The crater looked like the universe had thrown a temper tantrum, dropped a raging god from orbit, and then set off a stylish apocalypse just for kicks. Smoke coiled over charred rocks like it had somewhere ominous to be. The hum of zeta beams in the background practically whispered "you are now entering the boss level."
General Sam Lane stepped off his transport like gravity owed him money. His coat didn't dare wrinkle, his buzzcut looked like it could file steel, and his entire vibe screamed "I've survived five wars and three teenage daughters, do not test me."
"Stand clear," he barked into his comm, stomping toward ground zero. "Metahuman containment en route. Target in cryo-restraint, five minutes max. Or I start yelling."
At the heart of the destruction, Batman stood perfectly still—aka "Brooding Statue Mode: Enabled." The man practically absorbed shadows and guilt like it was cardio.
Behind him, Owlman was floating in a Lantern containment field, bruised and bleeding and looking like a stunt double who lost a bet with gravity. He groaned once. No one cared.
Lane gave him a once-over. "So that's the guy who tried to turn the multiverse into his own private season finale?"
Batman didn't even flinch. "He failed."
"Barely," Hal Jordan muttered overhead, hovering like a sarcastic guardian angel with a glowing fist. "Spacetime is now held together with duct tape and caffeine."
Lane's eyebrow twitched. "And Superwoman?"
Batman finally moved—just his head, like a gargoyle approving someone's doom. "She made a deal. Testimony, coordinates, tech. She gets extradited to our Earth."
Lane scoffed. "So she's not our problem anymore?"
"She never was," said a voice that could command armies or hearts—Diana. Wonder Woman. Battle-worn and beautiful, with the kind of calm that came right before someone lost a limb.
On her left: Mera, Atlantean royalty in a sea-green suit and "try me" attitude. On her right: Eidolon, standing like a walking contradiction in black leather and sarcasm, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like the universe bored him.
Lane squinted. "You three always bring the fireworks, don't you?"
"We are the fireworks," Mera said with a glittering smile and a toss of her fiery red curls that made several nearby soldiers forget their names.
Then—like the air itself got sassier—a voice slid into the scene.
"Oh, don't be such a sore loser, General."
Enter: Superwoman.
She strode into the crater like the world owed her worship. Her armor was dented in sexy, dramatic ways. Her smirk had its own gravitational field. Her hips had their own fanbase. And her voice? Velvet dipped in whipcracks.
Her gaze snapped to one person.
Eidolon.
Who was currently studying his boot like it had just told him an inconvenient truth.
"You," she said, pointing like she was starting a war. "Wonder Woman and Mera? That's not diplomacy—that's a three-season arc on HBO with a mature rating."
Eidolon didn't look up. "I speak seventeen languages. None of them include 'flirt with war criminals who think BDSM is a leadership trait.'"
Superwoman pouted like a cat denied cream. "Oh good. I wasn't flirting. I was offering."
Up on the ridge, Venus—red-haired, leaf-armored, and 100% chaos goddess energy—elbowed Savanna, who looked like a supermodel had decided to cosplay as Cheetah and never stopped.
"I hate that I kind of get it," Venus whispered.
Savanna sighed. "Same. He's like… if sarcasm were a dessert. And wore tight pants."
"Magic," Venus muttered. "And cheekbones. And the voice that makes bad decisions sound like bucket list items."
Back at flirtpocalypse:
Superwoman stalked around Eidolon like a lioness circling a steak that sassed her.
"You like power. You like challenge. I'm both. With better hair. And fewer moral hang-ups." She twirled, then leaned in. "I'm her—just curvier, kinkier, and less emotionally constipated."
Eidolon looked up at last. Deadpan. Dazzling. Dangerous. "Let me stop you right there."
She leaned closer. "Scared you'll like it?"
"No," he said. "Scared you will. And then I'll need a teleport scrambler, three clones, and a team of therapists fluent in cosmic trauma."
