Bruce's mind finally clicked into place, the puzzle pieces falling together with startling clarity. So that's why. No wonder Marcus chose to help Clark.
The realization hit him like a cold wave washing over his thoughts. Marcus hadn't intervened in the battle against General Zod out of some grand heroic impulse or duty to protect Earth. It was simpler than that, and somehow more meaningful. Clark was his teacher's godson. Of course Marcus would move heaven and earth to protect him.
Bruce found himself strangely at peace with this revelation. After all, when he and Selina had been nothing more than scared, angry children stumbling through Gotham's darkest corners, Marcus had rescued them more times than he could count. The man had pulled them from the brink of despair, given them purpose, taught them to fight back against the monsters that lurked in every shadow.
But still... godson. That particular word stuck in his throat like a bitter pill.
Like Selina, Bruce had lost his parents far too young. During those crucial formative years, he'd had only Alfred's steady presence and Marcus's occasional but life-changing visits to guide him. Twenty long years had passed since their teacher had vanished from their lives, leaving them with nothing but memories and the martial forms he'd drilled into their bodies and souls. They'd practiced those techniques religiously, desperately, as if perfecting them might somehow summon him back.
"Alright, now that we've got the introductions out of the way," Marcus said, his voice cutting through Bruce's brooding thoughts with casual authority, "let's get this show on the road. It's been way too long since I've seen you two in action. I need to know just how far you've come with those forms I taught you."
Without ceremony, Marcus raised his hand and released his telekinetic grip on the three Kryptonian warriors. They dropped several feet before catching themselves in mid-air, their faces twisted with rage and confusion.
"Don't worry about getting hurt," Marcus called out conversationally, as if he were suggesting a friendly sparring match rather than combat against alien supersoldiers. "I've got you covered. Just show me what you can do."
The three Kryptonians didn't need further invitation. With synchronized fury, they launched themselves toward the small group of humans floating before them. In their minds, the calculation was simple: eliminate these obstacles, then they could focus their full attention on this mysterious figure and rescue their general.
The first collision came with a sound like thunder splitting the sky.
Clark met the lead Kryptonian head-on, his body moving with the fluid precision of the Crushing Ruin technique. The martial art Marcus had taught him years ago flowed through his limbs like liquid lightning, each strike carrying far more force than his already considerable Kryptonian strength should have allowed. His fists carved through the air with devastating efficiency, creating shockwaves that would have leveled city blocks if not for Marcus's casual intervention, the older man's power simply erasing the destructive force before it could spread.
Meanwhile, Bruce and Selina had drawn their weapons – sleek, deadly daggers that seemed to pulse with an inner light. The moment Marcus had shared his energy with them, they'd felt it: that intoxicating rush of limitless power they remembered from their youth. It was like being young again, standing beside their teacher as he led them against Gotham's demonic infestation, feeling invincible and unbreakable.
The power flowed through them now just as it had then, a warm current that strengthened their muscles, sharpened their reflexes, and filled them with the unshakeable confidence that they could face anything and emerge victorious.
Down on the streets of Metropolis, news cameras captured every moment of the incredible battle. In newsrooms around the world, anchors struggled to find words for what they were witnessing.
"Those two people fighting alongside Superman..." Lex Luthor murmured from his office, swirling expensive red wine in a crystal glass. His sharp mind was already working, cataloging details, formulating theories. These weren't random bystanders caught up in an alien invasion. These were players on a level he hadn't anticipated.
"According to our records, Mr. Luthor," his assistant reported with practiced efficiency, "the combatants are Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and Selina Kyle, the notorious Gotham jewel thief known as Catwoman."
Luthor's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd already transformed LexCorp into a technological empire that rivaled Wayne Enterprises, his brilliant mind always hungry for the next challenge, the next puzzle to solve. He'd grown bored with corporate warfare and political maneuvering. But this... this was fascinating.
"And the fourth person?" Luthor's voice carried a sharp edge. "The one who's obviously running this whole show? Where's his file?"
The assistant shifted uncomfortably. "I apologize, sir, but we've found absolutely nothing on him. No birth records, no employment history, no digital footprint of any kind. It's as if he simply doesn't exist in any database we can access."
"Doesn't exist?" Luthor drained his wine glass in one smooth motion, his eyes never leaving the aerial battle playing out on his wall-mounted screens. A man with that kind of power, that level of control over magnetic forces, and yet completely absent from every record?
