Nova: The Un-Animated Series

By Jack Bronson

Episode 7: Wah-Wah

Scene 1: The Toys Go Winding Down

PING.

Nova’s eyes narrowed inside the black mask. He answered quietly, voice even, as if debating with himself. “No.”

PING.

Nova exhaled through his nose.
“I was… content. Such leisure is foreign to me. Now it is ash.”

PING!

His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Well, yes. But… I must be cautious. Kara and Kal-El live under different rules here. Hiding who they truly are to fit in. I do not yet understand. They cling to those fragile names and faces as though they were armor.”

PING?

Nova’s eyes softened. “If it were simple, she would not conceal herself. Her friends… they were bright. Fierce in their care for her.”

He began his descent, pushing through the upper atmosphere. Smoke rose from the fairground ruins, curling around him like ghosts. Below, flashing red-and-blue lights converged. A red engine loosed torrents of white spray. Police lights flared. Order clawing its way back—Earth’s method of restoration. Nova drifted lower, steady above the chaos.

“I believe the next step should be to return to my human persona,” he muttered. “My attire should be by the—”

PING! PING! PING!

He froze mid-air. His breath caught. Eyes widened. 

“A Father Box? Are you certain?”

PING! PING!

His jaw clenched. “Find it. This cannot be repeated.”

PING!

Nova’s gaze shot east. A helicopter pulling away from the fairgrounds. Its tail light blinked red against the smoke.

“Another creature?”

PING!

Very well. Learn who commands it. I will not fail again.”

In an instant, Nova streaked forward, starlight trailing faint behind him. He kept his distance, waiting for the Mother Box to confirm. As the copter cut across the dark fields, Nova glanced back once—the fairgrounds falling further and further away, its fires dimming beneath him.

PING! PING!

“A human?” His gaze hardened. He drifted closer.

He accelerated, closing the gap until the rotors chopped the air only yards ahead. Sliding up alongside, he peered through the tinted window. A broad man with a bull neck and a tailored coat gripped the armrest like it owed him money. Nova did not recognize him. Bruno Mannheim.

“Mother Box. Its frame—can it endure?”

PING.

He nodded once, then floated closer. With a single knuckle, he rapped against the glass.

Inside, Mannheim turned. His eyes went wide as he caught sight of the figure outside the window. The mask was slick black—no eyes, no mouth, no human trace. Just an obsidian surface reflecting the firelight of the burning fairgrounds below.

But the glow betrayed him—starlight bleeding in waves, a newborn sun’s halo. The radiance bled into the glass, into the cabin, painting everything in pale yellow light.

Bruno Mannheim didn’t need to see a face to know who it was.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, breath tight. He lurched upright. “We got company! Push it—now!”

The engines screamed, rotors straining for altitude.

Nova surged forward, aura flaring. His hand clamped the tail boom, and the craft bucked—metal groaning against an unbreakable grip.

In the cockpit, alarms blared. The pilot shouted, “He’s on us! Jesus—”

Mannheim twisted in his seat and yanked open a hatch. He dragged out a heavy rifle, black and sleek. The LexCorp brand gleamed on the stock. Shoving the door wide, he leaned out into the whipping wind. The rifle whined as it charged, glowing emerald along its length.

“What the fuck do you want?” he barked, leveling the weapon at Nova.

Nova’s voice was calm, cutting: “You wield a Father Box. That makes you an ally of Apokolips. Of Darkseid.”

Mannheim didn’t hesitate. The rifle spat a blazing green beam.

The beam struck Nova’s mask—ricocheted skyward. He did not flinch. He raised a palm. Starlight roared into the rotor assembly. Metal shrieked. The blades froze.

The helicopter lurched violently, dropping into a spin. But Nova’s grip only tightened. With unshakable control, he shifted, grabbing both fuselage and tail. He guided the trembling craft downward, slow and steady.

Below, an empty field stretched—no homes, no lights, only grass waiting. Nova eased the chopper onto the grass, lowering it with impossible care.

The struts struck grass with a jarring thud. Nova’s grip lingered a heartbeat longer before he let the machine settle into silence. Smoke coiled out of its engine, the rotors grinding to a reluctant stop.

The door swung open. Bruno Mannheim leapt down onto the field, boots sinking into the dirt. The LexCorp rifle was still in his hands, glowing mean and ugly. He thumbed a recessed switch on the side, and the weapon whined louder, building to a deeper, hungrier charge. The pilot followed, stumbling from the cockpit with a smaller sidearm — compact, angular, its green muzzle flaring as it powered up.

“Light him up!” Mannheim barked.

Twin beams shrieked into the night. Green lances of energy hammered Nova’s chest, his shoulders, his mask. The blasts ricocheted uselessly off him, scattering into the dark. Nova stood firm, his glow only brightening against the storm. Not even a scorch marked his armor.

The rifles coughed out their last sparks. Mannheim and the pilot stood rigid, breath ragged in the cold night.

Nova lowered his head, voice calm but unyielding.
“You carry Apokoliptian technology. Surrender it. Now.”

Mannheim sneered, lip curling. “Damned kid. You were supposed to be dead.”

Nova stepped forward, slow and deliberate. The mask shivered. Plates slid apart, folding into a black cube that hovered at his shoulder, humming faintly. Its glow pulsed in rhythm with his own.

Mannheim’s eyes narrowed at the sight, jaw tightening. “New Genesis. Figures.” His smirk spread thin, bitter. “I pegged you for one of Granny’s boys.”

Nova kept advancing, radiance flickering brighter with every step. 

