DC: I am Dr Doom

WARNINGS: Gore, Sexual Content, Crude Language, Implied/Actual instances of Rape, Pedophilia, possibly Xenophilia and Bestiality considering certain shapeshifting /alien/ supernatural characters, Torture, Inhumanity and what not. You're reading this at your own peril mate.

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The Sage Force, a revelation in the tapestry of cosmic forces that govern the Multiverse, beckoned like a beckoning beacon in the farthest reaches of existence. It whispered promises of transcending mortal constraints, a siren song that had ensnared the minds of the greatest philosophers and visionaries throughout time.

The name itself, "Sage Force," evoked the image of timeless wisdom, an eldritch font of knowledge and power that could elevate its chosen conduits beyond the boundaries of human comprehension. It was one of the revered Seven Forces, a fundamental essence of the Multiverse, a tapestry woven with threads of existence itself.

For mere mortals, the comprehension of the Sage Force's potential was akin to deciphering the very secrets of the cosmos. In the simplest of terms, it elevated the intelligence of its conduits to super-genius levels. It was as if the universe itself whispered its profound insights directly into their souls, expanding their minds to the brink of infinity.

But this was just the tip of the iceberg, a ripple on the surface of a cosmic ocean. The Sage Force, with its enigmatic tendrils reaching into the very fabric of reality, granted its champions more than just intellectual prowess. It gifted them with psychic powers that transcended human imagination.

With but a thought, they could traverse the realms of thought and emotion, wielding telepathy as easily as drawing breath. Their minds became bridges between the physical and the ethereal, a conduit for the unfettered power of telekinesis that defied the laws of physics.

Yet, to say the Sage Force was merely the sum of these abilities was to grasp only a fleeting shadow of its true grandeur. It was an archetype of primordial might, a font of knowledge that defied the boundaries of time and space. The depths of its capabilities were a yawning chasm, a panorama of unfathomable potential.

For now, it remained a distant dream, an aspiration that flickered on the horizon. It eluded me, as a toddler reaching for the moon. But within that limitation, within the confines of the present moment, I found solace and purpose. The Sage Force would wait, a tantalizing promise of power and enlightenment that whispered in the recesses of my being. Until then, I would face the challenges of the here and now, one step at a time.

It was out of my reach especially when I am hardly a toddler so for now let's focus on the current situation.

Gotham City was a dangerous place.

"Please! HELP! SOMEBODY!"

I made it abundantly clear to avoid turning my gaze and attention towards the sounds of the screams. It was a Sunday Morning, and, amidst the other civilians and pedestrians who were walking to or from their varied destinations, I was not the fool who was going to play hero when there is literally nobody who is playing hero. When full grown men and women merely increased the briskness of their gaits, taking their time to agonizingly ensure that they did not look in the direction of the alleyway. Sure the feminine screams were annoying and somewhat grating, but, of course, I knew it would only be a matter of time.

Yup. Cue the idealistic hero charging down the alleyway in hopes of stopping what he probably assumed was a poor woman being raped.

"You – GURK –"

The world's supply of altruistic people was once more chipped off.

Of course even now the crime in this city still was at its lowest when no hero or villain was running around as the things were going to be far worse for this city once the Cape Crusader revealed himself causing the crime rate to go off the charts.

But even now I could say this city is worse than North Korea. It's in its current situation when there aren't many lunatics running around.

I shook my head at the sight, letting out another sigh before I continued moving along. I had a convenience store to go shoplift from.

My small, childlike form walking around the streets without any form of adult supervision had clearly drawn some surprised looks and stares, but ultimately, no one in this city was bothered or invested enough to approach me and ask why. I supposed it was one of the few reasons that I truly enjoyed this place. Other than the constant nature of the cloudy skies which meant that Gotham never, ever got sunlight, so it's a worst place for a Krypton baby and the stone gargoyles which hung on the tallest of buildings, looming down upon the mortals beneath as supposed protectors of evil, I would say that Gotham's ambient 'you-live-or-die-on-your-own' attitude resonated with me. When a city was steeped deep in corruption and crime and violence, the citizens and average folk had evolved to learn that it was never best to look too closely at things, and it was always best to mind your own business.

A lesson which, if not learned, would mean ending up lying in the ditches in some empty alley, bleeding out, or r@ped and wondering how your desire to help had led to your untimely demise.

