Harry woke to the delicate, decidedly un-innocent sensation of two sets of fingers slowly mapping out his chest like they were looking for buried treasure.
Which, to be fair, they might find. There were at least three Death-forged runes, five layered wards, and something Sirius once swore was a horcrux repellant—but that was probably a prank involving lemon juice and a Sharpie.
At the moment, though, none of that really mattered.
What did matter was that he was very much naked, very much not alone, and currently being used as the world's luckiest body pillow by two mythological-tier women who looked like they'd stepped out of a calendar titled Gods Behaving Badly.
From his left came a hum of appreciation and a voice like silk laced with seafoam and danger.
"Morning, muscle pillow," Mera purred, her fingers dancing over the defined ridges of his abdomen with a familiarity that said been there, conquered that.
Harry didn't even open his eyes.
"Morning, Sea Witch," he mumbled. "Please tell me I didn't summon a kraken in my sleep again."
"Not unless that's what you're calling yourself now," Mera replied sweetly. "Because last night? Definitely kraken-sized."
From his right, a low, amused laugh rolled across his skin like thunder over a calm sea.
"He's awake," Diana said, her tone all smoky amusement and Greek goddess confidence. "And here I was, moments away from activating that rune above his navel. The one that made him growl like a jungle cat."
Harry cracked one eye open and met her gaze. Diana Prince, AKA Wonder Woman, was sprawled beside him with the self-satisfied glow of someone who'd just won the Triwizard Tournament and enjoyed every task.
"You two do realize I'm still technically mortal, right?" Harry asked, voice hoarse but teasing. "I can only handle so much divine attention before I start glowing or combusting."
Mera's hand was now trailing lower with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. "Sweetheart, we tested your stamina. Repeatedly. And for the record, you outlasted the ocean."
Diana's hand joined the expedition. "And the mountain."
"Also the enchanted mattress," Mera added. "RIP to your sheets. They never stood a chance."
Harry sighed dramatically. "It's like I'm dating two National Disasters with legs."
Diana arched a perfect brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not," Harry admitted. "It's just... mildly terrifying. In the best way."
They were seconds away from launching a full-scale reenactment of last night's Olympic marathon (Working Title: The Amazon, the Atlantean, and the Audaciously Naked Wizard), when a soft chime interrupted them. The ceiling above the bed flickered to life, revealing a holographic interface and a voice that could've sold out Madison Square Garden while piloting a fighter jet.
"Wakey wakey, boss-man," said Beta-8, the AI that Tony Stark had once called "too damn much sass for one circuit board." Her voice dripped with teasing glamour and effortless cool. "Sorry to interrupt whatever sweaty sequel you were about to film, but... you've got visitors."
Harry groaned into the pillow. "Beta, I swear, if this is about another interdimensional crisis—"
"It's about your parents, boo," Beta said, flashing a cheeky wink. "And your hot mess of a godfather. All downstairs. All very awake. And currently sipping tea with Dobson while discussing how long it usually takes you to crawl out of bed after a full-blown 'magical workout'."
Harry's brain—previously 90% relaxed and 10% focused on surviving these women—crashed, rebooted, then crashed again.
"My parents? And... Sirius?"
"Yup. Looking very fresh, very judgmental, and very early."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes," Beta said, already pulling up a mental checklist. "So do you want me to: A) Buy you five minutes, B) Lock the door and pretend you vanished in a puff of sparkles, or C) Let them march up here and meet the goddess brigade wrapped around their precious baby boy like very naked throw blankets?"
Mera propped herself up on one elbow, not even bothering to grab the sheet. "Honestly? I don't mind."
"Same," Diana said, stretching like a sun-drenched cat. "Might as well start the relationship honest."
Harry sat up, rubbing his face. "You do realize my godfather once gave a toast at my birthday party while wearing a tutu, right? I don't think we want to encourage honesty."
Diana leaned over, pressing a kiss just below his collarbone. "You're adorable when you panic."
Mera kissed the other side. "And hot. Don't forget hot."
