House of El: Reforged

Kent Farm — Morning, Front Porch

The sun hadn't even properly climbed over the horizon yet, but the Kent porch was already vibrating with tension. The kind of tension that came from five teenagers sharing one bathroom, a stack of magical alarms that refused to snooze, and the universal panic of first day of school energy.

Hadrian leaned against the porch's wooden support beam, arms crossed, jaw tense, his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows like he was ready for a fight — or a sarcastic monologue, which was more his speed. His emerald eyes flicked toward the farmhouse door every few seconds, as if sheer irritation could summon the two girls still inside.

His voice was low, already halfway to grumpy. "I swear, if they don't come out in five minutes, I'm hexing their eyeliner off and dragging them to school in their pajamas."

On the porch swing, Neville didn't even flinch. He had one arm slung over the backrest, the other hand lazily tossing a half-eaten apple into the air and catching it with the bored reflexes of someone who could bend steel and still be unimpressed by life. His tie was crooked, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, black hair sticking out like he'd told it to behave and it refused out of spite.

"You say that every time," Neville said around a yawn. "And yet, no one's been dragged anywhere. Also, if you try to hex Donna's eyeliner, I'm betting we'll have to scrape you off the porch with a shovel."

Hadrian scowled. "Fine. I'll hex Kara's socks. Way lower stakes."

Zatanna, lounging near the porch steps like the chaos fairy godmother of the group, sipped a steaming cup of what smelled suspiciously like black coffee and eldritch sarcasm. Her outfit had been modified with artful rebellion: blazer slouched just so, tie tied like it resented authority, sleeves pushed to mid-forearm to show off glittery silver cuffs.

"Hexing socks is chaotic neutral at best," she said without looking up. "But your current vibe? Somewhere between 'concerned father' and 'jilted prom date.' It's weird. Stop it."

Hadrian pushed a hand through his dark hair, muttering, "It's not weird. It's—logistical. We're going to be late."

"To what?" Zatanna asked. "First period? Of a public high school? Where no one knows we've literally fought demon goats and survived finals at the Tower?"

Neville let out a low chuckle. "Yeah. Those were real crises. This? This is social trauma in a polyester uniform."

A high-pitched hoot split the morning air. Perched atop the porch roof like royalty awaiting their court, Hedwig II — all snow-white feathers and disdainful silence — looked down at the trio like they were peasants who'd failed to please her.

Beside her sat Owliver, feathers sleek and black-banded, tilting his head with the permanent sass of someone who judged people based on their shoe choices. His wings puffed just slightly, as if to say, It's too early for this level of incompetence, you plebeians.

"I think Hedwig just blinked 'you're all idiots' in Morse code," Hadrian muttered.

"Pretty sure Owliver just filed a formal complaint with the Ministry of Sass," Zatanna added, sipping her coffee like it was weaponized.

Then the front door slammed open.

Kara came bounding out like a burst of sunshine stuffed into a backpack. She wore a cheerful yellow hoodie over a pleated blue skirt, her high-tops squeaking slightly against the wood. Her braids were uneven, her smile too bright, and she practically radiated nervous energy.

"I'm ready!" she chirped. "I color-coded my binders and packed two emergency juice boxes and—oh my god, what if I forget someone's name and accidentally call them 'mom' or something and then I have to change my identity forever—"

"You'll be fine," Zatanna said, cutting her off with the smoothness of someone who'd seen plenty of magical meltdowns and survived every single one. "You could bench-press the math teacher if he assigns pop quizzes. Relax."

Kara nodded too fast. "Right. Totally. Chill. I'm chill. I'm a glacier."

"Sure," Neville muttered. "A glacier on Red Bull."

Then Donna stepped out, and the porch paused.

Her uniform was identical to Kara's in theory — in practice, it looked like it had been stitched by Olympian tailors and blessed by Athena herself. Black blazer, crisp shirt, and skirt that looked like it could kill a man if she walked fast enough. Her boots were tall, leather, and stomp-worthy. Her braid was whip-tight, flawless. And her expression said: Yes, I know I'm intimidating. I'm being nice about it.

Hadrian's mouth opened slightly.

Closed.

Opened again.

He made a sound that could only be described as a muffled wheeze and then covered it with a cough.

Donna raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "You look like you're about to take over the school, stage a coup, and declare algebra optional."

