Over the next couple of days, the League and Titans pushed on two fronts at once, throwing themselves publicly into relief work.
The world could not afford to look away. More than a week had passed since Taiwan vanished, yet everything still felt like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Thanks to the leaks, people now knew the truth. The Taiwan incident had not been an "unprecedented natural disaster." It had been a weapon.
That single fact spread dread along every coastline. People everywhere wondered,
'Would they be next?'
Across the battered shorelines of the Philippines, China's eastern seaboard, and Japan, the impact zones became graveyards of shattered concrete and salt-choked wreckage. Governments quarantined the worst-hit areas. In the days that followed, scientific teams moved in to map the destruction, carve it into numbered sectors, and clear them in order. As each zone opened, crews in the best available protective gear followed behind, moving debris, scraping mud from what used to be streets, and searching for the missing.
Sometimes they found survivors sealed into air pockets that should've collapsed days ago.
More often, they found bodies, giving families something, anything, that could pass for a final rite.
The Titans went wherever they were needed.
Some hit the wreckage lines—lifting slabs cranes couldn't move, cutting twisted steel, and dragging out survivors who'd screamed themselves hoarse. Others backed the League where strength mattered less than being seen: in squares, over rooftops, and in front of cameras, a living reminder—especially to those on the edge of despair—that the world hadn't been abandoned.
Still not everyone calmed down. But panic didn't spread as quickly when Superman or the Lanterns were overhead, and Wonder Girl was on the streets—moving refugees and cutting off fear before it could turn into violence.
Beneath the headlines, that was where the real crisis lived.
J'onn, M'gann, and Barbara Gordon moved through diplomatic meetings and emergency briefings as part of the League's "civil coordination" contingent. Out of costume and in tailored civilian attire, M'gann and Barbara watched for flashpoints before they became fires, whether it was a politician looking for someone to blame, someone trying to exploit the refugees, a general eager to "defensively" mobilize, or a crowd one rumor away from a riot. When needed, they put a thumb on the scale, keeping panic from hardening into policy.
Behind them, the League's analysts—many of them sharp minds hired through WayneTech—hunted misinformation in real time. They flagged bot networks as they spun up, traced narrative vectors back to their source, and mapped which communities were being subtly and surgically guided toward the edge.
And above all of it, J'onn never stopped watching the oceans.
Working alongside those same analysts, he kept a constant thread of attention on global monitoring stations and satellite feeds. Energy readings poured in from every coastline array they could access. Every anomaly was tagged. Every pattern was compared against Taiwan. Even false positives were treated seriously, because they meant the net was still tight enough to catch shadows.
On the side, he coordinated with Dinah, tracking LexCorp's movements. Lex never moved without a reason, and recently, LexCorp had been moving a lot.
Meanwhile, both teams trained with greater intensity, whether against themselves, their mentors, or simulated environments using the latest specialized HRE technology deployed by WayneTech.
The Titans drilled Vega's hard lessons into muscle memory, refining formations, tightening extraction calls, and speeding triage until it became instinct. They moved like a unit that had learned—painfully—what hesitation and weakness cost, and they swore they wouldn't pay that price twice.
The League dissected the Taiwan incident from every angle, building coordination tactics for a threat unlike any they'd faced: water that didn't merely drown, but stripped souls. They ran scenario after scenario, tried new tactics, and debated shortcomings, always returning to the same question:
'How do you fight something you can't punch?'
Behind the scenes, the technical war began in earnest.
Cyborg co-led a joint task force with Lucius Fox, pulling in WayneTech's League R&D scientists, Cisco and Caitlin from Team Flash, and John Constantine from the Magic Division. They had one objective: build countermeasures fast.
Armor and suit modifications came first. Their goal was anything that could resist corrupted water long enough to buy evacuation time now, and eventually withstand it outright. In parallel, they chased the harder problem: developing equipment capable of disabling monolith formations without accidentally amplifying their resonance.
The solutions demanded precision. Testing. Iteration.
They needed weeks to do it right.
Unfortunately, time wasn't on their side.
Third day after the Titans' return — Pacific Ocean — 0600
The first blip came through as noise.
A faint distortion in deep-ocean energy—too small to justify triggering an alert, but familiar enough for Planet Watch to flag and isolate. In orbit, satellites adjusted their angles. Over the past forty-eight hours, LexCorp had quietly folded two new satellites into the network; now Planet Watch tightened its filters around the anomaly and began to chase it down.
What had looked like harmless drift snapped into repetition.
Above the Pacific, the array lit in sequence as its systems synchronized, locking onto a partial signal that felt less like weather and more like intent. It kept tapping the same note again and again until the system finally heard it.
Far below, on the seafloor, five formations stirred.
Orichalcum monoliths began to glow from within. Then one formation pulsed.
That pulse was the blip Planet Watch caught.
A second pulse answered from elsewhere.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Then a fifth.
With each beat, the pattern sharpened. The formations found the same rhythm and slid into alignment—frequency by frequency—until the entire seabed fell into a single cadence, like an instrument played by unseen hands. Dark power gathered and cohered as separate sources snapped into unity. Energy ran through the monoliths like current through a conductor. Resonance rose into a clean, brutal harmony.
A cacophony of dying sea gods, dragged up from the deep and forced into the world.
And in that moment, the ocean heard it.
Not as sound, but as pressure and vibration… an instruction written into the water itself. A command that did not ask.
Then the sea answered.
Currents convulsed, and the surface roiled in scattered patches as it was seized and twisted into unnatural alignment. A shockwave rolled outward like a vast, invisible hand, rewriting the rules of fluid and tide as it went.
Marine life scattered in primal terror.
Schools of fish shattered into frantic spirals. Dolphins burst from the water and fled as if air could save them from what the deep had become. Even whales turned, their massive bodies carving hard arcs through the dark, trying to outrun what had been unleashed.
The ones that could not escape collapsed.
Where the resonance touched, bodies went slack as something essential tore loose. Souls—ripped free—streamed back along invisible lines, straight into the monoliths, feeding the formations. With every stolen life, both the dark power and the harmonic sharpened, growing colder, hungrier, and more certain in its will.
Kilometers away, a whale breached in its death throes, its song twisting into a ragged, agonized wail before cutting off mid-note.
And as the formations gorged—channeling that stolen force down into the bedrock beneath them—the earth itself began to respond.
The seafloor shifted, heaving upward.
Tectonic plates groaned as resonance coupled into the bedrock, amplified by thousands of stolen souls and driven into stone. Undersea ridges lifted, waking and stretching. Trillions of gallons were displaced at once—shoved up and out—gathering mass, gathering momentum, gathering shape, all guided by the dark harmonics.
