As peaceful as Martian society was, not all of it obeyed its common laws. Yes, even in what was considered a golden age, there was a dark underbelly that lay beneath its gilded surface. This dark world did its best to remain in the shadows, undisturbed by the light of day.

Though the sounds were few and far in-between, the psychic plane was roaring. J'onn felt his mind be bombarded with cheers, screams, and wails. He was thankful that his mental defenses prevented the constant roar from overwhelming him. So many broadcasting minds was tough to block out, but he did so.

It was a room with dim lighting, large enough to hold a couple hundred people, and there was certainly that many present. Men stood within close quarters of one another, giving off the impression of claustrophobia for those who did not enjoy small places. Slowly, J'onn worked his way through the crowd of Martians that encircled an enclosement. This enclosement was reinforced with an advanced polymer designed to weather great pressure and collisions.

Using their shapeshifting abilities, J'onn and Da'vizz had made small changes to their forms. J'onn had shortened his height and stretched himself wider. Da'vizz had lengthened himself, shrinking inward. They did not wear the marking of the Manhunters to further disguise themselves. It was unknown if their efforts were of any worth. The crowd they were in were solely focused on the enclosed area and for good reason. Two Martians had entered the space, taking up positions on opposite sides of the arena.

This was an illegal underground fighting tournament. Such places were illegal due to the gambling aspect as the audience would place wagers on who they believed would triumph in a contest of battle. There was no regulatory body to enforce safety precautions, thus its illegal status. Also, unlike the recreational bodies, these allowed victory by death, another illegal aspect.

Yet, this was not the first time J'onn had encountered such places. He had learned there were rules to an extent. For instance, the rules dictated what sort of match this would be, be it with weapons, raw strength, or even telepathic dominance. One time, J'onn had encountered an "Anything goes" style. That was usually the extent of the rules, however.

"Two minutes!" a voice announced throughout the arena. "All bets must be placed before the next fight! Do not miss this opportunity!"

J'onn came to a stop in the crowd, Da'vizz doing the same next to him. Their eyes glanced around, searching for the ringleaders as it were. They had reinforcements outside of this establishment, but if they were to successfully shut it down, they needed the organizers. They needed to be here in order to ensure this operation of theirs was working.

"I do not see them," Da'vizz murmured to him, a mental link providing them privacy within the crowd.

"They are here," J'onn responded confidently. "This place has been active for the last solar month. They will not allow their enterprise to be watched over by lesser individuals."

Though it would have been preferable to use his mind to seek these organizers out, that would only alert them to the Manhunters' presence, and cause them to flee. No, the best option was to physically search for them so that they weren't alerted. Unfortunately, this was more troublesome.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the next match is about to be underway!" the announcer proclaimed. "In the left corner, we have An'twox, winner of seven straight matches! In the right corner, is J'von, an up-and-comer that is making a name for themselves. The match is beast, single change only."

J'onn resisted the urge to grimace. This was another format in these underground battles. In this case, each combatant would shapeshift into another creature and battle it out. They only had the opportunity to choose one form and one form only. If they chose poorly, the match would be terrible for them.

The crowd grew silent as they waited with bated breath to see what the combatants would choose as their forms. J'onn just stared passively. He had never enjoyed watching violence for the sake of it.

"Fighters," the announcer said, "change!"

Immediately, the two Martians shifted their forms. An'twox leaned forward as his body lengthened. His arms stretched out, thickening, his hands becoming pincers. Appendages erupted out of his sides to help steady himself as he nearly laid on the floor. Out of his backside, a thick tail grew, a sharp stinger erupting out of its end. Spikes jutted out at various places, primarily on its back. It seemed An'twox had chosen the corpron form.

As for J'von, his body thickened, his legs and arms shrinking into his body. Wings erupted out of his back, flapping rapidly until he took flight. Thin appendages began to grow out of his flanks, each one ending with a pincer, albeit smaller ones than the corpron. It also grew a stinger out of its backside. This was a raasp.

"Fighters: fight!" the announcer declared.

Immediately, J'von began to circle around the sealed cage, An'twox scuttling on his multiple feet to keep his foe in his sights. There was a low buzzing sound as the raasp flew, clearly trying to position itself so that it could strike without being hit.

