Nova: The Un-Animated Series

By Jack Bronson

Episode 3: No Chains Part III

Scene 1 - The Watchtower, Diagnostics

The Earth turned quietly beneath the stars, its surface alight with the scattered glow of cities and the first brush of sunrise curling over its edge. Blue oceans stretched wide. Storms wheeled across distant continents like slow-turning gears. From the vantage of the Watchtower, the planet didn’t feel chaotic.

It looked whole.

Inside the diagnostic chamber, Nova stood still, arms slightly raised, as sleek obsidian clamps folded over his limbs and shoulders. The machine hissed with magnetic pressure. Drones powered up around him, optics glowing pale blue as they fell into synchronized rotation.

Red Tornado stood at the console, fingers sweeping through projected glyphs.

“The device will log your bio-signature. Following that, we’ll proceed to identity confirmation and access protocol.”

Clark stood just behind, arms loosely crossed. His voice was calm. “Nothing to worry about, Nova. Just some onboarding— we don’t want you tripping any alarms every time you beam in. ”

Nova gave a small nod, eyes locked on the circling drones.

The chamber’s light washed cold over his face, but he didn’t flinch. His posture didn’t shift. He watched the machines work as if waiting for them to change.

“You are exhibiting minimal stress response. That is uncommon.” Red Tornado noted.

Nova blinked once, then looked at him. “Should I exhibit more?”

“Statistically, new entries exhibit elevated heart rate, visible tension. You do not.” the android replied. “But calm under these conditions is rare.”

Clark glanced at the scan in progress. “His body’s already started repairing from the last fight. I’ve seen Kryptonian regen—this is faster.”

A sharp tone cut through the chamber.

Red Tornado read the data. “Stable volatility. Energy levels are consistent. Output… comparable to a small main-sequence star.”

A gust of wind slipped in as Barry Allen skidded to a stop and flopped into a chair at the side of the console. “Whoa — small star? That’s not intimidating at all.”

“Okay, doc, give it to me straight. Is he gonna melt the furniture, or are we good?”

He looked over at Nova. “First time on Earth, huh?”

“Second. Technically.” Clark said.

Barry snapped his fingers. “Right, right. The solar flare incident. Nearly gave Hal a tan. I remember now.”

Red Tornado didn’t look up. “The flare was not lethal. But had it impacted directly, it would have caused substantial cellular trauma.”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “Translation: try not to barbecue anybody unless it’s a holiday.”

Clark gave a small shake of his head. “It was a misunderstanding. Nova’s learning fast.”

“I’m just saying,” Barry muttered. “Could be a cultural thing. ‘Hi, I’m Nova. Boom.’”

Red Tornado broke in, flat but firm. “Unlikely. Apokolips trains for domination. Nova’s actions suggest a different priority.”

The scan chimed again.

“Bio-signature confirmed. Final phase commencing.” Red Tornado said. 

The clamps unlatched and slid back. The drones returned to their ports with a whisper. Nova stepped down, following Red Tornado, Clark beside him.

Barry watched them go, one leg draped over the other. “I still think we should’ve made him wear a visitor badge.”

They stopped at a smooth wall panel — no keypad, no ports. The surface rippled and unfolded, blooming open in curved segments. A device rose from within: crystalline, latticed with glowing filaments, something between Kryptonian tech and Fourth World design.

Nova hesitated.

The device gave a low hum. Then it reacted.

Threads of radiant light slipped into the air, slow and deliberate. They wove around him — not touching, but searching. The air tensed. Nova stood still as the light passed through his field, scanning something beyond muscle or bone.

Clark watched closely. Red Tornado took a step back.

The strands converged, and the air shifted.

The device activated.

“Non-mortal entity recognized.
Source-anchored identity confirmed.
Designation: Nova.
New God classification.
Omega-tier access: conditional.
Telemetry and ethics lock engaged.
Watchtower registry updated.”

A chime followed. Deep. Resonant. Ancient in tone.

Nova stood still for a beat longer. Then he turned to Clark.

“Is my blooding complete?”

Barry frowned from across the room. “His what?”

Clark just smiled, clapped a hand on Nova’s shoulder.

“Yeah. We’re good. Anyone got the time?”

“Five-oh-four,” Red Tornado said. “Metropolis standard.”

Clark nodded. “Perfect. Let’s get moving.”

Scene 2 - Fourth World, Forgotten Temple

The rock drifted in the void of the Fourth World, a jagged island of black stone suspended in the screaming nothing between realms. No stars. No light. Just the dull hum of entropy gnawing at the edges of reality.

Granny Goodness and Desaad ascended its warped surface, their figures small against the monstrous geometry that loomed above. The temple at the summit was a monument to forgotten gods and unspoken crimes — its spires bent in directions that defied orientation. Some curled sideways, others downward, a few twisted into themselves. The stairs coiled around invisible axes, rising, falling, looping, vanishing only to reappear at impossible angles.

Desaad muttered under his breath, leaning heavily on his staff as they climbed an upside-down segment of stone steps that led impossibly upward.

Granny grunted. “I hate this place.”

They reached a rusted archway — two massive doors carved from stone older than Apokolips itself, marked with ancient scripts none dared translate aloud.

Granny didn’t hesitate. She lifted one boot and kicked the doors inward. They collapsed with a shuddering crack, and a slow wind whispered from the darkness beyond.

Inside, the temple was ruin. Crumbled columns, shattered altars, bones long picked clean by silence. At the chamber’s heart, a glowing sigil burned faintly in the stone — three interlocked crescent moons, their shapes pulsing with a quiet, malignant rhythm.

Granny eyed the symbol warily. “Get to work,” she said. “I do not think it is wise to linger here too long.”

Desaad nodded, stepping forward with the reverence of a man disarming a bomb. From beneath his cloak, he withdrew three items — each terrible in its own right. He placed them at the three points of the glowing symbol.

The Omega sigil, pulled from the armor of a ruined effigy of Darkseid.
An Amazonian shield, scratched but unbroken, its eagle crest dulled with age.
A Highfather statue, carved from New Genesis stone, its eyes blindfolded.

Each artifact sank slightly into the sigil, the stone hissing as if scorched.

Desaad began to chant in Old Apokoliptian, his voice thin and dry as dust. The sigil brightened, its glow crawling up the walls, over the ceiling, until the entire temple was awash in crimson.

