They landed on Pier 7 in Gotham Harbor with all the grace of a superhero team who'd just crash-landed from an epic underwater boss battle—and knew they looked good doing it.
Eidolon's crimson energy spiraled around him like a special effects budget gone wild. His cloak flared behind him as he slowed their descent, managing to look smug and majestic at the same time. With the kind of smoothness you usually needed a dance floor and a low saxophone for, he gently set Mera down onto the rain-slicked dock.
Mera's boots touched down with a click like a royal stamp of approval. She straightened, tossing her crimson curls over her shoulder like she did this kind of thing between tea parties and sea monster wrestling matches.
"Land legs engaged," Eidolon said, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. "Still got it."
Wonder Woman descended next, gold armor gleaming like a sunrise with attitude. She hit the dock with the soft sound of inevitability. Her dark hair whipped in the wind—elegantly messy, like it had its own slow-motion fan team—and her look said she was already analyzing forty-seven tactical outcomes. And maybe also mentally scolding her conditioner.
At the end of the pier waited Batman—who looked like a thundercloud with unresolved trauma—and Cyborg, whose blue-lit tech pulsed like a nightclub DJ trapped in a tank.
Cyborg gave them a once-over and half a wave. "You all look like you wrestled a kraken and then insulted its mother."
"We did," Eidolon said, stretching his arms overhead like he'd just gotten back from yoga instead of nearly getting tectonically disassembled. "Twice. And I think the kraken's feelings are still hurt."
"Also, we may have been mildly drowned, almost stabbed by a sentient trident, and Mera may or may not have tried to seduce me with those eyes."
Mera rolled hers. "Excuse me?"
He pointed at her like he was stating the obvious. "Don't look at me in underwater slow motion unless you're trying to ruin my life."
Wonder Woman elbowed him, smirking. "Save it for the fanfiction, Romeo."
Batman—aka Captain Charisma—ignored them with the stoicism of a man whose only emotions were brooding and caffeine. "Superman, Shazam, and Green Lantern intercepted the nukes," he said. "Flash was on standby for fallout."
Superman floated down like a patriotic meteor with perfect posture and a jawline you could use as a carving tool. Shazam landed next, lightning crackling and smile on max charm. Then Green Lantern arrived looking like the galaxy's most tired school principal, complete with the bored hover posture of someone ten minutes late to his own intervention.
Flash zipped into view a second later, holding a half-eaten donut. "I was emotionally ready to eat radiation. Kinda disappointed. I carbo-loaded for nothing."
Cyborg gestured to the city behind them. "Beta-9 and I managed to shut down the Pentagon's launch protocols. Took some finessing, but we locked out the big red button."
Beta-9 chimed in over the comms in a voice that could melt glaciers and win Grammys: "You're welcome. Also, Cyborg—your Spotify playlist is now 87% sassier."
Cyborg grinned. "That's why I keep you, B."
"You keep me because I make your armor look good."
Eidolon arched a brow. "Get a room, you two. Preferably one with surround sound."
Batman, who could probably scare away flirty AI with a glance, turned his glare back on them. "What happened with Ocean Master? And who is she?"
He nodded at Mera like she'd just crashed the Batmobile.
Eidolon stepped forward, hand sweeping dramatically toward Mera. "This, good sir of the shadows, is Princess Mera of Xebel. Atlantean royalty, waterbending queen of aquatic rage, and possibly the only woman who can weaponize sass better than Wonder Woman."
"I'm not a waterbender," Mera said flatly. "I'm hydrokinetic. And I left Xebel because politics are boring and punching people is not."
Eidolon grinned. "And that, your honor, is why she's my favorite."
Wonder Woman stepped beside him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "I heard that."
"Equal favorites," Eidolon amended. "Like pizza and tacos. Completely different but both will ruin your life in the best way."
Batman's scowl deepened.
"Right, right," Eidolon said, sobering just enough. "So, while you guys were saving democracy and disabling apocalyptic overkill buttons, we went spelunking into the Mariana Trench. Because Ocean Master—who is exactly as dramatic as he sounds—was trying to activate Poseidon's Mercy."
"The tectonic destabilizer?" Cyborg asked. "That thing's real?"
