Time slipped by quietly.
After receiving the urgent directive from Resistance Headquarters, Glade's attitude did a complete 180.
He was now leading Lock forward.
The tension from their standoff at the sub-base entrance just minutes ago had vanished entirely.
Moments earlier, Glade had been pointing a gun at Lock, his voice sharp and commanding.
But almost simultaneously, he'd received the emergency order—
[Mr. Glade!]
[Escort Mr. Lock Kent to the core zone of Headquarters with utmost respect!]
The directive left him stunned, nearly speechless, but it instantly dissolved all his doubts and wariness.
"Here we are."
Glade stopped in front of a metal wall covered in deep rust and slick moss.
At a glance, it blended seamlessly with the rest of the sewer.
But as Glade's fingers swiftly and precisely pressed a few nearly invisible indentations…
Click—! Click—!
A low, smooth mechanical whir came from within the wall.
Then, the heavy panel slid open silently, revealing a passage lit by faint blue guiding lights.
Following Glade through the short but strikingly high-tech corridor…
After a few dozen steps, Lock's view opened up dramatically!
Gone were the endless cold pipes and damp air, replaced by a vast, open plaza that seemed to have hollowed out the entire underground.
What stunned him most was overhead—
Not the expected rock or metal dome, but a breathtakingly realistic, crystal-blue "sky."
Somehow, they'd even managed to create…
Warm, soft sunlight streaming down.
The light was so precisely calibrated it felt like a lazy afternoon on the surface, making you forget you were deep underground.
Artificial sky? Simulated sunlight? Quite the investment.
Lock gave a mental nod, reassessing the Resistance's resources and tech level.
But as his gaze shifted from the miraculous ceiling to the plaza below, meticulously planned like a miniature futuristic town, his brow furrowed slightly.
It was too quiet.
The plaza was impeccably organized, with simulated streets, shops, and public facilities.
The polished alloy floor reflected the gentle "skylight."
But…
Not a soul in sight.
An unsettling silence hung over everything like a heavy fog, broken only by a faint breeze from the environmental system, carrying a crisp, clean scent.
Yet, that only amplified the eerie, ominous stillness.
"Something's off here, Father," Godo's voice whispered in his ear, tinged with caution. "It's like a perfectly set stage… but missing all the actors."
Lock nodded in agreement. This oppressive quiet was the opposite of the bustling, lively Resistance base he'd expected.
He turned to Glade, about to ask what was behind this strange emptiness—
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
A rapid, eerily synchronized march of footsteps erupted from a passage at the far end of the plaza.
It shattered the suffocating silence and cut off his question.
A group was hurrying toward them.
The three leading figures stood out immediately, and Lock recognized them at a glance:
An elderly bald man in a high-tech wheelchair—likely Charles, as Joruno had mentioned.
A mutant, like Logan, somehow thrown into this world.
Then, a young man with a hairstyle like three golden donuts—
Joruno.
Spotting Lock, his eyes lit up with overwhelming joy and a hint of… guilt?
And the third…
Another bald man, but younger, colder, with eyes sharp as a hawk's.
Could it be…
Lex?
His gaze cut through the group, locking onto Lock with unapologetic scrutiny, calculation, and a trace of something complex, hard to pin down.
Joruno? Charles? And… Lex?
Seeing this bizarre trio—crossing world lines, with wildly different backgrounds, who should've been enemies—united here, Lock understood.
This was the true brain trust behind the Resistance against the Heaven Emperor's rule.
He nodded, shelving his questions about the base's eerie quiet for now, and started to step forward to meet them and get the full story—
Zzz—! Zzz—! Zzz—!
Searing red beams, hot enough to warp the air, erupted without warning from the center of the artificial blue sky!
It wasn't the light of any known weapon.
It was the embodiment of extreme heat and destruction, a power unique to that man—
Heat vision!
A divine blade of judgment, it hummed with a teeth-gritting sizzle, slicing effortlessly through the impenetrable alloy ceiling.
Then—
BOOM!!!
The dome was obliterated by a raw, barbaric force from outside, shattered in an instant!
No warning, no buildup!
The trumpet of doomsday blared from the center of that false sky!
The explosion's shockwave and tremors roared like a tsunami!
The entire underground space quaked and groaned!
No process, just results.
In a single moment, the pristine blue was torn apart!
A jagged, burning hole—molten alloy and optical camouflage layers ripped open—replaced the perfect sky.
Thick smoke and glowing, plasma-like metal shards rained down like a waterfall…
Hitting the plaza's polished floor with sizzling hisses.
Lock's pupils shrank as he instinctively snapped his head up.
Beyond the hole wasn't the expected rock or soil…
But a distorted shimmer of light?
Clearly, the base's true coordinates were hidden by some advanced spatial camouflage or displacement tech.
But now, that cutting-edge tech—capable of fooling most scans—was being brutally, unreasonably torn apart by a force more absolute, more savage, more pure!
Whoosh—!
A violent gust blasted down, scattering the choking smoke in an instant.
Light.
A cold, stark, merciless spotlight beam, like a spear of judgment, stabbed through the hole, landing squarely in the plaza's center.
Dust and debris swirled wildly in the beam, like panicked ants.
A figure floated within, bathed in the light.
Like divine retribution descending!
Majestic, solemn!
The man…
No longer in the pure white Lock had seen on street screens.
Now…
He wore sleek, form-fitting armor, every inch radiating explosive power!
Not garish gold, but a deep, regal dark gold, as if forged from the core of a molten star!
Faint, dangerous arcs of energy crackled across the armor, outlining absolute strength, tailored perfectly to its wearer's flawless physique!
A crimson cape billowed behind him, like blood, like flame.
His face was carved from marble, cold and unyielding, his eyes devoid of the warmth and sunlight Lock once knew.
Only cold, absolute indifference remained, like a god gazing down on mortal ants.
Clark Kent.
His nephew, the boy he'd raised like a son!
And…
The absolute ruler of this broken world!
The God of Man!
The Emperor of Heaven!
He floated there, his icy gaze scanning like a machine, slowly sweeping over the three Resistance leaders below, their faces pale and frozen by an unseen force.
Finally, that indifferent stare cut through everything, locking precisely onto the man in the old black trench coat, so out of place in this high-tech world…
A farmer.
Their eyes met.
Time seemed to freeze in that moment.
Just two gazes, crossing the boundaries of the universe.
"Father!"
"Father!" Godo's voice rang in Lock's mind, laced with unprecedented shock. "He… he's not that big, dumb brother anymore! Should we—"
"—Retreat?!"
"…"
Lock ignored the frantic, incoherent dragon soul in his ear.
Every ounce of his focus was on the man floating above.
Star Platinum materialized silently behind him, the steady flow of Gen Mountain energy coursing through his body at peak efficiency, flooding every muscle fiber, ready to spring into action.
But…
Lock felt it wasn't right.
He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, and slowly relaxed his muscles.
Because—
That was Clark!
And just as Lock expected, the man in the sky did nothing.
No attack, no questions, not even a hint of surprise.
As if Lock's presence was entirely within his calculations.
Even that cold face showed a subtle, almost impossible shift.
Those eyes, burning with pure golden light, meant to hold only divine indifference and majesty…
Softened ever so slightly as they locked onto Lock and the towering purple figure behind him, invisible to most.
A faint, complex emotion flickered, as if seeing a long-sought goal across endless time and space…
A subtle, almost "fulfilled" feeling.
The next moment…
The Emperor spoke.
His voice cut through the brief silence.
But…
It wasn't the thunderous wrath or cold judgment anyone expected.
It was soft, almost gentle:
"Uncle."
"I'm here to pick you up."