"Even the mightiest ocean can drown in its own waste."
---
The ocean was quiet. Almost holy in its stillness.
A single man sat on the white sand of a nameless island in the Pacific, surrounded by nothing but the endless expanse of blue.
King.
His shirt lay folded beside him. The sun hung low, mirrored in the calm waves. For once, there was no smoke, no screaming, no desperate cries for salvation. Only wind and salt.
He had left Titans Tower at dawn, his role complete. The children were strong now. Not because of power but because they understood restraint.
He had given them everything they needed: wisdom, perspective, mercy.
He closed his eyes. The sound of the sea was a heartbeat.
For the first time in months, King allowed himself to breathe.
The Rising Waste
Then the horizon shifted. A deep rumble rolled beneath the waves.
King's brow furrowed slightly as the rhythm of the sea changed — a soundless warning only he could feel.
Then it hit.
A wave — massive, unnatural — surged toward the shore. But it wasn't just water.
It was garbage. Plastic bottles, fishing nets, broken glass, rusted barrels. The ocean's bile.
The impact would've flattened the island.
King raised one hand and waved.
The sea parted like a curtain. The junk hovered blown away. He studied it quietly — the tangled mess of man's negligence glinting under the sun.
A faint irritation crossed his face. Not anger — disappointment.
He lowered his hand. The garbage fell in neat rows, forming a pattern like a burial mound.
"Careless." He murmured. "Even the tides are burdened by our ignorance."
The sky darkened slightly. Seabirds cried overhead, fleeing east.
King stood, brushing sand from his hand. He already knew where this led — to the depths of Atlantis, to tension brewing under the sea.
But he needed confirmation.
The Leap Beyond Earth
He took one step forward and vanished.
A thunderclap echoed through the ocean as the air compressed.
The water split open for miles, leaving a dry path for a heartbeat before collapsing in on itself.
Then he was gone.
Above Earth, the void of space stretched infinite and silent. The curve of the planet gleamed below — blue, fragile, alive.
And then, without sound or flame, King appeared in orbit. No armor. No oxygen. No technology.
Just a man standing against the stars.
He walked on nothing itself with nothing but more than the might of his feet and made way towards the Watchtower, the great station gleaming like a beacon of humanity's highest hopes. His presence triggered silent alarms, though every system recognized him as an ally.
He walked towards the airlock and knocked. The airlock opened with a hiss and he entered.
The Question
The hum of machines filled the chamber. Holographic displays of the oceans flickered across the walls, red currents pulsing like veins under stress.
Batman stood before one of the monitors, cape draped like a shadow.
King's voice echoed softly from behind him.
"You're polluting my peace again, Bruce."
Batman didn't turn. "You're supposed to be resting."
King stepped beside him, eyes on the hologram. "I was. Then the Pacific decided to bury me under civilization's leftovers."
Batman's jaw tightened. "Mass waste surges have been reported across every major ocean. Satellite data suggests it's not natural."
"Not natural," King repeated, eyes narrowing. "Then who?"
Batman tapped a sequence on the console. The screen shifted to show seismic readings, currents, and deep-sea heat blooms converging under the Atlantic.
The Bat's voice was steady. "Atlantis is moving."
King's expression didn't change, but the air in the room grew heavier that faint pressure that always preceded something colossal.
"Orm." King said simply.
Batman looked at him sideways. " Who?"
King's reply was calm, certain.
"The ocean doesn't call without reason. It's preparing for war and I intend to answer that call."
The two stood in silence for a moment — the dark knight and the immovable man, gazing at the living pulse of the world beneath them.
The storm was coming.
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