Word Count: 26,094
Series: DC
Source: Chatgbt (revised and transformed into an aesthetically narrative novel)
My 'What if' I given idea: Statistically describe what would occur if they entered a portal that appears frightening but leads to a beautiful place. List the characters' initial reactions. (and the rest is history)
Original Characters: A witch, a cat girl, the Hunter-like family, and its natives in the flat world.
Open Ended.
The battle in space had been nothing short of catastrophic. Energy blasts carved through the void, lighting up the blackness with hues of violet and crimson, as the Justice League clashed with a coalition of villains hell-bent on ripping open a rift in reality. It was supposed to be a last-ditch effort from the villains — a reckless gamble, a threat to force the League's hand. But something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
The rift had not simply opened — it had torn, splitting wider and wider as arcs of energy spiraled out of control. Alarms blared in the Watchtower. Superman's voice, usually steady and commanding, had an edge of panic.
"Contain it!" he shouted, bracing against a pulse of raw force. "Now!"
Batman was a blur at the console, his gauntlet-clad fingers moving faster than most could follow. "It's unstable. We can't shut it down —"
And then, it happened.
A final surge of energy, brighter than any star, lashed out like a whip across the fabric of space and time. The rift exploded outward, a silent scream across the void, and tendrils of reality itself unraveled. They didn't just pull in the villains, the League, or even the Watchtower — they reached down to Earth, to cities sprawling across the United States. Thousands of civilians, standing in the streets, staring at the strange phenomenon in the sky, were caught in an invisible grasp. People vanished — entire blocks of Metropolis, Gotham, Central City — sucked into the fracture as though plucked from existence.
And then, there was nothing but silence.
When the Justice League awoke, it was not in the cold void of space, but in an expanse unlike anything they had ever seen. Grass — tall, green, and swaying softly — spread out in every direction, an endless sea of emerald that kissed the horizon. The sky overhead was vast, unbroken, and too perfect — a soft blue with not a cloud in sight, as though the very concept of weather was an afterthought. The air was clean, crisp, and eerily still. Even the wind, gentle as it was, seemed more like a breath rather than a force.
Superman rose first, his cape rippling behind him, but when he looked to the sky, his jaw tightened. There was no sun. No moon. Just a sky — as though someone had painted it, stretching forever with no discernible source of light.
"Where... are we?" Wonder Woman's voice was calm but firm, scanning the horizon, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
Batman, already on one knee, scooped a handful of soil, letting it crumble between his fingers. It was real. It felt real. But it was wrong — too uniform, too flawless. "I don't know," he muttered. His cowl's sensors flickered through every possible mode — infrared, ultraviolet, sonar — all of them blank.
The Flash, standing a few feet away, turned in a slow circle. "Okay... okay... This is bad. This is really bad." His usual lighthearted tone was gone, replaced with quiet dread. "Where's the sun? The stars? Where's anything?"
A few yards away, the villains were stirring. Lex Luthor rose with a scowl, brushing off his battle-damaged armor. "I assume this wasn't part of the plan," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence. "Tell me this wasn't part of the plan."
Sinestro, his yellow ring flickering weakly, sneered. "If it was, you'd be the last to know."
There were civilians too — hundreds, maybe thousands — scattered across the grass, dazed, frightened, whispering among themselves. Families clung to one another. Children cried. Others simply stood, paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of their surroundings. No roads. No buildings. No mountains or rivers. Just an endless field stretching in every direction, with an ocean so clear and deep that the horizon seemed to swallow it whole.
Superman approached a group of civilians, his voice gentle but firm. "You're safe," he said, though he wasn't sure if it was true. "We'll figure out what's happening."
Green Lantern, his ring flickering with faint energy, gritted his teeth. "I can't map the area. There's... there's no edge to this place. No borders. It just keeps going."
Aquaman knelt at the water's edge, letting his hand drift beneath the glassy surface. "It's deep," he said quietly, almost to himself. "There's no bottom — at least, not one I can sense." His usual scowl had softened into something more akin to disbelief.
The sky remained unchanged. No shift in color. No passage of time. It was like they were trapped in a moment, a single frozen instant, stretched across infinity.
And then, from somewhere in the crowd, a voice spoke. "Are we dead?" It was a young man, his face pale, his voice cracking with fear. "Is this some kind of... afterlife?"
No one answered.
Because for the first time in a long while, not even the Justice League knew what to say.
The endless plains stretched on without a break, an unyielding sea of green that rippled beneath a sky too perfect to be real. Time felt strange here — stagnant, unmeasured — as though the very concept of day and night had been discarded. The civilians, still scattered and uneasy, slowly began to gather, forming small clusters as they clung to each other for comfort. Some wept, others simply stared at the horizon, and a few brave souls wandered cautiously, testing the boundaries of this strange, boundless world.
And then, the creatures began to appear.
It started with a distant rumble, a soft, rhythmic sound that seemed to roll through the earth itself. Superman was the first to notice, his gaze snapping toward the horizon. The others followed his line of sight, and what they saw defied logic.
A herd of colossal reptiles moved slowly across the plains — turtles, but not like any seen on Earth. Each one was a living, breathing mountain, their shells vast and curved like hills. What set them apart, however, were the towering fruit trees growing from their backs — thick, gnarled trunks that twisted upward, sprouting lush canopies heavy with oversized, glistening fruits. Golden sap oozed from the bark, catching the light, filling the air with a sweet, intoxicating scent — honey, rich and pure. The fruit, bulbous and vibrant in shades of orange and deep red, dangled from thick vines, each one larger than a human head.
The turtles moved as one, slow and steady, their massive limbs crushing the grass beneath them with each ponderous step. And yet, despite their size, there was an air of serenity about them — an ancient calmness, as though they had existed for eons, unbothered by the oddities of the world around them.
The children were the first to break the uneasy silence. A small boy, no older than six, stepped forward from the crowd, his wide eyes locked onto one of the turtle-trees. "It's... so big," he whispered, his voice filled with awe rather than fear.
One of the turtles, the closest of the herd, slowly turned its head — its face old and wrinkled, but kind, almost wise. It blinked once, a long, lazy blink, and then lowered itself slightly, its massive frame settling into the grass. The fruit-laden tree on its back swayed with the motion, honey dripping in golden threads to the ground below.
Before anyone could stop him, the boy crept forward, his tiny hand reaching for the nearest fruit that had fallen. Superman started to move — a protective instinct — but the turtle simply closed its eyes, unbothered by the child's approach. The boy plucked the fruit, its weight making him stumble slightly, and then looked back at the crowd with a wide, triumphant smile. "It's sweet!" he laughed, juice running down his chin.
The turtle let out a low, rumbling sound — not a roar, not a growl — but something deep and resonant, like the sound of a distant drum.
And then, there were the dragons.
They appeared from above — large, winged reptiles soaring lazily through the boundless sky. Their forms were fierce, with scales that shimmered in shades of dark green and bronze, horns curling back from their heads, and eyes that gleamed like molten gold. Yet, as they descended, their claws touched the grass with surprising grace. One dragon landed just a short distance from the League, its wings folding neatly against its sides.
It was enormous — larger than any creature of Earth's past or present — but it did not snarl or attack. Instead, it lowered its head and began to graze, tearing clumps of grass from the ground and chewing them methodically.
The Flash blinked. "It's... eating grass?" His voice cracked slightly, unable to reconcile the terrifying creature before him with the oddly gentle act it was performing. "That thing looks like it could swallow a building whole, and it's vegan?"
Diana's gaze remained fixed on the dragon, her hand still resting on the hilt of her sword, though the tension in her shoulders had lessened. "Not every beast is ruled by violence," she said softly.
