I should have anticipated it. When I exiled Neh'tar when balance in the universe shifted in my direction the eyes of the unknown started to open. Not all of them warm.
Not all of them sane.
At first, it was whispers. Throughout warlock communities, secret meta networks, even the occasional demon tainted scroll my name began to circulate. Not only as the one who stood by Superman… but as something more. Something divine.
They began to call me Azrion. The Cosmic Flame. The Unchained Star. The God Who Bleeds Power.
I didn't christen myself. I didn't request altars. But that didn't dissuade them.
It began with a blaze in Gotham.
Batman summoned me in tense voice, clipped words, the usual. "Some cultists obtained Starfire tech. Rituals. Sacrifices. They're employing your symbol."
My symbol?
I didn't have a damn symbol.
But when I got there crimson trench coat with smoke flowing behind me, my aura gathering shadows around me I saw it. Seared into walls, flayed into flesh, cut into blood on a hundred minds shattered by worship.
A zigzag spiral, rotating around a blazing eye.
My eye.
I kicked open the cathedral-turned-temple doors, and twenty cultists fell to their knees. Chanting my name. Calling me their savior.
They weren't confused.
They were devoted.
"Praise the Unmaker of Chains," the leader said, arms outstretched. "He who stood above gods, who silences fate, who bends time and form."
"I'm not a god," I growled. "I'm just trying to protect this world."
His smile broadened like a knife cutting flesh. "That's why we worship you."
I did not hold back.
With a thought, I deconstructed their rituals, broke their summoning stones, and reduced their tainted tech to ashes. I deleted their link to the cosmic current and scattered their minds across a hundred forgetful realities.
But the corruption had already taken root.
In a week, three more temples appeared one in Prague, one in Cairo, one in a secret pocket dimension beyond the Bleed. Their rituals changed. Some attempted to drain my power. Others brought pieces of me from other timelines corrupted versions, desperate for control.
And one of them… merged with it.
Diana faced me in the Watchtower. Her face was serene, but her fists were balled.
"Are you hiding something?"
"Define hiding," I said, weary.
"You've become a beacon. Cults are on the rise. Magic circles are shaking. Even Raven's wards are faltering. And now… your followers are beginning to act in your name."
I massaged my temples. "You think I want this?"
"I think you're not doing enough to prevent it."
Her words hurt. Because she was right.
That evening, I entered the Hall of Mirrors one of the secret multiversal nexuses bound to destiny itself and sought advice from the shards of cosmic memory stored there.
The reality struck home.
The more power I unleashed, the more worship trailed behind. Not because of what I spoke, but because of what I symbolized. Liberation from divine despotism. Power greater than the gods. A living negation of celestial law.
To others, I was hope.
To others, I was blasphemy.
But to the cults?
I was a god.
And the worst part?
Something in me responded. Some ancient hunger… deep, primal. Something older than this universe. A truth I wasn't ready to name.
I watched from the brink of the Mirror Realm as a thousand of me rose, fell, and flamed.
This wasn't only a cult problem.
This was the beginning.
Dark forces were stirring. Not because they loathed me….
But because they believed in me.