Meanwhile, in Gotham…
Because of course it had to be Gotham.
Not Metropolis, with its sunshine and boy scouts. Not Star City, where billionaires shoot arrows and attend therapy. Not even Coast City, which is mostly just vibes and jet fuel.
Nope. The universe—being the cosmic troll it is—picked Gotham. The city of eternal rain, suspicious gargoyles, and at least three different flavors of trauma.
And today, Gotham was ground zero for an alien invasion.
Not just any aliens, though. That'd be too merciful.
Parademons.
Ugly, screeching, winged nightmares with the personality of rabid piranhas and the fashion sense of post-apocalyptic pigeons. They were pouring out of the sky like hell had installed a trapdoor.
Civilians were running. Cars were exploding. Batman was probably uppercutting something off-screen with gritted teeth and dramatic silence.
And leading the alien charge?
A guy who clearly majored in Overdramatic Intros.
"I… am entropy.
I… am death.
I… AM DARKSEID."
The last word echoed like a bass drop from an evil opera. His voice could crack mountains and make entire planets question their self-worth. His eyes glowed red like someone who'd rage quit life and never looked back.
In summary: Big, mean, rock-faced dude with the charisma of a collapsing black hole and the emotional availability of a haunted fridge.
Enter The Flash.
Barry Allen. Scarlet Speedster. King of Awkward Timing.
He zipped through the chaos in a blur of lightning and sarcasm, dodging plasma blasts and doing mental gymnastics like his life depended on it.
Because, well… it did.
"Okay, okay, okay," Barry muttered at superspeed. "Bunch of winged demon goblins. Fire everywhere. Gotham's on fire. Again. Focus, Barry. Dodge, save people, don't die. In that order."
Then came the Omega Beams.
Red. Angry. Laser-guided death with a vendetta.
And worst of all?
They followed him.
Barry yelped and bolted sideways, weaving through broken buildings and falling debris.
"CYBORG! I've got lasers on my butt and they are NOT friendly!"
Cyborg's voice crackled through the comms, cool and calm like a futuristic Siri voiced by Michael B. Jordan.
"Those are Omega Beams. They lock onto your molecular frequency. Basically, Darkseid's way of saying 'die screaming.'"
"Thanks for the comforting science lesson, Cyborg!" Barry zigzagged through a collapsing parking structure. "Any tips on how to not be molecularly un-alived?"
"Yeah. Run faster."
"Oh great, my job description is now 'run like your molecules depend on it.'"
He zipped around a corner, the Omega Beams still on his tail, when something caught his eye—a fireball streaking from the sky.
Barry squinted.
"Please be a meteor. Please don't be another alien. Please, for once, let the universe send a rock."
The meteor slammed into the ground in front of him. Right in the Omega Beams' path.
BOOM.
The impact shook the street like a jackhammer on caffeine. Barry stumbled and hit the pavement in a tumble of limbs and regret.
Dust and smoke clouded everything. The beams had hit something.
Barry scrambled up and peered into the crater.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
"Ohhh no. Nope. Nu-uh."
In the crater stood a humanoid figure.
Or what used to be one. It looked like a burnt steak with legs. Charred flesh. Melted muscle. Exposed bone.
Barry—who'd once seen a man drown in a vat of corn syrup—almost threw up.
Then it started healing.
Not "Hollywood fade to clean skin" healing. No, this was gross healing. Veins knitting. Muscle slapping itself back into place. Skin bubbling up like something that should not happen. He looked like a horror movie learning to walk again.
And when the figure finally stood upright, Barry took a cautious step back.
He was tall. Shredded. Not gym-bro buff—more like coiled predator. Clad in obsidian-black armor veined with glowing crimson energy, all of it spiderwebbing out from a pulsing symbol on his chest. A cloak, black with crimson lining, fluttered behind him like he'd just walked out of a fantasy-themed album cover. His helmet covered his entire face, save for twin crimson eyes glowing like twin lava lamps of doom.
Then… the figure spoke.
In a British accent.
Because of course.
"Name's Eidolon," he said, his voice modulated and layered like a haunted cathedral full of ghosts. "I'm here to help."
Barry blinked.
"Are… are you British?"
