LiBAG: Emergence 2.20b

The room was breaking apart around them.

Superboy was in the thick of it, brute force meeting bodies built to take it, smashing through Kobra Venom soldiers like a battering ram against reinforced steel. They weren’t stronger than him, not exactly, but mass was a weapon on its own, and they had it. A lot of it.

More than that, there were two of them.

Their swollen muscles looked like they might split at the seams, veins bulging under stretched, too-thick shell-like skin, pupils dilated wide and their bodies thrumming with the kind of chemically meta-engineered power that didn’t know how to stop.

One of them lunged, throwing a haymaker that sent a sharp crack splitting the air. Superboy ducked, but the force of it still hit him; not directly, but through the shockwave of displaced air and debris, the sound clearly rattling in his skull from the groan that left his lips. The pillar behind him took the brunt instead, a chunk the size of his head blasting outward, pelting him with stone fragments before he could counter. The clone drove an elbow into the first soldier’s ribs, but the second was already there, arms clamping around his throat, tightening.

Superboy didn’t hesitate.

He launched forward, dragging the guy with him, legs kicking off the ground. He threw himself into the momentum, weight shifting, twisting at the last second. The soldier flipped clean over his shoulder, hitting the ground with a crunch so loud it vibrated through the floor. The first guy didn’t stop, didn’t even pause to look, just barreled forward, fist rising—

Superboy barely had time to brace before impact.

The hit landed center mass, a sledgehammer to the ribs, and suddenly his feet weren’t touching the floor anymore. His back hit something hard, steel giving way, metal shrieking as it warped around his body. Then he was on the ground, blinking up at the ceiling, lungs stuck between trying to refill and failing to.

Zeke had half a second to register that before Aqualad was already on him.

A blur of motion. Cold air snapping at his skin. He moved on instinct, not a full thought, just reaction. His body twisted, feet shifting back as the water whip cracked past his face.

Zeke’s brain was still catching up.

He barely had time to register how close that had been before Aqualad was already moving again. No hesitation, no pause, just one attack rolling into the next like a preprogrammed sequence. It wasn’t just precision, it was wrong. The way he moved, how fast he adjusted, how every strike came at an angle meant to break, not bruise.

Not even a second of hesitation.

Zeke threw up a mana shield, but Aqualad adjusted mid-motion, water hardening from a blunt arc to a sharp spear. The shift was so fast Zeke barely had time to understand what was happening before it hit. The impact slammed into his ribs at a weird angle, pain cutting sharp through his side, stealing the air from his lungs before he could brace.

He staggered, grip faltering for half a second too long.

Aqualad capitalized immediately.

Zeke wasn’t even fully upright before a leg swept through his stance, weight giving out beneath him. He hit the ground, hard and flat, the impact rattling through his bones, something white-hot flashing through his ribs. Before he could breathe, a knee crushed down against his chest, locking him in place and he let out a groan as blood gushed from his side.

His vision blurred for half a breath.

Then Queen Bee’s voice slid in, smooth as silk, threading through the chaos.

“Oh, darling,” she murmured, and Zeke barely turned his head toward her, but he felt her words more than he heard them. A soft pressure, something warm and thick in the air. “I told you. He is mine.”

Aqualad’s fist rose.

Zeke didn’t think.

His hands snapped up together, energy bursting between his fingers, the charge already surging before he even processed it.

"HADOKEN!!!"

Point-blank.

It was barely formed, not even charged, but no matter what, the impact was like a thunderclap as Aqualad went flying, body arching through the air before hitting the ground, sliding back before coming to a stop.

Zeke rolled onto his feet before he could think too hard about the fact that he was still breathing. His mana reserves were draining too fast, energy sticking to his skin like sweat, weight settling in his limbs. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, felt blood smear across his knuckles, blinked hard to clear the black dots crowding his vision.

Kaldur was already getting up.

Zeke exhaled, slow and sharp, grinning through the exhaustion.

“Okay,” he panted, knees locking so he wouldn’t buckle. “So that’s how we’re playing this.”

Queen Bee smiled, like none of this concerned her. “Your little tricks won’t save you.”

Zeke shook the stiffness from his fingers, still grinning. “Lady, shuuuuut up.”

Aqualad moved.

Zeke was already watching.

The whip lashed out again, but this time, he didn’t just dodge. 

He tracked it. Followed the motion, saw the way Aqualad adjusted, the way his stance shifted before a strike, the fraction of a second where the water changed depending on angle and momentum.

The next hit came for his ribs. Zeke didn’t block.

He let the attack graze him, felt the shift of air as he spun, the sting of impact—

And countered.

"Mana Impact!"

