# SMALLVILLE, KANSAS – LUTHOR MANOR BUNKER
The Luthor corridors were less hallways and more statements of power. Every wall carried reminders that wealth wasn't just about money—it was about taste, history, and the sheer audacity to own things other civilizations had bled for. Ancient Greek statues flanked Renaissance masterpieces with the casual arrogance of someone who considered antiquity a personal acquisition rather than humanity's shared heritage. Tapestries from fallen dynasties hung opposite modern art worth more than small nations' GDP, while ornate sconces seemed to smirk with inherited privilege that had been polished to a gleaming, insufferable shine.
"Your dad really likes collecting things," Sarah murmured, her voice carrying that careful diplomatic tone she'd perfected through years of navigating social situations where saying the wrong thing could end friendships or start family feuds. Her dark eyes tracked from a marble bust of Caesar—which she was fairly certain wasn't a reproduction—to what looked suspiciously like an original Da Vinci sketch just casually hanging there like it was a family photo.
"'Likes?'" Alex corrected smoothly, his voice carrying that particular Luthor brand of calm menace—the kind that made you question whether you were having a friendly conversation or being subtly threatened by someone who'd learned passive aggression from Machiavelli's personal notes. "No, Sarah. My father doesn't 'like' things. He requires them. Museums display history for tourists taking selfies with Napoleon's toothbrush. My father ensures history remains... accessible to those who understand its true value."
Maya snorted, unable to help herself, her hands gesturing wildly in the way that had gotten her in trouble with teachers since kindergarten. "Accessible how? Does he, like, consult Napoleon's hat before making quarterly earnings projections? 'Sorry, shareholders, but the tiny French emperor's millinery is feeling bearish today.'"
"You'd be surprised how often historical perspective influences modern decision-making," Alex replied with a smile that never quite reached his eyes, the kind of expression that suggested he found her commentary amusing in the way a cat finds a mouse's struggles entertaining.
"Oh, come on," Maya continued, her voice rising with the kind of incredulous energy that had made her the unofficial narrator of every group project since middle school. "You're telling me LexCorp's business strategy involves séances with dead conquerors? What's next, quarterly meetings with Genghis Khan's ghost?"
"Genghis Khan didn't leave behind as many useful artifacts," Alex said with such deadpan delivery that for a moment, nobody was entirely sure if he was joking.
Raj pushed his glasses up his nose—a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken despite multiple attempts to switch to contacts—and cleared his throat in that particular way that meant he was about to say something incredibly smart that would make everyone feel slightly inadequate.
"Actually, from an anthropological perspective, the preservation of historical artifacts by private collectors has been both beneficial and problematic throughout history. The British Museum exists largely because of private collectors who—"
"Raj," Maya interrupted, patting his shoulder with the kind of fond exasperation usually reserved for overly enthusiastic golden retrievers, "buddy, I love you, but if you start lecturing about museum ethics while we're standing in what's basically Batman's basement, I might actually lose what's left of my mind."
"It's a valid point," Sarah said diplomatically, though she was clearly trying not to laugh at the way Raj's face had scrunched up in academic frustration.
Ethan, who'd been unusually quiet while cataloging exit routes and potential threats with the kind of street-smart awareness that came from growing up in neighborhoods where being observant was a survival skill, finally spoke up.
"Man, I'm just trying to figure out if we're guests or future exhibits," he said, his voice carrying that particular London accent that got slightly sharper when he was nervous. "Because this whole setup has some serious 'rich villain shows off his collection before feeding people to sharks' energy."
"We don't have sharks," Alex replied without missing a beat.
"That's... not as reassuring as you think it is," Lena said dryly, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the manor. Her deadpan delivery made even her sarcasm sound elegant, like she was delivering cutting remarks at a wine tasting rather than expressing genuine concern about her family's potentially homicidal tendencies.
They stopped at what appeared to be an entirely unremarkable bookshelf, lined with leather-bound volumes that probably cost more than most people's cars and definitely contained more actual wisdom than most people's entire education. The books looked old enough to have been personally annotated by Aristotle, which, knowing the Luthors, was probably exactly what had happened.
Alex pressed his palm against the rich mahogany wood with the casual confidence of someone who'd never met a security system he couldn't charm into submission. A flash of blue biometric scanning lit up beneath the varnish like something out of a sci-fi movie, making the wood glow with technological magic that belonged in a different century entirely.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Maya said, throwing her hands up with such dramatic flair that she nearly smacked Raj in the face. "Secret passages? Really? What's next, a butler named Alfred who speaks exclusively in cryptic warnings about your family's dark legacy?"