A major reason as to why Gotham seemed to be so horrendously bad, was of course, the lovely Batman. I had no idea how old he is supposed to be as of now, but I had begun hearing of Waynes and Wayne family being spoken by the angry and wrathful customers of my mother's workplace who ranted as to how their "Waynes problem" was causing them to lose on their "legitimate" investments.

However, as it stood, once his motivation is out and he is out he is going to primarily operate in Gotham City at night. It was his M.O. which struck fear and panic into the hearts of villains and criminals alike, because they would never know when the dark shadow above them would morph into a dark bat ready to render 'justice.'

It was for this reason just common folks who had evolved to learn that it was never best to look too closely at things, and it was always best to mind your own business. Many criminals, both petty and grand, will move their operations towards the day.

I knew for a fact that Batman still had to work as Bruce Wayne, and contrary to how the movies and books or shows portrayed it, there was no way the C.E.O. of an important company like Wayne Enterprises would just 'delegate' all his duties and responsibilities to someone else, without either losing faith from his board and employees, or utterly sending the entire company crashing.

Hence, Batman could not truly be as active in the day as he was at night.

And the ratio of daylight crimes going to skyrocket once criminals realized that the Batman only went hunting once the sun came down.

I had realized that this was one of the aspects that most of the numerous franchises failed to mention or incorporate, or perhaps they did, and I was not simply knowledgeable enough to know.

People adapted.

They weren't the dumb, idiotic, one-dimensional villains and mooks that would continue to follow a pattern and stick with it regardless of the better alternatives. No. They were multifaceted beings capable of coming to their own conclusions and realizing their limitations – as all humans are. Adaptability is the sole reason we as a species have continued to evolve.

The Dark Knight's crusade to end all crime in Gotham city was a laughable quest. He was in essence, attempting to use anti-biotics to cure cancer. Beating up and locking up the crooks didn't truly dissuade them, instead, it only taught them how to be smarter, and how to avoid running into the Batman next time.

Ganged up on a poor defenseless girl with nefarious plans in a dark alleyway at night, only to find yourself beat to a pulp by the masked crusader?

Next time, they'd use chloroform or drug the girl first before she could scream and gain anyone's attention, and then commit the deed in a hidden location.

Got busted for trying to burgle a jewelry store at night?

They'd come back during the day dressed in an elegant suit, a mask, and pointing an SMG at the cashier, while wisely telling them that they dared not trigger the silent alarm you saw in your previous attempt.

Thrown in the slammer for supposedly committing arson?

They'd set up their explosives a few days earlier, get into a slight or minor altercation and be arrested, and then watch and snicker as the fire starts and they have a near-airtight alibi as to why they could not have been the one who started it.

In essence, Batman will cause the criminals to evolve.

Batman is going to make better criminals.

It annoyed me, personally, and I wondered if the idiot even realized what his actions would do, or if he did, but insisted that he continued to 'fight crime' under some misguided notion of pride or purpose. And soon civilians will die by the truckloads here.

I shook my head as I ultimately strolled through the Department Store that was quite a reasonable distance away from my house. Of course, by a reasonable distance, I was talking the distance of about twenty blocks, which, so far, my legs had walked and made me feel as though I had been trekking for an eternity.

So… what to steal?

My eyes turned to the left. There, standing, was a refrigerator. Within, bottles of chilled liquor, ranging from brands like Guinness to Jack Daniels, stood, uniformed. Side by side, with a small layer of glazed frost over the glass, they beckoned.

Beside the refrigerator, crates of cans of beer. Neatly packaged in four-rows, waiting and expecting to be purchased.

My eyes flickered over to the right. Aisle six stood, with cooking equipment, toasters, microwaves, pressure cookers, blenders, pots and pans with most electric things either having the symbol of Wyane Tech or Luthar Tech.

Behind me, a rack of sunglasses. Beside the rack, cheap, easily made, hats and baseball caps hung quietly. To the right of that, lay an area for jeans, T-shirts, and clothes that were made more for practical purchase reasons than for any sense of fashion. Then, finally, behind that, was a display case for faux-golden wristwatches, and Made-in-China Rolex knockoffs.

I couldn't take everything. There was no way that they would fail to notice the significant number of items gone missing. Instead, I needed to weigh my options to figure out which of these things would be the best ones I could steal and pawn off to raise six hundred dollars. The liquor was probably one of them, the microwaves and cooking equipment were another, and the wristwatches would be a third and final option. But who the fuck going to buy these from me.

I decided that the wristwatches would be the best bet, they were small and inconspicuous enough, and then the liquor would be the next thing I could go for. I highly doubted that people would fail to notice a missing microwave.