Not that An'twox would allow this. He lashed out with his tail, stabbing his stinger at J'von, forcing him to avoid the blows. He bounced back and forth in the air, avoiding each stinger jab.

The audience was roaring once again, some cheering for An'twox, others for J'von. Some Martians were even pumping their fists into the air over and over in encouragement.

An'twox lunged forward, snapping with his pincers at J'von, lashing out with his tail when it was clear his foe was too high in the air to reach. J'von danced out of the way of the tail, again trying to circle around, to which his opponent began to rapidly move his legs, turning himself to not give up his back.

"Which do you think will win?" Da'vizz asked, watching the fight with keen interest.

"An'twox is clearly the more aggressive," J'onn replied. "J'von is waiting for the best moment to strike. This will be over in an instant."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"J'von."

"Really? After what you said about An'twox?"

"The raasp is the natural predator of the corpron. The only difference is that they have intelligent minds guiding them. J'von is following his animal instincts, which is for the raasp to attack the corpron from the air from behind. An'twox knows this and is doing everything he can not to be put into that situation. It's why you see him attacking more, trying to keep J'von in front of him."

"I see. What of those spikes on the corpron's back?"

"A last defense to protect itself. Unfortunately, the spikes are too far apart to keep the raasp's stinger away."

"How long do you think he can keep up the offensive? One would think such a tactic will eventually tire him out."

There was that, J'onn supposed. Staying on the offensive would cause An'twox to exhaust himself eventually, which was probably what J'von was waiting for. He'd let his foe defeat himself before he landed the finishing blow, conserving his strength for that moment. Ultimately, that meant this would be a protracted fight that would last for quite some time, depending on the combatants' endurance.

Which left him time to continue locating this illegal fighting ring's leaders. J'onn continued to scan the crowd until he noticed an area that was cordoned from the audience. It was raised up, high enough for people to take a seat and watch the fight unimpeded. There were a couple of guards standing near the entrance to this area, c'ollt weapons displayed on their persons. Their own orange eyes watched the crowd carefully for unrest.

J'onn moved his arm, his elbow coming into contact with his partner, gaining his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Da'vizz turn his head towards him, to which he merely nodded towards the raised seating.

Seated in the area were three Martians, each one wearing shoulder guards that extended outward, capes connected to them and flowing down their backs. Golden tassels hung across their chests, connecting each shoulder guard to the other.

Such dress was unnecessary, but there were Martians that liked to display their status. J'onn recalled a current trend amongst the wealthier class was for them to wear capes. You usually saw such attire in high society, but it was something that was appearing in society's underbelly. J'onn was rather thankful because it made identifying the leaders of illicit organizations easier.

Da'vizz then raised a hand up, a small device in hand. There was a round circle on the device's face, which was directed towards the three men. The circle was in actuality a lens, one that was capturing their likeness and forwarding it to their command. It would not take long to obtain identifications for each man, and their property ownerships. If they were to somehow escape, then they could be apprehended at their homes, if not a safehouse.

At this point, An'twox was striking with his tail, jabbing it back and forth as he tried to sting J'von. J'von just darted from side to side to avoid the stinger, right up until An'twox suddenly changed tactics. After missing another sting, he suddenly swiped his tail from side to side. The new maneuver actually had some success as J'von was clipped in the side. It wasn't a solid hit, but it was enough to send J'von back into the side of the cage the two combatants were in. His back hit the transparent wall with a dull thud.

Immediately, An'twox pulled his tail back and threw it forward for the finishing blow. At the last moment, J'von dragged his body against the wall, avoiding the stinger as it struck the wall. It pierced into the polymer and actually became stuck.

It happened in an instant. J'von buzzed through the air on his wings, moving into An'twox's blindside. Then he followed the raasp's instincts and closed in, stabbing its own stinger into the corpron's back. There was a high-pitched shriek from An'twox as he was stabbed, his body thrashing about, but unable to do much as his tail impeded his movement, still firmly lodged in the wall.

Simultaneously, cheers and wails rang out throughout the room, the various gamblers celebrating their champion, or bemoaning the fall of the fallen. Much had to do with whom they betted on.