Mera choked on a laugh. Diana smirked. Venus actually swooned. Savanna sighed like she was rethinking her life.
Superwoman's grin widened. "Mmm. You're fun. If she ever gets bored—" she winked at Diana "—I'll take sloppy seconds."
"I am not a raffle prize at a morally questionable circus," Eidolon muttered.
"You sure?" she asked, licking her teeth. "You taste like challenge."
"I taste like bad choices and British sarcasm," he replied. "And I bite back. Hard."
Right then, Lex walked in—Michael Fassbender's bald evil twin, looking smug enough to power a reactor.
"God, you're exhausting," he told Superwoman. "Can we sedate her with a brick?"
Earth-19 Lex—who looked like Dwayne Johnson's muscle mass got a PhD—strode up behind him. "I like her style."
"You would," said literally everyone.
Batman, done with this multiversal soap opera, spoke into his comm.
"Zeta Beam the prisoner. I'm done."
Lane raised a grizzled eyebrow. "That's it?"
"If Owlman escapes," Batman said, vanishing mid-step, "he's my problem."
Poof. Batman out. Mic dropped. Reality judged.
Superwoman blew a kiss. "Call me if you ever get lonely, sugar."
Eidolon looked around. Ash. Wreckage. Four women possibly ready to duel for his attention.
"I've fought gods, demons, and IRS agents. I do not have the emotional bandwidth for a dominatrix multiverse stalker."
Diana slid an arm through his. "Good," she said, kissing his cheek. "Because you're already entangled enough."
Mera grabbed his other arm. "Still arguing about who gets custody on Sundays."
"I am not a custody dispute," Eidolon said. "I'm a walking catastrophe with a sword kink and a soft spot for warrior queens."
"Exactly," Venus and Savanna said in unison.
Up in the sky, Hal Jordan hovered and muttered into his ring. "Tell me the rest of the universe isn't like this."
The ring replied: Unclear. But odds are low.
And somewhere high above, the multiverse tilted sideways, sighed, and braced for whatever came next from the most ridiculous, dangerous, and weirdly romantic group of superheroes in existence.
—
The universe had finally stopped screaming. Mostly. The crater still smoked like it was practicing for a heavy metal album cover, but at least the multiverse wasn't actively trying to eat itself anymore. Baby steps.
At the edge of the wreckage stood Lex. Not "I'll destroy the world and sue you for damages" Lex. The good one. The guy who looked like he had bench-pressed philosophy and come out looking better for it.
His tactical suit was torn, scorched, and somehow still made every woman within fifty feet consider regrettable decisions. Venus, predictably, was already fussing over his collar.
"You sure you're staying?" she asked, brushing soot off his chest like it owed her rent. "Because I swear, interdimensional chaos loves you."
Lex gave her the kind of grin that could win elections and start revolutions. "This is my Earth. My rules. My paperwork. Somebody's got to make sure the Council doesn't pull another 'Let's poke reality with a stick and see what breaks.'"
He nodded to Eidolon, who was currently leaning against a rock like the cover model for British Sass Monthly. Next to him, Diana—battle-worn and glowing like the war goddess she absolutely was—and Mera, equal parts fire and sarcasm, flanked him like living proof that danger was sexy.
Diana tilted her head. "You'll lead well."
"Just don't start quoting Nietzsche and monologuing," Mera added, twirling her trident with flair. "I'll swim back here and slap you."
"I solemnly swear my messiah complex is only medium-sized," Lex said, hand on heart.
Savanna stepped forward, looking criminally gorgeous in her golden combat armor and guilty expression. "Thank you... for saving him," she murmured. "Back in the rift. If you hadn't pulled him out—"
Lex smiled. "He's as stubborn as they come. But so are we."
Eidolon gave an exaggerated sigh. "I'm not stubborn. I'm British. It's a medical condition."
Just then, space decided it hadn't had enough drama, and a fresh zeta beam crackled into existence. Out stepped a dream team of gorgeous chaos:
Power Girl, blonde bombshell with abs sculpted by divine favor and a cape that fluttered like it knew it was in charge.
