(Another Bruce from another parallel universe)
Lord Superman stood unmoving at the center of the ruined structure, his gaze cutting through the cluster of armed men below him like a blade.
There had been five at first.
Then more spilled out—drawn by fear or curiosity, it hardly mattered. Boots scraped against concrete, metal clattered, whispers overlapped into a frantic hum that echoed through the hollow frame of the building.
“It’s him—!”
“The Regime—!”
“We’re dead, we’re—”
The sharp click of rifles being raised followed.
Kal didn’t even flinch.
If they wanted to pretend they were a threat, he could indulge them for exactly one second.
Heat gathered behind his eyes—slow, controlled, inevitable.
And then—
He paused.
A heartbeat.
Not theirs.
Not panicked. Not erratic.
Steady. Controlled. Familiar in a way that made something old and buried shift uncomfortably in his chest.
…Bruce.
The heat vanished as quickly as it came.
Kal’s head tilted upward, precise, almost mechanical, his gaze locking onto the rooftop above.
At first, it didn’t make sense.
A shape carved out of shadow—barely distinguishable from the darkness around it. A cape stirred in the wind, black against black. The outline of a cowl. The rigid line of a man standing his ground without hesitation.
For a fraction of a second, his mind rejected it.
Because he knew what Bruce looked like.
He knew the softened edges. The lowered gaze. The quiet obedience. The way Lord Batman had… diminished.
This wasn’t that.
This figure stood like a blade drawn and waiting.
The cape wasn’t draped—it hung like a warning. The stance wasn’t reserved—it was ready. Shoulders squared, chin lifted, presence sharp enough to cut.
And the face—
Even in shadow, the jaw was unmistakable. Strong. Unyielding. Severe in a way that felt almost foreign now.
Not pale with submission.
Not softened.
Alive with something dangerous.
Kal’s eyes narrowed.
This wasn't t the man he had shaped.
Not the one who stood at his side now, quiet and compliant.
This—
This was something older.
Something he had burned out of him.
A ghost of what Batman used to be.
For the first time in a long while, Lord Superman didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe.
Because standing above him wasn’t his Bruce.