Last chapter was 2 in 1, this one is similar size almost, but I have decided to count it as one. Rejoice!
*****
A year had passed since the Holy Grail Wars ended. The world had tried to reclaim a semblance of normalcy, though "normal" in this era was a fragile, brittle construct. Constantly threatened by the lingering shadows of conflict and human ambition.
Civilization moved forward as it always did—slowly, stubbornly, desperately clinging to normalcy. But beneath the surface, power was shifting. Nations, fearful of beings who could bend nature, time, and death, began to move pieces on the board once again.
The Justice League continued to operate, maintaining a tenuous equilibrium, but even their presence could not entirely suppress the chaotic undercurrents.
The Justice League, despite its unmatched reputation, was finding itself cornered. Once hailed as saviors, they were now viewed as potential tyrants. Governments that had once begged for their help were now questioning their autonomy. Every act of heroism was being dissected for political meaning, every intervention weighed against national interest.
The League tried to uphold order—Batman ensuring operational neutrality, Superman reminding them of morality beyond politics—but human fear had always been the sharpest weapon.
National governments, long accustomed to wielding authority over their borders, were increasingly resistant to the idea that an independent group of super-powered individuals could intervene at will and go against their interests.
Every rescue mission, every intervention, was scrutinized. Every act of heroism carried the weight of potential political repercussion.
To the world, the heroes were both indispensable and dangerous—a dilemma that made alliances fragile and trust conditional. Regular people had mixed opinions. While most of them supported the heroes, many would oppose them by pointing out the collateral damage.
There was one person who saw an opportunity in this crisis. Amanda Waller.
She had maneuvered with her usual strategic precision. Her newly developed organization, ARGUS, had gradually accrued authority that extended beyond simple intelligence gathering.
Backed by governments wary of superhuman influence, she crafted policies that wrapped control in the language of "security." Under her direction, ARGUS gained full jurisdiction to contain, regulate, and neutralize any meta-human deemed a threat.
Any powered individual deemed a threat could be tracked, contained, or neutralized. Initially, this system functioned with calculated efficiency. ARGUS field teams, equipped with specialized containment protocols, worked in tandem with allied nations to mitigate incidents before they escalated.
Surveillance drones, satellite tracking, and direct reporting lines kept tabs on powered individuals. Even minor skirmishes could be detected early, giving ARGUS the upper hand.
At first, even the League had cautiously approved, believing oversight could prevent chaos. But Waller's web grew too wide, and before long, ARGUS operatives were tracking even the heroes as if they were fugitives.
Yet even with this network of control, human unpredictability remained a wildcard. Still, it might have remained a quiet stalemate—until two incidents changed everything.
The first came when Superman and Superwoman crossed borders into a Middle Eastern nation engulfed by rebellion.
Civilians were dying by the thousands; the regime had used foreign weapons to crush protests. The League couldn't watch and do nothing. The Kryptonians descended like angels through black smoke, tearing apart tanks and intercepting missiles before they struck refugee camps.
Their intervention saved tens of thousands—but the country they saved was one whose chaos had been funded by the United States.
The heroes' intervention, though intended to protect civilians and stabilize the region, drew immediate condemnation.
What followed was a global uproar. Nations accused the League of violating sovereignty. International media outlets questioned whether their presence exacerbated the situation, while diplomatic channels buzzed with accusations of interference in sovereign affairs.
The U.S. Senate launched hearings. Amanda Waller went on live television, stone-faced, claiming, "Unchecked intervention—no matter how noble—sets the stage for tyranny."
The second flashpoint came weeks later. Wonder Woman intervened in Palestine, halting an extremist group of Zionists who had seized territory through force and bloodshed.
The extremists, primarily motivated by political and religious zealotry, were executing operations designed to provoke regional instability.
(The Irony eh?)
Diana's intervention, decisive and uncompromising, prevented large-scale massacres, but the UN responded with fierce criticism. Her actions, though morally unassailable, were politically contentious, challenging notions of sovereignty and neutrality.
At the emergency assembly in Geneva, one delegate shouted that she had "chosen sides." Diana didn't deny it. Her response was firm. " if the Justice League can't even stand up for justice, what's the point of saving a world that doesn't care about others? Maybe we can all just retire and let Darkseid kill you all. See how your politicians deal with him."
