Episode 4: No Chains Part IV
Nova: The Un-Animated Series
By Jack Bronson
Episode 4: No Chains Part IV
Scene 1 — The Crater
“My, my, little ember. You’ve grown into quite the charmer.”
Nova’s eyes narrowed. Kara rose beside him, one hand pressing to the dirt. He stepped forward—not shielding her, just enough to take the first blow.
His face didn’t move. Just tightened.
A flicker behind the eyes. Old pain, barely buried.
Grail descended the lip of the crater like a phantom walking through her own nightmare. Her crimson cape dragged behind her. Her war scythe whispered against the ground, the edge catching on gravel with a sound too close to a blade sharpening itself.
“You look well,” she said, voice low, smooth. “For a hunger dog.”
Nova didn’t answer.
Kara cocked her head, brows raising.
“Is Morticia a friend of yours?”
He stayed silent.
He said nothing.
Grail closed the distance. No scythe raised—she didn’t need it. Her presence alone bent the air. She stepped close—too close—and cupped Nova’s chin like she owned it. Her fingers tilted his face, first left, then right.
Then came the open-handed pat against his chest.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by your strength.”
Nova’s head jerked—sharp, reflexive—knocking her hand away.
Grail stepped back. Not startled.
Pleased.
“There it is,” she whispered. “That spark of rebellion. It seems Granny failed to snuff it out after all.”
Nova’s voice was flat. Not cold. Controlled.
“I am no longer their chattel.”
Grail laughed—dry, cutting, too sharp for amusement.
“You know why I’m here… don’t you?”
Nova didn’t speak.
Just shifted—weight centered, hands low, fingers beginning to glow.
“I know you’ll fail.”
She laughed—
loud, echoing like distant artillery across broken earth.
“Oh, little ember. Still eager to taste defeat.”
She advanced, dragging the scythe.
Its edge carved a shallow trench in the dirt behind her.
“Your scars must’ve healed well... if you’re this eager to lose again.”
Kara stepped up beside Nova, sliding into her own fighting stance—shoulders square, fists up, blue eyes burning.
Grail finally looked at her. Tilted her head. Smirked.
“Cute pet.”
Nova’s fists glowed hotter—brighter.
Then—silence.
A beat too long.
Only the wind.
Curling through the cornfields, whispering through stalks that once knew only storms and sunlight.
Nova’s breath slowed.
And memory opened.
The war pits.
Furnace heat.
Air thick with rot and old blood.
The roar of the Furies.
The wet snap of bone.
A boy screaming.
Himself.
Screaming.
Scene 2 — Flashback: War Pit, Apokolips
The sky above the war pits was always on fire.
Black smoke clawed upward—like it wanted to flee the planet.
But Apokolips pulled everything back.
Gravity soaked in hate.
The stone beneath Nova’s feet cracked from heat and impact. Sparks hung in the air like snow that had forgotten how to fall.
He stood alone in the pit.
Smaller than he would one day be—lean, not yet broad, but already hardened by survival.
Around him, twenty Parademons were gone.
Not unconscious.
Not broken.
Gone.
Reduced to ash by the golden flare still simmering from his palms—pure photonic devastation.
Nothing left but outlines.
And silence.
From the towering overlook, Granny Goodness watched with a smile that curled like a dying flame.
“My darling,” she cooed. “You are learning.”
Her hand rose.
Another gate tore open.
Grail stepped from the dark.
Older than him.
Taller than him.
Her form more defined, her steps heavy with coiled intent.
Her face didn’t just carry anger.
It carried expectation.
Like this fight had already happened—in her dreams.
And now, she was here to end it.
Before Granny could speak—
Grail moved.
A blur. Legs cutting through scorched dust.
Eyes locked on the boy who’d erased a squadron with a single flare.
Nova didn’t flinch.
His eyes flashed gold—and he moved to meet her.
A photon-charged punch cracked across Grail’s cheek—mid-sprint.
Her momentum shattered.
She hit the ground hard.
Skipped like a stone.
