The sound hit like artillery.
A sharp, explosive crack echoed across the deck as Noah Vale stepped forward—unbothered by the trident buried against his chest—and drove his fist into Arthur Curry's face.
Air burst outward in a white shockwave.
Arthur's body launched backward, slamming into the reinforced metal deck hard enough to crater it. He didn't even get a chance to recover before the entire battlefield froze.
Atlanteans.
Human soldiers.
Everyone.
All eyes locked onto Noah.
He turned slowly, glancing over the stunned crowd.
"…Does anyone here actually listen?" he asked, almost mildly.
Then his gaze settled on two figures nearby—men who didn't belong to either army.
Lex Luthor.
Slade Wilson.
Both part of the resistance.
Both very aware they were standing in front of something far beyond their pay grade.
Noah's voice softened just slightly.
"So. Are you two open to a conversation?"
Luthor was the first to react, his expression shifting almost instantly into something composed and cooperative.
"Of course," he said. "What do you need?"
They had come here expecting to die.
This… was better.
Noah didn't waste time.
"Stop fighting."
No theatrics. No buildup.
"I'm ending this war," he continued flatly. "Because what happens next isn't a war. It's a massacre."
Luthor's eyes flickered.
"So you're stepping in as… a mediator?"
"If that helps you process it," Noah replied. "But I'm not asking."
Before anything else could be said, an Atlantean soldier shouted from the side—
"You dare strike our king—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't get to.
One moment he was standing.
The next—
He was gone.
Reduced to something unrecognizable, his body collapsing into the ocean below in a spray of red.
Noah didn't even look in that direction.
"My decisions aren't open for debate," he said calmly.
His gaze swept across the Atlanteans.
"If you disagree…"
A slight pause.
"I'll remove the problem."
The threat wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The pressure alone was enough to make the air feel heavier.
And yet—
The Atlanteans didn't back down.
Weapons rose.
Not out of confidence.
But out of loyalty.
Noah watched them for a second.
Then nodded.
"Alright."
A flick of his fingers—
And it was over.
Hundreds of invisible strikes pierced through the formation, shattering joints and tearing through limbs with surgical precision. Every Atlantean on the deck collapsed at once, their bodies refusing to obey them.
Not dead.
Just…
Finished.
They hit the ground like discarded armor.
Noah sighed.
"Tough crowd."
He glanced around at the groaning figures.
"You know, surrendering would've been easier."
Luthor observed everything carefully.
The restraint.
The precision.
The sheer control.
This wasn't random violence.
This was… deliberate.
Calculated.
He had expected a monster.
What he saw instead—
Was something worse.
Something that chose how far to go.
And that meant it could always go further.
Then Noah spoke again.
"Quick question."
Luthor looked up.
"Is there anyone on this ship who prefers… men?"
Luthor blinked.
"…I'm sorry?"
Noah met his eyes, completely serious.
"The ones I just disabled," he said. "They're your responsibility now."
A beat.
Then—
"Handle them however you see fit."
Luthor's mind stalled for half a second.
"…Right."
Beside him, Slade's expression didn't change—but something in his posture tightened.
They had just watched Noah dismantle an entire force without killing them.
And for a moment, they had thought that meant mercy.
They adjusted that assumption.
Immediately.
Around them, the surviving crew went very, very quiet.
No one wanted to be noticed.
Noah stretched slightly, then continued as if nothing unusual had been said.
"I should probably deal with the Amazons too," he added. "Wouldn't want to be unfair."
The casual tone made it worse.
"I'll set up a system," he went on. "Anyone who insists on continuing this mess… gets corrected until they stop."
His gaze shifted back to Luthor.
"Get me a line to your leadership."
Luthor nodded quickly.
"Already on it."
He activated a communication device, pulling up a secure channel.
"Before that," he added carefully, "the Atlanteans have a weapon. Something capable of destabilizing an entire continent—possibly worse."
Noah waved a hand dismissively.
"They won't get the chance."
He had already seen it.
Already handled it.
To him, it hadn't even qualified as a problem.
"Focus on the call."
Luthor didn't argue.
Within seconds, the connection established.
Gotham City.
Victor Stone stood in a dimly lit room, facing a man in a batsuit.
Not Bruce Wayne.
Thomas Wayne.
Older. Harder. Less restrained.
"Join us," Victor said. "We can still stop this."
Thomas didn't answer.
Didn't even look at him.
For him, the world had ended years ago.
This was just what came after.
Victor sighed quietly—
Then his communicator lit up.
Luthor.
He accepted the call.
"Luthor," Victor said. "Any progress on the weapon?"
Luthor's projection appeared.
"Yeah," he said. "About that."
Victor waited.
Luthor didn't waste time.
"Get me the President. Immediately."
Victor frowned.
"…Why?"
"Because the situation just changed."
A pause.
"Drastically."
Victor's expression sharpened.
"You found the weapon?"
"No," Luthor said.
Then, after a beat—
"We found something else."
He glanced sideways.
At the figure standing calmly behind him.
"…Or someone."
...
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