Chapter 28

As Mongul's Warworld loomed over Earth, bringing planet-destroying weaponry and an unstoppable armada, the heroes of Earth fought with all their might.

Yet, in the shadows, evil never rested.

For while the Justice League and their allies battled a tyrant from the stars, another, more insidious force was already moving in silence—The Reach.

For millions of years, the insectoid alien race known as The Reach had been a force of domination and technological supremacy.

They were one of the most powerful empires in the universe, rivaled only by the Green Lantern Corps.

A war between them had nearly shattered the universe, forcing both sides into a stalemate.

The Green Lanterns, bound by their principles, had forced The Reach into a peace treaty—they were forbidden from conquering planets unless those planets willingly accepted them.

But The Reach was not bound by honor.

They continued to expand, not through war, but through subtlety, deception, and manipulation.

And their greatest tool?

The Scarab.

The Scarab was the pinnacle of The Reach's biotechnology.

A living weapon bonded to a host, it was meant to act as a perfect infiltrator—offering its user power while secretly ensuring their submission to The Reach's will.

When Jaime Reyes had bonded with one, The Reach had intended for him to be Earth's "protector", all while secretly making the world ripe for conquest.

But fate had other plans.

The Scarab had been on Earth for centuries, during which it had been corrupted by magic.

This had severed The Reach's control, allowing Jaime to develop free will.

With Jaime's guidance, the Scarab had resisted its original programming, turning into a force for good rather than an instrument of enslavement.

Yet, even without Jaime's Scarab, The Reach had never abandoned their plans for Earth.

Instead, they had turned to The Light—a human supremacy organization—to manipulate events from the shadows.

And now, with the Warworld arriving, they saw their opportunity.

In a hidden base, existing out of phase with the rest of the world, the Ambassador of The Reach observed the chaos unfolding.

On his screens, the heroes of Earth fought against Mongul's forces.

"Hmph. The arrogance of these primitives, believing they can resist galactic conquest."

A chitinous claw tapped against his console as he contemplated his next move.

Mongul was a brute, a warlord who used fear and destruction.

The Reach?

They were far more sophisticated.

And they would not allow a mere warlord to ruin their plans.

"Release the happiness gas," the Ambassador ordered.

Immediately, The Reach's agents moved.

Throughout major cities, invisible drones released colorless, odorless gas into the atmosphere.

Its effect?

To make the human population more "agreeable".

More docile.

More willing to accept The Reach when the time was right.

And while the heroes were occupied with Mongul, they wouldn't notice this silent invasion.

The Ambassador turned his gaze to his two operatives.

Two Scarab Warriors stood before him.

One was the Green Scarab, a loyal enforcer.

The other?

The Black Scarab—an assassin, invisible even to the most advanced detection methods.

"Green Scarab, assist the heroes. Make them trust us."

"Black Scarab, eliminate the magicians. Do not be seen."

The Green Scarab nodded, launching into action.

He would aid the heroes, positioning The Reach as Earth's saviors—all while ensuring they became dependent on The Reach's technology.

Meanwhile, the Black Scarab vanished.

His mission?

To assassinate Earth's magical defenders.

Because if Dr. Fate, Zatanna, or any other mystic forces discovered The Reach's true plans, they could undo centuries of preparation.

"Mongul may be the fire that burns the world," the Ambassador murmured. "But we shall be the hand that controls its ashes."

The Ambassador of The Reach watched the swirling images on his console, his compound eyes narrowing in irritation.

The situation had been under control.

For years, The Reach had embedded themselves within Earth's infrastructure, manipulating governments, and guiding human evolution in secret.

They had infiltrated institutions, monitored meta-gene carriers, and conducted covert experiments—all in pursuit of the ultimate goal: to replicate the meta-gene and create a new race of superpowered, controllable warriors.

And then, this.

Mongul's sudden reappearance had jeopardized everything.

If Warworld eradicated Earth, their centuries of investment would disappear in an instant.

Even worse?

The meta-gene's secrets would die with it.

And that?

That was unacceptable.

"Why did he appear in this sector?"

The Ambassador's mandibles clicked in agitation as he pondered the question.

The last reports indicated that Mongul had been licking his wounds, rebuilding Warworld after his humiliating loss at the hands of Superman.

But now, he had returned, and he had allied himself with another Kryptonian—one that was part machine.

The Ambassador's mind worked quickly, processing possibilities.

What did Mongul and Cyborg want from Earth?

Destruction?

Conquest?

Or was it something more dangerous—something connected to the meta-gene itself?

If Mongul had gained knowledge of the meta-gene's potential…

If he intended to use Warworld as a means to extract it…

Then Earth wasn't just collateral damage.

It was the prize.

The metallic moon loomed in the sky, casting its eerie glow upon the world below.

From the shores of Themyscira, Donna Troy watched in silence.

Warworld.

A harbinger of destruction, a war engine driven by conquest and cruelty.

A battlefield where heroes bled and worlds died.

She could feel it—the weight of the moment pressing against her chest, urging her to act.

Yet, she stood motionless.

Her fingers clenched into fists, a quiet storm raging within her.

"Are you thinking of going?"

Her mother's voice was gentle yet knowing.

Hippolyta had always seen through her.

Donna turned, trying to mask her uncertainty, but her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Why would you think that?"