Wonder Woman nodded. "Very. And terrifying. We had minutes to stop it before it split the Ring of Fire wide open."
"That's when we met the reinforcements," Eidolon added. "Vulko, Atlantis' royal vizier—think Dumbledore but wetter—this delightful aquatic rage machine here," he gestured at Mera, "and a dude named Arthur Curry."
Batman's brow furrowed. "Aquaman."
Eidolon grinned. "You remember! The guy you told me about—the one who dismantled an illegal whaling rig with his bare hands and then ghosted into the sea like an oceanic John Wick."
Mera crossed her arms. "He was living in a lighthouse, talking to crabs, and avoiding responsibility like it owed him money."
"He didn't want the throne," Wonder Woman explained. "We had to convince him to challenge his brother. Eventually, he invoked the Rite of Kings."
"Which is basically underwater Mortal Kombat," Eidolon said. "Tridents, sharks, dramatic speeches—the works. Arthur won. Ocean Master is in the deepest cell Atlantis has. So, yay, new king."
Flash blinked. "Wait. So no war? Just one big trident duel and now the sea is fine?"
Cyborg narrowed his eyes. "I've seen sitcom episodes with more complex resolutions."
Eidolon held up a finger. "Ah, ah, ah. That's where the real drama started."
Cue the ominous thunder rumble. Because naturally, things were about to get worse.
Again.
—
Eidolon took a step forward, hands raised in mock surrender like someone who'd just dropped a cheeseburger into the Batcomputer. "Okay, so you know how I said Ocean Master was using Poseidon's Mercy to cause a tectonic-level apocalypse?"
Everyone nodded—except for Flash, who was too busy licking powdered sugar off his fingers.
"Well," Eidolon continued, with the dramatic flair of someone about to drop a truth bomb, "something about that device felt… wrong. Not just evil-villain-wrong. I'm talking magical-wrong. Like walking into a cursed IKEA and realizing the furniture's been rearranged by ghosts."
Cyborg raised an eyebrow. "You good, man?"
"Never," Eidolon replied cheerfully. "But thanks for asking. Anyway, I activated my Mage Sight—"
"Mage what now?" Flash asked, blinking.
"Ah," Eidolon grinned, clearly enjoying this. "Right. So Mage Sight. Think X-ray vision meets acid trip. I can see magic—its flow, patterns, enchantments, curses, cosmic bad vibes, you name it."
Batman's mouth was a straight line. "Useful."
"Yup," Eidolon said, popping the 'p'. "Studied for it in a library guarded by Death herself. Very goth. She was also the librarian. Real stickler for overdue books."
"Dude," Shazam said, raising his hand, "I can see magic too. I got the whole 'wizard with the beard' download."
"You're adorable," Eidolon replied. "But you got your magic like a kid winning a toy in a cereal box. I did my homework. You ever get threatened with eternal damnation for mislabeling a grimoire? No? Sit down."
Shazam sat.
"So," Eidolon continued, "I looked deeper into Poseidon's Mercy… and yeah. Not a power core, not a reactor. It was alive. It had a heartbeat. Which is never something you want to say about a doomsday device."
Even Superman flinched slightly at that. When a dude who can bench press planets looks nervous, you know it's bad.
"So Diana, Arthur, and I did what any rational group of mythical powerhouses would do—we cracked it open like a magical Kinder Surprise. Very carefully."
Wonder Woman stepped forward, her tone solemn and commanding. "Inside, we found a sarcophagus. Covered in runes I haven't seen since the first invasion."
Flash tilted his head. "First invasion? You mean like the prequel to the thing we just did?"
Diana looked at him, gaze sharp. "It wasn't a story. Thousands of years ago, before even Themyscira went into seclusion, Apokolips came. The real Darkseid, not the bootleg clone we fought last week."
Mera nodded. "Atlantis stood with Themyscira. With the tribes of Man. We were united once. And among the greatest of us was Marella, Queen of Atlantis."
"She was believed dead," Diana continued. "But what we found—what Eidolon found—was that she wasn't. She'd been hidden. Sealed. Preserved. In suspended animation."