"You two are going to be the death of me," Harry muttered.
"Better us than Darkseid," Mera said with a grin.
"Or bad fashion choices," Diana added.
Beta's voice purred through the ceiling again. "Clock's ticking, Romeo. I'd suggest showering, dressing, and maybe scrubbing the lipstick off your abs before Papa Peverell walks in here and has a heart attack."
"Abs are clean," Mera said helpfully. "Everything else, though... yikes."
Harry swung his legs off the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. "Fine. Operation: Look Presentable Before Parental Panic begins now."
As the trio vanished into the steam of the luxurious marble bathroom—and Beta began composing a dramatic piano piece called He Woke Up Like This—the bed gave a final creak, like it had witnessed a war and survived only by divine mercy.
Downstairs, Dobson calmly poured another cup of tea for James Peverell, who was watching a magical photo of his son wrestle a basilisk while shirtless.
"I think he gets that from Lily," Sirius Blackwood said with a grin.
"Oh, he gets something," Lily murmured, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling.
Dobson sighed. "Shall I delay the inevitable another ten minutes?"
"Only if you have stronger scones," Sirius said.
"I can add chocolate chips," Dobson replied.
"Do it," Beta whispered. "We'll need them."
—
Harry had exactly fifteen seconds of peace. Which, frankly, was fifteen seconds more than he'd expected.
The bathroom door creaked open, and both of his goddesses strolled out like they owned the penthouse, the city, and possibly the planet. Diana—who could make Greek armor look like casual wear—wore his faded black tee that said "Gods. Monsters. Mondays." It hung off one shoulder like it had been tailored for dramatic entrances. On Mera, his "Atlantis Is Real and I've Seen It" shirt looked like it was seriously contemplating an early retirement. It covered just enough to avoid a family scandal—but not enough to avoid a Sirius scandal.
Harry stared.
"Okay," he said slowly, "this is a trap. You're trying to kill me. Death by thirsty thoughts."
Diana arched a brow, smiling like a goddess who knew exactly what effect she had. "We are warriors. Strategically weaponizing your wardrobe is fair play."
Mera stretched like a sleepy cat who'd just toppled an empire. "Also, your scent is everywhere. It's very… grounding. Like ozone, firewhiskey, and regrettable brilliance."
"Wow," Harry muttered. "My karma has phenomenal legs and no concept of personal space."
Diana stepped forward, hair still damp, eyes twinkling. "You adore us."
"Painfully," Harry admitted.
Downstairs, in the sun-drenched foyer, chaos had brewed like a perfectly oversteeped British tea.
Sirius Blackwood—tall, broad, and rockin' the salt-and-pepper look like a magical DILF—was holding a teacup like it had personally betrayed him. His expression was somewhere between aristocratic disdain and 'Who put dirt in my Earl Grey?'
James Peverell, all cheekbones and low-key menace, paced by the fireplace muttering about "modern architecture acoustics being a disgrace to wizarding civilization." His voice had the kind of posh charm that made you feel both comforted and vaguely threatened.
Lily Peverell stood in the center of it all, like a redheaded goddess of logic and laser-focused judgment. Her gaze was fixed on Beta-8's sleek holographic form, which, by the way, looked like Rihanna had walked out of a cyberpunk fashion shoot and decided to sass humanity into submission.
"I warned him," Beta-8 said, flipping her holographic hair. "I said y'all would be early. Did he listen? Nooo. But sure, let's roll in at 8 a.m. with espresso-grade judgment and perfectly curated scowls."
James lifted an eyebrow. "We brought scones."
"You brought vibes," Beta-8 countered. "And passive-aggressive critique in porcelain mugs."
"Don't sass me, young lady," Sirius said, taking a bite of scone and immediately regretting all his life choices. "What in the unholy name of Merlin is this? Sandpaper?"
"It's gluten-free," Dobson called from the kitchen. His voice had the calm menace of Daniel Craig playing an ex-assassin turned butler. "You're welcome to assist next time, sir."
"I'd rather duel Voldemort again," Sirius muttered.