Lex Luthor, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, studied the scene with a calculating glare. "Fascinating," he muttered. "Predators with no need to prey. A balanced ecosystem without conflict or hunger." His mind was already turning, trying to break the logic of this place, yet finding none.
And then came the dolphins.
The ocean — endless, clear, and impossibly deep — lay just beyond the plains, its waters so still they reflected the sky like a mirror. From its surface, shapes broke through — dolphins, or at least creatures that resembled them. Their bodies were sleek and scaled, shimmering with silver and blue patterns, and though their exteriors looked armored, when one swam closer to the shore, a brave civilian reached out to touch it.
His fingers brushed against the dolphin's skin, expecting something rough and unyielding — but instead, it was soft, pliant, almost like silk. The creature chirped, a musical sound, and gently nuzzled the man's hand before diving back into the depths.
Aquaman watched them carefully, his brow furrowed. "They're not like anything from my seas," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "Their scales look strong, but... they're not meant for defense."
Superman exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting from the turtles, to the dragons, to the dolphins. "None of these creatures are built to fight," he said. "They're... peaceful. All of them."
Batman remained silent, his mind racing through possibilities — a constructed world? A simulation? But there were no signs of technology, no energy signatures, no hidden mechanisms behind the sky or the sea. It was a universe that simply was — flat, endless, serene.
The crowd of civilians began to relax, some of them cautiously moving closer to the creatures. Children laughed as one of the turtles lowered its head enough for them to stroke its leathery skin. The dragons continued grazing, undisturbed by the humans' presence. The dolphins leapt and spun in the water, their scales catching the eternal light of the sky.
For a moment, it was almost beautiful.
But the League knew better.
This world was too perfect, too calm — a vast, unending realm of nature without struggle, without danger. And if there was one thing they had all learned in their battles across time and space, it was that nothing was ever truly without danger.
The flat universe stretched on, boundless in all directions.
And somewhere, in the depths of that endless horizon, a question remained unanswered.
Why were they here?
The memory of how they had arrived was fractured but clear enough — a villain's mistake, a miscalculation, or perhaps just reckless desperation. It had been an attempt to tear open reality itself, to find an escape or a weapon, or maybe both. But the rift had spiraled out of control, its reach expanding far beyond what anyone had anticipated. It hadn't just swallowed the villains and the League — it had clawed into Earth itself, dragging thousands of civilians into the unknown. A random set of coordinates hurled into the vast, chaotic multiverse — a roll of the dice. And this was the result.
A flat universe. Endless. Impossibly serene.
Superman stood at the edge of the water, the clear ocean stretching before him like a liquid sky. His reflection shimmered on its surface, but there was no sun, no moon, nothing to cast light — the illumination seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. He narrowed his eyes, activating his heat vision just slightly, letting the soft red glow sharpen his sight. He looked for movement beneath the surface, some hint of an ecosystem or a hidden current. Nothing. The water was as boundless as the land.
Behind him, the others gathered. Batman stood with his arms crossed, his cape motionless in the still air. He was silent, his mind working through endless possibilities, none of which satisfied him. The technology that had opened the rift was gone, left behind in the chaos of the collapse. There were no devices here, no signals, no pulses of energy to track — just this vast expanse of nature. If it was nature at all.
Green Lantern's ring flickered dimly as John Stewart tried, again and again, to scan the horizon. "I'm getting the same thing every time," he muttered. "No edges, no boundaries. The land doesn't curve. It just... keeps going." His voice was calm, but beneath the composure was unease. "This place isn't a planet. It's a plane."
Wonder Woman's gaze drifted to the herd of colossal turtle-like creatures. The children had grown bolder, pulling at the fallen fruit and tasting the honey that dripped from the trees growing on their shells. The turtles paid them no mind, their ancient eyes half-lidded as though they had witnessed ages pass without ever once being disturbed. She noticed how even the dragons — fierce-looking, winged beasts — grazed alongside the turtles without aggression. No predator, no prey. A strange balance that defied everything the League knew about the natural order.
The Flash paced in a tight circle, kicking at the grass. "So let me get this straight," he said, his words coming fast, a blur of nerves. "We're in a universe that's flat. No sky, no stars. Just grass, water, and... friendly dragons?" He gestured wildly at the nearest dragon, who flicked an ear at him but otherwise kept chewing grass like an oversized cow. "And the only reason we're here is because some bad guys messed up their cosmic math homework and sent us to nowhere?"
Lex Luthor's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "It wasn't just a mistake," he said, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. His battle-damaged suit still sparked faintly from the fight. "The rift pulled us in because it was unstable. The coordinates weren't chosen — they were random. We could've ended up in the heart of a black hole or some nightmare dimension." His lips curled into something between a scowl and a sneer. "Instead, we ended up here."
Superman turned to face him. "And where exactly is 'here,' Lex?"
Luthor's jaw tightened. "That's what I intend to find out."
The crowd of civilians had grown quieter now, the initial fear fading into a cautious kind of awe. The children played near the turtles, some watching the dragons with wide, curious eyes. A few adults knelt at the water's edge, letting the glassy sea lap at their fingers. The dolphins — or whatever these sleek, scaled creatures were — darted back and forth, occasionally breaking the surface with a ripple that sent rings across the unbroken mirror of the ocean.
But there was no sound except for the soft rustle of grass, the distant rumble of the turtles' slow footsteps, and the quiet splash of the dolphins' movements. No birds. No insects. No wind.
Batman finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "We need to figure out if this place follows any rules. If there's time here. Seasons. Weather." He glanced at the endless sky. "Anything."
Aquaman rose from where he'd been kneeling by the water, his hand still wet. "The ocean goes deep. I can't feel a bottom." His voice was grim. "It's not natural."
Green Lantern frowned. "Nothing about this place is natural."
Superman's gaze drifted again to the horizon, to the line where the grass met the sky — a line that never bent, never curved, just an infinite stretch of two planes meeting in a seamless, unyielding edge. His senses, usually so keen, so sharp, felt blunted here. There were no vibrations in the earth, no shift in the air. Everything was calm — too calm.
Wonder Woman spoke softly. "A world without conflict."
The Flash stopped pacing. "What?"
She looked at the grazing dragons, the slow-moving turtles, the playful dolphins. "The creatures do not fight. They do not fear us. There is no struggle here." Her hand gently touched the lasso at her side, the golden rope giving off a faint glow even in the neutral light of this place. "It is a world... without violence."
Lex Luthor's laugh was sharp and humorless. "A paradise, then?" He shook his head. "No. Nature thrives on conflict. Predators, prey — that's the foundation of life. This isn't a paradise." He gestured at the endless horizon. "It's a construct. An illusion of peace."
Superman's voice was firm. "We don't know that."
"But you suspect it," Luthor countered. "You feel it — just like the rest of us."
The silence that followed was louder than any argument.
And still, the sky remained unchanged, the ocean unbroken, the grass unstirred by any wind.
The flat universe stretched on.
The boundless sky remained unmoving, the horizon an unyielding line where the grass met the endless sea. The strange creatures — the turtle-trees, the grass-eating dragons, and the scaled dolphins — continued their slow, steady existence, unbothered by the sudden presence of humans in their tranquil world. Time felt like a distant concept, and with no sun to track its passage, the very idea of "day" and "night" seemed meaningless.
But people cannot live in awe and fear forever. Eventually, they must do something.
The civilians, still shaken and disoriented, began to break into small, familiar groups. Families clung to each other, parents holding their children close, whispering reassurances they themselves barely believed. Friends huddled together, speaking in hushed tones, their words a mix of confusion and hope. It didn't take long for the natural human instinct to organize and survive to kick in — a few took stock of what little they had with them, emptying pockets and backpacks, laying out phones, wallets, snacks — useless trinkets in a universe without roads, signals, or stores.