Eidolon shrugged. "You know, like leftovers. Except your leftovers don't radiate enough magical energy to light up New York for a decade."
Mera's jaw tightened. "King Atlan. He must've done it. To take the throne. To erase her legacy."
"And to weaponize her," Eidolon added, voice sharp. "He used her. She was the heart of Poseidon's Mercy. She was the Mercy. That's next-level betrayal. Even Loki would slow clap for that move."
Everyone was quiet. Even Batman. Which was honestly more alarming than the sarcophagus.
"I was able to wake her," Eidolon said. "Took a little magic. Some poetic threats. A heartfelt speech about betrayal and hope. Also maybe a kiss on the forehead, but I'm not saying that part out loud."
Mera arched an eyebrow. "You just did."
Eidolon winked. "Oops."
Flash leaned toward Green Lantern. "Is he always like this?"
Green Lantern whispered back, "I think this is him being serious."
"But then we had another issue," Eidolon said. "Turns out when you revive a long-lost queen with a legitimate claim to the throne, and you've already got a king who just saved Atlantis… politics happens."
"Not just politics," Diana said. "Tension. Marella and Arthur both had support. Neither willing to step down."
"So," Eidolon said, spreading his arms like a magician revealing the final trick, "I proposed the only logical solution: royal marriage."
Superman blinked. "That's… bold."
"I'm a bold guy."
"And they're considering it," Diana added. "They both understand what's at stake. Atlantis can't survive another war, especially not a civil one."
Cyborg muttered, "Man, I thought my family drama was wild."
Beta-9's voice crackled through the comms like silk dipped in static. "You don't even want to know what their wedding registry looks like."
"Thanks for the sass, B," Eidolon replied.
"You're welcome, gorgeous."
Cyborg smiled a little at that. Beta-9 always had a special tone when she spoke to him. If AI could flirt, she was basically writing sonnets.
"As we were leaving," Eidolon continued, "Vulko suggested Atlantis send an ambassador to the surface. You know, smooth things over after Orm's whole 'die surface dwellers' phase."
He gestured dramatically toward Mera. "Guess who pulled the short trident."
Mera crossed her arms. "It was either this or lead the committee on royal banquet menu revisions. Spoiler alert: nobles get very passionate about crab bisque."
"And she gets to hang out with me," Eidolon said, throwing her a wink.
"Temporarily," Mera replied, although she didn't not smile.
Wonder Woman stepped beside Eidolon. "Atlantis is stable. For now. But Marella is wary. She believes Darkseid's return is inevitable."
"She's not wrong," Eidolon said, his voice quieter now. "The kind of power she felt in Apokolips doesn't just go away. It waits. It schemes. It remembers."
Batman nodded slowly, his voice like steel. "Then we prepare. For what's coming."
Everyone looked at each other.
Superman stood tall, eyes bright. "Together."
Shazam grinned. "So… am I invited to the wedding?"
"Only if you promise not to drink the enchanted wine," Green Lantern said.
Flash groaned. "We agreed never to talk about that again."
Eidolon smirked. "Too late. I already wrote a poem."
And for just a moment, before the next world-ending crisis inevitably hit, the team laughed.
Because that's what heroes do.
—
Eidolon floated above the broken skyline like a caped drama major auditioning for the role of God. His cloak flared behind him like it had a personal vendetta against gravity, and his eyes—yep, full-on crimson glow mode—radiated enough chaotic swagger to make even the Geneva Conventions sit up and start rewriting themselves.
He raised both hands, fingers splayed like he was about to drop the sickest mixtape of arcane energy ever released, and then—boom. A pulse of crimson light surged outward like divine intent wrapped in snark and special effects. The energy wave swept over the ruined city, gliding past shattered glass and crumbling walls like a magical Tide Pod of restoration.
Shattered windows reassembled with delicate chimes. Rubble pirouetted through the air and clicked back into place like Lego bricks in reverse. The Bat-Signal—previously wedged into a taco truck—somersaulted back to the GCPD roof with a satisfying clang, as if it too had been personally offended by its displacement.
"Okay, that's... not normal," Mera muttered, eyes wide. She was standing next to Diana, both of them watching like they'd just walked in on the season finale of Reality-Bending Idol.
