"Your power is disappointing, General Zod."
In the crushing silence of deep space, Ben gripped the Kryptonian general's collar and lifted him like a rag doll against the star-field backdrop. Zod's armor sparked and wheezed, its advanced systems failing catastrophically under the strain of their brief but decisive encounter.
From Ben's perspective, fighting Kryptonians without yellow sun exposure was hardly worth the effort. His Solarion transformation represented the absolute pinnacle of Kryptonian evolution, every genetic advantage optimized, every biological system perfected. Where Clark contained the raw potential of his species, Ben had achieved their theoretical maximum across every measurable parameter.
The vaunted Kryptonian combat armor that had made Zod's forces seem so formidable was ultimately just sophisticated compensation for their inherent weakness. Without solar radiation to fuel their cellular batteries, these warriors possessed only marginally enhanced human capabilities. The technology bridged that gap admirably, but against a fully realized Kryptonian physiology, the difference was academic.
Still, Ben couldn't help but appreciate the engineering excellence on display. In the original timeline, this same armor had allowed Zod's forces to overwhelm multiple Earth heroes simultaneously, Batman's tactical brilliance, two versions of the Flash, even Supergirl herself had fallen before their coordinated assault.
Unfortunately for Zod, his opponent today wasn't a conflicted teenager or a mortal detective. Ben Parker operated on an entirely different scale of threat assessment.
"Attack with everything you have!" Zod snarled through gritted teeth, his pride refusing to acknowledge the hopelessness of their situation. Veins bulged across his forehead as adrenaline flooded his enhanced nervous system, triggering combat protocols that demanded action despite overwhelming tactical disadvantage.
Faora responded instantly to her commander's order, her streamlined form rocketing through vacuum with mechanical precision. The armor's integrated propulsion systems carved elegant trajectories through space, each maneuver calculated for maximum impact efficiency.
Ben's counter-attack arrived before she'd completed half the distance.
His casual side-kick connected with Faora's neck assembly, the impact transferring enough kinetic energy to send her spinning like a broken gyroscope across several thousand kilometers of empty space. Only Ben's conscious restraint prevented the strike from separating her head from her shoulders entirely, a consideration more professional than merciful.
"Interesting weakness in your tactical plan," Ben observed aloud, tracking Faora's tumbling trajectory with academic interest. "The armor enhances your strength and speed significantly, but your reaction time remain essentially biological."
The flaw was glaringly obvious once identified. Any normal Kryptonian with enhancement equivalent to Ben's should have been capable of at least tracking his movement, even if they couldn't match his speed. The fact that Faora had been struck without any defensive response whatsoever suggested that the armor's augmentation systems were creating a dangerous sensory bottleneck.
Ben's knowledge of the original timeline provided context for this discovery. When Faora's helmet had been damaged during Earth's invasion, the sudden influx of unfiltered sensory data had overwhelmed her nervous system completely. The armor wasn't just enhancing their abilities, it was also limiting them, creating artificial constraints on their natural Kryptonian adaptability.
Not that such tactical nuances mattered in this particular engagement. Ben possessed enough raw power to simply overwhelm any defensive strategy through brute force application. Sometimes the most elegant solution was also the most straightforward: when in doubt, use superior firepower.
With methodical efficiency, Ben drove his remaining opponents into the surface of a nearby barren planetoid, their armor systems failing in cascading sequence as they encountered forces beyond their engineering specifications. The impacts carved new crater formations across the celestial body's ancient surface, each strike releasing enough energy to alter local gravitational patterns.
Zod made one final, desperate attempt at retaliation, drawing his ceremonial blade and lunging toward Ben's exposed eyes with the fury of a cornered predator. The weapon was a masterwork of Kryptonian metallurgy, its molecular structure aligned for maximum penetration potential.
The blade shattered against Ben's cornea like glass hitting steel, showering space with glittering fragments that caught starlight in brief, beautiful displays.
"Impossible!" Zod gasped, staring at the weapon's ruined hilt in complete incomprehension.
"In ancient legends, Danzo attempted to stab Susanoo with a simple kunai," Ben replied with philosophical amusement. "Today, General Zod tries to stab my eye with a sword. Who exactly taught you to fight Kryptonians with medieval weapons?"
Ben's confidence wasn't entirely unfounded. His previous analysis had revealed that Clark's injury aboard the scout ship had been caused by atmospheric contamination rather than superior Kryptonian technology. Trace amounts of what would later be classified as kryptonite had weakened Clark's cellular integrity just enough to allow penetration. Without that specific vulnerability, standard Kryptonian metallurgy posed no threat to properly charged solar-powered physiology.