Donna's lip twitched. "I might. Depends how lunch goes."

Neville gave her a solemn nod. "You touch my fries, I riot."

"Noted," Donna replied. "No fries. Just blood."

Kara whispered nervously to Hadrian, "What if I forget the lunch line order and end up cutting someone and they report me for dishonor?"

"You're literally bulletproof," Hadrian said. "If anyone tries anything, just stare at them until they cry."

"Okay," Kara said with false cheer. "Totally not terrifying at all."

Hadrian looked them both over again. These two. These freaking Amazons.

"You're two of the strongest, most stubborn, ridiculously chaotic people I've ever met," he said, voice lower now. "You'll be fine. Probably better than fine. Just try not to get expelled on day one."

Donna's eyes narrowed. "Was that… a compliment?"

"No," he muttered. "That was a warning to everyone else."

Zatanna tossed back the last of her coffee. "Can we please go before Hedwig declares a coup and Owliver tries to unionize the owls?"

"Too late," Neville said. "Look at him. That's a labor organizer if I've ever seen one."

Owliver fluffed up proudly, wings flaring out like he was absolutely leading a picket line in half an hour.

"We walking or what?" Donna asked, already heading for the gravel road like she owned it.

Hadrian fell into step beside her, adjusting his hoodie. "Shotgun."

"There is no shotgun," Neville called, exasperated. "We're on foot."

"That's why I said it," Hadrian muttered. "It's about the energy."

Zatanna clapped her hands. "Alright, tree lover, owl prince, sunshine cannon, murder Barbie, and me. Let's go pretend we're normal for eight hours."

The five of them started down the road — bickering, laughing, overlapping voices like crashing waves. Kara skipped. Donna didn't. Hadrian muttered something about wishing for a time-turner. Neville threw his apple core like it was a grenade. Zatanna started casting minor glamours on road signs out of boredom.

Above them, Hedwig II took flight, graceful and aloof, circling high above like a celestial judge.

Owliver launched after her with a dramatic swoop that screamed Look at me, I'm fabulous, and somewhere, someone probably started composing a power ballad about owl love.

The sun climbed higher.

The road stretched ahead.

And school?

School didn't know what was about to hit it.

—

The gravel crunched under five pairs of mostly inappropriate-for-rural-commutes shoes, and Hadrian Kent was already regretting everything.

Not life in general — though that was always on the table — but specifically the part where he let Bruce-freaking-Wayne draft cover stories for their secret identities and then trusted these people to remember them.

He slanted a sideways look at Kara, who was skipping.

Skipping.

"You know the cover stories, right?" he asked casually, like a bomb tech asking if everyone remembered not to lick the detonator.

Kara halted mid-bounce and spun to face him. "Oh no!" she gasped, looking stricken. "I forgot to practice my Kansas accent! What if someone asks which part of Kansas City I'm from and I say, like, the wrong quadrant and they know and they call the government and then I get deported to space prison?"

Hadrian blinked. "Kansas City doesn't have quadrants, Kara. It's not the Death Star."

Neville, walking beside him, snorted. "She'd probably still blow it up anyway."

Kara pouted, already clutching one of her emergency juice boxes like it contained emotional support.

Zatanna, striding ahead of them with her blazer half-buttoned and her smirk fully loaded, called over her shoulder, "She nearly blew up the toaster this morning because it insulted her bagel, so yeah, not ruling out Death Star energy."

"That toaster was being passive-aggressive!" Kara called defensively.

Donna, walking just behind them, didn't slow down. She was all clean lines and quiet confidence, dressed in the same uniform as everyone else and somehow making it look like Amazon couture. "I memorized the file your mother provided. And the supplemental document. And the contingency plan in case facial recognition picks me up from that dig site in Alexandria."

Neville gave her a sideways glance. "You're fifteen. Why do you sound like you work for Interpol?"

Donna didn't look at him. "Because I read the footnotes."

Hadrian made a frustrated noise in his throat and dragged a hand through his already-messy dark hair. The hoodie sleeves were shoved to his elbows like they'd been fighting him since sunrise. "Okay, let's review. Again. Because I'd like to make it to lunch without someone pulling a Lilly Lane and asking why our cousin glows in the dark."