"Sadly, yes," Eidolon replied. "Blame the universe. Or Hogwarts. Still trying to figure it out."
Barry pointed shakily. "You just ate Omega Beams and… healed. How?!"
Eidolon rolled his shoulders. The armor hummed.
"Let's just say I've died more times than your internet browser during a power cut. You get used to it."
The Omega Beams began tracking again—fixating on Eidolon like red-eyed revenge missiles.
He tilted his head toward the massive figure in the distance.
"That the bloke doing his best Shakespeare impression?"
"That's Darkseid. Alien warlord. Big fan of genocide."
"Huh." Eidolon's eyes flared. "He's shorter than I expected. Thought he'd be... I dunno, taller. More menacing. Less… brick-y."
From afar, Darkseid turned slowly toward them. His gaze alone could probably vaporize hope.
"WHO DARES INTERFERE?"
Eidolon waved, mock-cheerful.
"Sorry, mate. Missed the RSVP. But if you're passing out death and suffering, I brought my own snacks."
Cyborg's voice popped in again.
"Flash… who the hell is that?"
"I think he's on our side? Maybe? He's like… Batman if Batman was British, didn't care about stealth, and ate nukes for breakfast."
Eidolon chuckled.
"Flattered, really. But Batman broods more. I just simmer politely."
The Omega Beams launched again, this time at full force.
Eidolon didn't flinch.
He caught them.
With his bare hands.
The energy surged into his armor, lighting up every crimson line like a Christmas tree designed by Satan.
"Right," Eidolon said, his voice deeper now. "Time to punch a god in the face."
And with that, he leapt into the sky.
Straight toward Darkseid.
—
Gotham, Probably Tuesday, Because Of Course It Is
So. Picture this:
The sky looked like someone had let a caffeinated toddler loose with a black crayon, a flamethrower, and an unhealthy obsession with metal album covers. The air was thick with smoke, ash, and a general sense of "Yeah, this is not gonna end well."
Buildings smoldered like they were in a barbecue gone very, very wrong. Sirens howled. Parademons—basically what you'd get if you crossed a pterodactyl with a bug-zapper and a demon's unresolved daddy issues—shrieked and swarmed like it was BOGO night at the apocalypse.
And then there was Darkseid.
Tall. Grim. Glowing red eyes that said, "I'm not mad. I'm disappointed. And also about to vaporize you." His voice rumbled like a mountain grumbling about the weather. And in his hand? The day's MVP: Superman. Currently unconscious. His cape fluttered behind him like a tragic superhero fashion fail as two Parademons carted him toward Darkseid's Uber of Doom—aka, the warship.
Our heroes?
Wonder Woman was slicing through Parademons like they'd insulted her favorite book series. Green Lantern was conjuring green jets and boxing gloves faster than a toddler with a new crayon box. Cyborg barked plays into the comms like the world's most stylish quarterback. Batman was somehow punching winged hell-beasts with just batarangs, grit, and sheer disbelief in physics. Shazam had electrocuted himself and three demons. Accidentally. Maybe.
And Barry Allen? AKA Flash?
He was narrating.
"Okay," Barry muttered in slow-mo as he zipped past a collapsing building. "Superman's out cold, the Parademons are doing a team-lift situation with him, and Darkseid's doing his best GQ impression over there. Ten out of ten, this day is garbage."
Then—BOOM.
A second Boom Tube exploded open like the universe had hit the wrong button.
Enter: Eidolon.
Crimson magic cracked the sky as he landed—no, slammed—into the battlefield like a cosmic mic drop. The ground cratered beneath him. His tattered cloak flared dramatically. The symbol on his chest glowed like a red sun with attitude. He looked like someone had mashed together Doctor Strange, Constantine, and a British rockstar with way too much eyeliner.
He straightened.
"Alright, monologue man," he called out, voice as British and sarcastic as a tea kettle with a grudge. "You had your dramatic entrance. Your villainous catchphrases. Your obligatory brag about atoms and doom. Adorable. But I'm here now. My turn."
Darkseid's glowing eyes narrowed. His voice dropped to 'end-of-days' bass. "You challenge me? I have broken Kryptonians. Reduced gods to atoms. I am entropy incarnate."