My feet moved over to the display case, my eyes roving over the different collections and sizes, for men, women, and people of unfortunately diminutive heritages.

All I would need to do, would be to extend my hand out, and let my power do the magic, disassembling the thing and making it part of my clothes.

Yep.

That was it. Simple.

Seconds ticked by as I continued to stare.

It was an easy task, no one was looking in my direction, and there were far too few people here to notice the theft.

Yet, I stood.

Fake silver and pony gold stared up at me, the seconds of the clock ticking in reminder of the non-stationary nature of the universe. My eyes could see them, recognize them, understand the value of them, realize the importance of them. My hands and fingers, however, were magnetized to my sides. It was as though there was a kinetic force compelling them to refuse my mental commands to rise and pilfer.

Why?

A spark of emotion followed. Irritation, I could recognize with ease, annoyance came second, the two primary entities that were the inhabitants of my subconscious.

Why?

It's just pickpocketing, my mind rationalized. There was no need to be overly dramatic about it, and almost everybody had done it at one point or another. And it's not like you won't have done in your former life.

You need this, my mind tried again, harder, when my hands still rebelled against it. You need to steal this to get money, to become rich, to help your mother, to pay off your debts.

And what would you say, when she eventually asks you how you got the money?

Lie to her face?

Tell her the truth?

To tell an explicit lie about something like this, it would be the start of the deterioration of any form of trust we have.

To tell the truth, would be to admit to theft and stealing.

What does that matter? She sleeps and strips with men for money!

The illegality of prostitution aside, there was the clear fact that this was a trade. It was an exchange. A service for a sum. She had not earned the money dubiously, she had worked hard to get it. Many would agree that a prostitute was somehow better off than a thief.

YOU! NEED! THIS!

The problem with this method of thought, I knew, would be when it would become my growing alibi for the fractured moral compass I would gain. I would shoplift with the justification of necessity. When things got harder, I would commit burglary with the justification of necessity.

From there on, the spiral continued and never ended. Blackmail, extortion, drug running and smuggling, armed robbery, grand larceny, human trafficking, and eventually – murder.

I would justify it all as a necessity.

Would I eventually justify rape as a necessity too?

I took a deep breath, shaking my head to clear it. A snarl escaped my lips without me ever intending to, I could feel how my facial muscles contorted into an avatar of disgust and uncertainty. Why had I chosen now, of all times, after walking twenty blocks, after making such badass claims and boasts, why had I chosen now, to develop a fucking moral compass?

It was stupid. Naïve. Absolutely ridiculous.

I could watch people get murdered and assaulted without batting an eyelash, yet, the thought of entering into the world of crime made me hesitate. Gotham City was not a place for bleeding hearts who were unable to do what needed to be done. It was not a place that would reward you for your humanity and munificence. No. It was a place that would tear you down to shreds, rip asunder any guise of innocence and goodness, and leave you feeling like an orange sucked dry from the lips of a parched whore.

DO IT!

JUST DO IT!

WHY WON'T YOU DO IT?!

Some people would claim that you could become a petty criminal all your life and never kill or get into anything serious or major. There were most likely individuals in the world who fitted that description. However, I knew that it could not be the case for me. Matter Manipulation advanced and progressed, and having this power I need to perform human experiment if I even want come close to enhancing myself or even get rid of all the morbidity and disease my mother could have due to over excessive drinking and smoking not to mention all sex, My path for mastering my power's first phase would be a very inhuman criminal activity I partook in would eventually lead to a serial escalation, no matter what.

Shoplifting? Oooh! Take this nifty thing and improve your skills and make you the best! Oh, you could even upgrade this into direct armed robbery!

What if I got used for murder? Or if I got addicted to murder, Or fully used to it?

Or even started to enjoy it? Or even kill people in the most imaginative ways possible like I was in a hack-and-slash game and being awarded style points?

Or what if I got into some eroge stuff that needed me to rape as many women as possible to get the satisfaction.

Would I decide, then, that there was a line that should not be crossed, or would I bite down on my lower lip, stealing my mind to the fact that I needed the benefits, and as such, it was a necessity? To make my mom's life better and to make her body better and to do any of that I would eventually needed to do the human experiments and there is no saying how many of them are going to survive so it's not just one person.

"Fucking hell!"

I found myself turning around, ignoring some of the stares I drew from my potty mouth, and immediately rushing out the door of the convenience store.

Good and evil were arbitrary, and there was no definite source on what morality was or should be. My standard however, was simple: Don't do anything to others that you wouldn't want done to you.