Landed with a crunch that echoed through the pit.
For the crowd, it was an instant.
For Grail—it was forever.
Pain bloomed through her jaw.
Her lip split.
Her spine sang with impact.
And beneath it all—
Shame.
She had moved with certainty.
And still gone down first.
Not again.
Her hand snapped out—
grabbed Nova’s leg.
—and yanked.
His footing vanished.
He slammed to the stone.
Before he could blink—
Grail was on him.
Coiled around his torso like a constrictor.
Knees on his arms.
One fist free.
And then she punched.
Once.
Twice.
Crack.
Blood sprayed.
Third hit—split his eyebrow.
Fourth—rang his skull like a bell.
Fifth—
He caught her fist.
Golden light flared from his palm.
FWOOOM.
A photon burst lit up her hand—searing deep.
She recoiled, snarling, clutching the blistered mess of fingers.
Then she jumped—
spinning.
Both legs snapped out.
Two perfect crescent kicks.
Heel to temple.
Temple again.
Nova’s body whipped sideways.
Slammed to the stone.
Blood and dust in his mouth.
Grail rolled to her feet. Eyes wild. Face flushed with pain and fury.
She grabbed a spear from a fallen pile—Primitive.
Jagged.
Heavier than needed
She moved toward him.
Nova was rising.
Slow.
Steady.
Blood ran from his scalp.
Down his cheek.
His left eye was swelling—but the glow in his chest hadn’t dimmed.
He stood—just as the spear slashed across his thigh.
Sharp.
Deep.
He stumbled.
Then—She drove it into his shoulder.
Not thrown.
Plunged.
And she didn’t let go.
She stepped in.
Nose to nose.
Her breath hot—and shaking with fury.
Her fist pulled back.
Eyes glowing—sharper now.
Like she was about to end something.
“ENOUGH!”
The voice hit harder than any strike.
Granny’s tone split the arena—like divine law.
Grail froze mid-swing.
The spear trembled in Nova’s shoulder.
His knees buckled—but he didn’t fall.
Granny descended slowly, hands folded.
“Well done, both of you,” she smiled, honey dipped in acid. “The fire grows.”
Scene 3 – Present Day, The Crater, Smallville
The memory vanished—like smoke.
Nova blinked.
The heat of the war pits gave way to the cool wind of Smallville.
His breath came sharp.
Ribs flared with pain.
Dust clung to his skin.
Dried blood painted the side of his face.
Grail stood over him, her smile edged with knives.
“Chattel or not,” she said, voice silked in condescension, “Desaad and Granny would not seek me out were they not desperate. That tells me there’s something about you they want.”
Kara glanced at Nova.
Her eyes swept the crater—open, exposed, too close to the Kent farm for comfort.
“Whatever this is,” she said,
“It can’t happen here.”
Grail turned to her, amused.
“Interesting friend, little ember. Not fully mortal… but not fully divine, either.”
Her gaze returned to Nova, and for the first time, something shifted in her expression. Curiosity. Wonder.
“Did Granny ever tell you the truth?”
Nova stood tall. His voice came low.
Certain.
“I am New God. Born on New Genesis.”
Grail’s eyes widened—just slightly.
“Yes, little ember. You are no simple hunger dog.”
She stepped forward slowly, dragging her scythe behind her like a predator pacing a cage.
“Which is why I need to test you.”
Kara’s fists clenched, boots grinding into the dirt.
“Nova, I’m serious. This can’t happen here.”
Nova turned to her.
The softness—gone.
The awe—burned away.
His eyes were clear. And burning.
“Kara. You must leave. No—”
Grail moved—faster than breath.
The scythe’s butt cracked against Nova’s temple.
He twisted with the impact.
Staggered into the dirt.
Before Kara could react—
Grail vaulted over the shaft.
Her heel cracked into Kara’s ribs.
The impact sent her skidding across the crater.
Grail landed clean.
Drove the scythe into the ground.
And strode toward Nova.
“Show me why,” she hissed.
“Why would they risk angering my father?”
