"As much as we make plans and whatnot. I can't hope to defeat Blackfire. The least I can do is grab her attention and take her far from here. She has become a white lantern. Dark wanted to take her out but also wanted to do it slowly… if only…" Kyla-el paused as she waited for any questions.
"She is in tune with all life, and life is in tune with her. Honestly, the safest bet would be to kill all of you and make you into undead so as to resist her control over you, because once she moves, it's over. It all becomes moot."
The rooftop ate their silence, and all that could be heard was a night wind in return—cool, steady, tasting faintly of rain and distant smoke.
A ring of seats surrounded the long table, and on that table lay a scatter of half-finished drinks and Beast Boy's crumbs. The idea of being made undead—of having their flesh reshaped, their life force twisted—was too much for even this strange collection of killers, outcasts, and heroines.
The city glittered far below like a sea of tumbling stars, but nobody was looking out; every gaze was fixed on Kyla-el.
The breath they all took at once when she mentioned undeath was almost funny in its unity. Not a scream, not a cry—just one sharp intake from the entire gathering, stopping just short of a collective curse. The idea landed in their minds like a fist on cold iron: to be remade beyond breath, to stand where life ends and something else begins, just so Blackfire's control would snarl and snap on empty air.
"But that would be going too far anyway," Kyla-el said softly.
She breathed out, slow, and let her eyelids ease shut. As they fell, the glow from her eyes faded completely as she let them rest, as though sealing away the very concept of the idea. The rooftop dimmed, subtly, as though her calm drew a veil over everything.
Victor propped an elbow against the table and pressed his knuckles to his chin. "That's not a bad thought," he said, weary but clear. "But yes… extreme."
"Undead? Ewwwww!" Harley practically hopped in her chair, making a big, sloppy X with her forearms. "Have you seen Grundy? Big moldy meatloaf. Falling apart like wet lasagna, ughhh. No thank you, no thank you, triple noooo thank you. Negatory. I'd rather take a bath in bleach!"
"You already did that, you dumb… bitch." Ivy sighed.
A couple of smirks cracked the tension. Even Catwoman's mouth twitched.
"I agree," Batgirl said, measured and precise. "It's… extreme." The nods moved around the circle—Donna's was curt and unimpressed; Huntress gave a tiny shrug that meant she'd do it if she had to and hate it properly; Beast Boy kept chewing, but slower, like his stomach was negotiating.
Enchantress was different. She leaned in, a slow, hungry tilt under the shadow of her hood. "So you have the power to make us undead?" she asked, each word careful, savoring the syllables. "Not simply the dead reanimated like puppets… but the undying?" Her eyes flickered—curiosity was too tame a word; it was fascination, dark and silk-smooth.
Kyla-el rested a hand on the table, then lifted it so the moonlight could polish her palm. "Not just any low-level undead like a fucking zombie." She said, velvet-voiced.
"I can make vampires. Things older than the name 'vampire.' Beings who remember the taste of the first graves. Wraith-queens. Cold emperors. I once defeated and absorbed a god-being who commanded life and death, if you will. What it could do, I can do more precisely." Her fingers curled, then opened—as if offering more, if they asked.
"Interesting indeed," Enchantress began, lips parting. "And how do the side effects—"
"Hold on." Huntress cut across, a low edge in her voice. "She was also going to talk about giving us powers, right? You know, the part that actually matters for this war? Let's not stick our necks in a guillotine before we've checked the weapons locker."
Victor, elbows on the table now, laced his fingers and set his chin on them. "True. If you were going to bestow powers… surely it isn't only undeath?"
Kyla-el stood.
The scrape of her chair legs was barely a whisper, but somehow the rooftop felt smaller for it. She had the kind of presence that pressed on skin—like gravity with a choice.
"True," she said. "It's not only that I have to offer." She turned. "First of all, let's start with Donna and Helena. Please step forward."
Donna Troy—divinity in her bones like fire in a furnace—rose in one smooth motion. Helena came with the lean prowl of a predator on a midnight ledge. They reached Kyla-el together, exchanged a sidelong glance, then knelt as one.
Kyla-el's hands hovered just above their crowns, fingers tremoring with a contained, sacred energy. "By the power vested in me on behalf of our goddess." She intoned, every syllable resonant as a temple bell, "I grant you superhuman capabilities, supernatural capabilities, magic resistance, high-tiered mind-control resistance, and my blessings in the war ahead."
Her hands lit—first a soft lambency, then a rich aureate gleam that ran like molten silk down her palms into their skulls. The glow smoothed over their faces, poured along their spines, sank into muscle and marrow. Donna's breath hitched. Helena's fingers tightened on her own thighs until her nails bit.