Demonstrating his point with casual brutality, Ben closed his fist around Zod's helmet, applying pressure equivalent to several thousand tons per square inch. The advanced materials groaned and buckled under impossible strain, Zod's facial features distorting as the protective casing compressed around his skull like a medieval torture device.
A quick scan of the broader battlefield confirmed that Clark had achieved similar dominance over his opponents. decades of constant solar absorption had charged his cellular structure far beyond normal parameters, while Ben's training had finally taught him to access that accumulated power without restraint. The timid farm boy was rapidly evolving into something approaching his legendary potential.
The Kryptonian vessel hung in space like a broken toy, its hull perforated by impact craters and energy discharge ship. Ben collected the defeated warriors, Zod and Faora in his own custody, while Clark gathered the remaining survivors, and transported them back to their commandeered scout ship.
Once aboard, Ben systematically stripped away each piece of combat armor, reducing the once-formidable warriors to ordinary prisoners in form-fitting undergarments. The technology was too valuable to destroy, but too dangerous to leave in hostile hands.
"Ready to have that conversation now?" Ben asked, crouching beside Zod's prone form with professional courtesy.
The fallen general's appearance had suffered considerably during their engagement. Without the armor's medical systems to compensate for trauma, bruises and lacerations marked his aristocratic features like a roadmap of defeat. Nearby, Faora maintained her dignity despite a spectacular black eye that Ben had unintentionally gifted her during their brief exchange.
"We have nothing to discuss with race traitors!" Zod spat, his genetic programming refusing to accept the reality of his situation. His glare fixed on Clark with the intensity of molten steel, hatred and betrayal burning in equal measure.
Ben's superior capabilities hadn't surprised him, the universe contained countless beings of impossible power, and accepting their existence was simply tactical pragmatism. But Clark's decision to stand with humanity instead of his birth species represented a fundamental violation of everything Zod considered sacred about Kryptonian identity.
"No true Kryptonian would commit such acts!" he continued, his voice rising with righteous fury. "You bring shame to the House of El! Your father would weep to see what you've become!"
The accusation hit Clark like a physical blow, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I can't allow you to harm Earth's population. That's non-negotiable," he replied firmly. "We understand your desire to rebuild Krypton, and we're willing to help, but reconstruction cannot be built on genocide. And any new Kryptonian civilization must allow natural birth rather than genetic programming."
"And spawn thousands more abominations like yourself?" Zod sneered, his contempt for natural reproduction overriding even his current predicament. In his worldview, Clark represented everything wrong with uncontrolled genetic development, powerful but morally compromised, capable of betraying his own species for sentimental attachment to inferior life forms.
His attention shifted to Ben with calculating malice. "Is this creature the result of your experiments with the Codex? A pathetic mockery of true Kryptonian heritage, manufactured without honor or purpose!"
Ben's response was a casual kick that sent Zod's head snapping backward with bone-jarring force.
"Negotiation failed. Time to execute him," Ben announced, dusting off his hands with finality.
The prospect of killing Zod didn't particularly trouble him. The general's genetic inflexibility made him fundamentally incompatible with Ben's vision for New Krypton. If anything, removing such regressive influences would simplify the species' eventual restoration.
"Wait!" Clark interjected, his expression pained but determined. "There's no need for execution. Can't we just... imprison them somewhere secure?"
The suggestion revealed Clark's continuing moral evolution. He wasn't operating under any absolute prohibition against killing, his time with Ben had taught him that space-level threats sometimes required permanent solutions. But the thought of executing one of the last surviving members of his birth species still felt like a betrayal of everything the House of El represented.
"Maybe we could return them to that black hole prison?" Clark suggested hopefully.
"You mean the Phantom Zone?" Ben asked, moving toward the ship's control systems with renewed interest. His Upgrade form had already copied every byte of data from Zod's vessel, including detailed technical specifications for their dimensional prison technology.
"Creating another Phantom Zone is certainly possible," Ben replied, his fingers dancing across holographic interfaces with impossible speed. "But are you absolutely certain about imprisonment? What happens when they inevitably escape again?"
"Then I'll kill them myself," Clark said with quiet conviction.
The response satisfied Ben's concerns about Clark's moral development. The young Kryptonian was learning to balance compassion with pragmatism, a crucial skill for anyone hoping to operate at space scales of responsibility.
"Your choice, your problem," Ben agreed with a casual shrug.
