"This is Lois Lane, reporting live from Washington D.C., where the Justice League has assembled to stop a global magical threat."
The camera trembles as another shockwave rolls through the skies, thunderclouds swirling unnaturally fast above the Capitol. From the edge of the rooftop, Lois grips the rail and continues, voice steady despite the magical chaos unfolding in the sky.
"Sources confirm the sorcerer known as Wotan is attempting to blot out the sun using the Amulet of Aten. The League has engaged, and what you're seeing now—" she pauses as a massive rune circle ignites across the sky above the Washington Monument, searing gold and blood-red lines into the air like a summoning glyph carved into heaven itself. "—isn't part of their plan."
In the background, Zatara, Green Lantern, and Superman rise into the sky, power crackling in their hands. Batman stays on the ground, flanked by Martian Manhunter and Flash, all watching warily as Wotan levitates higher.
The sorcerer raises his arms.
"I CALL UPON THE DARK! I CALL UPON THE ANCIENT NAMES—ATEN, SHAITAN, AHURA—!"
And then—he falters.
The circle pulses, humming with a frequency that isn't his. Magical pressure slams outward like a bell tolling through the cosmos, and suddenly Wotan is no longer the master of the ritual.
"Wait—something's wrong," Lois says, her voice tight. The broadcast zooms in. "The ritual is activating… but Wotan hasn't finished his chant."
The glyph fractures inward, as if devouring its own center. A radiant silhouette forms, standing still in the heart of the unraveling magic. Golden light outlines the figure, too bright to see clearly—until it fades to reveal a young man.
He stands weirdly dressed in the air above the monument, clad in black and gold ornate, elegant armor that hugs his lean body like it was forged for divinity and death. Crimson spikes fan out across his shoulders like a lion's mane made of fire. His right earring glints in the dying sunlight, a blood-gem that seems to pulse with its own heartbeat.
A gust of wind sweeps across the rooftops.
The young man breathes in, a subtle flicker of light curling around his form like heat shimmer.
"Who—who dares interfere with my ritual?!" Wotan's voice booms, trembling now.
However, he doesn't receive a response.
Lois Lane says, her voice quieter now, transfixed, "We're witnessing something... unplanned. Unprecedented."
The figure—the young man—stands at the epicenter of the burning glyph, floating with a dreamlike stillness. He is a contradiction: armored in black and gold, crowned in crimson flame, and yet he looks barely old enough to vote.
His head turns slightly.
Blank eyes. Unfocused. The kind of stare seen in newborns—or the dead.
He doesn't speak. He doesn't move.
Even the wind stills around him.
And below, Wotan stares with barely concealed rage and—buried underneath—fear.
"This is not part of the ritual," he growls. He lifts a hand and hurls a bolt of jagged magic toward the intruder.
The blast hits.
It explodes into sparks and violet smoke.
The boy doesn't even blink.
His armor gleams, untouched.
"He didn't flinch," Lois whispers, forgetting for a moment that she's on live TV. "That blast was enough to level a street before..."
Wotan grits his teeth, his voice rising with intent. "Who are you?"
The young man finally moves.
His chin lifts.
His gaze sharpens—just slightly, like fog pulling back from a mirror.
The sky seems to dim again as he opens his mouth. And in a voice as soft as it is final, he answers with a word, "… Karna."
The name falls like a weight into the world. It's not loud, but his voice echoes across the sky as if it were carved into stone. Deep. Calm. Almost emotionless.
A moment of absolute silence follows.
Then a pressure descends—heavy, unseen, ancient. The sound of his name lingers in the air like an echo carved into bone. Everyone who hears it, even through speakers, feels it in their chest: a presence. A recognition of something not meant for this world.
.
From the ground, the League stares up, momentarily paralyzed.
Zatara's lips part. "That… was not a spell. That was his name."
And now—something shifts. The young man's expression flickers. A furrow in his brow. A breath. The air around him begins to shimmer with heat. Slowly, as if the air remembers the sun, flames begin to bloom at his feet—rising like a tide.
They crawl up his legs and twist around his arms.
His crimson mantle lifts like smoke in reverse.
Lois Lane's voice returns, quieter. Reverent. "He's... on fire. Not burning—becoming fire."
She leans closer to the mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, we may have just witnessed the arrival of something divine—or something else entirely."
For a heartbeat, everything is still.
Then young man's eyes widen as he gasps.
And then he screams.
Not in rage, not in power—but in shock. A raw, instinctive cry that splits the sky. Golden flames flicker at his fingertips, and the sound cracks the air like divine thunder. Everyone—heroes and villain alike—are thrown backward, but not by choice.
A wave of pressure erupts from him like a sonic earthquake made of gold and confusion. It shoves the League, the villain, and even the camera drones back. The signal distorts for a moment—Lois's audio cuts out and comes back in with a high-pitched ring; the camera catching only sky and flames for a moment before it's righted again. She hears her own breath—fast, shaky.
"What... what was that—?"
In the sky, Zatara collapses mid-incantation, his spell vanishing with a sizzle of blue while Superman clutches his head, his enhanced hearing overloaded by something not meant for mortal minds.
Meanwhile, Wotan, the closest to the young man, crashes into the stone of the monument like a puppet with cut strings—he doesn't rise.
Green Lantern surges forward on instinct, catching both Superman and Zatara before they fall.
"Zatara's out cold!" he barks. "Superman's stunned—what was that?!"
Above them, the young man—Karna—clutches his head, his scream dying out in a strangled breath. Flames crackle wildly around him like they no longer know where to go. He's panting, trembling, armor glowing like a forge.
The Justice League is still reeling, Wonder Woman being the first to move. Her golden boots strike the air softly as she ascends with slow, deliberate grace—cutting through the heat, even as the flames buffet her skin, trying to push her back.
She lifts a hand in peace. Her eyes are calm. Unyielding.
"Can you hear me, young man?" she calls, voice clear despite the inferno. "You're safe. You are not alone."
The young man's head jerks toward her. His eyes—still glowing faintly—widen. For the first time, he seems to see her. The confusion in his expression deepens, flickering into something almost human. His gaze tracks from her to the others—realizing, for the first time, he is surrounded.
When he notices Wonder Woman still approaching him, his lips part and his voice comes again, just a single word—a quiet, but irresistible, "Stop."
She stops.
Not pauses. Not hesitates.
Stops—utterly and unnaturally still.
The surrounding fire is unaffected, licking her armor. But she no longer moves. No longer breathes.
"Di—Diana!" Green Lantern shouts, flying toward her.
Karna takes a step forward instinctively—but then stops himself.
He looks at his hands. They're still on fire.
His expression twists—shame, fear, restraint.
Green Lantern reaches her first, grabbing her shoulder and checking her pulse. His eyes narrow. "She's not breathing—her body's locked up."
Zatara stirs behind him. Superman steadies himself in the air.
"Whatever he did," Green Lantern mutters, "he did it without meaning to."
His gaze turns toward Karna, hardened now, glowing green with ring-energy.
"You better undo it, sunshine," he growls. "Now."
Karna stares at Wonder Woman and something flickers again behind his gaze.
Regret.
Understanding.
He breathes in softly and speaks: "You can move now, Wonder Woman."
Like a spell breaking, her body shudders. She drops slightly, gasping in a sudden breath, coughing against the heat, as she steadies herself in the air.
Her eyes meet Karna's. And despite the pain, she nods at him, slowly.
.
.
.
... I don't know what to say besides: sorry?
This story is older than 'To Choose is to Begin' (and its grammar is worse so it may be a while for me to edit it) I just wanted to put the first chapter to see what others think of it.
Also the first chapter is the shortest.