THE VOID BETWEEN STARS — EN ROUTE TO SOL SYSTEM
The Citadel fleet moved through hyperspace like a school of mechanical sharks, their black hulls cutting through the dimensional fabric with predatory grace. What had begun as the Vega System armada had grown exponentially during their journey — reinforcement fleets from across the Empire's domain converging on their path like tributaries feeding a river of destruction.
The *Ravager* led this dark procession, its bridge a cathedral of conquest where holographic displays showed the steady accumulation of forces. Dreadnoughts the size of city blocks. Carrier vessels pregnant with fighter squadrons. Troopships packed with enough soldiers to overwhelm continents.
But it was the newest addition to their fleet that drew Komand'r's attention as she stood in her war chamber, violet eyes reflecting the hypnotic swirl of hyperspace beyond the viewport. She moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, each gesture deliberate and beautiful, like a work of art that happened to be capable of destroying planets.
The *Dominion* — a massive command vessel that dwarfed even her flagship — had joined them at the edge of the Rigel sector, bringing with it an entire battle group and something far more valuable than additional firepower.
Intelligence.
Komand'r's reflection in the reinforced transparisteel showed a woman who had perfected the art of looking both devastatingly beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid shadow, and when she smiled — which she did often — it was the smile of someone who had learned that the universe was far more entertaining when you were the one making the rules.
"Governor," came the familiar rumble of General Kragg through the chamber's communication system, his voice like gravel being crushed under tank treads. "Admiral Hokum has arrived for da strategic briefing."
Komand'r's lips curved upward in delighted anticipation. She had heard whispers about this particular Citadel commander — rumors that made him unique among the Empire's hierarchy. A human who had risen through Citadel ranks? How absolutely fascinating.
"Send him in," she commanded, her voice carrying that musical Tamaranean accent that could make even threats sound like poetry. She turned from the viewport with the kind of theatrical flourish that suggested she had once studied dance and decided that intimidation required similar attention to performance.
The chamber's massive doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and the figure that entered was decidedly not what most would expect of a high-ranking Citadel officer.
Where the generals were hulking brutes encased in power armor, Admiral Harry Hokum was lean, almost elegant in his bearing. His uniform was immaculate black leather and metal, cut in the Imperial style but somehow managing to look both military and aristocratic. Everything about him was precisely calculated — from his perfectly groomed dark hair touched with distinguished silver at the temples, to the way he held himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had turned manipulation into high art.
His face was sharp, intelligent, with calculating gray eyes that seemed to catalog and evaluate everything they saw. But it was his smile that truly set him apart — measured, knowing, like a chess master who could see twenty moves ahead and was already enjoying his inevitable victory.
"Governor Komand'r," he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey with just the faintest trace of an Earth accent that had been carefully refined over years of Imperial service. He executed a perfect bow — respectful without being subservient, a diplomatic dance step that acknowledged hierarchy while maintaining dignity. "An honor to finally meet Tamaran's most... pragmatic daughter."
Komand'r tilted her head slightly, studying him with the intensity of a predator evaluating interesting prey. Her violet eyes sparked with amusement. "Admiral Hokum. Your reputation precedes you. They say you're the Empire's foremost expert on primitive world conquest." She paused, her smile widening. "Though I suspect you'd phrase it more... elegantly than that."
"Flattering, but not entirely accurate," Hokum replied, straightening from his bow with fluid grace. His hands moved in small, precise gestures as he spoke — the body language of someone accustomed to commanding through presence rather than volume. "I prefer to think of myself as a specialist in... cultural transition. Helping less developed civilizations understand their place in the Imperial order. It's really quite humanitarian when you think about it properly."
"Oh, I like him already," Komand'r said to herself, then louder, "And you were born on this Earth we're heading toward. How deliciously ironic."
Something flickered behind Hokum's eyes — too quick to identify, but not quick enough to hide entirely from someone as perceptive as Komand'r. "A lifetime ago, Governor. I've since found more... enlightened perspectives. One might say I've evolved beyond my origins."
The chamber's doors hissed open again, and Generals Kragg and Vorth entered, their massive forms making the refined admiral look almost delicate by comparison. The contrast was striking — brute force and subtle manipulation standing side by side, different tools for the same ultimate purpose.
General Kragg was a mountain of scarred muscle and black armor, his voice emerging from his helmet's vox-grille like rocks tumbling down a cliff face. "Governor, da fleet commanders are ready for your orders. We got enough firepower here to turn dat little blue planet into space dust."