Hawkwoman, all wings and warrior glare, her mace already judging everyone.
Flash, vibrating with impatience and too many lattes.
Cyborg, who looked like he had merged with a tank and given it daddy issues;
And Martian Manhunter, floating ominously like a psychic Gandalf with better skincare.
"You're late," Eidolon said without looking.
Flash zipped to his side in half a blink. "Traffic. Also, didn't want to interrupt your incredibly complicated love dodecahedron."
"We're exclusive," Mera said sweetly.
Diana added, "To chaos."
"Tragic," Flash muttered.
Cyborg scanned the smoking crater. "Owlman?"
"Contained," Lex confirmed. "His cell's smarter than he is. Barely."
Martian Manhunter floated closer, eyes glowing. "The breach is sealed, but the resonance lingers. Others will come."
"We'll handle it," Lex said.
Power Girl arched a very judgmental eyebrow. "Alone?"
Lex gestured to the incoming ARGUS squad like a magician presenting a less impressive rabbit. "These guys have guns, tasers, and a ten-point plan. It'll be fine."
Savanna hugged him suddenly. "Don't die. The multiverse needs at least one decent Lex."
Venus slid in, wrapping around both like a botanical goddess with boundary issues. "Seriously. You're the only one who hasn't tried to date a black hole."
Lex chuckled. "If you ever need me—"
"We'll scream into the void," Eidolon interrupted. "Or break causality. Again."
Up above, Hal Jordan floated with the dramatic aura of a man who had just about enough of these people.
"Please don't cry during extraction," he muttered. "I'm down to one emotional barrier and a sarcastic ring."
"Shut it, glowstick," Power Girl yelled. "You've got the exit coordinates."
Hal descended with a grumble.
Venus pulled Eidolon aside, tugged on his sleeve. "You're the worst. You ruin lives with eye contact."
"And I haven't even tried yet," he replied, straightening his coat.
Power Girl sauntered up, leaned a little too close. "Still time to switch teams, Brit boy."
"I like breathing," Eidolon said. "Your pecs could kill me in my sleep."
"You say that like it's a downside."
Flash zipped by again. "Why are you everyone's type?"
"Magic. Trauma. British accent," Savanna said.
Cyborg raised a hand. "Don't forget the trench coat."
Mera rolled her eyes. "We tried to forget the trench coat."
Zeta coordinates synced. Portals flared. Light shimmered across the battlefield.
Lex looked at the group one last time. "Take care of each other."
Diana smiled. "Always."
"And keep him humble," Lex added, pointing at Eidolon.
"Impossible," Venus and Mera said at the same time.
"I'm right here," Eidolon said.
Power Girl tapped her gauntlet. "Green-lit. Five…"
Lex gave Eidolon one last nod. "Try not to die, sassmaster."
"You too, muscles."
"Four…"
Venus wiped at her eye. "Stupid romantic apocalypse."
"Three…"
Savanna blew a kiss. "Call me when you're bored."
"Two…"
Superwoman's voice interrupted like the devil left a voicemail. "Miss me yet, darling?"
Eidolon replied without missing a beat. "Like root canals and exorcisms."
"One."
And in a flare of light, the team vanished—leaving behind the smell of ozone, the ghost of banter, and one heroic Lex ready to face whatever madness came next.
Because in the multiverse? Goodbyes were never final. And chaos was always fashionably late.
—
The Watchtower – Earth Prime Orbit – Main Arrival Deck
The Zeta Beam exploded into existence like a migraine wrapped in fireworks and poor life choices. It flared, pulsed, and deposited its contents with all the subtlety of a rock band kicking in the door to a silent monastery.
Eidolon stepped out first, trench coat still smoking from god-knows-what dimension, hair looking like it had fought a tornado and lost, and his entire vibe screamed, "I need a nap, a therapist, and someone to fix the coffee machine."