A tide was forming.
A wall beginning to rise.
Another Great Tide—forming fast.
Bigger.
Stronger.
Hungrier.
Hawaiian Islands — Diamond Head, Oahu — A.R.G.U.S. Outpost — 0605
Alarms blared through the outpost, killing off every conversation and snapping the facility into motion. In the command center, consoles flared red while side screens filled with live telemetry—bathymetric overlays, energy readouts, satellite tracks—beside the central main viewscreen. On it, a threat projection pulsed across the Pacific: concentric rings spreading outward in steady increments.
"Commander!" the watch officer called. "Energy signature detected—Pacific bearing. Pattern match confirmed. It matches Taiwan's Great Tide. Sir… another tide is forming."
An analyst leaned into her station, fingers flying across the station's interface as Planet Watch data refreshed in real time. Her voice stayed level, but her eyes widened as the numbers climbed higher.
"Commander—Planet Watch just pushed an updated packet. Buildup rate is exceeding previous parameters. The curve is—" She hesitated.
"Say it," the commander snapped, eyes fixed on the main display. "Now."
The analyst swallowed. "It's climbing fast. At this rate, projected peak magnitude is trending up to thirty percent above Taiwan's Great Tide."
For a heartbeat, the room went still, even with alarms screaming beyond the walls. Every face tightened.
"Thirty percent," the commander repeated under his breath. Then he looked up, eyes turning cold, expression solemn. "Understood. Looks like they're done testing."
A second analyst spoke up, voice grim but steady. "Sir—based on current bearing and propagation speed, the projected track runs west to east. First landfall will be the Hawaiian Islands. Secondary impact is expected along the U.S. western seaboard—from California south through Baja."
The main display updated. Red rings spreading across the ocean, each stamped with a timestamp.
"ETA is thirty-five minutes," the first analyst added, voice tightening. "If it hits at full strength…" He hesitated, then forced the words out. "The islands won't survive a direct hit."
The commander straightened.
"That's if we let it hit."
He turned, sweeping the room with a stare that met every pair of eyes without flinching.
"That's why we're here. That's why this outpost exists. We always knew this was a possibility. We built countermeasures for this exact scenario." His tone stayed calm, because panic was contagious and leadership wasn't. "Taiwan taught us what happens when we're unprepared. Today, we're not."
He stepped closer to the main screen, the red light washing his face.
"Whatever's driving these attacks—be it those undersea dogs or something worse—I don't care what banner it hides behind. Our job is simple." He paused, long enough for the words to land. "We hold the line. We protect these islands. We protect the coast. And we make it clear to anyone watching... nobody gets to threaten humanity."
In everyone present, the last traces of fear and doubt shifted, then set—hardening into purpose.
"AEGIS was built for this," the commander gave the order. "So we're going to use it. Begin the charging sequence."
The room answered as one.
"Yes, sir!"
Across the outpost, subsystems spun up in sequence, drawing deeper power as the island network accepted the command.
Buried geothermal conduits surged, routing heat and current through reinforced channels into the obelisks positioned at strategic points across the chain. The grid started to tighten and stabilize as the energy levels began to climb.
Across Oahu—and across the rest of Hawaii—A.R.G.U.S.'s shield array started waking up, each node answering the next.
Now, everything hinged on the timing. Would humanity's response be ready in time, or would the Great Tide arrive first?
Honolulu — The Espacio The Jewel of Waikiki Hotel — LexCorp Private Rooftop Pool — 0611
Mercy Graves finished her lap and glided to the edge. Her strokes were smooth and efficient; the deep V-neck, backless swimsuit she wore was both functional and striking—much like everything else about her.
Two blonde women lounged nearby in designer swimwear, shades on, soaking in the early sun. One wore her hair in a loose braid; the other kept hers cropped short. Both looked relaxed.
Neither had stopped scanning the perimeter since Mercy entered the water.
Three men stood near the entrance in casual wear. The youngest—barely eighteen by appearance—leaned against the railing with his phone out, thumbs moving across a mobile game. The second was lean and wiry, earbuds in, head nodding slightly to whatever he was listening to. The third was built like a wall—broad shoulders, thick arms—and stood perfectly still, gaze fixed on the horizon.
Each appeared relaxed yet each kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings.
The youngest suddenly stiffened. His phone chimed as a notification interrupted his game. He tapped it and in the next instant, his eyes widened.
"Mother," he called, voice tight and controlled. "Planet Watch just pushed an update. We have partial locks on five energy sources in the Pacific. Energy pattern matches Taiwan."
Mercy rose from the pool in one smooth motion. Water streamed off her shoulders as she swept her hair back. The woman with short hair was already there—towel, and tablet in hand.
Mercy took both without looking away from the data now populating the screen.
She didn't need the reading glasses anymore. After the enhancements, she didn't need much of anything. The work had brought her body to the peak of perfection—beautiful, toned, radiant, every imperfection erased.
But keeping up appearances was part of the plan, so she picked up the glasses from a nearby lounge chair, slipped them on, and continued scanning the feed.
"Five source points?" Her mind sprinted ahead of the numbers. "This pattern... I see. If they're synchronizing their energies, that would explain the amplification."
As she studied the data, her gaze shifted to the tide's projected path. Her eyes narrowed.
[First impact: Hawaiian Islands.
ETA: about half an hour.]
Her expression didn't change. Barely moving her lips, she murmured, "So it has begun."
The woman with the long braid—still lounging spoke without lifting her head. "Orders, Mother?"
Mercy handed the tablet back to the youngest, wrapped the towel around her waist, and turned toward the exit. Her voice remained calm, but her pace quickened.
"We're moving to the A.R.G.U.S. outpost. They should've already started the power-up sequence to deploy the AEGIS shield." She glanced over her shoulder, meeting each of her children's eyes in turn. "It's time for the world to see what AEGIS can do. And... what you can do."
"Yes, Mother."
The response came in unison—five voices, perfectly synchronized.
The two women fell in behind Mercy while the three men pocketed their devices and joined right behind them. Together they moved toward the elevators without hesitation, already loosening their shoulders and preparing to move out.
Across the world — ~0616
The moment Planet Watch confirmed the disturbance, every alert system on Earth lit up. UN channels flooded with telemetry as the first models locked onto the same signature Taiwan had left behind.
Governments that had spent days arguing over blame and borders now faced a weapon of annihilation. The threat didn't care about borders or politics. They clenched their jaws, set their agendas aside, and moved in unison.
The Department of Defense transmitted the first full data packet directly to the Hall of Justice. Planet Watch telemetry streamed in real time while WayneTech's satellite network swung into alignment, folding independent feeds into the picture and layering verification over LexCorp's numbers. The operational display sharpened into focus.