General Vorth, equally massive but with a more methodical bearing, nodded his helmeted head in agreement. "Ja, ze preparations are complete. Vhatever zis 'Earth' can throw at us, it vill not be enough. Ve vill crush zem like insects."
Hokum's eyebrow raised fractionally. "Ah, the direct approach. How... refreshing. Though perhaps we might consider a more nuanced strategy? Earth's defenders have a troubling habit of exceeding expectations when underestimated."
Kragg's helmet turned toward the admiral with a grinding of servos. "You sayin' we should be scared of some primitive mud-ball, Admiral?"
"Not scared, General," Hokum replied smoothly, his tone never losing its civilized cadence. "Merely... respectful of the variables involved. Fear is for those who haven't done their homework. I, on the other hand, have made quite a study of my former homeworld."
Komand'r clapped her hands together once, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. "Gentlemen! Please. We're all on the same side here." Her voice carried genuine delight, as if she were hosting a dinner party rather than planning an invasion. "Let's discuss how we're going to claim my dear sister and her new playground, shall we?"
She gestured toward the chamber's central conference area where a holographic projector waited, moving with the kind of graceful authority that suggested she had been born to command and had never forgotten it.
The projector hummed to life, displaying a detailed three-dimensional model of the Sol System. Earth hung in the center, slowly rotating to show its continents and oceans in crystalline detail. The sight was breathtaking — a jewel of blue and green suspended in the void.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Hokum said, his voice carrying notes of something that might have been nostalgia if it weren't so carefully controlled. He approached the hologram with measured steps, hands clasped behind his back. "Such a lovely little world. So... innocent. So unaware of how vast and dangerous the universe truly is."
"Tell me about their defenses," Komand'r commanded, settling into her chair at the head of the conference table with feline grace. Her violet cape spread around her like liquid shadow, and her eyes never left Hokum's face. "What should we expect when we arrive? And please, don't spare the details. I do so enjoy a thorough briefing."
Hokum's smile widened slightly, and he gestured at the Earth projection with the fluid motion of a conductor addressing his orchestra. "In terms of conventional military might? Nothing that should concern us. Their most advanced fighters move at perhaps Mach 3 — barely faster than the ceremonial craft in the Emperor's personal fleet. Their orbital capabilities are limited to primitive space stations that wouldn't qualify as defensive installations by Imperial standards. Their weapons systems are still primarily chemical-based — nuclear warheads being their most devastating option, which by Citadel standards is roughly equivalent to a particularly energetic firework display."
General Vorth leaned forward, his massive armored form creaking with the motion. His helmet's optical sensors focused on the display with mechanical precision. "Surely zere must be some form of organized resistance? Planetary defense networks? Zey cannot be completely helpless."
"Oh, there is," Hokum said, and his tone shifted to something more appreciative, like a connoisseur discussing a particularly fine vintage. "But not in the way you're thinking, General. Earth's true defensive capabilities don't come from their militaries or their governments. Those are merely... window dressing."
He manipulated the holographic controls with practiced ease, and the Earth projection zoomed in to show specific locations — a gleaming tower in a city called Metropolis, a cave system beneath a mansion outside something called Gotham, an island that seemed to float in isolation, a city beneath the ocean's surface.
"They call themselves the Justice League," Hokum continued, his voice taking on the tone of a professor delivering a particularly fascinating lecture to especially bright students. "Eight founding members when I last had reliable intelligence, though I suspect their ranks have grown considerably since my departure. Each one possessing capabilities that would make them noteworthy even by Imperial standards."
Komand'r's eyes narrowed with interest, violet light flickering behind her irises. She leaned forward slightly, her chin resting on her interlaced fingers. "Now this sounds properly entertaining. Elaborate, Admiral. I want to know exactly what kind of playmates my sister has found."
"Their leader — or at least their primary symbol — calls himself Superman," Hokum began, his hands moving in small gestures as he painted the picture with words. "Kryptonian origin, if our intelligence is correct. Solar-powered physiology, strength levels approaching Tamaranean royal class, near-invulnerability to most forms of conventional damage, and the ability to move at significant fractions of light speed within atmospheric conditions."
General Kragg's armored fist clenched with a grinding of metal. "A single being possesses such capabilities? Sounds like someone's been tellin' tall tales, Admiral."
"One of several, I'm afraid," Hokum replied smoothly, apparently unfazed by the general's skepticism. "There's also Wonder Woman — an Amazonian warrior princess whose strength rivals the Kryptonian's and whose equipment includes weapons forged by the gods of her people. Quite literally divine artifacts, if you can imagine such a thing surviving into the modern era."
