The storm had begun hours ago, but in the city it barely seemed to matter. Blüdhaven was used to the rain: flooded streets, neon lights flickering over dirty puddles, the constant blare of horns blending with sirens in the distance. No one looked up for long, no one stopped to listen.
Until the sky tore open.
In a narrow alley, between two soot-stained brick buildings, reality bent like glass forced to shatter. A luminous crack opened in the air, releasing bluish sparks that lit up the damp walls. The roar of the portal was barely audible beneath the thunder's rumble. Still, it was there—vibrating across every surface, distorting the world around as if the city itself rejected the intrusion.
From it emerged a man, or barely could be called that. A young figure in his early twenties, dark hair with faint golden streaks, half-naked in rags that hadn't seen better days in months, torn and frayed.
His body collapsed to his knees on the asphalt, water bursting into a puddle beneath a weight that seemed far heavier than what the eye could see. His arms were marked with fresh burns, his torso slashed with still-bleeding wounds. The air scorched his lungs; every breath was like swallowing fire. Yet he managed to hold himself with one hand against the ground, gasping.
The portal snapped shut behind him, leaving only darkness and rain.
Orvann lifted his gaze, a smile spreading across his face. Fluorescent signs flickering in the distance, the roar of an elevated train, hurried footsteps that would never stop in an alley like this—the stupid, peaceful banality of humankind wrapped around him. No one had seen his fall. No one but the rain had caught him.
The air smelled different. Cleaner, though tinged with rust and oil. Not the inferno of fire and metal he had just escaped. For the first time in years, he breathed without smoke in his lungs.
And then he heard it again—the stupid voice that had followed him since the first time he ever saw the light.
—So this is how the great Orvann ends? —the whisper slithered, warm and cruel, inside his skull— Thrown into a human mud pit, bleeding like a dog?
By now, Orvann was far too used to it for his misfortune. The voice had learned, through the years, exactly how to ruin a moment.
—Look at you. Once, armies bowed at the sound of your name. Now you beg for air, hiding under the rain. Let me return. Let me take control… and I will finish what you never could.
He didn't even have the strength to shout back. He only let out a scoff and smiled, even as blood and rain soaked him through. He would not let it ruin this moment. It had taken him decades to reach it. Solid ground. Clean air. Home.
The silence broke with footsteps.
A silhouette stood at the alley's entrance, blurred under the rain, carrying an umbrella and a coat too large for them. They hesitated for an instant, then stepped forward.
Orvann tried to rise, instincts still sharp, fearing he had already been found. But the pain doubled him over. His legs wouldn't respond.
The figure quickened their pace, shoes splashing through puddles.
—"Hey! Are you alright?"
The voice was human. Warm. Blurry. A woman's, older—or so Orvann gathered, though his senses far surpassed any normal human's. The strength in his body, however, was draining rapidly.
He raised his head, trying to see if the figure was a threat to his newfound freedom, but the warped lights kept her face hidden. He tried to take a step; his knees gave out. He toppled sideways, his forehead hitting the wet asphalt. Blood mingled with rain and was carried toward the nearest drain—and that was the last thing he saw as exhaustion claimed what little strength he had left.
The sky of the planet shattered in green lights and black flames. Orvann ran, breaking chains that still crackled against his skin. Behind him, a swarm of parademons pursued, the furious beasts ignoring everything but him—and higher above, green rings traced hunting trajectories, their aim set not only on the parademons.
—Don't let him escape! —A Lantern roared, projecting a net of energy.
Orvann tore through it with a burst of golden fire, his body burning with unrestrained power. The Omega brand had disintegrated, but he still felt its burn seared into his flesh. Void's voice murmured in his mind, accompanied by an excited laugh: "Run, run—you're almost there."
It was genuine emotion. Void could taste the opportunities that would come once both were free of Apokolips's grip.
A swarm of parademons closed in—creatures with no will but war and obedience to their master. Orvann turned, unleashing a miniature sun that erased them in less than a second. Yet his energy was fading, even though it was akin to a thousand suns exploding. This chase had lasted longer than days, longer than weeks.
He had long escaped Apokolips's influence and, in an attempt to enter Green Lantern territory to avoid further hunts, discovered his captors cared little for boundaries.
The Lanterns did not hesitate either. Though they saw he was no servant of Apokolips, they had witnessed the devastation of his power, and the mark was still visible on his body. He was listed as a priority target for eradication.
—By willpower—bring him down now!
—"What?" he muttered, his head clouded. "Where… how…?"
Orvann forced himself to examine his surroundings. He was in a small room, having risen from a worn sofa. The walls were lined with old wood, and a window was covered by a cheap curtain. The frame was cracked, barely enough to withstand the storm outside. Raindrops hammered against the glass insistently.
He heard footsteps beyond the door—voices and steps. The light in his arms began to throb faintly across his whole body. Instinct, survival, and memory kept it alive; he could not extinguish it fully. His body remembered too well—the chase, the blades of parademons grazing his flesh before he'd crossed the portal.
He moved his hand with effort, and the fabric of the sheet covering him frayed under his touch: too much energy still surged within him. He forced it back, clenching his fists, dimming the glow to a faint flicker.