The shelf shuddered with mechanical precision that spoke of German engineering and Swiss craftsmanship, split apart along invisible seams, and revealed a staircase spiraling downward into shadows that seemed to hum with barely contained energy and the kind of ambient power that made the hair on your arms stand up.
"His name is Mercer, actually," Alex said with such casual sincerity that Maya's eyes went wide with genuine alarm.
"Wait, you actually have—"
"Of course we do," Lena muttered, her tone suggesting she'd grown up around enough old money to know that eccentric billionaire families collected faithful retainers the way normal people collected coffee mugs.
Raj stared at the hidden staircase with the kind of expression usually reserved for discovering that gravity had been canceled, blinking rapidly behind his glasses as his brain tried to process what his eyes were showing him.
"Well, that's... that's not ominous at all," he managed, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. "It's just a perfectly normal secret underground passage in a billionaire's mansion. Nothing historically significant or potentially dangerous about that whatsoever."
Maya blinked rapidly, her usual rapid-fire commentary momentarily stalled as her eyes darted between the secret entrance and Alex's insufferably calm expression, like he'd just shown them the way to the bathroom rather than what was clearly the entrance to either a supervillain lair or a very expensive tomb.
"Okay," she said slowly, her tone teetering between genuine awe and her trademark snark, "tell me that's not exactly the setup for every horror movie where rich kids invite their quote-unquote 'friends' into the creepy family vault before feeding them to whatever monster daddy keeps as a pet down there."
"Minotaurs aren't real," Raj said flatly, though his voice carried about as much conviction as a weather report predicting sunshine during a category-five hurricane.
Alex's smile sharpened to a razor's edge, the kind of expression that made you wonder if he'd learned it from studying predators or if it was just a genetic gift from generations of Luthors who'd smiled exactly like that while conquering everything within reach.
"That depends entirely on your definition of 'real,' doesn't it, Raj?"
Ethan, who'd moved closer to the entrance and was peering down into the shadows with the kind of cautious curiosity that had kept him alive through several questionable life choices, glanced back at their host with a mixture of respect and concern.
"Man, why does everything you say sound like a threat wrapped in a philosophy lecture? Do they teach 'Menacing Small Talk 101' at rich-kid school?"
"Phillips Exeter Academy, actually," Alex replied without missing a beat, his tone suggesting he'd fielded that particular question before. "But yes, effective communication through subtle intimidation was definitely part of the curriculum."
"Of course it was," Sarah said, though she was smiling despite herself, the kind of expression that suggested she found Alex's complete lack of shame about his privileged upbringing oddly refreshing.
They began their descent, their footsteps echoing in the spiral staircase that seemed to have been carved from living rock by someone who understood both engineering and drama. The lighting shifted subtly as they went deeper—not harsh fluorescents that would have been practical or warm bulbs that would have been welcoming, but something that seemed to pulse from within the walls themselves, like the bunker drew power from the very veins of the earth.
"Underground bunker?" Maya asked, her voice echoing slightly as they spiraled deeper, the acoustics making her sound like she was narrating her own descent into madness. She was doing that thing where she talked too fast when she was nervous, her words tumbling over each other like verbal dominoes. "Please tell me there's WiFi down here because if I'm about to die in some rich-boy murder dungeon, I at least want to live-tweet the experience. 'Currently descending into billionaire's secret lair, hashtag-help-me, hashtag-why-didn't-I-listen-to-my-mother, hashtag-should-have-stayed-home-and-binge-watched-Netflix-instead.'"
"Underground fortress," Alex corrected with quiet pride that suggested he'd personally overseen every detail of the construction, probably while drinking artisanal coffee and wearing clothes that cost more than most people's rent. "Designed by the world's best minds to survive nuclear winter, global pandemics, complete economic collapse, divine judgment, alien invasion, interdimensional rifts, and now..." He paused meaningfully, his voice dropping to the kind of tone that made everyone pay attention whether they wanted to or not. "Cosmic siege warfare."
"Of course it is," Lena muttered, her aristocratic accent making her sarcasm sound like a critique at a museum opening. "Because normal people have storm cellars with canned goods and battery-powered radios. Luthors have doomsday bunkers that probably have better amenities than most five-star hotels and catering from restaurants that don't even exist yet."