He turned to Kara, ticking the points off on his fingers. "You are Kara Kent. You are our cousin from Kansas City. Your parents — our distant uncle and aunt — tragically passed away, and now you live on the farm with us. We're wholesome Midwestern farm boys. We eat corn. We pet cows. We're very normal."

Kara blinked, nodding slowly like she was being walked through a hostage negotiation. "Right. Got it. No lasers. No flying. No accidentally bending locker doors."

Zatanna gave her a thumbs up. "Exactly. Be chill. Be normal. Be, like...a sad Disney princess, but with algebra."

Kara gasped. "Should I sing something haunting and wistful in the hallway?!"

"No!" Hadrian and Neville both shouted.

Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to Donna. "You're Donna Troy. Younger cousin of archeologist Diana Prince, who's old friends with our mom. You spent your life tagging along on archaeology digs across the globe with your older sister. Now you're here to experience the thrilling adventure that is American public school. Try not to quote Plato in class."

Donna nodded solemnly. "Understood."

Neville gave her a look. "You say that, but if someone asks you to introduce yourself and you open with the Greek definition of 'identity,' I'm pretending I don't know you."

"As if you don't already plan to do that," she said mildly.

"Exactly."

Zatanna twirled around in front of them, walking backward. Her dark hair danced in the wind and her voice was sunny-murderous. "Okay, cover story squad, listen up. Before we get to the crosswalk, remember: we're meeting Raj and Maya first. They know we're not normal. They don't know the details. So don't go talking about Amazons or Krypton or that time the three of us got detention for accidentally unleashing a pocket dimension in the barn."

"You told me that was Neville," Kara whispered.

"Still counts," Hadrian muttered.

Neville shrugged, hands in pockets. "Could've happened to anyone with ancient magical blood and a mildly cursed book."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "They think Hadrian's a vampire."

"To be fair," Neville said, "you do look like you sleep in a coffin."

Hadrian threw his hands in the air. "I'm not pale. I'm moody."

Donna gave him a side glance. "Ros told me that you also don't go outside without sunglasses."

"Because the sun hates me, Donna."

Zatanna grinned. "We all hate you before coffee. Doesn't mean we burst into flames."

A screech echoed overhead.

Hedwig II soared above them, wings wide, watching their progress with what could only be described as disapproval.

A second later, Owliver appeared, flapping with the sort of dramatic flair that suggested he had his own theme music.

Kara pointed skyward. "Is he...winking at Hedwig again?"

Zatanna smirked. "More like filing a romantic haiku via wing flap."

Neville squinted. "That's not romantic. That's a war dance."

"Maybe it's both," Hadrian said. "Owls are complicated."

The edge of campus came into view. The bell rang, distant but ominous.

Kara inhaled like she was about to jump off a cliff.

Donna adjusted her bag strap like she was going to war.

Zatanna was humming. That couldn't be good.

Neville glanced at Hadrian. "Ready?"

Hadrian exhaled slowly, green eyes locked on the school like it had personally offended him. "No. But we're going anyway."

"That's the spirit," Zatanna cheered. "March forth, my chaotic band of almost-normals!"

And so they did. Toward the brick walls. The lockers. The teen drama. The math.

Toward Smallville High.

And whether the school knew it or not, it was about to be very educated.

—

The Sullivan residence sat like the weirdly photogenic cousin of every farmhouse on the block. White siding with green trim, wind chimes fashioned from satellite parts jingling softly in the breeze, and a Wi-Fi signal so strong it could probably hack a government server. Beneath the porch, the faint hum of a fiber-optic server—Maya's "definitely not surveillance" hub—whispered secrets to no one in particular.

The group barely cleared the chipped white picket gate before the front door exploded open with all the subtlety of a reality TV plot twist.

Out stormed Maya Sullivan—five feet of unfiltered, caffeinated teenage fury. Black Converse adorned with Sharpie doodles slapped against the porch steps as she bounced forward, oversized gray blazer hanging over a galaxy-print hoodie, and a messenger bag stuffed to bursting with notebooks, printed dossiers, and probably a portable polygraph.

She didn't waste a second on hellos.

"Okay," she said, eyes scanning like she was hunting aliens in disguise. "Who's the cousin from Kansas, who's the archaeologist's sister, and who nearly took out the entire town's electrical grid last week trying to toast a bagel?"