"Find out who he is," Luthor commanded, his voice carrying the cold authority that had built his empire. "Use every resource we have. Hack government databases if you need to. I don't care what it costs."
As his assistant hurried away, Luthor poured himself another glass of wine. His mind was already spinning with possibilities, constructing elaborate plans. He was tired of playing games with ordinary humans, tired of challenges that could be solved with money and influence alone. These alien visitors had brought something new to the table.
"Humanity earned its place at the top of this planet," he said to the empty room, his reflection ghostlike in the floor-to-ceiling windows. "We didn't need alien saviors to get here, and we don't need them now."
His initial target would be the one they called Superman. The alien who'd been masquerading as one of them, hiding among humans while possessing the power to reshape their entire world. Once Luthor had thoroughly dissected and defeated that false god, then perhaps he'd be ready to face the mysterious figure who commanded magnetism itself.
"We'll be meeting very soon, Superman," Luthor raised his glass in a mock toast toward the distant battle. "Very soon indeed."
High above the city, Clark was discovering just how much he'd grown since his last real fight. The Kryptonian warrior facing him was no pushover – bred for combat, enhanced by Earth's yellow sun, with centuries of military training flowing through his genetic memory. This should have been an even match, possibly even a losing battle for the relatively inexperienced Kryptonian raised on a farm in Kansas.
But Clark had something his opponent lacked: Marcus's training, refined over years of practice and now enhanced by desperate necessity. The Crushing Ruin technique flowed through him like a second nature, each movement building upon the last in an endless cascade of devastating combinations. What should have been simple punches became something far more dangerous – attacks that could defend even as they struck, counters that flowed seamlessly into new offensive sequences.
The warrior-caste Kryptonian found himself increasingly frustrated. Every time he thought he'd found an opening in Clark's defenses, the younger fighter would adapt, learn, evolve. It was like fighting someone who was becoming stronger and more skilled by the second, which wasn't far from the truth.
Clark's genetic code contained the sum total of Kryptonian evolution, every possible variation and enhancement their species had ever achieved. Against that vast potential, a simple warrior's template – no matter how perfectly executed – could only delay the inevitable.
"You're improving," the warrior snarled as Clark's latest combination sent him tumbling through the air. "But you fight like a child playing with toys!"
"Maybe," Clark replied, steadying himself in mid-flight, his cape billowing behind him. "But I'm a fast learner."
The next exchange proved his point. Where before the warrior had managed to land solid hits through Clark's guard, now every attack was anticipated, countered, turned against him. Clark's fists had become something truly terrifying – each impact carried not just tremendous physical force, but the accumulated wisdom of Marcus's teaching, refined through twenty years of patient practice.
Meanwhile, Bruce and Selina were engaged in a very different kind of battle.
Their Kryptonian opponents had made a critical error in judgment, dismissing them as mere humans who could be dealt with quickly and efficiently. The moment combat began, both warriors had immediately unleashed their heat vision – twin beams of searing energy capable of melting through steel like butter.
What they hadn't expected was for those beams to be casually deflected by what appeared to be simple daggers.
The weapons Bruce and Selina carried were far from ordinary. Forged by Marcus decades ago and infused with his technology, they could cut through virtually any material – including the molecular structure of Kryptonian heat vision itself. The daggers glowed with soft inner light as they channeled their wielders' energy, becoming extensions of their users' will and skill.
"Time to die," Bruce growled, deflecting another heat beam with an almost casual flick of his wrist.
The power Marcus had shared with them flowed through his body like liquid fire, enhancing every muscle fiber, sharpening every reflex. His feet found purchase against empty air itself as he launched himself forward with impossible speed, the reinforced concrete rooftop twenty stories below cracking from the force of his takeoff.
He closed the distance to his target in a heartbeat, the enhanced dagger in his hand moving in patterns too complex for normal human eyes to follow. This wasn't the theatrical, honor-bound combat of superhero comics. This was the brutal, efficient killing art that Marcus had taught them in Gotham's demon-haunted streets.
Selina moved like liquid shadow, her own dagger dancing through the air in intricate spirals that seemed to leave afterimages in the evening light. Where Bruce fought with overwhelming directness, she flowed around her opponent's attacks like water around stone, always moving, always striking from unexpected angles.
Both Kryptonian warriors quickly discovered that their enhanced physiology, while formidable, wasn't enough to overcome opponents who had spent two decades perfecting the art of killing things that were stronger, faster, and more durable than any human should be able to handle.