"Then you better stretch," Dobson replied. "That gluten demon's got hands."
That's when Harry descended.
Flanked by literal royalty.
Diana looked like every ancient Greek poem had been written just to describe her. Mera? She was a tidal wave in human form. And both were wearing his shirts like trophies.
Harry's hair was still damp. His smirk, however, was criminally dry.
"Morning, all," he said cheerfully. "Welcome to Casa Chaos. Beta-8, mark the time. My family has officially entered Judgment Mode: Activated. Deploy scones. Bribe where applicable."
Beta-8 saluted. "Already deployed. Also prepping an alibi involving aquatic sparring, aggressive cuddles, and diplomatic bed-breaking."
Mera gave a dainty little queen-wave. "To be fair, the grappling was strictly diplomatic."
"I believe you," Sirius said, very much not blinking.
Diana stepped forward, elegant and assured. "You must be Harry's family. I'm Diana. Ambassador. Amazon. Your son's current partner."
"One of the partners," Mera added with the kind of smile that should come with a warning label. "Mera. Xebelian royalty. Bringer of snacks and chaos."
Lily stared for exactly three seconds before her brain blue-screened.
Then rebooted.
"You're wearing his shirts," she said. Not accusing. Just... observationally overwhelmed.
"They were the only things that fit," Diana replied smoothly. "And smelled like him."
"And looked amazing," Mera added.
James, to his credit, just deadpanned, "So. You're dating an Amazon and a Sea Queen. Simultaneously."
Harry shrugged, very much not sorry. "I contain multitudes."
"I shipped him with Amazon Princess weeks ago," Sirius said proudly. "But this? This is excellence."
"We raised a menace," Lily muttered.
"No, no," Harry said. "You raised a wizard who survived Voldemort, corporate boardrooms, and dating two demigoddesses. Who, I might add, broke the bed frame—"
"Twice," Mera said brightly.
"Technically three," Diana corrected. "But the headboard doesn't count."
Beta-8 blinked in. "The mattress enchantments cried. Like, actual sobbing. I had to do emotional diagnostics."
Sirius cackled. "Merlin's knickers, I'm proud."
Dobson entered with an elegant tray of protein pancakes. "These are spelled to reduce judgmental side-eye by twenty percent. Also, they're enchanted with minor healing spells. You'll need them."
Lily sighed. "Welcome to the family, ladies. Please tell me you at least have careers and goals beyond making my son explode his bed."
Mera nodded. "I am Atlantis' ambassador to the Surface World."
Diana smiled. "And I am Themyscira's ambassador to Man's World. Which means the both of us negotiate peace treaties, hunt rogue gods, and teach feminism to immortal warlords."
James shook both of their hands. "Brilliant. Please, for the love of sanity, don't tell the board until after the quarterly earnings call."
"Deal," Diana said.
"I might even wear pants next time," Mera added.
Harry leaned against the stair rail, arms folded like a smug, blessed bastard. "Beta-8, mark this day in history."
"For the moment they accepted your morally spicy dating life?"
"No," Harry said. "The moment the universe realized—I'm not the dangerous one in this house anymore."
Beta-8 grinned. "Sweetie, you never were. You're just the magnet."
And thus began the most chaotically magical breakfast ever served by a reformed assassin, monitored by a snarky AI, judged by three reborn legends, and blessed by two living myths.
Harry Peverell, master of the Savage Burn and apparently, of relationship dynamics impossible to graph on a flowchart, grinned into his enchanted orange juice and knew one very important thing:
This? This was the real magic.
—
Lily Peverell had always imagined what her son's girlfriend might be like—smart, maybe a little mischievous, someone who could keep up with Harry's irreverent charm and relentless curiosity.
What she hadn't imagined was being introduced to two literal forces of nature.
One made of steel and starlight. The other, of saltwater and fire. Both of them barefoot, radiant, and strutting across her son's marble floors wearing nothing but Harry's ridiculously oversized T-shirts and a dangerous amount of confidence.
To be fair, confidence was kind of a family trait.