Hadrian blinked once, then twice, emerald eyes steady but that familiar tight-lipped half-smile twitching. "Morning to you too, Maya. Looks like you scared the snooze button into witness protection."

"Twice. I mean business," Maya shot back with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. Then she turned those bright eyes on him. "Also, that hoodie? It screams 'brooding trauma boy,' but, like, in a 'I-own-a-cow-and-actually-care' way. Very fetching."

Hadrian gave a short, humorless laugh. "Great. My wardrobe's apparently a walking therapy session."

Maya's gaze moved smoothly over the rest of the group.

Zatanna offered a polite nod, dark eyes peeking from beneath curtain bangs. Donna stood straight as a marble statue, jaw tight and cheekbones sharp enough to assassinate a mood. Kara, on the other hand, was caught somewhere between "trying to smile" and "about to flee screaming."

"Hi!" Kara blurted, clutching an untouched juice box like a lifeline. "I'm Kara Kent. I like juice boxes and—uh—gravel? I mean walking on gravel, not eating it. Definitely not eating it. Also, I'm very responsible with toasters. Mostly."

Zatanna muttered, "Subtle as a fireworks factory."

Neville sighed, running a hand through his thick black hair. "At this rate, the FBI's probably already got a drone on us."

Maya raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, smirking. "I live for this kind of chaos. It's like a soap opera with superpowers."

Then her eyes locked onto Donna.

The air changed.

Instantaneous and electric, like two storms sizing each other up. Maya tilted her head, a spark of genuine interest flickering. Donna's expression stayed as unreadable as ever, but there was something in the tense line of her shoulders — the unspoken challenge.

"Donna Troy," she said evenly.

"Maya Sullivan," Maya answered with a sly smirk. "Journalist. Fact enthusiast. Professional nosey parker."

Donna's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "Do you always introduce yourself like a cover letter written by a caffeinated raccoon?"

"Only when meeting suspects. Or people who look like they could crush a man's skull with their cheekbones."

Hadrian cleared his throat, stepping between the two like a reluctant referee. "Maya, meet the new roommates. Kara and Donna. You've officially scared them all, so congrats, I guess."

Maya flashed Hadrian a grin that should be illegal. "Scaring people is a talent. Also, I'm coming with you."

"To Raj's?" Kara asked hopefully, clutching her juice box tighter.

"Obviously," Maya said, already pulling out her phone. "He texted back. Says bring snacks. And don't let Kara anywhere near electronics. We don't need another toaster incident."

"Hey!" Kara protested, but the sheepish look gave her away.

As they moved down the lane, Maya pulled out a small voice recorder, waving it around like a microphone on stage.

"Walk and talk, Hadrian. Spill. What's it like living with this circus? Are they aliens, demigods, or just K-pop rejects hiding out in Smallville?"

Hadrian rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave her a look. "If I plead the fifth, will you stop?"

"Not a chance."

Zatanna snorted. "She's like caffeine, or an earthquake — you don't get a choice."

"Or emotional blackmail," Neville added dryly.

"Exactly," Maya said, tapping the recorder. "Now, seriously — Hadrian, what's the deal with Donna? She's giving me serious 'I could kill you or kiss you' vibes. What's your take?"

Hadrian glanced at Donna, who was glaring daggers at Maya, arms crossed like she was daring her to try.

"Donna's basically a walking paradox," Hadrian muttered. "She's super intense, protective, and about ten kinds of complicated. Like a Rubik's Cube with a bad attitude."

Maya tilted her head, eyes sparkling with challenge. "So, boyfriend material or mortal enemy?"

Hadrian smirked, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes. "Sometimes both."

Donna caught that, narrowed her eyes, and shoved Hadrian lightly in the ribs. "Keep talking like that, farm boy, and I might just do one without the kissing part."

Hadrian feigned a wounded expression. "Ouch. You're really bringing the charm today, Princess."

Maya laughed, a light, teasing sound. "Love the sparks. I'm taking notes."

From above, Hedwig II let out a low, haunting cry. Owliver performed a ridiculous loop-de-loop that looked choreographed by a caffeinated ballerina.

Maya barely glanced up. "Are your owls always this extra?"

Hadrian sighed. "Only when they sense impending social disaster."

"So...always. Got it."