Sarah wrapped her arms around herself as they continued down, the temperature dropping just enough to make her glad she'd worn a jacket, though she suspected the chill had more to do with proximity to whatever waited below than actual climate control.
"How deep does this go?" she asked, her voice smaller than usual, the kind of tone she got when she was trying very hard not to think about all the weight of earth and stone above their heads.
"Deep enough to matter," Alex replied cryptically, because apparently giving straight answers was against his religion or possibly just against his nature.
"That's not an answer," Ethan pointed out, though his tone was more amused than annoyed, like he'd expected nothing less from their enigmatic host.
"Seventeen levels," Alex relented after a moment, his smile suggesting he'd enjoyed making them work for basic information. "The top three are living quarters and recreational facilities. The middle section houses research labs, communications arrays, and computational systems. The lower levels..." He trailed off, his expression shifting to something more serious. "The lower levels are where my father kept the things that couldn't be displayed upstairs."
"Things?" Raj repeated, his voice cracking slightly on the word.
"You'll see."
The staircase finally opened into a space so vast it felt like stepping into a cathedral carved from living rock by gods who understood both grandeur and intimidation. The ceiling disappeared into shadows above, supported by columns that looked like they'd been there since the earth cooled, each one inscribed with symbols that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them. But it wasn't empty space—it was filled with the impossible.
Books lined walls that stretched beyond sight, their spines bearing titles in languages that predated most civilizations and a few that probably predated human speech entirely. Laboratory equipment that looked like it belonged in NASA's most classified facilities sat beside workstations that hummed with quiet efficiency, their purposes mysterious but undeniably advanced. Computer terminals displayed data streams in scripts that hurt to look at directly, while holographic projectors cast shifting images of star charts, molecular structures, and geometric patterns that seemed to exist in more dimensions than the human eye could properly process.
But most impossible of all were the artifacts.
Display cases stretched like museum aisles through the vast chamber, except no museum on Earth held items that pulsed with this kind of raw, primal power. The air itself felt charged, electric with potential that made every breath taste like copper and ozone. Each artifact sat in its own pool of carefully controlled lighting, creating islands of ancient power in the technological cathedral.
Ethan stopped dead, his jaw dropping so fast Maya was surprised it didn't hit the floor with an audible thud. His usual unflappable cool deserted him entirely as he stared at armor that was literally glowing with its own inner light, casting golden shadows on the walls like a miniature sun had been trapped in metal and shaped into protection for a god.
"Holy shit," he breathed, then immediately looked around as if expecting someone to scold him for swearing in what was clearly a sacred space. "Is that armor actually glowing? Like, properly glowing, not just really good lighting and my imagination running wild?"
Alex strolled forward casually, hands clasped behind his back like he was giving a tour of his grandmother's garden rather than a collection that would make the British Museum weep with envy and the Vatican lock their doors in terror.
"The Kavacha of Karna," he said matter-of-factly, his tone suggesting he was identifying a common household item rather than divine armor from one of humanity's oldest stories. "Forged by Surya himself, god of the sun, woven from rays of celestial light and blessed with the power to turn aside any weapon. Grants complete invulnerability to whoever wears it, though the weight of such protection..." He trailed off meaningfully. "Well, invincibility has always been something of a double-edged gift."
Next to the armor, displayed with equal reverence, sat an ornate bow that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, the wood appearing to be carved from crystallized starlight while the string looked like it was woven from captured lightning.
"And beside it," Alex continued, his voice taking on the tone of someone sharing a particularly prized possession, "Vijaya. The bow of Karna, gifted by Lord Parashurama, who got it from Lord Shiva himself. It never misses its target, and its arrows can pierce anything that exists in this dimension or several others."
Raj went completely rigid, his face cycling through disbelief, recognition, wonder, and what looked suspiciously like religious awe mixed with the kind of outrage usually reserved for discovering someone had been using the Mona Lisa as a placemat.
"You're kidding me," he whispered, his voice cracking like he was thirteen again and his voice was changing, but this time from sheer emotional overload rather than adolescent hormones. "Kavacha and Vijaya? Those are... those are from the Mahabharata. Those aren't just artifacts, they're the artifacts. Karna's divine armor was given to him at birth by his father Surya as protection against the cruelties of fate, and Vijaya was blessed by Lord Parashurama himself after years of devotion and sacrifice."