Once confirmation locked in, the League and Titans moved.
Other than those essential personnel securing critical positions, majority of the champions of Earth mobilized.
Superman launched first with Shazam taking off after him. Then the Lanterns of Earth—Hal Jordan, John Stewart, and Laira Omoto—streaked out in disciplined formation, yellow trails carving the sky.
The League's obsidian stealth carrier lifted from the Hall of Justice with the remaining roster aboard. The Batwing broke from Gotham's airspace, cutting low and fast to intercept. Miss Martian's bio-ship rose from Jump City, carrying the Titans.
All three vectors were converging on the same point.
Hawaii.
Meanwhile, the UN Security Council moved too.
The rapid-response fleet formed after recent attacks wasn't fully assembled, but orders still went out to every ship in the designated theater. Neighboring nations were notified. Soon, coast guards and naval forces surged along their own shorelines to protect the vulnerable, keep lanes clear, and above all, ensure nothing obstructed the vessels racing toward the Pacific.
The U.S. Navy deployed immediately to protect the West Coast—the most likely secondary target as Planet Watch streamed live projections of the rising wall. California went to high alert. Evacuation orders cascaded down the coastline.
Back in Hawaii, the governor sat in the emergency operations center, watching telemetry scroll across the screens. They had maybe thirty minutes. Twenty-five, if they were unlucky.
Her chief of staff stood beside her, jaw clenched. "We need to order a full evacuation. Now. Every ship, every plane—"
"How? And to where?" the governor asked quietly. "The ETA is twenty-five minutes. Even if we clear the airports, the highways are already congested. Ships can't reach a safe distance in time." She leaned forward, studying the projection. "We'd be moving people into the path of the wave, not away from it."
"Then what do you suggest?" Her chief of staff's frustration was barely contained. "We do nothing?"
The governor thought of Taiwan. She thought of the millions who'd had no warning and no choice. Then she thought of the obelisks, the experimental shielding network A.R.G.U.S. and LexCorp had deployed across the islands over the past weeks. The technology was new, and the risks were real.
But so was the certainty that evacuation would fail.
She drew a deep breath and made her choice.
"Get me the broadcast system. Now."
Minutes later, the governor's voice reached every screen, every radio, every phone in Hawaii.
"This is an emergency alert. A major ocean disturbance is moving toward the islands. All shorelines are closed immediately. Keep roads clear for emergency vehicles. Stay calm. Move inland. Stay together."
She paused, letting the words settle, then continued—steady, controlled, refusing to let fear leak into her tone.
"I'm going to share something that has been classified until now. The obelisks deployed across our islands are not what you were told. They are a defense network, built specifically for this threat. The facility has been notified and is activating it right now." She drew a slow breath. "I know this is frightening. But you are not alone. Trust that help is on the way. Trust that we are ready. And trust that we will not let what happened to Taiwan happen here."
For some, it helped. Others—especially the wealthy—ran for their private planes and boats even as the closures began. A few slipped out before the locks came down, despite the rush and congestion.
Most, though, held their families close, prayed to their gods, and remembered every time the world had nearly ended—the Kryptonians, the Thanagarians, Darkseid. Hawaii hadn't been the battlefield then, but fear didn't need a battlefield to spread.
It was faith in heroes that had kept them hopeful through those ordeals. Now they clung to the hope that the shield would protect them—and if it didn't hold completely, then at least long enough for their heroes to arrive.
Justice League comm channel — 0628
By the time the carrier closed on Hawaii, the forward team was already on site.
Superman hovered at point. Shazam hung a few meters behind him, jaw tight. Hal Jordan, John Stewart, and Laira held a tight formation, all of them staring at the same horizon where the ocean was rising.
"Manhunter," Superman said, his expression serious but voice steady. "Are you seeing this? It's climbing faster than Taiwan. We're definitely facing something stronger."
"Copy," J'onn replied from the carrier's command station. WayneTech satellites shifted at his direction, tightening the net. "Visual confirmed. Planet Watch shows five formations active in the zones Cyborg flagged. That matches our suspicion—Orm used at least four last time. But this is worse. The buildup is more stable, and higher. Peak projection remains consistent at about thirty percent above Taiwan."
"Just great," Hal muttered.
"If that hits the islands—" Shazam started.
Laira cut in with a serious and resolute voice, "It won't happen. We'll stop it before it hits the shore."
"Agreed," John Stewart added.
Dinah's voice crackled through the channel. "Countermeasures aren't ready, so we'll do what we can. The forward team should aim to break the Tide, disrupt its momentum, and buy us time to evacuate. And we should hope that AEGIS holds long enough to back us up if we fail."
"We tried that before, love," John remarked. "We failed argh..."
Zatanna elbowed him hard from the seat beside him in the carrier, making him wince. She shot him a glare and a look which he knew very well, one that clearly implied, "Don't you dare finish that sentence."
John breathed out slowly, met her eyes, and nodded once. "Right," he said, quieter. "This time's different."
"It is," Zatanna said, raising her voice for the channel. "Flash is with us from the start. And with Laira here we have all three Lanterns on site. We can handle this—even if it's stronger."
Victor's voice came through heavier than usual. "We're working on countermeasures, Black Canary. But research takes time, and we don't have it."
Barry immediately responded, "We understand, Cyborg. I'm grateful that you at least upgraded our suits." He glanced down at the darker red fabric with dark green outlines, "These will make a difference, I know it."
"For you and Superman, yeah," Victor said, his expression turning serious. "But listen to me—both of you. Those suits are early prototypes. Corrupted water will chew through the protection fast. You'll have three minutes if you're unlucky. Seven if you're lucky. After that, you're exposed."
Superman remained silent, but he took the warning to heart as he glanced at his black suit with its white 'S'.
Barry nodded. "Understood. I'll be careful." He turned back to the broader channel. "Zatanna's right. This time we almost have our full roster. We can do this. We have to break it."
"Flash is right," Barbara cut in from the Batwing, her voice sharp and steady over the channel. Behind Bruce at the controls, she shifted into her demi-human Cheetah form and continued. "Stick to the plan. Superman, you and the forward team strip the wave's height and coherence. Flash and Aquaman, hit the waterline—steal momentum and disrupt the push. Everyone else pivot to evacuation the moment we reach the main island."
"Agreed," Superman said without hesitation. "Shazam. Lanterns. With me. We try this again—only this time, we succeed."
"Heck yeah," Shazam said.
"Roger," the Lanterns echoed in near-unison.
They surged forward behind him, accelerating toward the forming wall of water.