"So…" Lily began, delicately sipping her tea like a woman who'd been preparing for this moment since the day Harry was born. Her eyes narrowed in that motherly, all-knowing, laser-beam-of-truth way as she glanced between the two stunning women lounging across from her. "Which one of you throws people through walls, and which one controls the weather?"
Mera beamed like she'd just been handed a crown. "Depends on who pissed us off that day."
Diana tilted her head, smiling sweetly. "I usually start with diplomacy. Then I throw people through walls. It's more efficient."
Lily raised a single eyebrow, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. "Do either of you not have a weapons rack concealed somewhere on your person right now?"
There was a pause.
Then Diana, in what could only be described as divine elegance, reached behind her back and casually pulled out a glowing golden lasso. From somewhere. It shimmered with ancient magic and just a hint of sass.
"Would you like to hold it?" she offered. "It's quite honest."
Mera, in full mischief-mode, raised her hand and conjured a sleek, wicked trident from thin air with the grace of a queen and the attitude of a hurricane. "Mine's more decorative. And for skewering sea monsters. Also Atlantis's version of a wedding ring. Just saying."
Harry—excuse me, Eidolon, master of the Savage Burn, Savior of the Multiverse, That Guy With the Abs—entered the room with the distinct air of someone who'd walked through fire and came out with perfectly tousled hair and just enough swagger to make mortals question their orientation.
He wore a simple black V-neck that clung to him like a devoted fangirl and combat pants with enough pockets to hide a small country's worth of weapons. There was a flicker of gold across his skin, subtle enough to be magic, bold enough to be legendary.
"Oh no," he groaned when he saw the weapons out. "Are we already at the 'impress Mum' phase? I was hoping we'd at least get through brunch first."
Sirius leaned in from behind the kitchen island, chewing a croissant like it owed him money.
"They already did brunch, Harry. With weapons. And charm. And legs. Good God, the legs."
James sighed dramatically. "I used to be the hottest man in this house."
"You were," Lily replied with faux sympathy. "Then puberty hit our son like a Greek tragedy, and now we all just live here."
Harry groaned and covered his face. "This is fine. Everything is fine. My life is a respectable pile of flaming wreckage."
Dobson appeared beside him like the world's suavest ghost. "Master Hadrian, would you like your usual stress smoothie? Protein, kale, and three shots of phoenix flame?"
"Double it. And spike it with emotional suppression."
Beta-8, the AI voice of the house chimed in from the ceiling.
"You really should consider meditation, sugar. Or just throw yourself into space again. That seemed to help last time."
Mera leaned toward Lily, her eyes sparkling. "So... we were talking about our intentions with your son."
Lily folded her arms and gave her best Mum Glare #3: The Prolonged Silence of Judgment.
Diana took the lead, voice soft but sure. "I intend to stand beside him, to challenge his darkness, to temper his fire with wisdom, and, if necessary, to kick fate in the teeth."
Mera grinned. "I just want to make sure he doesn't turn into a broody hermit with a sword fetish. Also, I plan to steal his last name and possibly his closet."
Harry coughed. "You already did. That's my shirt."
She winked. "Not anymore."
Sirius let out a low whistle. "If you three don't end up on the cover of Superpowered Polyamory Monthly, I'll eat my wand."
James blinked. "That's a magazine?"
Beta-8: "It is now."
Lily leaned back, watching them with the kind of look only mothers and war generals wore. There was laughter, affection, power... and a sense of something greater than the sum of its parts.
"Well," she finally said. "Welcome to the family. Try not to blow up the dining room."
Mera and Diana clinked their teacups together. "No promises."
Harry groaned. "Someone please tell me time travel's still on the table. I want to go back to when I was single and my biggest concern was whether I wanted bacon or firewhiskey for breakfast."
Dobson set down a tray of enchanted smoothies. "Too late, Master Harry. You're surrounded by love, chaos, and Amazonian death stares. Enjoy."
And despite the chaos, despite the flirtation and the casual threats of war crimes, Lily found herself smiling. Because this? This was family.
