"I'm strong…" Omen muttered, his voice calm, almost detached. "But she will be the only one granted an easy death."
And then, he vanished. Moving with blinding speed, Omen appeared before each guard in a blur. Before they could even react, they were struck down, knocked unconscious in an instant.
When the dust settled, every guard lay motionless on the floor. He stripped them of their gear and uniforms, fashioning makeshift ropes from their clothing. One by one, he dragged them to a wall and chained them up, securing their arms and legs with precise knots—tight, inescapable. He checked each one, ensuring none could free themselves.
Then he swept through the facility, room by room, disabling and capturing every last researcher and guard he found. When he was finished, he stood in the center of the facility, surrounded by the bound and unconscious.
Eight researchers. Twenty guards. He had expected more. But when he stepped outside and saw the endless expanse of sand and heat stretching to the horizon, he understood.
"I died a total of 174 times… interesting," Omen muttered as he scrolled through the experimental logs.
Line after line detailed his torture, dissection, and execution, each entry clinical and heartless. But to him, it was data. Confirmation.
He had kept his secret well. None of them knew that each time someone other than him killed him, he came back stronger. It was something he had learned to control. He could suppress his strength, remain "human" if he chose to some limit. Like everything else, it was another skill to master.
'I seem to master everything I gain… even the strength itself.' He leaned back in the chair, lost in thought. 'But there's something more…'
His eyes narrowed. 'I think I gain the strength of the person who kills me.' He remembered the many times he died. Each time, he returned with seemingly there physical strength. And when he listened to their screams, he absorbed their skills.
When Batwoman killed him, he gained everything, her physical peak, her tactical mind, her precision. Meanwhile, screams gave him something else. Not power, not raw strength—but skill. Experience. Knowledge he hadn't earned but now owned.
'I don't know if I can gain someone's powers through death…' he thought, pacing the ruined lab, 'or by hearing their scream.'
But he was going to find out. Because of the idea of listening to someone like Superwoman scream? That thought made his pulse quicken. Not out of fear, but out of sheer twisted and demonic hunger.
"Now…" Omen murmured, tapping his chin. "How do I torture them—and their families?"
He paced slowly, mind racing with ideas.. "They probably love them. Which makes this… personal."
For a moment, he thought. Then a spark lit behind his eyes. The Atom. A hero with the power to alter size—shrink people down to microscopic levels. Omen didn't have that ability yet… but hopefully he could.
He smiled to himself before rushing to where the bound researchers and guards were kept. Many by now were awake, Omen had taken his twin, getting the information.
"Sadly, I can't bring your families here. And I can't stay with you forever…" He reached for tools, voice low, almost tender. "So let's make our goodbye special."
Far away, within Alex Coup, Alexis Luthor sat before her desk, her eyes fixed on the surveillance feed, which showed the sight of Omen torturing the guards and researchers. She felt a chill, the sight of someone enjoying the screams of others, going as far as to record their screams to listen to them later… was that not scary?
How about when Omen grabbed anything, just to stick it inside the female's holes? Omen made sure they were all alive, and he had this innocent curiosity about it, while watching just how they would react. Omen learned quickly, finding means to have the target scream their lungs out.
Alexis thought she was ruthless, but watching the sight of Omen finding out one of the females was pregnant, cut them open, just giving hell to the baby made her sick. But in the end, Omen found no pleasure in that, instead, he used the unborn child to torture the others, forcing them all to eat it, along with many other things that shouldn't be put into worlds.
Alexis knew about the Joker, he thought the mad clown was crazy… but Omen put the clown the shame. Omen seemed to have no bottom line, so long as it would torture someone, he would happily do it to hear them scream.
The sight only grew more and more cruel as Omen pushes the limits. You thought Omen having them eat the unborn child was cruel? No, that was just the beginning. He put them through hell, ensuring they sang for him.
The cruelest part was that the pain they felt now wasn't even close to what they'd endured on the table. This—this was just for Omen's enjoyment.
Hours passed. One by one, they collapsed to the ground, broken and barely breathing. But Omen didn't care. He forced them to keep singing for him—like a child refusing to let the fun end.
"You're a monster," one of the researchers whispered, just before she breathed her last. Luthor watched with a calm expression, though her mind was racing, calculating ways to either use Omen or destroy him.
"Yes… I'm a monster," Omen said softly. "And I'm going to be the final boss. The villain to the villain. The nightmare of the heroes."
His grin widened. "I'll make the whole universe scream… and I'll start with this small blue planet."
Alexis Luthor stood up at once, her eyes fixed on the screen. He was shocked by Omen's plans; he expected revenge or something, but Omen just wanted chaos.
"Bring him in. This mad man might be trouble if we let him run loose," Alexis said to her assistant, who doubled as her personal bodyguard.
Omen was far too dangerous. He could hack systems in seconds, thrived on the suffering of others, and seemed to grow stronger with each death, through means she still didn't fully understand.
"Understood," the bodyguard replied, turning to carry out the order.
Alexis didn't move. Her eyes remained locked on the screen. Omen was staring directly into the camera. That's when she realized—he had done all of it on purpose, right in front of the lens. For her. So she could watch.
With her jaw tightening, Alexis reached for her secure line and made a call to one of her government contacts. Andrew Waller.
"Sigh… who should I target?" Omen muttered, tapping his fingers against the side of a chair. "I need someone with real potential…"
Then he smiled. "I know who."
Wasting no time, he headed to the underground garage and jumped into one of the parked cars. Pulling out his new phone, he watched a quick YouTube video—just long enough to learn how to hotwire it.
Seconds later, the engine roared to life. With a few quick searches, he located his next target. And then he was gone, driving toward Louisiana.
The Watchtower, home of the Justice League, floated silently in orbit above Earth. Massive in scale and equipped with technology far beyond its time, it stood as a symbol of protection and power.
Not every hero could fly there on their own, so most used the teleportation system, a marvel built using tech derived from a Mother Box brought to Earth during one of Darkseid's invasions.
"I heard you and Louis Lane just started dating," The Flash said casually, resting his arm on Superman's shoulders. She gave him a playful shove to the back of the head, smirking.
"Yeah, he was the one who asked me out," Superwoman said with a sad smile. "I was going to say no… I don't want to drag him into this life."
She glanced at the Flash.
"How do you do it? You're married, and he knows everything about… this?" she asked, genuinely curious.
The Flash chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. Superwoman's eyes flicked to Batwoman, standing silently across the room. For months now, she'd been avoiding League duty, her focus locked on one mission, finding someone
She'd even asked for backup in Gotham, something unheard of from her. She was always prepared, always in control. But now? She was distracted. Obsessed.
Flash was just about to explain how she managed his double life when the Watchtower's alarms suddenly blared to life. Red lights suddenly pulsed.