Another ***DING!*** pierced the suffocating silence, sharper, colder than the last. Elias flinched as the Devil Fruit wheel vanished, replaced by stark, crimson text burning across his vision: **"NEW MAIN MISSION: THE ALIEN AND THE PRINCESS."** The system's voice dripped with chilling finality: ***"Convergence achieved. Now forge the shield. Locate the Kryptonian exile and the Themysciran heir. Persuade them. Unite them under the banner of the nascent Justice League. Darkseid's shadow lengthens. Failure is extinction."*** Below the text, a ghostly map flickered – a blinking star over rural Kansas farmland, another deep beneath the Mediterranean Sea. **Rewards:** ***Unknown – Potential commensurate with existential stakes.*** Elias inhaled sharply. Clark Kent. Diana Prince. Finding them was one thing. Persuading Superman and Wonder Woman to trust him – a masked anomaly wielding dimensional blades and harvesting aura from chaos? Batman's lenses narrowed, reading the sudden tension in Elias's posture. Hal frowned. **"Elias? Talk to us."** The Phantom met Batman's gaze. "Change of plans," he rasped, the Yamato thrumming against his thigh. "We're recruiting." **\[RESERVOIR: 62.1%\]**. The clock on his impossible choice still pulsed its silent alarm.
The revelation hung like shattered glass. Batman's voice dropped to sub-zero gravel. "Names." Elias met the demand head-on, the Memetic Infiltration weaving conviction into his distorted tone. "Farmland outside Smallville. And the deepest trench of the Aegean Sea. Kal-El. Diana of Themyscira." Hal Jordan choked. "Superman? Wonder Woman? You *know* about them?" Elias tapped his mask temple. "System intel. Non-negotiable targets. Darkseid's invasion isn't a skirmish; it's an apocalypse. We need *everyone*." Below, Parademon screeches echoed closer. Batman absorbed the names like data points, gears visibly turning beneath the cowl. Hal hovered nervously. "We're talking about approaching beings who could level cities!" Elias spun the Yamato in its sheath, a flash of blue light slicing the gloom. "Then offer them something bigger than cities. Offer them Earth." He gestured towards the echoing chaos deeper in Arkham. "This is a scouting party. The real war needs *their* strength." **\[RESERVOIR: 63.8%\]**. The Devil Fruit countdown ticked: **57:22**. Time fractured. The mission screamed urgency, but the choice demanded contemplation. Survival warred with transformation.
Batman moved first. Not towards Elias, but towards Hal. "Jordan. Containment priority shift. Hold this sector." His voice brooked no argument. Hal nodded grimly, ring flaring emerald. "Got it. Find me some sky when you're done." Batman vanished into a side corridor, a deeper shadow swallowed by Arkham's maw. Elias watched him go. The Dark Knight would verify. Always. Hal turned his ringlight fully on Elias, suspicion warring with necessity. "Alright, Phantom. Kansas or fish-tank? Pick." Elias felt the Yamato's cold hilt beneath his fingers, the phantom heat of Vergil's potential coiled inside him, the terrifying wheel spinning its countdown beside the Princess mission. He needed speed. Reliability. Power he could *wield* without drowning in its source. One choice offered flight. The other offered drowning. The third… consumed absolutely. **"The sky,"** Elias declared, stepping past Hal towards the stairwell exit. **"Smallville. First."** He burst onto Arkham's rain-lashed rooftop, the Yamato gleaming like captured moonlight. The clock screamed **56:01**. The hunt for Superman began. The Phantom leapt into the storm, chasing gods.
Elias landed hard on the parapet edge, Gotham's skyline a jagged silhouette against the storm. He gripped Yamato's hilt, Vergil's memories flooding him – the precise angle, the *intent* behind slicing dimensions. Not brute force, but *will* channeled through the blade's edge. He focused on Kansas: endless fields, Clark Kent's childhood home, the scent of wheat dust and ozone. He poured his burgeoning aura reservoir into the Yamato, syncing it with the Devil Trigger's cold potential humming beneath his skin. **"Smallville,"** he hissed, pouring the concept – place, nostalgia, refuge – into the blade. He raised Yamato vertically, the tip pointing skyward. Rain hissed as it vaporized near the gleaming steel. He slashed downward with controlled fury, the blade tearing a vertical fissure of pure, blinding blue light into the storm-lashed air. Reality screamed. The fissure pulsed, unstable, edges crackling with spatial static. Hal Jordan gaped behind him. **"What the hell—?!"** Elias didn't pause. He visualized the gateway *holding*. He slashed horizontally *through* the vertical tear. The blade moved sideways with impossible precision, intersecting the first cut's midpoint. A perfect, searing cruciform scar ripped open in mid-air. For a heartbeat, the portal shimmered violently – a window showing not Kansas farmland, but swirling grey static and fractured glimpses of alien constellations. Elias gritted his teeth, pouring more aura, forcing the Yamato's will upon the chaos. **"SMALLVILLE!"** The phantom heat surged. **[RESERVOIR: 59.5%]**. The static dissolved.
