Eugene, who had been listening to this tactical planning discussion with obvious fascination and the dawning realization that his family was about to become directly involved in superhero operations, suddenly straightened with the kind of excitement that suggested he'd just thought of something important.
"Can I help?" he asked, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just realized they might have relevant skills for an unusual situation. "I mean, I know I'm just a kid, but I've got technical skills that might be useful for communication systems, surveillance equipment, or maybe providing technological support if you need someone who understands electronics and isn't afraid of equipment that might explode if operated incorrectly."
Harry studied Eugene with the kind of focused attention that suggested he was seriously considering the tactical implications of accepting technical support from a twelve-year-old genius with questionable safety protocols and extensive experience building sophisticated equipment out of spare parts and good intentions.
"What kind of technological support are we talking about?" Harry asked, his voice carrying genuine curiosity about Eugene's capabilities.
Eugene's eyes lit up with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for explaining complex scientific theories to people who might actually understand them and possibly appreciate the practical applications.
"Well," Eugene said, his voice accelerating with excitement, "I could set up secure communication networks with encryption that would make government surveillance agencies weep with frustration, provide real-time monitoring of police and emergency service communications, establish early warning systems for approaching threats, and maybe deploy some autonomous surveillance drones that could give you tactical intelligence about whatever situation you're walking into."
Harry's expression grew more serious, the kind of look that suggested he'd just realized Eugene's offer might be genuinely useful rather than just well-intentioned enthusiasm from someone too young to participate directly in dangerous operations.
"That actually sounds extremely helpful," Harry said, his voice carrying that particular British appreciation for competent technical support. "Proper communication security and real-time intelligence gathering could make the difference between walking into a trap and walking into a trap with sufficient preparation to turn it into an opportunity."
Eugene practically vibrated with excitement, like someone had just told him that his hobby projects were actually valuable professional skills and he might get to use them to help save the world.
"Really?" Eugene asked, his voice jumping about an octave. "You really think my equipment could be useful for actual superhero operations? Like, the kind where people's lives depend on whether the technology works correctly and doesn't explode at inconvenient moments?"
"Eugene," Harry said seriously, his emerald eyes sparkling with what appeared to be genuine respect for Eugene's engineering capabilities, "I've worked with military contractors whose equipment was less reliable than your home-built electronics. Your approach to combining functionality with creative problem-solving is exactly what unconventional operations require."
Rosa, who had been listening to this conversation with growing concern about the number of her foster children who were volunteering to participate in what sounded like an extremely dangerous situation, held up her hand with the kind of maternal authority that could probably stop traffic and definitely make teenagers reconsider their life choices.
"Hold on," she said, her voice carrying that particular tone of someone who was about to establish some non-negotiable ground rules. "Before anyone else volunteers for superhero support operations, let's establish some basic safety protocols. Mary gets communication coordination from a safe distance with multiple escape routes and constant check-ins. Eugene gets technical support from an even safer distance, preferably from inside this apartment with the doors locked and instructions to contact authorities if he doesn't hear from everyone else within reasonable timeframes."
She looked around the table with the expression of someone who was prepared to use physical restraint if necessary to prevent her family from walking into danger without proper safety measures.
"And everyone else," Rosa continued, "gets to stay here, safe and sound, ready to provide backup communication and support services as needed, but not directly involved in whatever dangerous situation Billy and Harry are about to walk into."
Darla, who had been listening to this discussion with the kind of focused attention she usually reserved for important soccer strategy meetings, raised her hand with the polite determination of someone who had something important to contribute to the tactical planning process.
"I want to help too," she said, her voice carrying that particular note of ten-year-old certainty that usually preceded either brilliant insights or spectacularly creative disasters. "I know I'm the youngest and everyone thinks I should stay home where it's safe, but I'm really good at noticing things that other people miss, and I have excellent pattern recognition skills, and Coach Martinez says I have natural tactical awareness that could probably be applied to situations that aren't soccer."
Rosa's expression shifted to that particular look of maternal concern mixed with pride that came from realizing your ten-year-old had just made a genuinely reasonable argument for participating in a dangerous situation while simultaneously wanting to wrap her in bubble wrap and hide her in the safest possible location until all the dangerous people had been dealt with by qualified adults.