She had seen children buried in rubble; she needed no permission to stop it. But her response caused huge controversy.
The underlying tension was clear: the League could save lives, but in doing so, it risked undermining the authority of governments and the fragile peace they maintained.
The world began to fracture along moral lines. Some stood with the League, others demanded control. And in that divide, Edward's Order of Light—known to many as the Illuminati—remained the silent force holding the world back from complete collapse.
Despite these strains, the world's broader stability owed much to Edward's Order of Light. The organization's subtle influence shaped global politics in ways most citizens would never recognize.
Many people still remembered the interventions of Edward,who had steered humanity away from total collapse in prior centuries.
Though greed and conflict persisted, Edward's oversight had fostered a baseline restraint.The lessons of the past were not forgotten; humanity had been given a chance at a second life, and some nations, at least, had attempted to honor that legacy.
Even now, his legacy guided nations like Eternia and Vonarland, where reverence for Edward's ideals remained law. His name still carried the weight of divine judgment. Where once gods ruled and corrupted, Edward's hand had reshaped humanity's destiny. He had given them freedom—and the burden of choosing what to do with it.
But light and darkness are inseparable. Even in this delicate balance, the world's darker impulses always found opportunity.
In the east, Russia had launched a brutal campaign against Moskva, a nation forged from the remnants of Edward's influence. The cause was simple and human: land, power, dominance. Moskva lay between Russia and the open path into Europe. The Kremlin wanted it.
Its absorption would not merely expand Russian borders—it would grant them unchecked access to key trade routes and geopolitical influence.
And the proud warriors of Moskva, who once followed Edward's old ways, now pursued their own hunger for expansion. They were no longer the idealists of old; they had turned from his doctrine of restraint to dreams of empire.
Moskva itself was not evil; its leadership had largely forsaken Edward's old doctrines, focusing instead on consolidation and expansion. Their ambition, left unchecked, risked destabilizing the entire region.
Edward, observing from afar, had already withdrawn from Moskva's affairs after the war. The nation's abandonment of his teachings and its aggressive expansionist tendencies had rendered them less of a ward and more of a potential threat.
Edward understood that the unchecked pursuit of power, even when not malevolent, inevitably produced chaos.
Vonarland, known to outsiders as Vinland—remained an unbroken superpower. The northern realm had mastered both magic and technology, blending them seamlessly into a society as efficient as it was fearsome.
Their armies wielded weapons infused with runes, and their fleets could vanish in storms of mist and lightning. They still followed Edward's principles—discipline, balance, honor, tempered them with reason.
In Eternia, however, reverence had turned into near-worship. Even the smallest insult to Edward's name could earn public punishment.
To the outside world, it seemed fanaticism, but to Eternians, it was devotion—a way of remembering the god who had once saved them from extinction. The Father who made their barren lands lush and fertile, without asking for their worship or sacrifice.
Both nations maintained their alliance but were careful not to entangle themselves in international politics, wary of the greed and treachery that often accompanied foreign intervention. Together, they formed a deterrent so absolute that no other nation dared challenge them directly.
The United States had sent trade and military delegations, hoping to forge alliances or at least gain access to their technology. Every attempt was politely, and firmly, refused.
Vonarland and Eternia remained in the UN only in title, attending meetings but rarely speaking. They knew what most other nations wanted. They wanted their resources, weapons, magic—and they were not interested in selling any of it.
Meanwhile, the Justice League continued evolving. New faces had joined their ranks—new warriors for an uncertain age. The political landscape was further complicated by the expansion of the Justice League. New members brought both power and complexity to the organization.
Arthur Curry, the King of Atlantis, once reluctant to involve himself in surface politics, now acted as a stabilizing force between oceanic and human nations. His presence alone deterred conflicts at sea.
Hank Henshaw, the Martian Manhunter, offered wisdom and insight beyond human understanding. He had seen civilizations rise and fall, and though his eyes carried sorrow, his loyalty to justice was unwavering.
And then came the Hawks—Carter Hall and Shayera Hol.
Carter Hall, Hawkman, and Shayera Hol, Hawkgirl, had returned from centuries of amnesia, their memories erased after prior conflicts.
