Time rewind: Several hours earlier...
While Clark was preparing for his emotional homecoming and the birth of his heroic career, Ben had already accomplished the first phase of his Mother Box acquisition strategy with characteristic efficiency.
The human-held Mother Box had been stored in S.T.A.R. Labs, buried beneath layers of bureaucratic indifference and scientific ignorance. Humanity's fractured historical records contained no memory of ancient covenants or space significance, to them, the artifact was simply another anomalous object requiring classification and storage.
Centuries of civil conflicts and cultural upheavals had severed the connection between modern humans and their predecessors who had once fought alongside Amazons and Atlanteans against Apokolips forces. The Mother Box sat in a climate-controlled vault like any other curiosity, its true purpose forgotten by species amnesia.
Ben's infiltration had been almost embarrassingly simple. A quick scan of global networks using Kryptonian technology revealed the artifact's location within hours, while his Ghostfreak transformation made physical security irrelevant. Phasing through multiple barrier systems, he'd claimed the device without triggering a single alarm or leaving any trace of intrusion.
But rather than immediately beginning analysis of his prize, Ben had set his sights on the more challenging second target. Atlantis represented not just another Mother Box, but an opportunity to study advanced biotechnology that could revolutionize Plumber capabilities.
The underwater civilization's energy conversion systems particularly intrigued him. In the films, Orm had provided Black Manta with equipment capable of converting mere hundreds of milliliters of seawater into mountain-shattering plasma beams. If such compact fusion technology could be scaled up and integrated into Plumber equipment...
"Time to go fishing," Ben had muttered, activating his Ripjaws transformation and diving toward Earth's deepest trenches.
Unfortunately, what should have been a straightforward stealth mission had taken an unexpected detour into undersea diplomacy and romantic entanglements.
The present moment found Ben standing in a coral palace that redefined architectural beauty, surrounded by beings who'd evolved far beyond baseline humanity's limitations. The Fishermen Kingdom represented one of seven distinct underwater civilizations, each adapted to different oceanic environments through millions of years of directed evolution.
Unlike the human-appearing Atlanteans and Xebelians, the Fishermen had embraced their aquatic nature completely. Their bodies combined the best aspects of various marine species, streamlined for speed, equipped with natural sonar, capable of surviving crushing pressure that would liquefy surface dwellers in seconds.
From an objective standpoint, they were magnificent examples of evolutionary optimization. From Ben's current perspective, trapped in increasingly awkward social obligations, they were a diplomatic nightmare wearing scales.
"I'm truly honored by your generous offer, Your Majesty," Ben replied carefully, his Ripjaws vocal cords managing the subsonic frequencies that passed for polite discourse in this realm. "But surely your daughter deserves someone more... established in your society."
The King of the Fishermen's eyes, each the size of dinner plates, glowed with paternal pride as he gestured toward his offspring. "Nonsense! You possess exactly the qualities we value most. Intelligence, curiosity about the wider world, and..." He paused dramatically. "Such striking features!"
Ben's internal monologue screamed in horror as he caught another glimpse of the princess. Her enthusiasm for their potential union was evident in every shy flutter of her gill slits, every demure batting of her fluorescent lures. By Fishermen standards, she probably was considered a stunning beauty, but Ben's human aesthetic sensibilities were struggling with the cultural translation.
"Your Highness flatters me beyond measure," Ben managed diplomatically. "However, I fear my recent emergence from isolation has left me... unprepared for such tremendous responsibility. Perhaps after I've had time to reconnect with our people's noble traditions..."
The princess's bioluminescent patterns shifted to what he desperately hoped was understanding rather than heartbreak. Her father nodded sagely, though disappointment flickered across his ancient features.
"A measured response worthy of a true philosopher," the King acknowledged. "Very well, we shall not press the matter further. But know that our gates remain open should you reconsider."
Relief flooded through Ben's consciousness as the immediate matrimonial crisis passed. "Your Majesty's wisdom exceeds even the legends told above the waves," he replied with genuine gratitude.
The flattery worked exactly as intended. Within minutes, the King had provided Ben with official diplomatic credentials, documents that would grant him passage through the underwater transit system connecting all seven kingdoms. More importantly, they would allow him to enter Atlantis proper without triggering the isolation protocols that had nearly trapped him in the Fishermen's territory.
"These papers will grant you safe passage throughout our domain," the King explained proudly. "The underwater bridges connect all Allied kingdoms, though I must warn you, some realms are less... welcoming to unexpected visitors."
Ben accepted the crystalline data tablets with appropriate ceremony, though his mind was already focused on the next phase of his mission. Atlantis awaited, and with it the second Mother Box and whatever advanced technology he could acquire along the way.