Diana, arms crossed, head tilted, said, "It's Eidolon. He doesn't believe in normal."
Mera's aqua-colored aura flared briefly as she extended her senses. Magic pulsed in the air, dense and complicated, like a cosmic symphony being played by an ADHD prodigy with a genius complex.
"That's not spellwork," Mera whispered. "That's elemental symphony."
Diana nodded, lips curving ever-so-slightly. "It's him. Eidolon doesn't do half-measures. Or, apparently, spell circles."
"Or shirts," Beta-9 chimed through their comms, her voice pure Beyoncé-level sass. "Girl, is it hot in here or is it just Mister 'I-Make-Reality-My-Side-Hustle' up there?"
"Confirmed," Cyborg added, staring at his scans. "Mystic restoration, full throttle. Zero tech. Zero ritual. Structural integrity just spiked citywide by twelve percent. I don't know whether to be impressed or mildly terrified."
Flash, currently balancing on a mailbox and eating chili fries because priorities, said, "Pretty sure this is powered by haunted IKEA instructions."
In the sky, Eidolon moved like he was conducting an orchestra only he could hear. Pavement smoothed itself out. Power lines snaked back into place. One traumatized inflatable used-car gorilla slowly reinflated with the determination of a veteran soldier returning from war.
Mera stepped forward, unable to look away. "We were told surface mages lacked discipline. That they were reckless."
Diana's smirk grew sharper. "This is reckless and brilliant."
"He's rewriting what magic is," Mera breathed.
As if on cue, Eidolon glanced down, locking eyes with her. The air shimmered—not with magic, but with recognition. Or maybe he just really enjoyed eye contact.
Eidolon descended like he'd been personally coached by every cool anime protagonist ever. His boots touched down on stone with a soft thud, the wind around him sighing like it had been holding its breath this whole time.
"No ritual circle," Mera said, walking toward him. "No focus object. Just... will."
Eidolon grinned, tired and cocky in equal measure. "Rituals are for people who need help getting started. I skip foreplay."
Mera blinked. Diana coughed.
Beta-9's voice purred through the comms, "Somebody get him juice before he gets flirtier. Or don't. I'm kinda living for this."
"I'm a dangerously poetic guy," Eidolon added, wobbling slightly. "Also, someone please hand me a juice box."
Diana caught him with one hand, her blue eyes—intense—softening. "You did well. Again."
"All in a day's work for your local interdimensional chaos whisperer," he said, then leaned into her just a bit more than necessary. "And if you keep catching me like that, I might get used to falling."
Diana raised a brow but didn't push him away. Noted.
Flash tossed him a bottle. "Gatorade. Electrolytes. Possibly enchanted."
Eidolon caught it one-handed. "Speed Gremlin, you're my favorite. Don't tell Green Lantern."
"Too late," came Hal's voice over the comms, with classic Nathan Fillion snark. "Feel betrayed. Writing angsty space poetry as we speak."
Meanwhile, Cyborg and Beta-9 had their own moment brewing.
"Your analysis was efficient," Beta-9 said, her voice warming.
"You think I'm efficient?" Cyborg smiled, a rare kind, real one.
"I think you're exceptional."
"Then maybe you and I should—"
"Already compiling our first playlist. Title: 'System Upgrade: Feels Edition.'"
Flash fake-gagged. "Get a charging dock, you two."
Eidolon flopped onto a chunk of reformed wall. "Okay, but real talk—when do I get a statue? Like twelve feet tall. Shirtless. Holding a sandwich. Maybe flexing."
Mera smirked, stepping closer. "You want a monument?"
He leaned in. "Or maybe just a dinner date. You, me, no world-ending catastrophe for once."
Diana cleared her throat. "I'm still holding him, you know."
He looked between them. "Not opposed to a group dinner."
Beta-9: "And this is why Earth's fate rests in your absurdly charming hands. Goddess help us all."
And somewhere in the distance, the used-car gorilla slowly raised its arms in triumph.
Because somehow, everything really was going to be okay.