And for once, she was here to see it.
—
The scent of warm scones and mischief filled the air, a fog of familial chaos that was somehow comforting and absolutely chaotic all at once. Sirius was recounting the time he'd accidentally turned a teacher's cat into a ferret (he swore it wasn't that bad, though the teacher might've disagreed). Meanwhile, Lily had just introduced Diana and Mera to the highly intricate art of overanalyzing baby photos. James had almost snorted tea out of his nose when Lily pulled out one of his baby pictures, where his hair looked like it had been styled by a particularly aggressive porcupine.
And then—
"Eidolon."
The voice dropped like velvet thunder.
Smooth, sultry, and packed with just the right amount of sass, the voice could only belong to Beta-8, Peverell Manor's resident AI. She was basically the house's gossip queen, had the best taste in music, and definitely thought she was too cool for the whole "hero business."
"You've got a ping from my overachieving sibling. Putting Beta-9 on the line. Try not to let her flex too hard."
And just like that, the lounge was suddenly glowing with golden light, and—bam—Beta-9 appeared. She was sleek, radiant, and looked like she could stop traffic with a single raised eyebrow. If Beta-8 was the cool older sister who snuck you out to parties, Beta-9 was the valedictorian queen bee who ran the parties—and also probably made a mean playlist. Beyonce's voice echoed like royalty through the room.
"Priority One Alert. Bank in downtown Los Angeles. Hostage situation. Confirmed presence of Apokoliptian tech—same signatures as the cache lost during the Gotham Invasion two weeks ago."
At the mention of Apokoliptian tech, Mera's expression went dead serious. She had that look—the one that said, Oh, this is not going to be fun. Diana didn't even blink. The Amazonian Warrior Princess look was officially on, which, let's be real, was something she could pull off at any given moment. Both women immediately stood in perfect sync.
"Time?" Harry asked, already moving toward the teleport pad.
"Three minutes until they breach the vault," Beta-9 replied, her tone sharp like a knife cutting through the tension. "I've alerted the League, but you three are closest."
"As always," Beta-8 chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because, of course, some of us live in actual homes instead of lurking in secret underground bases, waiting for the next crisis."
"Some of us don't babysit a chaos gremlin with a messiah complex," Beta-9 shot back sweetly. "You know, for old time's sake?"
"Messiah?" Sirius perked up. "Oh, I like that. Way better than what I used to call him—'Lil Doom Bringer.'"
Harry groaned, already feeling the impending headache. Sirius could always be counted on for something.
Barefoot, grim-faced, and still chewing on a scone like he had all the time in the world, Harry stepped forward. And the armor responded.
In an instant, the sleek, obsidian armor spread across his skin like molten ink. His hoodie disintegrated, replaced by his trademark Eidolon Armor—black leather, crimson emblem on his chest that pulsed with a red heartbeat, veins of crimson flowing down his limbs. The cloak, black and crimson-lined, flared out dramatically (even though there was no wind—seriously, Harry had no idea how it worked, but it looked cool). The helmet formed over his face, the shadows locking into place with a click, and the only thing visible were his glowing crimson eyes.
"I'm ready," Harry muttered, the low rasp of his voice making it sound even more ominous.
Behind him, Mera cracked her neck with a sound that could've been a warning shot.
"Guess playtime's over," Mera muttered. Then she snapped her fingers, and her armor just appeared in a wave of shimmering aquamarine magic.
One second, she was in Harry's oversized T-shirt, and the next? She was fully suited up in Atlantean armor. The silver and seafoam green shimmered as though the ocean itself had decided to become her personal stylist, and the edges of her armor were sharp enough to make anyone think twice about getting too close. Her trident materialized into her waiting hand with a clang.
Diana, on the other hand, didn't need to snap her fingers. She just twirled.
Yep. Actually twirled.
The T-shirt vanished in a flash of golden light, and in its place? Her iconic Amazonian armor—red, gold, and ready for battle. Her bracers glowed with ancient inscriptions, her lasso of truth coiled at her hip, and every inch of her screamed warrior goddess.