I wouldn't want to be killed, or burgled from, or sexually assaulted, sold into slavery, or blackmailed, so, then why should I do the same thing to anyone else?

At the same time, there was the realization that just because humans did not eat lion meat, did not mean that a lion would spare you the same gesture should you encounter one. In essence, any and all of those things could happen to me, whether I liked it or not, or whether I did it or not. As this multiverse truly follows the laws for the jungle.

"Gods I'm such a fucking pussy."

Where was my spine?

How can I possibly advance my macabre experiments if I stumble at such a simple task?

Where was that grit and determination that said I would do anything for my mother?

Where were the arrogant claims of becoming a legend in a world of Gods and Demons?

It was always easier said than done, apparently. I let out a bitter chuckle. If I didn't even have it in me to shoplift, I would have to kiss my beautiful dreams of saving my mother from this hell-hole goodbye. I would have to live in poverty, and watch the only person I cared about in this world continue to live miserably, because I didn't have it in me to do what needed to be done in order to change that.

"Hey there little guy!"

My self-loathing was cut short. My gaze turned upwards. I was shocked to look at and even I had to say she was one fine beauty with red hair, blue eyes, wearing a manger's outfit, glasses, and a hairband having lays on both sides. Her breasts are very large and she has a very slender and voluptuous body, a curvaceous figure, including larger breasts and a defined waist. The I'd that hung in her neck had written Nelly, Donahue's department manager of sales; she was the Convenience Store Employee.

She was in a one piece office lady which clung to her voluptuous body perfectly revealing the curves of her humongous breasts and wide child-bearing hips.

[Image Here].

Man if I wasn't a toddler I would surely have got a boner just by looking at her. But now neither I was old enough nor I was in the mood.

She – she followed me? Had she discovered what I had intended? No – it wasn't possible, I was certain that I had been careful, certain that I ensured I did not give away my intent – but then, why did she –

"Are you lost? Where's your mommy?"

I blinked.

Oh. That's right. I'm a toddler.

I resisted the urge to palm my face. Of course – I was a toddler. Being a child was so far shaping up to be one of the most irritating experiences so far. In her eyes, I was just a lost little infant who had no clue as to what he was doing.

"Fuck off."

I was already irritated at this point, no matter how beautiful and voluptuous or sexy she was I wasn't in the mood and did not even bother attempting to maintain any childlike façade.

"Wow – that's quite the potty mouth you got –"

"So fucking what? Are you going to bend me over and spank me for it?"

Nelly frowned. "O-kay, wow, even I don't think I have a mouth that dirty."

"Maybe if you blow me, you can get the firsthand experience."

Silence.

"Wow. That was actually a pretty good comeback."

I stared, exasperation clear on my face.

"You're not good at taking a hint are you?"

"Maybe."

I stared at her for a second, before feeling a bit of my anger simmer down.

"Alright. What's your gimmick?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

" What are you, kidnapper, organ thief, drug dealer or child predator?"

"Excuse me?"

"This is Gotham City. If you live here, and you run out to help every kid you see – you'd be dead already."

"Well that's a rather cynical worldview."

I snorted.

Four seconds passed in silence afterwards, which was the starting point of its awkwardness.

"You're a child predator aren't you."

The silence stretched on.

*********

"Just. Fucking. Great."

"You know – gagging me was completely unnecessary. Tossing me in the trunk even more so. I could have just sat in the back or something. Oh, and I hope you're not planning on ransoming me back to my family afterwards – trust me, you'd probably be a hundred times richer than my mom is. Hell, you have a car! A job of a big market chain"

I'd always pictured being kidnapped as a slightly more harrowing experience. Perhaps it was because I already had a jilted perspective to the world, or maybe it was just the the power I don't know about that kept me sane up until which was capable of making me feel relaxed, or me knowing that I could escape the situation from her the moment I want as with a simple touch this all could be over as the extremely attractive woman in her late twenties, Nelly, which is definitely a fake name proceeded to lift me out of the back of her sedan.

Rather than agonizing over my fate, I blinked, staring up into the night sky with the realization that it was already dark, that my mother would probably be throwing a tantrum looking for me everywhere, and wondering if this kidnapping counted as my own character development. If so…

Well, wasn't that convenient?

"You're a terrible conversationalist, you know."