Granny shielded her eyes. The air vibrated. The light condensed into a single, piercing beam that stabbed upward through the roof and into the void above. Then the beam collapsed inward, spiraling into a tight, spinning orb that slammed into the floor like a meteor.

The light dimmed. A silence heavier than gravity filled the space.

The orb split open, not with a sound — but with a scream made of red light. A wound tore itself into reality, pulsing not like fire, but like exposed nerve. From the rift, she stepped forth.

She moved like a weapon drawn.

Wreathed in shadow and bloodsteel, her armor gleamed with the sheen of old wars — battle-worn, scorched, reforged. Not ornamental. Not ceremonial. Functional. Final.

Her skin was the color of polished bone. Her eyes — burning red, not with heat, but with inevitability. Her hair, black as midnight and streaked with silver, trailed behind her like a storm’s shadow. Her face was sculpted — symmetrical, yes — but only in the way a war statue is perfect. Cold. Beautiful. Inescapable.

In one hand, she held a war scythe, etched with Apokoliptian glyphs that pulsed in time with her breath. In the other — nothing.

She did not raise her voice when she spoke. She never needed to.

“You summoned me, Desaad. That was… brave.”

Desaad swallowed, coughed, and straightened his spine. He bowed, just enough.

She stepped forward, her presence slicing the stale air. Her gaze passed from Desaad to Granny.

“Two old rats calling on me,” she said, lips curling at the edge. “You must be very afraid.”

Desaad’s knuckles whitened on his staff. “It is not fear that brings us to you, daughter of Darkseid—”

“Do not insult me, Desaad,” Grail cut in. Her eyes flared. “If it was not fear, you would not have summoned me in bloodlight.”

Granny stepped forward with a crooked grin. “Oh, precious girl… You were always the sharpest dagger in the drawer. We need that edge.”

She paused.

“The boy. Nova.”

Grail tilted her head, curious.

“He lives.”

Granny grimaced. “Worse. He thrives. On Earth. Under the protection of the Kryptonian.”

Grail’s gaze sharpened, something almost like amusement flickering in her eyes.

“The little ember seems to burn a little brighter now.”

She looked back to Granny.

“And you wish me to retrieve him.”

Desaad interjected quickly. “Yes. But understand — his retrieval should be done… quietly.”

Grail chuckled — low, humorless.

“If quiet were possible, You would have asked Kanto.”

Desaad sheepishly muttered. “We did. But then we discovered he was under the Kryptonians’ watch.

Grail rolled her eyes. “He won’t be a problem.”

Desaad’s voice dropped. “But should Darkseid discover we’ve lost him—”

“He will not,” Grail said, cutting him off again. “Not if I handle it.”

She took one step forward, her scythe lowering slightly.

“The little ember and I have… unfinished business.”

Scene 3 - Metropolis Airspace

They broke through the clouds in silence.

Nova followed just behind Clark as they descended through the upper atmosphere, the air peeling away in soft layers of blue and gold. Far below, the curved edge of the world lit with the first strokes of sunrise — a line of fire catching on glass and steel, stretching over the horizon like light unraveling from the sun itself.

They passed over Metropolis. A city still half-asleep, blinking against the dawn.

Nova slowed.

He hovered, motionless, eyes locked on the skyline as the sun spilled its warmth over the city. Towers bloomed from the ground like monuments of glass and iron. Streets gleamed. Bridges caught the light like veins of silver. The sky turned amber.

Something about it held him still.

Clark slowed beside him, folding his arms as he took in the view. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Nova didn’t answer.

The golden glow that usually shimmered faintly around him — the residual light he carried like a low-burning fire — dimmed. Not extinguished. Just… quieter.

Clark glanced over.

“Not like what you’re used to?”

Nova’s head tilted. “I would not call Apokolips home.”

His voice was flat. Reflexive.

But the silence that followed wasn’t empty.

“A home is not… a familiar concept,” he added after a beat. “Training. Killing. Orders. That is what I remember.”

Clark nodded. No judgment. Just understanding.

“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”

He angled downward, motioning for Nova to follow. They descended again, slower now.

They landed on the edge of a rooftop, high above the stirring streets. The wind was soft. Distant sirens wailed and faded. A rooftop vent buzzed with quiet static.

Clark stepped forward and pointed.

“Look.”

Nova joined him.

Below, the city moved. Not in rank formations. Not under surveillance. Just… moved. People of every kind stepped out into the light — walking, waiting, talking. A vendor passed a coffee to someone in a suit. Two kids crossed a street at a flashing light. Laughter drifted upward, faint and real.

It wasn’t efficient.

It wasn’t optimized.

It was voluntary.

Nova stared. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Clark spoke quietly. “They build lives down there. Some are soldiers. Some aren’t. Some bake. Some draw. Some argue about baseball.”

He rested a hand gently on Nova’s shoulder.

“You get to choose what you are.”

Nova’s eyes flicked from the street to Clark. His glow rippled faintly — then dimmed again. Not out of control. But as if, for the first time, he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel.

Not hope. Not yet.

But something unfamiliar. Something that didn’t come with blood or fire.

He didn’t know its name.

So he said nothing.

A low vibration whispered through the air.

It wasn’t loud. Not yet. But it wasn’t natural, either.

Nova’s head tilted sharply — eyes narrowing, the gold in his irises flaring. Something had shifted. A distortion in the world’s rhythm, just past the city’s edge.

He turned slightly, gaze drifting southeast.

Clark noticed the movement, his own expression tightening.

“You feel that?” he asked.

Nova nodded once. “There is movement. Pressure. Not seismic. Not wind.” 

A pause. “...There.”

He pointed—not with hesitation, but without understanding.

Clark followed his line of sight.

“The docks,” he said.

Nova didn’t respond to the word, but his posture shifted — instinct aligning with intent.

They locked eyes. A silent understanding passed between them.

Then, in perfect sync, they launched skyward. 

Twin streaks of light tore through the air, arcing low across the skyline, headed straight for the water’s edge.

The wind swallowed the rooftop behind them.

And Metropolis, once again, braced for what was coming.

Scene 4 - 10 Minutes Earlier - LexCorp Dock-Level Warehouse

The warehouse was quiet.

