The wind howled over the scorched cityscape of Earth-9X. What was once the shining metropolis of Halcyon Prime had become a graveyard of broken glass, steel skeletons, and silence broken only by the distant cries of survivors. Sirens no longer sang. Towers once touched the clouds—now, their mangled frames clawed at the sky in pain.
Above the city, Solari hovered—an ethereal figure in red and gold, his cape fluttering in the ash-laden breeze. Eyes glowing faintly, he surveyed the devastation with the heavy breath of a man too familiar with loss.
The city's wounds echoed his own.
"Sector 17," he muttered into the comm embedded in his suit's collar. "Nothing yet."
A crackle answered. "Confirmed. Last known position of the target: Fusion Core District. Proceed with caution."
His fists clenched.
It was always Dreadmaw.
But long before he was Earth's greatest weapon… long before he became Solari… he was a child with no name.
Years Ago
A distant planet circled a dying red sun—its skies darkened not by storms, but by industry. The planet's heart, overmined for precious core crystals, had fractured. Tremors turned into quakes. Then implosions.
Amongst the chaos, a desperate couple placed their infant in a metallic pod—sleek, warm, and alien in design. They sealed it with tears and pressed their palms to its glass before it vanished into the stars.
That child crash-landed on Earth.
He was discovered in a crater outside a quiet Midwest town, wrapped in golden fabric and crying under the full moon. Martha and Roland Volen, a couple unable to conceive, took him in and named him Kiran.
They raised him like any other boy. School, chores, scraped knees. But even then, there were signs. A fall from a roof that left no injury. A fever that superheated a thermometer. Eyes that sometimes sparkled like twin suns.
His parents said they'd explain "everything" once he "awakened."
That awakening came in high school.
Kiran sat in his room with Belle Kersey—smart, funny, fierce, and the girl who'd found a home in his heart. They were supposed to be studying for finals, but their books lay forgotten as kisses replaced vocabulary flashcards.
Then it happened.
A flash of pain. A hum in his skull. His pupils flared—lit with a blinding golden light—and just in time, he twisted away.
A searing heat exploded from his eyes, carving a molten line through the wall.
Heart pounding, Kiran stumbled back, clutching his face. "Oh no. Oh no—Belle, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—don't come close—!"
But then came her hand, gently resting on his trembling shoulder.
"Kiran," she whispered.
He turned hesitantly. She cupped his cheeks, her thumbs brushing away his tears, and kissed him—soft, unafraid, accepting.
The next day, with Belle beside him, his parents brought him to the barn and unveiled the pod.
"You were sent here," Roland said, voice trembling. "We found you the night you fell. We never told anyone. We knew the world wouldn't understand."
"There was a message in the pod," Martha added, "but... it's gone now. Erased. We don't know where you came from. Only that you were meant for more."
Belle stayed. Through high school. Through college. Through every revelation and test of his strength. They built a life—modest, peaceful, filled with love.
Until the day Dreadmaw tore that life in two.
Present Day
The winds changed.
A tremor rumbled beneath Solari's boots as he landed outside the ruins of the fusion plant. Smoke spiraled upward, and twisted metal littered the ground. Something primal lingered in the air—rage, hunger... grief.
Then he emerged.
Dreadmaw.
A mountain of mutated muscle and fury, twice the size of any normal man, with greenish-black skin like armored stone. Glowing tubes ran through his shoulders like veins of poison. His breath came in growls.
Solari narrowed his eyes. "This ends now."
Dreadmaw let out a guttural laugh. "You again, golden boy? They keep sending you. Don't they get it? I'm not the threat. They are."
"You killed hundreds."
"I was born in a cage!"
Years Ago – Project DEIMOS
Miles beneath the Earth's crust, in a covert research lab funded by global defense coalitions, a project was underway: Project DEIMOS. An attempt to create a living weapon—one that could match and kill alien threats, should beings like Solari ever turn.
Their first subject?
A child taken from the streets of Old Detroit.
Name: Mason Holt.
An orphan. No record. No family. Easy to disappear.
The experiments were brutal. His body was torn apart and rebuilt, his cells reengineered with gamma fusion catalysts. The pain drove him insane. The rage became permanent.
He didn't remember who he was. Only what they made him into.
Dreadmaw.
Now, in the ruins of the fusion plant, he bared his fangs.
"You think you're a hero? You're their puppet. A pretty symbol to keep people believing in hope while they turned me into this."
Solari's voice cracked with restrained fury. "I lost everything because of you. Belle—my wife—was in Halcyon Plaza when you leveled it."
Dreadmaw's grin faltered.
"I didn't know," he said quietly. "That… wasn't supposed to happen."
"You think that changes anything?"
A long silence. Thick. Loaded.
Then—
A blinding flash.
Solari's body erupted in solar light, golden energy rippling off him like flares from a dying star. His boots scorched the concrete beneath. His eyes—twin infernos.
Dreadmaw rolled his neck, the ground vibrating as he flexed his claws. Toxic energy flowed through his veins, steaming through the air.
Above them, the clouds split from the sheer tension in the atmosphere.
One step forward. Then another.
Both men squared their stance.
No more words.
Just war.
Then they launched—