Within the Phantom Zone, Kar'el stood silently behind Omen, who lay on his side, fast asleep. He wasn't alone—Zora and many others stood there as well, their eyes hollow, their wills long since shattered. All of them waited in silence behind Omen, like shadows obeying an unseen master, their minds broken and tethered to the one who had reduced them to this state.
They were waiting. Waiting for the next unfortunate soul to arrive in this forsaken dimension.
"I was looking forward to new arrivals," Omen muttered, eyes still shut. "But the more I think about it… the more I realize I'm losing interest in the whole torturing-people thing."
His voice was low and flat, not tired, but numb. After forcing every soul in the Phantom Zone to scream for him, after extracting every drop of suffering, their agony no longer satisfied him the way it once had. Their songs—their screams—had dulled into white noise. It no longer thrilled him like it did before..
He still found enjoyment in watching them suffer, but it was becoming boring. These people… they were small fries, weak and insignificant. If they had been Justice League members, perhaps the screams would've meant something. Perhaps the thrill would've lasted.
But this? This was fine too. After all, he was a monster. And if he had to suffer boredom for eternity, then maybe this hellhole was exactly where he belonged.
"…" Zora and the others exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain if they had just heard Omen correctly—or if his muttering was another twisted game. Their gazes slowly shifted back toward him as he stood up, stretching his limbs with a casual sigh.
The air grew cold. All of them tensed, their broken bodies stiffening in place as Omen turned to face them.
He didn't have to say a word. His presence alone was enough to remind them who he was… and what he was capable of.
Time skip… Well, as much as time could even exist in the Phantom Zone.
In what felt like the blink of an eye—or perhaps an eternity—Omen had bent everyone within the Zone to his will. Piece by piece, he broke them, until even the most defiant were nothing more than tools. He had them build a city from the twisted, warped matter scattered across the Zone. When resources ran short, Omen made do in his own horrific way—skinning one of them alive, for example, skinless and screaming. After all, in the Phantom Zone, death was just a dream.
The result was Phantom City—a city born of madness and cruelty, crafted by broken hands, and ruled by a god who had grown tired of silence.
It was Omen's mimicry of Earth, a reflection of the world he missed. A twisted stage meant to satisfy the dull ache of longing.
To stave off boredom, Omen had Zora and the others perform daily shows for him—plays, dramas, reenactments of life they once knew. If their creativity failed to amuse him, if they dared recycle old ideas or waste even a second of his time, they paid dearly.
"Omen is there," the Martian Womanhunter said, her voice steady, but her expression uneasy. The discomfort in her eyes wasn't because of Omen himself—it was the Phantom Zone. While Omen had paid it no mind, the Martian could feel it… the pressure of something vast and ancient, something not meant to be disturbed. A godlike being slumbered at the heart of this place, and the entire Phantom Zone seemed to be a projection of its dormant will.
Batwoman immediately noticed the shift in her expression. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice sharp but calm.
The rest of the team turned to the Martian, sensing something was off. Taking a slow breath, the Martian Womanhunter explained everything—about the presence she'd felt, the danger beneath the surface, and how they might not just be dealing with Omen… but something far more terrifying.
"It's not important," Batwoman said calmly, though her words carried weight. "Omen most likely ignored it to avoid risking a return to our world. Let's move—before it wakes up and kills him."
Her voice echoed in the unnatural stillness of the Phantom Zone. The implication behind her words sent a chill through everyone. If Omen could project his consciousness into reality… they didn't dare think further.
Without another word, they pressed forward, moving through the distorted space of the Zone. The Martian Womanhunter led the way, following the unmistakable presence of countless minds clustered in one location—each one broken, but still clinging to some thread of thought.
As they moved, they quickly learned how the Phantom Zone functioned. Normal physics didn't apply here—without adjusting their approach, they would've passed straight through the terrain, unable to interact with anything. The Martian was the only one who moved naturally, already attuned to the Zone's strange frequency. The Green Lanterns managed just as well, their rings adapting on instinct to the alien laws of this place.
The rest had to struggle. But with time, and urgency pushing them forward, they began to adapt.
They arrived at a massive floating rock, a city resting atop its surface like a scar carved into the void. It was crude, uneven, shaped in the likeness of Earth, yet lacking all warmth. Surrounding it were countless people, all bearing the same hollow, lifeless gaze.
The League didn't need to ask what had done this—Omen's presence hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
To avoid drawing attention, they changed into worn, tattered clothes and slipped into the crowd. But as they moved closer to the city gates, a small group broke away from the others and approached them.
At first, they couldn't understand how they'd been spotted so easily—until the crowd suddenly parted. Superwoman's heart dropped as a man stepped forward. Her eyes locked onto the symbol on his chest—faded, but unmistakable. The red S. Her cousin, Kar'el, stood before her… and there was nothing behind his eyes.