Through the stabilized cruciform portal, Kansas unfurled: golden wheat fields swaying under a bruised twilight sky, a distant white farmhouse gleaming beside a weathered red barn. The scent of damp earth and distant ozone washed over Gotham's rain. Elias exhaled sharply, triumph warring with profound exhaustion. He'd done it. Vergil's technique, amplified by his own desperate will and overflowing aura, had carved a path across a continent. Hal Jordan hovered beside him, ringlight dimmed by the portal's brilliance. **"You… opened a door… to Kansas?"** Elias spun Yamato expertly, sheathing it with a resonant *snick*. The portal held, humming with contained spatial energy. "Doorstep delivery," Elias rasped, the Memetic Infiltration layering weary defiance over the distortion. "Now find Bruce. Tell him I made the reservation." He gestured towards the farmhouse. "Superman keeps his shield polished." Hal glanced between the portal and the asylum chaos below, torn. Elias didn't wait. He stepped through the cruciform light, his silhouette swallowed by Kansas twilight. The portal snapped shut behind him with a vacuum *CRACK*, leaving Hal Jordan alone on Arkham's roof with Gotham's rain, a severed dimension's fading ozone, and impossible questions ringing louder than any alarm. The Phantom had vanished westward. The Devil Fruit clock pulsed: **55:17**. Clark Kent was home.
Elias landed lightly on a patch of packed earth beside the Kent driveway, gravel crunching softly beneath worn boots. Gotham's stench vanished, replaced by sweet hay and damp soil. The sky was bruised purple, stars just beginning to pierce the gloom. Ahead stood the farmhouse, warm light spilling from its windows onto a wide porch. It radiated profound stillness, a stark contrast to Arkham's frantic dissonance. Elias paused, Yamato a silent weight at his hip. He felt the phantom heat beneath his ribs flare – **[RESERVOIR: 58.2%]** – feeding off the sheer audacity of appearing unannounced at Superman's childhood sanctuary. He inhaled deeply, centering himself. *Politely*. The system demanded spectacle, but Superman demanded sincerity. Or perhaps wary suspicion. He approached the porch steps, deliberately audible on the gravel. A shadow moved behind the screen door. Elias ascended, the weathered wood creaking softly beneath each step. He stopped squarely before the sturdy oak front door. No theatrics. No Yamato drawn. Just a lone, rain-dampened traveler beneath a Kansas sky. He raised his unhurried fist and knocked – three firm, deliberate strikes echoing through the quiet evening. *Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Silence followed. The kind of silence that stretches taut, heavy with watchful anticipation. Elias imagined Kryptonian senses dissecting his heartbeat, his aura signature, the faint ozone clinging to his clothes from the Yamato's cut. He remained motionless, hands loose at his sides. The porch light flickered on, bathing him in warm yellow light. Through the screen door's mesh, a figure materialized: Jonathan Kent, broad-shouldered, face etched with the lines of honest labor and current concern. His eyes, sharp and wary beneath gray brows, scanned Elias from head to toe, lingering on the silver mask. "Can I help you, son?" he asked, his voice steady but cautious, leaning against the frame. Behind him, Martha Kent appeared, peering over Jonathan's shoulder, her expression a mixture of worry and motherly curiosity. Elias felt the familiar phantom warmth pulse beneath his ribs **\[RESERVOIR: 58.5%\]**, fueled by the sheer surreal intimacy of standing before Superman's parents.
