The Domo descended through layers of planetary crust like a knife through water, Phastos's energy drill boring through rock and magma with precision that would have made Reed Richards weep with envy. The ship's interior hummed with barely contained power while holographic displays tracked their depth in real-time.
"Six thousand kilometers and counting," Phastos murmured, his hands dancing across control interfaces. "We're approaching the core boundary. Temperature readings are... well, they're exactly what you'd expect when drilling to the center of a planet."
The heat was overwhelming even through the Domo's shields. Waves of thermal energy made the air shimmer, and everyone could feel sweat beading on their synthetic skin despite their enhanced durability. The pressure indicators climbed steadily, showing forces that would crush diamonds to powder.
Ajak sat in the command chair, her expression carefully neutral despite the tension radiating from her shoulders. The weight of what they were about to witness, what they'd been complicit in for millennia, pressed down like physical force.
The other Eternals clustered around viewports, watching Earth's interior layers peel away.
Ikaris stood apart from the group with arms crossed, golden eyes fixed on the forward screen with intensity that could melt steel. His jaw worked constantly, grinding teeth together hard enough that Sersi could hear it from across the cabin.
She didn't look at him. Hadn't looked at him properly since the beach revelation. Every time their eyes accidentally met, she felt something inside her chest twist painfully.
Sprite huddled in a corner seat, her small body curled tight, making herself even smaller than usual. Her illusions flickered around her unconsciously, showing brief flashes of what she wanted to be: taller, older, anything but eternally trapped in childhood.
Druig's eyes glowed faintly gold, his power leaking through emotional control as anxiety built.
Makkari herself watched the depth gauge with single-minded focus.
Thena leaned against Gilgamesh, her breathing measured as she was fighting off an episode. His massive hand rested on her shoulder, thumb tracing small circles that helped ground her in reality.
Kingo had stopped making jokes for some time now, which worried everyone more than his usual commentary would have. When Kingo went quiet, situations were truly dire.
And Karun, well, he was doing what he did best — being invisible and recording this seven-thousand-year-long story unfold.
"Approaching core boundary," Phastos announced. "Switching to thermal shielding. Everyone hold on, this is going to get bumpy."
The Domo shuddered as it broke through into Earth's core, and suddenly everything changed.
The viewports lit up with impossible radiance.
Tiamut sprawled across what should have been molten iron and nickel, and the sight stole the breath from every Eternal aboard. His massive form defied human comprehension, existing on a scale that made even moons seem small. Each finger was the size of a mountain range, his chest rose and fell with breaths that moved like continental drift. Golden light radiated from every inch of his skin, not merely bright but alive, pulsing with the dreams of billions of humans whose consciousness fed his growth.
The Dreaming Celestial had been sleeping here for millions of years, nestled in Earth's heart like an infant in a womb, and the proximity to such majesty made the air itself feel sacred.
Even knowing what they were coming to see, even having been told explicitly by Arishem himself about Tiamut's existence, the sight of him was soul-shaking for the Eternals.
Ajak's hands gripped her armrests hard enough to leave dents in the metal. Her breath caught in her throat as ancient programming screamed at her to kneel, to prostrate herself before cosmic majesty that her very existence was designed to serve.
The others felt it too, that overwhelming urge to submit, to worship, to acknowledge the fundamental hierarchy that placed Celestials so far above Eternals that the gap might as well have been infinite.
Ikaris actually dropped to one knee before catching himself, his face flushing with shame and anger at the involuntary response.
"By Arishem," Sersi whispered, one hand pressed to the viewport. "He's beautiful."
And he was.
Despite the horror of what his awakening would mean, despite knowing that his birth would crack Earth open and kill every living thing on the surface, Tiamut was magnificent. His form carried grace that transcended mere aesthetics, existing in that space where function and beauty became indistinguishable.
Then Sprite's sharp eyes caught something that shattered the moment's reverence entirely.
"Wait. What are those?"
Chains.
Massive chains of unholy crimson light wrapped around Tiamut's body in patterns that resembled a four-way braided harness, the kind used for restraining large animals or securing impossible loads. The chains pulsed with energy that felt wrong against Tiamut's golden radiance, corrupt and invasive, violating the Celestial's majesty with their very presence.
The sight triggered something primal in Ikaris.
His vision went red. All the carefully constructed justifications for their mission, all the measured assessments and strategic planning, evaporated in an instant. Someone had chained his god. Someone had defiled Tiamut with restraints like he was a common beast to be subdued.
"No." The word came out strangled, barely recognizable as language. "No, no, NO!"
Golden energy exploded from Ikaris's eyes as he blasted through the Domo's exit hatch without bothering to open it properly. The metal screamed as it tore, alarms shrieking warnings about hull integrity while Ikaris shot toward the first thing his rage-blind eyes could focus on.
