Reborn as flatline and I have the powers of Rogue Sun in DC

The hospital room was quiet except for the faint hum of machines and the occasional muffled cough. A 13-year-old girl lay in the center of the room, surrounded by her family. Her older sister, older brother, and parents stood close to her bed, watching over her with solemn expressions.

Despite the bright posters of superheroes from DC and Marvel plastered across the walls, the mood was far from cheerful. Stacks of games, DVDs, and action figures filled the corners, remnants of a life she barely had the strength to enjoy anymore. The room looked like it belonged to a child full of energy and imagination—but the girl in the bed told a different story.

Nika had been fighting cancer for half her life, but the outcome of that battle had long been clear. Her body, once lively, was now thin and fragile. She looked skeletal, pale, and barely strong enough to lift her head.

Her chest rose and fell weakly as she tried to speak, her lips trembling with effort.

Her mother gently placed a hand over Nika's and shook her head.

"Please… don't talk," her voice cracked. "D-don't…"

Before she could finish, her words gave way to tears. She turned away, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook.

Nika's father stepped beside her, wrapping his arm around her in silent comfort. Her sister and brother moved closer, both leaning over the bed.

Her brother was the first to speak, his tone soft but heavy.

"Nika… I'm sorry. I know you always wanted to go out—to see the world or at least more of New York," he said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "I wish we could have done that together."

Her sister squeezed Nika's hand gently, fighting her own tears.

"I know this is hard for all of us," she whispered. "But… I want you to know that you'll be in a better place soon. One day, we'll see you again."

Their words hung in the air, but the weight in the room didn't lift.

Her father finally approached the bedside, his large hands resting on the rail as he tried to find the right words. His eyes were red and tired, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "I haven't been here with you as much as I should have. I—" He stopped himself, exhaling slowly. "I'm not trying to make excuses, but… it was hard. Hard to see you like this."

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening.

"I always thought I should be the one protecting you, Nika. I wanted to be your role model, but I… wasted the time we had." His eyes glistened as he looked at the posters on the walls. "Those heroes in your comics—they became the ones you looked up to. Not me."

His voice trembled, threatening to break completely.

Nika's faint voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"Don't say that," she whispered, her breath shaky but firm.

Her father's eyes widened as he looked down at her.

"I already know," Nika said with a soft smile. "You were the one who looked out for me the most. Most of the things I love—the posters, the comics, the games—they came from you. You didn't waste anything."

Her words hit him harder than anything else could have. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he knelt beside the bed, pulling Nika into a gentle hug.

One by one, her family followed, wrapping her in their arms.

That day, Nika died in the warmth of their embrace, surrounded by love.

Warmth wrapped around Nika, soft and comforting like sunlight after a long winter. It cradled her, weightless and calm, as if she were gently drifting downward.

She knew she should question it—Why am I falling? But the thought barely crossed her mind.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't care. Her body felt good.

No pain. No exhaustion.

She hadn't felt this healthy in years.

Her arms felt light, her chest rose and fell with ease, and the ache she had grown so used to was gone.

Nika simply let herself sink deeper into the warmth.

Until—

Knock, knock.

"Nika, wake up."

The warmth vanished.

Nika stirred, feeling groggy, as if she'd just been shaken out of a deep sleep. A faint sigh escaped her lips as she sank further into the blankets.

"Just five more minutes," she muttered, half-conscious.

The voice spoke again, faint but sharp enough to register.

"Did you stay up drawing those creepy pictures again? Why can't you just be normal?"

Her eyes fluttered open slightly. The words felt distant, but something about them prodded at her mind.

Nika frowned.

That voice… something's not right.

Her mind, still foggy, clung to that thought as she shifted beneath the covers.

Gradually, awareness settled over her, and Nika finally realized—

This isn't the hospital.

She sat up slowly, blinking as she took in the room around her.

Gone were the sterile white walls and the beeping machines. No IV drips. No faint smell of antiseptic.

Instead, she found herself in a normal bedroom.

A cluttered desk stood in the corner, covered in sketchbooks, pencils, and ink stains. Posters of dark, edgy artwork decorated the walls. A backpack lay slumped by the window.

Her heart began to pound, her chest tightening slightly.

What is this place?

Her eyes darted across the room, trying to piece things together.

Then it hit her.

The voice.

It had spoken Russian.

Her breathing hitched.

I don't know Russian.

And yet… she understood it perfectly.

Her pulse quickened.

Without hesitation, Nika threw the blanket aside and stood up.

Her legs felt solid—strong.

Her body moved easily, without the trembling weakness she had grown used to. She glanced down at herself, her hands brushing over her arms and torso.

Her skin wasn't pale or sickly. Her arms weren't thin or fragile.

She looked healthy.

Whole.

Her breathing slowed as the realization crept in.

There's no way this is a kidnapping.

Her rational mind locked onto that thought. No kidnapper could make her feel this good. No one could undo years of sickness and leave her standing here, as if she had never been ill.

Her gaze shifted back to the bed.

A phone lay resting on the pillow.

She hesitated for only a moment before picking it up and pressing the power button.

The lock screen flashed. Luckily, it opened by face recognition.

As the phone opened, Nika's breath caught.

The wallpaper was a photo of the Justice League.

Not from a movie. Not animated.

It looked real.

Superman hovered slightly off the ground. Green Lantern's ring faintly glowed in his hand. The Flash stood mid-motion, lightning curling around his body.

Nika stared at the screen.

There was no way this was edited.

But the realism wasn't the part that shook her.

The second she saw it, everything fell into place.

She remembered.

This is DC.

Her grip tightened on the phone.

I'm in DC.

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Yeah, I'm sorry this chapter was short. I couldn't do anything about it. Very little happened in it But I promise you chapters will be around 1500 words from now on