Dim light slanted through the gaps in rusted ceiling panels, catching on crates stamped with LexCorp insignia. The hum of machines filled the air — low, steady, clinical.

Behind a stack of shipping containers, Kara crouched.

Her cape was tucked, the short red hem barely shifting as she moved. Blonde hair tied back, blue skirt catching the draft, white gloves tight around her fists — she moved like a shadow despite the boldness of her colors. Keeping her breathing slow, even. Her eyes scanned, narrowed. She peeked around the corner of the container.

Three scientists moved in careful coordination across the floor. All of them wore LexCorp badges. In the center of the room, a cannon-shaped device stood upright, its core glowing with an unsettling green light. They were powering it up.

Kara raised her phone — tapped quickly through camera mode — and began to snap pictures. Click. Click. Click. The cannon whirred louder, the sound climbing into a high-pitched hum. The green light brightened.

Suddenly, it fired.

A tight beam of energy slammed into the warehouse wall. But instead of exploding on contact, the beam tore into space itself. The air shimmered — then collapsed inward — forming a swirling, dark green portal.

The scientists didn’t panic. Not yet. One checked a tablet. Another scribbled on a digital pad, calling out measurements. They didn’t flinch.

Until the first tendril burst through.

It wasn’t sleek. It wasn’t clean. It was wrong — too wet, too long, too fast. It coiled around one of the scientists with terrifying ease, yanking him off the ground before he could scream.

A second tendril slammed onto the concrete, shattering it. It curled, searching, its movements twitching like something dreaming on the other side.

Kara shoved her phone into her belt and launched forward — a sharp burst of speed that cracked the air.

She aimed straight for the cannon, hands glowing, heat vision ready — but a third tendril came from nowhere and slammed into her mid-flight.

It struck like a whip, flinging her into a support beam hard enough to buckle the steel. She hit the ground on one knee, cape fluttering behind her, eyes glowing now with anger.

The portal widened.

A massive, slick form began pushing its way through — tentacles writhing, body still hidden in that swirling green tear in space.

Kara gritted her teeth and stood, gripping the tendril pinning her. It was massive — thick as a tree trunk — but she growled and lifted it anyway, muscles flaring as she heaved it over her head.

Just as she was about to toss it, another tendril crashed into her from the side, faster than the first. This one caught her clean — and launched her.

She soared backward like a missile, tearing through a stack of crates and bursting through the ceiling of the warehouse, light and debris showering down in her wake.

Kara streaked back into the warehouse like a thunderbolt, fists glowing faintly, cape snapping behind her.

“Okay,” she muttered through her teeth. “My turn.”

She dove toward the portal — heat vision primed, spine tight — and landed hard, red boots skidding across the cracked concrete, scattering debris with a sharp metallic screech.

She straightened.

Fists clenched. Blue skirt flaring with the sudden halt. Blonde hair whipping around her shoulders.

Her eyes locked on the churning green vortex at the center of the chaos.

The portal wasn’t stable anymore. It pulsed, shivered — a wound in the air, bleeding energy into the warehouse. It rippled in and out of phase, distorting space, vibrating like a held scream.

Kara braced.

One of the tendrils — thicker than the rest — lashed out from the breach and wrapped around her midair. It hit with a wet, horrible snap, coiling around her torso like a steel cable soaked in icewater. The pressure crushed inward, dragging her off the ground in a blur of motion.

She twisted, muscles flaring, heat building behind her eyes — but then the thing came through.

Not a clean arrival. A rupture.

The portal screamed as something massive forced itself through, tearing reality wider just by existing. The air went sharp. The warehouse lights flickered and blew out one by one.

The Kaiju’s torso shoved into the breach, bending the structure of the portal like an overstuffed cage. Metal groaned. Glass exploded inward from the pressure.

It didn’t crawl. It emerged — shoulder-first, hunched and coiled like it had to dislocate space itself just to fit into this world.

The floor trembled.

Support beams shattered with sharp, bone-like cracks.

Kara rose with it, still trapped in the tendril—hoisted higher as the monster’s full shape tore into the open. Ten stories off the ground now, she stared as the creature unfolded.

Its body was segmented, like armor plates grown from something that had never been alive — smooth and ridged, twitching with pale veins that pulsed in green and gold beneath a translucent hide.

Its limbs weren’t limbs. Just more tendrils — dozens, maybe hundreds, dragging behind it like roots or antennae or thoughts given flesh. One of them reached lazily across the space and snapped a nearby crane in half, metal groaning like a scream.

Then the roof gave out entirely.

Steel beams crashed inward. Light disappeared.

Kara twisted in the monster’s grip, glaring down as the warehouse collapsed beneath them, support by support, until only the gaping portal and the thing that had come through it remained.

The Kaiju turned its head — if it had a head — and released a sound that was not a roar.

It was lower. Wider. Like tectonic plates grinding against bone.

It didn’t want to kill.

It wanted out.

Scene 5 - Metropolis Waterfront

By the time Clark and Nova arrived, the docks were on fire.

Not flames — not yet — but motion. Panic. Screams. Dock workers ran in every direction, some bolting toward the water, others hurling themselves behind crates or into forklifts still running. The ground was a mess of smashed asphalt, bent steel, and deep gouges carved by something too large to belong in this world.

The Kaiju was moving.

Its bulk — pale purple and slick as wet marble — slid against the concrete, crushing containers like paper. It knocked a cargo crane into the harbor with a lazy sweep of its massive flank. Tendrils whipped out, grasping at whatever gave them purchase: buildings, trucks, slabs of dock — anything it could pull against to drag itself forward.

Clark hovered above the wreckage, surveying.

Then he saw it. Two sharp red beams lanced from a tangled coil of tendrils — a flash of fury buried inside the monster’s grasp.

His eyes widened.

“Kara?”

He dropped like a meteor.

Nova followed, silent.

As he descended, the coiled tendril that had fired the beams burst apart, glowing red from within. It detonated, flesh and sinew flying outward in strips of dissolving matter.

Nova didn’t shield his eyes.

He didn’t blink.

Instead, the golden flare returned around his skin — not out of fear, but something… else.

Time slowed.

In the heart of the dying explosion, he saw her.

