Fifty thousand years ago, Earth was a vastly different place, shaped by the forces of nature and inhabited by a diverse array of flora, fauna, and early human ancestors. A landscape of sweeping vistas of untamed wilderness, with vast expanses of untouched forests, sprawling grasslands, rugged mountains, and winding rivers dominating the terrain.

In the dense forests, towering ancient trees stretched towards the sky, their gnarled branches creating a dense canopy overhead. Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, dappling the forest floor with patches of golden light and casting intricate patterns of shadow and illumination. Mosses and ferns carpeted the forest floor, while colorful flowers dotted the understory, attracting a plethora of insects and small animals.

The grasslands stretched out for miles, a sea of waving grasses swaying gently in the breeze. Herds of prehistoric megafauna roamed across the plains, their massive forms silhouetted against the horizon as they grazed on the abundant vegetation. Giant ground sloths, mammoths, saber-toothed cats were just a few of the magnificent creatures that called the grasslands home, their presence shaping the landscape and ecosystem.

In the shadow of towering mountains, rugged terrain provided a haven for a wide variety of wildlife. Alpine meadows burst into bloom during the brief summer months, attracting herds of deer, mountain goats, and other herbivores. Apex predators such as wolves, bears, and big cats prowled the rocky slopes, their keen senses and predatory instincts finely honed for survival in the harsh mountain environment.

Along the banks of meandering rivers and winding streams, lush riparian habitats provided a vital lifeline for both wildlife and early human communities. Dense thickets of reeds and rushes lined the water's edge, providing shelter for nesting birds and spawning grounds for fish. Beavers constructed intricate dams and lodges, transforming the landscape and creating rich wetland ecosystems teeming with life.

Humanity, a pair of nomadic hunter-gatherers that roamed the land in search of food and shelter, crafting tools and weapons from stone, bone, and wood.

Living was defined by survival against the harsh forces of nature, where every day presented new challenges and dangers.
Waking up in a small, makeshift shelter constructed from branches and animal hides. The morning air is crisp and cool, carrying with it the scent of earth and vegetation.
Gathering food and water, essential for survival. With a simple stone tool in hand scanning the horizon for signs of game or edible plants. Every step is cautious, vigilant against potential predators lurking in the shadows.

Foraging for food, keenly aware of the rhythms of nature be it the changing seasons, the migration patterns of animals, and the cycle of plant growth.
The fire crackles in the center of a camp, its warmth and light providing a sense of comfort and security amidst the wilderness.

In the dimly lit room of an extravagant condo, what was once Vargar, once Enmebaragesi, once Aga, Vandal Savage sat alone, surrounded by artifacts of a bygone era.

As he gazed out the window at the bustling city below before looking at the golden key wrapped in dozens of mystically marked bindings, he couldn't help but reminisce about his past in ancient Sumer.

He remembered the days when the white plague had swept across the land, decimating everything in its path and leaving only devastation in its wake.

Yet, from the ashes of destruction, arose the first inklings of civilization. Aga had witnessed the birth of the city-states, as humans banded together for protection and mutual survival.

Towering walls and mighty ziggurats, had emerged as a beacon of hope amidst the chaos, a testament to humanity's resilience and ingenuity.

He recalled the uselessness of gods and goddesses, whose arrogance had withheld divine intervention until it was too late.

In those days, the gods walked among mortals, their presence felt in every corner of the land. He remembered the petty clashes, the thunderous roar of battle as the forces of heaven and earth collided in a cataclysmic struggle for supremacy. He remembered the blood-soaked fields, the cries of the dying, and the triumph of victory.

And through it all, he endured.

Immortal and unchanging, he had borne witness to the rise and fall of empires, the ebb and flow of civilizations.

He had seen kings crowned and kings cast down, cities built and cities razed to the ground.

But among those many memories he thought of the metropolis of Urukt.

In the Early Dynastic I period, Kish stood at the zenith of its power, extending its influence far beyond its borders to cities like Umma and Zabala.
He ruled with an iron fist.

Only the defiant lord of Uruk stood in his way.

It began with Aga's demand for slave labor from Uruk to irrigate the fields of Kish—a demand that Gilgamesh adamantly refused.

Even when offered equal compensation in treasure, food and even weaponry, he refused.