They had joined after the Thanagarian Crisis, when their lost people had sought to turn Earth into a battleground. Memoryless and weary, the two had lived quiet human lives until their instincts awoke again.
When Thanagar's fleet arrived, Shayera and Carter stood with Earth, their bond rekindled amid fire and chaos.
The battle had been fierce: skies filled with burning metal, wings clashing against alien warships. But in the end, the League prevailed. The Hawks chose to remain, not just out of duty, but belonging. Earth had become their home.
Their experience and perspectives were invaluable, but their presence also added layers of complexity to internal decision-making. Specially when they would smash someone's head with a mce.
By late 2016, however, the world's patience with the League had begun to erode after they built the Watchtower.
The Watchtower, the League's orbital headquarters, symbolized unity and readiness to defend Earth from cosmic threats. To world leaders, however, it looked like a weapon—a fortress floating above the planet, untouchable, beyond jurisdiction.
Media manipulation did the rest. News outlets, likely funded by governments or ARGUS itself, began flooding public perception with fear: "Who watches the Watchtower?"
"Can we trust gods among men?"
"What if Superman decides humanity no longer deserves saving?"
Public faith began to waver.
The final catalyst arrived with Amanda Waller's formal introduction of the Meta-Human Conduct Protocols.
The proposal outlined a system that required every super-powered being—hero, villain, or independent—to register, operate under direct governmental supervision, and follow issued commands. Anyone refusing to comply would face detainment "for global safety."
The justification was simple: control ensures peace. But the implication was clear: freedom for meta-humans was over.
More than fifty nations ratified the protocols, including the United States, signaling a rare and unified global stance against unsupervised meta-human activity.
The world had spoken—and its verdict was fear.
Now, the air across the globe hung thick with unease. The media hailed it as "a step toward order."
ARGUS deployed new task forces, armed with advanced technology designed from Kryptonian and Thanagarian studies. Cities that once welcomed heroes now watched them with suspicion.
The Justice League, for the first time in its existence, faced the possibility of becoming fugitives for doing what they were created to do.
Across the world, each member of the League felt the weight of this decision.
Clark Kent stood atop the Daily Planet's roof one evening, staring out at Metropolis under a crimson sunset.
"They think this will make them safe," he said softly to Faora, who stood beside him. "But fear never built anything lasting." His voice carried both disappointment and weariness.
"This feels like Krypton all over again. Fools running the world to an end." Faora muttered softly.
Diana, in her office, read the reports in silence. Her eyes hardened—not in anger, but in quiet defiance. "They are fools," she murmured. "Is this the humans father spent his life trying to protect and guide? It's been less than 2 years since they worshipped us as heroes, now they wish to chain us like slave?"
Her grip crushed the marble table. "They will learn again that some chains burn the hand that forges them. If they come for me, I wonder how will father react?" She smiled wryly.
Bruce Wayne had seen this coming long before anyone else. In the Batcave, the holographic display reflected blue light across his face as he examined reports of government surveillance.
His tone was calm when he called for a meeting. "We need to decide where we stand," he said into the communicator. "Before someone else decides for us."
Even as the League prepared to gather, the world's balance teetered.
Because somewhere beyond their arguments, beyond Waller's machinations, something far greater stirred—an unseen crisis slowly approaching Earth.
One that neither the United Nations nor ARGUS, nor even the Justice League, was yet prepared to face.
And as the calendar turned toward the start of 2017, the quiet before the storm began to fracture.
The heroes of Earth stood on the edge of history once again—divided not by enemies from other worlds, but by the world they had sworn to protect.
The meeting Batman called would soon decide their path.
The world was now watching, anticipating the Justice League's response. Every action, hesitation, or refusal would carry consequences not only for the heroes themselves but for the balance of global power and civilian lives.
The stage was set. The League's next steps would define its role in the world, its relationship with governments, and the fragile trust of the people it swore to protect.
Yet for now, the heroes were bound by circumstance, waiting for the first move, aware that the world they had defended so fiercely was beginning to demand accountability in ways they had never experienced before.
The tension was palpable, the weight of expectation immense, and the boundaries between morality, duty, and political constraint had never been more sharply drawn.
*****
The air in the Watchtower was tense, thick with the kind of silence that always comes before something breaks.