J'onn couldn't help but grimace. He had hoped to end the match before this happened, but it appeared to have happened regardless. Da'vizz pumped a fist into the air, much like a few close by Martians were doing, and let out a cheer. He was merely fitting in with their cover.

"It was just as you said," Da'vizz said to him through their mental link. His tone was matter of fact, not betraying any sort of excitement despite his physical gesturing. "What happens to An'twox?"

"Unfortunately, he will die. The raasp's poison is quite lethal, and I imagine J'von was going in for the kill."

Da'vizz lowered his fist as he stared towards the cage. "That is unfortunate. Command needs to inform us of when it is time to breech so we can stop this."

"Agreed."

In the meantime, J'von had retreated away from An'twox, returning himself to his Martian form. An'twox, however, had remained in his corpron form. His body was slowing down though, his thrashing becoming weaker and weaker as the raasp poison infected him. Eventually, he went limp. Only then did An'twox began to shift back into his natural form, lying lifeless on the floor.

"And the winner is J'von!" the announcer proclaimed. "We will be taking a short intermission as we prepare for our next match! The highly anticipated Y'diss vs Re'ath! Place your bets on this once in a lifetime match!"

The crowd fell silent. No longer was there any broadcasting of thoughts. Each Martian was in the process of placing their next wager, even as members of the underground entered the cage to remove An'twox. You knew when a Martian had successfully placed their bet as their body began to move, their heads looking towards their nearby friends to begin debating who they believed would be the next match's victor.

That's when J'onn felt a mind probe his. It was a familiar one, one he recognized as his superior officer's. "We have identification on those men," he was told. "We are giving the signal to breach."

"Understood," J'onn replied before turning his attention to Da'vizz. "We are about to begin."

Reaching out with his mind, J'onn sought to locate the strike team. It only took a moment to locate familiar minds and he could sense them surrounding the building. Known entry points and exits were covered. It took several minutes all the teams were in place, the two undercover Manhunters waiting patiently until they received word.

And then it was time.

"Attention all!" J'onn announced, his thoughts broadcasted to the room's occupants. "You are surrounded! Surrender yourselves peacefully! No harm needs to happen!"

The arena fell silent, many heads had turned to stare at the Martian, who began resuming his normal height and size as well as shifted his chest, the well-known red X crossing over to identify him. Da'vizz did the same at his side.

"Manhunters!" someone cried out and the crowd erupted into fright. Many ran for the exits, only for the sounds of the doors being battered inward to be heard. The strike team was breaching.

A high-pitched screech rang out, causing J'onn to turn his attention to the battle arena itself. The doorway was open, and J'von had emerged, resuming his raasp form, his attention solely on J'onn. That screech had been the raasp's battle cry, its wings buzzing as the transformed Martian headed right for him.

It seemed J'von had chosen violence.

That's when he began to change. J'onn's body began to bulge as muscles expanded exaggeratedly. He surged upward, his height growing until he towered over every Martian present. His jaw grew larger as well, opening to reveal sharp incisors. Eyes began angular and stretched outwards across his face, inward as well until there was barely any space between them, giving off the impression there was only one eye when in fact there were two. His head elongated more than the traditional Martian head, splitting down the middle to form two pointed ends. His arms swelled and hardened, each one becoming as broad as a hovercraft. At their ends, two sharp claws emerged, one towards the outer side of the appendage and the other on the inner side. His legs, in contrast, appeared to be short and stubbly, but that was due to them being coiled beneath him.

This was known as a grilant, and they were exceedingly rare. In fact, they could only be found out in J'onn's homeland, usually residing in the caves in the area. They ventured out during the night, their footsteps shaking the ground due to their large forms.

And as J'von's raasp closed in on him, stinger prepared to strike, J'onn pulled back one of his large arms and threw it forward. J'von immediately stopped his charged and backed away, avoiding the blow.

Immediately, he lunged forward, moving his extended arm across his chest. His coiled legs straightened out as he moved, revealing them to be much thinner than his arms. A good comparison would be that of Earth's ape, with long bulky arms and shorter legs.