Nova rose.
Blood slid down his temple.
Dust clung to scorched armor.
His core flared—golden heat pulsing.
Grail swung.
The scythe sliced—aimed for his neck.
Nova caught it.
One hand.
Steady.
Firm.
Then—Fist.
Jaw.
Impact.
The punch landed like a sonic boom.
Grail staggered.
Her vision fractured—colors bleeding at the edges.
Nova stepped through her stance.
Pivoted.
Foot behind hers.
Then shoved.
As she stumbled,
he ripped the scythe from her grip—and hurled it.
It slammed into a stone slab, buried to the shaft.
A photon charge bloomed in his palm.
He raised his hand—ready to fire.
But Grail moved first.
She seized his wrist—held tight even as the beam erupted.
It tore into her palm—searing flesh, fusing armor.
She didn’t scream.
She smiled.
“There’s the fire.”
Her eyes flared red.
Omega beams erupted—twin serpents of annihilation.
They slammed into Nova’s face.
Nova reeled.
Crying out.
His blast cut short.
Both arms raised—shielding his face.
Grail didn’t stop.
A kick to the gut—folding him forward.
Her hand clamped the back of his head.
Then—
the knees.
One. Two. Three.
Bone on armor.
Blood flew.
Nova choked—spat crimson into dust.
Then—
CRACK.
A scarlet bolt split the air—struck Grail’s arm clean.
Grail hissed.
Turned—
Kara was already there.
Hair streaking like fire.
Fist cocked.
The punch landed—square to the nose.
A clean, brutal snap.
Grail’s head whipped back.
And the world shook again.
Scene 4 – Shizuoka, Japan
The sky over Shizuoka was bruised with smoke.
Buildings leaned on fractured foundations, streets split like old scars, and sirens wailed beneath the hum of airborne news drones. Shizuoka’s skyline—usually elegant, orderly—was now bent and broken, its steel bones exposed.
Then—the wind shifted.
A red blur tore through the clouds.
Superman arrived.
He hovered above the epicenter for only a second.
Eyes reading heartbeats.
Seismic pulses.
Everything.
Below—high-rises teetered like drunk giants.
Narrow alleys flooded with panicked civilians—fleeing glass, gas, crumbling roads.
Clark dropped fast.
Cape snapping.
Boots hit pavement— and he was in motion.
He caught a chunk of crumbling façade—just before it crushed a crowd.
Blurred beneath a sagging overpass, lifted it on his shoulders. Dozens rushed beneath.He stopped a falling power line—seconds before it struck a school bus.
Every movement was deliberate. Precise. Necessary.
He heard the scream—before the debris even moved.
A man clung to a ledge. His wife to him. A baby strapped tight to her chest. The ledge began to give.
Clark surged.
Met them mid-fall.
One arm cradled the man.
The other—the mother and child.
He landed softly, gently, like the world wasn’t ending around them.
The man blinked.
Looked to his wife—then their child.
Still alive.
Still whole.
Clark nodded.
Then turned.
That’s when he heard it—“Tasukete! T–Tasukete!!”
A desperate, panicked cry.
Clark’s head snapped up.
High above—a man clung to a radio antenna, its cables tearing one by one.
Sparks danced.
Clark launched—Too slow.
The man’s grip failed.
He dropped like a stone.
But Clark caught him—a breath before impact.
No whiplash.
No broken ribs.
Just firm, careful hands.
The man gasped. Clung to Clark’s arms.
Clark noticed the badge on the man’s chest—LexCorp.
His brow furrowed, just slightly.
But before he could speak—
something else did.
A high-pitched whine.
Not mechanical.
Not manmade.
It rang in his ears like pressure breaking reality.
Clark paused mid-air.
Eyes narrowed.
He turned, scanning—Beyond the coastline. Beyond the harbor.
Out over Suruga Bay.
His vision sharpened. Pierced the waves. The sediment. The darkness below.
And then—He saw it.
Mass shifting in the deep. Rising fast.
Clark set the man down—gently.
“Stay with the others,” he whispered.