Another welp of the divine who thought being related to mankind's training wheels gave him the right to be foolish without consequence.

Enraged, he had laid siege to Uruk, his forces clashing against the mighty walls of the city. Amidst the chaos of battle, Aga confronted captured Uruk soldiers, seeking to break their spirit and crush their resistance.

But it was as if Gilgamesh himself struck absolute loyalty into their hearts despite his frivolous nature.

An army that could not be broken and whose will was so strong that one man would find the strength to fight a hundred.

Much less their god king.

Now he found himself in a world far removed from the time of ancient kingdoms , even the ones he once ruled; he was enacting a long held plan to reclaim his lost glory to further his others plans to move mankind ahead of schedule.

With the copy of Gilgamesh's Gate's Key the pompous had discarded millennia ago in hand, numerous sorceries held in kept for such occasions and his catalyst ready for use in the Holy Grail War, everytime it was used in combat, he would be ready to seize the treasures that had eluded him for centuries.

He was not so blinded by greed to take anything unnecessary from the priceless jewels or forgotten trinkets.

No talking hammers of the gods. No mountain cleaving blades.

He just needs …

As he prepared to embark on this perilous quest, he barely noticed the bright flash that appeared in the sky the second he got his moment.

A lone figure stands before a wave of mud, crashing over them.

A lone figure stands before a sea of blood and a sea of bodies.

A lone figure stands before a pillar of gold, bright like the day.

A lone figure stands…

Divination is a poor substitute for knowledge. It offers insubstantial glimpses at what might have been, what might be, and what could be. However, the same could be said of rumours. Snippets of information, jumbled and warped by some mechanism, unreliable on their own.

The study of celestial bodies and their movements to interpret their influence on human affair using birth charts and planetary alignments to make predictions such as career, relationships, and health.

Tarot cards are used to gain insights into a person's life and potential future outcomes. Each card in the deck represents different aspects of life.

Analyzing numbers associated with an individual's name and birthdate to make predictions about their personality traits and future experiences.

Scrying , reading tea leaves, or using pendulums via symbols or patterns observed.

And yes … even dreams, a well known gateway to the subconscious mind that can offer insights into a person's fears, desires, and potential future outcomes. Riff with hidden messages or warnings about future events.

She never cared about predicting the future. If she didn't like it , and saw it, she'd only seal her fate.

The mere act of measuring or observing such a system alters its state.

Observing a future outcome, one may inadvertently influence or even determine that outcome.
If the individual becomes fixated on the vision they have seen and begins to dwell on it, their thoughts and actions may inadvertently contribute to bringing about that outcome. This is because their focus and energy are directed towards a specific future scenario, effectively reinforcing its likelihood of occurring.

Witnessing a future they dislike and giving it attention, the individual may inadvertently set it in motion, thereby making it more likely to occur.

At least that was what she kept telling herself as she packed up more and more of her mystic codes after another exhausting day in show business, mystery hunting, globe trotting and, as of recently, Prelati capturing.

Despite (or maybe because of ) them being kept in mystical quantum uncertainty, they kept popping in and out at random.

Ugh, managing her life is like juggling flaming chainsaws while walking a tightrope blindfolded.
Seriously, being a stage magician by day and an actual magician by night is enough to make anyone's head spin.

Let's start with the stage shows.

Don't get her wrong, she loves performing magic for a live audience.

The thrill of captivating people with illusions and sleight of hand is exhilarating, mixing ordinary stage magic and bona fide magecraft on the level of sorcery.
It's exhausting.

And don't even get her started on the skeptics.

There's always a handful of people who insist that its just smoke and mirrors, a cheap publicity stunt to sell tickets…

Even as she reveals her true powers.

Then there's the hero's work.

Fighting crime and protecting innocents from supernatural threats is a full-time job in itself, and trying to balance it with a stage career is a constant struggle.

Now, there's Prelati.

That conniving witch has been a thorn in her side for far too long, far too quickly.

Still , she had tried to push the vision from her mind, to ignore the gnawing sense of dread that had settled in her chest, but it lingered like a specter, haunting her every waking moment.

But deep down, she knew she was just avoiding the inevitable.

Especially with the Holy Grail.

The Servants, Heroic Spirits brought forth as Familiars, were summoned from myths and legends of old. Along with the centuries of amassed mana that had to leak through even when stored by the gripping strength of entropy, and through a sympathetic connection - hidden, forgotten, and lost mythological sources began to resurface in the modern world.