A weak defense.

A question that barely held weight, even to herself.

"Because your sister is not here, and they are missing many members."

"I thought you would consider helping them out."

Donna stiffened.

Diana.

She had always been the first to act, the first to fight, the first to inspire.

A guiding light.

A pillar of strength.

And yet, without her, the world still needed saving.

The heroes had already rushed to battle, and the younger team had been sent to infiltrate Warworld—a suicide mission if things went wrong.

They were outnumbered. Outgunned.

They needed help.

And yet…

Am I even ready to fight?

Donna sighed, rubbing her temples.

"I don't know what to do."

There it was—her honesty, bare and unguarded.

She had never struggled with doubt before.

She had never been the one to hesitate.

But since that day…

Since the loss…

Since the void had opened within her…

She hadn't been able to find herself again.

Everything had changed.

She had changed.

She had fought before—alongside immortals and mortals alike.

She had stood against tyrants, monsters, and conquerors.

But no battle had ever felt as difficult as the one she fought inside herself.

She felt adrift.

A warrior without purpose.

A hero without conviction.

A legend who no longer believed in her own strength.

What if I fail?

What if I make things worse?

What if I can't protect them?

Her heart clenched, her thoughts spiraling.

She saw flashes of the past—

Bloodied hands. Shattered hopes. The weight of loss.

It had all felt so cruelly inevitable.

Like no matter how hard they fought, death always won in the end.

Her mother's voice broke through her storming thoughts.

"Why think too much, my child? We are a warrior race, so follow your instincts. What does your heart want?"

Donna opened her mouth, but no words came.

What did her heart want?

Was there even an answer?

"Is it really that simple?"

Hippolyta smiled, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"It is as complicated as you make it to be."

"Following the heart is only the beginning."

"By living here, you are only trapping yourself with those memories."

"Only a dynamic life can bring you change."

A dynamic life.

A life in motion.

Not stagnation, not regret, not paralysis.

Action.

The Amazon way.

For the first time in a long time, something within Donna stirred.

The embers of a fire she thought had burned out.

It wasn't confidence.

Not yet.

But it was a step.

She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers.

Hands that had once protected so many.

Hands that could still make a difference.

She closed her eyes and saw it—

Not just the death that could come if she failed—

But the lives she could save if she tried.

She inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of her decision settle into her bones.

"Mother… I will be going out."

"I will see if I can find the answer."

Hippolyta studied her for a moment, then nodded in approval.

"I will pray for your success."

"And I hope to see that shining smile of yours once more."

Donna gave a small, hesitant nod.

She wasn't the same girl she used to be.

She wasn't sure if she would ever be that person again.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

She could be someone new.

And for now, that was enough.

The sky burned.

A massive, metallic moon hovered above the Earth—a war machine, a looming symbol of destruction and death.

The world was fighting back.

And Wally West was watching from afar.

He told himself it didn't matter.

That his absence meant nothing.

Barry was there.

There was already a Flash—the one who carried the name, the mantle, the legacy.

Nobody needed Kid Flash anymore.

He wasn't indispensable.

He wasn't a game-changer.

So why go back?

Why throw himself into the chaos when the world was already covered in heroes?

Why risk everything again?

It made no sense.

And yet…

Why did it feel so damn wrong to just stand here?

Wally leaned against the balcony of his apartment, staring at the burning sky.

His fingers twitched, his muscles tensed, his body ached to run.

To move.

To fight.

He could feel it—the pull.

That unrelenting, unbearable desire to do what he was born to do.

I could be out there right now.

I could help.

I could make a difference.

His mind screamed at him to move, but his feet stayed still.

Because deep down, he feared the truth.

Do I really want to be a hero again?

Or was it just… nostalgia?

A desperate longing for the glory days, back when things were simpler?

Before he truly understood the cost?

Being a hero wasn't just about running fast.

It wasn't just about saving people.

It was about sacrifice.

And Wally had seen too much of it.

Too many friends lost.

Too many lives shattered.

Too many heroes who never got their happy ending.

Superman will never have a normal life.

Batman will never know true peace.

Wonder Woman is bound to a duty that never ends.

They never stop.

They never get to walk away.

And even if they did, their past always caught up to them.

A normal life?

That was a fantasy.

An impossible dream for people like them.

And yet…

He wanted it.

More than anything, he wanted it.

He wanted to be with his family.

He wanted to grow old without looking over his shoulder.

He wanted to love without fear that one day his enemies would take it all away.

He wanted a life where he wasn't running toward death every single day.

Was that so wrong?

Was it so wrong to want to live instead of constantly fighting to survive?

And yet…

How could he stand here and do nothing?

He had power.

He had skill.

He had experience.

And right now, people were dying.

His friends were out there, risking their lives.

Fighting for something bigger than themselves.

Fighting to save a world that he still called home.

And what was he doing?

Standing here?

Watching?

Making excuses?

His heart pounded in his chest.

He could feel it—the war inside him, the endless cycle of doubt and desire, clashing violently in his soul.

What did he want?

What did he truly want?

A normal life?

Or…

To be Kid Flash again?

To be the hero he was meant to be?

A loud explosion shook the sky.

He clenched his fists.

His heart raced.

His body screamed for movement.

Run.

Run.

Run.

And yet, his feet stayed still.