A New Champion

Billy's stomach growled like a wild beast, the sudden pang of hunger reminding him of his human needs. He looked around the desolate construction site, the remnants of his power display scattered like the ruins of a long-forgotten battlefield. The cold, damp concrete offered no solace, no comfort from the hunger that gnawed at his insides.

He knew he couldn't return to Uncle Ebenezer, not after what he had done. The greedy man had made it clear that Billy was nothing more than a means to an end, a pawn in his quest for wealth and power. The thought of going back to the squalid house, to the stale air of despair and the sting of his uncle's hand, made his stomach churn with a mix of fear and anger.

The police were no better. He had seen the way they looked at him, the uncareingness in their eyes. They would surely return him to Uncle Ebenezer, convinced that the boy was better off with his "guardian." Billy knew he had to stay hidden, to keep moving, to survive. The hunger grew, a gnawing beast in his belly that threatened to consume him from within. He had felt the power of the MAZAHS and SHAZAM, but now, in his most vulnerable state, he was just a small boy with an empty stomach and a heart full of dread.

Suddenly, as he stumbled through the shadows, he heard it—a faint whisper on the wind. It called to him, a siren's song that spoke of power and protection. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, weaving their seductive melody through the dark fabric of the night. "William," they whispered, his full name a caress of malicious intent. "Embrace it again, William, and we will give you the strength to conquer your fears."

The whispers grew, a cacophony of seductive voices that seemed to come from every corner of the abandoned site. "William," they beckoned, his full name a symphony of dark temptation. Billy's heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears as he stumbled through the shadows, desperately trying to outrun the siren's call that grew louder with every step. The voices were a maelstrom of desire, a tempest of power that promised to fill the void that now ached within him.

"Embrace us," they urged, a symphony of malevolent intent that wove around him like a serpent's embrace. "We will make you whole again, William." The whispers grew more intense, a cacophony that resonated through his very soul. The voices that had once been the comforting guidance of the MAZAHS and SHAZAM had transformed into a siren's call, beckoning him to give in to the darker nature.

The whispers grew louder, each syllable a sharper stab of temptation. "William," they purred, the sound like a thousand fingernails on chalkboards, setting his teeth on edge. "We can fill you again. Make you whole. Make you powerful." The voices grew more insistent, a cacophony of malicious intent that seemed to echo from every corner of the abandoned construction site.

Billy's eyes grew wide with terror as he staggered away from the whispers, his small body trembling with the effort of resisting their seductive call. "SHAZAM-MAZAHS," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound against the tumultuous symphony of darkness that surrounded him.

Then it finally stopped.

The whispers, the seductive voices that had haunted him, they disappeared as abruptly as they had come. Billy, now Captain Marvel again, took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes wide with relief. The alleyway all but stood before him, the very same one where it had all begun, a beacon of darkness in the heart of the city. He had to go back. He had to find out what had happened to Namarrkon and Mamaragan, to understand why they had fought and what the cost of their battle had been.

Now no longer feeling hungry, Captain Marvel took to the skies, his heart racing as he streaked through the night like a comet. The city below him was a sprawling canvas of neon lights and shadowy alleys, each one a potential battleground for good and evil. The whispers of the MAZAHS and SHAZAM had retreated into the depths of his mind, leaving him with a sense of clarity that was as sharp as a knife's edge. He had to find answers, and he knew where to look.

The alley where it all began was a grim place, the stench of despair and desperation clinging to the very air like a miasma. The spot where the warlock had found him and the wizard teleported both of them and had fought and died was unchanged, the only evidence of their existence a faint scorch mark on the pavement. Billy, now in his heroic form, landed lightly, his cape billowing out around him like a flag of hope.

He knew that he couldn't go back to being just Billy Batson, not yet. Not until he understood what he had become and what the whispers wanted from him. He had to find someone who could help him, someone who knew the ways of magic and the dark paths that power could lead down.

The whispers grew faint again, but Billy could feel them, lurking just outside the edge of his consciousness, watching, waiting. He knew they were there, a constant presence that he could never truly shake. But he was determined to use the power they had given him for good, to honor the legacies of those who had sacrificed themselves for him.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek sliced through the silence of the night, echoing through the alleyways like a knife through butter. Billy's super-hearing, one of the many gifts the two had bestowed upon him, honed in on the sound with laser-like precision. It was a cry of desperation, a siren's call to action that he could not ignore. The whispers grew quieter, almost respectfully so, as if acknowledging the primal instinct of action that now took precedence.