"Darla, sweetheart," Rosa said carefully, her voice carrying that particular tone of someone trying to balance acknowledgment of valid points with parental responsibility for keeping children alive and uninjured, "your tactical awareness and pattern recognition are genuinely impressive, but this isn't soccer. This is the kind of situation where people might get seriously hurt, and I need to know that you're safe so that Billy and Harry can focus on whatever they need to do without worrying about protecting everyone they care about."
Darla's expression grew more serious, the kind of look that suggested she'd been thinking about this more carefully than anyone had realized and had reached conclusions that were probably more mature than anyone was comfortable with.
"But that's exactly why I should help," she said, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd worked through the logic and was confident in her reasoning. "If the bad guys know about Billy's family, and they're planning to use us to make him do what they want, then wouldn't it be better if we were helping instead of just sitting here waiting for something bad to happen to us? Like, tactical awareness is tactical awareness, whether it's predicting where soccer balls are going to be or noticing when situations don't look right."
Harry, who had been listening to Darla's argument with the kind of focused attention that suggested he was taking her reasoning seriously rather than dismissing it because of her age, leaned forward with obvious interest.
"You make an excellent point about proactive versus reactive positioning," he said, his voice carrying that particular British tone that somehow managed to be both respectful and encouraging. "Strategic thinking often involves recognizing when traditional safety measures might actually create tactical disadvantages by limiting your options for response and coordination."
Mary, who had been watching this exchange with obvious fascination and probably taking mental notes about Harry's approach to treating children like intelligent people capable of logical reasoning, nodded with academic interest.
"She's right about the vulnerability issue," Mary said, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just had an analytical insight. "If they know about our location and daily routines, then staying here might actually be less safe than being part of a coordinated response where everyone's position and status is being actively monitored by people with the ability to respond to changing circumstances."
Pedro, who had been quietly processing the tactical implications while everyone else discussed the emotional and practical aspects of family members participating in dangerous operations, looked up from his homework with the expression of someone who'd just realized something important.
"Also," Pedro added in his characteristic calm, measured tone, "if we're all in different locations doing different support activities, it's harder for bad guys to target all of us at once. Like, distributed risk management instead of concentrated vulnerability in a single location that they probably already know about."
Freddy, who had been listening to this tactical analysis with growing excitement and the dawning realization that his family was approaching this crisis with the kind of strategic thinking usually reserved for military operations or really complicated video games, straightened in his chair with obvious enthusiasm.
"So basically," Freddy said, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just understood a complex concept and was pleased with himself for following the logic, "instead of being potential hostages waiting to be rescued, we become an active support network that's harder to neutralize and more useful for helping Billy and Harry succeed in whatever they're planning to do."
Victor, who had been watching this discussion with the expression of someone trying to calculate whether his new foster family had always been this tactically sophisticated or whether proximity to superheroes was having an educational influence on their approach to crisis management, nodded with what appeared to be grudging respect for their collective analytical capabilities.
"You guys are really good at this," Victor observed, his voice carrying genuine admiration for their strategic planning skills. "Like, genuinely impressive understanding of resource allocation and risk management. Have you been studying military strategy, or is this just natural talent for crisis coordination?"
"Mary's been studying military strategy," Billy said, grinning despite the circumstances because his family's reaction to discovering that someone was planning to kill him had been to immediately begin tactical planning rather than panicking or trying to prevent him from doing his job. "The rest of us have just picked up things from living with Mary and watching her organize everything like she's planning to conquer small countries through superior logistics."
"I do not plan to conquer small countries," Mary protested, though her voice carried that particular note of someone who was secretly pleased to be recognized for her organizational capabilities. "I plan to improve existing systems through better resource allocation and strategic optimization. Completely different goals, similar methodologies."
Harry's laugh was warm and genuine, the kind of sound that made everyone feel like they were part of something special and slightly exclusive.
"Mary, darling," Harry said, his voice carrying that particular tone of fond amusement mixed with genuine respect, "most successful conquerors would describe their activities in exactly those terms. The difference between optimization and conquest is often just a matter of perspective and whether the people being optimized agreed to the process in advance."
Mary's face flushed with what appeared to be a combination of embarrassment and pleasure at being compared to successful conquerors by the most attractive and mysterious person she'd ever met.
"I would get consent before optimizing anyone's systems," she said with dignity that was only slightly undermined by the fact that she was clearly thrilled by Harry's attention to her strategic planning capabilities. "Ethical resource management requires stakeholder input and collaborative decision-making processes."
"Of course," Harry agreed solemnly, though his eyes were dancing with barely contained amusement. "Ethical conquest through consensual optimization. Much more civilized than the traditional approach."