The woman ignored my words throughout as she made her way towards what seemed to be an expensive apartment. Her apartment complex was way out of the way though – on the outskirts of Gotham City and almost entering into Bludhaven, and it even looked abandoned. The only reason I knew this, of course, was the nifty map which I looked at when I got out of my home for this journey, which meant that getting back home wouldn't really be an issue. I wasn't a toddler after all.

"I mean, aren't you supposed to be buttering me up or trying to make me have Stockholm Syndrome or something?"

Again, the woman was suspiciously quiet as she opened the door to the apartment complex with a swipe of a card.

"Also, quick question, is it the sight or the feel of tiny dicks that get you off, or is it just the concept of having some form of power over a male? Because if it's the latter, you can always just use your fingers – probably more pleasurable that way."

Again, she seemed to not want to give me a retort. I would praise her willpower, for that at least.

Until she unceremoniously dropped me on the ground.

"Ouch! That hurt! Please don't tell me you're into BDSM – that would be a major deal breaker."

I could make out a small briefcase on the floor. I raised my eyebrow, doubly so when the woman began to unceremoniously strip.

"You're lacking in poise. Tuck your stomach in more and let the clothes fall off you like you're made of butter and oils. Bounce your beautiful breasts a little bit more – oh, and don't forget to twirl your hips – you're a young woman, not a paraplegic gymnast."

SMACK!

"Asa"

"Shut. Up."

I blinked. There were still some stars in my vision, alongside the resounding static in my ears that accompanied the slap.

"Well, don't leave me hanging. How about sharing your true name?"

"Marissa," she finally replied, and it struck a chord.

"Marissa... where have I heard that name before? It's on the tip of my tongue. Wait, wait, I remember now. It was mentioned in a Batwoman comic. But something's not adding up. I can't seem to place her in that storyline.

Or maybe it's from one of the Justice League Dark comics? The memory is hazy, like an old TV show on static. And it just hit me – perhaps I couldn't identify her at first because she looked so much younger than the comics.

But why does she look so strikingly familiar now? Ah, it's all falling into place. She's one of the main characters. No wonder she seems like a beautiful woman in a sea of beauty.

I still can't quite put my finger on it, but it's like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

I stared in confusion, wondering why, after completely stripping, she put on a red hooded robe.

So. Things are getting serious now.

Don't fucking tell me –

I snapped and began scrutinizing every chilling detail. It didn't take a genius to realize she was a greedy cultist, hell-bent on ascending within the sinister hierarchy of the magical community. Her path was littered with occult rituals, dark rites, and a sinister secret – she harnessed the innate youth and vitality of innocent children to fuel her sorcery and reclaim her own youth.

The horrors continued as I pieced together the gruesome puzzle: she drained their souls through hedonistic rituals, leaving behind nothing but hollow, lifeless shells. Her room, a crypt of depravity, only confirmed the malevolent depths she'd sunk to.

Then, as my eyes fell upon the accursed circle, dread washed over me. I saw a name etched within it, a name I'd hoped never to encounter again. My own powers, elevated to the level of a new God, felt insignificant in the face of the unspeakable evil that lurked.

Hell no, no please not him,

Don't fucking tell me –

My eyes were wide open as even looking at the name gave me chills I never felt before.

Trigon

Of all the demons lurking in the depths of hell, it just had to be that motherf***ing Trigon.

FUCK.

This was bad. Badbadbadbad!

I watched, from my spot on the ground, as the woman began lighting candles in the dim apartment room, immediately drawing my attention to the red, five-pointed, hexagonal looking thing that was painted with what could only be dried blood on the floor.

Why in the world was I running into psychos like this so soon? Why couldn't I start my way up in this world with slighter milder villains like Toy Man or Black Mask? Why did I have to find a bloody fucking Trigon Cultist?

How the hell in the world did this woman even know of Trigon? My knowledge wasn't that great – and should that have been possible?

Oh, wait. That's right. Raven's mother – Arella – was originally an inhabitant of Gotham City in some iterations. She'd been amongst the group of occultists that were planning on summoning the devil – and one thing led to another, Trigon showed up, she fucked the closest guy to Satan, some far far worse than Satan and bam, Raven was born.

But even then it happened in Azarath which was an interdimensional realm that existed between the planes of known reality.

So how the fuck she knows him. No no no it wasn't the time to ask such questions now.

Fuck.

Why the fuck it happend to be him. Even literal Satan wouldn't be much better.

Fuck this

Fuck you – Gotham City.

Fuck. You.

Fuck Trigon.

Fuck Her.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

I continued to methodologically slam my head into the floor.

FUCKING IDIOT.