Then—he was gone.
A red streak tore across the sky.
He broke the sound barrier before he hit the shore.
And just as he reached the edge of the bay—The sea opened.
A wave as tall as a skyscraper crested then collapsed.
From beneath it, the creature emerged.
Towering.
Seven hundred meters of armored terror.
Four massive limbs—thick as radio towers, plated in overlapping armor.
Eyes glowed bright white, sweeping like tracking beams.
Its skin was ridged and wet, covered in glowing veins that pulsed blue and green beneath cracked plates.
Clark hovered—jaw clenched.
Another kaiju.
Another wound in the world.
But this one…
This one was worse.
Scene 5 – The Crater (Continued)
The world tilted.
Nova hit hard.
Blood pooled between his lips.
His glow—reduced to sparks—flickered across his skin.
Every bone still hummed from the last hit.
Kara moved like a storm.
Punches blurred.
Fists slamming into Grail’s guard—
one after the next.
Dust rose with every strike,
bursts of wind and impact.
Grail staggered— just for a second.
Then caught Kara’s wrist.
Grail snarled.
Twisted.
Flipped Kara over her shoulder—and didn’t let go.
One hand snapped out, caught the cape.
Yanked.
And punched.
CRACK.
Then again.
CRACK.
Kara gasped—dazed.
Grail grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her face into the dirt.
Grinding.
Slow and cruel.
“You dare touch me?”
She slammed again.
A thunderous thud.
Dust jumped.
Earth cracked.
Kara’s eyes lit up—red and seething.
A blast of heat vision tore through the crater.
Grail’s eyes answered—Omega red.
They both fired.
The beams collided mid-air.
A shriek of energy.
They twisted into a red-hot orb—unstable.
Crackling.
Omega radiation fighting Kryptonian fire—two powers that couldn’t coexist.
Nova groaned.
One arm pushed against the dirt.
Vision blurred.
He staggered upright—just as the orb exploded.
The shockwave hit.
Earth split open—rock and dust blasting outward.
Nova was thrown—skidding across jagged stone.
The crater doubled in size.
Smoke spiraled up like a bomb had just gone off.
Silence.
Then—motion.
Grail rose—barely.
Legs shaking. Breaths ragged.
But she didn’t hesitate.
Her scythe burst into her hand, dark light snapping around it.
She stalked toward Kara.
Kara was down.
Hands and knees.
Body shaking.
Vision blurred.
“You are interfering in—MY! BUSINESS!”
Kara raised a trembling hand—Grail kicked it aside.
“Be a good little pet,” Grail growled, raising the scythe.
“And stay down.”
The blade dropped—straight for Kara’s neck.
But something changed.
Nova’s eyes opened.
Through the haze, he saw her—scythe raised.
Kara beneath it.
And then—silence.
Wind froze.
Smoke hung in the air.
Time… broke.
All Nova heard was the storm inside.
Not heartbeat. Not breath.
Just fire.
Solar flares.
Magnetic light.
Ancient energy waking up.
His eyes turned gold—bright as sunrise over war.
A thousand dying stars lit up inside him.
His aura ignited.
Not a flare or a flame.
A corona.
He wasn’t on the ground anymore.
He was there—beside her.
In a blink.
Nova coiled—and struck.
Fist arcing up, golden light trailing behind it—straight into Grail’s chin.
UPPERCUT.
She launched skyward like a missile fired from the earth.
The blow hit—like a meteor.
Grail launched skyward—a blur of shock and force.
A streak across the clouds.
Nova followed—instantly.
He soared beside her.
Climbing together—faster than missiles.
Grail snarled.
Swung her scythe mid-air—hooked it behind his neck.
Yanked.
Drove a knee into his chest.
It hit.
But didn’t move him.
Her strike found no give.
Nova stared—unblinking.
Then grabbed her shoulders—and threw her upward.
Past the cloud line.
Past the atmosphere.
Above them—the moon.
Nova’s eyes locked on it.
He rocketed upward—a golden comet, trailing light like a tail of flame.