Mannheim’s jaw clenched. He dropped the rifle, letting it fall into the grass with a dull thud, and yanked a dagger free from his coat. The blade was jagged, etched with Apokoliptian markings that shimmered faintly in the starlight.

Nova’s voice hardened, reverberating like a bell. “Surrender the Father Box. Or I take it.”

He pressed forward, straight toward Mannheim. The gangster didn’t retreat. His grip tightened on the blade.

The Father Box blasted skyward, a meteor cutting into the night.

PING!

Nova’s Mother Box answered instantly, bursting into pursuit.

Mannheim lunged. The dagger bit into his arm. Nova hissed through his teeth. A shallow cut, but it burned.

Light flared. Golden, searing, blinding. Nova’s hand clamped around Mannheim before the gangster could even think of pulling back. His grip was iron, unmovable, like Mannheim’s arm had been cast in stone.

“I have slain for less,” Nova said, voice low, dangerous.

Mannheim wrenched and twisted, face straining. The dagger slipped free from his hand.

Nova released him—then snatched the falling blade. His fist blazed, and the dagger sagged, melting into glowing slag. The molten metal dripped into the dirt, hissing and blackening the ground.

Mannheim spat, fury choking his fear. “Little brat! You know who you’re screwin’ with?! I’m Darkseid’s man on Earth! Bruno fuckin’ Mannheim!”

Nova grabbed him by the shirtfront, yanking him close until their noses almost touched. His glow lit Mannheim’s face in harsh relief.

“Are you unleashing these beasts? Did Darkseid send you?”

Before Mannheim could answer, the sky split.

The Mother Box streaked back, whirring, ready to report.

PIN—

A violet blast slammed into Nova’s chest before the sound could finish. The energy tore across the field, hurling him and the helicopter like toys. The metal carcass skidded and flipped, tearing a furrow into the earth. Nova crashed with it, dirt exploding around his frame.

Kalibak stood at the field’s edge, Beta-Club crackling in his fist.

Nearly eight feet tall, thick-shouldered, Kalibak loomed like a fortress wall. Scarred skin stretched over stone-carved muscle. Coarse black hair framed a face twisted in fury, red eyes burning like coals in a forge. The sound of gravel grinding underfoot.

Green plates strapped across his chest and waist, etched with Apokoliptian sigils. Brutal, functional—armor built to endure, not impress.

He sneered through jagged teeth. “Nova! Kalibak the Cruel will have his revenge!”

The Kansas field shrank around them—flat dirt, scattered grass, no lights for miles. An arena carved from night.

The Beta-Club thrummed in Kalibak’s grip, humming with stored power. His lips curled into a grin that showed too many teeth. He didn’t charge. He let the silence stretch, the Beta-Club thrumming like a heartbeat.

Nova rose from the wreckage, fire curling at his feet. Behind him, the helicopter burned in a roar of flame and collapsing steel. His glow cut through the smoke, steady and defiant. He looked toward the looming figure.

“I will oblige.”

Kalibak’s chest rumbled with laughter that grew into a savage cackle. “Heh-heh-HEH! Much has changed since our last clash, traitor! Now you’ll taste the true power of Kalibak the Cruel!”

Nova lifted off the ground in a burst of yellow light. In a blink, he was across the field—his fist crashing into Kalibak’s jaw with a crack like thunder. The son of Darkseid reeled, boots tearing trenches in the dirt before he toppled flat on his back. The earth shook with the impact.

Hovering above him, Nova raised his hand. Energy ignited across his palm, gathering into a radiant sphere, the light searing against the night. But he held it, voice firm. “You have one chance to leave, Kalibak. This world has peace—and I will not see it broken.”

Kalibak threw his head back and roared, laughter booming across the empty plains. “BAH-HAH-HAH-HAH! One chance? You strike like a god, traitor—but still you do not understand! Like I said… much has changed!”

PING! PING! PING!

Nova’s head twitched, almost turning at the urgent cry from his Mother Box—

THOOM!

The ground buckled under a heavy double-step. A shadow fell from above.

Something massive landed on Nova’s back with the weight of a meteor, driving him out of the air and into the dirt with a violent crash. The ground caved in around them, a crater spraying earth and rock.

From the crater’s smoke, the weight pressing into Nova’s back revealed itself.

Stompa.

She stood shorter than Nova, but wider. A crimson-and-gold uniform clung to broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Thick legs, corded with muscle, built for the stomps that earned her name. Heavy boots slammed against the dirt as she shifted her stance, each movement carrying the promise of an earthquake.

Her face was square and hard, eyes cold beneath the brown leather cowl. The faintest curl of a sneer touched her lips as she looked down at Nova, pinning him in the crater like prey.

Kalibak raged. Stompa only stared, silent. Her weight, her stillness, made the air feel thin.

Kalibak rose behind her, laughing as he wiped blood from his mouth. “You dare defy Darkseid’s son and Granny’s mightiest Fury?”

Stompa pressed her boot harder into Nova’s back, grinding him into the earth. The ground shuddered beneath her weight. The crater beneath them cracked, fissures spidering out through the dirt. She sneered down at him. “This skinny bitch is the one who beat you? Pathetic. Wasn’t he one of Barda’s strays?”

Kalibak’s red eyes burned hotter, his lip curling in a snarl. ““That bastard CHEATED! He stole my Beta-Club—MY right!”

His massive frame lurched forward, raising the weapon overhead. Froth sprayed from his lips. “I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands!”

The Beta-Club came down with bone-shaking force.

CRACK.

The blow cracked against Nova’s skull. His glow sputtered, dirt erupting beneath his head. Kalibak threw his head back, laughter rolling out in cruel waves as he wrenched the club free for another strike.

