After Locke went through a ton of effort, he finally managed to explain the whole deal with the Mist Hound and the San Francisco trip.
"Got it," Dio said, arms crossed, nodding like it all clicked. "So, you ran into some magic monster in a field, got zapped to the West Coast by this half-baked magician, couldn't get back, and ended up hitching a ride on a Luthor Group helicopter."
"Hey, kid, I'm no half-baked magician," Zatanna shot back, ready to defend herself.
But then—
Stare.
The weird looks from both father and son shut her up real quick.
"Alright, Dad, explain this!" Dio said, tugging at Locke's clothes, clearly annoyed. "What's with this beach bum getup?"
"The helicopter ran out of fuel mid-flight," Locke said, blinking innocently. "We had to make an emergency landing on a Metropolis beach. And, well, I was starving."
"…"
Dio, clearly not amused, shoved Saraphiel into Locke's arms and stormed back toward the house.
"Where you going?" Locke called after him.
"To catch up on sleep!" the kid snapped without looking back.
Watching his son's grumpy retreat, Locke chuckled and shook his head. "Don't forget to get up for lunch later!"
"Sorry about that, Miss Magician," Locke said, turning to Zatanna with a light smile as he held Saraphiel. "This kid's a bit clingy. One night apart, and he's all worked up."
"?"
Zatanna didn't seem to register his explanation. Her gaze was locked on Saraphiel, like she was drawn to the baby by some invisible force. Deep in her emerald eyes, there was a flicker of something strange—tiny specks of light swirling with curiosity and an almost unreadable focus.
"Miss Magician?" Locke called again, his tone carrying a faint edge of caution.
"Oh! Sorry…" The girl snapped out of her trance, sticking out her tongue in embarrassment. "I just… I felt something really… unique from this kid."
She chose her words carefully.
"?!" Locke's muscles tensed instantly, his grip on the baby tightening just a bit. "What's wrong?"
"No, no, nothing bad! Totally safe!" Zatanna waved her hands frantically, her fingers nervously twisting the lace cuffs of her performance outfit, crumpling them. "It's just… this is gonna sound weird, but it's like the same thrill I felt when I first learned magic as a kid. I feel like this child and I have some kind of… special connection."
She clapped her hands together, her emerald eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned forward. "Mr. Locke! Can I… can I call dibs on being his magic teacher someday?"
"I thought…" Locke's tension eased, and he let out a breath. For a second there, he was ready to have Star Platinum knock this magician out cold.
He frowned, puzzled, and looked down at Saraphiel, who was happily chewing on his own fingers. "Miss Magician, Saraphiel's just a baby…"
"I know, I know!" Zatanna said, her eyes practically glowing. "I'm just putting it out there for the future—"
"Sorry, Miss Magician," Locke cut her off, shaking his head with a helpless smile. "I can't make that call for him. Magic, his future, the path he takes—that's all up to him."
He glanced at Saraphiel's bright blue eyes and added calmly, "If you really want to be his teacher, come back in a few years and ask him yourself."
"Ugh…" Zatanna's shoulders visibly slumped, her bright eyes dimming like a deflated balloon. She kicked a pebble by her foot and mumbled, "Fine… you're right. I guess I'm jumping the gun."
With that, she turned to leave, her back radiating a faint sense of disappointment.
"Hey!" Locke called out, chuckling at her dejected figure. "Wanna come in for a coffee?"
"Thanks for the offer, Mr. Locke," Zatanna said, pausing to glance back with a small smile. Her moonstone earrings caught the sunlight, scattering tiny flecks of light across her face, though they didn't quite chase away the subtle sadness in her expression. "But I've gotta head back. I've got a show tonight, and there's some prep I need to do."
Was she trying to sound upbeat?
And since when did magic need props?
Locke was curious but noticed the fleeting loneliness in her eyes. Wisely, he held back his questions, nodded, and turned to head inside with Saraphiel. But just as he did—
"Mr. Locke."
Zatanna's voice stopped him.
He turned, confused, to see her toss him an emerald-colored brooch. "Take this. If that monster comes back, point this at it. The reverse spell will banish it back to its dimension."
"Oh, and you can use it on other creatures too."
"…"
So you're not totally confident, huh? Locke's lip twitched, but he caught the brooch with his free hand.
"One more thing, Mr. Locke," Zatanna said, standing in the sunlight, nervously twisting her magic wand. She forced a smile, took a deep breath like she was gathering courage, and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Can I… can I give you a hug?"
