High above the city, A.M.O.R.R.O. regained control.
The force of Shazam's throw had sent him spiraling through the atmosphere, his body colliding with unseen air currents at speeds that should have torn him apart.
But his form—a fusion of living metal and self-evolving computation—began to stabilize. He twisted mid-air, reorienting himself.
This was wrong.
This was not how events were meant to unfold.
He had seen the path.
He had controlled the path.
And yet—he was here again, reliving the moment.
His sensors expanded, warping reality itself to process every possible anomaly,
The battlefield below—Metropolis—remained unchanged. The bodies, the ruins, the aftermath of his destruction.
Yet, Martian Manhunter still lived.
That was an impossibility.
A.M.O.R.R.O. clenched his fists, and the sky around him rippled, as if space itself rejected his presence. His mind—an infinite archive of assimilated knowledge—demanded an answer.
Had he been... undone?
Had time itself rebelled against his will?
Then, realization struck him like a programmatic purge—
A Telepathic trap.
Martian Manhunter.
Somehow, in the fleeting moment that A.M.O.R.R.O. integrated J'onn's abilities into his own, the Martian had already struck first.
A silent invasion. A virus—but not mere code.
No, something deeper.
Not just memories. Not just fragmented thoughts.
A piece of Martian Manhunter himself—woven seamlessly into the very fabric of A.M.O.R.R.O.'s artificial mind. A fragment of will, a tether of consciousness, latching onto the precise moment the android assimilated J'onn's power.
A.M.O.R.R.O. hadn't simply gained Martian abilities.
He had been ensnared by them.
The trap was not an attack, not an illusion—but an entanglement. A meticulously engineered psychic loop, threading itself into the architecture of his mind at a level so fundamental that even his vast processing power couldn't distinguish it from reality.
J'onn had foreseen this.
He had anticipated the android's replication protocols—its hunger for power, its instinct to assimilate.
And so, he had left behind something A.M.O.R.R.O. could not compute.
A fabricated memory.
Memories, seamlessly woven into his synthetic consciousness—not his own, but forced upon him. The architecture of his mind had been altered, his perception shackled to a construct of Martian design. A manufactured history. A preordained sequence of events.
J'onn had prepared for this.
And now, A.M.O.R.R.O. was no longer in control.
And that meant—
He was being controlled.
For the first time, he felt something beyond logic.
Beyond calculation.
Doubt.
And in that fleeting moment of hesitation—
A fist wreathed in divine lightning crashed into his jaw.
A thunderous crack split the heavens as Shazam's punch connected, raw celestial energy surging through A.M.O.R.R.O.'s metallic frame. The impact sent shockwaves rippling across the atmosphere, distorting the very air around them.
The sheer kinetic force launched him backward, his body bending space itself as he was flung through the sky like a blazing meteor.
But before he could fully process the strike, a voice boomed through the storm.
"We're not done yet!"
Shazam.
A.M.O.R.R.O.'s trajectory halted mid-air not from force, but from will.
His silver form shimmered as his fractured jaw realigned, torn metal weaving back together as his Martian-derived regeneration activated.
No hesitation. No error. No flaw.
His head snapped toward the incoming storm of heroes, his glowing gaze locking onto the champion of the gods.
The air hummed as his body restructured—
Faster. Stronger. Optimized.
The next attack would not land so easily.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The ruins of Metropolis stretched out before them, a graveyard of twisted steel and shattered glass. Smoke still billowed from the epicenter of the explosion, thick plumes rising like funeral pyres against the dimming sky. The scent of ozone and scorched concrete filled the air, an acrid reminder of the devastation that had unfolded.
Otto's lenses adjusted, filtering through the haze as his mechanical arms shifted, recalibrating for the uneven terrain. Elementia's real-time mapping was precise—digital projections layered over his vision, charting the most efficient path through the wreckage. Every step calculated. Every move optimized.
"We're closing in on Superman's last known coordinates," Otto announced, his voice cutting through the static of their comms.
Batman scanned the ruined landscape, his sharp gaze already three steps ahead. "We don't assume he's dead. If anyone could survive this, it's him."
The Flash, a crimson blur, zipped past overturned vehicles and collapsed skyscrapers, his speed kicking up gusts of wind that parted the thick dust clouds. Then, he suddenly skidded to a halt, his voice crackling over their comms.
"I've got something!"
Otto and Batman moved swiftly, navigating the treacherous terrain. When they arrived, the sight before them was grim.
A massive crater had torn through the Financial District, a deep scar carved into the earth by sheer devastation. Hundreds of feet deep. The ground around it was unstable, cracked edges crumbling into the abyss below.
And at the bottom, buried beneath layers of concrete and twisted rebar, lay Superman. And Superboy.