The meeting chamber was vast, dimly lit by blue lights tracing along the curved walls. The Earth glowed below through the reinforced glass, serene and distant, a world unaware of the turmoil brewing above it.
The Justice League sat around the circular table, the air thick with tension. Everyone knew this meeting would define their future.
For once, there was no alien invasion, no ancient god threatening annihilation—only the world they'd sworn to protect turning its back on them.
Around the round obsidian table, the Justice League sat in uneasy silence. Each carried the weight of the world's distrust on their shoulders in their own way. Some spoke up while others tried to adapt.
The Meta-Human Conduct Protocols had turned allies into skeptics, heroes into suspects. Even here, among the world's mightiest, no one knew what would happen next.
Superman broke the silence first. His voice was calm, but behind the restraint lay deep frustration. His face usually calm and reassuring, was clouded with anger barely restrained.
"We can't just sit back and listen to politicians with their greedy agendas trying to force us to follow their will.," Clark said finally, his tone sharper than usual. His blue eyes reflected the Earth's glow beneath them, a reminder of everything he still believed in.
"We've all seen what power in the wrong hands can do. The UN wants us to kneel, to obey their greed instead of our conscience. They're twisting what we stand for. They're afraid of us. It starts small—with restrictions, laws, oversight. Then it becomes chains."
Beside him, his fiance Superwoman, Faora-El, crossed her arms. The metallic glint of her Kryptonian armor caught the light as she nodded firmly. "He's right," she said, her voice hard and unwavering.
"This is how Krypton was destroyed, by letting fools decide the future while the wise stood idle." Her words cut through the air like a blade.
" The Science Council ignored warning after warning, too afraid to lose power, too arrogant to listen to reason. They debated while our core decayed. They let fools decide the future, and it killed us all."
Her eyes glinted with restrained fury. "Are we going to make the same mistake here?"
Across the table, Hal Jordan, Earth's Green Lantern, leaned back lazily in his chair, his emerald ring glinting faintly. He gave a half-shrug, as if the conversation bored him.
"You all act like this is new," he said dryly. "The government people tried to shoot me the day I found the ring. I was saved by someone, otherwise I'd be dead. Nothing they do surprises me anymore. If they think I'm signing up for their leash, they've got another thing coming."
He kicked his boots up onto the table, earning a pointed glare from Batman. He added with a smirk, "Honestly? If they want to play god over gods, fine. Worst case? I'll just go off-planet.
There are plenty of other sectors to patrol that don't involve Amanda Waller breathing down my neck. Might drop a giant watermelon on top of her house before leaving just to be petty." Flash snorted and shook his head.
Arthur Curry, arms folded, exhaled slowly, his golden armor gleaming faintly under the overhead light. His voice was deep, weighted with the kind of authority that came from ruling a kingdom.
His deep voice carried a faint edge of weariness. "You can afford to leave, Lantern. I can't."
He rested his arms on the table, the scales of his Atlantean armor shimmering faintly under the lights. "I've got no interest in their games either," he said. "Atlantis has survived for millennia without the surface world meddling in our affairs.
I have a kingdom, a wife, and a daughter now. Atlantis will not bow to your politics. If the situation worsens, I'll seal off the ocean entirely.
But if they come at me with weapons, to enslave, I won't care. Whatever connection to the world I had left died with my crew and father. Even my mentor vanished. I will Let them drown in its own arrogance if it must."
Faora raised a brow, almost smirking. "Isolation won't save anyone, King of the Seas. Nor will your strength alone be sufficient "
Arthur met her gaze evenly. "It will save my people. And right now, that's all I can promise." He smirked. "And you haven't seen my full strength yet."
The words carried a finality that made a few heads turn. For all his strength and pride, Aquaman had always been divided between two worlds. But now, he'd made his choice.
From the opposite side, Barry Allen, the Flash—spoke up hesitantly, his tone quieter but no less firm. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, glancing between Superman and Batman.
"Look, I get the frustration. But we can't just pretend the government's wrong for wanting some oversight. They are the government running the nation after all."
He glanced at Superman. "You've saved lives, sure—but what if one day you weren't there to stop something, or worse… lost control? During your fight, what is a city gets destroyed accidentally? People are scared."