Another headache.

This is where it led to current pressing matters to attend to as well as Zatanna was currently in pursuit of a banshee that had been wreaking havoc in Metropolis, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake.

She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever get the chance to meet the famous "Man of Tomorrow" himself.

Bruce said he lived up to hype.

Then she felt an immense wave of mana and raw energy blip in and out in a second.

Behind closed eyes, the deep breaths and the rhythmic sound of his own breathing slowly stopped shutting out the outside world and brought himself out of retreat from the tranquility of his own mind in his personal white noise.

Just when he felt like he couldn't take it anymore, he started to focus on the soft melody that drifted through the air, like a gentle lullaby soothing.

The Unification Symphony.

Yula Mon-El composed it by the commission of the new Kryptonian government to celebrate the planet's nations uniting into one.

It is one hundred and ninety-two thousand, six hundred and forty-eight Earth years old.

It was very soothing but as he allowed more of his perception to expand, the more it was drowned out.

As the cacophony of the city outside reached its peak, he sighed, opened his eyes and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

He had always been … sensitive to sound since he was a kid, a trait that had both its perks and its drawbacks. While he appreciated the symphony of everyday life in the bustling city, there were times when the constant noise made it difficult for him to relax and unwind, especially when it came time to sleep.

Even if it wasn't physiologically necessary anymore, it still was psychologically.

He quickly shut off the device, got up to retrieve the Kryptonian crystal and watched as it shifted spectrums.

Naturally, from the spectrum humans can see; access without difficulty, yet avoid detection at the same time as its color becomes slightly different. It didn't make much difference for him, but he had to remember just how few colors he could see at first, growing up.

He then plopped down and began to read more information stored in atoms of the microfilm photonic crystal Jor El- Father had sent with him.

He was still getting used to it as it was more complex than human human tissue; altogether, it stored about … fifty two zettabytes of information on Krypton.

Eighty six point sixty seven billion times the amount of information in the entire Library of Congress.
For the first section.
And it got exponentially bigger the more he read.

All the handheld knowledge that Krypton ever produced.

All the books, the films, the blueprints and historical documents, the artwork, the scientific observations;

The total repository of two hundred thousand years of Kryptonian civilization, as well as the knowledge of four hundred thousand cataloged planets.

For the "basics".

Seeing all this knowledge always reassured him that he wasn't crazy.

Even when he got the truth out on how he was an alien, the sole survivor of a long-dead super-civilization, then people really just thought it a hoax.

He's still not sure whether to be relieved or frustrated at the universal dismissal even as he looked at his family crest.

That they thought him too human to be alien.

As he looked on his family's symbol, all he could was hope he represented it well.

While the sigil looked awfully like an 'S', there were subtle differences in the shape, enough to forever assign him his moniker. It had almost reminded him of a coiled serpent, straining to break free of the diamond around it.

He was glad Ma helped soften the design.

The second he put on his pants, it molded to fit his body, and the second he put on the top it melded into each other to form a bodysuit.

As always, it was both convenient and disturbing as was all things whenever he used Kryptonian technology.

Then after quickly scanning the area around his apartment building, he was off faster than the eye could see but slow enough not to destroy anything.

Another minute passed and in that time he stopped two more muggings and an attempted break in the outer corners of the Metropolis.
He took the time to see if he could help them solve the source of the reason that they attempted such actions.

Most mundane crimes in Metropolis were more subtle and elaborate than they were fifteen years ago nowadays. The few that still happened in public were done by those that thought it was beneath his notice or were that desperate.

Usually those from the Suicide Slums.

He decided that he would make time for how he would see how Jefferson was doing as he darted to the side, coming around a dumpster in an alley, and he "hopped" over at the professional looking "thugs" outside city limits in some other alleys.

He caught one in the chin before he had time to react, then shoved him into another. The second tried to disentangle himself from his buddy, only to get a "soft" kick to the face for his efforts. Out of the side of my eye, he took down the third thug, with a low level blow of breath.

He then sprinted ahead, where four other thugs on both sides were down in half as many seconds as he darted back and forth, taking them out with single hits. A bullet clipped him in the shoulder, bounced off and fell to the ground, crumpled.