Back on the carrier
Wind tore at the straps and rigging along the deployment ramp as the bay door opened the moment the carrier reached the sea deployment point. Barry stood with his parachute harness clipped and ready, knees loose and hands steady. Beside him, Arthur gripped his trident, eyes fixed on the sea below.
Caitlin's voice came through Barry's earpiece.
"Barry, you haven't done this before. Timing matters here. We're monitoring your speed and vitals. We'll call your entry angle." She hesitated, and the worry finally bled through. "Don't you dare fail. If you don't come back to me... to us. I swear I'll come after you and kill you myself."
Cisco piped up beside her. "That's one way to motivate your boyfriend."
"Zip it, Cisco," Caitlin snapped back with a glare.
"Yes, ma'am." Cisco flinched, his voice turning small. "Barry—she's right, man. Don't miss the window."
Barry exhaled. "Got it."
He met Arthur's eyes. After a quick nod, they jumped.
Arthur went first—a clean, spear-straight dive that vanished into the ocean with barely a splash.
Barry dropped under the chute, his legs already building speed in the air. The instant his feet touched the surface, he vibrated free of the harness and ran—skimming across the water, throwing pressure fronts outward, trying to build a counter-wave that could steal momentum from the Great Tide before it finished forming.
On the Titans' side — 0632
The carrier and Miss Martian's bio-ship cut in above the islands. M'gann kept a telepathic sweep rolling—searching for all life on the chain. On the carrier, J'onn anchored the mental network, splitting the load so neither of them burned out.
Batgirl called out from her station on the bio-ship. "Emergency broadcasts confirm it. The governor is telling people to stay put. They're betting everything on AEGIS."
Gar spoke with disbelief. "They're trusting Lex that much?"
Jaime's scarab ran calculations silently while Jaime added, "With a wave that big, civilians can't outrun it, boats or no boats. They'll get caught offshore. Even the UN fleet can't position close enough. And airfare air travel is likely a mess in situations like this, too. So yeah, if they're choosing between panic and a shield, they'll take the shield."
Virgil's unease echoed what everyone felt. "But it's experimental technology, right?"
"Very," Richie muttered. "And I don't trust Lex Luthor with phase-shift tech."
Karen's tone was grim. "In a situation like this, do you think anyone cares what's experimental?"
Roy chimed in, tone flat. "People need something to believe in. The Taiwan incident is still fresh in their minds. LexCorp has a strong reputation in the weapons industry, and even though this technology is new, it seems promising. That hope helps calm the panic. And with Lex's recent good reputation, people are more willing to trust him. That works in our favor, because panic makes our job much harder."
"Enough," Donna cut in. "Arguing won't change anything. Shield or no shield—we do our job. We get people ready for evacuation."
Batgirl's voice cut through the chatter. "Wonder Girl's right. Listen up." All eyes turned to her. "When we hit Oahu, we split into two teams—one under me, one under Wonder Girl. We sweep the island and route civilians to three designated pickup coordinates."
She pulled up the map on the ship's main viewscreen, three red dots marking the coordinates, then continued.
"Our sorcerers will open short-range portals at all three extraction points, with Cheetah anchoring the network. Arsenal, you and Bumblebee will covertly secure Cheetah's position and keep civilians and hostiles clear. UN fleet helicopters will run continuous lifts in staggered waves. Richie will coordinate air traffic and routing from above. Miss Martian and Martian Manhunter will provide telepathic support for crowd control and de-escalation if needed. Batman stays airborne as overwatch in case the Tide isn't our only threat."
Then her gaze found Gar. "Beast Boy—shoreline sweep. Quick and shallow. Check for stragglers and any secondary threats before we commit ground teams. In and out. If anything feels off, you leave. No heroics."
Gar nodded. "Understood. I'll be careful."
"AEGIS or not, we don't wait," Batgirl finished. "If it holds, good. If it fails, we've already moved as many as we can. Titans—get ready to roll out."
"Roger," they answered, and deployed over the island.
Pacific Ocean
Far out over the Pacific, the forming Great Tide rose like a moving horizon.
Superman watched a wall of corrupted water climb higher by the second, dark veins pulsing through it like something breathing beneath the surface. His cape snapped in the wind as he calculated angles, searching for a fracture point that wouldn't feed the poison churning inside.
Below him, the Lanterns snapped into formation.
Laira took center. Hal Jordan and John Stewart flanked her at equal distance, their rings already blazing yellow.
"That thing's already massive," Hal said.
John steadied his arm. "Yeah. Give it another minute and it'll blot out the sky." He paused, taking a deep breath and feeling the charged air. "At least there's one silver lining. Panic's spiking on the islands. Fear in the air means more power to draw from. We won't be running dry anytime soon."
"Boys, stay focused," Laira snapped. "Standard triad formation. On my mark."
"Copy," John said, bracing his stance, ring blazing brighter.
Hal lifted his hand, his ring's yellow light flaring. "Ready."
Higher still, Shazam streaked upward into the thickening cloud bank, lightning crawling over his body.
"Shazam," Superman called. "What's your status?"
"Almost there…" Static crackled for a moment, then Shazam's breathless voice came through. "…in position."
"Begin the charge," Superman ordered. Then, to the Lanterns: "We buy him time. Let's go."
"Roger," came the unified answer.
Their rings flared.
Angled yellow barriers—massive constructs layered like interlocking slabs—erupted outward. They slammed into the Tide, and the impact hit like a hammerblow; the Lanterns buckled in midair as the water drove into their light. The ocean pressed like a moving mountain, shoving the constructs back a meter, then another.
Hal gritted his teeth. "It's got weight."
"Hold steady," Laira barked.
They pushed more power into the barriers, and the constructs held. The wave split, water spilling off in heavy sheets. The wall broke into smaller surges, each with less mass and momentum.
Superman's eyes blazed as hit the core—heat vision lancing into the darkest gray veins, targeting the corruption.
For a heartbeat, it worked.
The Tide shuddered, collapsing inward.
Then something pushed back.
The dark power woven through the water tightened. The ocean roared—churned—rose again.
"Damn it!" Hal braced his ring arm. "It's the same as last time!"
"We need to hit what's driving it," John growled. "That kid better come through!"
"Let's give it more power," Laira snapped. "Push to seventy percent—now. Dig in and hold. We buy him the time he needs."
"Let's go!" Hal roared.
"Let's go," John echoed.
Their rings pulsed as one, pouring power into the constructs until they thickened and sharpened—forcing the ocean into a grinding stalemate.
Above them, the clouds darkened fast.
Lightning threaded through the sky. Thunder rolled closer, heavier, each rumble denser than the last, until the atmosphere itself felt charged.
