While Alex and Diana were immersed in their game, far from their peaceful setting, eyes hidden in the shadows began turning toward Luthor. His recent actions had not gone unnoticed.
Many, already wary of Luthor's movements, were shaken when the news spread—Klarion, the Lord of Chaos, was dead. Truly dead.
Klarion wasn't just a magical entity bound to Earth. He was a being from a higher dimension, his existence anchored to this plane through his familiar, his cat. Normally, even if his physical form was destroyed, Klarion's essence would return to the higher realm, regenerating over time.
But this time… there was nothing. No flicker of life. No energy trace. Even his true form, his higher-dimensional self, had been extinguished. The implications were staggering. This wasn't just a death. It was an erasure. And it sent shockwaves through the multiverse.
For the first time in eons, the other Lords of Chaos stirred—not to sow disorder, but to investigate. The death of one of their own, in both body and essence, was something that had never happened before.
And now… their attention was locked on this universe. Not in hunger for chaos, but in deep, focused curiosity and fear. They needed to know one thing: What had the power to kill a Lord of Chaos so completely?
For something in the lower dimension to kill a higher being's avatar—and for that death to carry over and destroy their true form—it terrified them. This wasn't natural. This wasn't supposed to be possible.
The Lords of Chaos weren't the only ones disturbed. Whispers spread across higher dimensions. Entities of power, many who hadn't looked toward the lower realms in eons, began to search—curious, cautious, and above all, afraid.
"Odd… I don't remember killing Klarion." A woman dressed in dark gothic attire strolled down a crowded Earth street, an ornate black umbrella resting over her shoulder. Her voice was calm, almost bored, but her eyes were distant, lost in thought as she considered the growing disturbance rippling through the multiverse.
Without warning, the world around her twisted. In the next blink, she stood in the ruined wasteland where Trigon's lifeless body lay sprawled, massive and unmoving.
She didn't acknowledge Superman or even Raven, who was still scanning the area, desperately trying to locate the presence of the so-called Grim Reaper. Instead, the woman quietly closed her umbrella with a soft click and stepped forward, her gaze fixed solely on Trigon.
The way Trigon had died… it looked like she had done it. The death was too clean, too final. It matched her signature. But she rarely killed anyone.
Sure, she didn't like Trigon, but she wouldn't go out of her way to eliminate him. That wasn't her role. Her job wasn't to interfere, yes, sometimes she ignored her job, but she had always had her reasons… and Trigon was a figure too small to make her act unless he did something to make her act… and he never did.
Her eyes drifted toward the crowd, toward the area Raven had been pointing to, claiming the grim reaper was among them. Curious, she moved forward, walking silently through the people. But no matter how long she searched… she found nothing. And that was strange.
Her sensory capabilities were far beyond Raven's. She didn't just detect death—she was death. The embodiment of it, in all its forms. She was one of the strongest entities in existence. So how could Raven sense something… she couldn't?
She was life and death. And with that, she was nearly all-knowing. But the deeper she tried to trace the source of Trigon's death, the more she came up empty. Not a thread, not a ripple, not even a shadow of the force responsible. Her brow furrowed.
"Did I take on a mortal form again… in the future?" she murmured to herself, a quiet frown settling on her lips.
It wouldn't be the first time. In the past, she had occasionally descended into the mortal realm, taking on a human form to experience life from their perspective. During those times, she masked her existence completely, shielding herself from the prying senses of gods, demons, and other forces who might try to interfere.
But something about this felt… off. If she truly had taken a mortal form again… Why would she keep her powers active?
Had something occurred that even her near-omniscience couldn't see through? The thought unsettled her.
She looked down at Trigon's massive corpse, eyes narrowing in thought, before silently lifting her hand. Whatever had happened to him—whatever erased his essence—she began to undo it.
Trigon's time had not yet come. His death had not been written. So she adjusted the order of things, subtly weaving his fate back into the fabric of existence. Given enough time, he would return… as he was meant to.
She was Death—one of the Endless. Though many called her the grim reaper, her role extended far beyond guiding souls or ending lives. Hers was a presence that transcended flesh. Dreams, destinies, stories, even the rise and fall of ideas—these, too, lived and died.
Yes… It did feel like whatever had happened to Trigon was something she might've done—only on a smaller, incomplete scale. Whoever killed him didn't possess the full extent of her capabilities.
It was as if someone had just enough of her essence to mimic her work, but not her powers.
Curious, she took another step and reappeared elsewhere, unnoticed. Now, she stood in a quiet neighborhood, watching a boy about to bully another. The moment was frozen in simplicity—one fist drawn back, a smirk on the aggressor's face.
But before the punch landed, the bully suddenly collapsed to the ground, dead. Her brow arched. And then she looked at the kid who had been about to be attacked.The boy hadn't moved. He didn't seem surprised.
Time slowed to a crawl—then stopped entirely. She knelt down on one knee before the boy, her expression unreadable as the world hung in perfect stillness around them.