In the middle of the scuffle, there was an abandoned car against one of the walls, red with rust, and he hoisted it over his head and decided to use it as a battering ram as he charged into the group that thought they were hidden well enough to power up the likely stolen military grade power armor .

As they finally took notice , it was only for the car to smash into their sides, shattering dozens of its base components as they as a group were forced back.

Pulling back, He smashed the car into them again, crumpling the entire front half of it.

Before he could do it a third time to make sure what was most likely an Intergang product was destroyed, however, someone blasted me.

A ball of exotic blue light struck his side, washing over me like water, and detonated in a flash with dozens of times the force of a missile.

It didn't hurt at all, but it was enough to make him let go of the car to protect his opponent caught in the crossfire.

He turned in the direction, just in time to receive another blast to the chest. This tims the kinetic force actually skidded back slightly, heels digging furrows in the asphalt, then charged.

Whoever they were, tried to fire again, but he beat them to the punch, catching them in a tackle.
They attempted to lash out with a kick to the stomach, trying to force him off, and tried to fire another blast.

This was when the red and blue hero decided to hit harder and shoulder-decked them into the wall, several bricks shaking loose with the impact.

It didn't stop the thug from firing, getting a shot that caught him in the chest with another ball of light, but it only served to make the chest piece of his suit a dull orange, infrared flaring from the surface.

Switching to even more ineffective tactics, they- she as he figured with a deeper scan, head-butted him, and that was enough to give her a conscious.

He stepped in before she could follow up and decked her across the chin with enough force to break her armoured mask.

With her groaning weakly, that was that from which he caught her in cuffs he got from his utility belt, then stood up, dusting his hands off.

It took him a millisecond to process everything and think through the situation clearly.

Whoever these thugs were , they obviously out of towners who who despite vastly underestimating him or vastly overestimating their own capabilities, were prepared and too well equipment for them to waste on random violence.

So some kind of poorly thought out distraction.

In an instant , the entire city was open to him, a vast expanse of sight and sounds that ranged from the microscopic to the gigantic.
A fire in the downtown area that was taken care quickly with a quick pass; a mugging in several blocks away that had the mugger hogtied in a second; countless other emergencies... there was a lot to do but as he did his best he kept looking.

Thankfully, he's learned wouldn't be alone. The Special Crimes Unit was out there, handling more than a few crimes out in the city, and there were independent heroes to consider.

To think, Superman and the Metropolis Police Department used to basically foes, at least for the first years of his career.

It didn't help that the department had strong connections with Lexcorp.

Most likely an unwritten agreement between the two groups is that in return for the MPD not looking too closely at what happens behind the doors of the corporate board rooms, the megacorp provides the latest in equipment.

Result of this was that law enforcement in Metropolis is one of the most well-armed forces on the Planet, with access to equipment far more advanced than the most of America.

Overall, they were actually pretty effective at least fighting out of control metahumans, although Superman is frequently needed to stop some of the bigger names.

Tradeoff is the persistent element of corruption in the force that proved resistant to attempts to stomp out.

Some would look at the fact that the corrupt cops in Metropolis rarely work for criminal organizations however, preferring instead to take bribes and orders from Lexcorp as better.

Evidence against their activities used to somehow end up in their hands, missing persons cases that lead to corporate involvement tend to get dropped, personal crimes committed by high-ranking corporate officials get ignored or overlooked, illegal experiments or creations that escape from corporate labs tend to simply be returned to their owners.

It certainly meant that when he started working in cleaning up the city, this meant Superman and the MPD clashed frequently.
Some tensions between the two remain even after Superman is accepted via what was supposed to be an honorable deputation (much more official nowadays), with cops choosing sides over where they stand.
It warmed his heart to see his beliefs in most where on his side and against Lex now.
He was sure the more cynical would be wondering whether enough cops felt that way to return to the early days of declaring him an outlaw to be a problem, it would remain to be seen.

Maybe he could drop by and help another time; Commissioner Henderson would probably be on-shift, and he'd be friendly enough to work with me.

A scream suddenly interrupted his searching/musings.

Turning, he saw that it was coming from a little boy, no older than six, huddled up against the wall and crying uncontrollably.

A man was nearby on the ground, being savagely beaten by a pair of very familiar assailants. The boy's father, based on the facial similarities, or maybe his uncle.

