The sky above Metropolis was an endless expanse of blue and sunlight, a serene canvas that belied the storm you were about to unleash. You landed like a living hurricane, each footfall sending tremors through the streets, a manifestation of Viltrumite might and intent. Kara Zor-el looked up, her hair catching the sunlight, cape flaring behind her like a banner of defiance, fists clenching. She radiated power—the kind that could bend continents—and she knew it. You didn’t come for spectacle, though. You came with purpose, and your patience had worn thin.

“I need you to prepare this planet,” you said, your voice calm but absolute, carrying the weight of centuries of conquest. “The Viltrum Empire will arrive soon. There’s no time to hesitate.”

Her eyes narrowed, scanning you with that intuitive suspicion that made her an obstacle. “Prepare? For what? You don’t even know if what you’re saying is true. And even if it is, Earth doesn’t need to bow to anyone.”

The tension around you both cracked the air like glass. Your body tensed, Viltrumite muscles coiled like springs ready to snap, each fiber calibrated for destruction and endurance. “Resistance is irrelevant,” you said, letting the menace underlie your words. “I am not here to negotiate. I am here to inform you—so that the transition is smooth, or painful.”

She stepped forward, fists glowing faintly, the air around them shimmering with energy. “You’ll find I’m not as naive as you think. I don’t follow tyrants, and I don’t start wars for them.”

And that was all it took. You both launched into the air, the cityscape below shrinking into rubble beneath your feet. Each strike shook skyscrapers and rattled streets. Her blows were precise, blindingly fast, each movement a testament to skill honed under impossible responsibility. But you were trained to endure, to respond with brutal efficiency, to transform raw strength into a weapon. Sparks flew, winds whipped in chaotic eddies, pedestrians screamed, and cars skidded helplessly, but none of that mattered. This was beyond collateral—it was a declaration.

“Earth will resist!” she yelled, dodging a strike aimed to send her crashing through a reinforced building.

“And it will fall!” you roared back, slamming into her with the force of a freight train, midair colliding with a shockwave that shattered windows for blocks.

Hours passed in a blur of combat. The city became an arena of cracked concrete and twisted steel, yet neither of you yielded. She struck harder than any mortal, faster than any human mind could anticipate, but your Viltrumite reflexes calculated every movement, turning defense into counterattack in a heartbeat. The air around you burned with energy, the invisible pressure of power that could topple nations, yet neither of you relented.

Finally, suspended in midair, bruised, sweat and dirt mixing with the grit of the city, she spat, “You don’t get it. Earth isn’t yours to prepare or destroy. I decide what happens here, and I won’t let your people take it.”

You studied her, surprised by the unwavering steel in her tone. Most would have bent under a single demonstration of Viltrumite might. But Kara wasn’t most. She was something rarer—dangerous not just for her power, but for the conviction behind it.

The fight paused, not out of choice, but because the city itself groaned under the strain of your conflict. Concrete trembled, glass rained down, and the air was thick with energy and ozone. In that fleeting silence, the realization struck: she would not back down, and neither would you. Every instinct screamed that this was only the beginning, the prelude to a war neither of you could ignore, a collision of ideals and strength that would shape the fate of the planet itself.

And for the first time, you recognized that danger wasn’t just in victory—it was in her refusal to yield, a force as relentless as your own.