Before a stunned Locke could respond, she quickly added, blushing, "It's just… the way you talked, that vibe… it really reminded me of my dad."
Locke went quiet, his gaze settling on her hopeful yet anxious face, then dropping to the curious baby in his arms.
"Sorry, Miss Magician," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "No can do."
He gently bounced Saraphiel. "Plus, I've got my hands full with this little guy."
"And most importantly," he added with an apologetic look, "I'm not your dad."
Zatanna froze, a pang of disappointment hitting her.
But then she flashed a dazzling smile, as if brushing off the moment entirely. "Guess I'll see you around then."
She took a few steps back, waving her wand. "Somrev to Eraw!"
"Wishing you and your kid all the best."
Her figure blurred in a shimmer of light as her words faded.
"Thanks," Locke said softly. "And I hope you find your dad soon, Miss Magician."
But aside from Saraphiel in his arms, no one was there to hear it.
Click.
Locke pushed open the door and gently placed the sleeping baby in his crib. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing Saraphiel's chubby cheeks in a warm glow. Locke watched him for a moment, making sure everything was fine, before quietly stepping into the living room.
"Phew…"
Sinking into the couch, he was enveloped by soft leather. Only then did he realize how tense his muscles had been.
Tired? Not exactly.
Saraphiel's mysterious energy kept him full of stamina—he could go days without sleep and still feel fine. But right now, a wave of mental exhaustion washed over him, like tiny grains of sand piling up behind his eyelids, threatening to drag him down.
He grabbed his flip phone from the coffee table. The screen's blue glow lit up the creases between his brows.
At the top of his call log: Lionel Luthor (Missed Call).
No sign of a callback?
"Weird," Locke muttered, running his thumb along the phone's edge.
Knowing Lionel, even if the guy was on Mars, he'd probably call back within seconds to grill him.
But now…
Too busy, rich guy?
Locke thought for a second and shot off a quick text:
[Holler if you need help.]
A few moments later, just as Locke was dozing off on the couch—
Ding.
The phone buzzed.
[All good. Busy.]
---
Africa-Asia Region, Crystal Mine Laboratory
Artificial lights illuminated the massive underground lab like daylight, the cold air thick with the scent of disinfectant and the faint hum of high-tech equipment.
Lionel snapped his flip phone shut. He stood before a huge observation window, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the faint blue glow of a screen. In front of him floated a holographic projection—a forecast of global economic trends for the next eight years.
And then…
"Boss, we've got preliminary data," a lab-coated researcher said cautiously, approaching with a tablet, his voice trembling slightly. "Based on… its suggestions and key points, we ran the simulations. The results are a near-perfect match. These methods… they're shockingly viable."
Lionel took the tablet, his face expressionless as the cold screen reflected it.
He scanned the staggering data and conclusions, gave a slight nod, and waved the researcher off.
The man scurried away, his footsteps echoing in the empty lab until they faded behind a heavy alloy door.
The room was now silent, save for Lionel.
"No such methods exist on Earth," he said after a long pause, addressing the empty air. "So, what's the cost, unknown alien?"
"Cost? Mr. Lionel, that's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" a voice replied, resonating directly in his mind. It was neither male nor female, carrying an eerie, flat rhythm—like a perfectly tuned synthetic tone, yet tinged with something… ancient.
The voice's owner spoke calmly, almost mockingly polite. "All I ask is that, over the next eighteen years, you use the genetic engineering tech I've provided—far beyond your current capabilities—to craft a perfect vessel tailored to my specifications."
It spoke as if this were a trivial request. "In return, these little 'suggestions' of mine, and the unparalleled glory and absolute dominance they'll bring to you and Luthor Group, are all yours."
"Your rightful dividends."
"And besides…" The voice shifted, zeroing in on Lionel's deepest, most anxious desires with a subtle, seductive edge. "Haven't you always wanted to cure that damn genetic defect tormenting your brilliant son?"
"This technology is the key to that future."
"A healthy heir, an unassailable empire… sounds like a perfect deal, doesn't it?"
"…"
Lionel stayed silent.
The hologram's light danced across his glasses as grand ambitions flickered through his mind, only to be overshadowed by thoughts of Lex.
The air seemed to thicken with unspoken pressure.
"Oh, and one more thing," the inhuman voice cut through the silence, still light and casual. "For this grand plan we're embarking on together… I think it needs a name."
"From now on, let's call it DOX1.5. Sound good?"
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