Kalibak wrenched the club free, bellowing as he swung again and again. Each impact shook the ground, sending sprays of dirt into the air. Stompa pressed harder with every stomp, each one a miniature quake rattling Nova deeper into the crater.

Nova’s glow faltered, dimming. His arms shook as he tried to rise—only to be crushed beneath their combined fury.

Then—

PING! PING! PING!

The Mother Box, hovering just above the crater’s rim, jolted. Its panels spun, blurring into a wheel of black and silver. The air cracked, warped—and tore open with a violent WHHHMP.

A Boom Tube roared to life, vomiting light in shapes that bent the eye.

The Mother Box hung for only a moment longer—then shot through the portal, vanishing into its endless corridors of light.

The Boom Tube snapped shut, its echo fading—leaving Nova trapped beneath Darkseid’s son and Granny’s Fury.

Scene 2: What the F—

The cab of Dani’s truck went still, heavy with silence.

Kara hunched in her rainbow cutoff sweater and shorts, fingers worrying the hem. The county fair lights were a smear in the side mirror, smoke still low on the horizon. Dani’s hands were at ten-and-two, knuckles pale, jaw grinding.

“So—”

“I fuckin’ knew you were lyin’ to me!” Dani snapped.

The truck lurched as she yanked it to the curb, tires squealing against gravel. Silence dropped hard except for the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine and both of them breathing too loud.

Kara flinched at the volume, then, softer, “Look, I couldn’t. Nobody can know—”

“Dammit, Kara!” Dani’s head whipped around. Hurt was flushed across her cheeks, eyes bright and furious. “How d’you think this feels?! I’m pissed—hell, I’m hurt—but I get it!”

Kara tilted her head, already shrinking toward the passenger door.

“Savin’ people, high school, right? I get it.” Dani’s voice shook, and she swallowed it down. “But I thought… why couldn’t you trust me?”

Kara held her gaze, the kind you hang onto when everything else is sliding away. “If people knew, they’d be in danger.”

Dani barked out a laugh with no humor in it. “Don’t gimme that shit, girl!” She sucked in a breath, steadied herself on the wheel. “Since you showed up, I been by your side. Never talked shit. I stood with you when Sadie and her bitches came at ya! I’d never tell, ’cause I thought we were fuckin’ sisters!”

Kara’s voice came out small, raw. “We are.”

“You could fly!” Dani threw a hand at the windshield, then snapped it back to the wheel, knuckles white. “You’re like crazy strong! You’ve been lyin’ from the beginning. Pretending to be weak, always gettin’ excusal letters from P.E. I shoulda seen it!”

Kara reached across the console, hesitant, resting her hand over Dani’s. Warm. Careful. “I’m sorry, Dani.”

Dani peeled her hand away like the touch burned, crossing her arms and pinning herself back against the seat. “Worst part is, I can’t even stay mad at you—and that pisses me off most!”
She looked at Kara again, eyes glittering in the dash light. “What else you lyin’ about? Nico an alien too?”

Kara’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Her eyes fell to her lap.

Fuck!” Dani’s head thunked back. “That why he’s so goddamn hypnotizin’?”

Kara winced. Kara winced. “Technically… not an alien. More like another dimension. Not a planet, like me.”

Dani stared out her window at nothing, the glass fogging slightly with her breath. “So, what the fuck now, Kara? Is there anything else?”

Kara lifted one shoulder, a helpless half-shrug. “I can’t. They’re not my secrets to share.”

Dani’s laugh was a scrape. “Why the hell do I gotta drive you everywhere if you can fly? Do you even need those glasses?”

Kara pulled into herself, pushing the frames up anyway like a reflex. She looked impossibly young in the rainbow stripes, knees tucked in, shoulders tight. A year of morning rides, shared fries, and 4-H meetings sat heavy between them.

“I just need to process this,” Dani said finally.

She twisted the key. The engine caught rough, then smoothed. Gravel spit out from under the tires as she peeled off the curb.

Kara held on to the oh-shit handle and her composure with equal desperation. The tears were there, hot and stubborn; she blinked hard, swallowed harder. “The one I wanted to tell was you.”

Dani kept her eyes on the road. Her jaw flexed. The dashboard painted both of them in a tired green. “I get it,” she said, voice low.

They drove under a dark sky where the stars were bright and merciless—and neither looked up.

The ride back to the farm dragged, the only sound the engine’s hum and gravel crunching under the tires. Kara kept her hands folded tight in her lap, eyes flicking from the passing fence posts to Dani’s rigid posture behind the wheel. Dani didn’t look at her once.

At last, the familiar porch lights of the Kent farmhouse glowed through the dark. The truck rolled to a stop at the edge of the drive.

Kara opened the door slow, hinges groaning in the quiet. She set one sneaker down in the dust, then the other, before glancing back at Dani. “Are we still—” Kara’s voice caught small in her throat.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Dani cut her off, hand snapping back to the gearshift. “I… I just gotta think.”

Kara pressed her lips together, gave a quick nod. “Sure. Of course. I’ll, uh… be here.”

She shut the door carefully, the sound dull against the quiet night. Dani pulled away quiet, taillights shrinking to two pinpricks swallowed by the Kansas dark.

Kara turned toward the farmhouse. Each step heavier than the last, her shadow stretching long in the porchlight.

Scene 3: Mama Bear

“She should cut him down the middle and let the dolphins finish him!”

Barda’s voice thundered through the living room, loud enough to rattle the glass in her hand. On the screen, petals of digitally-rendered starlight drifted across a candlelit dinner as Kiss or Miss’s bachelor whispered sweet lies to his latest choice, the betrayal playing out in glossy, over-produced drama.