As Raj's house appeared, peeling yellow paint and all, the faint pulse of music from the garage reached them. The yard was spotless, solar panels gleaming in the early sun.

Hadrian looked back at the group. Kara was still clutching her juice box like a charm, Donna and Maya were locked in that silent standoff, Zatanna had a half-smile, and Neville looked like he was mentally composing a resignation letter.

Hadrian muttered, "This is gonna be one hell of a day."

Maya grinned. "Yeah, but at least it'll make killer copy."

Owliver swooped down, doing another dramatic loop for the grand finale.

Because of course he did.

—

The cracked brick wall outside Mrs. Langley's abandoned garden had become their unofficial meetup spot—neutral ground between chaos and caffeine withdrawal. Birds chirped like they had no idea the universe was teetering on hormonal collapse, and the sun cast an offensively cheerful glow over everything.

Hadrian Kent sat hunched on the edge of the wall, hoodie sleeves shoved up like they were personally offending him. His emerald eyes flicked toward the corner of Carter Street like he could summon Raj by sheer force of will.

"He's late," Hadrian muttered, adjusting his sunglasses even though the light wasn't that bad. "Which is a crime, because I am officially out of reasons not to fake my own death and move to a hermit cave in Iceland."

"You say that," Zatanna sang, leaning against the lamppost like a noir detective with Tumblr energy, "but we both know you'd hate the aesthetic. You'd miss dramatic door slams and sulking in your hoodie too much."

Hadrian flipped her off without looking. "Hoodies are universal, thank you."

"Iceland has glaciers," Kara chimed in brightly from where she stood, sipping a juice box like it was her emotional support animal. "Glaciers are like, nature's giant snow cones. I bet you'd love that."

"Not helping, Kara," Hadrian said, eyes still scanning.

Neville, stretched out like a bored demigod across the wall beside Hadrian, groaned. "We've been here for ten minutes. My butt has officially fused with this brick. If Raj doesn't show up soon, I'm giving in to my true destiny as a forest cryptid."

"You already dress like one," Donna said, arms crossed, gaze sharp enough to peel paint.

Neville arched an eyebrow. "Says the girl who glared at a squirrel this morning like it owed her money."

"That squirrel knew things," Donna said flatly.

Before Hadrian could join the impending animal conspiracy theory, the sound of footfalls—uneven, too fast—interrupted them. A blur of hoodie strings, tangled earbuds, and desperate awkwardness rounded the corner.

Raj Kulkarni skidded to a stop.

He looked like a computer science student dropped into a CW pilot. Hoodie one size too big, backpack slung over both shoulders like he was still fighting gravity, and glasses slipping down his nose in protest of his entire life.

"Sorry!" he gasped, waving both hands. "I—I overslept and then tripped over my router and then spilled tea on my keyboard and—hi."

He blinked. Once. Twice.

His eyes landed on Kara first. "Are you the one with the... um. Juice box problem?"

Kara smiled, holding up the box like a trophy. "Proud of it. I'm Kara. Don't worry, I don't melt electronics on purpose anymore."

Raj gave a nervous chuckle. "Cool, cool. So long as my laptop lives, we're best friends."

Then his eyes slid to Donna, and Raj visibly forgot how words worked.

Donna arched an eyebrow, all sleek black ponytail and academic intensity. "Donna Troy. Not a fan of crowds. Or small talk. Or you staring at me."

Raj went red so fast Hadrian nearly applauded. "Right. Nope. Not staring. Just, uh, impressed. With your... cheekbones."

"Flawless delivery," Zatanna deadpanned.

Raj scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned to Hadrian with desperate eyes. "So. Please tell me you're the sane one in this group?"

Hadrian gave him a look. "I adopted a semi-feral owl and once lit a science fair volcano with a Phoenix feather. What do you think?"

"I think I'm glad I'm not the new kid anymore," Raj muttered.

"And we're glad you're here to absorb the chaos," Zatanna said brightly. "It's like getting a new Roomba—except you talk and flinch when someone makes eye contact."

Maya, who had been watching the entire exchange like it was a particularly juicy episode of her favorite murder podcast, finally stepped in front of Hadrian and blocked his view.

"You know," she said, grinning like a fox who'd just figured out how to open the henhouse, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you like watching people squirm."

"Who, me?" Hadrian asked dryly. "Nooo. I just collect social dysfunction like baseball cards."

