High in the bruised, storm-darkened skies, the underbelly of the Black Zero split open. Two colossal machines, shaped like monstrous, mechanical viruses, detached from the mothership. With no fire, no smoke, only a silent, terrifying purpose, they plunged into the atmosphere, accelerating towards the unsuspecting planet below.
Their descent was anything but stealthy. They burned through the clouds like twin meteors, visible to the naked eye as points of dark, falling metal.
Inside the North American Aerospace Defense Command, the atmosphere was thick with controlled panic.
"General Swanwick, we have two bogeys, confirmed separation from the Kryptonian mothership," an analyst shouted over the rising alarm. "They're on a direct trajectory for Earth. Initial velocity is Mach 7 and climbing."
On the main viewscreen, satellite footage showed the two objects glowing with atmospheric friction. General Swanwick stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, his face a grim mask. Beside him, Dr. Emil Hamilton, a DARPA scientist brought in for consultation, stared at the telemetry data, his brow furrowed.
"The rate of acceleration is impossible," the analyst called out again, his voice strained. "They're at Mach 13... Mach 17... now Mach 22!"
A wave of dread washed over the command center. These weren't landing craft; they were weapons of a scale they couldn't comprehend.
"We have trajectory projections, sir," another technician announced, bringing a holographic globe to life in the center of the room. Two angry red lines streaked across its surface, converging on opposite sides of the planet. "Impact points calculated. One is projected to land in the South Indian Ocean. The other... dear God... is heading for Metropolis."
"Opposite sides of the planet," Hamilton murmured, his eyes widening in dawning horror. "They're creating a planetary axis..."
Before he could finish, the two machines struck. There was no explosion, only a blinding flash of light as they hit their targets. On the globe, the two red markers began to pulse.
"Sir, we're detecting massive, anomalous gravity waves emanating from both impact sites!" the technician yelled. "The distortions are off the charts!"
"They're not trying to destroy the Earth," Hamilton said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the noise of the room. "They're terraforming it. Those machines... they're altering the planet's gravitational field from the core outwards."
"What happens to us when they're finished?" Swanwick asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Hamilton looked at him, his face pale. "Then Earth, as we know it, will be gone. And we, along with everything living on it, will cease to exist."
In the Indian Ocean, the World Engine ignited, and the sea convulsed. A monstrous tsunami rose from the depths, a wall of water hundreds of feet high, powered by the crushing gravity waves.
In Metropolis, the effect was even more terrifying. A low hum vibrated through the city, and then the first gravity wave hit. It wasn't an explosion; it was a physical hammer of weight. The ground buckled. Cars were lifted into the air as if they were toys, then slammed back down with crushing force. Skyscrapers groaned, their foundations pulverized. Glass rained down on the screaming streets as buildings began to collapse, not from explosions, but from being repeatedly pushed and pulled by an invisible, giant hand.
The Batwing screamed through the canyons of crumbling steel, its engines fighting against the chaotic gravitational pulses. Inside, Bruce gripped the controls, his knuckles white. He watched a skyscraper to his left get lifted a hundred feet into the air and then pancaked back onto its own foundation, the image reflected in the lenses of his cowl. A cold, surgical rage burned in his chest.
"These bastards lied about everything," he growled.
"Focus, Bruce," Selina's voice came through the comms, steady and calm from the co-pilot seat. "We need a plan."
As if on cue, a powerful gravity wave slammed down on them. The Batwing shuddered violently, alarms blaring as its anti-gravity systems overloaded. Bruce wrestled with the controls, managing to crash-land the advanced aircraft on the debris-choked street below.
"Looks like we're on foot," Selina said, already unbuckling. She gracefully leaped from the cockpit, her movements fluid and cat-like as she used the wreckage for cover. "Priority one is getting civilians out of the kill zone."
With a sharp crack, Selina shattered the glass facade of an office building. Inside, dozens of people were frozen, staring out the windows at the impossible destruction.
"What are you all doing? Admiring the view?" she snapped, her voice cutting through their shock. "This building is next. Move!"
Her sharp command broke their paralysis. As they scrambled for the emergency exits, Selina drew a wicked-looking dagger and shattered the opposite window, launching herself towards the next building in peril.
Bruce's approach was less elegant but brutally effective. He moved through the chaos like a force of nature, using his grappling hook to swing through the air, his cape spread wide. He ripped open a collapsed subway entrance with sheer strength, pulling trapped civilians from the darkness. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, his methods simple, direct, and efficient.
They watched as a squadron of fighter jets roared overhead, launching a volley of missiles at the towering World Engine. For a moment, a sliver of hope ignited. But as the missiles neared the machine, their trajectories warped wildly, pulled off course by the intense gravity field. They slammed into the already-devastated buildings below, their explosions adding to the symphony of destruction.
"Conventional weapons are useless," Bruce stated, the grim finality in his voice echoing in Selina's ear. "We have to split up! Evacuate everyone we can!" With a powerful push, he launched himself toward a teetering skyscraper, disappearing into the dust and chaos.