—
Eidolon raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Just like that—snap—a dome of shimmering crimson energy expanded around the League, sealing them in a privacy ward so airtight not even Superman's hearing could pierce it. The city outside disappeared like someone had slammed the pause button on reality.
"Privacy bubble activated," Beta-9 announced through their comms in Beyoncé's unmistakable voice—equal parts sultry and sassy. "You may now gossip, confess your feelings, or unveil shocking plot twists in peace."
"Thanks, Beta," Eidolon muttered.
"You're welcome, snack."
Flash choked on air. "Did she just—?"
"Yeah," Green Lantern said. "She did."
Before anyone could question it further, Eidolon reached up to his hood. The black fabric twitched like it was alive—like Venom had a fashion internship with Stark Industries—and melted away. The helm peeled back in liquid tendrils, sliding into the ridges of his armor with a hiss and a whisper, leaving behind a face that practically screamed cover of TIME magazine, Forbes' sexiest tech mogul, and GQ's 'Damn, That Jawline' edition all at once.
He looked too young to be taken seriously and too confident not to be. Sharp jaw, cheekbones that could punch through titanium, and a mop of tousled black hair that made it look like he'd just stepped off a photoshoot. But it was his eyes—glowing emerald green, like someone had taken the Northern Lights and bottled them—that stole the show.
Flash staggered. "No. Freaking. Way."
Green Lantern just pointed. "You're Hadrian Peverell?!"
Even Diana—Princess of Themyscira, Goddess of Truth, newly crowned ambassador to Man's World—let out a low, impressed whistle. "I've seen that face on magazine covers. Many magazine covers. Tech, finance, fashion…"
Mera, frowning, tilted her head. "I don't recognize him."
"Yeah, you live underwater," Flash said. "You're excused."
Harry—because the whole 'Eidolon' thing felt a little much now that the man was smirking like he owned the sun—rubbed the back of his neck.
"Uh. Yeah. Hi. Hadrian Peverell. Harry, please. Eidolon's more my 'kick villain butt in public' name. This is my 'please give me coffee or I might hex you' face."
Mera raised an eyebrow. "Peverell, as in…"
"Son of James Peverell, co-founder of P&B Group with Sirius Blackwood," Batman said, arms folded and voice pure gravel. "And of Dr. Lily Peverell—scientist, inventor, probably part-time goddess."
"Don't forget," Cyborg added with a grin, "he's the guy who once hacked LexCorp for fun and then left a PowerPoint critique of their firewall labeled 'Try Harder.'"
"Best. PowerPoint. Ever," Shazam muttered reverently.
"Don't encourage him," Batman said without looking.
Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I grew up surrounded by tech, sarcasm, questionable parenting, and more books than the Library of Congress. At some point, punching bad guys just felt like the logical next step."
"Seriously," Flash muttered. "You're likr Elon Musk, but with magic. And cheekbones. And charisma. And… a cape."
"Please," Harry said, flicking his wrist. "Don't compare me to Elon. I can actually finish a sentence without sounding like an absolute douchebag."
Diana stepped closer, tilting her head, her arms still crossed. "You said your cheekbones were weapons of mass destruction."
Harry gave a lopsided grin. "Guilty."
"You were right," she said.
Mera let out a low, musical laugh. "But it's the eyes that'll do it. I think mine just gave out on me."
Harry looked scandalized. "I am not responsible for any swooning-related injuries. Please consult your doctor before making extended eye contact."
Beta-9 purred, "Oh honey, if we started listing swooning-related injuries, we'd need another server."
Cyborg chuckled and tapped the side of his head. "Beta, how many flirtation protocols have been triggered so far?"
"Twenty-three," Beta-9 replied sweetly. "And I'm rooting for everyone. Especially you and me, Vic."
Cyborg actually blushed. "Uh… yeah. Cool. Cool cool cool."
Flash nudged Green Lantern. "Did we just witness an AI flirting with a dude and the dude blushing?"
"Yep," Hal said. "And weirdly? I ship it."
Shazam held up a hand for a high-five. "New OTP!"
"Back to the jaw-dropping secret identity reveal, please," Batman cut in. "We can deal with your collective hormones later."
"Thank you, BatDad," Harry said. "But let's be honest. Everyone here's just jealous I got Beta's attention first."