"Don't be cute." She poked his chest. "It's annoying."

He smirked. "You think I'm cute?"

Donna made a choked noise from behind him.

"Oh no," Maya said, leaning in. "Don't try to distract me with charm. I see through you. Like sunglasses in a math test."

"Wow," Zatanna muttered. "That was so specific it hurt."

Kara was wide-eyed. "Are you two flirting? I think you're flirting. Should I—like—look away? Is this a moment? Am I third-wheeling?"

"You are the third wheel," Neville said, not looking up from his phone. "But they've been fake-flirting and real-bickering since before you landed on Earth. It's like watching a telenovela. Only with more denial."

Donna stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "He's not that charming."

Hadrian didn't even flinch. "You sound jealous."

Donna's mouth opened. Closed. Then she jabbed a finger at him. "You're so—so smug."

"Guilty," he said, beaming.

Zatanna clapped. "God, I love this show."

Maya grinned. "Same. But we're gonna be late, and I want a front-row seat for Chemistry II: The Existential Dreadening."

Hadrian stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Alright, chaos crew. Let's roll."

They fell into step like they'd done this forever. Kara walked in the middle, still sipping her juice box. Raj hovered beside her like proximity might make him less doomed. Zatanna drifted between them all, humming what sounded suspiciously like theme music. Maya and Donna ended up on either side of Hadrian, both glancing at him, then at each other. It was tense.

Neville brought up the rear, muttering under his breath about magical bloodlines, underfunded schools, and whether the cafeteria pizza counted as an ancient curse.

Above them, Hedwig II swooped low.

Owliver followed, dramatic as ever, spinning in mid-air like he'd just gotten a rave invitation.

"Your owls are extra," Raj whispered to Hadrian.

Hadrian smirked. "You haven't met the raccoons yet."

Raj stopped walking.

"Wait—there are raccoons?"

The group burst into laughter as they rounded the last corner toward Smallville High—red brick walls gleaming, banners flapping, and the looming promise of homework, hormones, and havoc waiting just inside.

Hadrian exhaled.

Showtime.

—

Smallville High — 7:29 AM

Rear Parking Lot, South Side — AKA Ambush Alley

The air was damp and sour, carrying the scent of dewy grass, truck exhaust, and adolescent overconfidence.

Brad Manning stood just past the rusting goalpost, arms crossed over his chest, hoodie unzipped to show off the holy trinity of teenage vanity: pecs, abs, and ego. Beside him, Chad cracked his knuckles like they were orchestral warmups. The rest of the football team—six guys in various states of "bruh" energy—hovered close, eyes sharp and faces smug.

"Right on time," Brad said, nodding toward the far end of the parking lot. "Cue the freak parade."

Across the lot, seven figures rounded the corner, silhouetted against the weak morning sun like a teen soap opera's dream cast entering their villain arc.

Leading the pack were the Kent twins.

Hadrian Kent — tall, broad-shouldered, hood up, eyes hidden behind black aviators, looking like someone who'd walked out of a CW reboot of Constantine but with Superman's jawline.

And Neville Kent — bulkier, calmer, black hair mussed just enough to look intentional, backpack slung over one shoulder like it owed him money. Silent, brooding, and radiating unbothered doom.

To their right, Zatanna "not Zarina" Zatara walked like she had spells in her pockets and secrets in her smirk. Long dark hair, combat boots, and a black coat that swished dramatically with every step like she'd rehearsed the motion in a mirror. She held a tarot card between her fingers — The Tower — and was twirling it.

Beside her was Raj, clutching his laptop bag like a Kevlar shield. He was muttering, "This feels like a trap. This definitely feels like a trap," under his breath on loop.

Trailing a little behind them was Kara, bouncing slightly on her toes and unbothered by literally everything. Juice box in hand. Denim jacket. Bright blue sneakers. She smiled and waved at Brad like they were all here for a bake sale.

Then came the additions.

Maya Sullivan, blonde bombshell with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, blue eyes that sparkled like they knew things you didn't, and a smirk that dared you to make a move she hadn't already predicted. She was wearing a cropped varsity jacket from a school she didn't even go to, and it looked better on her than it ever had on Brad.