Barda sat curled into the corner of a reinforced couch, long legs tucked beneath her, dark hair spilling loose over her shoulders. A half-empty wineglass balanced in her grip, catching the flicker of the television. Next to the remote and a scatter of throw pillows sat a folded note in Scott’s neat handwriting. Central City show. Don’t wait up. Love you. The paper leaned against the half-drained bottle, cork already discarded.

The room was warm, lived-in. A knitted blanket draped over the back of the couch. A small stack of cookbooks slumped by the armrest. Lavender candles left their faint trace in the air. Nothing like Apokolips. A home built for peace.

But Barda’s scowl was anything but peaceful. She jabbed a finger toward the screen, wine sloshing dangerously.

“Flo gave him everything—and now he’s got the gall to run off with that sequined harlot?!”

She drained the glass in one swallow and reached for the bottle.

Above her, the air split. A Boom Tube ripped open in the ceiling, its light spilling into the room and sending the curtains into a wild dance. The TV flickered, the bachelor’s face dissolving into static as the house shuddered.

Barda squinted up at the light, a low chuckle rumbling. “Scott, if this is your idea of a grand entrance—”

But it wasn’t Scott.

A single Mother Box drifted down through the glow, humming frantic.

PING! PING! PING!

Barda rose from the couch, glass abandoned, eyes narrowing. “What?!” Her stomach tightened. Nova would never send for her. Which meant the Box had come because he hadn’t.

The Boom Tube churned in place, a wound in the air that would not close.

Barda turned on her heel, striding into the bedroom. The house darkened as she pushed into the closet, leaving the comfort of her night behind. Piece by piece: blue and gold armor over her broad shoulders, greaves cinched tight, the familiar weight of her helmet locking into place. Her hand closed around the Mega-Rod—gleaming gold, its grip worn smooth by years in her hands.

She stepped back into the living room transformed. A soldier. A Fury no longer of Apokolips, but never without its fire.

She glanced at the cube hovering in the light, her voice firm and without hesitation.
“Let’s go.”

With a single leap she vanished into the swirling corridor, Nova’s Mother Box streaking close behind her. The Boom Tube snapped shut. Curtains settled. The house fell silent—like nothing had happened at all.

Scene 4: Too Many Puppies!

“Gah!”

The Beta-Club cracked against Nova’s skull. His vision burst white. Blood slid hot down his cheek. Blood ran down his cheek in a warm line. He staggered, just in time to see Stompa crashing down from above, boots first. He twisted aside, the ground rupturing where she landed.

“Stay still, punk!” Stompa snarled, voice like gravel. “I’ll crush you flat!”

Nova darted clear, only to be rammed from the side by Kalibak’s massive shoulder. The blow sent him spinning, but he righted himself midair, flipping back and landing on his feet in the dirt. He shot forward, glow blazing, ready to drive through Kalibak—

But Stompa was already leaping again. She came down square on his back, the ground cracking under the impact. He struggled up—then she leapt again, landing harder. A sickening crunch split the air.

Pain seared through him.

Nova roared, his palm flaring. He fired a beam point-blank into Stompa’s face. Light seared skin—she staggered back cursing, one hand clawing at the burn.

“Fuck!” she spat, staggering.

Kalibak didn’t slow. He came charging, Beta-Club raised high, and swung. Nova caught the weapon mid-strike, sparks cascading off the impact.

He bared his teeth, inhaled—the glow surged down his throat. He opened his mouth, unleashing a torrent of starlight that slammed Kalibak off his feet.

Kalibak howled, stumbling, but Nova was already on him. He closed the gap, fists glowing. He drove one into Kalibak’s jaw, another into his gut, another into his ribs. Each strike rocked the brute, glowing harder with every hit. Blood sprayed from Kalibak’s tusked jaw.

Nova seized his hair, yanked him upright into the air. For an instant, Kalibak’s towering frame dangled like a ragdoll. Nova floated with him, dragging him higher. His right hand burned gold as he drove punch after punch into Kalibak’s face, leaving it a ruin of blood and bruises.

At last, Nova swung Darkseid’s son like a weapon, hurling him into Stompa. They crashed together, dirt erupting in a plume.

Nova landed hard, chest heaving—

THUNK.

A blade punched through his foot, pinning him to the earth.

“Arghhh!” He staggered, pain ripping up his leg. He bent and yanked the knife free, glow flaring around his hand. But even as the metal clattered away—

THUNK.

Another blade buried itself in his shoulder. He spun, snarling, but the field was empty. Just Kansas dirt and night stretching endless around him.

A voice slid from the shadows, rich with contempt. “Alone, are we? How exquisitely tragic. Darkseid’s abandoned blade—no comrades, no kin, only the echo of my knives.”

Nova froze. His eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. His chest hitched once, a sharp breath dragging in through clenched teeth. The glow around him flared uneven, betraying what his voice would not.

“Kanto,” he hissed. “Face me! You will pay for killing my mother!”

The disembodied reply came smooth, venomous. 

“So… whispers of her betrayal reached you at last. It matters little. You could never best me, boy. I am steel—she was brittle glass. To think she might flee Darkseid’s gaze without consequence… ah, such naïveté still amuses me.”

Nova’s glow flared, hotter, brighter, until his eyes became solid gold. Light poured out in every direction, illuminating the entire field like dawn.

“Face me!”

The words came deeper, reverberant, static-laced—rolling like thunder from some vast abyss. Air trembled. Shadows bent away.

But before he could pinpoint Kanto’s place in the dark—

Stompa roared, launched skyward—and crashed down with both boots across Nova’s back.