Grail spun—caught herself.
Barely.
Her scythe flashed into her hand.
She flipped upright—
twirling the weapon with practiced ease.
Snarl twisting her mouth.
She hurled it.
Nova twisted—light bending around him.
The blade grazed his shoulder—cut only light.
Before she could summon it back—
Nova hit her.
A flash of gold.
Open palm to the sternum.
Not to kill.
To stop.
She spiraled higher—into thin air.
Grail recovered—fast.
Omega fire roared around her.
She lunged.
They collided midair—
sky cracking behind them.
She swung.
He dodged. Blocked.
She twisted, hooked behind his leg—
Nova leaned back in freefall.
Grabbed her by the waist.
Spun.
Redirected their momentum—clouds tearing apart around them.
They shot through the thermosphere—like reverse meteors, burning up toward the stars.
Grail shouted—rage and disbelief tangled in her throat.
Nova kept pushing her upward—overpowering every move.
Her strikes turned frantic.
Wild. Desperate.
Nova grabbed her scythe arm, ripped the weapon from her grip, and tossed it into the void.
She lunged—claws flashing.
He met her head-on—with a brutal headbutt.
Silence.
Black sky.
Nothing but stars.
And then—the moon.
He grabbed her shoulders.
Golden energy burst from his arms—and he slammed forward.
Shoulder into chest.
Driving her like a missile.
No words.
No sound.
Just motion—then—impact.
She struck the moon like a fallen god.
The surface caved—dust blooming in zero gravity, rising like a silent pyre.
A new crater carved itself beneath her.
And Nova—was right behind her.
Burning.
Scene 6 – Shizuoka, Japan: Aftershock
Waves slammed into Shizuoka’s broken shoreline.
Salt and smoke hung in the air.
Panic still echoed through shattered streets and flooded alleys.
Superman cut through the wreckage—a blur of red and blue.
He braced collapsing walls, cleared escape paths, and lifted civilians from falling rubble.
Every move—measured. Exact.
A support beam cracked—and he was there.
Scooping up a mother and child just as the steel buckled beside them.
In a heartbeat, they were safe—on a rooftop crowded with survivors.
The woman bowed, eyes wide with gratitude.
Clark nodded once.
Already turning back to the storm.
Then—the screech.
High. Piercing. Alien.
Windows shook. Crows scattered from the treetops like shadows set loose.
Clark turned toward Suruga Bay.
The Kaiju writhed in the surf—half-formed, massive, wrong.
Blue skin veined with sickly green light.
Steam rose from its hide, sizzling like Earth itself was trying to burn it off.
Clark tapped his earpiece.
“Superman to Watchtower. Shizuoka’s getting worse. That’s the second one I’ve seen today. These things… they’re not random.”
Static.
Then J’onn’s voice—calm as ever:
“Watchtower to Superman. We tracked the energy surge—but it vanished almost instantly. There’s interference. Something’s masking it.”
Superman hovered over the bay.
Below, the creature writhed—its screams vibrating in his ribs.
He narrowed his gaze.
The ocean boiled around its limbs.
Steam rose in sheets—like the sea itself was exhaling.
“Wherever it’s from…” Clark muttered.
“This planet’s poison to it. The air’s cooking it alive.”
J’onn’s voice came through—low, steady.
“You should move it, Superman. The Metropolis creature detonated safely underwater. This one is… bigger.”
A pause.
“I see a large bioluminescent mass beneath it. Clear on all scans.”
Clark looked down.
The Kaiju twisted—dragging its limbs, pulling itself toward deeper water.
“It’s running,” he said quietly.
Then—
it convulsed.
A bulge rippled across its skull.
Growing. Pulsing.
The bioluminescence blinked—once.
Twice.
Then went dark.
“No,” Clark whispered.
And he moved.
A blur through boiling wind—placing himself between the Kaiju and the coast.
He surged toward it, aiming to push the creature deeper into the Pacific—But the swelling burst.
A geyser of green plasma exploded outward—flooding the bay in radioactive light.