His voice was rising with each word, a mixture of outrage and wonder that made Maya take a step back, partly from surprise and partly because Raj looked like he might spontaneously combust from the sheer intensity of his emotional response.
"I mean, these are sacred artifacts from my culture's oldest and most revered stories! Karna was the greatest warrior who ever lived, blessed and cursed by the gods themselves, and you're telling me his actual armor—the armor that made him invincible until he gave it away in an act of selfless charity—is just here? Sitting in a bunker in Kansas like it's a trophy in some billionaire's game room?"
His hands were waving frantically now, his usual careful academic composure completely abandoned in favor of pure passionate indignation mixed with the kind of wonder that only came from seeing the impossible made manifest.
"Do you have any idea what this means? These artifacts were supposed to be dissolved back into cosmic energy when their purposes were fulfilled, or returned to the gods who created them, or at the very least locked away in some divine vault where mortals couldn't get their grubby capitalist hands on them!"
Alex watched his outburst with that faint, maddening smirk that suggested he'd been waiting for exactly this reaction and was pleased that Raj hadn't disappointed him.
"Mythology has a habit of leaving physical evidence behind, Raj," he said calmly, his tone suggesting this was a perfectly reasonable explanation for possessing artifacts from the dawn of human civilization. "My father was exceptionally good at finding such things before they disappeared entirely into the kind of private collections that keep them locked away from everyone forever."
"But how?" Raj sputtered, his academic mind trying to process the implications while his cultural heritage reeled from the casual way these sacred items were being discussed. "These things are supposed to be... I don't know, dissolved into pure spiritual energy or returned to their divine creators or locked away in some celestial vault until the end of time!"
"Or," Alex said with the kind of patient tone usually reserved for explaining complex concepts to small children, "preserved by people with the resources and foresight to keep them safe until they might be needed again. My father didn't collect trophies, Raj. He collected tools."
"Tools?" Sarah repeated, her brow furrowing with the kind of concern that came from being the responsible one in any group and therefore automatically suspicious when powerful people started talking about divine weapons as practical equipment.
"Every artifact here serves a purpose," Alex explained, his voice carrying a gravity that made his usual smug confidence seem like a mask he'd temporarily set aside. "The world is larger and stranger than most people realize, and it has enemies that conventional weapons can't touch. Sometimes you need a sword that can cut through fate itself, or armor that can turn aside the wrath of gods."
Maya had sidled closer to the glowing armor during Raj's passionate outburst, her natural curiosity overriding her sense of self-preservation in the way that had gotten her into trouble approximately every day since she'd learned to walk.
"So we've got invincible armor and a bow that never misses its target," she said, her voice taking on that particular tone she used when she was building up to what she considered a particularly clever observation. "Please tell me you don't also have, like, Excalibur stashed behind the ping-pong table or Thor's hammer casually holding down a stack of paperwork somewhere."
"Not Excalibur," Alex said, moving past her toward another display with the kind of careful reverence usually reserved for approaching religious altars, "and definitely not Mjolnir—that one's still in active use, last I checked. But we do have something close."
They turned a corner and found themselves facing a mannequin dressed in gleaming silver chainmail that seemed to flow like liquid metal, overlaid with crimson plate armor that looked like it had been forged from captured sunsets. The metal had been polished to mirror brightness, but there were clear signs of battle—dents that spoke of desperate fights, scratches that told stories of impossible odds, wear patterns that had been earned through faith and determination and the kind of courage that most people only read about in history books.
In the armored figure's gauntleted hands rested a sword whose blade seemed to shimmer with inner fire, as if the steel itself remembered the forges of heaven and refused to let that memory fade. The crossguard was inscribed with symbols that might have been prayers or declarations of war, and the pommel bore the image of a dove that somehow managed to look both peaceful and absolutely terrifying.
"The armor and sword of Jeanne d'Arc," Alex said softly, his usual smugness replaced by something approaching genuine reverence, the kind of tone people used in cathedrals or at the graves of heroes. "Joan of Arc, if you prefer the anglicized version. Carried by a peasant girl who convinced a king, inspired armies, and defied an empire through sheer force of will and unshakeable faith in her divine mission."
Sarah moved closer, her earlier nervousness forgotten in the face of something genuinely sacred, her dark eyes reflecting the sword's internal light as she stared at artifacts that had witnessed miracles and martyrdom in equal measure.