“Ghh—!”

The sound tore from his throat as the earth collapsed beneath him, his golden light sputtering under the weight of her crushing stomp.

Scene 5: The Night We Met

Kara sat between her aunt and uncle on the Kent’s worn couch, the familiar hum of the old house wrapping around them. Her face was buried against Jonathan’s chest, shoulders shaking as Martha smoothed a hand gently through her hair.

“She jus’ needs a bit’a time, Kara,” Martha murmured, her voice gentle as the lamplight in the corner.

The tears poured hot and fast, and Kara lifted her head just enough to choke out, “She hates me, Aunt Martha. You should’ve seen her face—I ruined the one friendship that felt like home.”

Jonathan’s hand covered hers, his touch steady. “Aw now, you two been thicker’n thieves since the day ya met. She jus’ needs time. Sounds t’me she gets why ya lied—she’s jus’ hurt is all.”

Before Kara could answer, a knock rattled the door—followed by the familiar squeak of hinges.

“Ma, Pa. It’s me!”

Clark stepped in, brushing Kansas dust from his shoulders as his eyes landed on Kara. The sight of her red-eyed and trembling pulled the concern straight to his face.

“What happened? Where’s Nova?”

Kara wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. After the big lizard attacked, he killed it and took it up to space.”

Clark exhaled, heavy. “That’s twice now he’s killed.” He pulled a chair close, leaning forward. “What happened?”

Her throat tightened as she forced the words out. “We were at the fair. Then… portal. Monster. Fight.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “But why are you crying? Did someone get hurt? Did Nova—”

“Dani saw me.” Kara’s voice cracked, tears spilling as she shook her head. “She saw Supergirl.”

The image of Dani’s face—hurt, betrayed—flashed behind her eyes, and the sob broke loose all over again.

Clark’s shoulders dipped. “Kara, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know where Nova is,” she said between breaths. “I thought I saw him coming down—but then Dani saw me, and everything changed.”

Martha leaned in, her hand stroking Kara’s hair again. “An’ what about yer friends, darlin’?”

Kara swallowed hard. “Hailee called her parents. Alice ran off with Crash. Dani… Dani drove me home.”

Jonathan gave her hand a squeeze, voice low and certain. “Don’t you fret none ’bout Dani, Kara. That girl’s got a good heart. She’ll come ’round, sure as sunrise. Jus’ give’er time.”

Clark’s tone shifted back to business, firm and direct. “Kara, I know it hurts. But right now—we need to find Nova.”

Kara’s red-rimmed eyes snapped to him. “Why? You don’t think this is his fault, do you?”

He shook his head, though the seriousness in his face didn’t waver. “No. But this is twice he’s taken a life.”

Kara scoffed, sharp and angry. “Both times it was a monster that would’ve destroyed everything!”

“We don’t know that,” Clark countered, standing. “Either way, he was raised by Granny and the rest of Apokolips. He has to learn—that’s not our way.”

He moved toward the door. “I’ll wait for you to change.”

Kara rose, nodding once. In a flash she was gone down the hall, the rush of air in her wake flipping a page on Jonathan’s newspaper. A heartbeat later she returned in the white crop top and blue skirt of Supergirl, cape falling straight behind her.

She bent and hugged Martha first, then Jonathan. Her voice was soft. Steady. “Thanks.”

Then she lifted off the floor, floated through the door, and shot into the night sky where Clark hovered

He touched a hand to the comm in his ear. “Alright, Bruce. We’re gonna search the stratosphere. See if Hal is willing to help us here.”

Kara steadied herself beside him, the farmhouse shrinking below as they turned toward the horizon.

The stars above Kansas stretched wide and endless. Clark and Kara cut across the cool night air, their capes snapping in the slipstream. The farmhouse lights dwindled to sparks below.

Kara broke the silence first, her voice catching in the wind. “Clark, I’m sorry about Dani.”

Clark shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. I knew this day would come—someone was bound to see you.”

“I could’ve sworn everyone ran away,” Kara muttered.

“She didn’t.” Clark glanced at her, calm but firm. “Dani stuck around to find you. Clearly, she’s a good friend. Just… make sure she can keep your secret.”

Kara nodded, then sighed. “So we’re just flying around hoping to spot a glowing dude?”

Clark’s lips tugged in the faintest smile, but it vanished quick. “Well, yeah. Nova’s still an unknown. Coming from a place like that… it can’t be easy. I can see he wants to do good, but breaking away from Apokolips isn’t easy. Took Barda a while. Thankfully she had Scott to help her. Nova doesn’t have anyone here. So we all have to do our part to help him.”

His voice tightened. “But Bruce is right too. He’s potentially dangerous. Who knows what’s going through his mind. When we first scanned him, the computer found traces of New Genesis. We thought maybe he came to warn us—or that it was a Boom Tube accident. But with Grail and Kanto showing up after him… it shows they still want him back.”

Clark’s gaze returned to the horizon, serious, measured. “Has he told you anything?”

Kara scoffed, arms crossing mid-flight. Yeah, he’s not just mute. He told me why he knows Kryptonese better than me—they trained him on Apokolips’ enemies. He knows languages. He knows our weaknesses.”

Clark’s shoulders sank, the air leaving him in a steady sigh. “The more I learn about him… the more dangerous he seems.”

Kara watched him, her eyes tracing the hard set of his jaw, the way the night sky reflected in his glasses. After a long moment she said quietly, “Makes me feel sorry for him. He was never given a choice.”