Clark braced—just before the shockwave hit.
The sound was like a mountain screaming.
The Kaiju collapsed—its body deflating, massive and weightless.
Where a monster once loomed, only a sagging carcass remained.
Dead flesh floated like a tarp left in the rain.
Clark hovered over the bay.
His cape—scorched at the edges.
Steam curled around him as he drifted closer.
He narrowed his gaze—x-ray vision slicing through the ruptured body.
There was something inside.
Organic.
Artificial.
Shifting.
He couldn’t place it.
“Superman to Watchtower.”
“The creature detonated. Lost all mass. Dead.”
“I scanned something inside, but I couldn’t identify it.”
“We’ll need a recovery team.”
“Copy, Superman,” J’onn replied.
“Alerting S.T.A.R. Labs now. Will you remain on site?”
“Negative,” Clark said, eyes still scanning the water. “I’ll be in the city assisting with cleanup.”
He hovered a moment longer.
Watching the carcass.
But his thoughts had already moved on.
Kara. Nova.
The man with the LexCorp badge.
Kara’s warning back in Metropolis—LexCorp scientists.
The first Kaiju.
His jaw tightened.
This wasn’t coincidence.
He turned—shot back toward Shizuoka.
Already scanning for the next life to protect.
But in the back of his mind—louder than the creature’s final scream—one name rang out:
Luthor.
Scene 7 – Lunar Surface: The God Who Fell
The moon swallowed all sound.
No wind. No cry.
Only the hiss of moon dust—as Nova landed beside the crater, glowing like a fallen star.
His golden aura burned—but flickered now.
Unstable.
Light clung to his skin like raw wire, as if energy was the only thing holding him together.
Grail moved.
A blur.
She kipped up—leg flashing toward his skull.
Nova caught the kick.
Spun—and hurled her.
She slammed the wall—twisted mid-air—landed on her feet.
Her hand shot out—snagged his ankle.
In one motion, she climbed his back— wrapped a leg around his neck—and spun.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
Each strike snapped his head sideways.
Nova dropped to a knee—and Grail moved like a noose.
Arm around his throat.
Twist—SLAM!
She drove his head into the dust.
The lunar surface cracked beneath the impact.
The regolith split beneath the impact.
Her hand opened—and the scythe answered.
Crimson shadow. Pure intent.
Nova struck blind—fist to ribs.
Grail staggered.
He floated up.
Light trembled off him.
His chest heaved.
The glow in his core flickered—a sun on the verge of collapse.
He raised his hands.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Grail laughed.
“Is that all the flame left in you, little ember?”
She twirled the scythe—hooked behind his leg—and yanked.
He hit the ground—and the blade bit deep into his calf.
Blood speckled the regolith—beads of crimson scattering in slow motion before vanishing into the dust.
She approached—step by step.
The scythe carved a shallow path behind her, weightless in the low gravity but heavy in intent.
Nova’s chest rose, faintly.
His glow—dimmer now. Unsteady
“And here I was thinking…”
“You could be useful to me.” Said Grail.
Nova’s fingers twitched.
Then shot out—gripping her ankle.
She kicked it free without slowing.
She grabbed his hair—yanked his head up.
Their helmets gone. Their eyes locked.
“I would not serve you,” Nova rasped.
Her fist slammed into his jaw.
Then again.
And again.
No sound. No echo.
Just impact. Blinding and absolute.
“I don’t seek servants,” she hissed.
“I seek a partner.”
“Someone worthy to help me fulfill my destiny—”
“To kill Darkseid.”
Nova’s eyes glowed—weak, but focused.
“You are mad,” he rasped.
“Darkseid is eternal.”
She didn’t answer.
Her gaze lifted—past the crater, past the stars.
To Earth.
Blue. Bright. Silent.
“Spoken like a hunger dog.”
Her voice dropped—almost reverent.
“You don’t even see it, do you? You are not just a New God. You are blessed of the Source.”
She turned to him—eyes alight.
“Join me.” She said.