That was when J'onn swung his arm back out, performing a backhand blow, this time being successful. His bulky arm struck the raasp with such a force that it immediately shot through the air until it struck the wall. There was a wet splatting sound, the raasp seemingly stuck to the wall before it collapsed to the floor. Sickly fluids were left to drip down the wall from where it had been struck.

That caused many of the fleeing Martians to freeze where they were, staring in horror. J'von had just won their most recent illegal fight, making him a respected and strong combatant. To be felled in such a manner left them stunned.

It was why J'onn had chosen this form. The grilant was deceptively fast in short distances, its size naturally making one assume it was lumbering and slow. Over long distances, yes, it was at a disadvantage, which was why it preferred caves as ambush points. Any prey unfortunate to find such a dwelling would be ambushed and stunned, leaving it helpless to be fed upon.

Also, it was quite strong, rendering any evasive advantage a raasp provided moot. As for the raasp's stinger, it would find it quite hard to penetrate the tough, sandstorm-weathered skin of the grilant.

That's when the strike team came flooding in from multiple entrances. The red X covered their chests, airtight masks covering their faces. The masks reached down their necks and ended at their collar bones, ensuring any foreign gasses could not seep through. Every member of the strike team wore these gas masks to prevent exposure to noxious fumes and poisonous agents in aerosol form.

In their hands were oddly constructed weapons. The bodies were long and rounded, thin, needle-esque barrels extending out. Each strike team member held the weapon with a hand at the base of the barrel with one hand, the other on the handle and trigger that extended beneath the weapon's body. These were plasma guns, the weapon designed to harness raw energy and unleash it as bright yellow beams. They were lethal to all who touched the beams.

"Down! Everyone down!" multiple strike team members ordered as they swarmed in. "Hands behind your heads! Knees on the ground!"

Many Martians complied with the shouted orders, dropping to their knees, placing their hands behind their heads. J'onn turned the head of his grilant form to scan the room, seeing more and more Martians giving themselves up. A grilant's eyes were more developed to detect thermal changes, meaning he saw his fellow Martians as nothing more than orange shapes, the result of their bodies giving off heat. All else took on darker shades, indicating a lack of heat in those areas. He eventually saw the area where the upper-class Martians resided to be empty. No doubt they had fled the moment J'onn declared the Manhunter raid to be on. Shifting, he returned to his normal Martian body and began to walk to the area.

Da'vizz was quickly at his side. "Was that a grilant?" he excitedly asked, keeping pace with J'onn. "I've never seen one before! Just in the books!"

"It was," J'onn answered him, a bemused smile on his face.

"I didn't realize just how strong they were! You just hit that raasp with one strike and it was down!"

"There's a reason why not many raasps exist in the Elysium Mons," he informed his partner. "Their external skeletal bodies cannot withstand the force a grilant can generate."

"So I see."

The two Manhunters reached the seated area. It became quite apparent to J'onn there was a hidden exit behind a curtained area. Grabbing the cloth, he pulled it to one side and saw a doorway there. "Over here!" he called out to the strike team.

A few armed Manhunters quickly came to him. Seeing the hidden exit, they immediately got to work opening it, one of them merely firing their plasma gun at the lock. A hole was burned clear through, and they forced the door open. A dark corridor greeted them, but did not deter them as one by one the Manhunters entered.

J'onn hung back though. It was not his responsibility to accompany the team as his presence would be needed here to restrain the captives they already had. He didn't bother to do a headcount as there were many present.

Hopefully, they had enough escort cruisers to load them all.

The face of the building towered above all whom entered it. At its apex, an upside-down triangle rose up, wide at its top, thin and pointed at its additional point emerged from its flat top. From its pointed bottom, flames arced outward and upward, completing the sign of H'ronmeer, patron God of the Martian people.

Below this sigil, on the face of the building, was a large, circular window. The glass was stained a variety of different colors, though orange, red, and yellow were the dominant colors. They formed a swirling pattern.

This tower extended from the ground, a wider building emerging out from behind it. It was what one would call a cathedral, and it was used in a similar fashion. On this day, Martians entered the building, one of many that existed within Dea'vers.

It was a holy day, recognized by all on Mars. Today marked the first of eight days that were reserved in recognition of H'ronmeer, the God of Life and Light. It was through H'ronmeer that Mars and its populous had come to be. The light he bathed the red world with had given rise to every lifeform that existed.