Zeke flicked his wrist, and a burst of translucent blue energy shot from his palm. Not an attack, but a redirect. The force clipped Aqualad’s stance just enough to throw him off-balance, momentary, but that was all Zeke needed.

He lunged, closing the distance in an instant. New plan: Use the environment.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he pushed off again, hitting full sprint. Not in a straight line but zigzagging, bouncing off walls, flipping over debris, forcing Aqualad to chase, to adjust, to fight on his terms instead of his own.

Aqualad was fast, but Zeke was unpredictable.

He feinted left, twisted back, then slammed a pulse of mana into the floor, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the concrete beneath Aqualad’s feet. The ground shifted, and Aqualad’s stance faltered; not by much, but enough.

Zeke’s hands lit up, a familiar charge crackling through his fingers. Only this time, it didn’t stay blue.

Queen Bee’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

Zeke exhaled sharply. Let’s bring this baby home.

He flung himself forward, energy snapping around him in a bright corona. “Power Boost! Mana Charge!”

Instead of firing outward, golden light flared around him as the mana curled inward, tightening against his body, locking into him. His limbs felt lighter, his muscles thrummed with energy, a sharp contrast to the exhaustion that had been dragging him down seconds ago.

He didn’t stop.

Aqualad recovered, eyes locking onto him. Zeke hit first.

The shoulder tackle slammed into Aqualad’s ribs, sending a pulse of golden energy bursting outward on impact, doubling the force. Aqualad was sent flying, crashing through an already crumbling section of wall. Dust and stone blasted out in a choking cloud as rubble collapsed around him.

For the first time, his eyes flickered.

A crack.

Zeke saw it. A shift, something unraveling beneath the surface, like a string coming loose. Queen Bee’s grip slipping.

We’re gonna bring you home, boss! Zeke surged forward, charging strikes into every hit, every movement sharper, faster, more explosive. Aqualad’s defenses weren’t as tight—his movements lagging by fractions of a second. Not much, but enough for Zeke to keep pressing forward.

Another hit, and Aqualad blinked, something snapping back into place.

Zeke felt it before he registered it. That pulse.

Level Up!

Lv 25.

His body caught up to the fight in real-time. Movements clicked into place like gears snapping into motion. His stance adjusted without thought, footwork tightening, reflexes syncing up like his brain had unlocked a cheat code.

Zeke grinned.

"Game over."

Aqualad shook his head, eyes unfocused, body moving on instinct more than control. He swung.

Zeke was already moving.

He pivoted, sidestepping cleanly, then drove his fist straight into Aqualad’s jaw, golden energy snapping across his knuckles as the hit landed flush.

The impact rocked through Aqualad’s entire body, sending him skidding backward. His head snapped to the side, and then—nothing.

His body collapsed.

Queen Bee shot to her feet.

Zeke stood over Aqualad, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls, body still crackling with residual energy. He let it fade, exhaling through gritted teeth.

Then Aqualad’s body twitched.

A sharp, ragged inhale rattled through his lungs, gasping like someone breaking through the surface after being held under too long.

+ [Common] Atlantean Water Bearer Fragment
+ [Common] Salt-Stained Combat Boots
+ [Uncommon] Hydromancer’s Crystal Shard
+ [Uncommon] Bioelectric Enhancement Crystal
+ [Common] Atlantean Armor Plating
+ 25,000 XP

Queen Bee’s expression tightened.

Zeke wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, smirking through the sting. “Guess you lost your favorite puppet.”

He only had one second to be cocky before alarms rang out through the space, like a dozen banshees screaming, red lights flaring. Shit.

The base was coming down.

The air filled with fire and smoke, twisting in thick, black coils, heat licking against his skin, burning at the back of his throat. Walls cracked and crumbled. The structure groaned, metal warping from the heat, the deep, aching tremors of a place seconds from collapsing.

Superboy stood over the unconscious Kobra Venom soldiers, his breathing ragged, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy beats. The ground beneath him was shattered, littered with broken stone and bodies. One of the soldiers twitched, letting out a low, guttural groan and Superboy stomped down on his face without looking, knocking him out cold.

Zeke, meanwhile, had Aqualad draped over his shoulder, the weight dragging at his already burning muscles. Kaldur was still out, his breath shallow but steady, bruises blooming in dark streaks across his face.

Zeke exhaled, adjusted his grip, rolled his shoulders. Didn’t matter that his body was wrecked. What mattered was getting out.

Superboy stood a few feet away, staring down at the motionless Kobra Venom soldiers, bare chest heaving with a force that didn’t fit the demigod of a superhuman.

Zeke frowned. That wasn’t good.

"Yo, we're bouncing. Let's go."