Scene 6: Maps

Nova stood in the broken field, blood glowing as it ran down his skin. His aura blazed until he seemed carved from furious gold. Kalibak loomed to his left, Stompa to his right. His head turned back and forth, body trembling from wounds but still braced to strike.

From the shadows, measured footsteps. Then the sound of hands clapping.

Kanto emerged, his cloak trailing, expression carved with satisfaction. “How novel… It has been long since I dirtied my hands in open combat. Assassination belongs to shadows. But you, Nova—ah, you I would face in light. I crave the look you wore when you learned I felled your mother… and the symmetry of felling you.”

Kalibak bellowed, saliva spraying. Kalibak bellowed, spittle flying. “Back off, knife-rat! He’s mine! I am Kalibak the Cruel—I’ll break him first! You can gnaw the scraps!”

Stompa didn’t waste words. She thundered forward, boots cracking the earth. Nova pivoted low, sweeping her legs. Stompa hit the dirt with a snarl.

Kalibak’s Beta-Club spat another beam, searing into Nova’s chest and hurling him backward. Before he could recover, Kanto dropped in a blur of black and silver, a knife plunging into the meat of Nova’s shoulder.

“Hnnnghh!” The sound tore from Nova as he staggered.

Kanto’s lips twisted in a smile as he pulled free, drawing a slender rapier with a flourish. Its polished steel shimmered in the golden light spilling from Nova’s wounds.

And then—

FWOOOM.

A Boom Tube ripped open, light flooding the crater. Every head turned.

Big Barda strode through, Mega-Rod in hand. Nova’s Mother Box zipped to her side like a loyal hound.

Nova’s hand clenched around the knife still in his shoulder. With a growl, he yanked it free and his palm ignited, melting the blade into liquid slag that hissed against the dirt. Blood poured freely from the wound, every cut on his body glowing gold at the edges. His breath came ragged. “KANTO!” Nova roared, unleashing a torrent of starlight from his hands.

Kanto spun, cape flaring, the beam screaming past as his knife sank into Nova’s ribs with a wet thunk. Nova staggered, choking on pain.

Barda’s grip tightened on her Mega-Rod. She extended it, the weapon snapping into staff-length. With a roar, she charged Kanto and swung. The golden rod cracked across his chin with a ringing blow, sending him tumbling.

Kalibak roared and hurled himself at her, but Barda leveled the Rod and fired. A burst of energy rocketed him back, his massive body smashing against the crater’s lip with a bone-shaking crash.

Barda planted her feet, gaze locking on Stompa as she climbed back to her feet.

The Fury laughed, loud and cruel. “Well, if it ain’t my traitorous bitch of a leader. Been waitin’ to beat you down!”

Barda’s tone was sharp as the Rod in her hand.“Still gnashing your teeth that you were passed over for leadership?”

Stompa launched skyward, then slammed down inches from Barda. The earth split under the quake of her landing.

Barda didn’t flinch. She stared down at Stompa, cool, unshaken. “We both know how this ends.”

Stompa glared up at her, apoplectic. “Yeah? Do we?”

Kanto darted in behind Barda, rapier flashing silver in the glow of battle. He thrust straight for her back—

CLANG!

Barda swung her Mega-Rod low, parrying the blade with a ringing strike. Her free hand shot out, seizing Kanto by the head. With a snarl she swung him straight at Stompa.

The Fury leapt just in time, boots pounding the air as Kanto slammed into the ground instead, carving a crater where he landed.

Kalibak stalked back into view, dragging his Beta-Club, his tusked grin split and bloody. He spat a broken tooth into the dirt with a wet crack.

Across the field, Nova staggered upright, breath ragged.

PING! PING!

His Mother Box zipped to him, panels unfurling. The black metal folded around his body, sealing wounds, covering bleeding gashes in a patchwork of alien armor. Nova drew a ragged breath, golden aura flaring as strength flooded back into his limbs.

He shot forward in a streak of light, colliding with Kalibak’s chest like a meteor. Both titans tumbled into the dirt, gouging a trench through the Kansas field. Nova climbed atop him, fists a blur—hammering, crushing, blood spraying with every blow.

His eyes burned molten gold. Twin beams erupted, searing into Kalibak’s face. Nova grabbed the brute’s head with both hands, forcing the beams down, burning, searing flesh and bone. Kalibak roared, thrashing, but Nova did not relent.

At last, Nova staggered to his feet, chest heaving, aura blazing hotter. He clamped both hands on Kalibak’s leg, muscles bulging, and lifted the massive limb off the ground. Kalibak kicked wildly, roaring.

With a guttural snarl, Nova twisted. The knee joint snapped with a sickening crack, the leg bending at a grotesque angle.

“Rhhhaaakkhh!” Kalibak’s bellow shook the dirt, his howl rolling like thunder across the plains.

Behind them, Stompa crashed down, arms locking tight around Barda. But Barda planted her feet, bent low, and heaved—flipping Stompa over her shoulder and slamming her into the dirt with bone-rattling force.

Before she could follow up, Kanto was there again. He sprang from the shadows, boot smashing against Barda’s temple. She reeled, helmet ringing, vision sparking white.

Nova looked up, fury blazing, and launched toward Kanto.

The assassin twisted with dancer’s precision, slipping behind Barda and shoving her into Nova’s path.

Nova stopped cold, skidding midair—just long enough.

Stompa’s fist crashed down on his already injured shoulder.

Pain flared white-hot as her massive hand clamped over his skull, fingers digging into his temples like iron hooks.

She yanked him down and drove her knee up in the same breath—

CRACK!

His head snapped back. Before he could breathe, she yanked him down again—another knee smashing into his face. Then another. Then another.

