Martian Manhunter had seen a lot in his unnaturally long lifetime. He'd faced tyrants, telepaths, and things with far too many teeth. But waking up in the Scottish Highlands with damp grass up his nose and the unmistakable sound of bagpipes off in the distance? That was a new one.
He groaned, sat up, and glared at the cloaked figure standing like a discount gothic superhero against the misty backdrop. "Eidolon, was the teleportation supposed to feel like I was being blendered alive?"
The cloaked wizard—more dramatic than was strictly necessary—barely turned. His crimson cloak flared behind him like it was auditioning for its own Broadway show. "Well, you weren't actually disintegrated," Eidolon replied cheerfully. "So I'd call that a win."
J'onn brushed moss from his shoulder with as much dignity as one could muster while still spitting out dirt. "A warning would've been courteous."
Eidolon turned fully, mask gleaming, voice full of smug British charm. "Courteous? My dear Martian, I'm British. We say 'sorry' when someone steps on our foot. You'll live."
They stood before a sprawling stone fortress of a boarding school, nestled beside a loch that looked like it had mood swings and a vendetta against sunshine. Ivy covered every surface. There were enough turrets to make a castle jealous, and students in tartan blazers moved about like they hadn't just had two cosmic-level beings land in their front yard.
"I thought you said this location was important," J'onn said, squinting at the very normal human teenagers wandering around texting and not at all panicking.
"Oh, it is," Eidolon said, sweeping an arm dramatically toward the ancient campus. "This was Hogwarts."
J'onn blinked. "Was?"
"In my universe," Eidolon said with a sigh, already walking forward with the regal exhaustion of someone who was used to carrying the plot on his back. "Here, it's just a regular boarding school. You know, ancient architecture, generational trauma, Latin motto no one understands."
"What's it mean?"
"'Beating you academically and emotionally since 1342.' Rough translation."
J'onn arched a suspicious eyebrow.
Eidolon paused at a wide patch of grass, right where the air seemed to hum with tension. He lifted a gloved hand and snapped his fingers.
The world... shifted.
Golden runes spiraled into the air like fireflies on Red Bull. The breeze went dead still. Birds stopped mid-chirp. Somewhere in the distance, a sheep baaa-ed in mild confusion.
"There. Wards are up," Eidolon said. "We are now officially invisible, inaudible, and untraceable. Unless someone uses divine-level tracking magic, in which case... we're still mostly invisible and will just have to run. Very fast."
"Why here?" J'onn asked, arms folded, cape rippling with suspicious dignity.
"Because," Eidolon said, kneeling and placing his palm on the grass like he was proposing to Mother Earth, "this school is sitting on one of the largest ley-line nexuses in the world."
The ground shivered. Not trembled. Shivered. Like the earth had just realized who was touching it and wanted to lean in closer.
Crimson lines burst from beneath Eidolon's palm, spiraling out in runic, ancient patterns. They glowed and pulsed like heartbeat monitors at a rave.
"I'm going to assume that's normal," J'onn said, trying not to hover six inches off the ground out of sheer paranoia.
"Perfectly normal," Eidolon said. "If you're siphoning pure magic from the planet's bones."
J'onn's eyes narrowed. "That's safe?"
Eidolon gave him a look that screamed, 'Do I look like I do safe?' "Define safe."
"Does it explode?"
"Only once. And the volcano was mostly dormant."
The energy flowing into him intensified, streaks of red and gold running up his arms and into the Hallows-shaped emblem on his chest. Eidolon's posture straightened, his wounds from Metropolis knitting shut in an instant, his voice deeper and laced with reverb when he said:
"Ley lines. Think of them as the planet's magical bloodstream. And this spot right here?" He tapped the grass. "Major artery. Like, aortic valve levels of energy."
J'onn stepped back, not out of fear, but respect. "I can feel it," he admitted. "It's ancient. Primal. More like... instinct than science."
"Exactly," Eidolon said with a grin. "It's magic the way dragons breathe or storms roar. The kind of power that doesn't like being tamed. Fortunately," he added, cracking his neck, "I'm very good at doing things magic doesn't like."