That was when the universe decided that their tactical planning session had gone on long enough without dramatic interruption, and every electronic device in the apartment suddenly began screaming with the distinctive sound of emergency broadcast alerts that meant someone's peaceful evening was about to become significantly more complicated and probably dangerous.
The emergency alert cut through their conversation like a digital siren designed by someone who believed that subtle notification systems were for people who didn't take crisis management seriously enough. Television, radios, Mary's tablet, Eugene's increasingly sophisticated electronics, even the microwave—everything with the capability to receive broadcast signals suddenly began blaring the kind of urgent tone that made everyone's fight-or-flight instincts activate simultaneously.
"This is an emergency broadcast from Fawcett City Emergency Management," announced a voice that managed to sound both professionally calm and barely controlled panic, which was never a reassuring combination. "We are receiving multiple reports of unusual dimensional activity in the downtown area near Fawcett Central Park. Witnesses report electromagnetic anomalies, possible reality distortions, and what emergency responders are describing as 'holes in the fabric of space-time that smell like burned mathematics and disappointed physics professors.' All residents are advised to avoid the affected area immediately and seek shelter in structurally sound buildings until further notice."
The apartment fell silent except for the continued blaring of emergency alerts, and Billy could hear everyone's heartbeat with perfect clarity—the sudden acceleration that meant people had just realized their theoretical tactical planning was about to become very practical and immediately relevant.
Rosa reached for the remote and muted the television with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd learned to manage crisis situations both professionally and domestically, then turned to look at Billy with the expression of someone who'd already figured out exactly what was about to happen and had made peace with the fact that her foster son was going to walk into danger despite her preference that he remain safe and uninjured.
"Well," Rosa said, her voice carrying that particular tone of resigned determination that suggested she'd already moved from the 'hoping this wouldn't happen' phase to the 'making sure everyone survives whatever comes next' phase, "I guess that settles the question of when this was going to happen."
Billy looked around the table at his family—Rosa with her practical crisis management skills and nurse-trained ability to handle emergencies, Mary with her comprehensive strategic analysis and barely contained excitement about participating in actual superhero operations, Eugene with his technical expertise and questionable safety protocols, Darla with her tactical awareness and unshakeable optimism, Freddy with his courage and determination despite physical limitations, Pedro with his steady reliability and quiet intelligence, and Victor with his practical skills and genuine desire to help people—and felt that familiar surge of warmth that had nothing to do with magical powers and everything to do with the realization that these people were prepared to help him save the world even if it meant risking their own safety.
"Dimensional instability near the park," Billy said, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just recognized an obvious trap but was going to walk into it anyway because that's what heroes did when innocent people might be in danger. "Reality distortions, electromagnetic anomalies, and what sounds suspiciously like someone's been experimenting with theoretical physics without proper safety protocols or adequate understanding of interdimensional consequences."
"In other words," Harry said, his emerald eyes growing cold in a way that made the temperature in the kitchen seem to drop several degrees, "exactly the kind of crisis that would require immediate superhero intervention, conveniently located in an area where you're known to respond quickly, with enough apparent danger to innocent civilians to ensure you'd prioritize rescue operations over tactical caution."
Mary was already reaching for her tactical analysis materials with the focused efficiency of someone whose academic research was about to become immediately and practically relevant.
"It's perfect bait," she said, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd just seen theoretical strategic concepts applied in real-world situations and was both impressed and terrified by the sophistication of the planning involved. "Crisis that requires your specific abilities, location that gives them tactical advantages, timing that prevents you from coordinating with other League members who might provide backup, and enough civilian risk to ensure you respond personally rather than trying to delegate or wait for better circumstances."
Eugene was already moving toward his room with the kind of purposeful energy that suggested he was about to retrieve equipment that was either going to be extremely useful or extremely dangerous, and possibly both.
"I can have secure communications online in five minutes," Eugene called over his shoulder, his voice carrying that particular note of excitement mixed with professional focus. "Encrypted channels, autonomous surveillance deployment, real-time monitoring of emergency services, and backup power systems in case they try to disrupt local infrastructure as part of their tactical plan."
Darla was bouncing slightly in her chair with the kind of contained energy that suggested she was ready to spring into action as soon as someone gave her specific instructions about how she could help.