"She actually wore this?" she whispered, reaching out instinctively before catching herself, her hand hovering inches from the chainmail as if she could feel the weight of history radiating from the metal. "When she fought the English? When she liberated Orléans?"
"When she fought, when she prayed, when she stood trial for heresy," Alex confirmed, his voice carrying the kind of quiet respect usually reserved for discussing saints or revolutionary heroes—which, he supposed, was exactly what they were doing. "History likes to reduce her to martyrdom—the mad peasant girl who thought God spoke to her directly. But the artifacts remember the truth. Her faith, her fury, her absolute certainty that she was doing what was right regardless of the cost to herself."
Ethan let out a low whistle that echoed in the vast chamber, his usual street-smart skepticism temporarily overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the displayed armor.
"So you're telling me your family just casually owns God's favorite knight's entire wardrobe?" he asked, though his tone had shifted from his earlier suspicion to something approaching awe. "Like, this isn't some medieval reproduction they sell at Renaissance fairs. This is the actual armor worn by an actual saint who talked to actual angels?"
"We don't own anything here," Alex said, his smile returning but softer now, less sharp-edged and more genuinely proud, like he was sharing something precious rather than showing off expensive toys. "We're caretakers. Guardians. These things are too important to let them gather dust in some government vault or disappear into a private collector's basement where no one will ever see them again."
"Right," Maya said, nodding rapidly with the kind of exaggerated enthusiasm that meant she was processing something incredible by making jokes about it, "because the Luthors are definitely known throughout history for their altruistic preservation of cultural artifacts and not, say, using ancient magical weapons to take over the world or anything morally questionable like that."
"Not take over," Alex corrected mildly, his tone suggesting this was an important distinction that everyone seemed to miss. "Protect."
"From what?" Lena asked, speaking up for the first time in several minutes, her aristocratic accent making the simple question sound like a challenge issued at a diplomatic summit.
Before Alex could answer, they moved deeper into the collection, past artifacts from every culture and time period imaginable. Maya found herself stopping in front of a glass sphere about the size of a basketball, glowing with shifting patterns of green and brown light that seemed to pulse in rhythm with something vast and slow and patient. Ivy and moss grew around its base in impossible spirals, somehow thriving in the underground bunker despite the artificial environment, never wilting despite the absence of natural sunlight. The air around it felt thick, charged with the essence of growing things and wild places, making everyone who approached it suddenly aware of their connection to the earth beneath their feet.
"What the hell is that?" Maya asked, unconsciously hugging herself as something primal in her hindbrain registered the raw power radiating from the sphere and decided that whatever it was, she should probably be very polite to it. "And why do I suddenly have the urge to apologize to every tree I've ever seen?"
"The Pith of Gaia," Alex said, his usual casual tone replaced by unusual gravity, the kind of voice people used when discussing nuclear weapons or sleeping dragons. "Said to contain the living essence of Earth herself—not just the planet, but the actual consciousness that governs all life on it. One of my father's rarest and most dangerous acquisitions. Incredibly dangerous if misused, absolutely necessary if the planet itself needs to rise in its own defense."
Raj muttered under his breath, his academic outrage returning in full force, "Of course the Luthors have bottled Mother Earth. Why not? What's next, you'll tell me you've got Pandora's Box tucked away in the rec room next to the pool table and the vintage arcade games?"
Alex gave him a sidelong look that was equal parts amused and genuinely impressed by the accuracy of his guess. "Third floor, actually. Climate-controlled storage. Right next to the Spear of Destiny and the original Necronomicon."
"I can't tell if you're joking," Lena said flatly, though her tone suggested she was beginning to suspect he wasn't.
"I never joke about inventory," Alex replied with such deadpan sincerity that the silence that followed was thick with the kind of horrified fascination usually reserved for watching natural disasters unfold in real time.
They stopped at another display, this one featuring what appeared to be a lion's hide draped over an armored mannequin. The golden fur rippled faintly in the artificial breeze, as if the great cat's spirit still moved within it, and the empty eye sockets of the massive head seemed to track their movement with predatory intelligence that transcended death.
"Let me guess," Sarah said, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at the hide with the kind of reverent fear usually reserved for nuclear reactors or sleeping gods, "the hide of the Nemean Lion."