Using his shapeshifting abilities, Ben began merging the two spacecraft into a single, more capable vessel. The fusion process created something that looked ancient and battle-scarred from the outside while housing cutting-edge technology within, a perfect representation of form following function.
Clark watched in fascination as Ben transformed into Grey Matter, his diminutive amphibian form perched on the control console like an organic computer terminal.
"Is this another of your alien forms?" Clark asked curiously. "He doesn't look particularly powerful. What are his abilities?"
Ben's large eyes swiveled to regard Clark with alien intelligence. "I'm the smart one" he replied in Grey Matter's characteristic high-pitched voice.
What followed was a demonstration of intellectual prowess that left Clark speechless. Ben's tiny hands moved with impossible precision, manipulating quantum-scale components that shouldn't have been visible to organic senses. Within minutes, he'd fabricated a pair of ordinary-looking eyeglasses from raw materials.
"Kryptonian cognitive technology," Ben explained, offering the glasses to Clark. "They create localized perception fields that make facial recognition incredibly difficult. If you're planning to maintain a civilian identity, these should help."
Clark accepted the glasses with wonder. "If my vision wasn't enhanced, I'd swear you were performing magic."
"This is just the warm-up exercise," Ben replied with characteristic modesty. "With proper tools and sufficient time, I could build you a interstellar dreadnought from scrap metal."
The glasses had been a simple proof-of-concept demonstration. Recreating the Phantom Zone would require significantly more sophisticated engineering. Fortunately, Ben's analysis of the captured data had revealed most of the underlying principles behind Kryptonian dimensional manipulation.
But the deeper he delved into the technical specifications, the more convinced he became that something fundamental was being overlooked.
"The Phantom Zone isn't native to Kryptonian space," Ben announced, his discovery carrying implications that extended far beyond simple prison construction.
"Correct," Jor-El's holographic form suddenly materialized beside them, he had been on the ship watching as soon as the scout ship dock earlier, his expression grave with the weight of long-held secrets. "That particular dimension was my discovery, not an inherited technology from our ancestors."
The AI's revelation prompted him to elaborate on circumstances he'd never fully explained to his son. "Krypton's empire once encompassed twenty-eight star systems, but the Phantom Zone existed outside our territorial boundaries entirely. I encountered it during deep-space exploration, a realm where physical laws operate according to different principles."
"Beings imprisoned there exist in a state somewhere between life and death," Jor-El continued, his scientific fascination warring with moral unease. "They retain full consciousness and awareness but cannot physically interact with normal space. Communication becomes purely telepathic, and basic biological needs like nutrition or sleep simply cease to exist."
Clark's imagination conjured uncomfortable scenarios. "What if someone developed an itch they couldn't scratch?"
"Theoretically, even parasitic organisms become suspended in the same quasi-physical state," Jor-El assured him. "Prisoners report no physical discomfort, only the psychological burden of eternal observation without agency."
But Ben's attention had already moved beyond practical concerns toward more fundamental questions about the Phantom Zone's true nature. His space-level awareness could detect energy signatures that purely scientific analysis might miss.
"Did you know the Phantom Zone is intimately connected to divine consciousness?" Ben asked, his small form radiating unexpected gravity.
The statement hit Jor-El like a thunderbolt of revelation. "I had no knowledge of such connections," the AI admitted with obvious distress. "My training was in theoretical physics and planetary engineering, not metaphysical studies. Perhaps a Kryptonian sorcerer might have detected such properties, but our scientific establishment generally dismissed religious practitioners as pre-rational throwbacks."
Ben's eyes widened with surprise at this casual revelation. "Krypton had sorcerer?"
His limited knowledge of DC continuity had suggested that all Kryptonians suffered from inherent vulnerability to supernatural forces. The idea that some members of their species had actively cultivated mystical abilities challenged several fundamental assumptions about their civilization's development.
"So the Phantom Zone can't be safely used?" Clark asked, concerned about the implications for their prisoner problem.
"The divine connection doesn't prevent its function as a containment system," Ben clarified, though his tone carried new notes of caution. "But operating a prison that exists within some unknown deity's consciousness... that could create complications we haven't anticipated."
After several moments of consideration, Ben decided the risks were acceptable given their limited alternatives. Superman and Batman were destined to become the cornerstone heroes of this universe, with that level of narrative protection, even hostile gods would think twice before direct intervention.
Besides, external threats might actually prove beneficial in the long run. Better to have cosmic entities threatening Earth than Batman developing contingency plans A through Z for eliminating his own allies.
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