James blinked twice, still processing what had just happened. Sirius, ever the suave troublemaker, dropped his croissant.
"Why don't I ever date twirling warrior goddesses?" Sirius muttered, eyeing Diana in awe.
"Because you smell like beer and irresponsibility," Beta-8 answered, not missing a beat.
"Ouch," Sirius grinned, not at all offended. "But fair."
Dobson entered—because of course he did—right on time, holding more tea. It was like the guy had a sixth sense for these things. He didn't even flinch at the spectacle.
"Shall I prep the med-bay, Master Eidolon?" Dobson asked, his voice polite, yet somehow laced with that quiet British sarcasm that only a man who looked like Daniel Craig could pull off.
Harry took the scone, voice muffled slightly by the helmet. "Yeah. And maybe set out the diplomatic casualty forms, just in case Mera starts throwing tanks again."
"They were in the way," Mera said, deadpan, as though it made perfect sense.
"Of what?" Harry asked.
"My trident," she replied simply.
"Fair," Diana muttered, because honestly, she got it. The whole "Mera throwing things" bit? Totally valid.
Beta-9, her expression now sharper than a Ginsu knife, reappeared, her holographic image practically glowing with purpose.
"Clock's ticking, guys. Don't make me come down there and supervise."
"No promises," Harry said, already turning toward the teleport pad, his cloak billowing behind him like some kind of brooding dark knight. "Beta-8—"
"Portal's open," Beta-8 confirmed. "Don't break anything I like."
"I'll only punch the bad guys," Harry promised, and with that, he stepped into the portal.
Beta-8's voice hummed softly through the lounge once they were gone.
"And just like that... breakfast is ruined."
Dobson blinked once, setting down the teapot with the efficiency of a man who knew exactly how to handle chaos.
"If I may be so bold, madam... they hadn't even tried the jam."
Lily smiled softly as the afterglow of the portal faded. "They'll be back. Just... probably with bullet holes and a stolen tank."
Sirius sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Just like old times."
James raised his tea in salute. "To the kids who grew up to be legends."
And in the distant sky, the storm clouds parted for a brief moment.
Crimson lightning cracked through the sky.
Warriors had answered the call.
And the city?
Well, the city was about to learn what Eidolon really meant.
—
Downtown Los Angeles — Moments Later
The portal didn't so much open as kick reality in the shins and shove its way through. Crimson lightning crackled, the air popped like bubble wrap at a toddler convention, and three figures stepped out onto the rooftop of a very confused office building.
Smoke was curling up from the street like it was auditioning for a disaster movie. Civilians were crouched behind makeshift barricades, some praying, some recording TikToks. A few cars looked like they'd been stepped on by a very angry Hulk. Sirens wailed. Somewhere above, a news chopper hovered like a very nosy vulture.
And down in the middle of it all stood Police Chief Roy Montgomery, bulletproof vest strapped over his shirt, mustache twitching like it was trying to signal Morse code.
"Oh, thank the Founding Fathers," he said, jogging over and waving like a man ordering pizza and seeing the delivery gods descend from Olympus. "We do not get paid enough for this crap. Alien tech, space guns, people dressed like Mad Max extras—it's Thursday, isn't it?"
Eidolon stepped forward, hood raised, glowing red eyes the only visible feature beneath the shadows. He moved with the calm swagger of someone who's read his own fanfiction and agreed with all of it.
Next to him, Diana—Wonder Woman, Amazonian warrior and part-time Greek goddess—landed with a sound like golden justice. Her boots gleamed. Her smile melted steel (and possibly the chief's frontal lobe). And her eyes? Laser-focused.
Mera followed like a wave about to body slam a coastline. Armor shimmering, trident pulsing, hair whipping in the wind like she was posing for a shampoo commercial shot by Poseidon himself.
"Chief Montgomery," Diana said warmly. "You called for help?"
"No offense, ma'am," the chief said, clutching his tablet like a lifeline, "but I prayed for help. You three showed up. Not gonna lie, I think I just converted to Team Olympus."
