.
Oblivion's smirk was faint, inevitable. "Ten steps ahead of you, John."
And then, as always, he was gone.
Back in the Watchtower, the League stared at the records left by Zatanna and Constantine. Three accounts separated by centuries, three different eras, one unchanging presence.
Superman clenched his fists. "We can't allow this to continue unchecked. He's dangerous."
Wonder Woman's voice was quiet, reverent. "Perhaps. But history shows he has always been here when corruption threatens to consume the world. Perhaps he exists because he must."
Batman's eyes narrowed, already tracking the next move. "Or perhaps he's playing a game we don't understand. Either way…" He closed the tome with finality. "…he's not finished