"You may rise," Kyla-el said, voice gentler, "in service of your goddess."
They stood—Helena first, a quiver of awe in the breath she tried to steady. "Woah… what is this? What is this feeling?" She flexed, absentmindedly, and the air seemed to ripple. "Is this how you superpowered types feel all the time?" She pivoted on the ball of her foot; the stone under it gritted, spider-cracks whispering outward. "Holy—how was there even still crime with people like you walking around?"
Kyla-el smiled and moved to face Donna. "Donna, not much was added. The blessing of our goddess is already with you—climbing your divinity, step by step. You only need to tap more. Apart from that," she added, as if confessing a minor sin, "you've gotten a little boost."
"A little?" Donna's eyes went hungry-bright. "Let's fight. C'mon—let me test—"
TWACK.
Donna didn't even see it. Kyla-el had raised a finger and flicked her forehead.
A single flick from Kyla-el's finger to Donna's brow, the Amazon became a blur and then a thump at the far parapet, sprawled, blinking at the sudden lack of sky.
"You are a thousand years too early to challenge me, young Amazon," Kyla-el teased, the smile still there, a small knife concealed in a dimple.
Donna rubbed her temple. "Ughhh… how are you that strong?"
Huntress' mouth tugged down, not loving what she'd just seen. Power was good. That gulf was not. She stood straighter, her new strength surging in her veins, but her lips pressed tight. She didn't like what she saw. The gap between them and Kyla-el was a chasm she wasn't sure could ever be crossed.
"Now," Kyla-el said, turning with an easy, absolute authority. "Selina and Barbara. Step forward."
Both women twitched at hearing their given names.
'Really? Our Government names.' They both thought, their minds hissed reflexively. They were Gotham professionals and names were as sacred as the work they carried out. But they came. Spandex gleamed; hips moved with liquid confidence. They knelt—the contrast in them delicious: Catwoman with that lazy, feral poise, Batgirl with an iron-straight spine and burning curiosity.
"By the power vested in me on behalf of our goddess," Kyla-el repeated, tone ritual-deep, "I grant you superhuman capabilities, supernatural capabilities, magic resistance, high-tiered mind-control resistance, and my blessings in the war ahead."
Light. Heat. The revelation of a new body from within the old.
Selina flexed her fingers. Something purred through her tendons—then shk—retractable claws slid out, black and perfect. Not a suit feature. Not a tool. Hers. She tested one against her palm, grinning when the skin did not even dimple. "Ohohoho…" Her eyes dilated, hungry. "So much I can do with these."
She glanced down her own lines and saw the truth beneath the suit: her physique had tightened, refined, sculpted without bulking. The same famous silhouette—but under it, thighs like coiled whips, abs cut enough to drink honey from maybe even cum, shoulders that would lift a man and the safe he hid behind. It wouldn't be obvious she was that ripped unless she was nude. Then it would be inevitable.
"My… this… power," Barbara whispered. Her breath came quick. She tilted her head as data she could not name poured through nerves. "Not even in my dreams. If Bru—Batman felt this, he'd retire before his work in Gotham soon."
Kyla-el wasn't finished. "I also bestow upon you the control and authority of the seas under our goddess' command—all in them, all of them," she murmured. "To help you fight in the war that comes."
Something opened—deep, cold, and plentiful. Both women gasped together, heads tipping back, a blue shimmer flashing across their eyes. The ocean became a second skin, a living, heavy presence they could flex. Tides obliged their breath. Currents leaned in to listen. They could feel the ocean, stretching beneath them like a living extension of their own flesh.
"You may rise in service of your goddess."
They rose. Selina rolled one shoulder, smirking. Barbara just stared at her hands, as if afraid to move and flood cities.
"Garfield," Kyla-el said.
Beast Boy popped up, wiping sauce across his pants. "I'm clean. Mostly." He stepped in, head tilted like a curious green pup.
"By the power vested in me on behalf of our goddess…" She laid the blessing into his temple; the light pulsed through him like a heartbeat turning into a jet engine.
"You may rise," she said, and he launched without waiting, vaulting into the air with a boyish whoop.
"SSSSSWWWWEEEET! I mean, I could already fly, but doing it without wings?" He flipped, laughed down at them, then let himself float like a leaf in an updraft.
"Show off," Harley muttered, though her mouth twitched like she didn't hate it.
"Victor, Aline, and Karen," Kyla-el called. The names landed true: Cyborg, Jinx, and Bumblebee. They came and knelt, three very different kinds of hunger meeting the same altar.
Ohohohohoho.... shit's about to hit the fan, or so they say.
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