She hovered in the ruin of the tendril, breathing hard. Red still crackled at the edges of her eyes — then faded, leaving behind two piercing blue stars. Her golden hair clung to her face in loose, tangled strands, streaked with remnants of alien fluid. Her fists were balled. Her cape fluttered against the pressure. And in her eyes — no fear. Only defiance.

Nova’s pulse surged.
The world shrank.
He could hear only the sound of his own heart.

Then she screamed.

A war cry. Sharp. Clear.
It cut through the noise.
And she punched the Kaiju.

Both fists. Full force.
Not enough to knock it down.
Enough to make it feel her.

The beast recoiled, and two more tendrils wrapped around her — one on each arm — pulling her wide, straining to rip her apart.

Nova blinked.

The moment shattered.

“Nova?” Clark’s voice, strained. “A little help would be appreciated.”

Nova turned. Clark was below, one arm locked around a massive tendril, preventing it from swinging a fuel truck into Kara’s path. His boots dug trenches into the pavement.

Nova shot forward.

The tendrils yanked Kara outward, trying to split her in two. She grit her teeth, fighting both directions at once, eyes burning again.

Nova raised one hand.

He didn’t look at the Kaiju.
He looked at her.

Clark shouted, “Nova! Push it away from the city. Hit it with a blast — something!”

Nova’s hand ignited — a golden glow, bright and pulsing.

Then — he fired.

A beam of searing photonic energy tore through the air, striking the Kaiju dead center. The creature convulsed. Nova kept the beam going, adjusting slightly, dragging it upward and sideways across the Kaiju’s enormous body.

The cut wasn’t loud.

It was clean. Surgical.

The tendrils went slack.

Kara fell — but Nova was already beneath her.

He caught her easily, cradled her with one arm as the two of them descended.

Kara looked up at him — eyes wide, breathing fast.

Nova looked back, the gold in his eyes still flaring.

Behind them, the Kaiju’s corpse collapsed in halves — fluids and bioluminescent organs spilling across the dock in twitching heaps. The creature gave one final spasm.

Then silence.

Nova said, softly — in perfect Kryptonese:

“Zel va’rei, kalah?”

Kara blinked.

She didn’t answer at first.

She was still trying to understand what just happened.

She’d almost died.
A beam cut the sky.
Someone caught her.
And that someone was now looking at her like she was the only light in the world.
And he just asked if she was okay in her native tongue.

Her lips parted.

No words came out.

Nova landed gently. His boots touched the ground without a sound. He set her down with care, like he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t disappear if he blinked.

She didn’t stop staring.

Clark landed beside them. “Nice shot, Nova.”

Nova looked up. “She wears your crest.”

Clark sighed — relief and exasperation bleeding into each other. “Nova, this is my cousin. Kara. Kara, this is Nova. A friend from New Genesis.”

Kara tilted her head. “You speak Kryptonian?”

Nova nodded. “Ta.”

Clark turned to her. “You wanna explain to me what you were doing here?”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Do you really care, or are you just reading your ‘you disobeyed me’ script again?”

Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Kara, you might not be aware of this, but you could’ve been hurt. Or worse, if we hadn’t—”

“Exactly,” she said, stepping forward. “And now that you see how well we work as a team, maybe let me help next time.”

Clark exhaled slowly.

“I’ve been tracking the cannon that opened the portal that purple bug thing crawled out of,” Kara added. “Lex is involved. There’s no reason for him to open a door to wherever that came from.”

Clark shook his head. “You’re still young. You’re not supposed to spend your time fighting monsters and chasing leads. You should be in school.”

“We have today off,” Kara replied without missing a beat.

“That’s not the point!”

Another sigh. Longer this time.

Clark turned away. “Let’s go.”

Kara glanced at the corpse. “Wait. The monster—?”

Before she could finish, the Kaiju’s body gave a final twitch — then toppled sideways, half of it spilling into the harbor with a heavy, wet crash.

Clark flew up, caught a massive tendril, and with a grunt of effort, hurled the corpse toward open water.

Nova and Kara lifted off after him.

They flew together — three shadows moving across the morning sky.

Kara looked at Nova as they gained altitude. He was looking at her again. Not staring. Just… watching.

“New God, huh?” she asked.

Nova replied, “It would seem.”

Kara nodded. “Were you the one who crashed into Kahndaq?”

Nova blinked. “I do not know what a Kahndaq is.”

Kara smirked. “Right. Of course.”

Ahead, the clouds opened to reveal Smallville waiting on the horizon.

Nova felt a flutter in his stomach.

Unfamiliar.

It wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t pain.
It wasn’t rage.

He’d been trained to survive all of those.

But this?

His chest felt tight. His skin too warm. His focus… off.
His mouth went dry.

Apokolips had never prepared him for this.

Scene 6 - Kent Farm, Early Morning

The sky was just beginning to stretch.

As the sun peeked over the Kansas horizon, its light crawled slow across the fields. Cornstalks shivered in the soft wind. Dew clung to everything. The air smelled like earth and electricity — the kind of morning that felt earned.

Three shapes descended over the Kent Farm.

Clark touched down first, boots crunching lightly against gravel. Kara landed beside him, her red cape trailing behind her like a stubborn whisper. And Nova — trailing just slightly behind — dropped silently, landing in perfect form, arms at his side, still blinking like he hadn’t quite adjusted to the quiet.

From the porch, a screen door creaked open.

Jonathan Kent stepped outside holding a steaming mug of coffee. He squinted against the rising sun — then smiled.

“Well,” he said, voice scratchy but warm, “if it isn’t the breakfast parade.”

He took a sip. Then frowned slightly.

“…And you brought the mess with you.”

The three of them were coated in some kind of half-glowing alien residue — flecks of purple sludge drying against red and blue fabrics, streaked across Clark’s shoulder, hanging in Kara’s hair, and still faintly steaming off Nova’s armor.

Clark gave a sheepish nod. “Morning, Pa. Hope we’re not waking you.”

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “I’d say the low-orbit shockwave took care of that.”

The door opened again behind him.

Martha Kent stepped out, apron on, towel slung over one shoulder. She took one look at Kara and didn’t miss a beat.

“Kara Kent,” she said, hands on her hips. “You better have a reason for not being in bed right now.”