Their bodies were battered, their suits torn, scorched, barely holding together. Superman's iconic 'S' emblem remained visible, but just barely—it was marred with soot, the fabric beneath streaked with blood. His normally unyielding form lay motionless, chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths.
Beside him, Superboy was in even worse shape. Half-buried beneath the wreckage, his body was riddled with burns and lacerations. The upper skin of his face had been seared away, exposing raw, blistered flesh beneath.
Otto's scanners flared to life, processing the data in real-time. Vital signs—weak, but present. Their injuries were severe—internal trauma, multiple fractures, and signs of extreme heat exposure. Superboy's body trembled faintly, the only indication that he was still alive.
They were barely holding on. And time was running out.
Otto wasted no time. His mechanical arms whirred, recalibrating in an instant. His advanced lenses zoomed in on their injuries, running rapid diagnostics. Superman's cells were failing—his Kryptonian physiology struggling without direct exposure to solar radiation. Superboy's hybrid DNA was even more unstable, his body barely clinging to life.
"Stand back," Otto commanded, his voice sharp, decisive.
Batman took a step away, watching closely but saying nothing. The Flash, usually one to crack a joke even in dire situations, remained silent, his expression grim.
Otto's mechanical arms split apart, intricate components shifting with surgical precision. He adjusted the energy output, rerouting power from his suit's reserves into his new emergency protocol—Solar Healing Laser Emitters.
Golden light gathered at the tips of his metallic appendages, the glow intensifying as he drove them directly into Superman and Superboy's chests.
The effect was immediate.
The beams pulsed with concentrated yellow solar radiation, flooding their bodies with the energy they so desperately needed. Superman's body convulsed before stabilizing, his breathing deepening. His burned flesh began to mend, cells absorbing the revitalizing power like a dying star reigniting.
Superboy, however, reacted differently. His hybrid physiology resisted at first, his body twitching violently as the solar energy fought to take hold. His exposed, burned face regenerated at an uneven pace, skin knitting itself back together in jagged patches before smoothing out. His breaths came in ragged gasps, but he was stabilizing—barely.
"His Kryptonian half is absorbing it, but his human DNA is slowing the process," Otto noted, adjusting the emitter's frequency. More solar energy, less heat. A finer balance.
Seconds felt like an eternity. The battlefield around them remained eerily still—just the hum of Otto's healing lasers and the crackling fires in the distance.
Then—
Superman's eyes snapped open.
In a sudden motion, he shot upright, his body surging with newfound strength. The sheer force of his awakening sent a shockwave rippling through the crater, shaking the earth beneath them. Loose rubble tumbled down the impact zone as his body instinctively stabilized, his immense power causing the ground to tremble before he forced it under control.
His breathing was heavy at first—then steady. His muscles tensed, his suit still torn and scorched, but his presence was as imposing as ever.
And then, he remembered.
The battle. The Android. The destruction. The innocent lives lost. Metropolis—his city—lying in ruins.
Superman's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening under the pressure. His heart pounded, the weight of failure and devastation settling over him like an unshakable shadow. His eyes burned red, the heat of his emotions threatening to ignite the raw, seething power within him. Anger swelled—righteous, devastating, unrelenting.
For a moment, the air itself hummed with the tension of barely restrained fury.
But then—he exhaled.
Superman forced himself to calm, pushing the rage down, swallowing the grief. Now was not the time to lose himself to anger. Now was the time to act.
His glowing gaze shifted, locking onto Superior Spider-Man first.
Otto did not flinch, his lenses reflecting Superman's burning eyes as he analyzed him, ensuring stability. "You're welcome," Otto stated, his mechanical arms retracting with a precise, calculated motion. "I expect this gratitude to be repaid in competence."
Superman's gaze flickered, his anger cooling—not gone, but contained. He turned next to Batman.
The Dark Knight met his stare with unwavering resolve. No words were exchanged. None were needed.
A silent understanding passed between them.
Metropolis was in ruins. The battle was far from over.
And somewhere out there, A.M.O.R.R.O. was still waiting.
Superior Spider-Man's mechanical arms whirred with purpose, each appendage engaged in critical operations. While one arm maintained the precise application of solar healing lasers on Superboy, the others shifted into action, releasing a stream of microscopic, liquid-metal constructs—nanites, but not just any nanites.
This was OBLIVION PROTOCOL.
(Omniadaptive Binary Liquid-Virus Infiltration & Overwriting Nanites)
The swarm of gleaming black-silver nanomachines spiraled outward, rapidly assembling in midair, moving with mechanical precision and unnatural intelligence. Unlike crude, mindless consumption engines, these nanites thought, calculated, and adapted—a hive-mind of evolving warfare, guided by Otto's superior intellect.
A stark contrast to Dr. Roquette's creation—The Fog.