"What about civilian evacuation coordination?" Darla asked, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd been thinking about practical applications of tactical awareness. "If there are really reality distortions happening in the park, someone needs to make sure people are getting to safe locations instead of just standing around taking pictures for social media and accidentally walking into dangerous areas because they think dimensional anomalies look cool."
Freddy was already reaching for his jacket with determined efficiency despite the fact that moving quickly was still challenging for him.
"I can coordinate with local emergency services," Freddy said, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who'd found a way to contribute meaningfully despite physical limitations. "Make sure they know what kind of support Billy might need, help with traffic management around the affected area, and provide backup communication if primary systems get compromised."
Pedro was closing his textbook with the resigned acceptance of someone whose homework was going to have to wait until after the family finished preventing assassination attempts and probably saving the world.
"Transportation coordination," Pedro said simply, his characteristic economy of words covering what was probably a comprehensive understanding of logistics and resource management. "Someone needs to make sure everyone gets where they need to be safely and efficiently, with contingency plans for if the situation changes or if evacuation becomes necessary."
Victor was already standing up with the kind of practical determination that suggested he'd just accepted that his peaceful evening was over and it was time to help his family handle whatever crisis was unfolding.
"I'll coordinate from here," Victor said, his voice carrying that steady reliability that made everyone feel like the practical details were being handled by someone competent. "Central communication hub, liaison with authorities if necessary, and backup support for whatever everyone else needs while they're handling the immediate situation."
Rosa looked around the table at her family—all of them ready to help, all of them contributing different skills and capabilities, all of them prepared to risk their own safety to make sure Billy could do his job and everyone could come home safe—and her expression shifted to that particular look of maternal pride mixed with terror that came from realizing your children were genuinely heroic and also completely determined to put themselves in harm's way for the sake of other people.
"All right," Rosa said, her voice carrying that particular note of maternal authority that meant the planning phase was over and it was time for practical implementation with proper safety protocols. "Here's how this is going to work. Mary gets tactical support from a minimum of six blocks away with constant communication check-ins every ten minutes. Eugene gets technical coordination from this apartment with instructions to contact me immediately if anything goes wrong with the communication systems. Darla and Freddy handle civilian coordination from safe positions with multiple escape routes and strict instructions to prioritize their own safety over helping strangers who make poor decisions about disaster tourism."
She paused to make eye contact with each of them, her expression carrying that particular intensity that meant she was about to say something that everyone needed to remember even if the situation got chaotic and stressful.
"Pedro and Victor coordinate transportation and backup support from locations that allow them to respond quickly if evacuation becomes necessary, but never—and I mean never—close enough to whatever's happening that they could get caught up in direct combat or dimensional instability or whatever other ridiculously dangerous complications are about to unfold."
Rosa turned to look at Billy and Harry with the expression of someone who was about to entrust the most important thing in her world to people whose job description apparently included walking into traps designed by professional assassins with unlimited resources and questionable moral standards.
"And you two," she said, her voice carrying that particular tone of maternal authority mixed with genuine affection and barely controlled worry, "remember that the most important thing is coming home safe. Not winning, not being heroes, not saving everyone—coming home safe to the people who love you and want you to keep existing in the world for many more years of complicated family dinners and expensive pastries."
Billy felt that familiar tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with magical powers and everything to do with the overwhelming realization that he had a family who cared enough about him to organize tactical support operations and risk their own safety just to make sure he could do his job effectively.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice carrying all the gratitude he couldn't properly express for having people who were willing to help him save the world even when it meant their peaceful evening was about to become a coordinated crisis response operation involving multiple family members and probably several violations of local emergency management protocols.
"Don't thank us yet," Mary said, her voice carrying that particular note of someone who was excited and terrified and determined all at the same time. "Thank us after we successfully prevent your assassination and possibly save the world without getting anyone seriously injured or requiring explanations to authorities that would be difficult to provide without revealing classified information about interdimensional magical warfare."
Harry stood up from the table with that fluid grace that made simple movements look like they belonged in an expensive action movie, his expression shifting from charming dinner guest to something considerably more dangerous and focused.
"Right then," Harry said, his voice carrying that particular British accent that somehow managed to sound both civilized and absolutely deadly. "Time to go remind someone why targeting children and their families is traditionally considered one of the more spectacularly poor strategic decisions available to people with flexible moral standards and access to advanced technology."
Billy looked around the table one more time, taking in the faces of the people who'd chosen to be his family despite his tendency to attract cosmic-level problems and interdimensional complications that most normal families never had to deal with.