The last of the crimson energy surged into him. His eyes flared molten gold, the air around him warping slightly with the heat of raw spellcraft.
J'onn tilted his head. "Feeling better?"
"Better? Please, I could out-magic Constantine, enchant a planet, and still have enough left over to brew the perfect cup of Earl Grey."
"Let's not get carried away," J'onn deadpanned.
"Oh, I'm always carried away," Eidolon said, dusting off his gloves. "But I've got enough juice now to get us to Mars, do whatever planetary CPR your people need, and be back in time for tea. Maybe a biscuit."
"You're certain no one will notice this magical tantrum?"
"Well," Eidolon mused, "there may be a geothermal spike. Possibly a sudden fog. A… sheep might spontaneously combust."
J'onn stared.
"A very small sheep," Eidolon clarified. "Practically a goat."
J'onn pinched the bridge of his nose. "We should leave. Now."
"Agreed." Eidolon grinned beneath his helm, the wind catching his cloak just right, because of course it did. "Next stop: Mars. Try not to pass out this time. Teleporting across space is—how do I put this—a bit of a whoosh."
"You mean the same 'whoosh' that just gave me altitude sickness and turned my insides into soup?"
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Eidolon said, grabbing J'onn's shoulder. "And if we run into zombie Martians?"
J'onn sighed. "We won't."
"If we do…" Eidolon's eyes gleamed. "I'm blaming Zack Snyder."
And with a crackle of red light, the two vanished.
Back on the Highland hill, the wind returned, the birds resumed chirping, and one very confused sheep looked down at its smoking wool and let out the bleat of a creature who had definitely not signed up for this nonsense.
—
If Eidolon had been expecting twin suns, red mountains bathed in ethereal light, and maybe some epic background score courtesy of John Williams, he was out of luck. What he got instead was… Mars. Actual Mars. Red. Dusty. Dead. Like the world's most depressing cereal box without the toy inside.
They landed with a soft pop of displaced air, the kind that was supposed to be mystical but really just sounded like a balloon giving up on life. The crimson sand crunched beneath their boots like old cornflakes, and the sky above was a washed-out rust color, flat and empty like someone had rage-quit halfway through painting it. No birds. No clouds. No sun(s). Just an eerie, whispering wind snaking between cracked stones and long-dead monuments.
One such monument—a fallen Martian guardian statue—lay broken at their feet, its once-regal helm split down the middle like a watermelon at a Gallagher show.
"Well," Eidolon muttered, adjusting his crimson cloak as it caught the thin breeze and billowed with what he told himself was dramatic flair. "Ten out of ten for mood. Zero out of ten for Airbnb potential. Needs more hot tubs. And air."
J'onn J'onzz didn't respond immediately. Because of course he didn't. The Martian Manhunter—stoic, brooding, and built like a green freight train—wasn't exactly the chatty type. His glowing red eyes scanned the desolate landscape with the kind of haunted reverence that screamed this is my tragic backstory, please look sad now.
"Ma'aleca'andra," he finally said, his deep voice rumbling like it had been dredged from the core of the planet.
Eidolon tilted his head. "Is that Martian for 'Here Lies Trauma Town, Population: Me'?"
J'onn glanced sideways. "It means The Land of Our Birth."
"Oh." Eidolon blinked. "Okay. Slightly less sarcastic. I can work with that."
He didn't press further. Not yet. Instead, he took a breath, rolled his shoulders, and activated Mage Sight.
Instantly, the world changed.
Colorless reality peeled away like cheap wallpaper. In its place came shimmering layers—glowing ley lines, ancient Martian enchantments, threads of telepathic residue, and the haunting echo of lives long gone. Eidolon's eyes burned with arcane fire as glyphs danced before him like fireflies on Red Bull.
"Okay, show me your secrets, dusty death rock," he muttered, sweeping his hand across the ridge to their left. Glyphs flickered and spun. Something pulsed below.
"Got something," he said. "Half a mile down, southern ridge. Definitely life. Not magic. Not tech. Something… alive. Barely. Could be bacteria. Could be a sentient pile of dust. Could also be a nest of Martian space worms. Fingers crossed for door number four: actual survivors."