As he arrived in a matter of moments, landing between the boy and the thugs, the asphalt threatened to crack beneath his feet.

They turned to look at me after a heartbeat's pause, and their eyes widened like saucers as the realization hit them. One of them overcame his shock to pull out an exotic looking rifle gun and…

In mere seconds, they were unconscious and tied to a nearby telephone pole, bound with a bar of metal he ripped from a nearby fence.

Once he was sure they were secured, he turned his attention to the boy and the injured man on the street. The kid was kneeling by the man, still crying, and rushed over to see how he could help.

The boy looked up at me with teary red eyes as he knelt beside him. "Por favor... mi papa..."

"Le ayudaré," he replied.

The man was hurt badly, that much was certain. His brain was untouched, thankfully, and there didn't appear to be any spinal damage; he could carry him safely.

Once he was stable enough, he'd be able to ask him why he was targeted as he took out his first aid kit from his belt.

Despite how it looked his belt actually had pouches and clips to store stuff on advice from an old friend but more streamlined and stylized.

Carefully, he took him into my arms. He grunted in pain when picked him up, but was otherwise silent. Shifting him into a better position, he turned to look at the boy and gave him a gentle smile.

"Espera aquí."

The boy nodded, rubbing his eyes.

"No se preocupe," he said, trying to reassure him. "Yo soy Superman."

With that, he flew.

Gently.

In the very second he got him safe, after letting out a shuddering sigh, he rose to my feet and brushed myself off.

Things like that were to be expected; he needed to focus on the fact that the man's life was saved, that the boy still had a father. He couldn't get to him like always.

He wouldn't.

Clenching my fists, He once again soared into the sky. There was still work that needed to be done.

Right after that incident, it seemed like whoever they were seemed to be keeping their activities quiet, at least for the time being, and he found himself wondering.

It started a couple of weeks ago but it seemed as if the US' criminal underworld had shifted.
Something must have happened to create waves.

As he quickly flew west he decided that he would consult with a certain grumpy detective for his opinion.

As the seconds stretched out and the sonic booms erupted high up in the atmosphere as he zipped around and about, he could feel himself growing faster as he zipped about the city with each passing day.

When Jor-El had said he would only get stronger as he pushed my limits, he didn't expect it to be so fast. He thought it'd be a gradual process, almost in tune with natural development as he got older, not a exponential increase.

The sun was still below the horizon when he finally returned to his apartment. It had been a long early morning, that was for sure.

He would've felt exhausted six months ago, like Dad did after a day at the farms, but he didn't. In fact, he felt even livelier, he was loosening years of tension.

At this rate, Clark could push a planet out of its orbit or outrace a laser.

As he quickly got dressed, compressed his spine, loosened his facial muscles, he signed as he "rushed" off to work.

Meeting rent in Metropolis was a challenge.

The sun was already high up as he strolled past park gates, busy streets and congested lanes, shining brightly. Most people had to avert their eyes from it, or at least wear sunglasses, lest they get irreparable damage from the intensity of its light.

Him?

He could've stared into it all day without a worry, and it was actually quite tempting. If he focused my vision just right, he could see gamma rays and x-rays stream out from the core, or the turbulence of the photosphere as storms bigger than the entire world formed. He could even hear the vibrations in the corona if he wanted, a steady hum too low for the human ear to detect.

It shouldn't have been possible.

There was no medium for the sound to get across; satellites had to convert video of the ripples into audio for people to hear it, and even that was heavily altered. Yet, in defiance of all logic, he could now hear the song of the sun as it was meant to be heard, and it was beautiful most of the time.

Usually…

For some reason there seems to be a hum going on that was different.

Something that he'd keep an eye on.

Still, there were things for now going on as he focused on what he came here for.

Lex Luthor stood at a podium, face blank and his arms folded, and looked out into the crowd of flashes.

Before making an… interesting statement.

"I'm announcing that as of today, I am changing the direction of my company away from military arms and weaponry, and away from anti-invasion measures, Lexcorp is now in the business of solving the world's problems." He said, and stepped back for a moment for the showers of "MR. LUTHOR!" to bombard him.

His media outreach manager walked up to the podium and announced Luthor would be answering some questions.

"What brought about this change?"

"A moment of clarity. I'll let the men and women at Wayne Enterprises, Kord Tech, and my many competitors fill the void."