Eidolon gave him a once-over. Yawned. Actually yawned.
"Right. Entropy. Death. Dread. Darling, you sound like the rejected lyrics of a My Chemical Romance album. And I've seen scarier eyeliner."
Before anyone could blink—punch.
Eidolon's fist connected with Darkseid's jaw.
And the god of gloom flew.
Not stumbled. Not staggered. He was yeeted.
He crashed through a building with all the grace of a wrecking ball wrapped in regret. The skyscraper wobbled, sighed, and collapsed like it just realized rent was due.
The entire battlefield froze.
Parademons paused mid-wingbeat. Shazam dropped his popcorn. (Wait, when did he get popcorn?)
Eidolon blinked. "Well, that was satisfying."
Then he glanced up.
The Parademons still carrying Big Blue? Toast. Literally. One flick of Eidolon's fingers, and they combusted like they'd been flash-fried by cosmic sass.
Superman started to fall.
"Catch!" Barry shouted, entirely unhelpfully.
Eidolon was already there. Teleported mid-air like it was Tuesday morning errands. Caught Superman like a bridal carry with bonus cape. Landed gently. Set him down. Adjusted the cape.
"You are very heavy," Eidolon muttered. "What have you been eating?"
The rest of the Justice League stared.
Slack-jawed. Wide-eyed. Awkward silence levels of impressed.
Barry zipped beside Batman. "Did he just... Falcon Punch Darkseid?"
Batman didn't speak. But one eyebrow went up like it had questions.
Hal Jordan blinked. "Who is this guy?"
Cyborg, dry as sandpaper: "Pretty sure we just got outsourced."
Wonder Woman stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "He caught Kal-El. With one hand."
Shazam? Still chewing popcorn. "Bro. That was like—anime-level cool."
But the applause was cut short.
Darkseid rose.
Smoke rolled off him. Eyes burned brighter. His voice now rumbled with the fury of a thousand failed auditions.
"You dare... lay hands upon me?!"
Eidolon cracked his neck. Rolled his shoulders.
"Mate," he said, casual as afternoon tea. "You keep up the dramatic voice and I might actually start thinking you're scary."
Darkseid growled.
Eidolon smirked, raising one hand. Crimson energy swirled like a magic storm caught in a blender.
"Round two, drama queen?"
Cue thunder.
Cue hero reactions ranging from "I need a drink" to "I need a therapist."
Cue Parademons collectively considering a new career path.
Because the new guy?
Yeah. He wasn't here to play.
—
The battlefield resembled a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie—if the director had a penchant for dramatic lighting and an overabundance of flying demons. Darkseid stood amidst the chaos, his Omega Beams crackling with barely contained fury. His voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the shattered cityscape:
"I am inevitable. I am the end of all things. And you… are nothing but a fool playing at godhood."
Hovering lazily in midair, Eidolon appeared utterly unfazed. Clad in black, leather-like armor with a crimson-lined cloak billowing dramatically, he looked more like a fashion-forward sorcerer than a conventional hero. His helmet, adorned with glowing crimson eyes, tilted slightly as he crossed his legs midair, as if lounging on an invisible recliner.
"You talk a lot for someone who gets tossed around like a training dummy," he remarked, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. "Ever considered a podcast? Call it 'Darkseid: Whines from the End of Time.'"
Flash stammered, his eyes wide.
Cyborg replied, scanning the area.
Batman observed, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed Eidolon's movements.
"So cool," Shazam added, grinning like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons.
Darkseid turned, snarling, only to feel a tap on his shoulder. Eidolon stood behind him, casually holding a cup of tea that definitely hadn't been there five seconds ago.
"Want some chamomile? Heard it's great for anger issues," Eidolon offered, his tone mockingly sincere.
Darkseid swung, but Eidolon vanished again, reappearing in the sky, arms outstretched like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of mockery. He glided through the air with infuriating elegance, rolling upside down mid-flight, reclining again as if posing for a magazine cover.
"Honestly, I expected more from someone with a chin that intense. What do you do, sharpen it in the mornings?"
In response, Darkseid hurled a car at him. Eidolon snapped his fingers, and the vehicle exploded into a flock of doves.