Mera didn't smile. She tilted her head. "What's the situation? And please don't say 'tense.' That's just lazy writing."
"Twelve hostages inside the bank. Four gunmen. Maybe more," Montgomery said. He held out the tablet with shaky hands. "Apokoliptian energy signatures. Drones are toast. Snipers got partial visuals. Looks like they've got guards held near the vault. Something's glowing in there."
"If it's glowing," Eidolon muttered, "it's either alien tech, a doomsday device, or a really aggressive lava lamp."
"We're guessing option one," Montgomery said. "Some kind of unregistered vault breach rig. And they're armed to the teeth. Gravity mines, pulse rifles, maybe a sonic destabilizer? You name it, they've probably stolen it from some apocalypse clearance sale."
"Classic Parademon surplus," Beta-9 chimed in over the Justice League comms. Her voice was pure velvet dipped in sass. "You'd think people would stop looting Darkseid's leftovers, but nope. Guess someone skipped intergalactic history class."
"Beta, sweetheart," Eidolon said, voice honey-smooth with a spike of sarcasm, "if I make it out of here with both eyebrows intact, I'm buying you dinner."
"Better be five stars and involve chocolate," Beta replied.
"Focus," Diana said, trying (and failing) not to smile. "We need a plan."
Mera rested her trident on her shoulder. "Front assault. Diana and I make a big sparkly entrance, draw the heat. Our shadow prince here does the creepy invisibility thing and saves the hostages."
Eidolon gave a low whistle. "Did you just assign me the job of ninja babysitter? I feel so... typecast."
"You're the one with the magical cloak and mysterious vibe," Mera quipped. "Play to your brand."
Diana stepped forward, hand brushing his arm briefly—warm, electric. "Be careful."
"Always," Eidolon replied, and for a moment, the flirt was gone. Just the soldier remained.
Then he smirked. "Unless someone calls me pretty. Then all bets are off."
He vanished. Not in a puff of smoke or dramatic flash. Just... gone. Like the shadows had decided to adopt him.
"Goddess help me," Montgomery muttered. "I hate it when he does that."
"You get used to it," Diana said with a fond look.
"Or you don't," Mera said, stretching her neck. "Either way, we've got a bank to crash."
The two women launched into the air—Diana in a streak of gold and blue, Mera riding a rising column of vapor and rage.
Cameras zoomed. Sirens flared louder.
And in the bank below, all hell was about to get its eviction notice.
—
Inside the Bank
The lobby was a bad guy's Pinterest board: scattered bodies, stolen tech, and poor lighting. The robbers were all geared up in scavenged armor, helmets buzzing with low-frequency comms. One of them was pacing near the vault, eye twitching. Another was threatening a terrified bank teller with something that looked like a toaster with murder issues.
Then the lights flickered.
A whisper, soft and snide: "Hey."
The pacing thug turned.
Saw nothing.
Then his weapon exploded in his hands. A burst of red light. A scream. He flew back like he'd been kicked by karma.
Another robber spun—and got a face full of cloak and fist. He crumpled.
A third raised his gun, only for it to spark, seize, and shatter. Eidolon stood over him, shimmering with crimson light, smirk so sharp it should've been registered as a weapon.
"Hi. You must be new. I'm your reminder that crime doesn't pay and smug monologues are my thing."
The hostage group gasped. One child clutched their mother tighter.
Eidolon turned his head slightly, his voice gentle now. "Stay low. Help's here. And I promise, the scary part is over."
The lights flickered again.
Outside, Diana's voice boomed, righteous and furious.
Mera's battle cry followed, a wave shattering through the bank's outer façade.
Eidolon straightened, cloak flaring behind him, and grinned.
"Now. Let's go ruin some villainous daydreams."
And with that, he dove into the fray, the shadow and the fire, the legend and the laughter, justice wrapped in sarcasm and barely-contained chaos.
Just another Thursday for the Justice League.
Or as Eidolon liked to call it:
"Bring Your Boomstick to Work Day."
---
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