A man in his fifties, dressed in a crumpled suit, rubbed his temples. "We need... we need to set up something," he muttered. "A base, a camp — something." His voice wavered, more out of disbelief than fear.
A mother cradling her young daughter nodded. "Food, water — we don't know if this place has anything safe for us to eat." She looked at the giant fruit hanging from the turtle-trees, at the golden honey dripping onto the grass. "I mean, we can't just... trust it's safe."
A younger man, maybe in his twenties, knelt near the water's edge, staring at his faint reflection in the still sea. "What if there's no end to this?" he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "What if we just keep walking... and there's nothing?"
Superman had been listening, his enhanced hearing catching every word, every fear. He stepped forward, his cape brushing softly against the grass. "We're going to figure this out," he said, his voice calm and steady. "We need to start by making a safe place for everyone — a camp, like you said. Somewhere we can gather, organize, and plan."
He looked at Batman.
Batman's mind was already five steps ahead. "We need shelter," he said. "If there's weather, we have to be prepared." His cowl's sensors continued their silent scans, yielding the same result — a vast, endless void of land and water. No temperature shifts. No atmospheric pressure changes. No storm fronts. "We can't assume the calm will last."
Green Lantern raised his hand, his ring flaring softly. "I can construct temporary shelters," John said, the glowing green forms of simple, sturdy domes appearing in the air. "They'll hold — for now."
The Flash was already moving. "I'll gather some supplies," he said, darting off and back in the blink of an eye — though, of course, there were no supplies to gather. He stopped short, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Right. No supplies. Just... grass and dragons."
Wonder Woman stepped toward the civilians, her presence a comforting pillar of strength. "We will protect you," she said simply, her voice resolute. "And we will find a way home."
The civilians slowly began moving, forming a rough circle near the water's edge — not too close to the ocean, but near enough for access. The dragon-like reptiles remained at a distance, chewing lazily on the grass, and the turtle-trees continued their slow, deliberate march across the plains. The dolphins, curious as ever, bobbed near the shoreline, their silver-scaled bodies glistening each time they broke the surface.
And then there were the villains.
Lex Luthor watched the Justice League with thinly veiled contempt, his mind already turning over theories and strategies. "This isn't a vacation spot," he said coldly. "It's a cage — a well-designed one, but a cage nonetheless."
Sinestro, his yellow ring flickering weakly, stood a short distance away, his eyes narrowed. "There's no fear here," he muttered. "Not from the creatures, not from the land." His ring responded to fear — fed off it — and yet, this world seemed devoid of anything resembling true terror. It was unsettling.
Cheetah paced near the edge of the gathering, her feline instincts on high alert. "It's too quiet," she growled. "Too still. Like a trap that hasn't sprung yet."
Even Captain Cold, usually content to lean into his cynical bravado, was silent, his cold gun hanging loosely by his side. "A flat universe," he muttered. "No sky, no end." He shook his head. "This is messed up."
Despite their simmering distrust, the villains didn't stray too far from the heroes or the civilians. There was an unspoken understanding — whatever this place was, they were stuck in it together.
The makeshift camp slowly took shape. Green Lantern's glowing domes provided temporary shelter, forming a loose circle around a central space where people could gather. The Flash zipped back and forth, flattening the grass into walkable paths, while Wonder Woman and Aquaman helped organize the civilians — making sure the children stayed safe, reassuring the frightened, and calming the restless.
Superman approached one of the massive turtle-trees, hovering slightly above the ground to examine the fruit. "We need to test it," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "We can't let the children eat something we don't understand."
Batman was already beside him, analyzing the golden honey with a portable scanner from his belt. "No toxins," he muttered. "No immediate danger." He tapped a few controls. "But that doesn't mean it's safe."
As night refused to fall, and the sky remained its perfect, endless blue, the civilians gathered near the shelters, whispering to each other, holding their children close, and exchanging uncertain glances.
A little girl, the same one who had plucked the fruit from the turtle-tree, tugged at Wonder Woman's hand. "Is the sky ever gonna change?" she asked softly.
Diana knelt beside her, her gaze steady but warm. "We will find out," she said gently.
Hours passed — or what they assumed were hours. Time was a hollow concept in this flat universe.
And still, the horizon did not bend. The sea did not churn. The creatures did not fight.
And somewhere, in the quiet depths of this endless realm, the unspoken question hung in the air.
Was this truly peace — or just the calm before something far worse?
The sky, once an endless, unwavering expanse of pale blue, began to shift. It was slow at first — so slow that most of the civilians didn't even notice. The light softened, like a dimmer being gradually turned down, the infinite sky bleeding into a deepening indigo. There was no sun, no fiery orb to slip beneath a horizon, but the shift was undeniable. The day — if this place could even be said to have days — was ending.
It was Batman who noticed first. His sensors, though yielding no tangible coordinates or atmospheric data, registered a steady decrease in ambient light. "It's getting darker," he said flatly, breaking the relative silence.
Superman's gaze lifted to the sky, his brow furrowing. "There's no sun, no source of light... but there's still a cycle," he murmured. "Day and night."
John Stewart's ring flickered again, scanning the horizon. "Forty-eight hours," he said after a moment. "That's the cycle. This isn't a standard twenty-four-hour rotation." He clenched his fist, letting his ring form a faint holographic readout, though the data was vague and frustratingly incomplete. "Forty-eight hours of light. Then... darkness."
A murmur rippled through the civilians, the knowledge of a coming night stirring a fresh wave of unease.
A teenager, maybe sixteen, shifted from foot to foot. "What happens at night?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean... if there's no sun, what's gonna happen when it's dark?"
His mother placed a hand on his shoulder, though her own fear was poorly masked. "It's just... night," she whispered, trying to convince herself as much as him.
But it wasn't just night — not to them. Night, in an unknown world, carried a weight of uncertainty. No one knew if the strange dragons and turtle-trees would remain as placid in darkness. No one knew if the silent, scaled dolphins would still ripple playfully through the water. The peaceful calm of the endless plain, once surreal and awe-inspiring, now felt like a fragile illusion — one that might shatter the moment the last bit of light faded from the sky.
Lex Luthor, standing a short distance from the main group, smirked faintly. "A world with no sun, but a day and night cycle. Fascinating," he said, half to himself. "This isn't a natural ecosystem. It's a construct — a design." His eyes flicked upward again. "The question is... whose design?"
Sinestro's voice was sharp. "It doesn't matter who designed it," he said. "What matters is what happens when the lights go out." His yellow ring sputtered softly, feeding off the rising fear among the civilians, though far weaker than he was used to.
The Flash stopped his pacing, his usual nervous energy sharpened into something more focused. "Okay, so... we've got about forty-eight hours of daylight, and I'm guessing forty-eight hours of night, right?" His foot tapped rapidly against the grass. "We need more than just a camp — we need a safe camp."
Green Lantern's domes were still standing, glowing a soft, steady green. "I can reinforce these," John said. "Make them tougher. If anything comes out at night, these shelters will hold."
Superman's jaw tightened, his gaze still scanning the horizon. "We don't know if there's anything to come out at night," he said softly. "But we have to be ready either way."
Wonder Woman moved through the civilians, her calm presence steadying their rising fear. "We prepare," she said firmly. "We do not panic."
And so, the makeshift camp shifted into something more deliberate — more defensive.