There I had been, too chicken to simply shoplift – questioning the morality and decency of a never-ending spiral.

The fucking good that did me now!

Had I merely stolen what I needed and bolted, I would not have been around long enough to have run into this crazy cultist supervillain, and I would not have landed myself in a situation where I was going to be the main ingredient in an evil magical ritual.

But noooooo!

I just had to uphold moral standards!

I grit my teeth hard enough to notice that I was bleeding a lot.

Then, I took a deep breath.

And I exhaled.

My eyes, as they were, narrowed in focus.

Agonizing over past mistakes was pointless. Now, the only thing left was to move forward. I would take this experience as a form of divine intervention on my part, as a constant reminder to the moments of weakness and hesitation, as an ever-present souvenir of the day I decided to put moral 'good' over my personal benefit.

I would not make that mistake again.

Ever.

Never Ever.

As I lay there, bound and surrounded by Marissa's eerie preparations, my mind raced with determination. My hands were mercilessly tied behind my back with layers of duct tape, rendering me immobile. Likewise, my legs were ensnared in the unforgiving grip of the same tape. But I was not about to be a helpless pawn in her dark game.

With every fiber of my being, I focused on the task at hand, blocking out the unsettling sights and sounds around me. In a world where magic was as real as the air we breathed, the concept of escaping restraint was more a matter of willpower than impossibility. And so, with a simple mental command, the once-constraining duct tape yielded to my newfound power, disintegrating into dust as if it had never existed.

I couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude for the flexibility my mother had gifted me. It was a trait that would prove invaluable in the peculiar circumstances that lay ahead. Marissa, the Occultist, remained engrossed in her intricate preparations, blissfully unaware of my newfound freedom. This suited me perfectly.

As I contemplated my unique gift and its potential, I couldn't escape the harsh reality that accompanied it. My power, my quirk, was a double-edged sword. The most crippling aspect of it was the absolute necessity to understand, with pinpoint precision, the intricacies of what I was about to do when employing it on a person or object.

It was a paradox that could be devastating. While I could easily disassemble and destruct, the true challenge lay in restoration. My days as a doctor in my former life had equipped me with an intimate knowledge of human anatomy, diseases, and the intricacies of the body. It was this reservoir of understanding that now formed the foundation of my plan.

I had spent countless hours absorbing the knowledge of how the human body functioned and how to mend it, drawing from the collective wisdom of humanity. Now I am going to figure out human anatomy on a level no mortal man could imagine she would become my experimental subject.

The cruel irony lay in the fact that if my powers fell into the hands of the average person, it would be a potential disaster. The majority of individuals lacked the faintest inkling of what a "hallux" was, let alone how it functioned. That was my advantage and her impending doom.

With my legs freed, I pressed my palms to the ground, altering its composition into a blend of fibreglass and mineral wool. The material transformed into an efficient sound absorber, ensuring every step I took was cloaked in silence. In a matter of moments, I constructed a trap, poised to react to Marissa's movements.

If I wanted, I could turn the ground into liquid but I knew that won't even Source's powers work either with their mouths or by hand moment and a single wrong move could be the death of me as a bullet to the head and my game would be over.

She was preoccupied, consumed by her occult ritual. Her back was an easy target, and her obliviousness only fueled my determination. My heart raced as I sprang into action, every step an orchestration of silent precision. The ground beneath me absorbed the sound, erasing any auditory trace of my approach.

My youthful body moved with a grace that belied my age. I couldn't afford to fail; every second counted. Her back was turned, her focus unwavering, leaving her vulnerable. With a simple, calculated tap on her leg and an intense visualization, I activated my power.

In an instant, the world shifted. Marissa's body was no longer whole. I had unleashed the same maneuver employed by Young Justice characters, tearing her physical form into four distinct components.

- **Vitalis**: The embodiment of her vital organs and life-sustaining systems.

- **Ossium**: The repository of her skeletal structure and the framework that held her form.

- **Muscula**: The powerhouse that housed her strength and physical prowess.

- **Dermis**: The veneer of her physical features and the protective shell of her body.

Marissa's shock was palpable as her body was forcibly deconstructed before her eyes. I had not forgotten to erase her pain sensors, for the excruciating sensations of such an ordeal would be enough to send any normal person spiraling into madness.

Her wide eyes followed me, a desperate plea for words that she could no longer utter. In that pivotal moment, she had lost her voice, her control, and her dominion over the dark forces she had so recklessly summoned. I had become the architect of her demise, and her fate now rested in the hands of a new god.