It took him a few seconds to realize—not only had someone helped him, but they had also bandaged some of his burns and wounds.
He heard the woman's murmur again.
—"Yes, I found him on the street… looked like a beaten dog." Her voice was clearer now, mingling with the clatter of pans and the faint smell of reheated coffee.
Orvann tensed. The glow across his skin pulsed again, forcing him to pull the blanket up to his neck.
—"No, I didn't ask too many questions…" Martha let out a short, weary laugh. "So what if he was a gang member or a drunk? He was bleeding out there in the rain. What was I supposed to do, Tommy?"
Silence on the other end. The creak of the floorboards betrayed that she was pacing as she spoke.
—"I brought him here, of course. I wasn't going to leave him there like everyone else does. You can tell he's a good boy… or at least someone who's been through too much."
The words echoed in his head.
His eyes roamed the room, and he decided to stand. Strength had returned, though faintly. He moved carefully, not wanting to alarm the woman in the other room. There were faded photographs on a shelf: a dark-haired boy in a school uniform, a young woman smiling in the same coat now hanging by the door. The air smelled of home, of damp wood and coffee—something far away in his memory, almost forgotten.
The whisper slithered back into his mind.
—Look at them. Humans. Weak. Is this the life you longed for? You are not one of them. The moment she learns what you are—what you've done—she'll flee in terror and despise you.
Orvann clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked. The glow in his arms flared, tiny sparks slipping through the seams of the blanket.
—"Shut up…" he whispered through his teeth, barely audible.
In the kitchen, Martha didn't seem to hear.
—"No, I'm not calling the police." Her voice turned sharp. "You know how things are in this city."
The phone clicked off. For a moment, silence filled the house, broken only by the rain tapping against the windows. Orvann remained still in the living room, noticing the burn marks he'd left on the blanket in his grip, until the sound of footsteps approached.
He hurried to fold the fabric and straighten himself. Instinct urged him to stay guarded, to hide the glow still pulsing under his skin, to seem as human as possible.
Martha appeared in the doorway, still wearing her apron, a steaming cup in hand. Her gaze settled on him—not with fear, but with the calm practicality of someone who had seen too much in life to be easily scared.
—"Ah, you're awake," she said, as if she had been expecting it. "Come, sit. No need to be nervous. Try this. It's nothing special, but it'll warm you."
She held out the cup. Orvann obeyed, sitting down. He took it clumsily; the heat seeped through his fingers, and for a moment, he feared the ceramic would shatter in his grip. He held it with both hands, sipping briefly. The bitter, overly strong liquid made him cough.
—"Thank you. I know it wasn't an easy choice to help a stranger like me."
Martha's smile was faint. —"Not used to it, huh? People always say I make my coffee too strong."
Orvann tilted his head, as if testing words in his mouth. —"No… that's not it." He forced down another sip, slower this time. "It's just… It's been a long time since I tasted something so… nostalgic."
She sat in a chair across from him, arms crossed. —"I don't know who you are, or what happened to you… and I'm not going to ask, not now." Her voice was firm, but not unkind. "All I know is you were falling apart out there in the rain. And nobody else was going to stop."
Orvann studied her in silence. There was no judgment in her eyes, not even curiosity—only the certainty of someone who had made a decision and was willing to stand by it.
The whisper slid back into his mind.
—Naïve. If she knew what you've done on worlds she can't even imagine, she'd let you die in the gutter.
He clenched his teeth, staring into the coffee to keep from answering.
Martha stood. —"Stay here a while. Think of it as a loan. I don't charge interest." She set an extra blanket on the sofa and walked back toward the kitchen. "And if you hear Tommy coming home tonight, don't be alarmed. He's just my boy."
Orvann placed the cup on the table with a faint clink, wary of breaking the porcelain. —"I don't think that's a good idea… I wouldn't want to intrude."
Martha turned from the doorway.
—"If you were an intrusion, you'd already be outside." She said it plainly, as if it were obvious. Then she vanished into the kitchen, leaving behind the scent of fresh coffee and the certainty that, for the first time in decades, someone had accepted him without asking for anything in return.
High above Earth's orbit, the Watchtower registered the event. The screen before Batman displayed a distorted reading: an energy burst in Blüdhaven, just seconds long, carrying signatures he knew all too well.
—"Apokolips," he said, voice grave.
Superman leaned over the console, reviewing the graph. —"The intensity matches a portal opening, but… it was too brief. No impact on the city."
—"No damage, no police reports, no cameras in the area," added Martian Manhunter, voice calm. "The district is practically off the surveillance grid."
Flash crossed his arms, uneasy. —"So what then? A test portal? Someone slipped through and went into hiding?"
Batman didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on the projected figures: the energy signature was nearly identical to a boom tube. But there was something else, an irregularity he couldn't classify.
—"Whatever it was, it's not active anymore." Superman straightened. "We can't send the whole team chasing a flicker in the rain."
—"No," Batman shut off the screen, facing the group. "But we're not ignoring it either. I want someone in Blüdhaven. Watch. Report anything unusual."
Flash arched a brow. —"Sounds like you already have someone in mind."
No one argued. Only a few years ago, they had faced the threat called Darkseid, and they all knew the danger his shadow brought to humanity.