J'onn moved closer, his expression unreadable. "How many?"
"Hard to say. Maybe twenty, tops. Faint signatures. Like trying to find radio stations using a fork and a potato. But they're there. Shielded, deep underground."
Eidolon flexed his fingers, crackling with residual energy. "Ley lines here are thin, though. Teleporting in blind could scramble us like magical dumplings in a lava pot. Give me five minutes to anchor a tether."
J'onn nodded. "I will wait."
"Wow," Eidolon said, tracing glowing runes in the air. "That's got to be your new catchphrase. I will wait. Super catchy. Real marketable."
The Martian said nothing.
The wind keened across the stones. Eidolon shifted.
"So," he said after a moment. "While I'm busy carving magical ethernet cables into the dirt… tell me about it."
J'onn turned slightly. "About what?"
"The Burning."
A pause. A long one. Eidolon didn't interrupt.
Then J'onn spoke, his voice low. Steady. Like he was reciting a eulogy he'd given a thousand times but still bled every word.
"M'yri'ah was my mate," he said. "She had… a brightness. Not metaphorical. Actual bio-luminescence. She glowed when she laughed. It was rare. Beautiful."
Eidolon blinked. "You married a glowstick. That's… unexpectedly adorable."
J'onn ignored him. "She was a bio-architect. She created neural cities—structures built from thought and memory. Our home, she grew from the dream we shared. Of raising K'hym. Our daughter. She was curious. Fierce. Compassionate. She once tried to befriend a sandwyrm the size of a shuttle."
He paused. "It almost ate her."
Eidolon smirked. "Classic toddler move."
"I was off-world," J'onn continued. "A peacekeeping mission on Titan. When I returned, they were gone. I reached out—telepathically. And…"
"They burned," Eidolon finished quietly.
"It wasn't fire," J'onn said. "Not like you understand it. It was their minds. Their souls. The deeper the bond, the faster the fire spread. Our greatest strength—connection—was turned against us."
Eidolon's runes glowed brighter.
"M'yri'ah tried to protect K'hym. Sealed their thoughts. Closed their minds. But isolation to a Martian is like suffocation. She couldn't hold out. Neither could our daughter."
There was silence.
"I felt them die," J'onn said. "Across space. Their final scream—echoed through me. And I could do nothing."
Eidolon didn't offer pity. Just a nod.
"People think pain fades," he said, tracing the final rune. "It doesn't. We just get better at accessorizing with it."
J'onn gave him a look.
Eidolon smiled. "What? Pain's the new black. Goes with everything."
The last glyph snapped into place. The ground beneath them shimmered, shifting like liquid glass.
"Alright, Mister Stoic," he said. "Ready to dive into the haunted Martian basement?"
"If there are survivors," J'onn said, "I will bring them home."
Eidolon cracked his knuckles. "And if there's Martian zombies, we call dibs on movie rights."
"Martians do not become zombies."
"Shame. You'd look killer in the trailer."
J'onn arched an eyebrow. "I was adopted."
Eidolon grinned. "Even better."
The ground split open with a thunderclap of magic and memory.
Together, the last Martian and the wizard made of sass and sorrow descended into the dark.
Toward life. Toward loss. Toward whatever waited in the Underboroughs.
And hopefully, not space worms.
—
Descending into the Martian underground was, in Eidolon's professional opinion, about as fun as a root canal performed with a jackhammer. In a snowstorm. By a ghost.
The air got thinner with each step, like the atmosphere had decided, "Nope, you don't get to breathe today," and the temperature dropped just enough to remind you this was, in fact, an abandoned civilization built inside what amounted to a haunted volcano.
"Brilliant place for a vacation," Eidolon muttered as he adjusted the shimmering runes flaring beneath his boots. They sparked golden with every footfall, warding off gravitational anomalies that felt like they'd been designed by a sadistic physics professor having a mental breakdown.
