fantasy
DC universe
53
The streets were silent, save for the muted hum of flickering streetlights. A cold mist coiled around the towering ruins of a battle long past, where the blood of innocents had been spilled by hands wielding extraordinary power. In the heart of this desolation stood a figure cloaked in shadow, a scythe gleaming faintly in one hand—a specter, timeless and unyielding. Death had come, not with fanfare, but with purpose.
The Justice League’s arrival shattered the quiet like a thunderclap. Superman descended first, his presence a beacon of moral clarity, though his face was etched with tension. Wonder Woman followed, silent and observant, the weight of a growing trust in this enigmatic figure pressing on her conscience. Batman lingered in the dark, distrust fueling his sharp gaze as he scanned the scene.
“You’ve gone too far,” Superman’s voice rang out, firm yet conflicted, as his eyes met the hooded figure’s. “This isn’t justice.”
Death did not turn, though their voice carried through the still air—a tone neither male nor female, resonating as if the universe itself spoke. “Justice? Justice delays the inevitable. They would have killed again. Perhaps next time, a child. A family. Another city.” The hood tilted, faintly acknowledging them. “I am here to stop the blood before it flows.”
“They were restrained,” Batman cut in, stepping forward. “You could have turned them in.”
Death’s gaze finally shifted to them, though no eyes were visible beneath the hood. “Prisons are temporary. Death is not. They proved they couldn’t exist within your laws. Shall I wait until they prove me right again?”
As the League stood divided, it was Wonder Woman who broke the impasse. “And who decides the line between mercy and judgment?” she asked, her voice steady but searching.
“The line decides itself,” Death answered, their tone unwavering. “And I merely ensure it is not crossed again.”