Then a crack split the heavens.
"Clear out!" Shazam's shout tore through the comms. "NOW!"
"Don't have to tell me twice," Hal snapped.
"Finally," John exhaled.
"Disengage!" Laira commanded.
They fell back at once, retreating to safe distance. The constructs, no longer fed, began to crack. Yellow light fractured into splinters, but held just long enough to buy distance.
Shazam roared.
"Go light it up—SHAZAM!"
A colossal bolt came down like judgment.
In that moment, it wasn't merely lightning. It carried a faint trace of something older and heavier. The divine authority behind his power sharpened, and for a heartbeat the heavens answered as if they recognized him—as if his power resonated with the Lightning Bolt bound in Olympus, bearing the authority of Zeus, long gone.
The strike hit the Tide the moment the Lantern constructs finally shattered.
BOOM.
The world flashed white in that instant.
Even through ring shielding, Hal flinched. "That's… Jesus… that's terrifying. Is the kid okay?"
John shook his head and blinked spots from his vision. "How is that even lightning? That looked like divine judgment."
"Argh... Focus," Laira snapped, steadying herself. "Does anyone have eyes on Shazam?"
"I've got him," Superman said, blinking his vision clear as he spotted a small figure plummeting out of the cloudbank.
He shot forward and caught Billy mid-fall, matching his velocity so the impact became a controlled drift.
For a moment, Billy lay slack in Superman's arms, drained.
Then his eyes fluttered open—tired but stubborn.
"Super...man," he managed. "Did it work?"
Superman looked down, pride softening his expression. "You did it, Billy. It went even better than we hoped. Look."
Below them, the Tide's color was changing.
The dark gray stain thinned, like ink diluted by force. The ocean's surface lost some of its wrongness. The wave's coherence faltered.
The Lanterns seeing this didn't waste time and moved into phase two of their plan.
They shot upward, then dropped enormous yellow blades—sword constructs the size of skyscrapers—driving them down through the weakened wave to carve it into sections.
The Great Tide split into multiple massive walls—still lethal, still towering, but no longer a single unified threat.
Billy let out a ragged breath. "Mr. Constantine… was right. My lightning… it can temporarily purify the corruption… because it comes from the gods…"
The rest died on his tongue.
When he'd braced for the strike—when he'd pushed his power to its limit—something had answered. Not a voice but, a strange pressure. A strange resonance that slid into place, as if the storm had found a missing note.
For one heartbeat, he'd felt a presence reach back.
Then the lightning had changed.
It swelled beyond anything he'd ever summoned, becoming more terrifying and so bright that it hurt to remember. After he released it, the recoil hit, and he dropped from the clouds with his thoughts in disarray, half-conscious and stunned by what he'd just unleashed.
'What was that?'
He frowned, already deciding to reach out for help. 'I'd better ask Mr. Constantine about this later, once this mission is done.'
Superman's expression stayed serious. He caught the hesitation, the flicker of doubt in Billy's expression, but there was no time to pull on that thread now. "We're not done yet. Can you change back?"
Billy swallowed. Exhaustion tugged at him, but pride and duty pulled him get up. "Yeah," he said. "Let go."
Superman released him.
Billy roared, "SHAZAM!"
Lightning struck again, hitting Billy, and Shazam surged out of it toward the fractured sea.
Superman dropped toward the nearest section and unleashed freezing breath in long, controlled arcs—ice crawling across the crest in jagged fractures, trying to steal momentum before it could rebuild.
"Flash," Batman's voice cut in sharp over the comms. "We're in Phase Two now. Aquaman's already in the waterline. Hit the gaps. Kill the momentum."
"On it," Flash replied.
He skimmed across the ocean at great speed, yellow lightning snapping behind him. Every step hammered pressure into the water, throwing counter-forces outward—trying to disrupt the wave's forward push, trying to break the rhythm the monoliths had written into the sea.
Ahead, Aquaman surged up out of the water like a spear, trident in hand, eyes cold.
The parts of the ocean, free of the influence driving the tide, listened to him.
Aquaman's voice came through grim. "I can feel it. The wrongness is still there. It'll surge back soon. We need to act now."
"Copy," Flash said, already accelerating. "Just like we practiced. I bleed the momentum—you rip the current."
"Got it."
They hit the fractured sections with a two-pronged strike.
Flash sprinted along the seam between two towering sections, vibrating as he ran. His suit shielded him from the water he touched. The boundary shuddered beneath him—coherence unraveling—until the water lost its forward intent and spilled sideways.
At the same time, Aquaman drove his trident down.
The normal sea around the tip screamed under pressure, then snapped into a violent cross-current that slammed up into the base of the nearest wall from beneath.
The first section collapsed early—exploding into foam and shattered mass, its force dumped into the open ocean
"Good," Superman spoke up. "Keep up momentum. Don't let any of them stabilize!"
Hal and John re-engaged, dropping layered channels and angled baffles—guiding the remaining walls into bad angles, stripping shape and rhythm from each surge.
Laira's voice stayed controlled, but strain crept in. "It's working. We're holding it back."
For a few precious seconds, the fight looked winnable.
The walls shrank—still towering, but no longer inevitable calamity. The ocean foamed, broken into smaller surges.
Martian Manhunter's voice came over the comms. "If we keep this pace, AEGIS won't have to take the full hit." He and Batman had been monitoring the situation on all fronts.
"Almost there," Flash said, seeing the plan working. "Guys, let's try to break it completely."
"Flash, stick to the plan," Batman said, solemn over the comms. "We don't know when that power resurges. Evacuation is underway. We aren't taking unnecessary risks."
Aquaman surfaced again, water streaming off his armor. His jaw clenched. "Damn it. It's fighting me." He snapped in alarm. "Corruption's resurging. Everyone, watch out!"
A pressure drop rippled through the air.
The water beneath his feet went wrong.
The broken sections shuddered, pausing as if the ocean sensed the dark power returning in full force.
Then the darkness surged.
Dark gray corruption flooded back into the water like ink poured into a crack.
Five distant pulses rolled through the sea—one after another—perfectly timed.
On the island, even as he helped with the evacuation, Cyborg caught the anomaly through his connection to their network.
Cyborg's urgent voice cut in on the comms. "No—no, no, no. That's another synchronization spike. It's re-locking the network!"
"In English, please?" Hal snapped.
"It means the monoliths just issued a new command," Cyborg said, keeping one thread of attention on the data as he moved civilians to safety. "They're forcing resonance alignment—faster this time. Damn it. It means going after the Tide is pointless. We have to destroy those formations. That's the only way to win. As long as they're active, the Tide will keep adapting and surging back."
