DC HERO AT MARVEL

Morning rush hour.

New York City was choked with traffic, the streets jam-packed with stalled cars and bustling pedestrians jostling past one another.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Suddenly, a figure on a flying hoverboard streaked through the sky above, his strange cloak billowing behind him like a meteor blazing across the urban skyline.

The sonic boom of his flight drew countless eyes upward.

"Huh?"

"A flying hoverboard? Is that Harry Osborn?"

"No, this guy got nothing to do with Osborn Industries. He someone new—something about to go down!"

Onlookers exchanged bewildered glances.

Some mistook the figure for the recently debuted Harry Osborn, but others, more in the know, immediately dismissed the idea and instinctively sensed that something significant was unfolding.

Bolder spectators, unable to suppress their curiosity, began trailing the airborne figure, who was headed toward the Manhattan docks.

There, they watched as the strange, hovering figure stopped above the docks, scanning the rows of warehouses below.

"Show yourself, Flint Marko!"

The man hovering in midair, commanding all attention, was none other than Phil, finally making his long-awaited debut.

His calm, booming voice echoed across the waterfront.

Dockworkers who had been laboring below noticed the odd figure and, sensing that something unusual was about to happen, quickly abandoned the area.

From a safe distance, they turned back to observe the scene.

Phil remained poised in midair.

Whooosh! Whooosh!

The wind picked up, growing stronger by the second, as a swirling cloud of yellow sand filled the air.

It blasted through the area, stinging faces and making it nearly impossible for the gathered spectators to keep their eyes open.

It was as though the sand from every bag on the docked ships had been inexplicably unleashed, carried by a strange, unnatural gust of wind.

Even from afar, the onlookers could sense something was terribly wrong.

The sudden storm of sand wasn't natural—it was deliberate.

"Who are you?"

A low, gravelly voice emanated from within the swirling sandstorm.

"Heh!"

Phil smirked confidently.

"I'm Demon, a full-fledged member of the Justice League. Batman himself ordered me to deal with you. But as his representative, I'm offering you a chance to surrender peacefully.

Hand over Justin Hammer, and you'll only spend a few years behind bars before you're free again."

"Hmph!"

A scoff echoed from the storm of sand, heavy with disdain. Flint clearly had no intention of giving in to a single demand from Phil.

Whoooosh!

The sandstorm suddenly condensed, forming a massive vortex that surged toward Phil with ferocious force.

At the same time, the spectators—who had been listening intently to the exchange—were stunned by the revelations they overheard.

"The Justice League?!"

"This guy a real Justice League member?"

"Demon?"

"Is he a new superhero?"

And then, from the bits of conversation they picked up, the crowd realized that Demon target was none other than the notorious kidnapper of Justin Hammer.

"Gasp!"

The significance of this encounter hit them like a freight train.

"This isn't just any fight!" whispered one bystander, their voice trembling with awe.

Rewind to fifteen minutes earlier.

Anton had just landed at New York Airport and checked his phone messaging app.

It was a message from Phil.

As things reached a critical juncture, Phil naturally reported his plans to Anton.

After Anton gave the green light, Phil decisively sprang into action.

Now back in New York and aware that Phil operation was underway, Anton made a quick call to the Continental Hotel.

"Anton, our team is ready," Winston said calmly, answering the call.

Having coordinated with Phil earlier, Winston was fully aware of Anton purpose in calling.

"Excellent. Mobilize your entire team," Anton instructed.

"Phil will keep Flint Marko occupied. Your target is Justin Hammer."

"No problem," Winston replied, his confidence unwavering.

As a crucial stronghold of the High Table in America, the Continental Hotel had grown into a uniquely influential power within the organization—largely thanks to Batman.

The High Table couldn't bypass the Continental Hotel when it came to communicating with Batman. Any messages or negotiations with him had to go through the hotel channels.

This rule was established early on.

If the High Table agents attempted to directly approach Anton or Eddie at the Daily Bugle or DC Studios without going through the Continental, it would break the rules.

And the High Table was nothing if not a stickler for rules.

As a result, Winston unique position within the High Table made him almost akin to an honorary elder, standing just beneath the formal council.

Under Winston leadership, the Continental Hotel influence had expanded significantly, claiming Hell Kitchen and spreading its reach across all of New York City.

Winston had essentially supplanted Kingpin as the de facto ruler of New York underworld.

However, Winston was acutely aware that all these changes stemmed from one figure—Batman.

He hadn't forgotten that night months ago when a figure clad in black armor, with a billowing cape, effortlessly infiltrated his safehouse.

The intruder calm, almost serene tone belied the chilling menace of his words: a warning that still echoed in Winston mind.

"See you soon," Winston said, ending the call.

Beep, beep.

The conversation ended, and Anton got into his car, which was waiting to take him to the Manhattan Continental Hotel—the agreed rendezvous point.

Driving the car was none other than one of his trusted employees, Eddie Brock.

"I just spoke with Chief Stacy. He deployed a task force to support Phil at the specified location," Eddie said as he navigated the busy streets.

"George will meet us at the Continental," he added.

"Phil doing an excellent job this time," Anton said with a satisfied nod.

"When he gets back, tomorrow front-page story is his to write. He can hype himself up as much as he likes."

"That exactly what I was thinking," Eddie replied with a hearty laugh.

Manhattan, Dockside Area.

Phil and Sandman Flint Marko engaged in a fierce battle.