"I love you guys," he said simply, because sometimes the most important things were also the simplest things, and if he was about to walk into a trap designed specifically to kill him, he wanted to make sure they knew that having them in his life was worth every risk he'd ever taken and probably ever would take.
"We love you too," Rosa said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder with the kind of warmth that reminded him why family was worth fighting for. "Now go save the world, but remember that we're all counting on you to come home afterward for leftover Chinese food and probably a very long debriefing session about whatever ridiculously dangerous situation you're about to resolve through the creative application of divine magic and questionable decision-making."
Billy grinned despite the circumstances, then looked at Harry with the expression of someone who was ready to face whatever was waiting for them in Fawcett Central Park.
"Ready?" Harry asked, his voice carrying that particular note of someone who was about to walk into battle alongside people he'd chosen to protect.
"As ready as anyone ever is for a trap designed specifically to neutralize gods and irritate interdimensional wizards with anger management issues and probably extensive experience with creative violence," Billy replied, managing to sound confident despite the fact that his heart was beating fast enough to probably qualify as a medical emergency in normal people.
They moved toward the door with the practiced efficiency of people who'd learned to transition from domestic tranquility to superhero crisis management with minimal adjustment time and maximum tactical coordination.
Outside, the evening air was crisp and clear, with exactly the kind of atmospheric conditions that would be perfect for a peaceful walk through the city if they weren't heading toward what was obviously an elaborate assassination attempt disguised as a dimensional emergency requiring immediate heroic intervention.
Billy waited until they were several blocks away from the house and safely out of sight of anyone who might recognize him as the mild-mannered foster kid who lived with the Vasquez family and had a tendency to disappear during emergencies involving unusual phenomena and probably supernatural threats to public safety.
"Shazam!" he called, his voice carrying across the empty lot with the kind of certainty that came from years of practice and absolute faith in the magic that connected him to forces older and more powerful than most people could comprehend or would want to think about too carefully.
Lightning split the sky with a sound like the universe itself applauding a particularly impressive performance, and Billy Batson—fourteen years old, foster kid from Philadelphia, amateur superhero with excellent intentions and a tendency toward property damage—became Shazam, champion of magic, defender of justice, and probably one of the most powerful beings currently active on Earth.
The transformation was instantaneous and absolute—child becoming adult, human becoming something more, ordinary teenager becoming the kind of force that could challenge gods and probably win if properly motivated by threats to innocent people and family members with tactical planning capabilities.
His red uniform blazed in the darkness, the golden lightning bolt across his chest pulsing with energy that made the air taste like storms and possibility and the kind of power that made smart enemies reconsider their career choices and possibly their continued existence.
Harry watched the transformation with obvious appreciation for the magical artistry involved, then smiled with the kind of anticipation that was probably visible from several time zones away and definitely suggested that someone was about to have a very educational experience regarding the practical applications of interdimensional magical violence.
"My turn," Harry said simply, his voice carrying that particular British understatement that usually preceded spectacular demonstrations of why making enemies of people with access to exotic weapons and flexible moral standards was traditionally considered a fatal mistake.
What happened next was considerably more dramatic than Billy's transformation, though in a completely different way that somehow managed to be both more subtle and infinitely more intimidating. Where Billy's change was lightning and thunder and divine magic made manifest in ways that were obvious and impressive, Harry's transformation was something darker, more ancient, infinitely more dangerous, and probably more expensive than most countries' entire defense budgets.
The black substance flowed over him like liquid shadow given purpose and intelligence, starting from some invisible source that probably existed in dimensions where physics worked differently and spreading across his body with the fluid precision of something that had been designed by engineers who understood both magic and intimidation as art forms requiring significant investment in research and development.
It wasn't armor being put on—it was armor being born, created, manifested from whatever dimension Harry kept his more serious equipment when he didn't need it for charming dinner conversations and bringing expensive pastries to family gatherings.
The black dragonhide formed itself around him like a second skin that happened to be made of materials that probably didn't exist according to conventional physics and definitely weren't available through normal commercial suppliers, flowing and shifting until it achieved the kind of perfect fit that suggested it had been tailored by someone who understood Harry's exact measurements, fighting style, tactical preferences, and probably his coffee order.
The crimson Deathly Hallows symbol blazed to life across his chest—not painted or embossed, but made of pure energy that pulsed like a heartbeat and sent veins of matching crimson light flowing throughout the entire armor system like a circulatory system designed for controlled magical violence and probably very expensive maintenance requirements.
