DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

"What…"

The stunned silence was suddenly shattered by a soldier's piercing scream. Before anyone could react, another soldier collapsed to the ground, a large, gaping hole blown clean through his head. Blood and brain matter splattered out as his lifeless body crumpled, his eyes wide open, unable to rest in peace.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The gunshots rang out in quick succession. The ceiling lights exploded one by one, sending shards of glass cascading down.

It wasn't just the lights. Seven surveillance cameras mounted around the room were systematically destroyed, each shot precise, leaving no electronic eyes to watch the chaos unfold.

The room was plunged into darkness.

Instantly, panic set in.

In the pitch black, Bardi became a phantom, a ruthless predator born of the shadows. His enhanced vision rendered the darkness meaningless, his surroundings as clear as day.

He moved like a wraith. His steel-like hands reached out of the void, clamping onto the necks of two soldiers like unyielding vices. A sickening crunch echoed as their necks snapped, and their bodies collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

In the oppressive darkness, Bardi's black, abyss-like eyes glimmered faintly. His lips curled into a sinister smile, his expression one of calm satisfaction.

Then he struck again.

Bang!

Bang!

Each flash of gunfire illuminated the space for a split second, but all it revealed was death. Bardi's shots were unerring, each bullet finding its mark. Seven soldiers fell in mere moments, each with a single bullet lodged perfectly in their foreheads.

"Over there!!"

Panicked voices erupted, soldiers pointing toward the source of the last muzzle flash. They raised their weapons, ready to fire—but by the time they focused, the flash had appeared somewhere else, a hundred meters away, in another corner of the room.

"Damn it! He's too fast!"

"Watch your fire! Don't shoot your own!"

The panic spread like wildfire. Soldiers scrambled, trying desperately to keep up with the impossible speed of their attacker.

In the chaos, Bardi moved like a specter, his actions calculated and merciless. For every bullet fired by the soldiers, Bardi had already anticipated where their focus would shift. He used the confusion to his advantage, forcing them to fire blindly, sometimes even hitting their own comrades.

Their weapons became liabilities, each burst of gunfire serving only to light up their panicked faces for Bardi to see.

In the darkness, Bardi was untouchable. His awakened Kryptonian genes had elevated his senses and reflexes to an extraordinary level. His vision pierced through the shadows, his hearing picked up the faintest sounds, and his mind processed every detail with unparalleled precision.

Every move he made was deliberate. Every shot fired hit exactly where it was meant to. To him, this wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.

And from the very beginning, it had always been one-sided.

For Bardi, this wasn't just about eliminating his enemies. It was about teaching them something far more visceral.

They needed to feel the fear.

"Calm down! Calm down!"

"Turn on the emergency lights!"

"Find cover!"

"Pair up, back to back! Don't let him sneak up on you!"

Major Atherton's voice cut through the oppressive darkness, his tone strained but commanding. Despite the panic threatening to consume them, his orders provided a thin thread of stability for the terrified soldiers. They clung to his voice like a lifeline, desperately trying to regain a semblance of control.

The battlefield grew silent again, but the silence was suffocating.

Atherton was drenched in cold sweat, his soaked uniform clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He pressed his back against another soldier, finding a sliver of comfort in the sensation of another human presence. Though his clothes were slick with his own sweat, the solidity of the soldier behind him gave him a faint sense of security.

He couldn't remember ever facing an opponent this terrifying.

The Vietnam War? He would gladly fight through ten more of those rather than endure this nightmare. At least there, the enemy wasn't a shadow that struck without warning, an unstoppable force moving through the darkness.

Every soldier, including Atherton himself, was trembling. Their breaths came shallow, suppressed by the sheer weight of fear.

Suddenly, the emergency lights flickered on, flooding the space with dim, cold light.

The battlefield was illuminated.

What Atherton saw froze the breath in his lungs.

Corpses—over twenty of them—littered the floor. Their lifeless bodies told a story of brutal efficiency.