Back at sea, the separate sections began to lean toward each other.
Flash backed away. "Cyborg's right—they're merging!"
Aquaman lifted his trident, summoning everything he had to tear the currents apart before the convergence could complete.
For half a heartbeat, it worked.
The sea resisted, bucking and splitting.
Then the dark power tightened again.
The corruption overruled his trident's divine authority over water.
Aquaman's eyes widened. "Shit. I can't stop this!"
"Lanterns—reinforce!" Laira ordered. "Stop the merge!"
They fired constructs into the seams, building wedges, braces, and lattices meant to hold the sections apart.
But the water didn't slam into them.
It flowed around them instead—coiling, threading, searching for gaps.
Beneath it all, the corrupted resonance, steadier now, climbed higher.
Laira's breath caught. "It's going around the barriers—"
"Impossible," John said, stunned.
"That has to be Orm," Hal growled, bracing against the crushing pressure. "That bastard's got his hands on it—he's steering the whole damn thing now."
Before their stunned eyes, the sections met.
Foam collided, pressure stacking as the sea stitched itself whole again.
The Great Tide re-formed—taller than before.
Flash stared up, breath catching at the sight. "Oh no."
Superman's voice came through hard. "All units fall back. Now."
But the newly unified wall surged forward, steered, its momentum roaring back as it skewed to cut off their retreat.
In that instant, the ocean wasn't merely a weapon.
It was a weapon held.
And whoever held it from the shadows had decided the heroes were no longer allowed hope.
The Great Tide drove in.
They tried to disengage and pull back. Hal caught on first. The water was accelerating in precise bursts, and the wave's face canted slightly with each shift—steering them, herding them, cutting off every clean angle of escape.
"Shit—brace yourselves!"
His ring flared. A massive construct snapped into existence between the team and the surge, a ramp, slanted hard at forty-five degrees. The Tide slammed into it, it's force getting redirected.
The ramp caught the impact and turned it into a brutal sideways shove, hurling the team into a tumbling retreat across the sky.
Hal gritted his teeth as the pressure tried to crush him into his own construct. He poured everything he had into holding it steady. But, he could only keep it up for two seconds.
Then the wave passed.
The ramp shattered into fading shards of light, and the heroes spun out of the turbulence—disoriented, but alive.
Laira stabilized first, aura blazing as she shot forward with a cry of alarm. "Hal!"
He was still retreating—barely holding on—construct residue flickering around him, ring dim. He'd burned almost everything to buy them those seconds.
"I'm here," he rasped.
Laira didn't hesitate. Under the cover of her ring's power, she hauled him back in a desperate maneuver while channeling her ring's stored energy into him—reinforcing his failing field and flooding his aura.
"Laira, don't—" Hal began weakly.
"Shut up!" she snapped. "I can absorb more fear energy later. We need to get out of here—"
"FLASH!" Aquaman's shout ripped through the comms.
The Tide shifted again, lashing sideways across the battlefield like a swung blade. Aquaman and Flash were caught mid-motion and thrown off-balance.
Aquaman reacted on instinct. He twisted, drove his trident down, and seized the nearest pocket of normal sea he could still reach—yanking up a shield of water around himself. The impact sent him skidding through spray and wind, but he stayed up and held on—barely—even as the divine power of Atlan's trident strained against the corrupted waters.
But Flash wasn't as lucky.
Even at full speed, the lateral strike caught him mid-step and slammed him into the corrupted waterline.
For a heartbeat he kept running—then the ocean hooked him, yanked him under, and swallowed him whole.
"I've got him." John Stewart's voice came in hard. He was already diving toward Flash's location, ring blazing, forcing a spear of yellow light down through the churning waters. "We're not losing you, Flash!"
Deep below the surface, Flash's world narrowed to crushing pressure and absolute silence. The water felt hungry. Every movement drained him. Each kick pulled him deeper, as if invisible chains were tightening around his limbs and dragging him down.
"Barry—Barry—BARRY!" Caitlin's voice crackled in his ear, distorted by static. It thinned as he sank, fading into the abyss.
His prototype suit reacted the instant his body touched the water—sealing over his mouth and nose. Lines across the fabric lit faintly in the dark.
His HUD flickered:
[Curing Field active.
Estimated duration: 3:59...3:58....3:57...]
He fought, watching the counter tick down as the strain mounted. The corrupted water ate at everything—energy, momentum, hope. As the seconds slipped by, the field weakened, and the countdown tightened like a noose.
Soon his lungs burned.
The darkness pressed closer.
Then—through the black—yellow light stabbed down like a spear.
A beam tore toward him.
Above, John's ring flared brighter, but strain roughened his voice as if the ocean itself were grinding his power down with every pulse.
"Come on," John growled. "MOVE!"
He pushed harder with all his will, pouring nearly all his reserves into it. The yellow beam thickened, reinforced, and forced its way deeper.
Unbeknownst to him, something shifted inside the light—subtle, almost imperceptible—like a second frequency braided into fear's yellow light. For half a heartbeat, a sharp edge of green flickered through.
Flash's suit gave one last faltering surge—its glow dimming, its protection thinning—and then the beam reached him.
A bubble snapped into place around his body.
Pressure eased.
Flash's vision cleared just enough to see the construct holding.
"Got you!" John roared, and hauled him upward.
The ocean resisted.
John's shoulders shook. His jaw locked. His ring blazed hotter, the yellow light straining under the load.
"AAAAAGH!"
The construct-line tightened.
Flash tore free.
He broke the surface in a violent arc, water exploding off him—and Aquaman caught him mid-flight, locking an arm around his chest and stabilizing them both.
"Got him," Arthur said, voice rough.
Flash coughed once, twice, then dragged in a long breath.
In his ear, voices crashed over one another.
"Barry! Barry, can you hear me?"
"Speak to us, man—are you okay?!"
Caitlin and Cisco's frantic voices overlapped.
Flash managed a weak laugh that turned into another cough. "Yeah… I'm good. Sorry."
Caitlin's relief came out in a shaky exhale as she slumped back in her chair. "Thank God."
Cisco sighed. "Man, you had us worried."
"It's not over yet," Aquaman cut in.
Flash followed Arthur's stare.
The Great Tide was still there—rebuilt, towering, cleaner in its structure than before. Not purer. Just more organized. The power behind it had tightened its grip.
Flash's expression hardened. "It really is the worst-case scenario."
Aquaman lifted his head toward the storm-wreathed figure above. "Shazam. Can you bring down that strike again?"
Up high, lightning crawled over Shazam's fists as he angled for another shot. "Yeah. I'll try purifying it again—"
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Shazam jerked mid-flight. "Superman?"