The world thundered with each collision—a savage drumbeat of flesh and bone as Stompa pummeled without mercy.

Stompa yanked Nova down again, her knee surging up to meet his skull—

This time, he caught it.

His hands clamped around her leg, muscles flaring as he punched it away. In the same motion he swung his body, legs locking tight around her thick neck. His hands clamped to the sides of her head, golden light sparking between his palms.

Twin blasts erupted point-blank, searing her face. The stink of burned flesh filled the air. Nova kicked off her body, spun, and drove a shoulder tackle straight into her chest.

But Stompa didn’t fall. Her massive hands shot out and clamped over his skull, arresting his momentum. With a roar she drove him down like a hammer, slamming his head into the dirt so hard the earth cracked beneath him.

A few feet away, Kalibak writhed in agony, clutching his ruined leg. His roar shifted to a snarl as both hands gripped the joint. With a sickening crack, he wrenched the bone back into place. His scream turned into wild laughter, foam flecking at the corners of his mouth.

He staggered upright, chest heaving, eyes crazed. Grabbing his Beta-Club from the dirt, he limped forward, each step a thundering promise of violence.

Stompa, face singed and blistered from Nova’s blast, snarled through clenched teeth. “Back off, Kalibak. This punk’s mine to crush!”

Barda was already in motion. She swept Stompa’s legs clean from under her, the massive Fury slamming into the ground. A blade hissed through the air—Kanto’s dagger. Barda twisted, dodging, but Stompa’s arm shot up, clamping around Barda’s leg as she landed.

Kalibak loomed over Nova, Beta-Club buzzing, his voice ragged with mania. “At last, traitor! I’ll tear off your head and lay it at Father’s feet! His favor will be mine—your shame eternal!”

Barda wrenched, freeing her leg, but Kanto was already upon her. His rapier slashed, biting across her chest plate with a screech of steel.

“Hnnnghh!” she growled, staggered but unbowed.

With a roar, she swung her Mega-Rod in a wide arc. The golden staff cracked against the rapier, knocking it from Kanto’s hand.

He barely flinched, lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Ah… exquisite form. Yet you forget, my dear—every stroke writes its own reprisal.”

—

High above the clouds, Clark touched the small device at his ear. “Anything, Hal?”

Down on Earth, Hal Jordan streaked across the Kansas night, his emerald aura blazing against the stars. His ring pulsed as he scanned the land below. “No, not ye—wait. Got something. Still in Kansas. I’ll be there in a few.”

Hal banked hard, the trail of green light bending behind him as he rocketed toward the signal.

Clark’s voice came through his earpiece, calm but clipped. “We’re on our way. Don’t engage. He’s still raw from the Lobo fight.”

Hal scoffed, rolling his eyes even as he cut through the air. “No one asked him to fight Lobo. Guy’s a nuke on a space bike—and he just dives in like it’s Tuesday?”

Beside Clark, Kara drifted closer, her voice carrying easily through the wind. “Pretty sure Nova can take him.”

Hal’s voice came sharp through Clark’s comm. “Clark, remind her this is League-only, would ya?”

He gave Kara a sidelong look. For the first time that night, a small smile tugged at his face.

—

Barda twisted, muscles straining, but Stompa’s arms locked around her like iron bands. Every movement was met with crushing resistance, the Fury’s grip unyielding.

Across the crater, Kalibak raised his Beta-Club and smashed it down, blow after blow splitting flesh. Golden light streamed from the wounds in molten rivers. The final swing snapped Nova’s head to the side—

And he saw Barda.

Stompa’s arms coiled tighter around her chest. Barda thrashed, boots digging trenches in the earth, but the hold only cinched harder.

Kanto rubbed his bruised jaw, eyes wild now, fever-bright. With a flick of his wrist, the rapier leapt back into his hand, its steel glinting sharp in the fractured glow of the battlefield. He stalked forward, his voice low and venomous.

“Ah… the lost Doyenne herself. How fitting that Darkseid should claim his pound of flesh at last. Yet I wonder—will he savor it more as the blood of a traitor, or a corpse mounted on his mantle?”

He slid one foot forward, shoulders angled, the rapier rising in a flawless line. His weight shifted onto his back heel, knees bent, blade perfectly leveled at Barda’s chest. Not a brawler’s stance—the poise of a duelist, precise and unshakable.

With a sharp exhale, he lunged. The rapier darted like lightning, the point a whisper from Barda’s heart.

The battlefield stilled.

Time seemed to fold, sound collapsing into the single, deafening hum of Nova’s stellar core.

His body ignited. Every wound seared open in radiance, every vein and scar burning molten. His skin became a living sculpture, gold fire pouring from the cracks in his battered flesh.

Kalibak, Stompa, Kanto — to all of them he was no longer a boy. He was a sun made flesh.

In that silence, Nova’s hand closed around the Beta-Club. Gold fire licked across its surface. With a single wrench, he ripped it free, the shockwave hurling Kalibak sprawling.

A golden fist followed. The strike detonated against Kalibak’s skull with the force of artillery. The sound cracked across the field as the Cruel Prince of Apokolips collapsed, eyes rolling back, body folding into unconsciousness.

Then Nova was gone from his side, streaking forward in a flash of gold.

Kanto’s rapier froze inches from Barda’s heart as Nova’s hand seized his arm. His other hand came down hard, snapping the assassin’s elbow backward with a splintering crack, bone tearing like wood in a storm.

Kanto cried out—but the sound was cut short.

In an instant, Nova was behind him. One hand clamped his shoulder, the other his jaw. Golden light filled the assassin’s eyes—and for the first time, they showed fear.

Then he twisted.