"Fly, my pretties. Confuse the edgy demigod," he quipped, watching the birds scatter.
Darkseid unleashed a blast so powerful it vaporized a city block. Eidolon reappeared on the back of a Parademon like it was a hoverboard, waving down at him.
"You missed. Again. Is your aim okay? Do we need to get you glasses?"
Now truly furious, Darkseid leapt into the sky, fists crashing like meteors toward him. Eidolon vanished again, reappearing behind Darkseid, upside down, nose almost touching the back of the New God's neck.
"Boo," he whispered.
Darkseid spun and tried to strike him again. Another pop—gone. Now he was hovering inches in front of Superman, who had started to stir.
"Honestly, mate, you're doing great, but next time we really need to talk about your form. You fly like a brick with a jet engine strapped to it," Eidolon commented.
"Who… the hell are you?" Superman groaned.
"A friend. With better style," Eidolon replied, grinning.
Darkseid screamed—a real, guttural, primal, rage-born scream.
"He's taunting a literal god," Wonder Woman observed.
"He's winning," Batman noted.
"He's gonna die… but like, fabulously," Flash added, half laughing, half terrified.
Eidolon twirled in the sky, his crimson magic spiraling around him like a storm.
"Alright, mate. Last chance. Surrender. Apologize. Maybe get a hobby. Crochet's good for people with your… rage issues," he suggested.
Darkseid launched himself again, arms blazing. Eidolon, sighing, vanished once more.
"How is he doing that?!" Flash exclaimed.
"It's not just magic. It's like the battlefield obeys him," Cyborg replied.
Eidolon appeared directly in front of Darkseid mid-charge, hand glowing with a spell that crackled with raw, ancient energy.
"Right. You want a fight?" he smirked.
"Then let's dance, you wrinkly purple raisin."
Cue thunder. Cue battle music. Cue seven superheroes internally screaming, What the hell is happening?!
—
Darkseid roared again, and the sheer force of it rippled through the atmosphere like a thunderstorm with a serious attitude problem. The ozone burned, and the sky turned black, as though even the weather was terrified of this guy. But Eidolon? Oh, Eidolon was chilling. He was currently cruising through the air on the world's most ridiculous mode of transportation—a flying hardcover edition of War and Peace. (Don't ask me how, but hey, it worked.)
You know, because why wouldn't you?
As the Omega Beam shot out of Darkseid's eyes like a cosmic laser pointer, Eidolon didn't even flinch. Not even a little. He just casually turned onto his back mid-flight, like he was lying on a beach chair at some all-inclusive resort.
"Seriously, dude," Eidolon called down, his voice loud enough to be heard over the thunderclap of destruction. "For someone who's supposedly all-powerful, you really suck at this. How many times have you missed me now? Four? Five? Are you sure you're Darkseid? Or are you some sort of Walmart brand knock-off? Maybe we should start calling you... Dimseid: Lord of Minor Inconveniences."
The Omega Beam shot into the sky again, leaving behind a trail of fiery destruction. Eidolon sighed dramatically, snapping his fingers. In the blink of an eye, he wasn't dodging the blast—he was lounging on Wonder Woman's shield like it was a hammock.
"No offense, beautiful," he said, peering at the Amazonian goddess like she was an old friend. "Your shield's lovely, but it's seriously stiff. Do you moisturize it? No? That's tragic. Anyway, just wanted to say, you're doing great, hon."
Wonder Woman gave him the kind of look that could melt a tank at fifty paces. "What... what is wrong with you?"
Eidolon grinned back, totally unbothered. "ADHD. Trauma. Caffeine. Plus, you know, the sheer joy of messing with genocidal maniacs who wear their anger like a suit of armor. Honestly, it's a whole vibe." He made an exaggerated gesture at Darkseid, who was now glaring at him like he wanted to tear him in half. Not that Eidolon was particularly concerned.
He snapped his fingers again and reappeared above Darkseid, now sitting cross-legged in mid-air like he was having a casual chat at a coffee shop. "Oi, Thanos-lite! You sure you don't wanna take five? Grab a snack? Maybe a Snickers? You're not you when you're genocidal. Seriously, buddy, it's embarrassing."