Kara held up a finger like she was about to make a brilliant case — then sighed. “I was in bed. Until I got a ping. I’ve been tracking something. That thing just showed up ahead of schedule.”

Jonathan looked past her, toward Nova.

“And this one?”

Clark gestured toward him. “This is Nova. He’s from New Genesis. He’s new to Earth, and I figured what better way to welcome him to our home than… well, here.”

Nova stepped forward. Formal. Composed.

He gave a short, precise bow. “I am designated Nova. Apologies for the disruption… and my current condition.”

Jonathan offered a hand.

Nova looked at it a beat longer than most would. Then reached forward and shook — firm, but stiff. Like someone following a protocol from memory.

Jonathan grunted, approving. “You’re polite. That already puts you ahead of most teenagers.”

Martha looked them all over again. Her eyes landed on the dripping boots, the sludge-spotted porch, and the faint ozone burn still hanging in the air.

“Well,” she said, already turning back toward the door. “Breakfast is almost ready. Boots off, hose down if you’re dripping, and Clark—”

She pointed at him without turning.

“—you’re scrubbing the porch later.”

Clark smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Scene 7 - LexCorp Tower, Executive Office

The room was dark, lit only by the cold glow of a single projector.

On the far wall, footage played in near silence — grainy satellite video sharpened by proprietary filters. A still-smoking warehouse. Collapsed docks. Flashing streaks of red and gold across the skyline. And, at the center of it all, a beam of light — hot, clean, surgical — slicing a Kaiju in two.

Lex Luthor watched it all unfold, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

On screen, Superman dove. Then Supergirl rose from the rubble, flanked by an unfamiliar figure cloaked in gold light.

Lex narrowed his eyes.

“Ugh. Super-Blunder and his little cousin, interfering again,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to get anything done with those two running around like radioactive housecats?”

The door to his office slid open with a soft hiss.

Mercy Graves entered without ceremony, a slim file tucked under one arm. She crossed the room, heels silent on polished floors, and dropped the folder on his desk.

“The images you requested,” she said. “The satellite picked up clear visuals this time.”

Lex opened the folder.

Inside — several high-res shots of Nova, suspended in the void of space. One captured the moment mid-clash with Lobo, energy crackling around his fists. Another, closer, showed the golden glow bleeding from his skin like heat off a reactor core.

Lex looked back at the projection just as Nova fired his photonic beam at the Kaiju.

The frame froze.

Mercy studied the image. “Another Kryptonian?”

Lex shook his head slowly.

“No. Not Kryptonian. Something else.”

He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

“Perhaps…”
A smile touched his lips.
“An opportunity.”

He tapped his fingers twice on the desk.

“Tell the boys downstairs to dig up everything they can. Footage. Energy patterns. Voiceprint, if we have it.”

Mercy nodded. “And?”

Lex glanced at her — calm, calculating.

“Get Mannheim on the phone.”

Scene 8 - Kent Farmhouse, Kitchen

The hose hissed as Nova turned the spigot shut.

He let the water drip from his frame a moment longer, the Kaiju sludge sluicing off his armor in thin rivulets. It steamed faintly in the cool morning air, dissolving in the dirt like it had never been there at all.

He stood in the middle of the Kent yard, still and quiet. Birds chirped in the distance. The wind moved softly through the wheat. The air felt different here — like it hadn't learned to be cruel yet.

Nova looked out over the fields. Calm. That was the word. The kind of calm he had never been allowed to trust.

His thoughts drifted.

To the look Kara gave him when he spoke her language — surprised, but not frightened.
To the way she spoke to Clark — defiant, but not afraid.
To Clark himself — powerful, yes, but his posture didn’t hold violence. Just… guidance.

Strange.

He draped the towel over his shoulders, patted himself down without urgency, and walked toward the farmhouse.

The door opened just as he reached it.

Martha Kent was already waiting.

“I’ll take that, honey,” she said with a smile, reaching for the towel in his hands.

“I thank you, ma’am,” Nova replied, offering it to her with a small nod.

She chuckled, guiding him gently inside with a hand on his back. “Oh, honey. Call me Martha. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.”

Nova paused for only a moment, then nodded again. “Thank you, Martha.”

She steered him toward the kitchen. “And you can call my husband Jonathan. Now, take a seat.”

Nova sat beside Kara, who had already made herself at home — pouring orange juice into glass tumblers with the casual confidence of someone who had been doing it all her life.

The table was warm and bright. Plates clinked. The smell of fresh pancakes and eggs lingered in the air like a welcome.

Clark helped Martha set dishes around the table. Jonathan moved slowly, stacking napkins and pulling up a chair. Everything moved with rhythm, not urgency.

Nova watched it all, as if trying to read a language made of motions and smiles.

Kara glanced at him. “How do you speak Kryptonese?”

Nova blinked.

His glow pulsed — just a flicker — as if her attention triggered a reflex.

“It was taught to me,” he said. “On Apokolips. They deemed it necessary to teach me many languages. Though… I did not know it was called Kryptonese.”

Kara made a face. “Weird.”

Clark, setting down a plate piled high with pancakes, looked over his shoulder. “It’s amazing how well you speak it. Even your accent is flawless.”

Nova looked down. Not ashamed. Just… remembering.

“I was not allowed to fail.”

A quiet fell over the table — not heavy, just thoughtful.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a glance. Then Jonathan cleared his throat.

“Well… what brought you to Earth?”

Nova straightened slightly. “I was… rescued, I believe. I had just won a match in the war pits. I was awaiting my next opponent when I was struck — hard. Something powerful. I was dazed, unable to see who it was. Then I was thrown into a boom tube. Everything went dark.”

Martha slid a plate in front of him — pancakes stacked, syrup already glistening.

“Sounds like whoever it was did you a favor,” she said gently. “War pits… Honey, you’re much too young for that.”

Clark was already dishing out eggs and bacon. He passed a plate to Kara, then to Jonathan. Martha served herself and Nova last.

Nova stared at the plate in front of him.

Everyone else had begun eating. Forks scraped. Butter melted.

He reached forward and picked up a strip of bacon.

He sniffed it. Then snapped it in half.

The crunch was immediate — sharp and satisfying. Then he took a bite.

Salt.

Fat.

Warmth.

It wasn't complex, but it was intense — a flavor that wrapped around his senses and pulled.

