The vortex of dark energy erupting from the sarcophagus slammed into Superman with unexpected force, sending the Man of Steel staggering back. The energy felt strangely… corrupting, a malevolent force that prickled his invulnerable skin and left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"What is this power?" Superman grunted, regaining his footing, his eyes narrowed at Michael.
"The future, Superman," Michael replied, his voice echoing with dark amusement. He raised the ancient tome, and the script on its pages glowed with an ominous intensity. "A future I am now free to write."
Before the League could coordinate a response, Michael unleashed his first strike. He read a line from the writhing text, the words resonating with power: "Let the speed of thought become the speed of action!"
In an instant, Michael moved with a blinding, impossible velocity, not the raw speed of the Flash, but a teleportational swiftness that defied perception. He appeared behind Wonder Woman, the ancient tome slamming into her back with the force of a runaway train. The Amazonian warrior, caught completely off guard, cried out as she was sent hurtling across the chamber, crashing into a crumbling stone pillar.
"Diana!" Superman exclaimed, his concern flaring.
"Such predictable concern for your allies," Michael drawled, his glowing emerald eyes fixed on Superman. "A weakness I intend to exploit." He read another line: "Let the strength of mountains crumble before a whispered command!"
The ground beneath Superman's feet buckled and cracked, fissures spider-webbing outwards with alarming speed. The Man of Steel struggled to maintain his footing as the very foundations of the ancient structure seemed to turn against him.
Batman, ever the strategist, reacted instantly. He deployed a series of sonic disruptors, hoping to interfere with the magical energies emanating from the tome. "Zatanna, can you counter this magic?" he yelled, firing grappling lines to maneuver through the collapsing chamber.
"I'm trying, but it's unlike anything I've encountered," Zatanna replied, her hands weaving intricate magical gestures, her voice strained. "It's raw, chaotic… and it's being channeled through Michael's will."
Michael simply chuckled, reading another passage: "Let silence become a deafening roar!"
An invisible wave of force slammed into the League, not a physical blow, but an overwhelming sensory assault that felt like their very eardrums were about to rupture. Superman staggered, clutching his head in pain, while Wonder Woman, though more resilient to such attacks, winced and momentarily lost her footing.
"He's using the words themselves as weapons!" Flash exclaimed, his speed the only thing allowing him to evade Michael's unpredictable attacks. He attempted to close the distance, hoping to reason with his former ally, but Michael simply read another line: "Let the fastest become the slowest!"
Suddenly, the Flash's movements became sluggish, his incredible speed reduced to a crawl as if he were moving through thick molasses. He stumbled, an easy target.
"Barry!" Green Arrow yelled, firing a volley of specialized arrows – sonic dampeners, binding cables, even a cryo arrow – hoping to disrupt Michael's attacks. But Michael simply read: "Let all projectiles turn to harmless dust!"
The arrows, mid-flight, crumbled into inert particles, dissipating into the air like smoke. The League stared in disbelief. This wasn't just Michael wielding enhanced power; it was a fundamental manipulation of reality itself, fueled by the twisted magic of the tomb and his corrupted will.
"You see?" Michael said, his voice dripping with a chillingly arrogant satisfaction. "Your conventional tactics are useless against the power of the written word… when wielded by one who is no longer bound by its limitations."
He turned his attention back to Zatanna, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "And you, my dear Zee… always so quick with your little spells. Let's see how your magic fares against the author of its own undoing." He raised the tome, his eyes locking with hers, the emerald light within them burning with malevolent intent.
The League, battered, disoriented, and facing a former ally wielding power beyond their comprehension, knew they were in a fight for not just Michael's soul, but for their very survival. The familiar face before them wore a twisted grin, and the battle for Earth had just taken a devastatingly personal turn. They were divided, not by strategy, but by the horrifying realization of who their enemy had become.