And finally, Donna Troy, tall, bronze-skinned, with long raven hair tied back into a practical braid and a fitted black tee that said WAR GODDESS IN TRAINING. Her walk? That of a woman who had zero time for idiots. Her face? The textbook definition of 'resting blade-you-in-the-throat' expression.

Brad squinted.

"Who the hell are the new girls?"

"The hot one with the hair?" Chad asked. "Or the hot one with the eyes?"

"I meant both, Chad," Brad growled. "I'm not blind."

The group was getting closer.

"Okay, remember the plan," Brad whispered. "We separate the twins. Push 'em back toward the lockers. Quick zip tie job, duct tape, hood over the heads—classic Scarecrow setup. No blood. No screaming. Just a quick reminder of who runs this school."

"Dude," Bryce said nervously, clutching the edge of his hoodie. "Neville once punched through a soda machine to rescue a kitten."

"That's urban legend crap."

"I saw it."

Brad ignored him.

The group came to a stop ten feet away.

Hadrian lowered his sunglasses just enough to let those kryptonite-colored eyes peek out. "Wow," he said dryly. "You guys rehearsing West Side Story, or just naturally this aggressive before homeroom?"

Neville tilted his head, assessing the crowd. "Seven of them," he said calmly. "Mostly upper body strength. No coordination. I give them thirty seconds."

Zatanna yawned. "Generous."

Maya raised a brow. "Wait, is this the infamous football 'hazing' ritual I read about on the student forum?"

Donna cracked her knuckles. "Cute. So which one's Brad?"

Brad stepped forward, squaring his jaw like that might help. "You're trespassing," he said. "This is team territory."

"Aw," Kara cooed. "Did the sign fall down? I missed it. Was it next to the one that says, 'Beware: Insecure Men With Fragile Egos?'"

Chad growled. "You think you're funny?"

"I know I am," Kara said, sipping her juice box. "Also? Your fly's down."

Chad looked. It wasn't.

"Oh my god," Raj muttered, inching back. "We're gonna die. I haven't even finished backing up my hard drive."

Brad rolled his shoulders. "This doesn't have to get messy. You guys just walk away. The twins stay."

Hadrian snorted. "Let me get this straight. You ambush us before school, with a camera bag hidden under your jacket, a roll of duct tape in your back pocket, and think you're the predator?"

Maya stepped beside him, one hand casually brushing his arm. "Careful, boys," she said sweetly. "We bite."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Some of us punch. A lot."

Zatanna smiled and pulled another card from her deck. The Fool.

"It's always this one," she murmured. "Every time."

And then it happened.

Brad lunged first — straight at Hadrian.

Hadrian moved. One step. One breath. One pivot.

And Brad found himself kissing asphalt.

Neville caught the next guy mid-swing and lifted him — full body, over the shoulder — and deposited him in a trash bin like he weighed nothing.

Donna ducked a wild punch and jabbed a knee so fast it was practically poetic. Zatanna, without casting a single spell, flipped a linebacker onto his back using momentum and poor life choices.

Kara just stepped aside and stuck out a foot.

"Oops," she said cheerfully as Chad went sprawling into a puddle.

Maya, not even bothering to fight, filmed the whole thing on her phone, smirking as she narrated, "And here we see the endangered high school jock attempting to assert dominance in the wild. Unfortunately, he has challenged actual apex predators."

Raj squeaked. "Oh my god. I think one of them's crying."

Ten seconds. Maybe twelve.

And then it was over.

Hadrian adjusted his hoodie as Brad groaned from the ground.

"I'd say this was a teachable moment," he said calmly. "But you don't strike me as the 'learn from your mistakes' type."

Zatanna held up The Tower again. "Still applies."

Neville turned to Bryce, who was frozen. "You want to go next?"

Bryce raised both hands. "I'm good. I have a dentist appointment. And asthma. And an existential fear of pain."

Hadrian turned to the rest of the group. "C'mon. First bell's in five. And Kara still hasn't finished her juice box."

Kara held it up proudly. "Hydration is key to a balanced murder."

They walked off, leaving bruised egos and scattered gym bags in their wake.

Behind them, Brad wheezed. "This... isn't over..."

Maya leaned over just long enough to whisper, "Sweetie, for you? It should be."

And with that, they strolled through the rear doors of Smallville High, an army of weirdos, rebels, demigods, and whatever category Zatanna was—heads held high.

---

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