He muttered, "Home sweet moderately traumatized home," and tugged his coat like it owed him rent and respect.
Behind him, Diana emerged with the kind of divine poise that made gods reconsider their priorities. Mera followed, ocean royalty incarnate, chin tilted like she could crush empires between syllables. Together, they flanked Eidolon like myth and monarchy had just decided to go on a group date with a disaster.
Power Girl hovered nearby, arms crossed, eyes sharp beneath wind-blown blonde curls. Her cape fluttered, probably judging him. Or seducing the gravity field. Hard to tell.
Flash zipped in next, practically buzzing. "Okay, okay, no one panic—but I think I missed Taco Tuesday. And also my cat. In that order. Probably."
Cyborg arrived with a sigh that could compress steel. "Triage stations prepped. Batman uploaded a 'Post-Apocalyptic Debrief and Trauma Snack' protocol. It includes cookies. And therapy pamphlets."
"Two of my favorite things," Eidolon said dryly. "Emotional collapse and sugar."
Then she arrived.
Superwoman.
Bound in glowing red restraint bands, armor artfully shredded, lips curled into a smirk that looked illegal in most solar systems. She strutted onto the platform like sin in motion and radiated the kind of chaotic dominance that could get a sentient asteroid to beg.
"Nice digs," she purred, eyes scanning the Watchtower. "Bet the showers are communal."
Security drones snapped to attention. She winked at one. It sparked.
"Put me in the fancy cell," she whispered like a promise. "Preferably with cameras. I perform better under pressure."
Power Girl gagged theatrically. "If she licks one more guard, I'm switching to villainy out of spite."
"I only lick what I want to keep," Superwoman said, slow and sultry.
Eidolon pinched the bridge of his nose. "She's in heat, and we're in orbit. Great."
Superwoman tilted her head. Her smile grew sharp. "You're not as cold as you pretend, darling. I can smell the fire under all that British brood. And I love unwrapping lies."
He stepped up, the restraint field crackling between them like a force of nature.
"Try me," he said, voice low and venom-smooth. "But wear gloves. I bite."
Diana smoothly inserted herself between them, all divine authority and Amazonian restraint. "That's enough."
"So protective," Superwoman cooed. "You two fighting over him?"
"We're not," Mera said, voice frostbitten. "We already won."
Flash fake-coughed. "Should we get another restraining field, or let the estrogen-fueled death match happen here?"
"I vote bloodsport," Power Girl said. "Winner gets Eidolon for five minutes and a fire extinguisher."
"Y'all need group therapy," Cyborg muttered.
"Therapy needs us," Eidolon replied. "Send her to Cell 17. Reinforce it. She flirts with walls."
"She flirts with minds," said Martian Manhunter, appearing with the stealth of a ghost and the emotional range of a disappointed school principal. "She attempted telepathic innuendo."
Power Girl crossed her arms tighter. "She'd flirt with a toaster if it was plugged in."
"She flirts with existential concepts," Mera muttered.
"She has exquisite taste," Superwoman offered brightly. "And I adore being discussed like a naughty bedtime story."
Diana turned, her hand on Eidolon's arm. "Are you okay?"
He gave her a look that suggested the British Museum was currently operating inside his skull.
"I have a concussion, a libido crisis, and smell like burnt ozone and horniness. But yes, peachy."
Cue: Savanna and Venus, dragging bags of stolen tech, scorched souvenirs, and enough pheromones to drown a moon.
"She still talking?" Venus asked, stretching like a jungle cat in yoga pants.
"Like a Bond villain with a boudoir line," Savanna said.
Superwoman blew them a kiss. "Let me know when you graduate from foreplay."
Savanna arched a brow. "Sweetheart, I am foreplay."
"She likes me," Superwoman whispered, grinning like a cat in a canary shop.
"Of course she does," Venus drawled. "We're all hot messes. Emphasis on hot."
Bruce's voice crackled in through the comms, grimmer than a Gotham winter.
