Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 439 - Ch.439 A Beacon

Superman didn't clock much change in Barry—except the guy's recent obsession with corny jokes.

He hovered beside the volcano's edge, heat whipping his red cape into a frenzy. "Atom, got anything?"

Captain Atom's suit—a sleek alien rig packed with cutting-edge tech—was still crunching data.

"Still waiting on results. When computers can't keep up with your speed, they feel sluggish," Atom quipped.

"Maybe call Cyborg back? Test it with the Mother Box?" Barry said. Supercomputers always brought that boom-tube beast to mind.

Batman nixed it over comms. "Cyborg's in the Phantom Zone—out of contact. Just report what you've got."

Atom eyed his arm display. "Not much. The Legion of Doom's not here now, but prelim scans show a ray—real close to Zeta radiation."

Superman sighed, cooling the air a bit. Barry was sweating buckets; he wanted his buddy comfy. "So their base was here?"

"Yes and no," Atom said. "Whatever it's made of, it's got phase properties. That variable energy's like Zeta rays—lets their base exist somewhere but not physically there at the same time."

Sounded like Martian Manhunter's phasing—turning intangible.

Superman scoped it with his X-ray vision, betting his super-sight could spot something off.

It did.

He patched it to Batman. "Whatever it was, they launched something from here—shot it into deep space."

"I've got orbital readings and sims," Atom added. "They fired a beacon—like a lighthouse."

"Lighthouse for what?" Barry rubbed his chin.

Atom shrugged. "Legion of Doom? I'd wager it's not signaling anything friendly."

No more leads here. The Legion played them—raiding Lex's lair flopped.

Superman tapped his earpiece. He wasn't used to these—Justice Hall's soundproofing was nuts. If it weren't, Batman could yell from D.C., and Superman'd hear it fine with focus.

"You holding up, Batman?"

Batman, armored up, sat at the command hall's mainframe, screens galore. He had eyes on Superman's and Diana's squads—satellites locked in.

Plus, he was juggling hundreds of Hall cameras.

Sun was up outside. Tourists trickled in for their Justice League fix.

Vendors swarmed the plaza—hero merch and snacks kicking off the day.

Rubber Vulcan swords and shields, tees with the red-and-yellow "S"—every hero had gear here.

Batman hated the noisy chaos, but Superman insisted folks had a right to hawk at League Square.

As long as food passed health codes and toys were safe, heroes should bridge the gap with normals.

Su Ming's first visit pegged it: the League was going for "meet-your-heroes" vibes—might as well call it JLA48.

Counting Young Justice, the Justice Society, and Justice League International, 48 might actually track.

Superman? Center-stage debut—the shining face of the League's righteousness.

Batman replied, cool as ever. "Why wouldn't I be? Hall's running smooth."

Superman pressed his earpiece. "Since you broke every bone and got plastered up—"

"I'm fine. Digging into where that beacon's headed," Batman said. Only a few fingers worked, propped by his suit. Pain gnawed, but his face didn't flinch. "Ha."

"Huh? Ha what?" Barry caught it—not a laugh, more an "aha" minus the "a."

Batman trimmed it lean. "Whatever they launched, it's bound for a cosmic sea patch."

"Space what?" Superman blanked.

"A big cosmic coral stretch—like an alien Great Barrier Reef. Too far for our gear to ping," Batman clarified.

"Green Lantern might know something. Can we reach them?" Barry nudged.

"J'onn, John Stewart, Hawkgirl—they're in Thanagar's gravity well now," Batman said. "That's why we're back to earpieces, not J'onn's telepathy. Kanjar Ro's larval—its range sucks."

Superman nodded. Space team was dark—wait-and-see mode. "Hope they bring back gestalt answers."

"Here's hoping," Bruce echoed.

"What'd you pull from Starman?" Barry pressed. "He said three of us die."

"His brain was half-removed—Lex's work," Batman said. "With half a mind, Will Payton might only count to three. Maybe he meant we're all toast."

"Ugh," Atom groaned, not vibing with Bat-humor.

Batman wasn't joking—just facts.

"I scanned him with Kanjar Ro. Got gestalt intel—muddy stuff. It's left fragments across all timelines, deeply tied to those traces. Needs digging."

Down in Antarctica, Aquaman's crew was digging—literal thanks to Batman sending Firestorm. His energy beams carved ice like a nuclear laser drill.

Fast, clean cuts.

They'd found it: an Amazon-style warship with Atlantean propulsion and figurehead.

"Here it is," Firestorm said, leading Diana and Aquaman into his melted pit. "Ice-mist particles swirl around it—magic or some witchy junk. Like a mirror. If it weren't unstable now, I'd never have clocked it."

He was a scientist, not a sorcerer.

Diana got it. Hecate's wipeout, plus Poseidon's death, trashed the ward.

That's why no one ever found this ship—or the tomb key—before.

"Arian's flagship. Nice work, Firestorm," Aquaman said, clapping his shoulder and striding aboard, trident in hand like a VIP pass. The mist parted instantly.

Diana and Firestorm boarded the wreck too.

Wreck for sure—thousands of years old. Holding together this long screamed top-notch craft.

"Who's Arian?" Firestorm asked.

"Uh, Atlantis's first and greatest hero..." Arthur trailed off, fumbling.

Good thing Diana was there—Paradise Island had full records, and queen-training meant history class.

"Arian was the Amazons' friend—everyone's friend," Diana picked up, explaining to Firestorm. "Before Atlantis sank, it was a discovery-driven civ. With Poseidon's help, Arian built a cosmic conch—the 'God Horn'—to call all multiversal ocean-having, sea-life civs."

"Then what?" Firestorm leaned in, hooked.

Diana sighed. What else?

"He wanted an ocean-civ alliance—Earth hosting, exploring the cosmos together, mutual gains. Some unknowns answered, but not all aliens play nice."

"Makes sense. Universe is eat-or-be-eaten," Firestorm nodded.

"So Arian rallied an alliance—Earth's critters, his off-world buds," Diana went on. "Beat the invaders, saved Earth."

Aquaman nodded—Diana nailed it. No archive dive to face Mera. Score.

"After, Atlantis sank. Locals went aquatic, became what they are—locked down," Diana added.

"Nah, Atlantis is open now," Arthur cut in. "I've pushed for cross-race ties since joining the League. Humans need tight screening and health checks to enter, sure—we're still figuring stuff out."

Earth was a cosmic dinghy—its critters all crammed aboard. What good was isolation?

With Atlantis surfacing via the Omega Four Gods, he wasn't even planning to sink it again. Sea-level coexistence might close gaps.

But Mera ruled the throne now—he was just "Aquaman" in name.

He sighed again.

Diana shrugged. Paradise Island was similar, but as queen, she'd sent Amazons out to live among humans—not the reverse.

To get normals, you had to dive into their world—her own playbook.

She was Amazon, though—best not meddle with Atlantean ways. Maybe sea-folk had their own tricks.