She had heard whispers before—rumors of people dying without her presence, souls slipping through the cracks while she was elsewhere. At the time, she'd dismissed it as noise. She had been preoccupied in another universe, dealing with a being who refused to die.
No matter how many times that villain was slain, he would slip past her grasp—his soul elusive, slippery like mist. And worse… he absorbed the abilities of those who killed him, growing stronger each time.
It had consumed her focus for too long. And now, as she knelt before this boy, she understood what she had missed.
"I see…" she whispered, releasing a slow, steady breath. It all made sense now. This young man, Alex, wasn't just another anomaly.
He was her son. Not in the traditional sense. As a concept, she had no true physical form. She could not bear children in the way mortals did. But there were other ways. Ways she allowed—or failed to prevent.
Whether by her will or through an act of power she hadn't foreseen… Alex had come into existence. In fact, she—like the other members of the Endless—was not immune to magic.
For all their power, they were still bound by certain rules. The Endless were susceptible to the influence of rituals and ancient rules. With the right incantation, they could be summoned. They could even be imprisoned.
It had happened before. Not long ago, her brother, Dream, was drawn into the mortal realm by a spell that was originally meant to summon her. Dream had been the one caught, trapped in a binding that lasted for years.
Of course, such magic wasn't ordinary. Only the most arcane, the most precise forms of magic could ever hope to touch the Endless. And even then, what was summoned or bound was never their true self.
What appeared was always a manifestation—a fragment of their vast being. For the Endless were not creatures of flesh or soul. They were ideas made real. Concepts woven into the fabric of creation itself.
Death, Dream, Destiny, Despair… they were the forces that gave shape to existence. And the form she took now was merely a shadow of what she truly was.
What Alex was… was surprisingly simple. In some distant universe, someone had tried to conquer death. In their desperate pursuit of immortality, they turned to magic. And in the process, they unwittingly triggered something far beyond their understanding.
That spell, that ambition, led to the birth of Alex. Just as beings like Darkseid had avatars scattered across the multiverse—fragments of their will acting in different worlds—so too did she. Death, the Endless, existed in many forms at once.
And at some point, one of those manifestations was used, without her knowing, to give rise to Alex. She hadn't sensed it at the time.
When Alex was born, she never felt the shift. Though he shared the same core power, his abilities grew apart from hers, reshaped themselves, evolving uniquely to fit him.
And in the future, when Alex learned to hide it. He masked his presence so thoroughly that even she couldn't see him—not in the present, and not even by peering backward through time. Only when she saw the power being used before her eyes did she know who Alex was.
"To think I had a son… and by the looks of it, he is the embodiment…" she whispered, her voice trailing off as a distant, almost lost look settled in her eyes.
She was Death—the embodiment of endings, the one who closed the book when the story of a being, a world, or even a universe reached its final chapter. She governed the balance between life and death, a constant presence woven through the fabric of existence.
And yet, Alex… he was something else entirely. To the multiverse, to reality itself, he wasn't just an extension of her power. He was more complex—more layered.
Of course, if she ever bore a child, even unintentionally, that child would have to be something unique—something reality itself would take note of. And Alex… summed that up perfectly.
He was still young, still growing. In the grand scope of things, he was but a baby, barely scratching the surface of what he would one day become.
She moved backward through time, her form unbound by the usual rules of causality. She had already seen the loop of events that would unfold—the moments that would shape Alex's life.
When he first appeared, seemingly from nowhere, it was she who ensured he received support. It was Death who influenced the government to provide him with financial aid, allowing him to live on his own despite having no family or records.
When he needed to move away from Gotham? She was the one who quietly made sure the funds were there.
Yes—she was from the future. It was confusing, but it made sense in the way only the Endless could comprehend. She had gone backward in time to influence events already in motion. It created the illusion of a closed loop.
But if you thought about it carefully, it revealed a paradox. For Alex to have grown up with her silent support, and for her not to have known who he truly was until now—before the loop began—meant that in the original timeline, Alex must have grown up without her help.
And yet… he didn't. Because, despite the paradox, her actions were not part of some closed cycle. Why? The answer was simple: Alex was her son. But that's enough of that for now.
And now, time returned to the present, where Alex and Diana were sitting side by side, still immersed in Blood of Zeus, their characters clashing mid-battle like stubborn teens locked in a heated debate.
"Why are we killing Medusa like she's the villain?" Alex exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "She's not evil—she was cursed! I say we find a way to help her and convince her to join us!"
"She slaughtered a whole empire; her past trauma doesn't excuse her crimes," Diana snapped back, her eyes locked on the screen.
"And yet you're willing to overlook the ones who gave her that trauma?" Alex replied, clearly annoyed. "Was it not Poseidon who raped her? Was it not Athena who punished Medusa for being a victim, instead of going after Poseidon? I say we target the root of the problem."
Diana hesitated, her fingers briefly stalling over the controller. That pause was all Alex needed—he struck swiftly, defeating her character before she could recover.