Superman frowned but didn't interrupt.
Barry continued, fidgeting slightly with his cowl. "Working with the UN isn't wrong, but working under them? Serving their hidden agendas ? That's where it crosses the line. Especially not under Amanda Waller."
His expression darkened at her name. "She forced criminals into serving as her personal hit squad, the so called Suicide Squad. Used bombs in their necks to keep them in line. You think she won't do the same to us if she could?"
Silence followed. Everyone knew Waller's ruthlessness.
At the far end, Shazam—in his youthful form, his red and gold suit gleaming—broke the tension with an awkward laugh.
"Well, uh… I mean, I'm an American. So… technically, working with the US government isn't all bad, right? And hey, maybe they'd even pay us. I could use a paycheck. "
The room went still. Batman's cold stare snapped toward him, sharp enough to freeze a lightning bolt. Even Superman raised an eyebrow.
Diana looked with disappointment. " If you need money, Batman or myself can pay you. But then you'll be our servant, if you are okay with that." She smirked.
Shazam shrank visibly under their collective gaze, mumbling, "Or… maybe not…" and sank lower into his chair, tugging his cape nervously.
Martian Manhunter, Hank Henshaw, spoke next, his calm, resonant voice carrying an otherworldly serenity. "I understand both sides," He sighed.
"Fear governs their actions," he said. "It is an emotion I understand well. Humanity fears what it cannot control. I do not blame them—but neither do I trust them." His red eyes flickered faintly.
"My daughter, M'gann, has returned to Mars. The planet has become habitable again. If my presence here becomes… inconvenient," He paused, his red eyes glimmering faintly, "then I will also return home.
My people have suffered long enough in silence in different corners of the galaxy. Perhaps it is time I lead them back to life."
There was a quiet respect in the room as he finished. No one questioned him. His tone carried a melancholy wisdom, and for a moment, silence returned.
Even Superman looked down, reflecting on what that meant, the idea of leaving Earth entirely. Faora muttered." Maybe we can leave too."
Through all of this, Diana had been silent—arms folded, her golden armor faintly glowing in the soft light. Her expression was calm, almost regal, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath.
When she finally spoke, her voice was clear and steady, carrying the weight of wisdom and conviction.
"If we surrender now," she said, her words cutting through the murmurs, "then they will never stop. Each time, they will find new reasons, new fears to bind us. Whether right or wrong will not matter.
Once we yield, the world will no longer see us as protectors, but as tools. Today, they seek to control us. Tomorrow, they will seek to define justice itself."
She stood, her presence commanding the room's attention. "I've lived among mortals long enough to understand their fear. But justice cannot exist under fear's rule. If need be, I will relocate. I can sell Croft Corporation's New York office.
My mother and father will happily welcome me home. Or I can finally take up my duties in Themyscira as it's ruler like mother told me to. If they come looking for me, they will find out what is divine fury." She spoke absolutely.
The mention of her divine lineage carried quiet weight. She was not threatening, merely certain, like a warrior stating her creed.
Superman looked around the table, taking in the mix of determination, doubt, and quiet anger. His gaze finally settled on Batman, who had remained silent the entire time.
Bruce Wayne sat in silence, gloved hands folded before him, eyes fixed on the holographic display of Earth slowly rotating at the center of the table. His stillness made the others uneasy. He had been unusually quiet throughout the debate.
"Batman," Clark said finally, breaking the stillness. "You've heard everyone. What's your decision? You called us here because you have a solution right?"
For a moment, Batman didn't move. Then he exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost detached—yet every word carried weight.
"I don't fully disagree with the UN," he began.
The statement drew surprised looks from nearly everyone. Superman frowned; Flash blinked.
Batman continued evenly, "The Justice League, as it stands, is a potential threat to the entire planet. If any one of us went rogue, no government on Earth could stop us."
He gestured subtly toward each of them. "Clark and Faora could level continents. Hal could annihilate cities with a thought.
Diana, you are literally demi-god with power enough to rival gods. One strike from your sword could level a city.
Hal's ring could rewrite reality. Arthur controls the oceans. J'onn could infiltrate every mind on Earth. Barry can outrun time itself. And Shazam…" His gaze briefly flicked toward the boy, who straightened in alarm. "You're unpredictable, powerful, and very, very human. Which means you can make mistakes."
