The night was thick with magic.
Mahoraga stood in the ruins of an abandoned theater, the rafters creaking overhead. The wheel on his back turned slowly, echoing through the silence like a sacred drumbeat. Dust hung in the air like old ghosts, and shadows stretched in shapes that did not belong.
Zatanna circled him, tracing glowing glyphs in the air. "This place is warded. Nothing divine, magical, or eldritch can see us here."
Mahoraga closed his eyes. "And yet you can."
"I'm used to the strange," she said, finishing a rune with a flourish. "Besides, I've stood in the House of Mystery while it tried to eat me alive. You're polite in comparison."
Mahoraga gave no reaction. He simply stared ahead, as if listening to something only he could hear.
Zatanna stepped closer. "I've been studying you. The magic in your body—it's not native to this universe. It resists classification. Your structure is constantly rewriting itself at a fundamental level. That's not just adaptation. It's… survival as identity."
"I am built to endure," Mahoraga murmured. "But I don't know why."
"That's what we're here to fix."
She raised both hands, chanting softly in reversed Latin. "Sromem erawa, htorw fo tsap!"
The runes around them flared, and Mahoraga stiffened.
His vision blurred.
---
Suddenly, he was elsewhere.
In a blood-stained shrine.
Surrounded by ten figures—each cloaked in shadows. A voice rang out, cruel and commanding.
"If the Ten Shadows fail to control him… exorcise the General. Destroy him before he adapts again."
A creature made of bone and tendrils lunged at him.
Mahoraga roared.
Chains snapped. The wheel turned.
He struck—breaking the curse, not with brute force, but with inevitability. Every blow he received twisted into immunity. Every death became growth.
He had been hated.
Feared.
Never spoken to as a man—only used, sealed, and forgotten.
---
Mahoraga gasped, staggering.
The runes around him dimmed.
Zatanna caught his arm, steadying him. "You saw something."
"They created me," Mahoraga whispered. "Then cursed me for obeying."
Zatanna's eyes softened. "I think you were meant to be a weapon. But now… you're remembering pain. That means you're becoming something more."
The moment shattered as the far wall exploded inward, chunks of stone and warded sigils scattering like broken glass.
Mahoraga immediately stepped in front of Zatanna, the wheel turning.
From the smoke walked a man in a red mask and gray suit, flanked by two creatures made of living shadow.
"Now that's a fancy toy," the man said, admiring Mahoraga with a grin. "Name's Dr. Psycho. Heard you don't belong to anyone."
Zatanna stepped forward. "You picked the wrong night, Psycho."
He raised a hand. The shadows lunged—fast, liquid, spitting arcane venom. Mahoraga intercepted both with brutal efficiency. His fist connected with one, shattering it into mist. The second wrapped around his arm and injected nightmare poison into his veins.
Mahoraga didn't flinch.
The wheel spun once.
Then his veins pulsed with light, the corruption evaporating. His arm flexed, breaking the construct like brittle glass.
Psycho cursed, already reaching into a glowing sigil carved into his wrist.
Zatanna moved to counter, but the villain slammed his hand to the floor.
Boom.
A mental wave surged outward—pure psychic intrusion meant to shatter free will.
Zatanna screamed, falling to her knees.
Mahoraga froze mid-stride.
Psycho smiled. "You're all instinct, huh? Let's see how you do without a mind."
Inside Mahoraga's head, voices screamed—mocking, cruel, endless. They clawed at his thoughts, echoing the words of his past masters.
"He is nothing without a summoner."
"He's just a beast pretending to be divine."
The wheel spun—wildly.
Mahoraga shuddered.
Then his eyes opened—clear.
His mind had adapted to psychic warfare.
Psycho's grin died.
Mahoraga blurred forward—his hand wrapped around the villain's throat.
"Control is an illusion," he said.
He squeezed—gently, but with just enough force for Psycho to black out from the pressure.
He dropped the unconscious body, stepping over it.
Zatanna groaned, rubbing her temple. "Mental attacks. Lovely."
"He tried to claim me," Mahoraga said. "Like they did before."
She looked at him. "But you chose not to kill him."
"I don't kill because I can," he said. "Only when I must."
The wheel turned once behind him.
Zatanna smiled faintly. "Then you're already more than they thought you'd ever be."
---
On Apokolips, Desaad limped through the obsidian corridors, clutching a tablet of broken code. He burst into the throne chamber, where Darkseid sat upon his great slab of cosmic stone.
"My lord," Desaad gasped, "we found the anomaly. It was attacked."
Darkseid's red eyes narrowed. "Did it die?"
"No. It… adapted."
Darkseid rose.
"Begin the descent," he commanded.
Desaad's face turned pale. "You mean to send… the Furies?"
"No. Send a message first. Offer alliance. If he refuses…"
His eyes flared red.
"…then we show him the price of free will."
---
Back on Earth, Mahoraga and Zatanna stood on a rooftop under a moonless sky. Below, the city whispered in restless sleep.
"I remember chains," Mahoraga said. "And silence."
Zatanna turned toward him. "Do you remember your name?"
He was quiet for a long time.
Then: "Mahoraga… was not a name. It was a title."
She looked at him. "Then maybe you should choose a name for yourself."
"I don't know how."
Zatanna smiled gently. "You're learning everything else. Why not this too?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then, for the first time, he smiled.
Only faintly.
But it was there.