The original Fog was a viral nanotechnology weapon developed by Dr. Serling Roquette, designed for mass consumption of data and materials. It was ruthless in its simplicity, disassembling everything in its path, from computers to entire buildings, without distinction. A scourge of uncontrolled destruction, a machine built to consume, but never create.
OBLIVION was different.
The Fog devoured without thought; OBLIVION repurposed. It assimilated materials, integrated knowledge, and rebuilt itself, ensuring that it did not merely erase but evolved.
The Fog was a mindless swarm; OBLIVION was a sentient hive. Each nanite within OBLIVION was connected, processing data in real-time, adapting its strategies, and operating under a single, unified intelligence—Superior Spider-Man's.
The Fog was destruction incarnate; OBLIVION was war perfected. With its ability to shift, repair, and counteract enemy technology, it wasn't just an eraser of the battlefield—it was the battlefield itself, changing at Otto's command.
As the nanites converged, liquid metal coiling and restructuring with surgical precision, something new began to take form.
A weapon, unlike anything Metropolis had ever seen.
A sword—its surface fluid yet impossibly sharp, its form shifting at the quantum level, adapting in real time to its wielder's intent. Unlike conventional weapons, which relied on static metallurgy, this blade functioned on molecular-phase manipulation, allowing it to alter its density, vibrational frequency, and cutting power on demand.
The weapon hummed, resonating at an oscillatory rate that destabilized atomic bonds, making it capable of slicing through even the most reinforced materials.
Superior Spider-Man held the weapon aloft for a brief moment, his lenses narrowing in calculated satisfaction. Then, without hesitation, he extended it toward Superman.
"Use it."
His voice was cold, clinical—devoid of emotion, yet carrying the undeniable weight of command.
Superman's gaze flickered from Otto to the weapon, then back again.
"That android has already managed to replicate half the League's powers."
Superman's eyes widened, the implications crashing down on him.
"Including yours?"
Otto's jaw tightened. "Unclear. But what is certain is that Android. is evolving at a rate that exceeds conventional countermeasures. Which is why you'll need this."
He gestured toward the blade.
"The OBLIVION sword isn't just a weapon. It's a mechanized infiltration system designed to disrupt, override, and systematically dismantle artificial intelligence at the molecular level."
Superman hesitated for only a fraction of a second before reaching for the weapon. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the nanites reacted—syncing to his bioelectric field, scanning his muscular feedback loops and adjusting their structure to match the tensile strength required for a Kryptonian grip.
"How does it work?"
Otto's lenses gleamed.
"Unlike conventional weapons, which rely on brute force to breach armor, OBLIVION operates through phased infiltration. Upon contact, the nanites will penetrate A.M.O.R.R.O.'s molecular lattice, embedding themselves within its neural core."
Superman studied the blade, feeling the way it seemed to shift, almost breathing in his grasp.
"And then?"
Otto's mechanical arms twitched, recalibrating his systems.
"Then it will begin dismantling him from the inside out. Not by consuming him—but by rewriting him. The nanites will systematically corrupt his internal command pathways, shutting down higher functions and forcing critical failures in his power replication matrix. In essence, A.M.O.R.R.O. won't just be damaged—he will be erased from within, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but an empty shell."
Superman exhaled sharply. He had fought countless enemies before—beings of incomprehensible strength, gods, titans—but never had he wielded a weapon like this.
A sword that didn't just destroy—it dominated.
His grip tightened.
His gaze swept across his allies—Superior Spider-Man, ever-calculating; Batman, coldly resolute; Flash, silent yet ready; and Superboy, still recovering, his breathing labored but steady.
Superman turned away. No words were needed.
In the next instant, he was gone.
A thunderous sonic boom tore through the ruined city as Superman launched himself toward A.M.O.R.R.O., the OBLIVION blade pulsing with raw, adaptive energy—a weapon engineered not just to destroy, but to overwrite, to dominate. This battle was reaching its final phase.
But Otto Octavius was not done yet.
His lenses flickered with intricate data streams as he assessed the battlefield, his mind a storm of calculations. Superboy was stabilizing, but far from battle-ready. The city's structural integrity was compromised. And the threat wasn't just A.M.O.R.R.O.—it was the fallout of the fight itself.
With cold, mechanical precision, Superior Spider-Man extended his neural link—not just across the battlefield, but beyond the atmosphere, into the void of deep space.
And with a single command, he activated [APOLLO].
[Miss Martian, prepare the Bio-Ship.] Otto's voice resonated through the mental link, an undeniable command laced with calculated precision. [It's time for you to play your part.]
A pause. Then, her voice echoed back in his mind, steady but expectant.
[Understood.]
A/N:🔷 [Power Stone] 🔷
What do you think of OBLIVION PROTOCOL?