Green Lantern expanded the glowing domes, crafting a series of interconnected barriers, forming a secure perimeter. They weren't elaborate structures, but they would hold. The Flash zipped through the area, gathering stones and whatever sturdy materials he could find, reinforcing the edges of the camp. Batman worked methodically, cataloging the turtle-fruits and honey, assigning small groups of civilians to gather more resources while keeping them in safe proximity to the camp.
Aquaman kept a vigilant eye on the ocean, the scaled dolphins still dancing in the water, their silver forms flickering against the darkening surface. "They're not leaving," he observed quietly. "They're still here."
Superman hovered slightly above the camp, his enhanced vision scanning for any movement beyond the herds of turtle-trees and grazing dragons. They, too, seemed unconcerned by the dimming sky, continuing their slow, serene existence. There was no sense of panic among the creatures, no sudden burst of activity as though preparing for an approaching danger.
But the night was still coming.
A little girl, the same one who had clung to Wonder Woman earlier, tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mommy, will the sky be all black?" she asked softly. "Like at home?"
Her mother hesitated. "I don't know, sweetie."
And then, ever so gradually, the sky darkened further — slipping from indigo into a vast, endless black. But it was not an empty blackness.
Stars began to appear — but not like the ones they knew.
They weren't scattered points of distant light. These stars were long, faint streaks — like glowing rivers suspended in the sky, stretching across the horizon in endless, flowing patterns. No constellations. No familiar shapes. Just glowing currents of silver light, weaving and bending across the night like threads in an unseen loom.
The people stared up in silence.
"What... are those?" someone whispered.
Superman's voice was soft. "Not stars," he said. "Something else."
Lex Luthor smiled faintly. "Proof," he muttered. "That this universe — this plane — is a construct. Nothing natural looks like that."
The civilians, though still uneasy, marveled at the glowing rivers in the sky, their fear mingling with a strange sense of wonder.
And as the long night settled over the flat universe, the Justice League stood watch — their camp a small circle of light and order in a vast, unyielding realm of darkness and endless horizons.
The night was a perfect, obsidian black — endless, vast, and soundless. For a long while, there was nothing but the faint shimmer of those flowing, silver rivers in the sky, weaving like delicate threads through the infinite dark. The wind didn't move. The water didn't stir. Even the dragon-like creatures and the great turtle-trees had gone still, their slow movements halted as they nestled into the soft grass, resting without a care. It was a silence too pure — too untouched. A world at complete rest.
And then, softly — a sound.
A single note, high and delicate, like the distant chime of a flute.
It drifted through the air, so faint that at first, the people thought they had imagined it. Then came another — a lower, more resonant tone — like a wooden pipe whispering its breathy song into the night. The wind, gentle but steady, had returned, weaving softly through the vast plain.
And the trees — the ones farther away from camp — sang.
They weren't like the turtle-trees, with their great fruit-bearing branches. These were different — taller, thinner, their trunks and limbs adorned with natural holes and tunnels, as though the trees themselves had evolved to become living instruments. The wind, threading through the open holes, played each tree like a vast orchestra of flutes and pipes.
The sounds rose and fell in a delicate, endless pattern. Each tree had its own fixed tone — biological and precise, like nature had decided that music wasn't a luxury, but a necessity. The result wasn't chaotic, but harmonious. A soft, ever-changing symphony.
Even the flowers joined the performance — strange blooms with delicate, curved petals that seemed to vibrate when the wind passed through them, adding high-pitched trills to the melody. And the mushrooms — thick, bulbous things scattered across the forest floor — let out hollow, drum-like sounds whenever the wind grew stronger, each thump resonating like the distant beat of a drumline lost in the woods.
The civilians huddled near the glowing green shelters, their fear momentarily forgotten, replaced by wide-eyed wonder.
A little girl tugged at her father's sleeve. "Daddy... the trees are singing."
Her father swallowed hard, his mouth slightly open as he gazed at the swaying forest. "I... I hear it," he whispered.
Flash blinked rapidly. "Okay," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "This place just went from creepy empty void to enchanted forest in record time."
Superman listened carefully, his head tilted ever so slightly, eyes half-closed as if trying to tune in to the natural song. "It's... not random," he murmured. "The tones — the pitches — it's all deliberate."
Batman's analytical mind was already calculating, his gaze fixed on the patterns of sound. "Biological instruments," he said softly. "The trees evolved like this — not just to survive, but to produce music." His cowl's sensors flickered as he ran a silent scan. "The holes in the trunks, the shape of the petals — all of it has a purpose."
Green Lantern folded his arms, his ring pulsing faintly. "A planet — no, a universe — with built-in music," John said. "I've seen strange things in space, but this... this is something else."
And then — the deer came.
At first, it was just a faint movement beyond the trees, a shimmer in the dark, like liquid glass catching the starlight. Then, more appeared — elegant, towering forms that seemed to flow rather than walk.
The deer were enormous — at least five times the size of any Earthly stag — with long, graceful legs and sleek bodies made entirely of something that looked like crystal but moved like flesh. Their antlers were vast, branching spires of translucent, glass-like bone, spreading wide like chandeliers, each tine catching the faint light from the sky and refracting it into soft, prismatic glows. They didn't glow from within, but the way they caught and scattered the light made them shimmer with every step.
The herd moved in a loose, fluid formation — dozens, perhaps hundreds of them — weaving through the grassy plain with quiet, otherworldly grace. They didn't speak or call out; their presence was silent, but the sound of their hooves lightly touching the ground added a gentle rhythm to the night's orchestra.
Superman's breath was steady but measured. "Living crystal," he said softly. "They're... beautiful."
Wonder Woman's voice was almost a whisper. "They are not of war," she said. "They are of peace."
One of the deer, a truly massive one with antlers that seemed to spread wider than a tree, slowed its pace as it approached the edge of the camp. Its eyes — dark, deep orbs set within its glassy skull — regarded the humans with calm, quiet curiosity. The civilians stood frozen, caught between awe and fear, their instincts battling between running and standing their ground.
A young boy, maybe ten years old, took an uncertain step forward. "It's not gonna hurt us," he whispered.
Aquaman's voice was low. "Careful, kid."
But the deer didn't move any closer. It simply looked — a serene, steady presence, like the world's most majestic statue brought to life.
The little girl, still clutching her father's hand, broke the silence. "It's listening," she said softly. "It likes the music."
And it was true — the deer seemed almost entranced by the orchestral forest, their glass-like bodies reflecting the gentle tones of the trees and the soft drums of the mushrooms. As the wind picked up ever so slightly, the music swelled — not loud, never loud, but deeper, richer, more layered — and the deer continued their slow, dreamlike procession across the plain.
Lex Luthor, arms crossed, observed the scene with cold calculation. "Fascinating," he muttered. "This place... it's not just alive. It's composed."
Sinestro's yellow ring flared slightly. "A place this serene," he growled. "It only makes me wonder what's lurking beneath it."
The music of the forest played on — a natural symphony of wind, wood, and chime.
The crystal deer continued their silent journey.
And the Justice League, the villains, and the civilians remained huddled in their small, glowing camp — a fragile island of order in a world that seemed too perfect, too harmonious, to be real.
And yet, the endless night stretched on — dark, beautiful, and unknowable.
The night, long and deep, finally began to shift.
It wasn't like a sunrise — there was no golden crest of light, no gradual warming of the horizon. The endless sky, black and stitched with flowing rivers of silver light, began to lose its darkness in a way that felt more like a slow unmasking. The black simply... thinned, fading into a pale, ethereal blue, the transition so smooth and silent that most didn't even notice until the sky had returned to its strange, boundless expanse of light.
Day had come again.
A forty-eight-hour night, passing into a forty-eight-hour day, as if the universe itself took long, measured breaths.