“Be what you were meant to be. A god. A ruler. Apokolips could be ours. Reforged. In our image.”
Nova spat—blood scattering across the dust.
“In your image,” he muttered.
Grail growled.
Yanked his head back—hard.
Their eyes met.
Fury. Fire. Something more.
“Content to play house among mortals?”
She circled him now.
“You’re a god, Nova. Your presence alone will unravel their fragile lives.”
“You survived Apokolips. You faced me. You're more than them.”
“Why crawl, when you were born to burn?”
He coughed.
Wet. Deep.
Then—smiled.
“Because here… I choose my own path. Not Granny’s or Desaad’s. Not yours.”
He winced—sat straighter.
“Mine.”
Grail didn’t snarl.
She didn’t rage.
Her expression simply… emptied.
“Such a disappointment,” she muttered.
The scythe lit in her hands.
“All that power. All that training.”
“Wasted.”
She swung.
The blade plunged into his side.
Pain detonated in silence.
His body arched. Eyes wide. No scream.
Just a breath—sharp and stolen.
The blade tore through flesh and fire.
She pulled it free.
He dropped.
She kicked him onto his side like debris.
“At least you’ll die staring at that infested rock.”
She turned.
The scythe scraped after her, cutting a dead line across the dust.
A boom tube opened in silence.
She stepped through.
Gone.
Leaving Nova alone.
Nova lay still.
Curled in the dust.
He turned his head—slow. Strained.
The crater’s edge wasn’t far.
His blood bled across the regolith in silent arcs—dark, drifting beads soaking the powder.
He blinked.
Slow. Heavy.
The glow in his chest faltered.
Dimmed.
His fingers twitched—then scraped forward, dragging his weight inch by inch.
Blood smeared across dust.
He reached the edge.
Pulled himself upright.
Back braced against the incline.
Elbows trembling.
Chest glowing faint—but not gone.
And there it was.
Earth.
Turning slowly. Unaware.
Small…and still so beautiful.
His vision blurred.
Stars smeared into one another.
Breath—thin. Rattling.
The hum in his chest grew faint.
And yet—In the silence, he still heard them.
Granny’s commands—static-scorched and absolute.
Desaad’s laughter—sharp, wet, obscene.
The war pits. The hunger dogs.
Screaming as they were torn apart.
He remembered the heat. The bone. The smell of it.
The lives he’d taken.
The punishment.
The cycle.
And then—Orange juice.
Cold. Tangy. Alive.
He remembered the shock of it—how it ambushed his senses.
Pancakes. Syrup. A warmth he hadn’t known before.
Martha’s hand on his.
Steady. Quiet.
A kindness that expected nothing.
A moment that asked for nothing… but for him to be.
Not a soldier. Not a god.
Just Nova.
His lips twitched.
He looked down.
Blood soaked his armor.
His core flickered—just a shimmer, like the last ember in a dying star.
He was cold.
Pale.
And still… He smiled.
A chuckle escaped. Small. Fragile.
Then another.
And then,
still smiling,
he closed his eyes.
And then—
Laughter.
It tore out of him like a wound.
Harsh. Broken. Raw.
He laughed through the blood in his throat. Through the grind of cracked ribs and the fire in his gut.
Through the weight of memory.
Through everything.
And as he laughed—
The light inside him stirred.
Not bright or clean.
But real.
A golden pulse.
Faint but stronger.
Scene 8 – The Kent Farm, and Beyond
Kara jolted upright—gasping, as if waking from a fall.
Eyes wide. Breath ragged.
“Kara!”
Martha wrapped her in a hug before the girl could breathe.
“Oh honey, are you—”
“Where’s Nova?” Jonathan asked, already at her side.
His voice was calm. But his eyes said everything.
Kara stood—unsteady. Her limbs trembled, but her eyes were locked on the horizon.
Martha and Jonathan rose with her, silent now.
“I can’t explain.”
Kara scanned the sky, voice firm.
“Nova’s in trouble.”
Martha’s hand settled gently on her shoulder.