Billy felt a tremor in the very fabric of the air, a disturbance that set his super-sensitive ears on alert. A scream, shrill and desperate, pierced the stillness of the night. It was a sound that cut through the whispers of his newfound powers, a cry of terror that resonated deep within his soul. The MAZAHS and SHAZAM had granted him the ability to hear the whispers of the universe, but tonight, it was the scream of a mortal in pain that called to him.

His heart hammered in his chest, a mix of fear and determination. He was just a child, with the power of the gods at his fingertips, yet he felt so very small in the face of such human suffering. The whispers grew quiet, their seductive voices fading into the background as the stark reality of his new life as Captain Marvel took center stage.

The scream grew closer, the sound of panic and fear echoing through the narrow streets of Fawcett City. Billy's eyes searched the darkness, the superhuman vision granted to him by the MAZAHS and SHAZAM allowing him to pierce the shadows like a knife. He saw the silhouette of a figure running towards him, a young girl, her eyes wide with terror. The whisper of her heartbeat, a frantic symphony of fear, grew louder in his ears until it was all he could hear.

He knew he had to act.

The girl stumbled into the alley, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, the shadowy forms of two men, their intentions as clear as the moonlit sky above, gave chase. Billy's heart clenched in his chest, his mind racing with a mix of fear and anger. He had felt the whispers of the MAZAHS and SHAZAM, the seductive pull of power, but here was a real call for help, a tangible cry that demanded his attention.

The whispers grew faint, the siren's call of power replaced by the raw, primal need to protect the innocent. He had been a victim of cruelty himself, and the sight of the girl's desperation ignited a fierce protective instinct within him. With a fierce determination, he stepped out of the shadows, his cape fluttering like the wings of a guardian angel.

The two men skidded to a halt, their grins of malicious intent fading into snarls of surprise as the alley was suddenly filled with the electric crackle of Captain Marvel's presence. The girl's eyes grew wide with shock and hope as she saw the hero standing before her. Billy's fists clenched, his knuckles crackling with energy as the whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices arguing, pleading, demanding.

One voice, deep and resonant like the toll of a ancient bell, spoke of justice, of the law and order that he had sworn to uphold. It whispered of the consequences of their actions, of the lives they had chosen to lead. Another voice, a chorus of the damned, screeched for vengeance, to make them suffer for their sins, to show them the true might of the power he now wielded.

The first voice, the one from when he was Bully, urged him to punish them, to make them feel the fear and pain he had suffered. But the second, the one that was growing stronger, whispered of a different path. It spoke of justice, of a world where those who hurt others were held accountable for their actions. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of ancient wisdom and dark desires that waged war within him.

Billy looked at the men, their eyes wide with fear as they stumbled back. He felt the power coil within him, the electricity crackling at his fingertips. For a moment, he was tempted to give in to the whispers that demanded he simply bring them to the police. He could feel the power, yearning to be unleashed, to strike them down like the lightning that danced across the sky to know his full wrath.

Yet, the whispers grew louder, the lighter voice urging him to show them mercy and simply take them to the police station.

The girl, still trembling, took a step back, her eyes darting between the men and Captain Marvel, unsure of who to trust. The whispers grew more insistent, a symphony of rage and retribution that threatened to drown out the voice of reason.

Billy felt his body tense, the power within him begging to be unleashed, to show these men the true cost of their cruelty. He knew he could do it, could feel the electricity coursing through his veins, eager to be set free.

The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of dark intent that swirled around him like a tornado of shadows. Yet, amidst the tempest of anger and vengeance, there was a sliver of light, a voice that spoke of mercy, of the promise he had made to uphold the law, not to become the very monster he feared. He took a deep breath, the air around him crackling with the tension of his decision.

In a flash of lightning, Billy's hand shot out, striking both of the men with a bolt of electricity that made his body convulse and spasm. The smell of slightly burnt flesh and ozone filled the air, the man's body jerking like a marionette on invisible strings.

The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices that seemed to laugh and cheer at the display of power. Yet, even as the electricity danced around his fingertips, Billy felt a pang of something else—remorse, perhaps, or fear. He knew that the two ancient men had granted him immense power, but with it came immense responsibility.

He simply scooped the two men and little girl up, (In separate arms of course) and flew to the police station.

And well, electrocuting those men had felt great.