Behind him floated J'onn J'onzz, Martian Manhunter, looking as calm and stoic as ever—which is to say, 90% repressed trauma and 10% existential dread, all wrapped in an expression that screamed I carry the weight of genocide and also your whining is very loud.
"I'm just saying," Eidolon added, waving a hand to part a curtain of what could only be described as leftover psychic agony, "was this really the best place to build a civilization? A lava tube mixed with a haunted catacomb? Not exactly prime real estate."
J'onn's voice was calm. Too calm. "Subsurface development offered protection from solar radiation. And the neural lattice required containment—"
"Right, right," Eidolon interrupted, "preserve the 'neural architecture,' avoid the sunburn. Got it. Meanwhile, I'm being molested by psychic echoes of your ancestors. One of them just tried to whisper the Martian equivalent of 'Get Out' into my soul."
"Your sarcasm is a coping mechanism," J'onn said, deadpan.
"Correct. And a damn good one."
They reached a platform, a natural ledge in the cavern that opened into a cathedral-sized chamber. Eidolon's runes flared outward, bathing the floor in light. And there it was: Ma'aleca'andra's underbelly. An entire city of curves and crescents, grown rather than built, like coral reef meets art nouveau nightmare.
It should have felt beautiful.
It felt wrong.
The silence pressed in around them, heavy and unnatural, like the air was holding its breath. Eidolon squinted at the nearest building, which appeared to be growing out of the floor like a fossilized seashell. He rubbed his temples.
"Lovely," he muttered. "We've found the psychic IKEA showroom. All that's missing is a rug that screams when you walk on it. I bet it even folds itself."
J'onn's gaze locked on the heart of the chamber—a giant, half-buried crystal, humming so faintly you could miss it if you weren't looking. It pulsed with slow light, like a heartbeat trying to remember how to beat.
"That," J'onn said softly, reverently, "is a Thought Core."
Eidolon activated Mage Sight. Runes flickered across his pupils as he peered into the energies tangled around the crystal. It was… messy. Ancient memories, decaying psionic signatures, and something barely alive. Something buried in static and sorrow.
"Someone's still in there," he murmured, kneeling beside the node. "Barely. Their psychic field's about as stable as a British Wi-Fi connection during a thunderstorm."
He traced a hand along the runes etched into the crystal's surface. The language was part Martian, part magical, all migraine. Eidolon spoke enough ancient dialects to summon a demon or insult your ancestors in three dimensions, but this? This was like trying to read Braille on a lava lamp.
J'onn stepped forward, his face tight with emotion.
"I can reach it," he said, placing both hands on the crystal.
The moment his fingers made contact, the air shivered.
The room dimmed. The silence turned into a hum, then a vibration, then a low psychic tremor that ran down their bones. Eidolon felt it hit his mind like a thunderclap wrapped in grief.
Then—
A voice. Thin. Flickering.
"Who calls us… who dares…?"
J'onn inhaled sharply. His voice broke. "M'yri'ah?"
Eidolon looked up, blinking. "Wait—your M'yri'ah? As in, tragic backstory, wife who died screaming in a psychic fireball, cornerstone of your trauma pile?"
But J'onn didn't answer. His eyes were wide, his body rigid.
The crystal pulsed again.
"You… should not be here…"
"You died," J'onn said, voice shaking. "I felt it. I screamed with you."
"We died… but not all of us."
The voice fractured—splintered into dozens of echoes, overlapping and layered like a broken choir assembling itself out of grief and static.
"We burned. But the Core preserved what it could. The children. The minds too young to link. They live. Hidden. Deep."
Eidolon held up a finger. "Okay. Gonna stop you right there. That? That right there is the kind of ominous sentence that ends with a horde of zombie children and me setting something on fire. And I'm very low on fire right now."
J'onn stumbled back from the crystal, eyes damp.
"I thought I had lost everything."
"Plot twist," Eidolon said. "You've got survivors. Some of them, anyway. Still kind of trapped in Martian psychic purgatory, but alive-ish."
J'onn turned to him, hope flickering through the despair. "If we can wake them—"
"You must not."
The voice was firmer now. Solid. Final.
"There is danger below. Something stirs. It was buried in the Cataclysm. It feeds."