Darkseid's massive fist came crashing down toward him, glowing with the kind of energy that could probably level an entire continent. Eidolon didn't move. Didn't even blink. He simply reached up, caught the fist with one hand, and grinned.
"Now that's interesting," Eidolon murmured, his tone shifting from casual to serious in the blink of an eye. His crimson eyes gleamed as he stared at the dark god's hand, studying it like it was a bug he was about to dissect. "Didn't even flinch. Must be a clone. Or, I don't know, a projected version of you. You should get that checked out. Fake Darkseid is like... what? Discount Darkseid? Like, Darkseid during a Black Friday sale?"
The fake Darkseid didn't answer, of course. It just snarled, an expression of rage frozen on its face. Eidolon let go of the fist and floated back a few feet, still eyeing it like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen all day.
"No, seriously, though," Eidolon continued, now actually sounding interested. "You're not the real deal. I can tell. Your aura's all... off. Like a bad knock-off. Honestly, you're like one of those holograms they use to make the real person seem like they're at a press conference, but they're actually at home, watching The Bachelor and eating pizza. You're scripted, pal. Like a poorly-written TV show. The kind where they go off the rails by season three."
Wonder Woman, still hovering nearby, frowned. "Are you sure about that?"
Eidolon gave a dry laugh, his eyes narrowing as the false Darkseid raised his hand for another blast. "Oh, I'm sure, sweetheart. Trust me. Mage Sight, remember? It's like X-ray vision but better. Think of it as Google Translate for reality. And this? This guy's a cheap imitation. No cosmic threads connecting him to Apokolips. No metaphysical ties to the Source. He's just—he's basically a cosmic mannequin. There's nothing real here."
Superman, who had been watching from a distance with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes at the clone. "Are you certain? Darkseid's power isn't something you can easily replicate."
Eidolon's grin returned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sure, Big Blue, but this guy's more off than a pre-wrapped sandwich from the gas station. I'm talking about a knock-off so bad, you'd think it was made in a basement somewhere. He's not even good at pretending to be Darkseid. He's got the big talk, but no bite."
Batman, still standing with his cape billowing like he just stepped off a Bat-swag commercial, gave Eidolon a cold look. "Then who sent it? Who's behind this?"
Eidolon leaned back, his crimson armor glowing faintly as he twirled in mid-air like he was on a roller coaster. "That... is the million-dollar question." He tilted his head, looking at the fake Darkseid with exaggerated interest. "Alright, knock-off. Let's peel back the layers of this. Let's see what's really going on under all that bad costume design."
He reached out, crackling energy dancing across his fingers. The air around him seemed to shiver as the true power of the Mage Sight swirled into focus. It was time for a reveal.
Meanwhile, across the battlefield, the Flash—well, the real Flash, Barry Allen himself, zipped through the chaos with his usual wide grin and boundless energy. His lightning-fast words came tumbling out, almost faster than anyone could understand.
"Okay, so we're dealing with a fake god? That's... wild. I mean, I love me a good plot twist, but this? This is on another level." He zipped past Cyborg, who was launching powerful blasts of energy from his mechanical arm, while also keeping an eye on the fake Darkseid. "Hey, Vic! Got any ideas about how to shut down this wannabe?"
Cyborg shot him a look, his voice deep and booming through his chest piece. "Well, if this is a clone, then we're talking about some serious tech. Maybe there's a weak spot in the armor? Or, I don't know, a control switch somewhere?"
Eidolon, hovering just above the battlefield, took in the entire scene. "I mean, if this is all some kind of tech-laced illusion, we're dealing with more than just bad acting. We're talking about magic and science—combined. Which, you know, sounds like my type of thing."
Superman cracked his knuckles, his voice a low rumble of authority. "Then let's tear it apart."
Eidolon grinned beneath his helmet. "Well, if you insist. I do love a good reveal." He turned back to the fake Darkseid, ready to slice through the illusion and expose whoever was really behind the mess. "Alright, poser. Time's up. Let's find out who's really playing god around here."
