The casino floor crackled with neon and desperation, but nothing compared to the tension swirling around the Legion’s private high-stakes table. Lex Luthor sat at the head, a stack of gold chips in front of him so tall it nearly matched his arrogance. Sinestro, claws clipped back in respect for velvet gloves, eyed the roulette wheel like it was an enemy’s heartbeat. Cheetah’s tail twitched with predatory anticipation.

Across from them, the Omega shuffled the deck—her scent, a heady blend of pheromones and defiance, already marking every alpha in the room. Harley Quinn tapped her glass, Riddler leaned in to whisper odds, and Grodd watched it all with uncanny calm. Even Black Manta paused mid‐sip, breath catching in his throat.

Lex’s grin was a challenge. “Place your bets,” he purred, voice silk over steel. “Not just on the cards… on each other.”

As the Omega dealt the first hand, the air shifted. This wasn’t just about money. It was dominance, desire, and the gamble of who would surrender first—to power, to instinct, to the scent that bound them all. And in the Legion of Doom, losing wasn’t an option… but craving might just be.