Eidolon's brain connected the dots, and it wasn't pretty.
"Let me guess. Old Martian horror. Likes pain. Probably looks like a nightmare with teeth and a budget. Name sounds like something that would headline Coachella's apocalypse stage?"
J'onn's expression darkened. "The Red Hunger."
Eidolon stared. "Okay, no, that's worse. That's like... discount Cthulhu mixed with every bad decision ever made by a civilization."
The Thought Core pulsed one final time.
"We protected the young with our minds. But we are fading. The shield will fall. If they wake… and it wakes with them…"
Silence.
Eidolon rose to his feet, cloak swirling behind him.
"Well. That's sufficiently horrifying. On the plus side, you've got surviving Martians. On the minus side, you've also got an ancient evil slumbering like Voldemort with sleep apnea."
J'onn stared into the dark passage ahead. "Then we go deeper."
"You realize," Eidolon said, "every horror movie ever made starts with that sentence."
J'onn didn't smile. But his voice was steel.
"I have failed my people once. I will not do so again."
Eidolon cracked his neck. "Cool. You bring the telepathy. I'll bring the flaming sarcasm and enough magic to cook an eldritch abomination from the inside out."
Together, they stepped into the deeper tunnels of Ma'aleca'andra, toward the last flickering hope of the Martian race.
And toward something that had waited far too long to feed.
—
Ma'aleca'andra – The Hollow Veins
As terrifying alien labyrinths went, Eidolon had definitely seen worse. Granted, those had usually involved fewer existential telepathic horror fogs and slightly better lighting, but he was used to improvising. Also, they were usually on Earth, which made post-trauma brunches significantly easier to schedule.
Still, Eidolon kept walking, because of course he did.
The tunnel narrowed into what could generously be called a psychic esophagus. The walls weren't carved, exactly. More like sculpted by emotion. They pulsed faintly, like the stone was dreaming. Eidolon considered pointing that out, but J'onn J'onzz—aka the Martian Manhunter, aka the telepathic Grim Reaper in a cape—was already floating silently ahead like a cosmic funeral procession.
Eidolon trailed beside him, boots illuminating golden runes with every step. He flicked some psychic moss off his sleeve with the casual disdain of a man who'd once cleaned ectoplasm off a Versace tux.
"Tell me something, J'onn," he said. "Did your people ever build anything that didn't resemble the architectural equivalent of a midlife crisis in space?"
J'onn didn't look at him. "We were a telepathic species. Emotion and memory were interwoven into all constructs. Even the walls remember."
Eidolon gave the wall a suspicious glance. "Brilliant. Psychic drywall. Bet it cries when it rains."
Silence followed. Not just quiet—a silence so thick it felt like the air was holding its breath. Sound didn't belong here. Even the echoes were afraid to bounce.
Then, a hum.
Soft. Childlike. Not mechanical. Not natural. Something half lullaby, half funeral dirge.
"Do you hear that?" Eidolon asked.
J'onn nodded once. "I know that song."
"Oh lovely. Let me guess, Martian equivalent of 'Ring Around the Rosie'? Because that never ends in therapy."
The tunnel opened into a small chamber. Warm-colored stone. Flickering fungi. The air felt... almost kind. Almost. At the center of the wreckage sat a cluster of children. Martian children.
Small. Scared. Wide-eyed. Some green. Some white. All tired. Some clung to one another, others watched the newcomers like they were predators. And at the center of them, cross-legged and glowing like a tiny telepathic lighthouse, sat a girl.
White Martian. Late teens, maybe.
She stood slowly. "You're not the Red Hunger."
"Ten points to Gryffindor," Eidolon said, stepping forward. "Unless that's Martian for 'You look like a fog beast,' in which case: ouch."
"Your snark is exhausting," J'onn muttered.
"You say that now. Give it another hour."
J'onn stepped forward cautiously. "You are...?"
The girl tilted her head. "M'gann. M'gann M'orzz. I know you. You're J'onn J'onzz. I've seen your memories."
J'onn's breath caught. "You linked with the Thought Core?"