The hologram shifted to show new images — a figure wreathed in lightning moving at impossible speeds, a dark silhouette gliding between urban shadows, underwater cities that gleamed like jewels in the ocean depths.
"The Flash," Hokum continued, warming to his subject, "a human who has somehow bonded with something called the Speed Force, allowing him to move at velocities that approach theoretical impossibility. I've seen reports of him moving fast enough to travel through time itself, though I admit that seems rather far-fetched even by cosmic standards."
"Time travel?" Komand'r asked, her eyebrows rising. "How wonderfully theatrical. What else?"
"Batman," Hokum said, and his tone shifted to something approaching respect, "who while baseline human has turned preparation and tactical thinking into weapons that have defeated beings far beyond his physical class. He's the sort of opponent who would have seventeen different contingency plans for our arrival, including several we haven't thought of yet."
General Vorth's helmet tilted. "A baseline human? Vhat could such a creature possibly do against Imperial technology?"
"Never underestimate the power of preparation, General," Hokum cautioned. "This particular human has files on how to neutralize every member of his own team, should the need arise. He's the sort of man who plans for the impossible and then makes it look inevitable."
He gestured, and the hologram showed an underwater cityscape of impossible beauty. "Aquaman, who commands not just the loyalty of Earth's ocean dwellers but possesses strength that could rival Tamaranean warriors. He rules roughly seventy percent of their planet's surface and has access to technology that predates human civilization by millennia."
"And the shapeshifter?" Komand'r asked.
"Martian Manhunter," Hokum confirmed. "J'onn J'onzz, the last of his species. Telepathic, shapeshifting, intangible at will. His mental capabilities could pose significant challenges to our command structure — assuming he could get close enough to matter."
"You mentioned Green Lanterns," Komand'r said, her voice carrying new attention. As a royal daughter of Tamaran, she knew the reputation of the Corps.
"Three, actually," Hokum confirmed, his expression growing more serious. "Hal Jordan was the first — a human test pilot who somehow earned a power ring from the Guardians of Oa. John Stewart and Guy Gardner followed. Each ring capable of creating solid energy constructs limited only by the wielder's will and imagination. And humans, I'm afraid, have rather vivid imaginations."
General Vorth shifted in his armor with a sound like grinding gears. "You speak of zem with considerable... respect, Admiral."
Hokum's smile became something sharper, more calculating. "I speak of them with accuracy, General. Underestimating opponents is the fastest path to defeat — a lesson I learned early in my Imperial service when I watched the 47th Battle Fleet get torn apart by what intelligence had assured us was a 'minor local resistance group.' Better to overestimate and be pleasantly surprised than to underestimate and be unpleasantly dead."
"And the eighth member?" Komand'r asked, leaning back in her chair. "You've saved someone for last, I can tell."
"Ah," Hokum said, and for the first time his expression showed genuine intrigue mixed with something that might have been wariness. "Scarlett. A sorceress whose power sources and capabilities remain largely unknown to me, which I find... unsettling. What I do know is that she's rumored to be romantically involved with the Kryptonian, and that her magical abilities have proven effective against opponents that would be immune to purely physical attacks."
He paused, his fingers drumming against the conference table. "Magic is unpredictable by definition, Governor. It doesn't follow the rules that Imperial technology is designed to counter. A sufficiently powerful sorceress could theoretically..."
"Could theoretically what?" Komand'r prompted when he trailed off.
"Turn our own weapons against us," Hokum finished quietly. "Reality manipulation on that scale is thankfully rare, but when it occurs..."
General Kragg snorted, a sound like a landslide starting. "Magic, schmmagic. You put enough firepower on target, and it don't matter what kinda mumbo-jumbo they're throwin' around."
"General Kragg raises an interesting point," Komand'r said, though her tone suggested she found it anything but interesting. "Eight beings. Potentially more by now. And you believe they would stand against an Imperial fleet?"
"Without question," Hokum replied immediately, his voice carrying absolute certainty. "Earth's heroes have a disturbing tendency toward self-sacrifice and protecting the innocent. It's almost pathological, really. If we arrive with conquest as our obvious intention, they will resist with every fiber of their beings."
"Even if it means their own destruction?" General Vorth asked.
"Especially if it means their own destruction," Hokum confirmed. "They seem to believe that some things are worth dying for. Quaint, really, but tactically problematic for us."