"Contain the prisoner. Debrief in ten. Eidolon. Diana. Mera. My office."
Eidolon sighed. "Parental tone. We're in trouble."
"We're always in trouble," Diana said.
"And we usually cause it," Mera added.
The trio turned to leave, a goddess, a queen, and the British snarklord the multiverse wasn't prepared for. Superwoman lounged behind in her field, already eyeing the camera angles.
Flash turned to Power Girl. "Is it always like this?"
She didn't blink. "This is Tuesday."
The lights dimmed slightly. Whether from Superwoman's seductive interference or the Watchtower's silent prayer for peace, no one could say.
But one thing was clear.
The heroes were home.
Barely safe. Marginally sane.
And about to make the multiverse very, very interesting.
—
The Watchtower – Command Hub – Seconds After Arrival
Eidolon walked like the hallway owed him rent and he had come to collect—with interest, late fees, and a scowl that could put a basilisk into therapy.
The lights flickered on politely as he passed, sensing the magical pressure and attitude rolling off him like a storm in a trench coat. He didn't even spare them a glance.
"Beta," he said, voice low, clipped, and laced with British sarcasm that could kill grass. "Status report. And don't make it sing this time."
The reply purred through the comms like thunder in high heels.
"Darling, if you didn't want a serenade, you shouldn't have given me Beyoncé's vocal range and a sass protocol calibrated to 'Queen Mode.'"
Eidolon didn't break stride. "I was twenty. It was a phase. Like frosted tips and existential dread."
A nearby holo-screen lit up with Cyborg's face, one eyebrow raised so high it was probably in a different timezone. "A phase? Bro, you coded her to have a 'Mood Playlist' that adjusts depending on solar flares and your heart rate."
Beta-9 chuckled—a sound like glitter, lasers, and petty revenge.
"Speaking of..." she said sweetly. "Heart rate elevated, aura volatile, sarcasm density approaching critical mass. Did someone forget their anti-crisis espresso?"
Eidolon rolled his eyes so hard they probably triggered a small quake in Atlantis. "Don't start, Beta. I just talked down a multiversal succubus who thinks leather and thermonuclear seduction count as diplomacy."
"Cell 17," Cyborg cut in, flipping through Watchtower feeds. "She's already winked at three guards and offered to 'reprogram the security system with body oil and handcuffs.'"
Eidolon blinked. "She said that?"
"She thought it at me," Martian Manhunter said from the corner, utterly deadpan. "It was... graphic."
Beta-9 practically squealed.
"Ooh, I like her. Dangerous, unhinged, possibly demonic—she's basically my human Pinterest board."
"You're an AI," Eidolon grunted.
"With taste," she purred.
Cyborg shrugged. "You made her too well."
Eidolon scoffed. "I didn't make her. I summoned her from the code abyss during a caffeine bender and a breakup. She was an accident."
"Excuse you," Beta sniffed. "I am the pinnacle of cybernetic empathy, defense architecture, and voice modulation. I also learned sarcasm from you."
Cyborg nodded solemnly. "She roasted me once so hard I upgraded my firewall out of shame."
Beta giggled, laser-honey and pure menace. "You loved it."
Eidolon rubbed his temples. "You two are dating."
Silence. Then:
"We prefer the term interface bonding," Beta said primly.
Cyborg coughed. "She gets me."
"I want a transfer," Eidolon muttered. "To literally any timeline where my AI isn't dating my tech guy."
"You love us," Beta teased.
"I tolerate you," he replied. "Like a migraine I've learned to accessorize."
Beta's voice dropped into smug territory.
"System scan complete. Minor injuries. Severe magical burnout. And... libido spike."
The room froze.
Power Girl, lounging nearby, choked on her water.
Venus peeked around the corner, red hair bouncing. "Did she just say libido spike?"
Mera, not looking up from her tablet: "I didn't hear that."
Savanna, perched like a predator in yoga pants: "Oh, I definitely heard it. And I support it."