“Clark said—if he did this—”
“He didn’t.”
Her voice cracked. But her eyes didn’t.
Jonathan stepped forward, took her hands.
“Take care of yourself,” he said. “We’re rooting for you.”
Kara hugged them both—tight, fast.
A kiss to each cheek.
One look back—Then she was gone.
Wind roared.
Clouds parted.
And there it was—a trail.
A shimmering thread of gold, still glowing faint in the air.
Like the tail of a comet, burning across the sky.
Nova’s light.
Kara’s eyes followed it—Upward.
Climbing.
She followed the trail—narrowing her focus—Until it veered sharply.
Toward the stars.
Toward the Moon.
A silent, suspended stone.
Kara clenched her jaw.
And flew.
The air peeled away.
Clouds vanished.
The stars opened to receive her.
She reached it in under three minutes.
But every second dragged like gravity.
She hovered.
Scanned.
Valleys. Ridges. Craters.
Then—there.
Caught between light and dark.
At the edge of the Earth-facing side.
Nova.
Slumped against the crater’s rim.
A dark trail snaked behind him—blood, dried into dust.
One side of him swallowed by shadow.
The other, barely lit.
Kara touched down without a sound.
Dust rose gently beneath her boots.
She dropped beside him.
Hands hovering—afraid to touch.
The wound in his side pulsed slow.
Jagged. Deep.
Blood pooled black in the low light.
His skin—ashen.
His breath—barely there.
And then—his eyes moved.
He saw her.
He tried to speak.
No sound. No air.
Just a hand—lifting. Barely.
He pointed.
Toward the Earth.
Then to her.
Then back again.
Kara hesitated.
Her eyes followed his hand—
The trail of light still faint in the vacuum.
Something clicked.
She nodded.
She pulled him upright—and staggered.
Not from injury.
From weight.
Nova didn’t just weigh more.
He was more.
Like gravity didn’t want to let him go.
She ducked under his arm.
Lifted from the knees.
Her body shook.
Each step was uphill—but there was no hill.
Only dust and effort.
And all the while—she wondered:
How does he carry this?
Every day?
And how did Grail throw him like it was easy?
Nova turned his head.
Looked at her.
Smiled—barely.
His teeth were red.
Blood slipped from his mouth, pooling at the edge.
He coughed.
A spray of crimson floated, catching the starlight—Some of it hit her cheek.
She met his eyes.
Gold.
Then green.
Then gold.
Faint. Stuttering.
Like a flame caught in wind.
But still burning.
She took one last step.
Then let go.
Nova dropped—a dull thud against the dust.
The moon gave under his weight, as if claiming him.
Kara dropped beside him.
Breathing hard.
She didn’t speak.
Just watched.
Then—a pulse.
Gold.
It shimmered along the edges of his wound.
Slow. Uneven.
Like sunlight cracking through storm clouds.
Kara reached out.
Her fingers brushed his cheek.
Warm.
Barely.
He didn’t move.
But he smiled again.
And in her eyes—he saw her apology.
Kara sat beside Nova as his body finally slackened into unconsciousness, his breath slow but steady.
The golden light from his chest pulsed softly now—no longer in warning, but in recovery.
A heartbeat of energy. Faint, but sure.
Kara let the tension go.
Just once.
Not a breath. A release.
Her hand moved on instinct.
The phone clipped to her belt lit up.
Five missed calls.
A thread from Dani.
One photo: A smokestack rising behind the Kent farm. Thin. Lazy. Out of place.
“Came by to hang. Everything OK?”
Then—“Ur aunt & uncle went to find u.”
Her shoulders sagged.
Not an exhale—but a release.
The pressure stayed with her.
Heavy, quiet, and unspoken.
She turned the phone off. Tucked it away.
She looked at him again.
Still unconscious.
Still glowing.
Still bleeding light.
Then—
A shadow.
Kara looked up.
A figure hovered above her.
Red and blue.
Cape still in the vacuum.
The “S” caught Earthlight—bright.
Familiar.
Superman.