She nodded. "We all did. Those of us who made it. The Core protected us. But something's trying to break in. Something... red."
One of the children whimpered. Another clung to M'gann's leg. Eidolon crouched beside them, muttering a small incantation. Golden light shaped itself into a floating wisp that danced like a firefly.
"It's alright," he said, voice soft. "Just a bit of light. And sass. I come fully loaded."
A tiny green Martian reached out. The second its fingers brushed the light, the chamber shuddered.
The air changed. The ground throbbed.
A soundless thrum echoed. A drumbeat made of teeth.
J'onn stiffened. M'gann's glow dimmed.
"It's here," she whispered.
Eidolon straightened, eyes narrowing. His coat flared as gold energy swirled around his hands.
"Of course it is. Because God forbid I have one day off without getting slimed by interdimensional trauma mist."
From the shadows, it came.
A crimson fog. Shifting, sinewy. Like muscle and smoke had an unholy baby. No face. No form. Just need.
The Red Hunger.
Eidolon raised a hand, burning glyphs flaring around him. "Alright, Foggy. You picked the wrong wizard. I'm British, I'm annoyed, and I've got abandonment issues and unlimited sarcasm. You do not want to know what that cocktail looks like in combat."
The mist slammed against the psychic barrier around the kids. The shields sparked blue, then faltered.
J'onn stepped forward. "We must protect them. Can you reinforce the barrier?"
"Oh, I don't know, J'onn," Eidolon said, flinging runes like confetti. "Let me just stitch up the ghost fog with metaphorical duct tape and sheer spite!"
He spoke in Old High Atlantean, fingers weaving golden sigils into the air. The barrier pulsed brighter—just as the Hunger struck again.
And this time, it spoke.
Not aloud.
Huuuuuuunger. Giiiiiive. Meeeeeeemories.
The kids screamed.
M'gann clutched her head. "It eats memories. It wants to erase us—like we never existed!"
"Hard pass," Eidolon snapped.
He drew a ring of fire with a gesture, encircling the children in heat and fury.
"You want memories?" he barked. "Try mine! Hope you enjoy the buffet of childhood trauma, British boarding school trauma, and one very awkward crush on a French Veela in Year Four."
The mist hesitated.
Then it lunged.
J'onn moved.
He phased through the red cloud, slamming into it with a psychic shockwave that shook the walls.
"I am the last son of Ma'aleca'andra!" he roared. "And you will touch no more of my people!"
The Hunger shrieked—not a sound, but a sensation of a thousand ghosts screaming in reverse.
Eidolon joined him, magic erupting in a cyclone of light and fire, branding runes into the ground. The mist recoiled.
Fought.
Faltered.
Fled.
For now.
Silence returned.
M'gann trembled. "You... saved us."
Eidolon lowered his hand. "Technically, we just postponed doom. But let's call it a win."
J'onn knelt beside her. "You are not alone anymore."
She looked at the other children. Then at them. Then took his hand.
"We'll fight."
Eidolon nodded. "Bloody right you will."
He turned to the next tunnel. His eyes glowed.
"Because I'm starting to think," he muttered, "that was just the appetizer."
—
The silence in the Martian chamber was doing that spooky horror-movie thing again—less "tranquil ambiance," more "the next sound you hear will be your own screams."
Naturally, Eidolon broke the tension like a true professional.
He sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. Theatrically. Honestly, if you didn't know better, you'd think he'd just found out his favorite tea had gone out of stock.
"Well," he said, flicking phantom dust off his lapel like he was about to walk into a black-tie gala instead of a potential death trap, "that was absolutely delightful. A real five-star apocalypse experience. But unless Martian Creepypasta Mist has plans to serve biscuits, I suggest we evacuate before Act Two."
J'onn turned slowly toward him, his glowing red eyes dimming to a simmering ember. "Evacuate where?"
Eidolon pointed upward with a casual flick of his hand, golden light trailing behind his fingertip like a firefly with a flair for the dramatic. "Up. Surface. Fresh air. Well, relatively fresh. I imagine Martian air still tastes like dust and existential dread."