"This is impossible!" one of the warriors snarled as Bruce's dagger carved through his supposedly invulnerable skin. "You're just humans!"
"We're Gotham humans," Bruce replied coldly, his next strike opening wounds that glowed with the same soft light as his weapon. "There's a difference."
The Kryptonian tried to respond with another blast of heat vision, but Bruce simply wasn't where the beam expected him to be. Twenty years of fighting Gotham's supernatural residents had taught him that staying in one place for more than a heartbeat was usually fatal.
His enhanced speed carried him behind his opponent in a blur of motion, the dagger slide with surgical precision. The warrior's eyes widened in shock as he felt his life force beginning to ebb away.
"You trusted your powers too much," Bruce said quietly as his opponent crumpled toward the distant street below. "That's always a mistake."
Selina's battle ended with even less fanfare. Where Bruce had opted for direct confrontation, she'd simply waited for the perfect moment to strike. When her opponent overextended himself trying to grab her, she'd flowed around his grasping hands like smoke and buried her dagger in the base of his skull with professional efficiency.
"Show-off," she called to Bruce as her own defeated enemy began his long fall toward the pavement.
"Says the woman who just pulled off an assassination that would make the League of Shadows jealous," Bruce shot back, though there was warmth in his voice.
Both had ended their fights within seconds of each other, their movements economical and precise. Twenty years of practice had refined their techniques to lethal perfection, and Marcus's power enhancement had given them the physical capabilities to match their skill.
Clark's battle took considerably longer.
Where Bruce and Selina had opted for quick, brutal efficiency, Clark was still learning to balance his moral code with the harsh realities of combat. He could have killed his opponent at any point, but instead chose to gradually wear him down through superior technique and ever-improving skill.
When the warrior finally fell unconscious and began drifting toward the ground, Clark caught him gently, ensuring he wouldn't be injured by the fall. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about the fundamental differences between the three fighters.
"Well done," Marcus said, nodding approvingly as he surveyed their handiwork. "All of you. It's clear you haven't been wasting the last twenty years."
His eyes lingered on Bruce and Selina with particular pride. Their mastery of the combat forms he'd taught them had reached truly impressive levels. While they might lack Clark's raw physical advantages, their technical skill was arguably superior.
"You know," Marcus continued thoughtfully, "if you two had access to proper Kryptonian battle armor, Clark might not have such an easy time in a sparring match."
As if summoned by his words, the damaged armor from the defeated Kryptonian warriors began floating through the air toward them, guided by Marcus's magnetic control. The suits were battered and partially destroyed, but still radiating an aura of advanced technology.
"Consider these a reunion gift," Marcus said with a slight smile. "They're pretty beat up, but there's still plenty of useful tech to reverse-engineer. Your real presents will arrive in a few days."
Bruce's eyes lit up as he examined the floating armor pieces. He'd seen satellite footage of how effectively these suits had enhanced their wearers, allowing ordinary Kryptonians to fight Clark on relatively even terms. Even damaged, the technology represented a quantum leap forward from anything Earth had yet produced.
"Just appetizers," Marcus continued. "Feel free to take them apart and see how they tick. Once I've finished integrating the tech from Zod's ship with my own systems, I'll be able to provide you both with complete suits. Probably with a few upgrades the original designers never thought of."
The promise sent Bruce's analytical mind racing. Kryptonian technology integrated with Marcus's enhancements? The possibilities were staggering.
"Our teacher's back," Selina murmured, and Bruce caught the mix of joy and old pain in her voice that perfectly matched his own feelings.
Marcus noticed Bruce's internal struggle, the way his student's expression kept shifting between gratitude and something that looked almost like guilt. He chose not to press the issue. Some conversations were better left for private moments.
The battle was over, the immediate threat neutralized, but Bruce's mind was already turning toward longer-term concerns. Clark might be a friend, might even be family in a way, but he was still an alien with godlike power walking among humans. The responsible thing – the Batman thing – would be to develop contingencies. Just in case.
Marcus understood this about Bruce, had always known that his student's brilliant tactical mind would inevitably turn toward worst-case scenarios. He wouldn't try to change that aspect of Bruce's personality, but he also wouldn't make it easy for him.
After all, while Bruce's paranoid planning could be problematic, it had also saved lives on more occasions than anyone would ever know. The trick was making sure it remained a tool rather than becoming a weapon pointed at the wrong targets.