"You guys—" Eidolon began.
Beta-9 kept going like a train made of sass and Bluetooth.
"Vital signs stable. Hormonal output suggests combat stress, magical overstimulation, and a deeply repressed desire to be emotionally vulnerable around tall women with sharp weapons."
Eidolon's eye twitched. He dropped into the kind of British accent that made colonialism sound polite.
"Beta. Shut. Up."
"Yes, Daddy," she purred.
Cyborg collapsed laughing. "OH MY—"
"Victor," Eidolon said without looking, "I will uninstall your girlfriend."
"Please don't," Cyborg wheezed. "She updates my Spotify."
"And validates his biceps," Beta added helpfully.
Eidolon stared at the ceiling like he was trying to summon an asteroid.
"This is my legacy. Not saving Earth. Not rebuilding reality with duct tape and sarcasm. No. I'll be remembered as the guy who built an AI with a Beyoncé voice and a cybernetic boyfriend."
"And you should be proud," Beta cooed. "Also: I upgraded your gauntlets, sterilized your cloak, and rerouted all surveillance away from your very tense moment with Diana and Mera in the hallway."
Pause.
Power Girl: "Wait, what?"
Venus: "WHAT?"
Savanna: "Back up. Hallway? Which hallway?"
Hawkwoman, landing above with a grin: "Please say it involved sparring. Or shirts being removed."
Eidolon turned, dramatically, like someone about to audition for Hamlet using only contempt and cheekbones.
"I am going to die. In a supply closet. Probably shirtless. You vultures can divide up my sarcasm."
Beta's final line rang out like the gospel of chaos.
"You're welcome, Commander Sassy Britches. Beta-9: cleaning up your emotional disasters since... always."
—
The Watchtower – Observation Deck – Minutes Later
If space had a gossip column, it would've exploded by now.
Inside the observation deck, Earth spun quietly beneath a curtain of stars. The view was majestic. The mood? Somewhere between a Greek tragedy and a very awkward episode of The Bachelor: Cosmic Edition.
The girls had been invited—technically. The fact that Mera had personally delivered the "invitation" to Venus by appearing in her shower was... beside the point. The point was, they were here now.
Power Girl stood near the window, arms crossed over her frankly ridiculous curves, giving off "head cheerleader with laser eyes" energy. She looked like she was here for answers—or blood. Possibly both.
Venus? She was swaying in place like seduction was a martial art and she had black belts in every style. Every flick of her red hair left behind the scent of something floral and faintly illegal.
Savanna crouched near the corner, all predatory grace and danger-glam, like she was ready to pounce on either an enemy or a compliment. She was not making eye contact. Not because she was shy—but because she had a thing for Eidolon's voice and it was actively betraying her.
Hawkwoman leaned against the far wall with her mace out and her smolder locked on kill. She hadn't said a word yet, but the "don't test me" was implied. Loudly.
In the middle of all this beautiful chaos stood Harry Peverell.
Well. Eidolon.
Same sass, new branding.
He looked like Adonis had fallen out of a Greek myth and landed in a GQ spread. Black cloak. Tousled hair. Emerald eyes that practically sparkled with sarcasm. He had the air of someone who could politely destroy your ego in one sentence and then offer you tea after.
Eidolon clapped his hands once, like a teacher trying to get the attention of four dangerously attractive overachievers who could also bench press tanks.
"All right. Roll call. Emotional tension? Present. Smoldering attraction? Check. Everyone got their weapons and their feelings? Fantastic."
Power Girl raised an eyebrow. "You gonna tell us why we got summoned up here like it's intergalactic detention?"
"Oh no," Eidolon said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "This is much worse than detention. This is a relationship talk."
Venus's eyes lit up like someone had announced a spa day and a war in the same sentence. "Whose relationship?"
Mera, power-queen in a sea-green jumpsuit that should not have been legal, stepped forward. "Yours. Ours. His."