Komand'r's smile widened, and she clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, but that's perfect! Don't you see? Their greatest strength is also their greatest weakness."
"How so?" Kragg rumbled.
"If they're so devoted to protecting innocents," Komand'r explained, her voice taking on the tone of a teacher delighting in a particularly clever student, "then we don't make conquest our obvious intention, do we?"
"Precisely," Hokum said, nodding approvingly. "We present this as an internal Imperial matter — the recovery of an escaped prisoner and the apprehension of those who aided her escape. We demand the return of the fugitive princess and position any resistance as harboring a terrorist."
"Will they believe such a claim?" General Vorth asked, his helmet's optical array focusing on Hokum.
"It doesn't matter if they believe it," Komand'r said, understanding flickering in her violet eyes like stars being born. "It matters that it gives them a moment of hesitation. A reason to attempt negotiation rather than immediate attack. And hesitation..."
"Is opportunity," Hokum finished. "Exactly. During that moment of hesitation, we position our forces for maximum tactical advantage. Earth's heroes are formidable, but they're also predictable. They'll try to minimize civilian casualties, protect population centers, fight defensively rather than striking at our command structure."
He manipulated the hologram again, showing fleet positions around Earth's orbital space in intricate detail. "We surround the planet with the bulk of our forces while maintaining a small diplomatic presence in orbit. We present ourselves as reasonable — demanding only the return of stolen property and willing to negotiate terms. Meanwhile, our real forces move into position like pieces on a chess board."
"And when negotiation inevitably fails?" Komand'r asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer and was looking forward to it.
Hokum's smile became predatory, showing teeth. "We demonstrate that Earth's heroes, for all their considerable power, cannot be everywhere at once. Simultaneous strikes on multiple population centers. Force them to choose who they save while we secure our primary objective."
"My sister."
"Indeed," Hokum confirmed. "While they're scrambling to minimize casualties across their planet, a strike team retrieves the princess. By the time they realize the true nature of our operation, she's already aboard this vessel and we're positioning for departure."
General Kragg's helm turned toward Hokum with interest. "You talk like you done this kinda thing before, Admiral."
"I have," Hokum replied without the slightest trace of shame or hesitation. "Seventeen primitive worlds have joined the Empire under my guidance. Each one convinced they were fighting for their freedom right up until the moment they knelt before Imperial authority."
Komand'r stood and walked to the holographic Earth, her reflection visible in its blue-green surface. She moved with the predatory grace of a hunting cat, every step deliberate and beautiful. "There's something you're not telling us, Admiral. I can hear it in your voice — that careful tone people use when they're editing their words."
Hokum was quiet for a moment, his calculating mind visible behind his eyes as he weighed options. Then he nodded slowly. "There is one complication I haven't mentioned. The Kryptonian — Superman — he has a remarkable ability to inspire others. Under his leadership, Earth's heroes have achieved victories that should have been impossible by any reasonable calculation."
"Such as?" Komand'r asked, turning to face him with renewed interest.
"They've faced cosmic-level threats and somehow prevailed," Hokum said, his voice carrying reluctant admiration. "Beings that should have been able to crush them have been defeated through teamwork, determination, and what can only be described as sheer bloody-minded heroism. There's something about him that makes others want to be better than they are."
"You think he could pose a genuine threat to Imperial forces?" Komand'r asked.
"I think," Hokum said carefully, choosing each word like a surgeon selecting instruments, "that if anyone could find a way to turn Earth's primitive technology and small number of heroes into something capable of challenging our fleet, it would be him."
Komand'r turned from the hologram, her eyes blazing with violet fire that seemed to light up the chamber. "Then we make sure he doesn't get the chance."
She walked back to her throne with fluid purpose, violet cape flowing behind her like liquid shadow. "How long until we reach Earth?"
"Eighteen hours at current velocity," General Vorth reported, consulting readings from his armor's integrated systems.
"Signal the fleet," she commanded, settling into her throne with regal authority. The crystal fragments embedded in its armrests began to pulse with violet light, responding to her emotional state. "All ships are to power down non-essential systems and maintain communication silence once we exit hyperspace. We approach Earth as quietly as possible — like shadows falling across their little blue marble."
"And da strike teams?" General Kragg asked, leaning forward with interest.
"Select your best soldiers," Komand'r replied, her fingers drumming against her throne's armrests in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. "Small units, fast insertion capability. I want teams positioned to strike at Earth's major population centers the moment negotiations fail." Her lips curved in that cold, satisfied smile. "And I want a particular team assigned to one specific target."
