He was born one hundred thirty-one years ago, not of this Earth. Krypton, the name of his birth planet. He, but a baby when his biological parents – Jor-El and Lara, made the science-laden, yet harrowing emotional decision to rocket him away. To a distant world three bodies away from a raging, young yellow star. A magnificent star powering him to superior levels he knows not their limit. His Kryptonian parents provided him a wealth of Kryptonian facts and history housed in his one way, rocket ship. With so much knowledge provided, his mind still found itself in constant realization of they being gone, his home world being destroyed, and him – wondering whether he was the last living Kryptonian?
Probably not the best time for such thoughts.
He feels her punch connect with his jaw. She constantly tells him that she will never let up. He gives his jaw a rub and to her a wink.
"Really?" the Amazon mouths.
Her body leaps directly at him. He matadors her to his side with a little extra push to her back. He hears and watches her knees and palms slide roughly against the smooth, metal floor. She turns, looks up and is back on her feet within an eye blink.
"No flying," she orders pointing a lithe, sculpted arm towards him.
"Have I yet?" Kal-El asks. "We've been doing this for thirty minutes."
They move in a circular formation. Ten feet of heightened air separate them.
"And no super vision, heat, blah, blah," she says.
"Babe," Kal proclaims with his arms outstretched, "you're getting the stripped down me." She smiles and after all these decades, her smile still sets him off to a realm of school boy giddy and deep affection.
Kal sees her advancing again. Her body movement betrays her. Any other being in the universe would be done. He knows her too well.
She will feign expertly a left power jab in order to move her opponent in position. Set-up for a right leg sweep followed by a thunder punch to the chest. Kal falls for the beautifully executed fake left jab. He recovers in time to jump over the leg sweep. No flying. She spins around low to the ground leading her left arm into would-be contact with Kal's side. Kal blocks her arm holding her body close to his.
A series of movements that lasted barely two seconds.
Her back heaves into his chest as he smells her neck. She struggles, but not really.
"My love, this is not practicing," she breathes feeling her body react to Kal's closeness.
He turns her to him, his hold more loving than suppressing. Her height, nearly his equal.
"Diana of Themyscira, protector, Wonder Woman. My wife. I don't want to fight no more," he says softly kissing her forehead.
Her hands come up resting upon his thick, muscled chest. Her vision lingers on his deep blue eyes. The sun's light casting their shadows deeper inside the cavernous gymnasium.
"Sparring," she corrects. "Not fighting." Her fingers work their way around his neck. She loves the feel of his sweat against her hands. He rarely sweats, even when doing the superhero stuff. She takes in his breath for a heartbeat before landing her lips upon his mouth. She feels the pressure of his hands against her back, one sliding ever downward.
At some point she looks down to see their workout shirts strewn on the floor.
Kal gently grabs around her upper thighs lifting she and him smoothly upward.
"No flying, I said," Diana whispers in his ear before she starts nibbling on it.
He pulls his head slightly back. A look on his face that Diana once fantasized before she and Kal became a couple. And now, it was all hers.
While maintaining eye contact, Kal pulls off the remaining clothes Diana wore. He floats back several feet as she hovers. Naked before him, she is beyond the beauty of Aphrodite. There is no shame in her eyes. No embarrassment. She glides to Kal and strips him of his gym shorts.
Their evening becomes a blur of lust, fun and damn good bonding.
The two-acre size ship takes orbit around a planet covered ninety percent in land. From such height, multiple sparks flicker from the planet's surface. The missiles break through the planet's atmospheric layers. Contrails billowing behind.
Inside the ship, a being who would be considered quite alien to an Earthling, stands in a darkened room. He walks with little purpose towards a large window. His thin, humanoid frame is relaxed. Deep green hued hands clasp behind his back. His expression is lack of expression. An emotionless façade watching the threat removal of the missiles by the ship's defense shield. Tiny explosions bloom of red, orange and yellow no closer than a mile from the ship's exterior.
He rubs one of the seven small, circular metallic implants resting on the crest of his head. A cylindrical, malleable tube-like hose descends from the blackness and attaches itself to the implant. Six more follow attaching to the other head implants. Once attached, his body is lifted upward. Lights shower the large near-empty room. A resting structure, neither a chair nor a throne, occupies the center of the room. The hoses position the being over the structure, and gently descends. His body clicks into the glossy, silver structure. His legs, just under his knees, are covered.
"Enter," his monotone low voice orders.
A nearby wall has a doorway structure appear that was not previously there. An immense being enters. The yellowish-green tint to his skin color plays dramatically against his dark purple bodysuit. Metallic accessories around his waist, neck and wrists shimmer under the room's lights. His thick boots land with muffled thuds as each casual step covers four feet.
He stops several steps from his master.
"Your wish, Braniac?" his deep, gravelly voice asks.
"How many worlds will this make for you, Lord Mongul?" Braniac asks.
"Twenty-three," Mongul responds.
"Anything special about this one?"
"Nothing that can't be handled. The central city will not be touched. Just over ten million inhabitants."
"And the other six billion?" Braniac asks.
"The warriors are at your disposal," Mongul says.
"So, the creature is not needed for this world?" Braniac observes with question.
"No," Mongul replies. "As I've indicated, master. The creature is one and done. It is unstoppable. Our capture of it stupid luck. Its hibernation is…concerning. If it were to waken…"
"Finish your thought," Braniac states.
"I fear only you, master," Mongul qualifies, "but I or my warriors would be unable to stop it."
"Your honest thoughts are welcomed, Mongul. How long will you need for this planet?"
"No more than two cycles," Mongul replies.
"Very well," Braniac states.
Mongul exits the room as the room darkens with each step he takes toward the door. A single powerful lamp shines light directly down upon Braniac. His eye lids flicker twice. Black eye orbs catch and reflect the light.