"Run. Get as far from here as you can," Kar'el said, his voice low, lifeless, and trembling. "Your eyes still hold life… I don't want to hear those screams again."
His body shook at the memory. The way that devil made people scream—it was like their very souls had grown mouths of their own, shrieking in agony. Just hearing it felt like being flayed from the inside out.
Superwoman said nothing. Her heart pounded as she looked at him, her cousin, his eyes were hollow, dead… yet even now, he stood in front of them, trying to protect them. Trying to shield them from whatever horror he had endured.
"Kar'el, the City Lord is ready for his show," Zora called out, hurrying toward them, her voice laced with panic. She was clearly afraid—afraid that Kar'el might anger Omen and drag her down with him.
The moment Superwoman saw Zora, she instinctively stepped back, lowering her head and turning slightly so her face wouldn't be seen.
"O-okay," Kar'el replied, his voice uneasy, his dead eyes flickering with a shadow of dread. No matter how numb they became, Omen always found new ways to hurt them. Their minds were in his grasp, twisted and rewired at will. He could heighten their senses until the pain became something far beyond physical—something no one should ever feel.
But Omen didn't enjoy shattering minds the easy way—he found it dull watching people fall apart too quickly. Lately, he had taken greater pleasure in watching those who thought they were already broken, only to realize their fragments could still be crushed into something even smaller.
Kar'el didn't spare Superwoman or the others a glance. He simply turned and joined the rest, running toward the center of the city where the stage stood tall. Around it was a wide clearing, with enough space for hundreds to sit and watch the performance.
At the very back, Omen stood silently, eyes scanning the growing crowd as they filled the seats. Then his gaze shifted to the stage, where Kar'el and a few others gathered, preparing for the show he had demanded.
Hiding among the crowd, Superwoman and the others quietly took their seats, blending in with the lifeless spectators. Their eyes, however, remained fixed on Omen, each of them silently wondering—was this the real body, or just another clone?
But their attention was soon drawn to the stage, where the play Romeo and Juliet began to unfold. The hauntingly familiar lines echoed through the broken audience, now forced into yet another of Omen's twisted forms of entertainment.
Batwoman kept her gaze locked on Omen, her mind carefully calculating. Omen was fully absorbed in the performance, his guard down, completely defenseless. It would be easy—too easy. She quietly marked the perfect moment for them to strike.
When the moment arrived, just as Juliet was about to end her life, Flash made her move. A blur tore through the air, slamming into Omen's chin with such force that he was launched straight toward Superwoman. Without hesitation, she drove her fist into his back—only for it to phase right through him. But before Omen could react, a golden lasso wrapped tightly around his leg, forcing his body into a solid state just in time for Superwoman's next punch to land with full impact.
Every time Omen tried to recover, to find even a second to process what was happening, another blow crashed into him. Green Arrow's specialized arrows struck from afar. The Martian's relentless mental assaults kept his focus fractured. Aquawoman's trident carved through his defenses. The three Green Lanterns unleashed a storm of willpower. Flash continued her high-speed assault. And Superwoman's fists never stopped, each punch carrying the weight of someone who had long since stopped holding back.
For once, Omen was getting his ass kicked—and there was nothing he could do about it.
Magic chains—along with a series of other restraints—quickly wrapped around Omen, locking his battered body in place. The enchanted bindings pulsed with power, sealing away his abilities and rendering him completely powerless.
Bloody and beaten, Omen lifted his head with effort. Through swollen eyes and a bruised face, he stared at the Justice League members who now stood around him. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath before he finally closed his eyes in silence.
"Do it," Omen said with a faint smile. In that moment, he had never been more proud of the Justice League. They had finally won, and now they were about to ensure that a monster like him was put down for good.
"Goodbye… and don't come back," Green Arrow said coldly, drawing her bow and aiming a sharp-tipped arrow at Omen's heart.
Superwoman instinctively stepped forward to stop her, but before she could act, the rest of the Justice League blocked her path, including Batwoman, who had also planned to step forward to stop this.
"That would put an end to me?" Omen asked softly, opening his eyes to look at the weapon meant to kill him.
"This arrow will tear your body apart at the atomic level, then break those atoms down into raw energy," Green Arrow explained, her voice steady. "Do you have any powers that could bring you back from that?"
Omen gave a small shake of his head. "No."
"No… it should kill me. Then again, I always come back stronger after I die," Omen said with a faint smile. "So maybe it won't work—but it's worth a try. Besides, it's even better that you're the one to do it. You don't have anything new for me to gain—no offense."
"None taken." With those words, Green Arrow released the arrow. But at the last second, her aim shifted. Instead of striking Omen, the arrow struck the chains, shattering them completely. Omen blinked in confusion, his expression blank, as his body rapidly regenerated, healing every injury in seconds.
"Haha, Creator, did you really think it was going to be that simple?" An evil laugh echoed through the air as everyone turned toward the source. Omen floated above them, his expression twisted with madness.