Elias' grin shifted subtly beneath the mask. The sheepishness wasn't entirely feigned; confronting Jonathan Kent felt profoundly more unnerving than facing down Parademons. The mask, a shield against Gotham's criminals and League scrutiny, suddenly felt absurdly inadequate against the piercing gaze of Kansas practicality. Superman didn't need X-ray vision to see through theatrics; his parents embodied the instinct. With a deliberate, unassuming movement, Elias reached up and grasped the smooth metal edge of the Phantom mask. He didn't rip it off dramatically. He simply unhooked it, the release mechanism clicking softly. Cool, damp evening air washed over his face as he lowered the mask, revealing sharp features, damp dark hair plastered to his forehead, and eyes that held a startling blend of weary defiance and genuine apology. He held the mask loosely in one hand, the polished surface catching the porch light. "Apologies for the hour, Mr. Kent," Elias said, his unmasked voice smoother, less distorted, carrying an earnestness he rarely used. "And the... disguise. Pointless here, really." **\[AURA HARVESTING: MAXIMUM FEED (VULNERABLE EXPOSURE / PARADOXICAL HONESTY)\]**. **\[RESERVOIR: 60.1%\]**. The unexpected resonance of unmasking flooded his reserves.
Jonathan's expression softened fractionally, surprise replacing overt suspicion. Martha's hand went to her chest, her eyes widening slightly at the unexpectedly young face revealed. Elias met Jonathan's gaze directly, projecting sincerity amplified by his aura. "Elias Finch," he stated clearly, offering his name freely now the mask was gone. "I need to speak with Clark." He didn't say 'Superman'. He used the name that mattered here. "It's urgent. World-breakingly urgent." He saw Jonathan's jaw tighten, the instinctive protectiveness flaring. Martha stepped forward, placing a hand on her husband's arm, her own gaze assessing Elias with remarkable calm. "Clark's... helping with chores in the barn," Jonathan said slowly, his eyes never leaving Elias's. "What's this about?"
Before Elias could answer, the barn door groaned open thirty yards away. Clark Kent stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. His posture was relaxed, farmhand-solid, but his eyes locked onto Elias instantly – blue, impossibly clear, and radiating an intensity that seemed to vibrate the air. He stopped mid-stride, the rag falling forgotten. He saw Elias's unmasked face, saw Jonathan and Martha on the porch, saw the palpable tension. The easy farmhand demeanor vanished, replaced by unnerving stillness. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with latent power. Elias felt the phantom warmth flare violently **\[RESERVOIR: 61.2%\]**, reacting to the sheer presence before him. He turned fully towards Clark, the Yamato a silent weight at his hip, the Devil Fruit choice screaming silently in his mind **\[54:03\]**, and offered the Kryptonian exile a small, weary, utterly unmasked nod. "Mr. Kent," Elias said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his gut. "We need to talk. About Darkseid." The name landed like a thunderclap in the Kansas twilight. Clark Kent's eyes narrowed into sapphire lasers.
Clark didn't move a muscle, but the air pressure shifted. Dust motes danced violently in the porch light. Jonathan tensed, stepping instinctively in front of Martha. Elias saw the calculation – the speed, the strength, the heat vision priming unseen. The instinct to protect his parents overriding all else. Elias knew he had milliseconds. Spectacle wouldn't disarm *this*. Honesty wouldn't either. Only paradox. Elias raised both hands slowly, palms open and facing Clark – a gesture not of threat, but of absurdist capitulation. He offered the Kryptonian his most disarmingly crooked grin, the one usually reserved for Gotham thugs moments before they regretted their life choices. **"Chill out, Clark,"** Elias called out, his voice layered with genuine amusement and amplified nonchalance by his aura. **"Seriously. I'm** ***not*** **with Darkseid."** He gestured vaguely towards the Yamato sheathed at his side. **"I'm more the 'cutting holes in reality for dramatic entrances' kind of nuisance. The kind who just dropped Hal Jordan's jaw clean off the Watchtower."** The sheer, ludicrous audacity hung thick in the charged silence. Martha gasped softly. Jonathan stared. Clark Kent… blinked.
The stillness stretched, taut as piano wire. Clark's gaze flickered from Elias's open hands, to Yamato, then back to his face, searching for deception, finding only defiant sincerity wrapped in bewildering absurdity. The tension in his shoulders eased, infinitesimally, the invisible pressure releasing like a sigh. A flicker of wary curiosity touched his eyes, replacing the raw protective fury. **[AURA HARVESTING: MAXIMUM FEED (COSMIC ABSURDITY DEFIANT TRUTH). [RESERVOIR: 63.7%]**. Elias lowered his hands slowly, keeping his posture loose, non-threatening. **"Hal Jordan?"** Clark finally spoke, his voice deeper, resonating with untapped power, yet controlled. He took a single, deliberate step forward, closing the distance. His gaze remained locked on Elias. **"You know Hal? And you know… that name?"** Elias nodded, meeting that piercing blue stare without flinching. **"Met him and Batman fighting chrome locusts in Arkham. Briefly upgraded their tactical options."** He tapped his temple. **"And yeah, I know the name. Apokolips is mobilizing. Their boots are already on Earth. We don't have time for vetting procedures."** He gestured towards the distant farmhouse light reflecting in Clark's eyes. **"We need Diana too. Now."** The Devil Fruit clock pulsed *[53:19]**, a silent drumbeat of impossible choices. The Phantom had found his god. Now came the impossible ask.
