"The *true* power of Kryptonians?!!"
Faora stared at Heisenberg, baffled. Heisenberg simply pointed toward Clark and spoke in a low voice.
"Precisely. Ever since arriving on Earth, I've realized that our strength was never merely a product of our bodies. When our cells absorb the radiation of Earth's yellow sun, we become…"
BOOM!!!
A sonic crack split the air. In the span of a heartbeat, Clark had closed the distance behind the fleeing Steppenwolf.
Feeling the presence at his back, Steppenwolf gritted his teeth, dropped low, and lunged forward with a savage sweep of his arm.
He hadn't just been running. He'd been running *toward* his axe, lying where it had fallen in the distance!
Now, weapon in hand, Steppenwolf spun on his heel and brought the blade down in a brutal arc aimed straight at Clark's neck!
Faora surged forward again. Kal-El might be a traitor to Krypton, but a Kryptonian traitor was *not* for some Apokoliptian dog to put down!
But Heisenberg's hand caught her shoulder once more.
Steppenwolf's axe crashed down with full force, stopping dead at the carotid of Clark's throat.
And yet—the flaming edge couldn't so much as scratch his skin.
Clark glanced down at the axe resting against his neck. Then he smiled. A thin, contemptuous curl of the lips. After sparring with Heisenberg for days, he hadn't picked up much in the way of Kryptonian combat technique—but that particular smile? He'd mastered it completely.
Still smiling, he looked up at Steppenwolf's disbelieving face and blew.
A gentle exhale. Like winter wind sweeping across a frozen lake.
In an instant, thick frost encased Steppenwolf's blazing axe, smothering its fire under a shell of ice.
Then Clark raised his right hand. He looked like he wasn't even trying. He tapped the axe. Lightly. Casually.
CRASH!!!
The axe shattered into a thousand fragments!
"That cold breath…?"
Faora's eyes went wide.
"I've seen him do that before. Wasn't that something the Codex gave him?"
"Of course not!" Heisenberg chuckled.
As his laughter rang out, Clark stepped in and threw a punch, sending the stunned Steppenwolf rocketing backward!
Before Steppenwolf could right himself mid-flight, Clark was already above him. One foot came down, driving the tumbling warlord straight into the earth!
Just like Heisenberg had done days ago—Clark straddled Steppenwolf's fallen torso and rained down blow after blow.
Between punches, he casually fired a burst of heat vision. The searing beams obliterated the last remnants of Steppenwolf's helmet and cleanly severed his right horn.
Steppenwolf hissed in agony. Clark hauled him to his feet and dragged him back to Heisenberg.
THUD!!!
Steppenwolf hit the ground. His face was a mask of utter disbelief.
He'd fought Kryptonians before. Plenty of them. But he had *never* encountered a Kryptonian like this!!!
Across from the fallen warlord, Faora's brow furrowed tight. She hesitated, then spoke.
"When General Zod and I first came to Earth, we assumed Kal-El's unusual abilities were the result of Jor-El's genetic modifications. Jor-El had been the head of the Science Council, after all. God only knew what kind of aberrations those scholars could cook up in their labs. But if what you're saying is true—then Kal-El's power is what Kryptonians are *actually* capable of?!!"
As the words left her mouth, something shifted behind her eyes. Disbelief gave way to a flicker of desperate hope.
She stepped away from Heisenberg's side and walked to where Steppenwolf lay. Pressing the dazed warlord to his knees with one hand, she turned to Clark.
"Traitor Kal-El. Does your strength truly come from Earth's yellow sun? Answer me."
"Go ask Great-Grandpa about that!"
Clark turned his head away, making it abundantly clear that he had no interest in conversing with someone who couldn't open her mouth without calling him a criminal's son.
Faora's jaw clenched. Some nameless Kryptonian descendant with zero rank or status dared to speak to *her*—Vice Commander of the Kryptonian Military—like that?
She wanted to beat the insolence out of him!!!
But after a moment, she swallowed her rage with visible effort and turned back to Clark.
"This 'Great-Grandpa' you mentioned… who—?!!"
"That would be me. The boy carries my genes."
Heisenberg smiled as he said it. He gestured for the Justice League members to follow, and together they gathered around Steppenwolf.
He waved his hand.
Instantly, Steppenwolf felt the weight of countless planets settle onto his shoulders.
CRACK!!!
His knees slammed into the ground. The already fractured earth splintered further, webs of new cracks radiating outward.
Heisenberg patted Faora on the shoulder.
"We'll set our matters aside for now. I'll address you and the Kryptonians you've brought with us later, all together. Right now—" His gaze dropped to Steppenwolf. "I'd like to have a little chat with this small creature from Apokolips."
Steppenwolf, seething with helpless fury, went rigid.
*Small creature?*
He wanted to snarl back. To rage. But Clark's display had beaten the defiance out of him.
Before, against Faora, the two of them had at least been evenly matched. Blow for blow.
As for the Justice League—creatures who could only overwhelm him through numbers—he'd never considered them worthy of respect.
But Clark, who had shattered his weapon with a *tap*…!!!
Watching Steppenwolf's expression slowly curdle into something hollow and lost, Heisenberg felt a strange flicker of recognition. As if he were seeing someone else entirely behind those eyes.
A song started playing in his head.