Some had their necks crushed with horrifying force. Their faces were swollen and purple, eyes bulging grotesquely, tongues hanging out in final, agonized gasps.

Others bore single gunshot wounds in the center of their foreheads, the blood from their skulls pooling on the cold floor. Each shot was so precise, so methodical, it was as if the soldiers had been executed, not killed in battle.

Major Atherton felt his legs weaken beneath him. He stumbled slightly, leaning harder against the soldier behind him for support. His back was clammy with sweat, his breathing uneven.

And then…

The soldier behind him moved.

No, not the soldier.

Atherton's blood ran cold as he realized the truth.

The man behind him wasn't one of his soldiers.

The other soldiers must have realized it, too. Their faces turned pale as they raised their rifles, aiming them squarely at their commander.

"What are you—" Atherton began to shout, but his voice died in his throat.

It was then he felt it.

The thing against his back wasn't a soldier—it was Bardi.

The realization hit him like a thunderclap. His back stiffened, his heart raced, and sweat poured down his face in streams. His pulse thundered in his ears, each beat a deafening reminder of how close he was to death.

The soldiers surrounding him were paralyzed with terror. Their hands gripped their rifles so tightly that their knuckles turned white, sweat staining the metal grips. No one dared to move, and the oppressive silence grew heavier with every passing second.

Bardi stood tall and motionless behind Atherton, his presence dominating the room like an immovable force.

Atherton's legs trembled, his mind screaming at him to act, but he was frozen in place. His face was pale, his body slick with sweat as though he had been dropped into an ice bath.

Then Bardi's voice came, low and merciless.

"Your name, sir?"

The sound of his voice caused the soldiers to flinch. Several fingers tightened on their triggers, the tension in the room threatening to explode into violence at any moment.

Atherton, still leaning against Bardi's back, felt the words chill him to his core. Bardi's tone was devoid of humanity, each syllable slicing through the air with lethal precision.

It felt like they were back to back on a battlefield, two lone warriors surrounded by the enemy. But there was no camaraderie here—only terror. Atherton felt like a man standing at the edge of a precipice, about to be shoved into the abyss.

The indifferent, cruel voice shook Atherton from his paralyzed state.

"I…" Atherton stammered, trying to respond, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Even forming a sentence seemed like an insurmountable task. His words faltered as fear choked him.

Then, in a desperate attempt to regain control, he bit down on his tongue, the sharp pain jolting him back into focus. Blood filled his mouth, and the metallic taste steadied his nerves.

"My name is…"

His knees bent slightly, his body coiling like a spring.

This was his chance.

In one swift motion, Atherton dropped toward the ground, trying to escape from Bardi's grip.

The soldiers in front of him were already poised to fire, their rifles aimed and fingers tense on the triggers. The moment Atherton hit the floor, they would unleash a hail of bullets to take Bardi down.

But they never got the chance.

A rush of air swept through the room as Bardi moved.

Before Atherton could even fully crouch, a massive hand clamped down on the back of his neck like an iron vice.

The force was immense, stopping him mid-motion. Atherton felt as though his neck was caught in the jaws of some great beast, his vertebrae on the verge of snapping.

He was lifted off the ground effortlessly, his legs dangling uselessly beneath him. In an instant, the major went from a commanding officer to a helpless captive, suspended like a ragdoll in Bardi's grip.

The soldiers froze, their fingers twitching on the triggers. Their weapons were useless now, their commander held hostage in front of them. Cold sweat dripped down their faces as they hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Bardi's grip didn't falter. He tilted his head slightly, his voice calm yet sharp enough to slice through the tension.

"Your name? It doesn't matter."

The soldiers barely suppressed their gasps.

Bardi's tone remained steady, devoid of emotion, as he continued, "Out of 110 soldiers, I've killed 47. That leaves 63."

"I asked your name for one reason only," he said, his voice dark and merciless. "To let you decide: half will live, and half will die."

*****

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