Superboy didn’t move and Zeke felt his frown deepen.

He stepped forward, mind already running damage control.

"Kon?"

Superboy wavered. Barely. A small shift, a slight drag in his stance—almost nothing, except Zeke was watching, tracking every movement, reading the way his balance slipped, how his shoulders tensed like he was about to-

His knees buckled.

Zeke moved before he could think, before his brain could process the weight difference, before his body remembered how wrecked it was.

"Whoa-HEY!"

He caught him just before he hit the ground.

And immediately regretted it.

Superboy was heavy. Not just heavy, but Kryptonian heavy, a walking black hole of condensed muscle and density, and with Mr.  “I live at the bottom of the ocean” Aqualad already slumped over one shoulder, Zeke’s body almost gave out on impact. His spine yelled at him, his knees nearly collapsed, his arms screamed like overworked circuits, but he locked his legs and took it.

Superboy was out cold.

Zeke’s pulse spiked.

The hell? Five seconds ago, he was fine. Beaten up, exhausted, but not this. Not collapsing-in-a-heap level down. His brain scrambled through the fight, trying to pin down what did it. The Kobra guys? The hits? Had he been fighting through pure adrenaline this whole time?

His stomach twisted.

"...Do we not have Kryptonian-graded medical tech?" he muttered, voice tight with frustration and strain. He shifted his grip, trying to redistribute the weight without crumpling under it. How the hell did no one check him after he got back?

No answers. Just the roar of fire, the screech of collapsing steel, the unforgiving weight of two unconscious teammates dragging him into the floor. His legs threatened to give, his muscles felt like stretched wire, his body was not built for this. Do I have enough will to Power Boost my way through the building and make it back to the team?

Didn’t matter. He’d figure it out later.

He gritted his teeth and kept moving.

"Fucking Superman," he grumbled.

The walls shuddered violently. Cracks snaked up the concrete, flames chewed through steel, black smoke curled in thick, choking ribbons. The heat pressed in from all sides, sweat sticking to his skin, every inhale burning like ash.

Behind him, Queen Bee was still standing. Trapped behind a fallen slab of ceiling, bathed in firelight and wreckage, but still poised.

She wasn’t running, wasn’t pleading.

Not yet.

Zeke barely looked at her. Just adjusted his grip on Kaldur and Kon and started toward the exit.

"No hard feelings," he muttered, half under his breath, not even caring if she heard. "But I don’t feel like sticking around for your villain monologue."

He turned away.

"You don’t want this," she said.

Her voice was too even.

Like she wasn’t losing. Like she wasn’t trapped under debris in a burning, collapsing base. Like she still thought she could win.

Zeke kept walking.

"You’re no killer," she tried again. A fraction softer. Layered, careful. "You don’t want this."

The ceiling groaned overhead.

A chunk of burning debris slammed into the ground behind him, the impact hard enough to send a rattle up his spine. The air was thick, acrid, the smoke sticking to his lungs like oil. His heart was a solid thud against his ribs.

"You’re not like me," she continued, that same smooth, patient pull. “You think you can be, but you aren’t.”

Zeke didn’t answer.

And that was what finally made her falter.

Not fear. Not yet.

But uncertainty.

A split-second hesitation, a fraction of a step forward, like she was testing the air, testing him, watching for a crack.

Zeke heard it before he saw it.

Not outright fear.

But the first thin thread of it, buried beneath her words.

She stepped forward again, past the creeping edge of the fire. A gamble.

He didn’t stop.

"You don’t want this," she murmured. Even softer. Voice coaxing, careful. "You think you do. But you don’t."

That was begging.

Not obvious. Not desperate. But still there.

She was reaching now, words curling through the air like silk, like a net, like she still thought she could drag him in.

Zeke adjusted Kaldur’s weight, rolling his shoulder against the burn in his muscles.

And kept moving.

Queen Bee’s nails pressed into her palms, fingers twitching at her sides. She had to feel it now. The walls caving in, the air closing tight, the fire licking closer.

Still, she took another step.

And then—

"Help me, hero."

Zeke didn’t blink.

Queen Bee’s breath caught.

Just for a second.

Just enough to crack the mask.

She smoothed it over fast, tried one last time.

"This isn’t you," she said, low and close, voice pulling softer at the edges. "You don’t want this on your hands."

Zeke inhaled, slow.

The heat was rising, pressing, suffocating. The fire was spilling across the floor, climbing up the walls. The smoke was curling tighter, clawing the last of the oxygen out of the room.

The roof groaned again, a deep, final warning.

Queen Bee was out of time.

And even now—even now—she still thought she could make him look back.

Zeke shifted his grip.

And kept moving.