*Ahem.*
Heisenberg shook it off. His expression sobered. He looked down at the kneeling Steppenwolf and addressed the group.
"It's been barely seven days since my conversation with Darkseid, and already one of his lackeys has found Earth. I don't know if he's the first. But I know he won't be the last. Make no mistake—the war between myself and Darkseid has begun. The challenges are closing in. Which means your training regimen is going to intensify."
At that, even Flash—the one person who'd always balked at the brutal drills—nodded with grim seriousness.
Barry understood the stakes. Sure, they'd handled Steppenwolf with relative ease. But consider this: Apokolips would only need a few dozen warriors of Steppenwolf's caliber to reduce them all to despair.
Off to the side, Steppenwolf listened. His lips pressed into a thin line. Then, in a cold, ragged voice, he spoke.
"You think *you* have the right to call yourself Darkseid's enemy? You are unworthy. You are *far* from worthy. You don't even deserve the title of his adversary! You say you spoke with him—that was a privilege he *granted* you. You are his toy. A curiosity. A plaything that amused him for a moment!!!"
BOOM!
The instant the words left his mouth, Steppenwolf was driven half a meter into the earth. The sheer violence of the force field tore his shoulder armor to shreds, leaving his upper body slick with blood.
But regardless of what was done to him, Steppenwolf's words had landed. Batman and the others exchanged tense glances. Their enemy was more confident than they'd imagined.
Heisenberg, meanwhile, let out a dismissive laugh. He lifted the force field.
Steppenwolf stopped sinking. He knelt in the crater, gasping in great, ragged breaths.
Heisenberg walked to stand before him. Steppenwolf was tall—even on his knees, Heisenberg standing at full height could only just meet his eyes level.
He studied that gaze. Regret and fearlessness, tangled together. Heisenberg shook his head slowly.
"Whether I deserve to be called Darkseid's enemy. That is not for you to decide. When you declare me unworthy, at least I know his name—and he knows mine. But you…"
Heisenberg reached out and patted Steppenwolf's shoulder. Gently.
As his palm made contact, the force field channeled through his hand, pushing the streaming blood aside, clearing the wound.
When his hand settled, he continued.
"If we're talking about unworthy—*you* are the one truly unworthy of kneeling before me. You are so weak that you don't even possess the strength to throw a punch at me. But I am not like your master, this Darkseid you worship. Even someone as pitiful as you—I am still willing to grant you the privilege of stating your name. Tell me what you are called, weakling. This is an honor I bestow upon you! Even though you lack the qualification to be my toy. Even though you possess nothing that could spark my curiosity or my delight. I still offer you this chance! So…"
He leaned in slightly.
"Tell me. Who are you?"
Silence.
Steppenwolf's eyes blew wide.
The feeling those words gave him—it *overlapped*. Perfectly, sickeningly, with the nightmare he feared most in all the universe.
He stared up at Heisenberg's expression. That almost-smile. That not-quite-smile. His throat constricted. He swallowed hard.
"I am…"
The words started, then stalled. He couldn't explain it. But somehow, impossibly, saying his name before Heisenberg felt like an *honor*.
Fighting the absurdity of that thought, he lowered his head. His voice came out quiet.
"I am Steppenwolf."
"Good. That's a fine beginning. I know your name now, weakling. And in choosing to speak it to me, you have already bowed your head. So why don't you take a moment and consider—do I truly share nothing in common with the almighty Darkseid you revere? For instance, we both possess power that leaves you utterly without the means to resist!"
Heisenberg swept his right hand through the air.
Brilliant sunlight flooded the battlefield, warm and golden.
In the distance, the severed horn—cut clean by Clark's heat vision—floated back through the air under Heisenberg's command. It settled onto Steppenwolf's head. In seconds, every wound vanished.
Steppenwolf felt the impossible speed of his own healing and stared, dumbfounded. Before he could form a word, he felt his entire body go light.
The next second, Heisenberg's force field lifted him to his feet.
And Heisenberg looked up at him. From below. Yet somehow, impossibly, it still felt like being looked *down* upon.
"I give you back a whole body. I give you back the stamina you lost in battle. If I wished, I could even give you back the axe that was destroyed!"
Heisenberg extended his right hand. The scattered fragments of the shattered axe drifted over from across the field. When they reached his palm, the pieces slid together effortlessly, fusing, healing, until the weapon was whole again.
At the same time, Steppenwolf's ruined armor knit itself back into its original form.
Heisenberg raised the axe and held it out to the towering warlord. His voice was soft.
"I have restored you to your peak. I have even healed the old wounds you carried from other universes. And yet—do you believe you are worth a second glance from me?"
He waved his hand again.
Steppenwolf watched in horror as his axe and armor began to disassemble and reassemble without his consent. Piece by piece. Atom by atom. Beyond his control.
He stared at those hands. Turning lazily. Casually. As if all of creation were clay between his fingers.
Steppenwolf drew a long, deep breath.
Then he reached out and took hold of his own axe.
He exhaled. Slow. Steady.
And then he walked to Heisenberg, and lowered himself into a genuflection.
He knelt there—truly knelt—so that Heisenberg could look down on him at last. And in a voice stripped of everything but reverence, he spoke.
"You are right. Even if you are my enemy, your power commands my respect. Your Majesty Heisenberg."
/-\
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