Kara chuckled, biting her own slice.

Nova looked up, face slightly furrowed.

“Have I done something to offend?”

She grinned. “You’ve never had bacon before. I still remember my first time.”

She nudged her glass toward him. “Try the juice.”

Nova picked up the tumbler. It shimmered in the light — golden, opaque.

He sniffed.

Fruit. Acid. Unfamiliar.

He took a sip.

And immediately flinched.

First came the sweetness — bright, bold — then a bite of citrus that cut through him like a knife made of sun.

He blinked.

Not in pain. Just startled.

“This attacks,” he said.

The whole table laughed.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, grinning. “First time tasting vitamin C, huh?”

Nova answered simply. “I have never consumed anything before.”

The laughter died.

Jonathan’s fork paused mid-air.

Martha froze, syrup jug in hand.

Kara’s smile dropped. Not in discomfort — just surprise. Something about her eyes softened.

Jonathan leaned forward slightly. “You mean… like this kind of food?”

Nova shook his head. “Any food.”

The silence thickened.

Martha set her fork down and reached across the table, her touch gentle as it rested on Nova’s wrist.

Her voice was low. Kind.

“Sweetheart… you’ve never eaten? Ever?”

Nova looked at her hand. Then at her.

“I was never given food. I didn’t… need it. My body just kept going. I never questioned it. Hunger wasn’t something we were allowed to feel.”

Kara blinked, visibly trying to process.

“Wait — not even ration packs? Protein blocks? Anything?”

Nova met her gaze. “Food was never a part of it. I do not think I ever considered it. We did not have it.”

Clark — still chewing — nodded grimly.

“Apokolips doesn’t believe in comforts.”

Martha shook her head softly.

“You’ve been through enough. It’s okay to enjoy something for a change.”

Nova stared at the slice of pancake on his fork, small and plain — untouched by anything but heat.

He brought it halfway to his lips.

“Wait!” Kara said, leaning forward.

Nova froze mid-motion, fork steady as a sculpture.

Kara reached across with her knife, spread a small dab of butter onto the piece, then uncapped the syrup bottle and poured a slow spiral onto the side of his plate. The amber swirl spread, curling and thickening as it moved.

“Now,” she said, “dip it in the syrup before you taste it.”

Nova obeyed without question.

He lowered the fork. The pancake touched the syrup and soaked for a second before he lifted it again. He hesitated — not out of fear, but reverence.

Then he took the bite.

It was warm.

Not heat — warmth. Comfort.

The syrup clung to the inside of his mouth, mingling with the soft starch of the pancake and the rich salt of butter. It wasn’t like the bacon. It wasn’t like the orange juice. It was… something else.

Kara watched him closely. “Well?”

Nova chewed slowly, swallowed.

“I do not have words for it,” he said quietly. “It is like warmth, but inside the mouth. I… like it.”

Kara smiled. “Just wait ’til you try ice cream.”

At the far end of the table, Jonathan cleared his throat, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

“Speaking of dairy,” he said, “Kara, I hope you don’t plan on disappearing again before your chores are done.”

Kara groaned, reaching for the last bite of her eggs. “Sure thing. As soon as I’m done.”

Martha arched an eyebrow. “And since you like to leave without telling anyone, you can fix the post by the east field. Far corner, near the old irrigation tank.”

Kara stood, crossed the space, and wrapped her arms around Martha’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’ll get it done.”

She sat again, cleaning the last of her plate.

Clark finally leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Thanks, Ma. You make the best eggs.”

He glanced to Jonathan. “I’ll take a look at the tractor now, Pa.”

The two stood, stacked their plates, and brought them to the sink before heading out the screen door.

The table cleared slowly.

Kara turned to Nova. “Wanna help me with my chores?”

Nova nodded.

In a blur, he finished his plate in a blur of subtle superspeed — fork moving in sharp, elegant movements, almost invisible. Then he paused.

He looked down, then placed one hand carefully near Martha’s on the table.

“I cannot express how grateful I am,” he said. “This has been an enjoyable experience.”

Martha patted his hand. “You’re welcome anytime, Nova. No need to be so formal.”

Nova reached for his plate, but she stopped him with a gentle wave of her hand.

“Set that down, honey. I’ll take care of it.”

Nova stood and bowed slightly. “Thank you.”

Kara placed her plate in the sink, then returned to Nova, placing both hands on his back and shoving him lightly toward the door.

“C’mon, golden boy. Post isn’t gonna fix itself.”

The screen door slammed shut behind them.

Martha looked around. The kitchen was a mess — plates still steaming, syrup jug half-empty, silverware slightly askew.

She crossed to the coffee pot, topped off her mug, and picked up Jonathan’s newspaper.

She dropped into her seat with a sigh.

Took a sip.

And smiled to herself.

“Alone at last.”

Scene 9 - Kent Farm, Post-Sunrise

The morning warmed as the light stretched over the fields, casting long gold beams across the barn, the house, and the old red tractor sitting stubborn and silent in the grass.

Clark knelt beside it, elbow-deep in the engine block. Sweat already traced down the side of his temple. Nearby, Jonathan stood ready at the driver’s seat, hands resting on the ignition.

“All right, Pa. Turn it over.”

Jonathan climbed up and twisted the key. The tractor coughed, clicked, then gave a hollow wuh-wuh-wuhhhhhh and went silent again.

Jonathan sighed, climbed back down. “That didn’t sound promising.”

Kara approached from the side of the barn, Nova at her heels, stepping lightly over the dry patches in the grass.

“Nova’s gonna help me out with some chores, Clark,” she said, a little too loud, a little too eager.

Clark turned from the engine, wiping his hands with a rag. He walked toward them with a look that wasn’t angry — just firm.

“Hold on,” he said. “We need to talk about what you were doing at the waterfront in Metropolis.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed slightly. Her hand slid into her skirt’s inner pocket, pulling out her phone. She tapped twice, then held it up to Clark. Footage played: grainy, but clear — the cannon spinning up, the beam firing, the portal tearing open.

Clark watched it. Quiet.

“I’ll look into it,” he said, voice level. “You should focus on your homework.”

Kara frowned. “I have powers on this planet, Clark. I can’t just stand around and let things happen when I have the power to help.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kara. Schoolwork, pep rallies, dances — that’s what you should focus on.”

