Billy Batson’s fingers danced across the keyboard of his secondhand laptop, the words flowing effortlessly onto the screen.
“Finally!” he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as he clicked “Save” on the document titled *Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban*.
With a few quick moves, he opened his email, attached the file, and hit “Send.” A cheerful “ding” confirmed it was on its way.
He closed the laptop and stretched, his body protesting after hours of sitting. It had been three months since Billy had been thrust into this parallel world, one eerily similar to the Earth he once knew, yet entirely different at the same time.
He was no longer a handsome twenty-something; instead, he inhabited the body of a scrappy fourteen-year-old orphan. Despite the circumstances, he had managed to keep his looks intact—his dark hair and bright eyes still drew attention—but life in the orphanage was far from glamorous.
What frustrated him most was the presence of so many well-known figures. Batman roamed the streets of Gotham, Superman soared above Metropolis, and Wonder Woman fought in epic battles of the past. It felt surreal, and a bit unfair. Why him? He was no superhero fan, yet he grasped the implications of living in a world filled with comic book legends.
His thoughts raced as he reflected on the few months since his arrival. Instead of waiting for a miraculous cheat code or system to appear, Billy focused on survival. He had discovered a remarkable improvement in his memory, allowing him to recall everything he had learned before his arrival.
With a spark of inspiration, he decided to write novels based on his former world. The *Harry Potter* series was a natural choice; the books were a global phenomenon, and the original author had made billions. If he could replicate that success, he could secure a better life for himself.
Billy’s writing speed was impressive. Between school and the orphanage’s daily schedule, he managed to produce about 10,000 words a day. He had already published the first two books, *Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone* and *Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets*, both of which had seen remarkable success, even garnering interest in translations abroad. His royalty checks had accumulated to over a million dollars—a fortune for a kid living in an orphanage.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
But as he watched Tony Stark on TV—a man with a flashy mustache and a penchant for trouble—Billy felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. The world was on the brink of chaos, with supervillains and heroes at every turn. New York City was a ticking time bomb, and Billy knew he had to be cautious.
He donned his worn down jacket, tucked his forged ID and a little cash into his pocket, and stepped out of the orphanage. Today, he planned to escape to a quieter part of the city where he could unwind and perhaps dream of a life less complicated.
Billy didn’t share his success with anyone at the orphanage; they were mostly younger kids, and he felt a generation apart from them. He boarded the subway, the doors hissing shut behind him.
As the train rumbled forward, a sudden chill enveloped the car. The lights flickered and then extinguished, plunging him into darkness. Panic surged within him as he glanced around—everyone else had vanished, leaving only flickering blue lights that danced like ghosts.
The windows froze over in a thick layer of ice, the temperature plummeting. Billy shivered, pulling his jacket tighter against the unnatural cold. It felt like a scene ripped from some horror movie, and dread settled in his stomach.
Steeling himself, he opened the door and peered out. The train had stopped in a cavernous space, the air thick with a sense of foreboding. Before him stood an imposing stone temple, its grandeur both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
He checked the subway map—a futile gesture, as this was no station he recognized. “Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing through the emptiness.
Silence answered back, but there was a pull in his gut, a feeling that something—or someone—awaited him within the temple’s shadow.
With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, Billy stepped forward. As he entered, the sensation of being summoned intensified. He glanced at the grotesque demon statues lining the hall, their features grotesque but oddly captivating. “What is this place?” he murmured, feeling their eyes bore into him as if they were alive.
Suddenly, a weak voice broke the silence. “You are finally here. I have been waiting for you for a long time.”
Billy froze, heart racing. There was someone here!
Turning towards the source of the voice, he saw an elderly man seated at the far end of the hall. His gray hair hung limply around his face, and he leaned heavily on a long wooden staff.
As recognition dawned, the name “Shazam” flashed into Billy’s mind. The last of the ancient wizards—the keeper of powers beyond imagination.
Could this be the moment he had been waiting for? The chance to claim the power of Shazam?