(TSSFH) CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE - EIDOLON

Eidolon hovered above the shattered rooftops of Brockton Bay, his silhouette outlined by the dimming sky. His cape snapped in the coastal wind, but he remained still, eyes locked on the figure below. Hidden by light-warping illusions and spatial distortions, he watched unseen. Not out of fear, he told himself—never fear. Just prudence.

Below, in the cratered asphalt of what used to be Winslow High’s parking lot, stood the man.

Superman.

Red cape. Blue suit. The symbol.

Alien.

He wasn’t hiding. Wasn’t posturing. He didn’t wear a mask or cloak himself in shadow like so many others. He simply stood there—in the open, unashamed, tall, arms folded. Watching the reconstruction crews with the calm authority of someone who belonged—as if Earth Bet were his to protect.

As if no one had earned the right to question him.

Eidolon’s breath caught in his throat.

He could still leave. Turn away. Return to the quiet confidence that came from being part of Cauldron’s plan. He could remind himself that this—this—was irrational, foolish, and maybe even suicidal. That confronting Superman was madness. That said man wasn’t Behemoth or the Simurgh or Scion. He could be reasoned with. He talked.

But the thought wouldn’t leave. Not since New Delhi. Not since the Endbringer fell—disintegrated by sheer power alone. Not because of Eidolon, but because he had arrived. 

And ended it in minutes what Eidolon had struggled against for years.

Something broke in Eidolon that day. Something subtle but devastating. Something in the foundation of who he was.

It had started the moment he drank the vial, heard the voice whisper: You are the strongest.

And for years, he had believed it. Needed to believe it. That voice had guided him through the horror of his mission.

But now, that voice trembled. 

Had grown uncertain. 

Because if he wasn’t the strongest… 

What was he?

A tool? A relic? A fading light in a world that no longer needed him?

His fingers twitched. His mind reached inward.

Without conscious command, his power stirred and responded. Flight remained—his default. But forcefields layered themselves over his form, stacking in translucent sheets. Energy projection came next, warm and gathering in the space between his palms.

The holy trinity.

Familiar.

Reliable. 

But something deeper pulsed beneath the surface—an involuntary shift he felt.

Adaptation.

Anticipation.

Interest. 

Superman looked up.

And Eidolon descended. Slow. Controlled. Silent.

The moment his boots touched the pavement, he felt it: pressure. 

Not weight in the physical sense. Not gravity.

Something else. A presence.

Not malevolent. Not oppressive.

But heavy, like the world itself was steadier just by virtue of Superman being there.

“Eidolon,” Superman said.

Not a warning. Not a challenge.

Just recognition. 

“I need to know something,” Eidolon said. His voice was tight. 

Superman tilted his head, studying him. A flicker of concern passed through his expression. “You’re not here to talk.”

“No.”

A pause. Long enough to make the whispers in his mind seem loud again—the one that asked if he was already forgotten.

“You think fighting me will give you clarity?” Superman asked gently.

Eidolon didn’t answer. His powers answered for him—forcefields layered like invisible armor around him, energy coalescing at his fingertips in radiant, rising heat.

He would be ready.

“I’ve fought monsters,” Eidolon said. “I’ve held back the Endbringers time and time again. I’ve stared into Scion’s eyes, seen the extent of the Entities’ powers and still pushed on. I’ve stood where heroes fall. And none of it made me feel like this.”

Superman stayed quiet.

“You don't even have to speak. You just stand there, and I feel…” Eidolon hated the crack in his voice. The way it wavered at the end. “ Obsolete.”

There was no gloating in Superman’s face. No pride. Just calm—real calm, the kind Eidolon hadn’t felt in years.

“Then you don’t need to fight me,” he said gently. “You need to remember who you are. What you’re fighting for.”

Eidolon’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “I need to know.”

He was louder now, as if volume could drown out the whispers.

As if he was asking for something.

As if he was pleading with a god he no longer believed in.

Superman floated toward him, slowly.

“I won’t strike first,” he said. “But if you endanger anyone here, I’ll stop you. This city’s suffered enough.”

The wind picked up.

Somewhere in the distance, a crane shifted with a loud groan. A bird chirped, oblivious to the rising tension. The workers looked at them from where they stood, previous actions forgotten. 

The world itself held its breath.

Then, Eidolon’s stance shifted. His knees were slightly bent, and his cape fluttered in a wind that didn’t touch anything else.

And despite all that, his next words came out soft.

Final. 

“Then let’s find out.”

And the ground broke.