The music of the trees, too, began to change. The wind had softened, and the forest responded. The low, resonant notes of the night eased into lighter, more delicate tones, the flute-like trees now singing a brighter tune — not a morning chorus like Earth's birds, but something gentler, more patient. Flowers still chimed softly when kissed by the wind, but the drum-like mushrooms seemed quieter, their deep thumps now distant echoes.
The crystal deer, those towering, glass-bodied giants, had long since disappeared over the horizon. Their passing felt like a dream — so silent and serene that some of the civilians now whispered to each other, wondering if they had imagined the whole thing. But the faint indentations in the grass, the shimmering flecks of refracted light left in their wake, proved otherwise.
A little boy rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep, and looked up at the softening sky. "Is it... morning?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.
One of the other children, a teenage girl, muttered, "I don't think there's a morning here."
Batman, standing at the edge of the glowing green barrier still maintained by John Stewart's ring, didn't respond to the children's questions. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, watching the endless landscape shift from darkness to light without a sun — just that slow, steady transformation of the sky. His mind was working, dissecting every sound, every movement, searching for patterns, for rules, for something logical to grasp in a universe that seemed to defy all natural order.
Superman hovered just a foot off the ground, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the distant plains. "Another forty-eight hours of daylight," he said softly. "And we still have no answers."
John Stewart's ring flickered again, but the data remained frustratingly vague. "I can't find a single celestial body. No sun. No moon. No rotation." He clenched his jaw. "Just... this flat plane, going on forever."
Lex Luthor, leaning against a smooth stone near the camp, smiled faintly. "Perhaps the laws of physics are simply... suggestions here," he mused. "This world — if you can call it a world — clearly wasn't formed by natural processes. Someone made this."
Wonder Woman approached slowly, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. "There is peace here," she said. "But peace does not always mean safety."
The civilians, now stirring from their uneasy rest, began to move about the camp. Parents gathered their children, whispering reassurances they didn't quite believe. A few brave souls wandered closer to the edge of the Green Lantern's barrier, peering out at the vast plain — a world of endless grass and water, with distant forests of singing trees and creatures that seemed too majestic to belong to any reality.
A man in his forties, his shirt torn and face lined with stress, approached Aquaman. "Hey... uh... King of Atlantis, right?" he muttered awkwardly. "I don't suppose you... have a plan to get us out of here?"
Aquaman's eyes didn't leave the distant ocean, its crystal-clear surface smooth as glass. "We're working on it," he replied simply.
Another civilian, a young woman with dirt-streaked jeans, crossed her arms. "Forty-eight hours of night and day... we can't just sit here. What happens when we run out of food? Water?" She gestured to the turtle-trees in the distance. "Are we supposed to just live off of fruit and honey forever?"
Flash, always the one to break tension with a bit of humor, clapped his hands together. "Hey, on the bright side — it's really good fruit. I mean, you ever had turtle-honey? Top five weirdest things I've ever eaten, but honestly, not bad."
The girl didn't laugh. "This isn't funny."
Batman, as ever, cut through the noise. "We need a more permanent base," he said. "This camp is temporary. If we're going to protect these people, we need proper defenses — and answers."
Green Lantern nodded. "I can keep the barriers up for now, but I can't hold them forever. We need something real."
Superman landed softly beside Batman. "We start by exploring further," he said. "We map the land. If there's a way out — a way back — we have to find it."
Wonder Woman looked toward the horizon, her sharp gaze following the path the crystal deer had taken. "And if there is no way back?" she asked softly.
For a long moment, no one answered.
The civilians, their faces drawn and anxious, were clearly hoping — praying — that the heroes would have a plan. A solution. But even the Justice League, with all their strength and wisdom, were standing in the same place as the rest of them — stranded in an endless, flat universe with no sun, no moon, and no explanation.
Still, they had no choice but to keep moving.
And as the sky settled into its strange, unwavering blue, the music of the trees still drifting on the wind, the Justice League began making plans — for survival, for exploration — and for whatever might come next.
The sky remained a soft, eternal blue — not the kind of blue from an Earthly day, but something smoother, more uniform, stretching endlessly with no sun to mark the passing of time. The wind was a constant companion, gently rustling the tall grass and playing its soft, natural symphony through the flute-like trees, while the ocean, vast and crystal-clear, whispered its steady rhythm against the distant shore.
But the world was far from empty.
It began slowly — small movements in the grass at first — but soon, the Justice League, the villains, and the civilians started to notice new inhabitants of this strange, boundless universe.
A group of children, still clinging to their parents, gasped as a cluster of creatures emerged from the distant turtle-trees, their long, bushy tails swaying like plumes of silk.
The creatures were massive squirrels — far larger than anything Earth had ever known, each roughly the size of a small monkey, with thick, luxurious fur that rippled like liquid silver with every movement. Their eyes were large and intelligent, gleaming like polished black stones as they darted from tree to tree, moving in loose groups, clearly social creatures.
Their tails — huge and billowing — trailed behind them as they leapt effortlessly through the turtle-trees' branches, nibbling at the colossal fruit growing from the trees' backs. The fruit was almost as big as a human head, dripping with thick, golden honey, and the squirrels would work in pairs, one holding the fruit steady while the other delicately gnawed at the sweetest parts, their sharp teeth surprisingly precise.
One squirrel, more curious than the others, clambered down the side of a massive turtle-tree and landed lightly on the grass near the edge of the camp. It tilted its head, watching the humans with quiet interest, its tail curling and uncurling like a soft flag in the breeze.
A young girl, clutching her mother's hand, whispered, "It looks so soft..."
The squirrel blinked once, then bounded away with a blur of silver fur, joining its companions as they resumed their feast in the tree branches.
Flash, naturally, couldn't resist. "Okay, I'm just saying — if we ever get out of here, I need to take one of those home. Imagine a pet squirrel that size — I could ride it like a horse!"
Batman ignored him, his focus already shifting elsewhere — because something even larger was stirring in the distance.
It started as a low, almost imperceptible vibration in the ground — a faint tremor beneath their feet. The civilians felt it first, exchanging uneasy glances, and then the Justice League's more sensitive members — Superman, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman — sharpened their attention toward the source.
Then they saw them.
A slow-moving migration of massive centipedes.
They were... enormous — larger than any whale, their segmented bodies stretching across the open fields like living trains, each one dozens of meters long. Their exoskeletons were unlike anything the League had ever seen — not dull or organic, but shimmering with a hard, metallic sheen, as if they were coated in armor forged from polished diamond. The centipedes moved slowly, their countless legs undulating in perfect, hypnotic coordination, carrying their immense weight across the grass in a steady rhythm.
But they weren't predatory — there was no malice in their movement. In fact, they barely seemed aware of anything around them.
"They're... grazing," Aquaman observed, his voice laced with disbelief.
It was true. The massive centipedes lowered their gleaming heads to the ground, scraping the grass with wide, plated mouths, consuming not only the grass but the minuscule organisms within the soil. Their diet seemed to consist of the smallest forms of life, obliviously feasting on the microscopic world beneath their colossal frames.
But the most astonishing part was what they left behind.
As they moved, the centipedes shed pieces of their exoskeleton — small at first, but then larger fragments, metallic shards that clattered softly to the ground with a musical ping. The discarded pieces glimmered like polished steel, some dark like obsidian, others glowing faintly with a soft iridescent hue.
Civilians watched in awe as one man, emboldened by curiosity, slowly approached a discarded shard. It was about the size of a suitcase, smooth and solid, and when he touched it, his hand flinched back in surprise.
"It's... metal," he murmured. "But not like anything I've ever seen."