She gestured, and the hologram zoomed in on a specific location — a gleaming tower in the city called Metropolis, its architecture suggesting both strength and hope.
"The Kryptonian's home base," she continued, her voice dropping to something almost intimate. "When the time comes to stop playing games, I want him taken out of the equation immediately."
"Governor," Hokum said, his voice carrying a note of caution, "Superman has proven remarkably difficult to kill. Several cosmic-level entities have tried and failed."
"Who said anything about killing him?" Komand'r asked, her smile widening until it was radiant and terrible. "Death is so... final. So lacking in educational value. I want him alive and watching when I break everything he's tried to protect. I want him to understand, completely and thoroughly, the price of standing against the Empire."
She settled deeper into her throne, the crystal fragments pulsing brighter with her satisfaction. "Besides," she continued, her voice taking on a tone of genuine curiosity, "I'm absolutely fascinated to meet this legendary Kryptonian. To see what manner of hero my dear sister has convinced to die for her."
"Ya know," General Kragg said, his voice carrying what might have been approval, "I like da way you think, Governor. Make 'em watch their world burn before ya break 'em. Classic."
"It's not about cruelty, General," Komand'r corrected, though her smile suggested otherwise. "It's about education. Teaching the universe that there are consequences for defying Imperial will."
The holographic Earth continued to rotate slowly in the center of the chamber, peaceful and unsuspecting. Soon, very soon, that peace would be shattered by the arrival of forces beyond anything its inhabitants had ever imagined.
"One more thing," Hokum said, his voice cutting through the chamber's anticipatory silence. "We should be prepared for the unexpected. Earth's heroes have a disturbing habit of pulling victory from seemingly impossible circumstances."
"Den we make sure da circumstances are really impossible dis time," General Vorth rumbled.
"Exactly," Komand'r agreed, rising from her throne with fluid grace. "Gentlemen, in eighteen hours we will arrive at Earth. And when we do, my dear sister will learn that family obligations extend across the galaxy."
She walked to the great viewport, pressing both palms against the transparisteel. Frost patterns began to spread from her touch, beautiful and deadly.
"See you soon, little star," she whispered, using the pet name she had called Koriand'r when they were children, before ambition and empire had poisoned the well of sisterhood.
The hunt was nearing its end.
—
LORD DARKSEID — OBSERVING FROM APOKOLIPS
The throne room of Apokolips was not built for comfort. It was carved from volcanic obsidian, bathed in heatless flame and the whispers of the damned. Above, a cracked sky burned with crimson lightning. Below, rivers of molten ore pulsed like veins in a slumbering god.
At the heart of it all, he sat.
Darkseid. The End of All Things. His back straight, one hand resting on the arm of a throne forged from the bones of a dead titan, the other curled loosely in thought. His red eyes glowed—not with light, but with inevitability.
Before him, a holoscreen pulsed. Fleets. Names. Systems surrendered and crushed. And among them, Earth. Still defiant. Still untouched. Still his.
He spoke.
His voice was low thunder, rich as forged iron, and sharp enough to carve through time.
"The Citadel believes themselves wolves," he said, his tone as casual as a god reciting prophecy. "But even wolves bow to the fire."
A figure stepped forward from the shadows—a lieutenant of the Elite Guard, infernal-born, armored in etched hellsteel. He knelt.
"Lord Darkseid. Confirmation from our Dominion infiltrators. The Ravager commands the vanguard. She arrives in eighteen standard hours."
Darkseid did not glance down. He did not need to.
"Komand'r," he said slowly, the name turning sour in his mouth like a heresy. "The pretender princess with blood on her hands and fire in her eyes. She seeks Earth not for conquest... but for vengeance."
"And vengeance," he added, rising with the unhurried gravity of a collapsing star, "is a weak foundation for empires."
His footsteps sent ripples through the magma. The room darkened as if afraid to breathe. He stood tall, a living shadow in the heart of the inferno.
"She hunts her sister," Darkseid continued. "But she does not see what moves beneath the board. Earth is not her prize. Nor is it hers to take."
"Earth," he said, letting the word linger like ash on the wind, "is mine."
A flick of his hand brought up another projection—an image of Koriand'r, captured in candid stills, mid-combat, defiant. Sparks of light curled around her hands, her expression fierce. A flame refusing to die.
"So much potential... still raw. Still innocent," he murmured. "The younger sister burns brighter than she knows. And like all stars, she will either collapse… or be harnessed."
