The weight of Azrael's profound confession hung in the air, a cosmic echo in the otherwise utilitarian conference chamber. Before anyone could truly process the implications of a being who had "observed eternity" now wishing "to live," Supergirl stepped forward, her initial shock giving way to a focused determination.
"Alright, Azrael," she said, a warm, reassuring smile on her face. "Let's start your... 'education.' There's a lot to see and learn here." She gestured towards the door.
Cyborg, ever the pragmatic one, quickly moved to Azrael's side. "My systems detected no active energy manipulation during his appearance," he murmured to Supergirl, his voice low, "but we need to understand how he bypassed the containment fields. For now, constant proximity and observation are our best bets." He turned to Azrael. "This way. We'll show you around."
Azrael regarded them both with his serene, baby-blue eyes, then simply nodded. He floated effortlessly, not walking, as Supergirl and Cyborg began to lead him out of the room. As they passed, Supergirl offered a quick, reassuring glance back at her cousin and the rest of the League.
Cyborg's final look was more serious, a silent acknowledgment of the immense responsibility they were taking on. The door slid shut behind them, leaving the remaining heroes in a charged silence.
Batman was the first to speak, his gaze fixed on the now-empty space where Azrael had stood. "His explanation... 'consciousness of the void.' It implies a being of pure, raw existence. Our prior understanding of his power was rudimentary at best."
"He perceives the 'threads of the cosmos forming'," Wonder Woman murmured, a note of awe in her voice. "To exist beyond time, to simply be... it is almost unfathomable."
Superman's jaw was tight. "And he chose to come here. To experience what we have. He chose to 'live' after existing as pure observation. That is a momentous decision, one that speaks volumes about his potential."
"Or his danger," Batman countered, his voice sharp. "A being that powerful, newly exposed to the 'sensations' and 'emotions' he spoke of, is fundamentally unstable. His 'boredom' shattered our containment. What happens when he experiences anger? Or despair? Or the complex frustrations of our imperfect justice system?"
Constantine blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling, his expression unusually grim. "That's the rub, isn't it, Bats? He didn't live in no cosmic background radiation; he was beyond the multiverse itself, observing from the true void of non-existence, from utter un-being. No concept of good or evil, only absolute truth. Now he's getting hit with sensory overload from every direction. The feeling of 'boredom' was just the first tremor. Wait till he figures out what 'misery' is, or 'betrayal'. The kid's got the power of a god and the emotional maturity of a newborn. It's a miracle Manny didn't drop dead from a stroke when I named him."
"That... Angel, Manny's reaction confirms the cosmic significance," Martian Manhunter added, his telepathic voice overlaying his spoken words. "The Archangel Azrael is traditionally associated with the transition between life and death, an entity of profound cosmic order. For this Azrael to emerge from a 'void' and take that name... it suggests a shift in the fundamental fabric of his existence. Perhaps even a new purpose being forged."
"A new purpose we now have a hand in shaping," Superman finished, his gaze sweeping over his teammates. "We are responsible for what he becomes. We must show him the best of humanity, give him reasons to value this 'tapestry' he wishes to join."
"And if we fail?" Batman pressed, his voice unyielding. "If his desire to 'live' translates into a desire to impose his absolute will, to 'undo' what he perceives as discordant? He was aware for eternity, Clark. He saw countless civilizations rise and fall. What if he decides humanity isn't worth the 'struggle'?"
"Then we stand against him," Wonder Woman declared, her voice firm, "as we stand against any threat to this world. But we will not approach him as an enemy until he proves himself to be one. His curiosity, his desire to feel, that is our leverage. It is our hope."
"Hang on," Flash interjected, his eyes narrowed, cutting through the heavy conversation. "I think we're missing something here. Even though he feels emotions now, can he actually truly feel despair or sadness? After all, can't he just change whatever caused that feeling?"
The question hung in the air, a chilling realization that silenced the room more effectively than any command from Batman. Flash's rapid-fire inquiry, so characteristic of his mind, had sliced through the philosophical complexities and hit upon a terrifying, practical implication.
Superman's confident posture faltered. His eyes, usually beacons of hope, clouded with genuine concern. "He... he restored Dr. Watson," he murmured, almost to himself. "If he can undo moments... then what truly has consequence for him?"
Wonder Woman's brow furrowed, her gaze distant as she contemplated the ramifications. "To feel true sorrow, to learn from loss, requires permanence. If any pain can simply be erased, then what depth can his 'emotions' truly attain?"
Batman's grim expression deepened, a silent 'I told you so' in his dark eyes. "That's the fundamental paradox, isn't it? If existence is mutable for him, if he can simply 'un-thread' unpleasant experiences, then his understanding of our world, of our suffering, will always be superficial. How do you teach empathy to a being who can simply wipe away the cause of another's pain, or even his own?"
Constantine let out a short, bitter laugh, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Bingo, that's the billion-dollar question. If you can rewind time on your bad days, do you ever really learn from 'em? He's a cheat code, innit? And without consequences, you don't build character. You just build... an echo chamber of bliss, or whatever he fancies."