Batman knelt beside him, running a gloved hand over the fragment. "High-density material," he muttered. "Stronger than steel — almost like titanium." His cowl's scanner flickered as he analyzed the shard. "It's biological, but also metallic."
Lex Luthor's voice cut through the moment, calm and calculating. "A renewable source of high-grade metal," he mused, his gaze fixed on the migrating centipedes. "These creatures shed daily — meaning their exoskeletons could be farmed." His smile was thin and predatory. "Fascinating."
The centipedes, oblivious to the discussion, continued their slow march across the grasslands, shedding fragments of gleaming metal with each step.
Superman narrowed his eyes. "Whatever this place is... it's not just a habitat. It's a system — an ecosystem."
Wonder Woman nodded, her voice quiet but firm. "The trees sing, the deer glow, the turtles carry their forests, and these centipedes... provide." She looked out across the endless horizon. "Everything has a purpose."
Green Lantern's ring pulsed faintly. "We could use these metals," John said. "Build stronger shelters, weapons if we need them." He shot a look at Batman. "Whatever we're planning, we now have materials."
And so, as the slow day crept on, the Justice League and the civilians began to move with more purpose.
The turtle-trees' fruit and honey became a stable food source.
The squirrel-creatures, while wary, seemed non-threatening and mostly disinterested in the humans.
And the massive centipedes — with their endless supply of shed metal — offered the means to build something more permanent.
With forty-eight hours of daylight ahead of them, they set to work — gathering, organizing, building.
But even as the wind played its soft tune through the flute-trees, and the crystal-clear sea shimmered beneath the boundless sky, a quiet question lingered in the air — unspoken but ever-present.
What else was out there, waiting in this vast, endless world?
The day pressed on — long, slow, and steady — the sky an unbroken stretch of pale blue with no sun to track its course. The wind kept up its soft rhythm, playing gentle music through the flute-trees, and the sounds of the distant ocean remained a constant whisper. Yet, the camp was anything but still.
Reactions rippled through the people like waves.
A cluster of civilians gathered around the shard of centipede exoskeleton the man had picked up, their fingers brushing its surface as if touching some ancient relic. It was smooth, cold, and heavier than it looked — a gleaming fragment of shed armor, born not from a forge but from the slow, natural cycle of a living creature.
"This... this is insane," the man who found it said again, still turning the shard in his hands. His name, someone muttered, was Greg — a factory worker from Metropolis. "We're in a world with... with giant metal bugs that shed this stuff?" He shook his head, still half-expecting to wake up.
Nearby, a group of children — led by the same wide-eyed boy from earlier — were playing close to the turtle-trees, laughing as the massive, monkey-sized squirrels swung through the branches above. The squirrels' silver fur shimmered with every movement, and now and then, a stray fruit would fall from the tree, sending the kids into fits of giggles as they scrambled to grab it before the squirrels could.
One girl, around twelve, clutched a piece of fallen fruit — a massive, golden thing dripping with honey — and stared at it like it was a treasure. "It smells so sweet," she murmured. Then, with a glance at her mother for approval, she took a careful bite.
Her eyes went wide. "It's... so good!" she shouted, juice running down her chin.
Flash, standing nearby, grinned. "Told you!" he called out. "Turtle-honey fruit — weird name, awesome taste."
The mother, though hesitant, took the fruit from her daughter and sniffed it. The rich, sugary scent was almost overwhelming, but there was no hint of anything rotten or dangerous. With a small nod, she tore off a piece and gave it a tentative bite.
Silence.
Then her shoulders sagged with relief. "It's... safe," she said softly. "And... it's actually delicious."
The news spread fast. Within minutes, civilians were gathering fallen fruits from the turtle-trees, working cautiously but efficiently, pulling the honeyed orbs into makeshift piles. One of the turtles — a massive, slow-moving creature with an entire tree growing from its back — didn't seem to mind. It simply blinked its ancient eyes, chewed lazily on a mouthful of grass, and shifted slightly, allowing a few more fruits to drop from its branches.
The gathering shifted from panic to something else — not quite comfort, but... routine. There was food now. There was some sense of structure, of purpose.
The centipedes, though, were another matter.
A crowd had gathered at a safe distance to watch the slow migration. The enormous creatures moved like living trains, their polished exoskeletons catching the strange, sourceless light of the sky. Each time a centipede shed a shard of metallic plating, there was a soft ping as it hit the ground — and the crowd would flinch, still unnerved by the sheer size of the creatures.
"Are they dangerous?" someone asked.
Superman shook his head, his x-ray vision carefully scanning the centipedes' inner workings. "No," he said. "They're... peaceful. Grazers."
Batman, crouched by a discarded piece of armor, ran a hand along its surface again. "But strong," he added. "This material is tougher than titanium."
A civilian — an older man with an engineer's badge still clipped to his shirt — stepped forward. "If we can collect these... we could build with them. We need tools first, but..." He trailed off, his mind already working. "We could make something solid. Durable."
John Stewart nodded. "The Green Lantern's shield will hold for now," he said. "But this metal? It's a better long-term solution."
Even Lex Luthor seemed intrigued, though his gaze was far colder. "An endless supply of high-grade materials," he mused. "Shed daily." His fingers twitched at his side — calculating, considering — but whatever thoughts flickered behind his eyes, he kept to himself.
It wasn't long before civilians, under the watchful eyes of the League, began carefully gathering the metallic shards. They worked in pairs — one person collecting while another kept watch, wary of the slow-moving centipedes — but the creatures never reacted. They simply grazed, shedding their metallic plates like fallen leaves, oblivious to the tiny figures scurrying to collect their discarded armor.
Hours passed.
A woman, holding a bundle of silvery shards, turned to Superman. "So what now?" she asked. "We have food. We have... this metal. But what are we doing?"
Superman's jaw tightened. He didn't have an answer — not one he could give, anyway.
Batman, as ever, stepped in. "We build," he said simply. "A better camp. Shelter. Fortifications." His mind was already calculating — materials, time, distance. "We don't know what else is out there."
Wonder Woman's hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword. "We must be prepared," she said. "For anything."
And so, the strange, silent work of survival began.
The civilians gathered fruit and honey from the turtle-trees.
The Justice League organized teams to collect the metallic shards from the centipedes' path.
Green Lantern kept his shield up — for now — but already, plans were forming for something more permanent.
And still, the music of the flute-trees played on, the wind humming its soft, endless tune through the holes in their branches.
The world was strange. Beautiful. Dangerous in its own quiet way.
And as the long day stretched on — with no sun to guide them — the Justice League and their unlikely companions could only push forward, step by step, into the unknown.
The day—if it could truly be called a day—stretched on, the endless sky a soft, static blue with no sun to chase across its canvas. The wind still sang its haunting tune through the flute-trees, soft and ever-present, a gentle reminder that this world, while serene, was alive in ways that defied logic.
The people worked, though their movements were cautious, their eyes always drifting toward the horizon as if expecting something — anything — to emerge from the vastness beyond. The civilians gathered the heavy metal shards shed by the centipedes, while others stockpiled the golden fruit from the turtle-trees, a growing pile of honey-drenched orbs sparkling in the alien light.
But then… new life stirred in the grass.
It began as a ripple — the gentle swaying of the tall grass, parting like water as small, plump creatures emerged from the underbrush.
They were caterpillars — or something close.
Massive, puffy creatures, about the size of a house cat, with fur so soft and thick they looked like clouds come to life. Their bodies were vibrant — some a soft pastel pink, others a deep emerald green, others still a rich, royal purple that shimmered in the light.
