The sound of chaos carried through the Owl Council hall.
Adrian looked up, his expression unreadable. The once-proud council, shaken to its core after witnessing Parody's defeat, had descended into fear. These so-called rulers of Metropolis abandoned their masks of composure, scrambling for the exits like frightened prey.
Bang!
The air rippled as Adrian blurred forward in a streak of speed, crossing the chamber in an instant. His hand closed around the Speaker's throat, lifting him effortlessly from the floor.
"It seems the final victory in this little game belongs to me," Adrian said with a low chuckle, twisting his neck as his crimson gaze burned behind the mask.
"You… who are you really?" the Speaker croaked, his face red as Adrian's grip tightened.
The man had seen Adrian's clash with Mr. Parody. Even after years of controlling the underworld from the shadows, this display of raw, unrelenting power left him trembling.
"What a stupid question." Adrian's voice cut like a blade. "You claim to be the shadows of this city, its creators. Yet none of you even bothered to discover who I am. You strut around as phantoms, but all I see are rats pretending to be profound in the sewers."
"I… please, spare me!" The Speaker's arrogance evaporated, leaving only raw terror. "I'll give you anything you want—power, wealth—just name it!"
Adrian smirked, the kind of smile that held no mercy. "If this were the Court of Owls in Gotham, maybe I'd play your game. But you? Your time is over."
Twin beams of crimson Heat Vision erupted from his eyes. The Speaker screamed, his sockets melting under the searing blast. Adrian let him drop, the body hitting the floor with a hollow thud.
The survivors shrieked, scrambling through shadows and shattered furniture. A woman in a jeweled gown was lifted and slammed against a wall by invisible force, crumpling with a cry. Another council member—once feared for her cruelty—stumbled blindly, her chest seared open by Heat Vision. She collapsed at the base of a marble statue, her tears mixing with blood.
Overhead, the lights sparked, hissed, and died. Darkness flooded the hall, broken only by the glow of crimson eyes.
A man in a fine black suit stumbled into a live cable. The jolt tore through his body, convulsions snapping him forward until he collapsed lifeless.
When Clark entered, the scene stole his breath. Blood pooled across marble floors. Broken glass, sparking wires, and mutilated corpses littered the once-pristine chamber. And in the center stood Adrian, his face cold, his eyes calm.
"Adrian…" Clark's voice trembled. "You killed them?"
"A nest of rats," Adrian replied flatly. He tore the Owl mask from his face, dropped it, and crushed it beneath his boot. "You don't mourn vermin, Clark. You mourn their victims."
"But even rats should face justice!" Clark's fists tightened. "Even villains deserve trial, not slaughter."
Adrian's gaze cut through him like frost. "They are the law here. Do you understand that? No prison could hold them. No court could touch them. If you want to play by their rules, then be ready to lose everything."
Clark shook his head. "Not all of them were guilty. Some may have been innocent. You can't just decide—"
"Innocent?" Adrian scoffed. "Tell me, Clark, when rats feast in the same nest, are they innocent because they didn't bite first? This world is survival of the fittest. You know it as well as I do."
Clark's voice softened, but his eyes were resolute. "We're not gods, Adrian. We don't get to decide who lives and who dies. I fear my own strength every day. I fear it will turn me into something people dread. I don't want that for you."
"That's where we differ," Adrian answered, turning away. "I don't call myself a god. I'm human enough to know weakness, yet strong enough to crush those who pretend they're untouchable."
With a sudden punch, Adrian shattered the wall, exposing a hidden chamber. He stepped through rubble into the Owl Council's secret vault.
Rows of skulls sat behind glass, each etched with names and codes. Cabinets overflowed with documents, incriminating records of decades of manipulation. In the center, a reinforced chest brimmed with golden statues and stacks of rare metals—ill-gotten wealth built on corpses.
Clark entered slowly, his face pale at the sight of the skulls. His gaze caught on an ancient tome, resting quietly at the bottom of a shelf. Bound in worn leather, its cover bore only strange, archaic engravings.
Drawn by something he couldn't name, Clark lifted it. The moment the first page turned, reality warped. His vision darkened.
When light returned, Clark stood in a wasteland of ruins. The air reeked of ash and death. He was clad in a blue suit and cape, his boots settling on scorched ground.
And floating before him—Adrian.
Clad in a black uniform, his eyes glowed crimson. In his hand, he held a steel trident, skewering a monstrous figure with jagged armor and burning eyes.
The body was unmistakable: Darkseid, lifeless on the spear.
On the ground nearby stood warriors in disbelief: Batman, Wonder Woman, others from the Justice League. Their eyes fixed in horror on Adrian, unable to process what had been done.
"Darkseid is dead," Adrian declared, his voice carrying across the ruins like the toll of a funeral bell.
---