He turned his head slightly, crimson eyes cutting into the lieutenant like a blade.
"Summon Grail. Activate the Paradooms. If Komand'r fails to bring me the girl, I will peel her from Earth's remains myself."
"As for the Citadel…" he said, pausing before delivering the verdict, "I want their defeat—not just witnessed. I want it remembered. Let their screams echo through the void."
The holoscreen changed again, Earth rotating in silent arrogance.
So small.
So stubborn.
So rich in secrets.
"They play with myths," he said, almost with pity. "They worship false gods… unaware the true one watches."
He raised his hand. His fingers curled into a fist.
"Let the universe bear witness. Darkseid is coming."
The screen flickered once, then burned to black.
And far, far away, the stars began to tremble.
—
GRAIL — IN THE SHADOW OF THE GODHEAD
The obsidian sigils carved deep into the Ziggurat of Grievance pulsed in rhythm with the unyielding heartbeat of Apokolips. Crimson light spilled like blood across the fractured Promethean stone, casting long shadows that twisted and writhed as if alive.
In the highest chamber, Grail stood statuesque, her silver eyes gleaming with cold inevitability. Her armor caught the sickly glow, a seamless weave of shadows and Omega lightning that danced with deadly promise. The sigil of Apokolips seared into her breastplate, branding her not just as a daughter, but as a weapon forged in the fires of war and betrayal.
The low hiss of a communicator broke the silence—a voice both familiar and nauseatingly oily.
"Grail. He calls for you."
Desaad's message was simple. Direct. And yet the silence that followed screamed volumes.
She didn't flinch. Did not even turn her head.
He never calls unless the tides shift… unless the board needs resetting.
From the gloom behind her, a Paradoom stirred—a grotesque fusion of flesh and nightmare—kneeling in mechanical obedience. She flicked her wrist, dismissing the creature's slavish vigilance like a child swatting a fly.
"We play chess with gods, not toy soldiers."
The air rippled violently as a Boom Tube flared into existence—a jagged maw tearing open space itself, revealing the molten inferno of Darkseid's throne chamber beyond.
Desaad's voice slithered through the portal like oil on fire.
"He does not tolerate delay. Nor disobedience."
With a predator's grace, Grail stepped through the vortex, her warhammer Karnaxis slung across her back, a silent promise of ruin.
The throne room stretched vast and eternal, a cathedral to despair where the Lord of Apokolips sat—a mountain of shadow and wrath, his eyes burning with the red-hot fury of the Omega Effect.
"You summoned," Grail said, voice even, razor-edged. "I came."
Darkseid's gaze bore into her like tectonic plates grinding slow and inevitable, ancient power radiating with the weight of doom.
"Blood calls to blood," he intoned, voice a low rumble that shook the very foundations of the throne room.
"Komand'r descends toward Earth with fire and pride. Let her believe she is the storm."
He rose, each step a death knell echoing through the chamber's black stone like thunder before the storm.
"You will be the judgment."
Grail tilted her head, lips curling in a faint, cruel smile.
"You finally want me to claim her? The sister who fled our Citadel prison, flitting among mortals like some naïve spark chasing shadows?"
Darkseid's lips twisted—not quite a smile, more the shadow of one.
"Koriand'r is a flame they will rally behind. A symbol."
"And symbols…" he gestured broadly, voice cold and absolute, "are meant to be extinguished."
A pause, pregnant with dark promise.
"But not before the gods of Earth witness what truth does to symbols."
Grail stepped closer, the air thick with the scent of ozone and unspoken challenge.
"And when their champions come to stop me?"
Darkseid's eyes flared with unholy light—the Omega glow spreading like wildfire in his gaze.
"Then you unleash the Revelation."
A cruel grin broke over Grail's face, fierce and dangerous.
"Oh, I'm looking forward to the fireworks. But you know, Father..."
"If I'm your judgment, you might want to pray it's not the last."
Desaad's voice cut in from the shadows—slick, serpentine, laced with barely contained glee.
"Ah, such delicious defiance."
"Like a firecracker strapped to a grenade."
"Let's hope the cosmos enjoy the bang as much as we will."
Darkseid's voice rumbled, deeper than the void itself.
"Grail, your fury is our blade. Wield it without mercy. And remember—failure is not a word spoken in my throne room."
Grail's eyes gleamed with deadly promise.
"Neither is surrender."
The chamber darkened, the Boom Tube closing with a thunderous finality as Grail vanished into the black maw of destiny, the storm of war swirling in her wake.
---
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