As a mutant, Flint abilities were both diverse and unpredictable. But Phil, having studied Flint capabilities and followed Anton advice, had prepared well in advance. Over the past ten days, Donatello had crafted a batch of freeze guns and ensured a sufficient supply of ammunition.

These freeze guns fired specialized bullets that delivered not only a powerful impact but also an extreme burst of cold, capable of freezing targets into solid ice in mere moments.

Think Captain Cold from The Flash—though Phil gear wasn't quite as formidable, it was more than enough to deal with Sandman.

"Damn it!"

Flint expression darkened. The freeze gun posed a significant threat, like a natural predator exploiting his elemental weaknesses. His sand-based abilities, usually so dominant, were rendered almost useless.

Without his powers at full strength, Flint found it difficult to maintain his usual bravado.

"Phil… uh, Demon, we're here!"

Suddenly, a truck roared onto the scene, drawing cheers from the bystanders.

Everyone recognized the truck iconic design: it bore the unmistakable decals of New York favorite heroes—the Ninja Turtles.

"You guys are just on time!"

Phil, who had been holding his ground and dominating the fight, laughed heartily at their arrival.

Everything was going according to plan.

Though Phil intended to make his grand debut in the limelight, his cautious nature led him to prepare a backup plan. Summoning the Ninja Turtles served as his insurance policy.

Nearby, in one of the dockside shacks, Justin Hammer had been monitoring the fight.

When he realized that Phil, now identifying as Demon, was targeting him, his face turned grim.

He knew he had been exposed.

"Batman… Justice League… what are you people after?"

Hammer muttered as he packed his belongings, unwilling to wait any longer. He decided to flee immediately, leaving Sandman to buy him time.

Bang!

Hammer swung the door open—

"Hello, Mr. Hammer. The Continental Hotel sends its regards!"

Standing in the doorway was a composed young Black man, smiling as he greeted Justin Hammer.

Hammer face paled. Without hesitation, he tried to slam the door shut.

Bang!

The Continental agent acted swiftly, kicking the door back open, grabbing Hammer by the collar, and effortlessly lifting him off the ground.

Moments later, Hammer was shoved into a waiting car, which sped off into the distance.

Meanwhile, back at the docks, the battle raged on.

With the Ninja Turtles now joining the fray, the pressure on Sandman increased exponentially.

"Surrender!"

Phil hovered a few meters above the street, standing confidently on his hoverboard. Beneath his mask, a satisfied grin spread across his face.

The four Turtles formed a defensive line beside him, ready for any counterattack.

"I will never surrender!"

Flint gaze lingered on the freeze gun in Phil hand, his apprehension evident.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a heavy sigh, his defiance seemed to waver.

"Too bad."

Phil voice was cold. "If you die, I'll make sure your daughter is placed in a good foster home."

At those words, Flint pupils contracted, and his resolve visibly crumbled. His entire body seemed to lose its strength, and he slumped in defeat.

"Wait!"

Flint gathered the scattered sand around him, pulling it together until his form solidified. Raising his hands in surrender, he spoke with a defeated tone. "I give up."

"Smart move."

Phil smirked, turning to the Turtles. "Donny, you brought the special electric cuffs, didn't you?"

Donatello grinned and pulled out the custom-made restraints. "Always prepared!"

Continental Hotel.

Justin Hammer sat rigidly in his chair, eyes darting nervously between the guards and his surroundings.

"The High Table?" he muttered, his voice tinged with both realization and apprehension. His expression shifted rapidly, from confusion to understanding. "You're with the High Table?"

Straightening himself, he adopted a more composed tone, the shrewd businessman in him taking over.

"Listen, if this is about money, I can offer you ten times whatever you're being paid."

He paused for effect, his voice swelling with confidence.

"You know who I am, don't you? Justin Hammer. Chairman of Hammer Industries. I can make this worth your while."

A sharp chuckle cut through the tension, drawing his attention to the back of the room.

"The chairman of Hammer Industries certainly knows how to flaunt his wealth," a voice remarked, its tone steeped in both amusement and authority.

Justin turned swiftly, his eyes landing on a familiar figure stepping into the room. His jaw tightened as recognition dawned.

"You…"

His eyes widened. "Anton Jameson! Of all people, it you!"

Anton approached with a calm, measured stride, a faint smile playing on his lips. He looked at Justin as if sizing him up, his gaze both disarming and unsettling.

"Hello, Justin. I take it you weren't expecting to see me here?"

Hammer composure faltered, his mind racing to connect the dots. "Wait… This whole thing—Batman, the Justice League—this is all you, isn't it?"

Anton smile deepened.

"You're not entirely wrong."

Justin hands clenched the armrests of his chair. "What do you want? Why bring me here?"

Anton tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but laced with an edge. "You've been a very busy man, Justin. Unfortunately for you, your ambition has outpaced your ability to cover your tracks."

He took a step closer, his eyes locked onto Justin. "I'm here to ensure that the truth about your… extracurricular activities sees the light of day. And trust me, it will."

Justin face turned pale as the weight of Anton words sank in.

"You don't understand…" he stammered, desperate to regain control of the situation.

Anton raised a hand to silence him.

"Save it." He gestured toward the guards, who stepped forward. "We're going to have a little chat. And by the time we're done, the world will know exactly who Justin Hammer really is."

Justin breath hitched, his carefully constructed facade crumbling as the reality of his predicament set in.