J'onn looked at him as if Eidolon had suggested they all survive by hugging the Red Mist and asking it politely not to eat them. "The surface is not safe. The Hunger still lingers below, and the storms above are savage. The very atmosphere tears at flesh and mind."
Eidolon gave a sharp grin. "Sounds like Tuesdays in London."
M'gann, ever the voice of reason (and nerves), blinked rapidly. "Wait—what's the plan exactly?"
Eidolon turned to her with mock scandal. "The plan, darling, is to not die. Honestly, it's underrated. But more specifically, I need to get to a ley-line. Martian ones, if possible."
She frowned. "Ley-lines?"
"Yes. Magical freeways. Energy rivers. Planetary Wi-Fi for wizards. Unfortunately, down here, it's like trying to get a signal in a lead-lined bunker built by Satan. But if we make it topside? I might actually be able to get a connection strong enough to portkey all of us home. Earth-side."
M'gann's eyes widened. "You can teleport all of us?"
"Not with what I've got now," he said, twirling his finger again and conjuring a wobbly sigil that promptly fizzled out. "That was supposed to be a runic GPS. It just showed me a thumbs down."
A kid tugged on M'gann's sleeve and whispered, "He's weird."
Eidolon turned with a grin. "Weird and wonderful, my tiny Martian friend. And possibly your best shot at seeing sunlight again."
J'onn floated forward like a ghost made of muscle and gravitas. "You truly believe you can transport them all?"
Eidolon's smirk faded into something grimmer—still sassy, but with steel beneath it. "I'll have to. If we stay down here, the Hunger's going to turn us into psychic jelly. And while I'm flattered it wants me for dessert, I'd rather not be pureed."
J'onn nodded once, solemn as a man attending his own funeral. "Then I will guide you. The Heartspire tunnels lead directly to the surface. They are perilous… but swift."
"I like peril," Eidolon said. "It keeps my sarcasm sharp."
M'gann stepped forward too, jaw set. "I'll help. I can link the children's minds—keep them calm, keep them together."
Eidolon gave her a small, genuine nod. "Good. You and me, Miss Martian. Mind-melds and miracle-working. Let's see if your dusty rock still has a little magic in its bones."
And then they were moving.
The tunnels behind them seemed to breathe—no joke. The walls pulsed like lungs inhaling shadows, and every so often, the distant echo of whispering voices slithered through the air. It was like walking through the world's worst haunted house.
The children moved in clusters, some of them holding hands, most of them watching Eidolon like he might conjure safety out of thin air—and he fully intended to.
He held up one hand and conjured a glowing golden orb the size of a cricket ball. It bobbed in the air beside him like a smug, magical flashlight.
"So," Eidolon muttered as they crept through a narrowing passage, "any chance there's a Martian Starbucks on the way up? I'm running on sarcasm and sheer willpower, and I haven't had caffeine since we dropped through the Void Rift."
"I am sorry to inform you but my people do not know what a 'Starbucks' is," J'onn said, not even slowing.
Eidolon clutched his chest like he'd been mortally wounded. "Then truly, your people have suffered enough."
M'gann snorted, despite herself. "You're so weird."
"Again, I remind you: Weird wizard dragging you to safety with no backup, and no plan except 'don't die.' I deserve a parade. And coffee."
They entered a wider chamber with half-collapsed pillars and ceiling carvings that looked suspiciously like warning signs. Eidolon tilted his head at one, then whispered, "That glyph literally translates to 'abandon hope all ye who enter here.' So, you know. Cute."
A gust of wind screamed through the tunnel behind them, followed by the hiss of movement.
Eidolon's smile vanished. "Time to move faster. Red Death's catching up."
J'onn's voice dropped like an avalanche. "We must reach the ley-line nexus on the cliff's edge. There, the power may be enough."
"Excellent," Eidolon said. "Let's hope Martian ley-lines don't have firewalls."
They pressed forward, Eidolon leading with light, J'onn leading with strength, and M'gann anchoring the hearts and minds of a dozen terrified children.
Behind them, the Hunger followed.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
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Can't wait to see you there!
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