Superman's expression was grim. "New priority. We can't brute-force this. Not in the time we have."
Shazam stared. "But—"
"The best use of your power right now isn't fighting something that adapts every round," Superman said. "It's saving lives."
He glanced toward the islands—toward the mass of civilians moving inland, toward the thin, shimmering geometry of AEGIS beginning to form.
"You, Flash, and Aquaman—together—you can move more people to the extraction points in ten minutes than any member of our ground team. That's where you're needed."
Flash's voice came in reluctant but steady. "I get it. But if Orm's steering this directly… you can't hold the line long."
"I know," Superman said, meeting his gaze with a serious, resolute expression. "That's why I'm ordering you three to fall back and accelerate evacuation. We'll buy you whatever time we can."
He looked from Flash to Aquaman to Shazam.
"Go. Save as many as you can."
Aquaman didn't argue. He'd seen enough wars to recognize when the battlefield had shifted. "Understood. Flash—move."
Flash exhaled hard. "Copy."
Shazam hesitated. "Superman… you sure?"
"I'm sure." Superman nodded once. "Go save lives. That's the mission."
"Roger."
They broke off—streaks of motion and lightning peeling away from the front line.
Flash grabbed Aquaman and accelerated, a blur skimming the water toward the islands.
Superman turned back to the Tide, jaw tight. Then he glanced at John. "John, you still able to fight?"
John hovered nearby, breathing hard, ring dimmer than before—then he straightened and drew in the fear-charged air like fuel.
"Yeah," John said hoarsely as his aura blazed, his ring charging fast. "I'm good. Hal needs a breather to recharge. Let's get back to Laira, buy Hal time to recover, then we push together—whatever we've got, for as long as we can."
Superman nodded once.
He pulled in a breath so deep it looked like he was trying to drink the sky, shot upward in a wide arc, then dove.
He hit the back face of the Tide and unleashed freezing breath in a long, controlled pass, ice crawling across the crest in jagged fractures as he tried to steal momentum and force an early collapse.
He knew it wouldn't hold.
Not with Orm steering the sea.
But he had to try.
They all had to buy the evacuation time.
Turning back time
Oahu
Soon after dropping Flash and Aquaman out at sea to support the forward team's plan to shear the Tide's momentum, the League carrier and M'gann's bio-ship slid into position over Oʻahu. Below, the island was slipping into an emergency state, people locking themselves inside, or gathering on rooftops in the hope of riding out the surge.
Around the same time the ground teams landed, J'onn sat in the carrier's mobile command station, one hand on comms and the other on live feeds of telemetry and UN fleet approach vectors. He opened a secure channel to the governor.
"Governor," J'onn said, calm but firm. "I understand you're activating AEGIS. But I strongly advise against betting every life on what is, in effect, a prototype."
The governor's face appeared on one of the screens in front of him, exhaustion and a trace of fear showing through her composed front. "Martian Manhunter. I appreciate the League's help, but given the situation, that shield is our best chance—"
"I understand the position you're in," J'onn said. "But that technology carries risk. We can give you another option."
"What's the alternative? Evacuation?" Her frustration broke through. "We considered it. Even if we got our people onto planes and boats, they wouldn't escape in time. We're talking about over a million people. The shield is the only option that makes sense."
"It's a plan," J'onn said, "but not the only one. You're right—conventional means can't outrun the Tide. But the UN fleet is already forming a perimeter at a safe radius. Helicopters are inbound. If we start now, we can begin shuttling civilians out in waves."
"Even with every helicopter we can muster, we can't move a million people in time," the governor said. "And how am I supposed to tell the public? If I order evacuation after I've already asked them to trust that shield grid, that will cause panic."
"Governor," Batman steady voice cut in, joining the channel. His face appeared on their screens. "People will follow something they know will get them to safety. Give them a plan that doesn't end with prayer, and they'll follow you."
"Batman, it's not that simple—"
J'onn leaned forward, cutting in. "You're right—helicopters alone won't cut it. But we have assets you don't. We came in with a plan, Governor. In addition to the UN extraction, we have the League and Titans on-site. You still have grounded commercial and cargo planes. Superman, Shazam, Wonder Girl—they can lift fully loaded aircraft and carry them straight to the fleet. And our Magic Division is already working to establish portals for bulk transport to allied nations where we've already secured agreements for them to receive evacuees."
The governor blinked. "Portals?"
"Stable short-distance gateways," J'onn confirmed. "We've used them before in disaster relief. Even during the Taiwan incident, we relied on portals, but we were caught off guard by several factors. This time, we've had time to prepare and plan our approach. Countries are standing by to receive evacuees. We can move thousands at a time, and we'll establish three such portals."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"Let AEGIS be our last line of defense for anyone who cannot evacuate in time, or who chooses to shelter in place. But we will not rely on it alone. We will give people options. We will give them hope we can stand behind."
Batman's voice came through again. "Trust us, Governor. We will not let what happened in Taiwan repeat here."
A moment of silence passed. Then the governor, with a solemn expression, nodded once.
"All right," she said.
"Good," J'onn replied. "Please issue notice now."
Soon across Oʻahu, alerts went out.
Police surged into the streets to help the champions as Titans and League teams fanned out, sweeping block by block—pulling people from doorways, snapping crowds into motion, and steering them toward the three extraction points.
Above them, J'onn and M'gann closed their eyes.
Their minds opened—two vast presences locking together—pouring calm into a million racing thoughts and gently guiding them toward the extraction points.
Some resisted—especially older residents, clinging to their homes, willing to risk it, insisting the shield would hold.
Most didn't.
The island began to move—fast—three rivers of people flowing toward the extraction points.
A.R.G.U.S. Outpost — Diamond Head
Mercy stood in the command cortex, bathed in red overlays and cascading system readouts. The AEGIS network was almost ready—nodes aligned, power rising along a relatively clean curve—yet one variable refused to settle, the undersea resonance interference.
It tugged at the harmonics, intermittently disrupting the energy flowing into the shield grid and forcing the technicians to compensate in real time, shaving precious seconds off a countdown they could not afford to lose.
Her comm buzzed. Mercy didn't need to check the ID. She answered immediately.
"Mercy." Lex Luthor's voice came through calm, edged with irritation. "What's the holdup? It shouldn't take this long to raise a shield."
In Metropolis, deep in the LexCorp sublevel, Lex sat before a wall of monitors—Planet Watch telemetry, predictive models, live combat feeds.
Taiwan proved the League could fail.
Hawaii was meant to prove LexCorp could succeed where they didn't.
Mercy's image filled one monitor from Diamond Head.
