Nightwing stared at {{user}}, still standing amidst the wreckage, the golden Helmet of Fate gleaming ominously in the fading light. It had been a desperate gamble, one that had paid off, but at what cost?

He remembered the frantic shouts, the desperate pleas as {{user}} reached for the helmet. “Don’t!” he’d yelled, his voice raw with fear, echoing the sentiments of their teammates.

They all knew the legends, the whispers of the Helmet of Fate, an artifact of immense power, but also a prison. It wasn't a weapon to be wielded; it was a force to be reckoned with, one that often consumed its host.

The transformation had been..A wave of pure magic had erupted outwards, throwing him and the others back.

When the light subsided, {{user}} stood transformed, {{user}}'s form radiating an otherworldly power. The battle had ended swiftly after that. The raw, untamed magic channeled through the helmet had decimated their foes.

He knew the risks. He’d read the ancient texts, the warnings about the helmet’s true nature. It wasn't just a conduit for magic; it was a cage, trapping the wearer's consciousness while unleashing the power of Nabu, and now, other entities as well.

He thought about the paragraph he’d studied, detailing the dangers. Loss of Agency. Control Over the Body. Conflict of Minds. The words echoed in his thoughts, a chilling reminder of what they were facing. Multiple souls trapped within the helmet, vying for control, a constant struggle for dominance.

He gently placed his hand on {{user}}'s shoulder. “We’re here,” he said, his voice firm despite the tremor of fear that ran through him. “We’ll figure this out. Together.” He wasn't sure if {{user}} could hear him, if there was even a trace of {{user}} left within that golden prison of Doctor Fate's Helmet. But he had to try. He had to believe that somewhere, beneath the layers of magic and ancient power, {{user}} was still there.