The air was still thick with Aquaman's cutting words, the echo of his ultimatum ringing in everyone's minds. He strode towards the banks of the Hudson, his broad back turned to the United Nations building, indifferent to the media chaos he left in his wake. His gait was that of a sovereign who had delivered his verdict and expected no further discussion. The crowd, both fascinated and horrified, watched him go, understanding they had just witnessed something raw, primal. This wasn't politics. This was nature reclaiming its due.
Everyone could see how a king acted. No long dialogues, no empty words. Just the truth.
Just as he reached the water's edge, ready to dive and disappear into the depths, the sinister shriek of a missile tore through the sky.
The projectile, fired from an abandoned industrial building across the river, struck Aquaman's position with deadly accuracy. The explosion was blinding, an orange and black fireball that vaporized the water and hurled chunks of concrete and metal into the air. The shockwave hit the crowd like a physical wall, knocking people over, shattering the windows of nearby buildings. Screams, momentarily stifled by the blast, then erupted in a chorus of terror.
On the podium where the League still stood, everything froze.
"ARTHUR!" roared Superman, his eyes instantly flashing red.
"Sniper! Missile! Building at 2 o'clock!" Batman barked, his cape already billowing as he rushed to the edge of the terrace.
Utopian, his heart frozen, saw the impact point, the smoking crater where the King of the Seas had stood just seconds before. His superhuman senses went into overdrive, desperately searching for a sign of life amidst the debris.
"I don't see him!" cried Wonder Woman, her golden lasso already shimmering in her hand.
Chaos was total. Security tried to contain the panicking crowd, sirens from first responders wailed in the distance.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the churning, smoky waters of the Hudson. It wasn't Aquaman.
It was a man in a full-body black and red diving suit, his iconic helmet evoking the head of a manta ray with glowing red eyes. He held a smoking missile launcher on his shoulder. He stood, imposing and sinister, atop the ruins of the pier.
Black Manta.
His voice, distorted by his helmet's speaker, boomed over the chaos.
"The king is dead. Long live chaos."
With a gesture, he discarded the launcher and activated the thrusters in his boots, rising into the air, his own red eyes scanning the scene with murderous satisfaction. The mission was accomplished.
But as he prepared to flee, the waters of the Hudson at the base of the debris began to churn once more. With terrible slowness, a hand emerged, gripping a piece of shattered structure. Then an arm, then a torso.
Aquaman hauled himself out of the water, his golden armor scuffed and blackened, blood flowing from a gash on his forehead. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes burned with a pure, ancestral rage. He had been thrown into the water by the blast's concussive force, protected by the depth and his own superhuman constitution.
He fixed his gaze on Black Manta, and his roar was no longer that of a king, but of a wounded predator.
"MANTA!"
The battle, personal, brutal, was about to begin amidst the New York ruins, under the horrified gaze of the entire world. The Light's plan had failed to kill the king, but it had succeeded in igniting the war they desired.