As this was the first day, it was custom for all of Mars to suspend their daily lives and attend the first of many services throughout the next eight days, the standard Martian week. Only emergency and necessary services would be performed this day. All other societal functions would resume later throughout the week.

Th'mas was one such parishioner. He followed the crowd into the cathedral, passing through the tall, looming doors and into the chapel. Like all of H'ronmeer's cathedrals, the inner sanctum was large, filled with stone pews for sitting. The first few rows had already been filled, the parishioners filling the pews from front to back. Th'mas found himself taking up a seat in the sixth row, one at the end of the pew as it was separated by the main path that led from the door and up to the altar at the front.

Calmly he waited until all whom came to begin the first holy day arrived. The doors quietly shut themselves when there was no more room. The only sounds that were made were of Martians adjusting themselves in their seats, their skin brushing against stone.

Then a low, dull ring started. A bell intoned the beginning of this day, announcing in a rhythmic BONG, BONG, BONG.

This was also the start of the remembrance. Rising above the congregation was an altar, one that stood high on a dais. A preacher emerged behind the altar, the sigil of H'ronmeer seemingly glowing from his chest. It was a bright yellow, the light brighter due to the priest's shapeshifting. Other priests filed out from behind him, forming a line on either side of him, each with the same sigil on their chest.

Once they were in place, the head priest began his sermon. "Behold! The Light of H'ronmeer blesses us this day, bathing us in his glory!"

This was a familiar refrain that Th'mas had heard since his childhood. He listened attentively, reciting the sermon in his own mind. He knew it word for word, the same as the others. It had not deviated in the centuries that it had been in use.

The priest recited the familiar greeting and then went right into the re-telling of Mars' earliest days, in which it was nothing more than a red ball of dirt, birthed by the Unnameable One responsible for the universe's beginning. From that cataclysmic beginning, the gods came to be, and it was through H'ronmeer, in his benevolence, that life was given.

And though even the Martians were separated in their own societies, all owed their allegiance and duty to H'ronmeer. Even the pole-dwellers.

Then came the great melding of minds. At the center of Martian life was the Great Mind, as it was called. All Martians could connect to this mind and be filled with love from every Martian that existed, had existed, and would exist. Th'mas opened his mind to the Great Mind, like the rest of the parishioners, and joined together with them.

He felt life and light, the endless love and devotion of his people to this one singular cause. He was filled with hope, its gentle caress fulfilling him in a spiritual way. It was very much like sinking into an ocean of warm water, comforting and cleansing.

Languish, Th'mas shut his eyes to deepen his connection. Then, out of nowhere, a roaring fire erupted within his mind.

Love quickly turned into fear.

A choked gasp erupted from Th'mas' lips, breaking the sacred silence that filled the cathedral. His eyes flew open, but he could still see the fire. It covered everything! The walls! The floor! The ceiling! The altar itself! It raged angrily and violently, consuming all that it could.

Th'mas gripped at the armrest next to him. He tried to stand, to escape! But he could not go anywhere as even the pew was aflame. He yanked his burning hand away, which led to him collapsing to the floor. There were cries from nearby parishioners, but Th'mas could no longer sense them. His body thrashed and spasmed, trying to rid itself of the flames.

H'ronmeer, have mercy!

More choked gasps left him, but he could not catch his breath. He banged the back of his head on the floor, an effort to dull the stinging, searing pain he felt. Unbeknownst to him, the skin on his forehead blackened, taking upon the shape of a familiar upside-down triangle. In addition to this triangle, flame-like silhouettes appeared from the pointed bottom, curving out and upwards. It was as if it were being burned into his very flesh, but all Th'mas felt was searing pain, as if he were being branded.

"Help me," he managed to choke out, even as he continued to thrash. "Someone, help me!"

Fun fact: The grilant form that J'onn becomes is the same monster he changes into in Genesis. When developing the rather short fight scene, I thought it fitting to bring that form into play while making a callback at the same time.

Also, the plasma rifles and the gas masks the strike teams is wearing are based off the ones from the first Justice League episode Secret Origins. They're the ones J'onn and his team wore when they made their last stand against the Imperium and its fellow parasites.