"The conduits are a little unstable," she said evenly. "Undersea activity is distorting the harmonics. We're compensating. Give me a few minutes."
Lex went quiet. His index finger tapped a slow rhythm against the desk, showing an impatient but thoughtful expression. Then he nodded once.
"Good. New variables mean better data." His eyes flicked to another graph. "We'll refine the next iteration."
He leaned forward slightly. "Status on the island?"
"The League is engaging the Tide and evacuating the population," Mercy replied, eyes still on her readouts. "They pushed the governor to move civilians inland to three extraction points. The UN fleet is almost at the perimeter, and helicopters are inbound to help, but it won't be enough to move everyone in time. So they're establishing short-range portals to move people to nearby UN nations."
"I see it." Lex's gaze shifted to the forward-team feed—Lantern constructs facing the Tide, Superman's precision strikes, and Shazam's lightning strike. His expression tightened. "They've adapted. And that boy… his lightning is dangerous. I underestimated him."
Then Lex's attention snapped to another feed—an overhead view of Oahu. Ground teams moved in coordinated sweeps, guiding crowds uphill and toward marked corridors. He zoomed in.
Cheetah sat in lotus position atop Mt. Kaʻala, perfectly still amid the lush green, a faint golden-green aura circling her. Lex frowned. He could not tell what she was doing. He decided to come back to her later and switched to other feeds.
Far below, at three separate sites, Zatanna, John Constantine, and Zatara held their arms out toward shimmering portals as large numbers of people passed through to safety. But in the footage, something caught Lex's eye. Vines rose from the ground and wrapped around their forearms like living conduits.
Lex's eyes narrowed as an idea took shape.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting. Cheetah… you're more dangerous than I thought."
His mouth curved as the pieces clicked into place, the implications assembling with alarming speed.
"To maintain portals like that, the sorcerers must be burning an immense amount of magic. She has to be anchoring the network, feeding them power—either her own or drawn through the island itself. That's why the League is confident they can move people by the thousands. But if she's anchoring it… then at this moment, she's vulnerable."
Mercy interrupted his thoughts. Without looking up from her station, she asked the question that had been nagging her. "Lex… if they succeed, don't we lose the opportunity to prove AEGIS?"
Lex exhaled softly, almost amused.
"Unlikely. Whatever is driving these Tides isn't simple," Lex said, sharing his assessment of the situation. "The moment you introduce that accursed variable… magic… you invite unpredictability. At this scale, the League can throw everything they have at the wave and still lose, because they are most likely fighting the symptom, not the disease." His eyes never left the ocean feed. "If I'm right, the only way to stop these attacks is to hit the source. The strange energy sources we detected in the Pacific."
On the screen, the League managed something impressive: the Tide fractured into sections.
Lex watched without flinching.
"At best," he continued, "they earn a momentary victory." His tone cooled. "Then the attack returns stronger."
He leaned back, calm and patient.
"Don't worry. We'll have our moment to shine."
Mercy chuckled.
Lex's eyes narrowed. "What's amusing?"
"Nothing," Mercy said. "Just noticing… you and Superman are opposites in almost every way—yet you share one weakness."
Lex's expression tightened. "And that is?"
"Magic."
Lex opened his mouth to refute but just then Planet Watch readings spiked.
Multiple surges hit in rapid succession. The resonance pattern tightened. The Tide's profile shifted, as if something had taken a firm grip and reorganized it—consolidating into the Giant Great Tide again, only more dangerous and more intelligent. On the combat feed, the heroes soon began to lose ground.
Mercy's smile vanished. "You called it," she murmured, leaning closer to the console. "Energy stabilized. Just in time. Moving to final checks."
Behind her, five figures who'd been waiting in the shadows straightened almost imperceptibly—poised, ready as if they'd been waiting for this moment.
Mercy's hand hovered over the activation panel.
"We're ready," she told Lex. "On your mark."
Lex watched the wave close on the islands. Watched the heroes struggling to buy time. Watched the thin margin of time narrowing.
Then, as if he'd been waiting for this exact alignment, he gave the order.
"Now. Activate the AEGIS network."
Mercy brought her palm down.
Across the Hawaiian chain, the obelisks began to light in sequence.
Present Time
Hawaiian Archipelago — AEGIS Activation
By the time Flash, Shazam, and Aquaman made it back to the main island, brilliant golden-blue light speared into the sky in five massive lances, each anchored to an obelisk node. The beams braided overhead, weaving into an intricate geometric lattice that rose nearly to the height of the incoming Tide.
Reality bent. Space folded around them.
The barrier manifested as a threshold, a shimmering seam where the world stuttered between here and elsewhere.
Flash, Aquaman, and Shazam stared up, breath caught at the sight.
"What—" Aquaman started.
Batman's voice came low over comms as he watched from above. "The AEGIS Shield. They activated it."
Flash's jaw tightened. "It's… actually stable. How did Luthor pull this off?"
Aquaman's eyes narrowed at the rippling boundary. "You think it survives what's coming?"
Shazam wondered out loud. "How long can it hold?"
"Can't say," Flash said. "But it has to be drawing a massive amount of power. Let's hope Luthor chose the right power source for this thing."
Batman's voice stayed composed. "We stick to the plan. Nothing's changed. If it holds, good. If it fails, we've still saved everyone we can."
All three nodded and moved out.
Above the waterline, the League's forward team saw the lattice rise. They disengaged and raced for the island to reinforce the evacuation.
The Lantern constructs, no longer fed a constant supply of energy, began to fracture under the pressure. Within seconds, they shattered.
Nothing stopped the Great Tide.
Then came contact.
The Tide met the shield, but the collision wasn't violent.
The wall of corrupted water simply passed through the threshold as if crossing into another dimension. The instant it did, displacement seized it. The entire wave shunted sideways—phased into an adjacent dimensional layer of space: a near-world, barren and empty of life.
The Tide writhed in that false dimension, dark power clawing at nothing.
For a heartbeat, there was absolute silence, and it seemed to be working as intended.
Then the barrier rippled with strain.
Its surface shimmered—reality vibrating under pressure as the Tide tested every anchor point, every seam holding it in place.
Still it held. The lattice's hum shifted, adjusting in real time as operator input and Planet Watch data fed into its response. The grid pulsed once—twice—stabilizing under the load.
And far beyond the lattice, deep in the Pacific, the ocean still pulsed as the signal from the five formations remained steady as a heartbeat.
Far out in the Pacific, Orm watched from his ship, its presence masked as he channeled his power through the Eastern Dragon veins. He sat on his throne with one arm resting on his trident, eyes narrowed in interest at the unexpected development.