The warzone burned under collapsing skies. Each clash pushed the combatants closer to their limits, muscles straining, wills tested. It was no longer about winning—it was about survival.
Superman and Thor traded blows that ripped through the air like cannons. Superman's heat vision carved molten scars across the battlefield, but Thor answered with a storm so fierce it nearly drowned the sun. Both staggered, bloodied but unyielding. "You fight with honor," Thor grunted. Superman's jaw tightened. "And you fight with thunder." Neither gave ground.
Far below, Hulk and Doomsday left entire craters with their impacts. Hulk roared, rage fueling every strike, but Doomsday adapted with each hit, his hide toughening, his strength swelling. For the first time in years, Hulk's face showed something other than fury—doubt.
Batman bled from his side as Deathstroke pressed forward, blades flashing. "You can't outlast me, Bruce," Slade taunted. Batman, weakened but calculating, triggered a hidden countermeasure—an electromagnetic pulse that fried Slade's tech. For a moment, the assassin faltered. Batman's battered fist connected with his mask, breaking steel and bone alike.
In the skies, Wonder Woman was driven to her knees by Hela's relentless strikes. Her shield cracked, her arm bruised, yet Diana refused to bow. Calling on her Amazonian spirit, she roared, lasso flaring with divine fire, and yanked the Goddess of Death into the ground with enough force to split stone.
But above them all, the true terror grew. Thanos and Darkseid unleashed their might together. Reality bent beneath the Gauntlet's glow, and Omega Beams sliced through Strange's protective wards like paper. Strange faltered, blood dripping from his nose, his voice shaking as he whispered: "If they combine their powers fully, there won't be a universe left."
The heroes had reached their breaking points. But so had the villains. The next strike would decide who shattered first.