"Mr. Luthor, What will Lexcorp be focused on now?"

"I haven't decided yet. We'll either cure cancer or AIDS, and see where we go from there. Maybe world hunger." Some laughed at this.

He was about to beat Lois to the punch with his question before his world blanked out from the literal soul retching wail.

Siobhan McDougal was the first-born child of Garrett McDougal, the patriarch of an old Gaelic clan that has occupied an island midway between Scotland and Ireland for a thousand generations.

On that island is Castle Broen, where, centuries ago, first-born McDougals underwent a ritual to prove themselves worthy to lead the clan via the ancient spirits of the dead.

When Siobhan was young, she traveled the world, only returning to Castle Broen after her father's death.

Then an entity called "the Crone" demanded payment of the scions of the Fianna, be it by blood or nurture.
All she knew in the sea of helplessness was that it brought her to Metropolis.

A Banshee.

Prophecy could not be unfulfilled. His ancestors escaped via time and his father escaped via age but those who would bare the name even if that alone, would bare the burden.

In an instant, chaos erupted as panicked screams filled the room. High end security guards rushed forward to intercept whatever- based on the body structure, a she, but either effortlessly swatted them aside with a flick of her wrist or her wail caused them to collapse in on themselves.

Clark's heart actually raced as he watched the scene unfold before him. Something about that scream hurt more than it just being a sonic attack. Something that hurt him internally beyond targeting his organs. He felt like he was being torn apart, as if his very soul was being ripped out of his body and flung about like a rag doll. He felt like he was being hit by a hundred thousand freight train, the force of it leaving him shaking and trembling.

Then he remembered that the people were in danger and shook it off.

He gave silent thanks to Arc for the advice.

He knew he had to act, and he discreetly slipped away among the chaos, ducking away.

Emerging less than a moment later as the Man of Steel, Superman soared back into the fray, his cape billowing behind him as he confronted the Banshee head-on and away from the stranglers and those more interested in a story than their lives. With a burst of super speed, he intercepted her with a bum rush, neutralizing its lethal effects before they could reach any of the bystanders. The Banshee let out an otherworldly shriek collapsing to the ground.

But the Banshee was relentless. Her strength and determination were matched only by her shierks. She lunged at Superman with ferocious intensity, her blows fueled by supernatural power. Superman was taken aback. He had never -

He immediately knew he had to use his superior speed and strength to defeat the Banshee.

His fists were a blur as he unleashed a barrage of superhuman punches against his foe at every angle with the only repeated blow being at the throat. With each strike, he could feel this wailing attacker, this banshee's resistance waning, her powers weakening under the force of his assault. He could feel her strength waning with each blow. He knew he was close...

"Looks like it's time to close the curtains on this performance, Superman," someone quipped, her voice laced with playful banter.

Only for the Banshee to be bound in shimmering rune-shaped tendrils of blue light.

Superman nodded in cautious but optimistic gratitude to the famous stage, well real, magician as evident before his very eyes.

Superman turned to Zatanna, a curious glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, "I've heard rumors about you being the real deal."

He gave a small smile.

"Glad they were true. Any idea who this, I'm guessing magical creature is and how or why she came to Metropolis?"

Extending a hand in greeting, he asked. "What brought you to Metropolis?"

Zatanna chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, you know, just passing through," she replied cryptically. "But enough about me, Superman. He couldn't help but notice the way you handled the Banshee earlier. Quite impressive. He wasn't exaggerating."

Clark raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her comment. "You saw that?" he asked. "I didn't realize I had an audience. And who was "hyped" per say?"

Zatanna chuckled softly, a mischievous twinkle dancing in her eyes. "Oh, I think you might have a few fans in high places, Superman," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

"Our mutual friend of a dark and broody nature from Gotham to be more specific."

He held back his surprise before asking a more important question.

"But tell me, do you know why .. the Banshee? Was in Metropolis? Or what magical event might have drawn her here?"

Zatanna frowned, considering her words. "It's connected to something bigger. Something magical."

"Well, if you want answers for why here, I suggest you start by looking into your family tree. You might be surprised by what you find."

Clark's curiosity was piqued. "My family tree?" he echoed, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Zatanna leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might come from a long line of... interesting characters, if you aren't sticking to the alien story" she said enigmatically. "And she might have her own reasons for seeking you out."