His cloak billowed behind him despite the complete absence of wind, black fabric that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, moving with the kind of supernatural grace that suggested it was connected to forces that didn't particularly care about atmospheric pressure, local weather conditions, or the opinions of theoretical physicists regarding the behavior of textile materials.
The helmet and hood flowed over his head last, sealing him completely inside the kind of magical protection that had probably cost more than most countries' space programs and definitely made him look like the personification of every nightmare that had ever involved elegant death visiting people who'd made poor life choices and probably should have considered different career paths.
When the transformation was complete, the charming British businessman who brought expensive donuts and made teenage girls question their life priorities was gone entirely, replaced by Eidolon—interdimensional wizard, magical enforcer, and the kind of presence that made smart enemies reconsider their career paths, relocate to different dimensions, and possibly take up safer hobbies like extreme mountain climbing or wrestling angry bears.
Only his eyes were visible through the helmet's openings, glowing crimson like dying stars, and when he spoke his voice carried that distinctive electronic modulation that made everything sound both more civilized and infinitely more threatening, like a very polite death threat delivered by someone with excellent manners and unlimited access to creative applications of magical physics.
"Much better," Eidolon said, his voice now carrying the kind of authority that suggested he'd had personal conversations with death, came away with useful professional networking contacts, and possibly some interesting insights about the practical applications of cosmic justice when applied with extreme prejudice. "Now then, shall we go have words with whoever decided that threatening children and their families was a reasonable Tuesday evening activity?"
Shazam grinned, the expression transforming his adult features into something that was both heroic and slightly predatory, like a golden retriever who'd just discovered it was actually a wolf and was looking forward to the practical applications of that revelation on people who made poor strategic decisions.
"Let's fly," he said, launching himself into the air with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice and absolute confidence in his ability to defy gravity through sheer force of divine will and probably some physics that most people wouldn't want to think about too carefully.
Eidolon followed, rising into the night sky not through flight but through what appeared to be a negotiated settlement with the fundamental forces of physics, his black cloak streaming behind him like a banner that announced the arrival of justice with extreme prejudice, creative property damage, and possibly some very educational demonstrations of why threatening heroes' families was traditionally considered a spectacularly poor life choice.
Together, they cut through the darkness toward Fawcett Central Park—one blazing with golden light and righteous fury, the other wreathed in shadows and magical menace—ready to remind whoever was waiting for them why targeting heroes' loved ones was traditionally considered one of the more expensive mistakes available to people with unlimited resources and questionable moral standards.
Below them, the city lights sparkled like scattered diamonds, peaceful and beautiful and completely unaware that the night sky above was carrying enough concentrated justice to level several city blocks if properly motivated by threats to innocent people and family members with tactical planning capabilities.
In approximately twelve minutes, Dr. Sivana would discover whether his elaborate trap was sufficient to neutralize a god and an interdimensional wizard simultaneously.
In approximately thirteen minutes, Billy Batson and Harry Peverell would discover whether friendship, family, and the combined power of divine magic and interdimensional sorcery were enough to overcome the kind of people who thought murdering teenagers was a reasonable solution to strategic problems and probably had excellent insurance coverage for property damage caused by superhero conflicts.
It was going to be either the most successful rescue operation of their respective careers, or a very expensive lesson in the importance of superior tactical planning when facing enemies with unlimited resources, flexible moral standards, and probably very good lawyers.
Either way, it was definitely going to be interesting.
The kind of interesting that usually ended with either victory celebrations, very elaborate funeral arrangements, or significant infrastructure damage that would require creative explanations to municipal authorities and possibly international insurance companies.
And somewhere in his basement laboratory of questionable architectural stability and highly illegal scientific practices, Dr. Sivana was checking his chronometer and beginning the final activation sequence for equipment designed to strip gods of their power and reduce interdimensional wizards to very expensive casualties of superior scientific planning and probably several violations of international treaties regarding the weaponization of theoretical physics.
T-minus ten minutes to the kind of confrontation that would either validate years of careful preparation and extensive investment in exotic weapons systems, or demonstrate why underestimating the power of friendship, family, and people with access to cosmic-level magical abilities was traditionally considered a fatal mistake that usually resulted in very impressive explosions and possibly some educational experiences regarding the practical applications of divine justice when applied with extreme prejudice by people who took threats to children extremely personally.
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