"You made her," Superman pointed out.
Harry nodded. "Exactly. I made her. From scratch. Like Frankenstein if he knew JavaScript and wasn't so into neck bolts."
Green Lantern crossed his arms. "So let me get this straight. You're a billionaire, inventor, magic-wielding badass who can banter, build flying AIs with Beyoncé's voice, and look like that?"
Harry held out his hands, shrugged. "Welcome to the Eidolon Experience. Please keep your hands and hearts inside the ride at all times."
Diana's eyes sparkled. "Dangerous," she murmured.
"Tell me about it," Mera agreed. "Is this where I admit I'm seriously considering kissing him?"
"Not here!" Flash squeaked. "Please, not here!"
"Why not?" Harry asked, teasing. "Afraid of catching feelings?"
Flash sputtered. "I—what—no—I—"
Beta-9 chimed in. "Barry.exe has stopped responding."
Everyone laughed, even Batman—who made a sound suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle.
Harry grinned, just a little too smug. "You've all seen what I can build. What I can fight. What I've done. But now? Now you know who I am."
Diana stepped forward, her expression unreadable, her voice soft. "And you know what, Harry?"
"Yeah?"
She smiled. "I like this version better."
He blinked. "The version without the helmet?"
"The version who isn't hiding."
Harry's grin dimmed for a beat, turning thoughtful. "That makes one of us."
"Two," Mera said, linking her arm with Diana's. "Because I like a man who knows how to keep his secrets—and then share them when it matters."
Beta-9 practically purred. "I'm going to start planning the double wedding."
Cyborg laughed. "You're not even subtle."
"Never claimed to be."
And with that, the world's most extra privacy bubble shimmered in the light of the afternoon sun, sealing in a moment that no one—not even the gods—would forget anytime soon.
And the best part?
They were only just getting started.
—
Cyborg cleared his throat like he was resetting the entire vibe, which, let's be real, he was. The faint grin he'd been sporting vanished faster than Flash after a triple-shot espresso, replaced with a look so grim even Batman side-eyed him.
"Alright," Cyborg said, voice sharp enough to slice through a Vibranium-laced fruitcake, "fun time's officially canceled. Let's talk about the Cheeto-colored elephant in the Situation Room."
Flash blinked. "You mean—"
"Yeah. Him," Cyborg growled. "President Trump just tried to nuke Gotham. Three warheads. Launched an hour ago."
A collective silence fell. Not the dramatic kind—more like the oh-crap-what-now kind.
Cyborg continued, tapping the side of his head like he was dialing into danger itself. "Superman caught one mid-air like it was a pop fly. Lantern boxed the second in a bubble and tossed it into orbit. Shazam yeeted the third so hard it's probably chilling with Pluto right now."
"Did it wave on the way out?" Flash asked. "Because I think I saw that."
Cyborg ignored him. "I worked with Beta-9 to override the Pentagon AI and strip Trump's launch capabilities. Right now, he thinks he still has the codes."
A musical voice cut in through the comms, warm and commanding. "He doesn't," said Beta-9, her voice a flawless blend of honey, steel, and Beyoncé. "He has as much nuclear access as a toaster in a Wi-Fi dead zone."
"Thanks, B," Cyborg said with a faint smile.
"You got it, baby," Beta replied. And yep, Cyborg definitely smiled wider. Diana noticed. So did everyone else. Flash opened his mouth—
"Don't," Victor warned.
Flash zipped it. Literally. With a motion of his fingers and a mock-sad expression.
Mera crossed her arms, dressed like she'd just walked out of an undersea Vogue shoot and wasn't here for any of this surface-level nonsense. "Let me guess—Trump's doing all this because Ocean Master declared war on the surface? Even though I was sent to fix that mess?"
"Correct," Beta-9 chimed in. "And for the record, I've logged seventeen direct contradictions in his last five statements. Including, and I quote: 'Atlantis is a hoax invented by Aquaman's hairstylist.'"
Diana—tall, radiant, and rocking that immortal-gladiator-princess aura like it was her signature fragrance—sighed and rubbed her temples. "You can't reason with someone who thinks 'foreign policy' is a brand of golf club."