—
The sky was a canvas of chaos—Omega Beams flashing like a rave gone wrong, massive explosions sending shockwaves that rattled the very air. And in the middle of it all, there was Eidolon. Floating lazily in midair, arms crossed, a smug grin hidden behind the sleek black helmet. He might have looked like he was preparing for a dramatic showdown with a cosmic monstrosity, but honestly? He was just having a good time.
"Hey, Big Guy," Eidolon called out to the towering Darkseid clone, who was charging forward with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. "I gotta say, you're rocking the whole 'crushing things' aesthetic, but you really need to work on your approach. Ever considered a nice, peaceful conversation? Or maybe knitting? You'd be great at it. I can tell."
The clone let out an unholy screech, raising one massive fist to bring down on Eidolon's smug little face. Eidolon sighed dramatically.
"You know," he said, as if discussing the weather, "I'd love to hang out and chat about your feelings—but, uh, I'm kinda busy being ridiculously awesome, so how about you just… sit this one out, yeah?"
Before the clone could make the mistake of actually swinging at him, Superman swooped in, faster than Eidolon could blink. The sound of a punch landing so hard it could have been heard on another planet echoed across the battlefield.
"Not today," Superman said, his voice a deep rumble as he dusted off his iconic red-and-blue suit. "Had enough of your temper tantrum, big guy."
"Thanks for the assist, Captain Boy Scout," Eidolon said, floating lazily to the side, eyeing Superman like he was evaluating a new pair of shoes. "I was starting to get bored, but you know, the universe always provides the perfect distraction."
Superman gave him an exasperated look, but it was clear the Man of Steel was already accustomed to Eidolon's antics. "Just keep the clone distracted. We're not done here."
"Okay, okay, no need to be all 'doom and gloom,'" Eidolon muttered, as the Darkseid clone roared again, its fiery red eyes flashing dangerously. "I swear, you guys need to get better hobbies. You can't just punch your problems away—well, okay, maybe you can. But that's just lazy."
Wonder Woman, who had been keeping a watchful eye on Eidolon as he floated casually behind Superman, suddenly spun into action. Her shield collided with the clone's chest, sending it reeling back with a crack that shook the ground.
"Stay down, you oversized tin can," she ordered, her voice cutting through the mayhem.
Eidolon gave a slow clap, the sound echoing in the chaos. "Oh, yes. That was smooth. Love the energy, sweetheart. You're like a walking, talking embodiment of kick-butt. Seriously, I'm getting emotional here."
She shot him a look that could melt steel.
"You could focus, Eidolon," she said, swinging her lasso to whip the clone's arm out of the way as it tried to retaliate. "We need to finish this."
"Focus?" Eidolon laughed, flipping in the air, spinning lazily like he had all the time in the universe. "My friend, I am laser-focused. I'm like a diamond… except, you know, made of snark and cool vibes. But don't worry, I'll get to the 'saving the world' part eventually."
As Eidolon taunted the clone, the air around him shimmered with crimson energy as he made a quick dash behind the clone, planting his palms against the back of its head. Sparks flew, and the clone groaned in mechanical distress.
"Ah, that's better," Eidolon said. "Listen, you've got potential. I'm not even mad. But seriously, if you don't stop growling like that, I'm gonna suggest a throat lozenge. It's not a good look."
The clone screeched again, throwing its weight back to shake Eidolon off. The crack of armor splitting rang out as the clone staggered forward. "ENOUGH!"
"Yeah, no one's buying it anymore," Eidolon said, casually leaning on the clone's shoulder like it was just another Tuesday. "You know, I've met cosmic threats that were way more charming than you. Ever consider taking a charm school class? Or, like, a public speaking course? You could really work on the villain monologue thing. It's just... not doing it for me."
Superman had his hands full now—flying in with a flurry of punches that made the clone's armored body buckle under the pressure. "Sorry, I didn't realize this was 'punch the clone until it falls' day. My bad."
Eidolon, now hovering off to the side, shot Superman a grin. "Look at you, doing the heavy lifting. I'm proud. You're like… the professional wrestler of the superhero world. Just hitting things. I respect that."
Before the clone could strike back, Wonder Woman reappeared in front of it, her lasso glowing with golden light as she expertly wrapped it around its wrist. With a yank, she threw the clone to the ground, making the earth tremble beneath their feet. "Enough games."