A cartoon joker lounging on one of the massive chains, feet kicked up, whistling a jaunty tune that echoed impossibly through the airless core.
"Ikaris, wait!" Ajak's voice carried command authority that had controlled him for seven thousand years.
Unsurprisingly, he didn't listen.
Sersi moved to follow, her own anger at the desecration warring with the part of her brain that insisted they needed information before attacking. "We should assess the situation first, gather intelligence about who..."
"That bloody bastard already charged blindly," Druig snarled, his accent thickening with stress as his eyes blazed gold. He launched himself after Ikaris. "Might as well ask questions after we've broken every bone in their bodies."
The other Eternals exchanged glances loaded with uncertainty and resignation.
"Well," Kingo said finally, his voice carrying forced lightness that didn't match his expression, "when in Rome, commit to the absolutely terrible plan, I suppose."
They followed.
Only Ajak, Phastos, and surprisingly, Karun remained aboard the Domo, watching through viewports as their family charged into unknown danger with all the strategic planning of a brick through a window.
"This is going to end badly," Phastos muttered, finally noticing the human beside him. "Karun, you're still recording? More importantly, when did you board the ship?"
Karun's camera never stopped rolling, his professional instincts taking over completely. "Every second, sir. Though I must say, this is significantly more dramatic than anything Bollywood has attempted."
Ikaris rocketed toward the cartoon figure with speed that turned the air around him into superheated plasma, his hands outstretched to grab, tear and destroy whatever abomination dared defile Tiamut's majesty.
He got within three meters before an absurdly oversized mallet materialized out of nowhere and caught him square in the face.
The impact was cartoonishly exaggerated, complete with a sound effect that went BONK, which shouldn't have been possible in the vacuum of Earth's core. Ikaris's head compressed like an accordion, his entire body following the momentum as he was launched backward at speeds that rivaled his initial charge.
He flew up, up, UP, crashing through multiple layers of the core chamber before slamming into the underside of the mantle with force that carved a crater visible from below.
The other Eternals landed on the massive chain platform just in time to witness their strongest member get absolutely demolished by a jester with a hammer.
"What in Arishem's name..." Gilgamesh breathed.
Slapstick inspected his oversized mallet with exaggerated satisfaction. His rubbery body bounced as he moved, defying physics in ways that made Phastos's engineering brain scream from aboard the Domo. "Wow, that guy's face was not built for slapstick comedy. You'd think people would appreciate the dying art."
"Who are you people?" Sersi demanded, her hands already glowing with transmutation energy. "Why have you chained Tiamut? What gives you the right to..."
"Rights? Lady, we're mercenaries. We don't need rights, we need paychecks. Also, I get to hit things with a hammer, which honestly sweetens the deal." Slapstick's grin widened impossibly. "And our employer paid very well for this particular job. Speaking of which..."
He snapped his fingers.
The rest of the Mercs for Money appeared from behind Tiamut's massive form, stepping out of the shadows with weapons drawn and expressions ranging from bored to actively entertained.
Deadpool led the group, his mask's eyes narrowing as he took in the Eternals. "Well, fuck me sideways, space elves with glowy bits. Eternals, right? Listen up, team — these shiny assholes are cramping our payday. Time to make 'em regret crawling out of their cosmic glory hole."
"We're not robots," Sprite protested, her small hands clenching into fists. "We're synthetic, yes, but we're alive. We have souls, personalities, free will..."
"Tomato, tomahto, synth-girl." Deadpool shrugged. "Point is, you're squatting on prime real estate, kiddo. Hit-Monkey, my hairy little murder-buddy, you want to take the angry glowing guy?"
Hit-Monkey chittered aggressively, loading his guns with ammunition that glowed faintly red.
Druig's eyes blazed golden as he reached out with his power, attempting to seize control of the mercenaries' minds, to force them to their knees and make them explain everything before he allowed them the mercy of unconsciousness. "You will all stand down and..."
Nothing happened.
Druig's power, which had controlled thousands of humans simultaneously, which had bent entire villages to his will for centuries, slid off the mercenaries' minds like water off waxed paper.
"The hell?" Druig's eyes widened with genuine shock. "How are you resisting? You're clearly human, I can sense the neural patterns, but..."
"Chaotic minds, baby!" Slapstick's body stretched like taffy as he bounced excitedly. "Your little psychic finger-bang can't find the on-switch because our brains operate on either toon logic, fourth-wall breaks or pure concentrated insanity! Good luck finding anything in there to grab onto!"
Masacre nodded solemnly, his mask gleaming in Tiamut's golden light. "The Lord teaches that a scrambled mind is harder to possess. Trust me, ours is blessed."
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