With a playful wink, Zatanna just ... vanished, leaving Superman to ponder her words as he watched as the Banshee was also taken away.

In Metropolis, the Police Department, particularly the Special Crimes Unit (SCU) and Science Police, have developed specific protocols and strategies to address collateral damage that may occur during their operations.

The Metropolis Police Department (MPD) equips its officers with advanced non-lethal weaponry and specialized gear designed to contain or subdue superpowered individuals without causing extensive collateral damage.

Before engaging in operations that involve potential risks of collateral damage, the MPD conducts thorough risk assessments and develops strategic plans to minimize unintended consequences. Coordination between different units within the department ensures a cohesive approach to handling emergency.

In situations where there is a high risk of collateral damage, such as battles between superpowered beings, the MPD focuses on containing the conflict within designated areas to prevent harm to civilians and property outside those zones with established evacuation protocols for civilians in areas under threat from superhuman conflicts or high-tech incidents.

Which was entirely bypassed by Superman within a matter of minutes according to reports.

Now he had to wait for the blue boy scout's care package.

He could remember what it was like it was yesterday

Superman came down, holding a massive pallet above his head. He set it down gently on the grass, then dusted his hands off before planting them on his hips.

"What is this." Dan Turpin was too tired to phrase it as a question.

"It's $50,000 to help with the damages," He said, cape fluttering in the morning breeze.

The Commissioner looked down at the pallet. Then he looked back up.

"These are pennies."

"$50,000 worth of pennies," He corrected.

"And where did you get five million pennies?"

"I had some free time on my hands, so I combed the country at super-speed, grabbing any pennies laying around I could find. I read in a magazine once that Americans lose tens of millions of dollars worth of pennies every year. On sidewalks, under couch cushions in furniture stories, cars abandoned at junkyards, even thrown out vacuum cleaners... pretty easy to find when you have super vision."

They both looked down again with a grimace.

"That cannot be sanitary."

"Don't worry, I cleaned them all, too. They're as good as new." He chuckled. "I even ordered them by year. I actually found some rare collector's items, but I think you'll forgive me for holding on to those for a rainy day."

Henderson wished it was a one off but no matter what the papers said Superman had a mischievous side.

"You're-we're Irish?

Pa waved his hand from side to side with a scrunched up expression of thought at my question.

"Eeeh. Probably from my father's side. He'd tell me how we were related to knights of old from Fianna to Bedivere of Camelot as bedtime stories. Didn't think it was true or relevant…"

While his mum was out with her friends, he came over to smallville to tell his dad about his day and some questions.

Honestly he didn't expect such a quick answer that explained a lot in hindsight.

He quickly moved on and went to visit his pops.

"What do we need?" He asked.

"Oh, just some groceries. Eggs, milk, meat; money's still a bit thin since Christmas, so we might need to budget a bit more."

After glancing down at the tea for a moment , watching the infrared light blooming off it, then looked back up.

"I'll get the food."

"Clark-"

"I don't need to eat, Dad, at least not anymore; I just like to. If money's tight, then it'd be a good idea if I cut down on frivolous stuff like that."

"Do you hear yourself? You're talking about going hungry like it's nothing, kiddo."

"Because it is nothing," He replied. "It's been forever since I last felt hungry, even if by a little. Besides, it'd only be for a bit."

Maybe he should look into the diamond business or salvage work again.

Dad sighed. "If you feel like you need to eat, eat. I'm not happy with this, but I know how stubborn you can be when you think you're right. And only skip every other day, okay? Can't believe I'm saying this."

He smiled. "I'll be fine, Dad. Besides, we can use the money for better stuff later, like finally fixing the sink."

Dad glanced over at the sink in question, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Has been a while…"

As he flew just above the thermosphere he slowly allowed his flyers to disappear.
Well, not quite.
So, it's a bit of a misnomer to say that the energy lines disappeared… because that's actually an outright lie.

Nothing disappeared.

They will never truly disappear. But as long as he changes his perception, as long as he shifts his focus just right… then, it's possible to alter his field of vision enough that he can overlook certain things.
The entire event was barely captured, no telescope had been specifically focusing on that point and by the time they had the event was mostly over.

The only reason he hasn't destroyed the satellites was that he had noticed that they were of Wayne Enterprises.