Martian Manhunter's usually serene features hardened. "This is indeed a critical point. Our purpose was to help him understand 'choice' and 'struggle'. But if the outcomes of struggle hold no lasting weight for him, then his 'choice' becomes meaningless. We need to ascertain if there are any inherent limitations to this 'undoing' power, or if he is simply choosing not to use it, for now."
The silence returned, heavier this time. Flash's innocent question had unveiled the true, profound difficulty of their self-appointed task.
They weren't just teaching a powerful alien; they were attempting to teach a being whose very nature defied the fundamental rules of consequence that shaped all life in the multiverse.
----------------
Supergirl floated a few feet ahead, turning slowly to observe Azrael. Cyborg hovered beside her, his internal scanners whirring almost imperceptibly as he maintained a constant read on the cosmic being. Azrael, still utterly serene, floated just behind them, his eyes taking in everything with an unnerving intensity. The long, pristine white corridors of the Watchtower, usually so familiar, seemed alien under his unblinking gaze.
"Okay, so," Supergirl began, trying to find a starting point. "This is the Justice League Watchtower. It's our base. We orbit Earth from here, and it lets us respond to emergencies all over the planet, really fast." She gestured vaguely at the curved walls and occasional sealed doors. "These are... rooms. Different sections for different things. Like where Cyborg keeps all his tech, or where we train."
Azrael tilted his head, his focus shifting to a data console embedded in the wall as they passed. A schematic of the Watchtower blinked briefly on its screen. "Rooms," he repeated, the word new on his tongue. "Are these also 'threads'?"
Cyborg chimed in. "In a way, yes, Azrael. Each room, each piece of equipment, each system, it's a thread of design, of purpose. Built by human hands and minds to achieve specific goals. Like a complex tapestry, as you called it."
They rounded a corner, entering a large, open area with various training simulations and holographic projectors. A few training bots were running drills in the distance, their movements precise and repetitive.
"This is one of our training areas," Supergirl explained. "We practice our abilities here, keep ourselves ready." She paused, then, feeling a spark of inspiration from the earlier conversation, tried to make it more relatable. "It's like... how you might have observed cosmic patterns, and then tried to understand their rules. We train to understand our own abilities and the rules of combat, so we can... respond effectively."
Azrael drifted closer to a deactivated training drone, his hand hovering over its metallic shell. "To improve. To change state. To overcome perceived imperfection." His voice was thoughtful. "This is what you feel when you... train?"
"Exactly!" Supergirl beamed, a little surprised by how quickly he grasped the core concept. "It's about getting better. It can be frustrating sometimes when you fail, but when you succeed, it feels really good. That's... triumph. Or satisfaction."
Suddenly, Azrael's head snapped up. His gaze fixed on a small, red emergency light blinking intermittently above a distant, heavily secured door. The light pulsed with a low, almost imperceptible hum that only Azrael seemed to register.
"That light," Azrael stated, his voice devoid of emotion, "it indicates a state of malfunction. A deviation from intended purpose. A problem."
Supergirl and Cyborg exchanged a glance. The light was for a minor, non-critical power conduit fluctuation on a lower deck, something Cyborg's internal diagnostic had already flagged for a later, routine fix. It was barely even an alert.
"It's just a small issue, Azrael," Supergirl explained gently. "Nothing to worry about. Cyborg will take care of it later."
"But it is a deviation," Azrael insisted, a subtle tension entering his posture. "A threat to the harmonious function of the whole. Why is it permitted to exist?" His innocent gaze held a nascent question of imperfection.
Cyborg activated a small wrist display, pulling up the schematic of the power conduit. "It's not a threat, Azrael. It's just a minor power fluctuation. We monitor it, assess it, and when we have time, we fix it. It's not worth disrupting other operations for."
"But it is an imperfection," Azrael repeated, his voice gaining a soft, almost insistent edge, echoing the League's earlier fears in the conference room. His hand began to lift, a familiar, subtle shimmer starting to form around his fingertips. "If it is not severe, why not... correct it?"
Supergirl and Cyborg immediately became alert. They had seen what his "correction" looked like. As Azrael's hand slowly rose, his baby-blue eyes, fixed on the blinking light, began to change. The transformation was swift and breathtakingly terrible. The vibrant blue irises shifted, the intricate, floral patterns blooming outward, consuming the sclera, transforming the whites of his eyes into that mesmerizing, nebular swirl of cosmic dust and starlight – the Eyes of God were active.
A profound, absolute stillness fell over the corridor, the air itself seeming to hold its breath. Without a sound, without a visible beam of energy, the red blinking light above the distant door glowed once, intensely, then simply became solid green. Cyborg's internal diagnostics flashed wildly, then abruptly stabilized. The power conduit on the lower deck, previously flagging a minor fluctuation, was now operating at 100% optimal efficiency, every atom of its wiring perfectly aligned, every trace of resistance eliminated. It was not merely fixed; it was perfected.