Their eyes were large and round, glossy like polished marbles, giving them an almost cartoonish innocence. They waddled slowly through the grass, munching on the blades with lazy, rhythmic bites, utterly unbothered by the presence of the humans or even the other creatures. Their fluff seemed almost impenetrable — one caterpillar, a bright golden one, rolled onto its back and tumbled down a small slope, bouncing softly like a ball of wool before coming to a stop and simply resuming its snack.
"Are you kidding me?" Flash blurted out, staring at the herd of oversized puffballs. "They're huge and adorable — I'm calling them Puffers."
Wonder Woman arched an eyebrow. "Puffers?"
He nodded, arms crossed like he was proud of himself. "Yup. Puffers. Look at them — they're fluffy, puffy, and they bounce like pillows."
One of the caterpillars sneezed — a tiny, high-pitched squeak — and a soft puff of fur floated into the air.
A few of the children cautiously approached the creatures. One girl, younger than the rest, slowly extended a hand toward a pale blue caterpillar. It blinked up at her with those massive eyes, then simply nuzzled her hand, the fur so soft it was like touching a cloud. She giggled. "It feels like a marshmallow," she whispered.
The tension in the camp eased, ever so slightly.
But the world wasn't done unveiling its secrets.
From the open air itself came a ripple — not of sound, but of movement. Small, gelatinous forms slid through the grass, moving with an effortless glide. They were slimes — classic, almost as if pulled straight from an old fantasy book. Each one was semi-transparent, some with a faint glow of green or purple, others completely clear. They pulsed and jiggled, moving slowly but purposefully, drawing particles from the air and ground into themselves — bacteria, stray pollen, microscopic life.
Aquaman knelt beside one. "They're... feeding," he murmured. "Filtering the air and soil."
Batman observed them with his usual analytical precision. "Organic air purifiers," he said. "Absorbing contaminants at a microscopic level."
Lex Luthor's lips curled into a thin smile. "Self-sustaining environmental cleaners," he said softly, almost to himself. "Efficient."
Despite their strange appearance, the slimes seemed utterly docile. A small purple one bumped against a child's shoe, wobbled for a moment, then simply changed course and continued its slow journey across the grass.
More creatures appeared as the hours passed.
The horses were next — if they could even be called that. They were taller than Earth's horses by at least thirty inches, with sleek, elongated bodies covered in a smooth coat that glimmered faintly, as though kissed by the same strange light that seemed to infuse everything in this world. Each had six long legs, moving with a graceful fluidity that seemed almost unreal.
Their manes were thick, flowing down their necks like rivers of silk, and their eyes — dark and glossy — radiated a quiet intelligence.
The horses moved in small herds, nibbling on the fallen fruit from the turtle-trees, their long, forked tongues delicately plucking the sweetest pieces. They were fast — absurdly so. At one point, a startled horse bolted across the field, its six legs a blur of motion, moving with a speed that left even Flash gaping.
"Okay," Flash muttered. "That's... fast."
John Stewart floated slightly above the ground, scanning the herd with his ring. "They're herbivores," he said. "No threat. But if we can tame them..." His voice trailed off, the implication clear.
And then came the snake.
It moved like liquid shadow — long and sleek, its scales a deep, menacing black. The snake was huge, easily the length of a city bus, its body rippling like silk as it slithered through the grass.
The civilians recoiled. Even the heroes stiffened.
Superman's eyes blazed with heat vision, ready. Wonder Woman's hand instinctively went to her sword.
But the snake didn't strike. It didn't even look at them.
Instead, it paused — and then, without a sound, its skin seemed to peel away in long, delicate strips. The discarded scales weren't rough or dangerous-looking — they were... sugary.
A sweet, almost intoxicating scent filled the air as the snake shed its shimmering black skin, the fallen scales glimmering like crystallized sugar in the grass. The snake, now sleek and glossy again, slithered away, leaving a trail of sweet-smelling scales behind.
Superman, puzzled, picked one up, sniffing it. "It's... sugar," he said slowly. "Or something like it."
One brave civilian broke off a piece and tasted it. His eyes went wide. "It's sweet," he stammered. "Like... candy."
More pieces were gathered, collected like rare gems — edible, sugary scales from a creature that shed every thirty minutes like clockwork.
And finally, the wolves emerged from the distant woods.
Massive, moss-covered beasts, their fur interwoven with vines and bark, as though the forest itself had given them form. Their eyes were a deep, glowing green, their paws heavy but quiet as they padded through the grass.
They moved in packs — silent, coordinated — but not aggressive.
They hunted fruits.
Clusters of rich blue fruit hung from their vine-like fur, seemingly growing directly from their bodies. When they ate the fruit — plucking them from the turtle-trees or fallen branches — their breathing slowed, their movements softened, their very presence radiating calm.
"Those fruits..." Wonder Woman murmured. "They soothe them."
Batman studied one of the fallen fruits. "A sedative effect," he said. "Not dangerous — more like... relaxation."
Someone tentatively bit into one. Within moments, their shoulders sagged, their breathing evened, and a soft smile spread across their face.
"This would make high-quality wine," Lex Luthor said quietly, his calculating gaze fixed on the moss-wolves.
And so, the day dragged on — an endless march through an alien world that seemed more a dream than reality.
A world of creatures — not hostile, but strange, each with a purpose, a place in the intricate balance of their boundless, flat universe.
And as the flute-trees sang, and the crystal deer watched from afar, the Justice League and the civilians gathered what they could, realizing that survival here was not a battle — but a harmony they had yet to understand.
The strange day pressed on — that endless sky still a steady, cloudless blue, refusing to shift or bend to the usual rules of time. Yet, the people had begun to move with a rhythm of their own. The shock of their arrival was slowly — hesitantly — giving way to a sense of wary adaptation. They were still stranded, still scared, but now there was work to be done, creatures to study, food to gather, and a strange world to grasp.
Reactions rippled through the camp like wind through the grass, and the Justice League watched it all unfold — a blend of confusion, awe, and a thin undercurrent of fear.
A small group of civilians sat by a pile of the crystal snake's discarded scales, breaking off small pieces and tasting the sugary shards like kids testing Halloween candy. The sweetness was cloying but clean — some compared it to honeycomb, others to spun sugar.
One man, still in a rumpled business suit, stared at the gleaming pile and muttered, "So we're in a world with metal-shedding centipedes, sugar-shedding snakes, and fluffy caterpillars the size of dogs." He broke off a shard of snake scale and popped it into his mouth. "Yeah. Makes perfect sense."
His companion — a woman in a mechanic's jumpsuit — huffed a laugh. "Don't forget the marshmallow slimes and fruit-drunk wolves."
"Right," the man muttered. "Totally normal."
A little further off, a cluster of children were playing with the puff caterpillars — or Puffers, as Flash kept calling them. One child had coaxed a lavender-colored one into rolling onto its back, and now the creature lay there like a fluffy pillow, kicking its many tiny legs in the air. The kids petted its cloudlike fur, squealing when the Puffer blinked its enormous glossy eyes or sneezed out a tiny puff of fluff.
"I want one," a boy declared, arms wrapped around a sky-blue caterpillar, struggling to lift it. "I'm taking it home."
"Pretty sure it doesn't want to go home with you," his friend laughed.
Green Lantern, hovering above, watched the scene with a raised eyebrow. "If those kids try to domesticate an alien species, I'm not bailing them out when the caterpillar gets upset."
"They don't seem capable of getting upset," Flash countered, balancing a golden Puffer on his shoulder like a parrot. "They just... vibe."
Superman watched the Puffers with a rare softness in his expression. "They're harmless," he said simply. "Gentle. It's good the children have something to focus on."
Wonder Woman, standing beside him, nodded. "It keeps their fear at bay."