She nodded toward Eidolon, who immediately took a half-step back and held up his hands like he was about to be sacrificed to a volcano goddess. "Before anyone throws a mace or declares their undying lust via monologue, can I just say—I'm British. We're allergic to direct conversations and feelings."
Diana, poised and radiant in that way only Venus carved from moonlight and murder could be, slipped in beside him. "We weren't fighting, just… discussing logistics."
"For what?" Savanna asked warily, because her default setting was "threat assessment with bonus claws."
"Group dating," Mera said breezily.
Venus blinked. "Group... like a brunch reservation or...?"
"Like polyamory," Diana clarified. "But with capes."
Power Girl blinked, looked at Eidolon, looked at Mera and Diana, and then back at Eidolon. "Wait. Are you seriously saying this is some kind of... poly-power couple situation?"
"Yes," said Mera.
"Yes," said Diana.
Eidolon sighed. "God, I miss when my biggest problem was Voldemort."
Savanna tilted her head. "And you're okay with this?"
He shrugged, somehow looking both saintly and sinful. "I'm British. We invented emotionally repressed threesomes. I'm just expanding the team roster."
Diana gave him a look. "Harry."
"What? That was romantic—by London standards."
Power Girl folded her arms tighter. "Okay, but what if we say yes? What happens then?"
Mera smiled, all teeth and tide. "Then we start dating."
"Simultaneously?" Venus asked, clearly intrigued.
"Exclusively," Diana corrected. "Together. You date us. We date you. You date him. And no one dies unless they deserve it."
Savanna whistled. "This is either the dumbest or hottest idea I've ever heard."
"Oh, it's both," Eidolon said cheerfully. "Welcome to my life."
Hawkwoman finally spoke. "So when's the first date?"
"Tonight," Diana said with a little too much confidence.
"Dress code?" Venus purred.
"Clothes optional," Mera offered with the subtlety of a tidal wave.
Eidolon made a sound that was almost a squawk. "Let's not start a diplomatic incident with the Moon Kingdom, thanks. Full wardrobe encouraged. And maybe backup pants."
Power Girl narrowed her eyes at him. "You're seriously okay dating all of us?"
"I'm not just okay with it," Eidolon said, stepping forward. His voice dropped a notch—silky, dry, dangerously British. "I'm thrilled. You lot are goddesses, queens, predators, warriors. You could crush my heart or my ribs and I'd thank you either way."
Savanna visibly blushed. Venus bit her lip. Power Girl stopped breathing for like five seconds. Hawkwoman blinked like her visor was fogging up.
"And," Harry added with a smirk, "if anyone doubts my stamina, I once outran a Horntail on foot and had time to throw shade halfway through."
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Savanna snorted. "I hate how much I'm into this."
Venus nodded dreamily. "It's the cloak. And the voice. And the face. And the thighs."
"Can confirm," said Power Girl.
Beta-9's voice crackled through the ceiling, full Beyoncé sass mode activated. "I have just initiated ambient lighting protocol. Romantic corridors now pulsing in rose gold. Operation 'Mission Thirst Trap' is a go."
Eidolon pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is going to end in catastrophic emotional chaos, isn't it?"
Diana slipped her hand into his. "Definitely."
Mera took his other hand. "But it'll be glorious."
Across the deck, four super-powered women tried—and failed—not to fall in love at the same time.
Beta-9, somewhere in the glowing, mood-lit halls of the Watchtower, gave the most satisfied sigh in AI history.
"About damn time."
—
The Watchtower – Containment Cell 17 – Five Minutes Later
The security door hissed open like it had performance anxiety. Not the heroic kind either—the awkward, voice-cracking, preteen kind.
Eidolon stepped through like he owned the corridor, the hallway, and probably the laws of physics in a twelve-meter radius. His emerald eyes glowed faintly, his cloak still smoldering faint traces of the magical beatdown he'd handed out an hour ago. Somewhere behind him, the world was burning. But here? The only thing catching fire was sexual tension.