Alex nodded approvingly, like a professor whose student had finally grasped a particularly complex concept. "Very good. The first labor of Hercules. Impervious to all mortal weapons—arrows, spears, swords, even modern bullets would bounce off like raindrops. Hercules wore it after strangling the lion with his bare hands, and it still carries both the blessing of invulnerability and the curse of isolation that comes with being completely untouchable."
"Curse?" Ethan asked, his pragmatic mind immediately latching onto the potential downside of wearing invincible armor.
"Try embracing someone when your skin can turn aside any physical contact," Alex said quietly. "Try feeling the warmth of another person when nothing can truly reach you. Invincibility sounds appealing until you realize it means you can never be truly vulnerable again—and vulnerability is what makes us human."
Maya was spinning in a slow circle now, her usual rapid-fire commentary replaced by stunned silence as she took in the impossible scope of the collection. Artifacts from every mythology she'd ever heard of and several she hadn't were displayed with museum-quality precision, each one radiating the kind of power that made the air taste like lightning and possibility.
"This is..." Her voice cracked slightly as her brain tried to process the scope of what she was seeing. "This is actual mythology. Like, real, honest-to-god mythology just sitting here like it's no big deal. Your family has a basement that makes the Louvre look like a gas station gift shop and the Vatican look like a community college."
"Human mythology," Alex corrected smoothly, moving toward what appeared to be a jade chest that shimmered with its own internal energy, distorting the air around it like heat waves rising from summer asphalt. "Divine craftsmanship, legendary weapons, artifacts of power from every culture that ever looked at the stars and wondered what was looking back... and the occasional bit of alien technology."
He gestured casually toward the jade container, his tone suggesting he was pointing out a particularly interesting houseplant rather than something that was clearly supernatural and potentially extremely dangerous.
"That holds a kitsune spirit. Nine-tailed fox demon from Japanese folklore, though 'demon' is really an oversimplification. They're incredibly clever, utterly manipulative, capable of shapeshifting into any human form, and occasionally helpful if you know how to negotiate properly and don't mind the constant risk of being outsmarted by something that's been practicing deception since before your ancestors invented agriculture."
Maya's voice went up an octave as her eyes darted between the jade container and Alex's completely calm expression. "Fox demons. You have actual fox demons in supernatural Tupperware. Cool, cool, cool. Totally normal Saturday night in Kansas. Nothing weird about that at all. Next you'll be telling me you've got djinn in wine bottles and dragons in your garage."
"The djinn are in the wine cellar," Alex corrected helpfully, "and we don't keep dragons in storage. Too high-maintenance, and the insurance premiums are astronomical."
"To be fair," Raj said, pushing his glasses up again as his academic training kicked in despite everything he was seeing, "most of these things are from cultures that believed they were completely real and incredibly powerful. The question isn't whether they exist—clearly they do—but whether they actually work the way the legends claim or if they're just very old, very impressive artifacts that have been mythologized beyond recognition."
"Oh, they work," Alex said with absolute certainty that suggested personal experience rather than theoretical knowledge. "My father didn't collect museum pieces or conversation starters. He collected tools. Weapons. Resources for problems that conventional solutions can't handle."
As if summoned by his words, they came upon another display that made everyone stop and stare. Behind pristine glass sat what appeared to be a golden scarab about the size of a dinner plate, its surface covered in intricate hieroglyphic carvings that seemed to shift and change when viewed from different angles. But these weren't Egyptian hieroglyphs—the symbols were too complex, too geometric, following patterns that hurt to look at directly and suggested mathematics that human minds weren't designed to fully comprehend.
"Egyptian?" Sarah asked, though her tone suggested she already suspected the answer would be more complicated than that.
"Egyptian in design, yes," Alex confirmed, his voice taking on the particular tone he used when discussing his father's most prized acquisitions. "But the hieroglyphs are something else entirely. Alien, to be precise. We think it's a translation device—the scarab was created by someone who understood both Egyptian mythology and whatever civilization left those symbols. It's supposed to allow communication across species barriers, though we've never had occasion to test that particular function."
"Until now," Raj said quietly, his academic mind making connections that his emotional well-being probably wished it wouldn't.
"Until now," Alex agreed.
Ethan crossed his arms, trying to anchor himself in something approaching rationality despite being surrounded by artifacts that made rationality seem like a quaint concept from a simpler time. "So just to double-check—we're basically standing on top of a bunker that could outfit what, a dozen Avengers? Maybe throw in the Justice League and still have enough leftover magical weapons to arm a small country?"