His voice was sharper now. Not loud. Just… too final.

“When you’re ready,” he added, “then we can worry about—”

His sentence cut short. His head tilted, eyes distant for a moment.

J’onn’s voice buzzed faintly in his ear:

“Superman, there is a 6.9 magnitude earthquake hitting Shizuoka. They need immediate assistance.”

Clark straightened. “On my way.”

In a blink, he vanished in a blur of red and blue. A gust of wind blew across the yard as he reappeared seconds later, fully suited. He turned to Jonathan.

“Sorry, Pa. Earthquake in Japan. I’ll be back.”

Jonathan gave a small wave. “Good luck, son!”

Clark looked at Kara and Nova one last time. “You two stay here. I’ll be back.”

Then he launched into the sky, vanishing into the sun.

Kara rolled her eyes. “Come on, golden boy.”

She led Nova across the field toward the chicken coop. The wood was old, but still clean. A small group of hens clucked lazily around the enclosure.

“Okay, rookie,” she said, stopping at the door. “Since it’s your first day on the job, you get to hold the basket.”

She handed him a wicker basket, light and well-worn.

“Chicken eggs are delicate,” she added. “So I’ll get them.”

Nova nodded, accepting the basket with careful hands like it might detonate if tilted.

Kara opened the coop and ducked in, moving through the nest boxes like a pro, gently lifting eggs from straw and placing them into the basket Nova held.

He stood still. Silent. Eyes watching the process like it was an ancient ritual.

Then he felt it.

A faint tap.

Nova looked down to see a hen pecking at his boot.

He tilted his head, puzzled. “Am I being attacked?”

From inside the coop, Kara snorted. “Yeah. She’s asserting dominance.”

Nova looked down again. The hen pecked once more, unimpressed by his divine presence.

He blinked.

“Noted.”

Kara moved deeper into the coop, the morning sun glinting off her white gloves as she carefully slipped another egg into the basket.

“So,” she said, voice casual but just loud enough to be heard, “when you sliced that giant alien thing in half and caught me—pretty smoothly, by the way—you called me beautiful. In Kryptonian.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Was that just... a translation thing, or did you mean it?”

Nova stood where she left him, basket steady in his hands, posture unmoved. His voice was calm, without hesitation.

“I meant it. I had never seen anyone like you before. Light and fury. You did not bend. It felt... correct to call you beautiful.”

Kara blinked.

Then narrowed her eyes slightly. “You really don’t know how weird that sounds, do you?”

“I did not intend it to.”

She placed two more eggs in the basket and gave the faintest shake of her head—half amusement, half disarmament.

“Well...” she said with a smirk, “you’ve got a strange way of saying nice things... but thanks.”

Nova nodded.

Kara turned away quickly, hiding the blush warming her cheeks as she stepped back into the sun.

“Take those to the porch,” she said, pointing toward the house, “and set them down on the little table. Come back after that.”

Nova gave a slight bow, then rose into the air with effortless grace, the basket perfectly balanced in his hands. He glided toward the house like he’d been doing it all his life, touched down gently, and placed the basket on the designated table. Then he floated back to Kara, who was already scattering handfuls of chicken feed around the coop.

The hens gathered immediately, pecking at the ground in a flurry of clucks and fluttering wings.

Kara looked over as Nova landed beside her.

“So,” she asked, brushing corn dust from her palms, “how are you feeling about Earth so far?”

Nova turned slowly, eyes scanning the distant treeline, the haze of sun in the air.

“As colorful and diverse as this world is,” he said, “I find it to be incredibly soft. Even the ground yields. The air is light. Rich with life, scents, and moisture. Much brighter than Apokolips.”

Kara nodded, cinching the chicken feed bag closed with a practiced pull and tucking it into the shed.

“I get that. Well... some of that. On Krypton, nothing sank when you stepped on it. Earth feels like it might grow over your feet if you stand still too long.”

She started walking. Nova matched her pace.

“Sometimes I breathe in too deep and it feels like I’ll float away,” she said. “Krypton’s air pushed back. Earth’s just... there. But it’s gentle. And I can fly here.”

They approached the barn.

She slid open one of the side doors. Inside, everything was golden light and hay dust.

She turned to him.

“What are your plans now that you’re here?”

Nova answered plainly. “I suppose I will work with Clark in defending this world from threats.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Must be nice. I’ve been trying to get him to let me join him, but he insists I try to have a normal Earth life. ‘You’re just a teenager, Kara.’”

She scoffed. “You know I’m actually older than him?”

Nova looked her over.

He said nothing, but the disbelief in his silence was palpable.

“He believes you are not ready,” he said at last.

Kara exhaled. “I’ve been fighting bad guys for like a year now.”

Nova tilted his head. “I witnessed your power back in the city. With the benefit of training, I believe Clark will find it hard to say you are not ready.”

She stopped and turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“Hey. I took a self-defense class. I know how to fight.”

Nova’s response was immediate, and maddeningly calm.

“You overextend your punches, waste energy, telegraph every strike, and let your emotions get the better of you.”

Kara crossed her arms. “Well, thank you, Coach Nova. Want to write that on a clipboard while I keep getting it wrong?”

“I do not know what that is,” he said, “but I can show you how to correct your flaws in combat. Perhaps Clark will be more receptive.”

She blinked, then gave a slow grin.

“Yeah. Yeah! You got yourself a deal. After the chores, though. I don’t wanna get on Martha’s bad side.”

She moved to a stack of hay bales and pulled off a square one. With practiced motion, she separated the flakes.

She handed him half.

“Two flakes per cow. Don’t let the ladies sneak in a bite of the ones you don’t give them.”

Nova took the flakes in both arms like a holy offering.

“It will be done.”

Scene 10 - LexCorp R&D Labs

The reinforced doors hissed open with surgical precision.

Mercy Graves stepped through first— sharp-shouldered, unreadable. Behind her came Bruno Mannheim, cutting a path like a predator in a tailored suit. Everything about him projected control… except his voice.

“It's rude of you to keep me waitin’ in your lobby, Lex.”

He said it with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

Luthor didn’t look up.

His hands were buried inside a radiation-shielded glovebox, fingers working with delicate precision around something glowing and translucent. A tablet of living light hovered between his hands— shifting alien script crawling across its surface like it was trying to rewrite itself just to avoid his touch.

