Avalon—the fabled Isle of Dreams—was a realm that refused to touch mortal soil.
Its very existence demanded an environment beyond the laws of nature.
Which meant… Thea had to build one.
She couldn't summon it to the ground, so she did the only thing possible—create a floating island herself, large enough to anchor the projection coming across time and space.
Of course, the process was anything but subtle.
When Horus reshaped the world earlier, it had been delicate, almost poetic—divine power woven with the precision of cosmic art. Every change, from the sand to the air, had been seamless.
Thea, on the other hand… was a demolition crew with a magic license.
Her mana was a tier lower, and her control was eight streets behind his.
So while Horus's miracles whispered into existence, hers roared like a full-scale construction site.
Still, quality could be replaced by quantity.
If fine control wasn't an option, then sheer power would do.
Raw, violent mana poured into the earth. Soil split open, clouds of dust rose, and shockwaves rippled outward like miniature earthquakes.
Within minutes, she had carved a floating island thirty kilometers long and fifteen wide—over two hundred square kilometers of airborne landmass.
A literal continent wrenched from the ground.
Lakes and forests fell from the sky in chunks, stones and mud tumbling like a rain of earth.
It was chaos—majestic, magnificent chaos.
Just as Thea finished reinforcing the island's edges, she glanced toward Horus and froze.
The god wasn't attacking. Not even preparing to.
He simply watched her work from afar, his golden eyes calm—perhaps even thoughtful—and gave the faintest nod of approval.
Well, that was… unexpected.
Then again, perfectly in character.
A true god wouldn't bother with sneak attacks. He saw mortals as ants; even Thea's power barely earned his curiosity.
Fine by her.
If the big guy wasn't rushing, she could take her time too.
She focused on compacting the outer rim of the floating island—if the ground wasn't stable, the shock of Avalon's arrival would shatter it instantly.
Everything was ready now. All that remained was to call the wind.
She began to chant.
This time, the incantation stretched long and slow, echoing through a world gone silent.
Then—
"Rrrr—rumble—"
At first it was a low vibration, but it swelled rapidly, shaking the air itself.
Even Horus's massive pyramid quivered, sand rolling down its gleaming sides.
His enthralled worshipers stumbled in terror, eyes wide and unfocused.
The god's great falcon eye turned upward—just in time to see her raise both hands and shout:
"Return to me, Avalon—Isle of the Bronze Mist, eternal land of dreams!"
Her voice rang like thunder. Magic erupted from her body in waves of shimmering azure light.
Ripples spread through the sky, and faint harp music drifted through the wind—joined by the distant, ethereal song of unseen sirens.
The barren floating island changed before their eyes.
Mist thickened, veiling the land in pearly fog.
Through gaps in the haze, one could glimpse flashes of green forest, glimmering lakes, and, at the heart of it all, the silhouette of an ethereal palace floating between worlds.
On the Waverider, the crew was struck speechless.
Science had officially tapped out.
Even Ray Palmer—the Atom—who'd been recovering from his earlier injury, was staring at the screen in utter disbelief.
As a diehard fan of Arthurian legends, he recognized that name instantly.
When Thea shouted it—loud enough for the whole world to hear—it hit him like a dream come true.
"Avalon…?" he whispered, eyes wide, heart pounding with fanboy awe.
And then Thea's voice came through the comms—steady, righteous, commanding:
"Captain, everyone—I need your help to stop this evil god!"
Her tone was pure conviction.
Even Superman couldn't have delivered a line that rousing.
In that moment, she wasn't just Thea Queen—she was the living symbol of justice, the protector of human freedom.
"I'm in! Jax, let's go!"
Professor Stein didn't even hesitate. Decades steeped in liberal ideals and moral duty flared alive; this was his calling.
Jax hesitated for a heartbeat. The scene outside looked like the literal apocalypse. Six months ago, he'd been fixing cars, not fighting gods.
But one look at his partner's determination—and he knew if he said no, Stein would probably jump with a parachute and a shotgun.
So he nodded. "Yeah… let's do this."
The two merged in a flash of light, becoming Firestorm once more—and without waiting for Rip's permission, they blasted straight out of the hatch.
"I'm going too!" Ray shouted, already pulling on his armor.
"Ray, your injuries—!" Hawkgirl started, alarmed.
"I'll be fine! The suit's got life support!"
He hugged her quickly and shot into the sky after Firestorm.
Whether it was for justice or the chance to see his childhood legend up close—well, only he knew that part.
"Ray—!" Kendra ran after him, but it was too late. She stopped short in frustration—only to notice Sara Lance watching her with a knowing smile.
"Send me down too. I'm helping."
Ordinary heroes without powers had to rely on others even to get into the fight. It was frustrating—but Sara's tone left no doubt she meant it.
Rip sighed. If he played dead any longer, the team would mutiny.
"Fine. We're all going," he said, trying for authority. "We're the Legends, aren't we?"
Even the rogues of the group didn't protest. Who'd turn down a chance to fight in a literal myth?
And it was mythic.
Across the battlefield, Horus had assembled a full infantry phalanx—rows upon rows of sand-armored soldiers.
Behind them marched massive falcon-headed giants, each three meters tall, echoing his own form.
On Thea's side, knights emerged from the mist—riders in gleaming armor, shields bright as dawn. From swamps, forests, and haze they came—each armed differently: swords, axes, hammers, maces.
It was divine war, old-world style.
Both commanders had chosen the same approach—an army-for-army clash.
Horus relied on his divine control.
Thea relied on infinite mana.
Both radiated absolute confidence.
The Legends landed beside her moments later. Thea descended a little to spare their necks—hovering only a few feet above the ground.
"We're here. Tell us what to do," Rip said, the team lined up behind him.
Thea studied them for a moment. To be honest, only Firestorm and the Atom were really suited for this fight. The rest—Sara, Kendra, Cold—were brave, sure, but a god-level war? They were way out of their league.
Her gaze drifted to Ray again—injured but wide-eyed, staring at the knights emerging from the mist, trying to recognize them.
"What exactly are you looking at?" she thought dryly.
Those were just projections. Outlines, not real people. Summoning actual Arthurian knights would've cost absurd amounts of power, and for what? Half of them probably wouldn't last five minutes against Sara in a duel.
Still, she couldn't just dismiss their help outright.
She lifted a hand, channeling healing energy toward Ray. "Let's patch you up for now. You can recover properly later."
Ten seconds passed. He didn't even flinch.
Thea rubbed her temples. "He's not listening…"
Fine. Inspiration struck.
"How about this," she said, smiling. "Each of you will take on the spirit of a Knight of the Round Table. I'll anchor their souls to your bodies."
The team barely had time to blink before Ray lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Wait—really? Me too?!"
"Why not?" Thea said, amused. He had been the second to volunteer—and he was still fighting through injury. That kind of spirit deserved something special.
She extended a hand toward the mist. A swirl of black smoke coalesced, rising like a wisp from Avalon's forest.
She pointed at Ray, her voice ringing with power.
"Sir Gawain—your knight's soul is his!"
Light exploded across the field.