...
Back at the Kent farm, Clark stood amidst the wreckage, his eyes fixed on the television screen showing the live feed from Metropolis. The city was dying, and it was his people who were killing it.
"Godfather, I have to stop them," he said, turning to Marcus. His voice was filled with a resolve forged in grief and anger. He would not let Zod trade one world's ashes for another's.
"Go," Marcus said, his gaze distant, already focused on the other side of the planet. "Zod is your burden to bear. I will handle Metropolis."
The power source of that World Engine was immense. It was a beacon of energy that he could not ignore. To let such a prize go to waste would be an insult to his very nature.
With a final nod to Clark, Marcus tore a hole in reality, the air shimmering and splitting open into a portal of golden sparks. He stepped through, leaving the quiet fields of Kansas for the heart of a city being torn apart by gravity.
He emerged on the roof of a skyscraper, the deafening roar of destruction washing over him. The World Engine stood in the center of the devastation, a metal titan pulsing with raw power. Marcus was not surprised by its destructive capability; a machine designed to reshape a planet's core was bound to be formidable.
His gaze, however, was drawn elsewhere. Across the city, through the dust and falling debris, his senses pierced through the walls of the tallest, most pristine building still standing: LexCorp tower. There, on the highest floor, stood a man with a mane of auburn hair, staring out at the Kryptonian machine not with fear, but with a look of intense, predatory curiosity.
Lex Luthor.
Marcus recalled visiting this city decades ago. Luthor hadn't even been born then. Now, he was a grown man, and already a player in this global crisis. Marcus knew of his reputation—one of the smartest men on the planet, a fierce proponent of human supremacy, and Clark's future nemesis. He saw the similarities between Luthor and Bruce, two brilliant men driven by conviction, but their paths diverged sharply. Bruce sought to prepare for the flaws in everyone; Luthor sought only to prove his superiority over one man he saw as a false god.
He'll be a problem for Clark, Marcus thought with a slight, detached amusement. But a necessary one. Growth requires resistance.
He dismissed Luthor from his thoughts. The man was Clark's challenge to overcome. Marcus had his own prize to claim.
Looking down at the waves of gravitational force distorting the air, Marcus allowed the power of the Void to flow over him. Shimmering, ethereal energy coalesced around his body, hardening into the sleek, biomechanical armor of his Mag Warframe. He floated into the air, and the very magnetic fields of the city began to warp and bend to his will.
"I believe I'll help myself," he said to the wind.
A powerful aura of green and purple energy flared around him, instantly blending into a vibrant, humming blue. This was magnetism refined, a force of nature now under his complete control.
With a simple flick of his wrist, a building that was groaning and beginning to collapse simply... stopped. Its crumbling facade froze in mid-air, held together by an invisible force.
Bruce and Selina, in the middle of pulling a family from a crushed car, saw it and froze. The impossible sight could only mean one thing. One person. Their teacher.
They scanned the sky, their hearts pounding with an emotion they hadn't felt in over twenty years. And then they saw him—a figure in unfamiliar armor, floating serenely above the epicenter of the chaos.
"It's him," Bruce breathed, his voice tight.
They didn't recognize the armor, but the power, the sheer, reality-bending presence, was unmistakable. Marcus saw them, too.
The children have grown, he thought with a soft sigh. Bruce... his hair is already graying at the temples. A testament to the heavy toll his war on Gotham had taken.
"A reunion is long overdue," Marcus murmured, and flew towards them.
"It has been a long time. I trust you've been well?"
The voice, unchanged by the years, washed over them. For a moment, they forgot the chaos, the danger, the falling sky. After two decades, the man who had shaped their lives was here.
"Teacher!" they shouted in unison.
A faint smile touched Marcus's lips. "You two, get these people clear of the area. When this is over, there are some people I want you to meet."
His priority was the machine. Reunions could wait. Bruce and Selina nodded, their focus returning, and began to herd the remaining civilians away with a renewed sense of urgency.
Once they were clear, Marcus turned his full attention to the World Engine. Waves of blue magnetic energy pulsed from his hands, enveloping the colossal machine in a shimmering cocoon. The sight was broadcast live across the world by a brave Daily Planet news crew.
"An unknown armored figure has appeared," the reporter yelled over the wind. "The blue energy you see is not coming from the alien machine, but from him! He appears to be confronting it!"
Under the watchful eyes of the entire world, Marcus raised his hands. The twisted steel skeletons of the surrounding buildings shattered, and countless tons of metal were ripped from the concrete, flying through the air and converging around him in a swirling storm.
He wasn't just going to fight it. He was going to tear it open. His logic was simple. The World Engine couldn't just be creating high gravity; Zod could have found a high-gravity planet anywhere in his years of wandering. No, it was recreating Krypton. That meant replicating the unique radiation of its collapsed core.
And to do that, the machine would need a source. It had to contain Kryptonite.
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