As he pressed two fingers against the surface, the glyphs recoiled.

“If I cared about your comfort, Mannheim,” Lex said coolly, “I’d send a gift basket. With a bomb in it.”

Mercy reached his side, voice clipped. “He insisted.”

Lex muttered, “Of course he did.”

Mannheim let his eyes wander, pretending to admire the lab. Every corner of it gleamed with humming tech, suspended alloys, forcefield test beds. The place looked like it had been stolen from the future.

“Nice place ya got here,” Mannheim said, eyes catching the shielded cases. “Cozy. You keep all your alien relics in boxes like that?”

Lex slid his hands out of the glovebox slowly.

The glowing tablet dimmed as if retreating from him, folding into a blank haze of dying light. He turned, unhurried.

“Only the ones I haven’t learned to control.”

Mannheim folded his arms, smirking like a man who thought the word “control” meant something cheaper.

“Nice to see the science fair’s goin’ well. My people risked a lot for that lightbox of yours.”

“And I’m being generous with information,” Lex replied, moving toward a monitor. “For now.”

He gestured.

Footage bloomed across the screen — surveillance from the Metropolis docks. Chaos in motion. Explosions. Tentacles. Screams.

Then: Nova.

Descending in golden light. Clean. Composed.

The beam fired. The Kaiju died. Kara fell. Nova caught her.

Mannheim squinted at the footage. His grin vanished.

“New Cape?”

“Photonic output,” Lex said. “Energy pattern is harmonic, not purely destructive. Layered resonance. I cross-referenced it with recovered Fourth World emissions.”

He turned, dry.

“New Genesis.”

Mannheim grunted. “They usually send a whole parade.”

“My thinking,” Lex said, stepping back to the console, “says this was an unsanctioned arrival. Or a defection.”

He paused.

“He fights with the super-pals. Saves the girl. Kills the beast.” Lex's eyes narrowed. “But you can see it. Control. Efficient. He’s trained.”

Mannheim gave a slow shrug. “So what?”

Lex looked at him.

Slow blink. Mild irritation. The kind that made people disappear.

“That makes him a variable,” Lex said. “One I didn’t account for.”

He turned back toward the glovebox.

The light inside it began to pulse again, faint and rhythmic. Listening.

“Which brings me to my next question—”

Lex didn’t look back.

“What are my options?”

Scene 11 – East Corner of the Kent Farm

The last post drove into the dirt with a heavy crack. A flock of birds startled from the fence line, lifting off into the hazy mid-morning sky.

Kara wiped dust off her gloves and nodded at the sagging wire.

“Okay, grab it just above the break,” she said. “Pull it tight — but don’t snap it.”

Nova moved fluidly, fingers closing around the wire with unerring precision. He didn’t strain. Just held.

Kara watched. “Good. Now twist the ends together—no, not straight across. Wrap them. We need it to hold.”

He followed without question. Wire turned cleanly around his hands, each movement deliberate.

“Nice,” Kara said. “Now walk it back to the post, loop it once, and hold. I’ll tie the next section.”

Nova moved back in smooth strides, looping the wire and setting his stance. She dropped to one knee beside him and knotted it off in practiced sweeps of her fingers.

“You are quite talented, Kara,” he said, evenly — like stating the weather.

She grinned, stripping her gloves off. “Thanks. Farming’s easy when you’ve got superpowers.”

She stepped back and rolled her shoulders.

Then — gone.

In a blink, the flannel shirt and work boots disappeared, replaced by red boots, cape, and gleaming “S.” Supergirl straightened, wind tugging at her hair.

“...About that training…”

Nova’s mouth lifted — just slightly.

“I would like to get a sense of your current abilities. Attack me.”

He rose into the air, golden light humming beneath his feet.

Kara scoffed. “If you say so.”

She launched.

A thundercrack ripped through the air as she closed the distance in a blink.

Her fist slammed into his jaw — clean, fast — snapping his head back. He didn’t move otherwise.

Before he reset, she hooked his arm, flipped him midair. He twisted as he fell — stopped just inches from the grass, suspended in stillness.

Kara landed beside him, grinning. “Okay. You can take a little more.”

She stepped in and drove a kick into his ribs. Nova flew backward in a streak of gold — stopped on a dime, just over the fence.

When she went after him—

—he was suddenly in front of her.

Two fingers jabbed into her side.

She winced. “Ow!”

She countered with a quick burst of super breath. He staggered half a step.

That’s all she needed.

She rose with a glowing uppercut. Nova reeled — weightless for a moment — until Kara collided with him midair.

Nova caught her mid-blitz. Arms coiled.

And they dropped.

They hit like meteors — a plume of dust and debris exploding from the crater beneath them.

Kara wrestled free, but Nova rolled, locking her neck in a textbook hold. Not cruel — but immovable.

“You fight well,” he said, close to her ear, voice steady. “But it is as though you want to prove something.”

He adjusted slightly, holding firm.

“You are already powerful. You do not need to show me. You need to beat me.”

Kara grunted, twisted her body, tried to flip him — but his leg snaked out, hooking hers.

Her eyes flared red.

A sharp beam struck his shin.

Nova grunted — more surprised than hurt — and let go.

Kara whipped around, punched. Once. Twice. Her fists found jaw, temple, chest.

Nova blocked, pivoted, and tossed her leg skyward.

They tumbled again — grappling in the dust — until he landed on top, fist raised.

She braced—

But the punch didn’t come.

His knuckles hovered.

“Always expect the worst from your opponent,” he said.

Then he stood.

Kara didn’t. Not yet.

She flung her legs up, flipped him over, and straddled him mid-crater, cape draped around her like wings.

CRACK.

Her forehead met his.

Nova’s head snapped back against the dirt. His glow flickered.

Kara, hair wild and grinning, breathed hard over him.

Nova stared up, dazed — then smiled.

Their eyes held.

Something quiet passed between them.

Then —

A shadow.

A voice, like cut velvet:

“My, my, little ember. You’ve grown into quite the charmer.”

Nova’s body locked.

Kara turned sharply.

Hovering in a whirl of crimson and void, her scythe in hand, silver-black hair curling like smoke—

Grail.