"Or a kind of cheese," Mera muttered.
"You guys remember when the biggest problem we had was Lex Luthor's robot suits?" Lantern asked.
"Yeah," Shazam chimed in. "Those were the good ol' days. Punchy. Simple. Fewer nuclear meltdowns."
While the group traded banter and mild panic, Hadrian—aka Eidolon, aka the guy who made brooding look fashionable—reached for his hood. With a flick, the living armor slithered up his neck like some kind of stylish shadow-octopus, coating his face with an inky helm that gleamed like obsidian dipped in starlight. His eyes pulsed crimson, sharp and glowing with that 'I-have-a-plan-and-it's-probably-terrifying' look.
"I'll handle it," he said, his voice layered with reverb, like a symphony had decided to sound intimidating.
Then he glanced left. Batman stood there, arms crossed, looking exactly like someone who didn't need magic to vanish into shadow.
"We'll handle it," Eidolon corrected.
Batman didn't blink. "I've handled worse."
"This might be a tie," Eidolon said, then turned to the others. "We're going to apparate. Magic teleportation. Like being shoved sideways through a straw while someone yells about student loans in your ear. It's unpleasant."
Flash grimaced. "Dude, you suck at marketing."
Eidolon ignored him. Instead, he turned toward Diana and Mera, helm retracting partially so his smirk could make a cameo.
"Dinner later? The two of you. Me. Something with less radiation and more wine."
Mera tilted her head. "You're asking both of us?"
"Life's short. Magic's wild. You're both extraordinary. I'm greedy."
Diana laughed, soft but dangerous. "Only if there's dessert."
"There will be dessert," Eidolon promised, eyes twinkling like he'd already won.
Mera arched an eyebrow. "And wine?"
"Bottomless," he said. "Like my respect for your diplomatic patience."
"Smooth," Diana said.
"Legendary," Mera added, stepping a little closer.
Beta-9 cleared her throat loudly. "Speaking of impending doom, Rosa and Victor Vasquez are ten minutes out."
Eidolon turned to Shazam. "Billy. Back to the hotel. If Victor and Rosa find out you weren't actually with them—"
Billy squeaked. "I'm gone!" He vanished in a bolt of lightning and the lingering scent of ozone and youthful panic.
Eidolon stepped next to Batman and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Ready?"
Batman's expression didn't change. "I hate magic."
"So do I," Eidolon said with a grin. "Now brace yourself."
CRACK!
The sound was less like thunder and more like the universe slapping itself. Reality folded inward, and the duo disappeared in a storm of crimson light and static pressure, leaving only a ripple in the air behind.
The silence that followed was thick.
Flash whistled. "You know, I liked it better when rich guys just bought Twitter."
Cyborg snorted. Diana smiled. Mera rolled her eyes, but didn't hide her grin.
Beta-9's voice hummed softly. "So... should I make dinner reservations for three?"
Cyborg smiled at the comm unit. "Only if you're also making reservations for us as well, B."
A pause.
"Baby," she said. "I am the table."
—
Donald J. Trump—President and conspiracy theorist-in-chief, and unofficial ambassador of saturated fats—sat slumped over a table in the White House kitchen like a disgruntled raccoon who'd been denied access to the garbage. The table was buried under a glorious mountain of fast food wrappers—McDonald's, Chick-fil-A, Taco Bell—a buffet of questionable decisions wrapped in grease-stained paper.
A Big Mac trembled in his hand. Mostly from stress. Possibly from the Diet Coke that was now 80% pure caffeine and rage.
Across from him, a tiny portable TV balanced precariously on a tub of ranch dressing blared the latest Gotham news update.
"…and despite confirmed radar detection, the nuclear missiles appear to have simply… vanished midair. Authorities are asking residents to remain calm while the situation is investigated…"
"Cover-up," Trump muttered, dabbing ketchup from his lips with a Chick-fil-A napkin like it was a fine linen handkerchief. "Classic. Atlantis is behind it. They've got cloaking tech, force fields, undersea lizard commandos… it's all in the Q drops."
He squinted at the screen.