No one spoke. The truth hung heavy in the air.
Batman folded his arms. "If I were them, just an ordinary human, I'd be afraid of us too."
Batman continued. "I built several contingencies for a reason. Because we aren't just heroes. We're potential weapons. And if the world sees us that way, it's because they know what we're capable of."
Diana's voice broke the silence, soft but steady. "You are not wrong, Batman. Power unchecked invites fear. My father once told me, With great power comes great responsibility. Yet only a few can truly bear that burden."
Barry, ever the impulsive one, blurted out, "Wait, your dad reads Spider-Man too?"
A small pause. Diana's brow furrowed in confusion. "Who is this Spider-Man? Is he a hero too?"
Hal chuckled, running a hand down his face. "Alright nerd, we're not in a comic book store. Hold it together."
That broke the tension, if only slightly. Even Batman's lip twitched slightly—just barely enough to count as amusement.
Superman sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We can't keep arguing in circles. The question is—what do we do next? Do we stand against the UN, or do we comply?"
Hawkman frowned. " Me and Shayera stood beside humans during crisis, but we are repaid with betrayal. Makes me wonder if we were wrong."
Hawkgirl nodded. " Perhaps we should have let Thangarians fight . That should have made them see who is standing between them and destruction.
The conversation spiraled again—heated but thoughtful. Every argument, every moral stance came down to the same impossible balance: power and accountability. They were protectors, not rulers—but they were no one's servants either.
What began as a strategy meeting had become something deeper, a reckoning of ideals. None of them wanted to fight the people they protected, yet none could accept being controlled by them either.
And then, just as they were finally nearing a consensus, the calm was shattered by the shrill buzz of the communications console. Batman's gauntlet display lit up in red.
The sharp beep sliced through the fading conversation. He pressed it instantly, his expression darkening.
He glanced down, eyes narrowing. "Gordon," he muttered. The others fell silent. He picked up the call.
"Gordon," he said, in his usual dry voice.
The gruff sound of Commissioner Gordon came through, heavy with disbelief. "Batman… we've got a situation down here. You might want to see this yourself."
Batman's eyes narrowed. "What kind of situation?"
"You're not going to believe this," Gordon said. "But Lex Luthor just walked into the Gotham City Police Department. No bodyguards, no press, no grand entrance. Just… walked in."
The room went still.
Hal raised an eyebrow. "Wait, didn't you guys bury him? Like, literally bury him?"
Clark straightened sharply. "That's impossible," he said, his voice low. "Lex is dead. Batman saw him die."
"That's what makes it worse," Gordon replied grimly. "He doesn't look dead. No decay, no signs of resurrection. He's clean—breathing, talking, asking for you. Not a zombie, not a doppelgänger.
And Batman…" Gordon hesitated for a moment, his tone lowering. "He says he has information about something coming. Something big. He needs your... Help."
Batman's jaw tightened, eyes flicking toward Superman. "Keep him there. Don't let anyone near him."
As the line went dead, the League exchanged uneasy glances.
Hal muttered, "Well, this just got interesting. Are zombies a thing now?"
Superman's fists clenched at his sides. "If it's really him, I'll find out how he came back, nd put him in a cell where he belongs."
Faora patted his shoulder to calm him down, "Relax. He shouldn't even exist. We can figure out his motives once we see him."
Clark folded his arms, his expression darkening. "Whatever this is—it's not just politics anymore."
Batman's jaw tightened. "No. It's not."
Batman rose from his chair, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow come alive. "We'll find out when we see him." he said quietly.
His voice was measured, but there was a hint of something darker beneath. the instinct of a man who knew that peace was never meant to last.
Clark walked beside him. " I'm coming with you."
Diana and Faora also followed behind them without a word.
The meeting was over before they reached a decision. The world's greatest heroes turned toward a new mystery, one they had thought buried long ago.
The others exchanged glances, unease settling in. Whatever was about to begin, they all knew it wouldn't end with just words or laws. Something was stirring beneath the surface again. Something that had the power to change everything.
And somewhere below, in the cold heart of Gotham, a familiar genius stood under the flickering lights of a police station, smiling like a man who should not be here.