Meanwhile, in the golden spires of Atlantis proper, King Orm stood before a massive tactical display showing the surface world's continents in hostile red overlay. His handsome features were marred by the cold calculation of someone planning genocide on a planetary scale.
"King Orm, I implore you to reconsider this course of action," Vulko pleaded from his position beside the throne. The elderly advisor's weathered face showed genuine anguish as he watched his former student embrace a path that could only lead to catastrophe. "The ancient covenants exist for good reason. Breaking them will bring nothing but suffering to both our peoples."
Orm's laugh carried no humor, only bitter conviction. "The surface dwellers abandoned those covenants long ago, old friend. Their industrial poison flows into our realm daily. Their plastic waste chokes our wildlife. Their nuclear submarines violate our borders with impunity." His voice rose with each accusation, decades of accumulated grievance spilling forth like venom.
"They fire first in this war, Vulko. I merely plan to finish it."
The advisor's expression grew increasingly desperate as he recognized the futility of logical argument against such entrenched hatred. "Even if your grievances are justified, you cannot unite the kingdoms without legitimate cause. And the surface world is not as defenseless as you believe."
"I've already secured King Nereus of Xebel," Orm replied with smug satisfaction. "His daughter Mera's engagement to me guarantees their military support. Combined with our own forces, we'll have more than enough power to bring the remaining kingdoms into alignment."
Vulko's face paled as he processed the implications. "The Fishermen Kingdom values philosophical discourse over military conquest. The Brine Kingdom dwells too deep for surface concerns. How do you plan to convince them?"
"Necessity makes philosophers practical and depth-dwellers ambitious," Orm said coldly. "When they see the strength of our alliance, they'll choose the winning side rather than face destruction with the surface dwellers."
But Vulko wasn't ready to surrender the argument entirely. Recent intelligence reports had reached even the deepest palace chambers, carrying news that fundamentally altered the strategic equation.
"There are new factors to consider, my lord," Vulko said carefully. "The surface world has produced individuals with... remarkable capabilities. Just days ago, their militaries engaged a single figure who could fly through their atmosphere and withstand their most advanced weapons."
The reference was to Clark Kent's public debut, though Vulko possessed only fragmentary information about the incident. What he did know was that surface navies had deployed against this "Superman" in the Pacific, only to be systematically dismantled without a single casualty on the mysterious figure's side.
"More fairy tales from desperate humans," Orm dismissed with aristocratic disdain. "Their weakness breeds fantasy. One extraordinary individual, if such a being even exists, cannot stand against the coordinated might of Atlantis."
His confidence wasn't entirely misplaced. In the original timeline, Orm had maintained his aggressive stance even after Superman's victory over Steppenwolf had demonstrated power levels that defied comprehension. The Atlantean king's pride simply wouldn't allow him to acknowledge surface dweller superiority under any circumstances.
"Consider the implications, Your Majesty," Vulko pressed desperately. "If the surface world has developed warriors capable of flight and energy projection, "
"Then they'll drown like any other air-breather when the oceans rise to reclaim what was stolen!" Orm's patience finally snapped, his royal composure cracking to reveal the fanatic beneath. "I am King of the Seven Seas! I could carry the Abyssal Trench on my shoulders and hold the ancient city of Atlantis in one hand while crushing this 'Superman' with the other!"
The boast was so absurdly overconfident that Vulko found himself speechless. How could he reason with someone whose ego had expanded beyond the boundaries of physical reality?
"But Your Majesty, " Vulko tried once more.
"Enough!" Orm silenced him with an imperious gesture. "I am your king, and I have made my decision. The surface world will burn, their cities will flood, and their champions will learn what true power means when wielded by Atlantean hands."
His expression shifted back toward calculated planning as immediate passion cooled into strategic thinking. "Now, we must accelerate our timeline. Arrange for Princess Mera's immediate transfer to Atlantis. With Xebel's commitment secured, we can begin approaching the remaining kingdoms with proposals they cannot refuse."
"The Fishermen Kingdom, the Brine Kingdom, they'll see the wisdom of joining our crusade rather than facing annihilation alongside the surface dwellers. United, we will restore Atlantis to its rightful position as master of this world."
Orm turned toward the vast windows overlooking his underwater empire, his reflection showing a man drunk on visions of conquest and revenge. "I will make Atlantis great again!" he declared to the silent city beyond. "The age of surface dweller dominance ends now!"
As the king lost himself in fantasies of aquatic supremacy, neither he nor his advisor noticed the subtle changes in water pressure that marked the arrival of an unexpected visitor to their realm. Far below in the palace's lower levels, certain diplomatic credentials were being processed by border guards who'd never encountered a Fishermen Kingdom citizen quite like this one.