It took a lot but he decided to trust Bruce

But he would be paying a visit to Gotham to ask what the hell was going on.

But it seems he kept glancing up at the sky too much.

"Something wrong?" He asked, slightly wary.

"Just concerned," the man replied. "It's not healthy to look at the sun for too long, young man. You already need glasses."

"Thanks for the concern," He said. "Hey, you look familiar; I think I've seen you on TV before. Are you Detective Jones?"

Managing a small smile, he replied. "Just Mr. Jones. And who might you be, young man? Most people don't recognize me in public."

"Name's Clark Kent. Reporter for the Daily Planet ," he replied. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Jones."

"Likewise," he said, walking past me.

Clark turned to watch him go, eyes narrowed.

There was something off about him, subtly so.

He seemed pretty normal, but there were countless little things that just clashed with what he usually saw.

Shrugging, he went on my way. He hadn't gotten ten feet, however, before he heard a high-pitched screaming sound behind me, almost painfully loud.

Whirling about, he saw Mr. Jones looking at me, a whistle between his teeth. Nearby dogs began to bark at him, while their owners obviously pulled them past us, and realized he had used a dog whistle to get his attention.

Despite the fact it was eighty degrees out, and being who he was, felt a chill brush over my spine.

"Don't be alarmed," Jones said, pocketing the whistle. "I just want to talk to you about something."

"How did you-" He began, only for him to silence me with a gesture.

"I know a good path that most people don't walk on, where it's safer to talk. It's your choice, Clark."

I looked around, then sighed. "Alright."

Jones smiled. "Good. Walk with me."

He went for where they were keeping the girls first.

They were being kept in a warehouse rather far away from where he was currently residing; they were stuffed into makeshift cells like sardines in a can. Altogether, there were twenty-three of them, most of them around my age. It appeared that they were 'fresh stock', based on how their clothes weren't completely filthy yet. A lone guard was in the warehouse with them, watching TV, while another stood at the door.

The thought of what kind of future could await those girls made his blood boil.

The guard at the door didn't have time to react before he dropped from the skyline and clocked him in the chin with the full force of the momentum he gained.
As he crumpled to the ground, soundlessly as he caught him, and made sure to hogtie him with his belt before he knocked the door down.

The other guard spun in his chair, grabbing for the gun he had on the table, only for it to be ripped out of his hand with enough force to crack some fingers before he knocked him out as well.

There was a cellphone in his pocket, and he made sure to grab it before heading to check on the prisoners.

The girls recoiled away from the bars as he walked forward, a look of terror in their eyes. The reflexive flinch spoke volumes about their treatment.

The place reeked of grime and waste; of course the ABB wouldn't care about their hygiene. Many of them already looked gaunt and malnourished, a sunken look in their eyes.

"P-please," one of the girls said, huddling with the others. "H-h-help us."

"That's why I'm here," he replied, trying to sound soothing. "Don't worry; I'm breaking you out."

Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards the nearest cage.
Knew that there were more efficient and less energy wasting ways.
But he was too angry
The lock nearly tore into his hand as he tore it free, and the gate swung open with a creak. Stepping back, he let the girls slowly come out.

He did not do the same for the other cages but steal broke the locks with his escrima sticks, until all of them were freed from their cells. he tossed the cellphone to the girl who had spoken earlier, then straightened.

"You need to get out of here as fast as you can. There's a secure alleyway out back; I checked for any signs of Black Mask's goons. Call the police, tell them what's going on."

The girl swallowed. "A-about this?"

He nodded. "This is ending tonight; I'm making sure of that. There's going to be a hell of a ruckus in the next few minutes, and I don't want you to get hurt in the thick of it. Now, go!"

Slowly but surely, the girls began to leave through the open door, following my directions.
He watched them for a minute or two, making sure they weren't encountering any trouble, then turned my attention to the other matters at hand. There were plenty of warehouses in this turf, many of them filled with armed thugs. With all the military hardware they had, he didn't want to take any chances.

Cracking my knuckles, he set to work.

He barely noticed the flickering of static with his satellite uplink.

Author's Note: It was a large chapter so this will be either a two or three parter. Needed to show Bruce's actions in affecting the wider world, The DC side and what's going on. The next will focus on Fuyuki and all that entails.