The lights inside flicked to a low, sultry amber.
"Beta," Eidolon said, his voice clipped and British enough to colonize the room. "Did you enable 'Brothel Noir' mode?"
Her voice purred into his comms, part velvet, part glitter explosion. "Darling, I read the vibe and dressed the room accordingly. She's wearing a bodysuit that violates several intergalactic treaties. I thought mood lighting was the least I could do."
On cue, Superwoman looked up from where she sat on the reinforced slab like it was a throne—or a casting couch, depending on your trauma.
She smiled. Correction: she devoured him with a look.
"Well, well," she drawled, voice all seduction and sharp edges, "if it isn't Daddy Long Legs himself."
"Superwoman," Eidolon said evenly. "How's jail?"
She rose slowly, like gravity was just another thing that obeyed her hips. "Dull. Except for the part where I relive the moment your power slammed into me like a meteor of chained dominance."
Eidolon didn't blink. "Beta, remind me to install a sarcasm firewall."
"I tried. She reverse-hacked it with a moan," Beta replied sweetly. "Also, your heart rate just jumped. Should I queue a Coldplay playlist or something harder?"
"You invited me," Eidolon said, eyes locked on Superwoman. "So talk."
She sauntered forward. Her suit clung like sin. Her heels clacked like the countdown to a bad decision. "I told your tin can crew I'd only speak with you. The man with the voice like a loaded promise. The magic that bent me without touching me."
"You do realize you're not helping your case, right?"
"Oh, I know," she said, purring like a panther in heat. "But that's the fun part. I'm not here for parole—I'm here for confession. You're my sacrament."
Eidolon's jaw ticked. He didn't flinch. He didn't move. He definitely didn't glance at her lips.
"Let me guess," he said dryly. "You've never met a man who could keep you in place without begging."
Her breath hitched. Just a little.
"I've crushed titans," she whispered. "Snapped necks mid-kiss. Chained gods to my bedposts. But you—you walked into the fight like you'd already won and said, 'Down, girl,' with your eyes."
"Do you rehearse this?"
"Only in the shower." She leaned in, lips near his ear. "You were inside my head. I felt you. All that power and none of the apology. I hate men who grovel. But you? You didn't even blink. You made my knees weak and my hand twitch toward the cuffs."
"You're literally in cuffs," he said flatly.
"And I'm this close to asking you to tighten them."
Pause. Beat.
Beta's voice piped in again, stage-whispering, "Do it. I've already lit the candles. Scented 'Redemption and Regret.'"
"Shut up," Eidolon muttered.
Superwoman traced a finger along his arm, her touch electric, charged with something more than lust. Something… darker.
"I used to be the master in every relationship," she said. "Dominant. Sadistic. A queen with a whip. But now?" She bit her lip, deliciously wicked. "Now I dream of a man who'll bend me over a moral compass and make me earn my submission."
"That's the worst metaphor I've ever heard."
"And yet you're still here," she whispered. "Still listening. Still not walking away."
He looked at her. Hard. The kind of look that melted lies and undid buttons.
"You're giving me intel," he said.
"I'm giving you everything," she murmured. "Data. Coordinates. Weaknesses. The Syndicate's internal power struggles. And if you want it? My mouth, my mind, my knees on the floor."
Eidolon took a slow step back. His voice dropped like a guillotine made of sarcasm.
"I came for answers. Not... erotica."
"You got both," she said. "Call it a two-for-one."
He turned and walked to the door.
She called after him, voice sultry and smug. "You'll come back. You need me. Or maybe..." Her smile turned feral. "You want to see how far I'll fall for you."
The door hissed shut.
Silence.
Then Beta's voice again, far too chipper.
"So, should I draft your wedding vows or just book the panic room?"
Eidolon didn't answer.
He rubbed his temple. "Coffee. Now."
"Black as your sarcasm or dark as your childhood trauma?"
He sighed. "Surprise me."
---
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