Noah Vale's voice was calm, almost casual.
That made it worse.
Gavin stared at him, stunned into silence. The words themselves weren't loud or dramatic, but the meaning behind them hit like a seismic shock. Noah wasn't talking about ruling a city, or even a planet in the usual sense.
He was talking about replacing the world's moral center with his own.
Power, in its purest form, was a blade with two edges. It could carve a civilization into something better… or erase it entirely.
And Noah held that blade like it weighed nothing.
For a long second, Gavin couldn't process it. Then, unexpectedly, excitement surged through him.
Because the world Noah was describing… was flawless.
If an unstoppable being chose to act without bias, without corruption, without hesitation, then justice would no longer be a debate. It would be absolute.
Was Noah selfless?
Not even close.
His power might resemble that of a god, but his desires were anything but restrained. They stretched endlessly, restless and insatiable. The only reason that didn't become a problem was simple:
There were too many worlds.
Across different dimensions, Noah could indulge every version of himself. A ruler here. A mentor there. A monster somewhere else.
In one universe, he was a tyrant crowned in white.
In another, a reliable figure people turned to when they had nowhere else to go.
Elsewhere, he was a nightmare given form. Or a celebrated hero.
He wore identities the way others wore clothes.
And here?
Here, for the sake of one small request from someone like Gavin, he decided to play the role of something rare.
A perfectly impartial god.
Noah's gaze shifted toward the horizon.
"Before I start rewriting the rules for this planet," he said, almost lazily, "we've got guests."
Far in the distance, a glowing object cut through the sky. A spacecraft, sleek and alien, decelerated sharply as it approached. It stopped dead in the air in front of Noah, as if slamming into an invisible wall.
Around the world, every screen flickered.
Static swallowed broadcasts. Signals twisted. Then a figure appeared, barely visible through interference.
A voice followed.
"I am General Zod."
The transmission crackled, but the authority behind it didn't waver.
"I am not connected to the being you see before you. I come from a distant world. My people are scattered, our home destroyed."
A pause.
"We have come to Earth to retrieve one of our own."
Images distorted, but the message was clear.
"For years, he has lived among you. He appears human, but he is not. His name is Kal-El."
Another beat.
"Return him to us. Or face extinction."
Silence spread like frost.
Across governments, war rooms, and living rooms alike, the reaction was the same:
Shock layered over exhaustion.
Another alien threat?
Really?
A senior official exhaled sharply. "Two off-world forces, both on Earth at the same time… Maybe they'll clash. Maybe we get lucky."
The President didn't share the optimism.
"Or maybe we get caught in the crossfire," he said quietly.
Up in the sky, Noah hovered above a massive floating landmass, looking down at the alien craft before him. It resembled some kind of metallic insect, compact and cautious.
A probe, not the main force.
Smart.
The ship opened.
Light spilled out, forming a projection. A middle-aged man in armor appeared, rigid and controlled.
"I've reviewed your earlier declaration," Zod said. "I am General Zod of Krypton. My world is gone. My people are few."
His tone remained measured, diplomatic.
"This planet is suitable for our survival. One of our kind is already here. We intend to retrieve him… and establish a temporary settlement."
A slight pause.
"I propose a compromise. We divide the planet. You maintain control of your domain. We take the rest."
Simple. Direct.
Calculated.
Zod had already made his decision. He would observe. Test. If Noah proved weak, he'd be eliminated. If not…
Then Zod would adapt.
Noah listened, then spread his hands slightly, as if presenting something obvious.
"You're welcome to stay," he said.
Zod's expression didn't change, but something in the air tightened.
"However," Noah continued, "you'll do so under my authority."
A flicker of disbelief crossed Zod's face.
"…You intend to rule us?"
Noah smiled faintly.
"Rule isn't the right word. Think of it as… oversight."
His eyes gleamed, distant and absolute.
"In my world, intelligence comes with responsibility. Doesn't matter where you're from. Earth, Krypton, somewhere else entirely."
His voice softened, but the weight behind it only grew heavier.
"If you exist within my reach, you follow the same rules."
A pause.
"From the moment I noticed your fleet, this stopped being a negotiation."
Zod's expression hardened, fury beginning to surface.
"Then you've chosen war."
The connection cut instantly.
No warning. No transition.
Just gone.
High above, Noah lowered his hand.
What had once been a multi-thousand-ton alien craft now fit neatly in his palm, compressed into a dense, gleaming sphere. The metal hadn't shattered. It had simply… given in.
He flipped his hand.
The sphere dropped.
It tore through the atmosphere, punched into the ground, and vanished into the depths of the planet like a meteor that refused to stop.
Noah dusted his hands lightly.
"You misunderstood," he said, though only Gavin could hear him.
"This isn't war."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"It's a warning."
Then he moved.
His foot came down against the floating landmass beneath him.
The invisible force holding it aloft vanished.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then gravity reclaimed its due.
The massive chunk of earth began to fall.
At first slowly.
Then faster.
And faster.
Until it became a descending catastrophe.
Across the world, people screamed at their screens.
"What is he doing?!"
"Does he even understand what that will cause?!"
"That thing hits the ground and we're finished—!"
Panic spread like wildfire.
Above it all, Noah was already gone, a streak of motion cutting through the sky.
And below—
The world braced for impact.