Azrael's Eyes of God slowly receded, the cosmic patterns folding back into the innocent baby blue, his expression once again serene. He looked at Supergirl and Cyborg, a faint, almost childlike satisfaction on his face. "It is corrected," he stated, as if he had merely tidied a room.
Supergirl's jaw went slack. Cyborg's internal systems screamed with data anomalies from the instantaneous, absolute repair, his cybernetic eye widening in horrified realization. They had just witnessed the absolute reality-shaping power, used not to erase a problem, but to perfect it, down to its molecular structure. The implications were staggering.
The blinking light, a mundane inconvenience, had been treated with the same absolute power that had brought Dr. Watson back from non-existence.
"He... he just fixed it," Supergirl whispered, her voice barely audible. "He... he altered reality. For a blinking light." The sheer, disproportionate scale of the action was almost comical, if it weren't so utterly terrifying.
Cyborg, meanwhile, wasn't just wide-eyed; his cybernetic eye whirred frantically, struggling to reconcile the impossible data, it was beyond optimal; it was flawless. He ran a rapid simulation, attempting to replicate the energy signature, the method, anything. Nothing. It defied every known law of physics, engineering, and energy manipulation.
"Unbelievable," Cyborg breathed, his voice a low, mechanical-laced murmur of utter shock. His free hand instinctively came up to touch the side of his head, as if to reboot his own overwhelmed processors.
"He didn't just fix it, Kara. He created a state of absolute perfection. There's no variance, no potential for future degradation. It's... impossible. To use that level of fundamental manipulation on a simple circuit flaw... it's like using a singularity to turn off a light switch."
His gaze, now filled with a stark mixture of scientific wonder and profound trepidation, met Azrael's. The being remained calm, patiently awaiting their response, a faint echo of that earlier, joyful smile still lingering.
Supergirl swallowed hard, forcing herself to push past the shock. This wasn't a philosophical debate anymore; it was an immediate, live demonstration of the power they were tasked with guiding. "Azrael," she began, her voice a little shaky, but firm. "That... that was an incredible display of your abilities. But in our world, not everything needs to be... perfected... like that. Sometimes, small imperfections are just part of things. We just... fix them normally."
Azrael tilted his head, his eyes once again holding a flicker of confusion. "But if a deviation exists, why permit it to persist? To allow imperfection to remain when perfection is attainable... that is illogical. It causes future deviations. It is a path to disorder." His gaze drifted to Supergirl's slight tremor, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the tiny imperfections in her own organic form. "Are you not a collection of deviations?"
The question, so innocently posed, landed like a punch. Supergirl and Cyborg exchanged another look, a silent understanding passing between them: This is going to be far more difficult than we imagined.
-----------------
In the conference room, the tense silence was abruptly shattered by a series of soft, chiming alerts from the main console. Martian Manhunter's eyes, previously focused on the philosophical implications of Azrael's nature, snapped to the holographic displays that flickered to life.
"What is it, J'onn?" Superman asked, instantly alert.
J'onn's brow furrowed. "A Watchtower diagnostic alert. Power conduit 7-B on Deck 3, previously flagged for minor fluctuation... it is now showing absolute, perfect efficiency." His telepathic voice added, It is not merely repaired, but fundamentally flawless. Beyond any design specification.
Batman's gaze hardened. He rose from the table, moving to the console. "Show me the historical data for that conduit."
The holographic display reconfigured, showing weeks of data, all consistently recording minor variations, typical wear and tear. Then, suddenly, at the precise moment Azrael had lifted his hand in the corridor, the line went flat – a perfect, unwavering green. There was no repair log, no maintenance access. Just an instantaneous shift to perfection.
"He did it," Flash breathed, connecting the dots. "He used his power. On a blinking light." The humor was gone from his voice, replaced by a profound unease.
Constantine, surprisingly, had stopped smoking. His eyes, usually cynical, were wide with a mixture of fear and grudging respect. "Well, bless his little heart. He didn't just 'un-thread' the problem, did he? He re-threaded it. Perfectly. Like knitting the universe back together with the right yarn. That's... a lot more concerning than just erasing things."
"This confirms our fears," Batman stated, his voice colder than usual. "His perception of 'deviation' is absolute. He doesn't just eliminate problems; he eliminates potential problems by creating perfect states. And he can do it at will, without observable effort, on a fundamental level."
Superman stared at the data, a new layer of dread settling over him. "He can't distinguish between a minor circuit flaw and a cosmic imbalance. To him, they are both 'deviations' from a perfect state. And if he turns that absolute logic towards sentient life... towards imperfection in people..."
"That's the nightmare scenario," Wonder Woman finished, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword. "He could decide that pain, or suffering, or even free will itself, is a deviation from a perceived 'perfect' existence. And then, unlike any foe we've faced, he wouldn't destroy it. He would... refine it."
The Watchtower, their fortress, their symbol of order, now felt incredibly fragile. A being of boundless power was roaming its halls, actively seeking and "correcting" imperfections, utterly unconcerned with scale or consequence, driven by an inherent logic that threatened the very essence of existence as they knew it.