The clone paused, a strange, almost human hesitation in its red-glowing eyes. It staggered to its feet again, but this time, it was clear the battle had shifted. The clone's massive hand shot out toward Wonder Woman—only to freeze mid-swing, suspended in a moment of strange, trembling hesitation.
"Wait a second," Eidolon said, now floating in a completely casual, horizontal position. "What's this? A time-out? Oh, no, no. I'm not done with you yet. You're gonna sit here and think about your bad decisions, buddy. Think about them."
Superman raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"
Eidolon, with a smirk in his voice, shrugged. "I didn't do anything. I just—y'know—suggested it take a moment to reflect. Meditation is great for the soul."
The clone, whose body had been locked in a strange stasis, began to slump forward, its joints cracking and groaning. "I'm not saying it's over," Eidolon added, "but… I think we can safely call it a 'game over.'"
But Cyborg's voice cut through the banter, his mechanical fingers typing furiously. "Can we please not call it a game over yet? I'm trying to hack into Darkseid's ship. You guys deal with the clone. I'm busy here!"
Cyborg's eyes glowed brighter, his mechanical body pulsing with energy as he worked his magic on the ship's defenses. But it wasn't enough—he still needed protection. And that was when Flash zipped by, his voice a blur of sound.
"Can you say multi-tasking?" Flash called, running circles around the Parademons that had started swarming toward Cyborg. "I'm here to help! And I can bring you pizza too. Or maybe a drink? I'm feeling generous. No promises, though."
Cyborg shot a glare over his shoulder. "Stop talking, Barry. I'm hacking into Darkseid's system. Don't make me ask you to do my laundry too."
Flash grinned, knocking a Parademon into the sky as if it was a beachball. "Laundry? I'm a superhero, not your maid service! Although, I'll take a tip if you're offering. You know, for future reference."
Behind them, Batman, ever the stoic presence, moved with the grace of a shadow, dispatching Parademons with swift precision. "Keep Cyborg safe," he commanded, voice low and gritty, barely audible beneath the chaos. "We need answers, now."
As the team continued their fight, Shazam's voice boomed from above. "SHAZAM!" Lightning erupted from his hands, sending a cluster of Parademons flying through the air. "Do you know how hard it is to juggle all this?"
And while Earth's mightiest heroes fought on, in the heart of Apokolips, Darkseid sat upon his throne, eyes glowing with dark amusement.
"Desaad," Darkseid murmured, his voice carrying the weight of the cosmos. "Prepare for Phase Two."
Desaad, kneeling before his lord, chuckled softly. "Of course, my lord. The clone has failed—but the real game is just beginning."
Darkseid's lips curled into a malicious grin. "Eidolon… let's see how long you can keep up this charade."
And deep inside the heart of the battle, Eidolon floated like a smug enigma, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm ready for you, big guy. Bring it. I'm already playing you like a fiddle."
—
Eidolon floated above Gotham like a gothic screensaver on steroids. Black armor gleamed under the eerie red sky, his crimson-lined hood fluttering as if it had its own dramatic soundtrack. The symbol on his chest pulsed with molten magic, and his glowing red eyes scanned the chaos below like a bored teacher looking for the first kid to give detention to.
The clone of Darkseid—bigger, louder, and somehow uglier up close—was swinging fists the size of compact cars. Superman was taking the brunt of the assault, while Wonder Woman deflected blows with her shield, her face a mask of determination.
Eidolon yawned. Loudly.
"Wow. Who programmed you? A toddler hopped up on Mountain Dew and nihilism?"
The clone roared in response.
"Noted," Eidolon said. "Verbal skills: zero. Volume: obnoxious. Threat level: meh."
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing beneath the helmet. Something... shifted. The clone's movements were too deliberate now. Too... coordinated.
"Well, that's suspicious," he muttered.
Then, in a casual flick of his fingers, he launched the clone skyward like a cosmic ragdoll.
Superman blinked. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it, Big Blue," Eidolon said, already fading from view. "Handle my light work. Be back in a jiff."
He Apparated with a crack of red lightning, leaving Wonder Woman and Superman mid-fight and mid-confusion.