But not all reactions were so lighthearted.
The six-legged horses had kept their distance, moving in fluid packs, nibbling at the fallen fruit from the turtle-trees. A few civilians were watching them, clearly considering the possibilities.
One of the engineers — a grizzled older man with calloused hands and a worn flannel shirt — spoke up. "If we can tame those," he said, squinting at the sleek, towering creatures, "we've got transport. Maybe even labor."
"Labor?" asked another man, younger, his arms crossed.
The older man shrugged. "Back on Earth, horses used to pull plows, move carts... you think we're getting out of here anytime soon? We need a way to haul supplies. Those things are fast and strong."
Batman, who had been silent as usual, finally spoke. "Not until we understand their behavior," he said. "Approaching a new species without preparation is dangerous. We don't know how they'll react."
"Or if they can be tamed at all," Superman added.
Lex Luthor stood a short distance away, his cold gaze fixed not on the horses but on the centipedes — specifically the piles of metallic shards they shed. He held one between his fingers, turning it over, his expression unreadable.
"You're awfully quiet, Luthor," John Stewart said, his green energy crackling faintly as he hovered nearby. "Planning something?"
Luthor didn't look away from the shard. "Planning is what I do, Lantern," he said smoothly. "This world is... resource-rich. Sugar-shedding snakes, metallic insects — creatures producing high-value materials simply through their biology. It's fascinating."
John's jaw tightened. "They're alive, not factories."
"Nature is efficient," Luthor said, finally meeting his gaze. "I'm simply observing."
And then there were the moss-wolves.
The pack had settled along the edge of the forest, their heavy, tree-barked forms blending seamlessly with the undergrowth. Now and then, one of the wolves would pluck a blue fruit from a hanging vine with its jaws and swallow it whole. With every bite, their movements grew slower, more languid — as if the fruit itself was a natural sedative.
One civilian, a young woman with a green bandana tied around her hair, studied the wolves with a contemplative look. "Those fruits," she said softly, "if they calm the wolves... they could help the people too."
Batman, ever watchful, narrowed his eyes. "You want to feed alien sedatives to civilians?"
She shook her head. "Not like that. But think about it — people are panicking. If those fruits are safe, they could help with stress, anxiety. Some kind of natural remedy."
Wonder Woman studied the blue fruit she held. "On Themyscira, we use herbs and roots to ease the mind," she said. "It's not unheard of."
Luthor's smile was thin. "Or they could be fermented into something... stronger."
Flash clapped his hands together. "So what I'm hearing is: magic chill fruits, fluffy caterpillars, turbo horses, and candy snakes. And a bunch of giant metal bugs that poop armor. Did I miss anything?"
Aquaman, leaning on his trident, let out a long sigh. "You forgot the glowing crystal deer," he muttered.
Silence.
Then a civilian let out a breathless laugh, and slowly — bit by bit — more joined in. It wasn't the laughter of joy, but of absurdity. Of confusion. Of a world too strange to comprehend.
The Justice League stood in the middle of it all, balancing hope and fear, as civilians gathered fruit, metal shards, and snake-scales.
And the wind kept singing through the flute-trees.
The strange day pressed on—though without a sun, it was impossible to tell how long had truly passed. The sky above remained an unbroken sheet of soft blue, neither brightening nor darkening, an endless canvas that seemed to mock the very concept of time. People had begun moving in rough patterns now, clusters of civilians drifting into small groups, some gathering fruit from the turtle-trees, others still tentatively collecting the sugary scales left behind by the massive black snake, while the braver ones attempted to figure out the behavior of the six-legged horses.
There was a rhythm forming, however fragile. It wasn't order—no, it was too soon for that—but it was a survivalist's first step: routine.
The Justice League remained at the center of it all, acting both as protectors and hesitant guides. Their presence kept panic from spilling over the edge, but there was an unspoken tension in the air, like a thread pulled too tight, waiting to snap.
Batman, ever watchful, stood with arms crossed near a group of engineers discussing their findings. His cowl hid any trace of emotion, but his mind was a storm of calculations, constantly analyzing the creatures, the terrain, the bizarre physics of this place.
"So," said the older engineer in the flannel shirt, rubbing his chin as he stared out at the grazing centipedes. "Let's sum up what we know."
"Yeah," muttered another civilian—a younger man in a tattered hoodie, his arms crossed. "Feels like we've been running on adrenaline for hours. Someone put it all together."
Superman, his arms loosely folded across his chest, spoke calmly but firmly. "We know this world doesn't follow the natural laws we're familiar with. There's no sun, no moon, but there's still a day-and-night cycle. The sky changes—slowly—but without any clear source of light."
Wonder Woman nodded. "The cycle seems to last approximately forty-eight hours—though without instruments, it's difficult to be precise."
Green Lantern floated above the group, his ring glowing faintly. "The land is... endless. At least from what we've seen. No mountains, no oceans—just flat grasslands, forests, and water as far as we can tell."
A voice cut in—gruff, sharp. "And the creatures," growled one of the displaced soldiers, his uniform still bearing the faint marks of his unit. "They're... too convenient."
Heads turned.
The soldier stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Look at them. The centipedes shed metal—strong metal. The snakes shed sugar. The horses are faster and stronger than anything on Earth. The caterpillars are too soft to be harmed. And those wolves..." He gestured toward the moss-wolves lazing at the tree line, their glowing green eyes half-lidded from their last feast of blue fruit. "They grow fruit on their own damn bodies—fruit that calms them."
His voice lowered, dark and uncertain. "It's like everything here exists for us to use."
The words hung in the air like a fog.
Lex Luthor smiled faintly, his sharp gaze scanning the field. "Ah," he murmured, "so someone finally said it."
John Stewart's ring flared slightly. "Don't start, Luthor."
But Luthor didn't stop. "Think about it," he said, his voice smooth, calm—a serpent's whisper. "A world with endless flatlands, a perfectly balanced ecosystem of creatures that just happen to produce high-value resources. A snake that sheds sugar, an insect that produces metal, and herbivores that can be tamed with ease. This place wasn't shaped by randomness—it's too... symmetrical."
The civilians muttered among themselves, some shifting uncomfortably.
Flash—still balancing a golden caterpillar on his shoulder—sighed. "So what are you saying, Lex? That this world was designed?"
Luthor's smile didn't fade. "Possibly. Or perhaps it evolved with such precise efficiency that it appears artificial." His gaze sharpened. "Regardless, it's exploitable."
"They're alive," Superman said, his voice a quiet warning. "Not commodities."
Luthor's smile thinned. "Everything alive has a function, Superman. Even you."
Before the tension could stretch any further, a sudden burst of movement distracted the group.
A small herd of six-legged horses darted past, hooves thundering softly against the grass. They moved like liquid, fast and elegant, their elongated limbs a blur. One horse—a sleek silver-gray one—slowed just enough to snatch a fallen fruit from the ground with its forked tongue before bolting after the others.
A group of civilians—mostly younger ones—watched the horses with a mix of awe and greed.
"If we could tame them," one man whispered, "we could cover ground faster. Find water. Food."
"Or scout further," another added.
Superman caught the exchange and stepped forward. "Not until we understand them," he said firmly. "We don't know how they'll react to being approached."
The golden caterpillar on Flash's shoulder suddenly sneezed again—another tiny puff of fur floating into the air. The tension in the group softened ever so slightly.
"Look," said a young woman, still holding one of the blue fruits plucked from a moss-wolf. "We're all scared. But we have resources. Food, water, materials. These creatures aren't attacking us—they're ignoring us."
She glanced around. "So maybe... just maybe... this place isn't a trap."