"Take it, Barry!" Lin Feng's voice echoed like a thunderclap as he hurled the glowing Mother Box toward the wounded speedster.
Barry Allen barely caught the artifact, stumbling backward with a sharp grunt as his twisted ankle flared in pain. He looked up in disbelief at the man hovering above him—at the flowing cape, the emblem glinting on his chest, and the power radiating from every cell of his being.
"You... you're Superman?" Barry breathed, squinting at the familiar silhouette—so similar to Clark Kent's, yet different. The colors of the suit were inverted: darker, more regal, more alien.
Lin Feng gave a faint nod, eyes not leaving the distant skyline. "I told you before—I carry Kryptonian blood. But this isn't the time to explain."
His tone sharpened as he turned his gaze eastward. "Clark's coming back. Get that box somewhere safe!"
A distant sonic boom cracked through the air like a whip.
Clark.
Blackened. Twisted. No longer the beacon of hope he once was.
Lin Feng's eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he launched into the sky, a streak of shadow and light surging toward the incoming threat. The air around him trembled as he accelerated—his cape snapping behind him like a battle flag.
And then—impact.
The two collided in a blaze of kinetic fury, the sky itself recoiling. The force of their clash sent out shockwaves that rippled through the clouds. Windows shattered across a four-block radius.
Clark—no, this Clark—looked like something out of a nightmare. His expression contorted into something feral, monstrous. His eyes flared with seething hatred, a red-black glow pulsing with every heartbeat.
Lin Feng winced. What the hell happened to him? He looks like a mutated zombie version of Superman... Face is green. Muscles look like they're about to explode. This guy is full-on Doomsday mode!
There was no time to marvel—or panic.
Clark lunged, his fist glowing with solar-charged fury.
So did Lin Feng.
BOOM!
Their fists met in midair with a thunderous blast, the collision igniting a violent explosion of air and sound. The pressure wave flattened abandoned cars below and sent debris hurtling down alleyways like missiles. Even Barry, now huddled behind a cracked wall a hundred meters away, had to shield his face from the windstorm.
"Guys…" Barry whispered into his earpiece, barely audible over the chaos. "You really need to see this…"
He stared up at the two titans in awe, voice trembling. "It's like... two gods from mythology just decided to throw down in downtown Metropolis."
From the smoking crater below, a monstrous roar erupted.
"RAAHHHH!!"
Clark burst from the pit, black-red energy radiating from his body like molten lava. The ground trembled beneath his fury. His heat vision erupted from his eyes, now more intense than anything Lin Feng had seen—blacker, more violent, and shockingly fast.
Lin Feng darted aside. A heartbeat too late, and the beam would've torn through his skull.
A singed strand of hair floated in the air, burned away by proximity alone.
He's getting faster. Stronger. Unhinged.
The next moment, Clark blitzed forward.
Lin Feng had no time to think. He crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive block, but the punch landed like a freight train at full throttle.
CRACK!
The sky split open as Lin Feng's body rocketed backward. He smashed through two skyscraper windows before crashing into a construction site, carving a trench through steel and rebar. Smoke billowed up around him.
Dazed, Lin Feng groaned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"System!" he barked in his mind. "What's happening to Clark? He's not just angry—he's transforming!"
The system's calm, synthetic voice chimed in, as if observing a weather forecast:
> "Host, the subject known as Clark Kent has entered a corrupted rage state. This is a side effect of the magical corruption weapon I previously mentioned. His strength and speed are currently amplified beyond baseline Kryptonian levels."
Lin Feng grit his teeth. So the weapon didn't just brainwash him—it supercharged him too.
"Is there a time limit to this state?"
> "Yes. Based on calculations, the berserk transformation should last approximately one Earth hour."
"One hour?!" Lin Feng shouted internally. "You expect me to survive this lunatic for an hour?!"
> "Correct. Current survival probability: 14%."
Lin Feng's brow twitched. "You're kidding me..."
Another barrage of heat vision seared through the sky like blackened lightning, forcing Lin Feng into a desperate aerial dodge. The beams tore through clouds, split concrete towers, and left molten trails across rooftops.
Lin Feng was panting, sweat dripping down his brow. Every movement required precision. A single mistake, and he would be vaporized.
The system's voice cut through the chaos again.
> "Recommendation: Activate tactical retreat protocol."
"Retreat?!" Lin Feng hissed. "Are you saying I should run away?!"
> "Affirmative. Escape and live. Fight another day."
Lin Feng felt the weight of the moment crash into him. Retreat... in front of Barry. In front of Batman, Diana, and the others. Was he willing to abandon them?
The thought made him nauseous.
"No," he muttered aloud, pushing himself to his feet. "I don't run. Not when people are counting on me."
> "Host, your odds are deteriorating. You will die if you stay."
"Better I die standing than live as a coward!" Lin Feng roared.
And then—a revelation.
Through the blur of battle, he noticed something. Clark, in this berserk state, was all brute force. He charged in straight lines. He didn't feint. He didn't counter. No tactics, no planning. Just raw aggression.
That was a weakness.
A strategy began forming.
Lin Feng opened his comms. "Bruce—how long until Diana gets here with the kryptonite?"
Batman's voice came through, gravelly and urgent. "Ten minutes. Hold the line, Lin Feng. Just ten more."
Ten minutes...
Lin Feng exhaled, refocusing. If he could just outlast the storm, help would come.
But fate had other plans.
A boom echoed across the battlefield—deeper, darker.
It wasn't Superman this time.
A swirling vortex tore open above the ruins—a Boom Tube, glowing with alien fire.
From its center emerged a towering figure clad in spiked armor, wielding an electro-axe pulsing with apocalyptic energy.
Steppenwolf.
The warlord of Apokolips stepped out of the portal like a nightmare born of metal and rage. His glowing eyes scanned the battlefield—locked onto Barry holding the Mother Box.
"No," Lin Feng whispered, eyes wide.
Clark stopped mid-pursuit, turning toward the new presence. The madness in his eyes dimmed just slightly as he recognized the general who had orchestrated his fall.
And in that moment, as Lin Feng hovered between survival and annihilation, a new threat entered the fray—and the balance tipped once more.