—
The command center looked like someone gave a death cult unlimited interior design budget. Blood-red light flickered. Panels hissed steam. And right in the middle stood Desaad, in all his misshapen, walking-skin-condition glory.
"You must be Eidolon," he drawled. Walton Goggins levels of smug practically dripped off the words.
Eidolon crossed his arms. "And you must be the greasy lovechild of Gollum and a cheese grater."
Desaad chuckled like a man who had done horrible things to laboratory rats and enjoyed every second.
"Darkseid is very interested in you."
"Yeah? Tell him to send a friend request."
The Boom Tube flared open behind Desaad, bathing him in its multiversal glow.
"I'd love to chat," Desaad said, stepping backward, "but I have people to torment and realities to violate."
Eidolon lunged—but Desaad slipped through the portal like slime through a sieve.
"Oh, COME ON!" Eidolon shouted, punching the wall. "He just slithered away like a sentient oil spill!"
That's when the room grew cold.
A hologram flickered to life.
Darkseid. Real deal. Full Idris Elba mode. Voice like thunder chewing granite.
"You presume victory," he said. "The clone you dispatched was not even a tenth of my power."
Eidolon squinted at the projection. "Right. And yet he KO'd Superman. Which makes your math sad."
"You are... entertaining. A distraction. But nothing more. My forces will return. Stronger. Unrelenting. Inevitable."
"Cool. And I'll still be here. Kicking cosmic butt and taking monologues."
Darkseid's image faded.
Eidolon cracked his knuckles. Then he smashed the projector with one punch.
"Rude hologram etiquette, level 9000."
He floated into the air, red energy pooling in his hands. The symbol on his chest flared like a beacon.
"Time to take out the trash."
—
Flash zipped through Gotham's streets, zigzagging between Parademons.
"Seriously! Where do you guys bathe? The sewer called, it wants its stench back!"
Cyborg's voice echoed through the comms. "Trying to override their network. Give me a sec!"
"Vic, we don't have a sec!" shouted Green Lantern, as he conjured a giant green tennis racket to swat demons from the sky. "This is like tennis with angry hornets!"
Batman, meanwhile, moved in complete silence. Of course.
Shazam hurled lightning while grinning like a kid who'd just discovered cheat codes. "This is better than laser tag!"
Then the air shifted.
The ship above began to hum with terrifying power. Suddenly, every Parademon jerked upward like someone had cranked gravity into reverse.
Flash blinked. "Uh, is this a new power or are we all about to die in reverse slo-mo?"
The clone—mid-battle with Superman and Wonder Woman—was ripped into the air, screeching.
Eidolon hovered above the ship, arms outstretched. The magic symbol on his chest pulsed like a beacon of death and sass.
"Time to go," he whispered.
And then he exploded.
The ship detonated in a blinding nova of crimson light. Debris spiraled into the sea. Shockwaves knocked back every hero in a fifty-mile radius.
Silence.
—
The heroes stood at the coast, watching steam rise from the ocean.
Superman frowned. "He didn't make it."
Wonder Woman stared at the waves. "We never even saw his face."
Flash wiped his eyes. "He was... funny. In a weird, terrifying way."
Cyborg nodded. "Power readings are gone. It was... a complete detonation."
Shazam sniffled. "I really wanted to know where he got his cape."
Batman didn't speak. Just watched.
Then—movement.
Steam hissed. The water churned. And from the depths, a figure emerged.
Black armor. Crimson glow. Hood still dramatic.
Eidolon stepped onto the sand, cracks in his armor sealing as red energy stitched his body back together.
Flash's jaw dropped. "DUDE. YOU. EXPLODED."
Eidolon gave a casual wave. "Yeah. Bit spicy, wasn't it? Anyone else craving fish and chips or is that just me?"
Wonder Woman approached slowly. "Who are you?"
Eidolon looked at them, his helmet hiding whatever expression lay beneath. But his voice was laced with a smile.
"Call me Eidolon. Dimensional troublemaker. Professional apocalypse blocker. Savior of shawarma."
He paused, then turned toward the sky.
"And it looks like we just made it onto Darkseid's calendar. Hope you all like war."
The symbol on his chest flared one more time.
---
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