"Something like that," Alex confirmed, that maddening smile widening with genuine pride. "Though I prefer to think of it as the world's most comprehensive insurance policy against problems that can't be solved with conventional methods."
"Such as?" Lena asked, her tone carrying the kind of polite skepticism that aristocratic families taught their children for dealing with people who claimed to have solutions to problems you didn't know existed.
Before anyone could respond, the bunker's communication system chimed with a sound that somehow managed to be both melodic and ominous, like church bells announcing either salvation or apocalypse. Screens flickered to life throughout the chamber, emerging from walls and rising from floors with the kind of seamless technology integration that suggested the entire bunker had been designed as one massive computer system. The screens showed feeds from around the globe—cities in chaos, strange aircraft filling skies like metallic locusts, green streaks of light clashing against sleek black warships that looked like they'd been designed by someone who found Earth's physics to be merely suggestions rather than immutable laws.
"Status report," Alex said, his tone shifting instantly from casual tour guide to something more businesslike and commanding, the kind of voice that expected immediate answers and competent analysis.
An AI voice responded, crisp and utterly inhuman in its precision, devoid of the uncertainty or emotion that characterized human speech:
"Alien fleet has engaged five Green Lantern operatives in Earth's upper atmosphere. Current engagement zone encompasses satellite orbital paths from 300 to 1,200 kilometers above sea level. Engagement duration: fourteen minutes thirty-seven seconds and ongoing. Alien forces are employing energy weapons of unknown configuration and deployment patterns suggesting tactical coordination beyond Earth-based military doctrine. Green Lantern forces are maintaining defensive formation but show signs of tactical strain. Outcome remains indeterminate. Global military forces have moved to DEFCON 2 status and are maintaining distance from primary battle zone per previous Lantern Corps protocols."
"Green Lantern?" Sarah echoed, her brow furrowing in the kind of confusion that came from hearing familiar words used in completely unfamiliar contexts.
"Cosmic law enforcement," Alex explained, his eyes fixed on the screens showing green energy constructs clashing with alien weaponry in the black void above Earth. "Think space police with power rings fueled by willpower and an absolute commitment to justice that makes them both incredibly effective and occasionally insufferable. They're the reason Earth has remained relatively unmolested by the nastier elements of the universe—pirates, conquerors, species that consider humans a delicacy."
"So we're in good hands?" Maya asked, hope creeping into her voice as she watched the battle unfold on screens that showed impossible things with documentary clarity.
"The best hands possible," Alex said, though something in his tone suggested he already knew it wouldn't be enough, like he was delivering good news while reading a coroner's report. "Green Lanterns are noble, incorruptible, absolutely tireless in their duty, and individually capable of taking on entire armies. But they're also bound by protocols, limited by their own moral codes, and..." He paused meaningfully as one of the screens showed a Green Lantern construct flickering under sustained alien fire. "They're fighting an enemy that clearly came prepared for them specifically."
His gaze swept across the assembled artifacts—armor that had turned aside divine weapons, swords that had cleaved through impossible odds, relics that had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations and endured to tell the tale. Then he looked at them—Maya with her quick wit and quicker tongue, Raj with his brilliant mind and encyclopedic knowledge of human culture, Sarah with her quiet strength and unshakeable moral compass, Ethan with his street-smart pragmatism and unflappable cool, Lena with her sharp intelligence and aristocratic bearing that came from generations of people who'd been trained to lead whether they wanted to or not.
"Sometimes," Alex murmured, his voice carrying an undertone that made them all pay attention whether they wanted to or not, "the universe doesn't send saviors riding in on white horses with perfect solutions and inspiring theme music. Sometimes it just leaves tools lying around and trusts that the right people will find them when they're needed most."
His smile deepened, taking on an edge that was equal parts invitation and challenge, like he was offering them the chance to step into a story that would either make them heroes or destroy them completely.
"The question is..." He paused, letting the weight of legends and the sound of distant battle fill the silence between them. "Are you ready to pick them up?"
The silence that followed was heavy with possibility and terror in equal measure. Above them, the sky burned green and black as ancient enemies clashed among the stars, fighting a battle that would determine whether Earth remained free or became another conquered world in some alien empire. Below them, in the depths of a billionaire's bunker in Kansas, the accumulated weight of human mythology pulsed quietly in the dark, waiting to be chosen.
Waiting to change everything.
---
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 (HHHwRsB6wd) 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!
Can't wait to see you there!