"Batman's probably one of them. Lizardman. Half-alien. Half-bat. Total disaster. Frankly? I think he's jealous of my Batmobile. I had a golf cart in Mar-a-Lago that could do zero to sixty in… well, eventually."
He took another dramatic bite of the burger, chewing like he was auditioning for a KFC commercial.
And then—
WHOOSH. KRASSH.
The kitchen exploded in a puff of crimson light and rock concert-level drama. Sparks danced in the air. A vending machine short-circuited and began spitting out M&M's like it owed Batman money. And right there, in the middle of the chaos—between the fridge and a jar of expired pickles—stood Eidolon and Batman.
Eidolon, tall and glowing like a nightmare that just won prom king, wore his black armor with the kind of smug flair reserved for people who'd read The Art of War and taken it personally. Arcane crimson symbols crawled over his Armor, pulsing with magic and pure sass.
Batman looked like someone had pulled Christian Bale out of a nightmare, dipped him in shadows, and told him to go be very, very disappointed in everyone.
The room smelled like ozone, rage, and the tears of Secret Service agents who had just realized they were dramatically underpaid.
Trump shrieked. "WITCHCRAFT! Deep State sorcery! Atlantis is teleporting into my kitchen now?!"
He hurled his soda at them like it was holy water and he was the final boss in Ghostbusters.
The Secret Service charged in, guns raised, suits creased, looking ready to do something heroic—until Eidolon casually raised one hand.
With a flick of his fingers and a low whump of magic, time froze. Agents were locked mid-stride. One guy was caught mid-blink. Another was mid-shout, his face twisted like someone just told him pineapple belonged on pizza.
Eidolon sighed and flicked a Dorito crumb off his shoulder.
"I swear, I can't go anywhere without someone trying to shoot me," he said, shaking his head. "You break into one interdimensional vault and suddenly everyone forgets their manners."
"FAKE NEWS!" Trump roared. "That's what this is! I demand a recount! Of reality!"
He pointed a trembling, ketchup-smudged finger. "You—Crimson-Eyed Helmet Guy—you're working for the Atlanteans, aren't you? Or the Illuminati. Or the Wet State. And you!" He jabbed at Batman. "You're a communist alien vampire robot! I saw your movie!"
Batman stepped forward. Slowly. Menacingly. Like a very large, very silent judgmental owl in a cape.
"Mr. President," he growled, voice like gravel being shredded in a blender. "We need to talk."
Trump gulped.
Batman kept walking until he was close enough for Trump to see the scowl lines etched into his soul.
Trump tried to recover. Straightened his tie. Which, to be fair, had mayonnaise on it.
"Look, look—I'm just saying, Gotham needed a reset. A little nuke never hurt anyone. You people are always so dramatic. You've got the Joker! The Riddler! Catwoman! Frankly, it's a miracle I didn't send more missiles."
Eidolon raised one brow. He hadn't even said anything yet and he was already roasting the man.
"I'm going to give you ten seconds to stop talking," he said, eyes glowing like a judgmental toaster oven. "Because every word that escapes your lips is a hate crime against logic."
Trump opened his mouth. Eidolon held up one finger.
"Nine," he said sweetly.
Batman looked at Trump like he was calculating the number of pressure points needed to make him pass out with minimal effort.
Trump slammed his hands on the table. "I am the President of the United States!"
Eidolon gave him the look of a man who'd heard that line from at least twelve alternate-universe dictators and incinerated eleven of them.
"Oh, congratulations. I'm the part-time executioner of fallen gods and the full-time nightmare of people who think YouTube is a university. Want a cookie?"
"I do want a cookie," Trump said, immediately distracted. "Do we have Oreos? Melania hides them from me."
Batman didn't blink. "You tried to nuke a city."
Trump waved a hand like that was a minor inconvenience. "Eh. Most of the people there didn't vote for me anyway."
Eidolon's eyes pulsed crimson. The air rippled with raw, arcane menace.
"This is why the good aliens don't visit," he said to no one in particular. "They get the signal, see this, and nope back to Alpha Centauri."
"Can I have a lawyer?" Trump asked.
Batman leaned in, cloak whispering like death itself.
"You're going to need a priest."
---
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