Another ***DING!*** echoed sharply inside Elias's skull – different this time. Not the chilling chime of mission updates, but a resonant, almost triumphant ping. Crimson text scrolled across his vision: **ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: "Ah, The Negotiator."** **REWARD: Memetic Infiltration Upgrade - Persuasion Catalyst.** The system's voice slithered in: ***Enhanced subconscious resonance during negotiation attempts. Amplifies sincerity & perceived credibility. Does NOT bypass magical wards, psychic shields, or Kryptonian-level skepticism. High-risk reliance breeds catastrophic backlash if detected.*** Elias didn't outwardly react, but inwardly, he seized the tool. Perfect timing. He leaned in fractionally, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, layered with the newly upgraded Catalyst. **"Look,"** he said, his aura resonating subtly, weaving threads of undeniable urgency and stark honesty into each word. **"I get it. Mysterious guy pops up at your folks' place spouting Apokolips? Suspicious doesn't cover it. But Arkham's crawling with Parademons *right now*. Batman's verifying intel. Hal's holding the line. And Darkseid?"** Elias paused, letting the name hang heavy, imbued with the Catalyst's chilling weight. **"He isn't sending scouts. He's sending architects. Architects of the Anti-Life Equation."** Clark's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine alarm flashing through the wary skepticism. Martha stifled a gasp. Jonathan gripped the porch railing, knuckles white.
Elias pressed the Catalyst relentlessly, focusing its amplified sincerity onto Clark's innate protective instinct – not for Earth, but for *this* place, *these* people. **"You could vaporize me before I blink,"** Elias stated flatly, no bravado, just fact. **"But then you lose intel. You lose time. And Darkseid wins because we hesitated."** He gestured towards the boundless Kansas sky, his aura resonating with the vastness Clark knew intimately. **"Themyscira is next. Diana needs warning too. But she's deep beneath the Aegean, shielded. I can open a door *there*, Clark. With your… encouragement… maybe we can get her to listen."** He held up the Phantom Mask in his other hand. **"I'll put the weirdo disguise back on for that part. Promise."** His earnestness, amplified by the Catalyst and the sheer impossibility of his claims, struck a chord. Clark's gaze flickered towards his parents – Jonathan nodded almost imperceptibly, trust warring with paternal caution. Martha's expression was pure resolve. Clark inhaled deeply, the farmhand settling back slightly beneath the godlike presence. A decision crystallized in those blue eyes. Suspicion hadn't vanished. But urgency had won. **"Alright, Elias Finch,"** Clark murmured, his voice resonating with newfound command. **"Open your door."** He stepped forward, a silent promise radiating: *One wrong move and Apokolips will feel trivial.* The Devil Fruit clock screamed *\[52:08\]**. Elias raised Yamato, Vergil's technique humming in his bones. The hunt for the Princess began.
Elias nodded once, sharp and decisive. The Memetic Infiltration Catalyst hummed within him, weaving threads of paradoxical trust – earned through defiance, solidified by necessity. He raised the Phantom Facade. The liquid mercury flowed over his face with unnerving silence, sealing him behind the shimmering fractal patterns. His eyes, sharp and determined, glinted from within the shifting silver frame, transforming the weary traveler back into the Phantom. **"Hold tight,"** his distorted voice echoed through the Catalyst's amplified conviction. He raised Yamato vertically, blade gleaming under the farmhouse light. He poured aura and will into the sword, visualizing not Kansas fields, but ancient marble temples bathed in eternal sunset, the scent of salt and ambrosia, the hum of divine wards. He focused on Diana of Themyscira – not the warrior, but the *concept* of her sanctuary. He slashed downward. Reality tore open vertically with a visceral *SHRIEK*, revealing swirling chaos instead of paradise. The Catalyst surged, resonating against Clark's unwavering gaze – a silent anchor demanding precision. Elias gritted his teeth beneath the mask. He slashed horizontally, intersecting the tear. **"THEMYSCIRA!"** The cruciform portal stabilized violently, shimmering into focus: pillared courtyards drenched in golden light, distant ocean cliffs, and the faint scent of sacred groves washing over the farmyard. The Phantom had opened the door.