Vertebrae popped with a wet crunch, tendons tearing. Kanto’s head wrenched sideways, his neck breaking swift and violent—less a man undone than a weapon dismantled.

The golden light pulsed once. Nova let the body drop.

Nova swayed where he stood, the glow faltering. Cracks of golden light still burned across his flesh, but the strength behind them guttered like a dying star. His knees buckled.

The Mother Box whirred, its black plates cinching tighter around his torso, trying desperately to hold him together. Sparks flickered through the seams as it fought to stabilize him.

Barda was already there. She caught him before he hit the ground, cradling his heavy frame against her armor. Her Mega-Rod slipped from her hand, forgotten, as she pulled him close.

Tears streaked through the dirt and blood on her face. She pressed her forehead to his, voice breaking on a whisper. “I’m sorry, Jezebelle. I’ve failed you.”

Nova’s head lolled against her shoulder, the last of his glow dimming to a faint, fragile shimmer.

Scene 7: Wah-Wah

The wind rushed past them as they cut through the night sky, stars wheeling above, Kansas stretching endless below.

“I’m not saying I’m in love with him, Kal,” Kara said, steady but raw. “But I know what he’s going through. And he sees me. Not Supergirl. Not your cousin. Not Kara Kent. Me—Kara Zor-El.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. His voice was careful, cautious. “I get it. You’re young, and you feel cut off from who you are most of the time. I just worry you’re not thinking it through. He’s from Apokolips, Kara. No matter how hard he tries, that’s how he was raised. It’s all he’s known.”

“There was a time all I knew was Krypton,” Kara shot back, ready to press the point—

But Clark stiffened midair.

“Superman, get back to Kansas. Now!” Hal’s voice crackled sharp in his ear.

Clark’s eyes widened. “Hal? Hal, come in!”

Below, a flare of emerald light tore into the sky, blazing against the horizon.

Clark looked at Kara, no hesitation in his voice. “Let’s go.”

They dove—two streaks of red and blue racing toward the green blaze below.

—

Hal stepped closer, emerald aura faint around him. His boots crunched the dirt as he barked, “What the hell happened here, Barda?”

Barda held Nova close a moment longer, her armor streaked with dust and blood. She bent her head and whispered against his ear, voice trembling despite herself. “Thank you, Nova.”

She laid him down gently, then rose, Mega-Rod gripped tight. Towering over Hal, she fixed him with an unflinching stare. “He was attacked. Ambushed by these three.” She gestured to Kalibak and Stompa sprawled unconscious nearby, and then to Kanto’s corpse—his lifeless eyes locked in a frozen terror.

Hal’s jaw tightened. His voice dropped low, every word measured. “He killed him.”

Barda’s answer came steady, without hesitation. “Yes. Were it not for that, I would have been fatally wounded.”

Hal sneered, ring flaring brighter. “That doesn’t make it okay. Fourth World or not, we bring him in. Contain him until—”

Barda stepped forward, cutting him off, the Mega-Rod’s tip angling just enough to make the threat clear. “Out of the question.”

“Save it, Barda.” Hal’s face hardened, frustration boiling through. “I knew letting him stay here was a bad idea! He’s a danger to the people of Earth!”

Barda said nothing, her silence heavier than words. She stood firm, unyielding.

Hal’s voice sharpened, his green aura flaring. “Move.”

Barda squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing. “Or what, Lantern?”

Hal gritted his teeth, raising his fist. His ring pulsed, emerald light wrapping him in a sharp outline of power.

The standoff crackled.

Then the ground shuddered.

Clark and Kara hit the crater floor hard, dust pluming around them. Clark’s cape settled as he straightened, eyes already scanning the scene. Kara’s gaze darted frantically until she spotted the body sprawled in the dirt.

Her heart stopped.

“—Nova?”

She broke into a run, dropping to her knees beside him, hands trembling as she touched his shoulder.

Kara pressed her ear to his chest, her hand splayed across the glowing cracks in his flesh. His stellar core hummed faint, fragile.

She snapped her head up, eyes wide. “We need to get him closer to the sun!”

Hal stepped toward Clark, jaw tight. “You’re trying with him, I get it. But that kid just killed someone.”

Clark crouched by Kanto’s body, shutting the assassin’s glassy eyes with a careful hand. Rising, he shook his head, voice low. “That’s three lives now. Damn it, Nova.”

Barda stepped forward, voice like iron. “He didn’t just kill anyone. That is Kanto—Darkseid’s assassin. The one who murdered his mother.”

“Hello?!” Kara’s voice cracked, raw with urgency. She glared at Clark. “We have to get him closer to the sun!”

Barda turned toward Nova, her decision instant. “I will help you.” She glanced down at the Mother Box fused across his chest and shoulders, its black plating already sealing and stabilizing him. “Are you able to lift him?”

PING.

Hal’s eyes narrowed. He looked back at Clark. “You can’t be serious, Clark. We can’t just let this go.”

Clark’s expression hardened, but he stayed silent as Hal pressed.

New God or not—we have rules.”

“It’s not that simple, Hal.” Clark’s voice was steady, weight undeniable. “This is Fourth World business. It’s out of our jurisdiction.”

Hal’s eyes widened, voice rising. “Oh, come on! That’s bullshit!”

“Hal—” Clark started.

“No!” Hal cut him off, glow flaring. “You say it yourself—there’s always another way! No one has to die!”

Kara spun on them, fury flashing. “If you’d shut up for one second, you’d see we’re about to lose another life! Now help me!”

Barda clicked her heels, summoning two hovering discs that lifted her into the air. She bent, gritting her teeth as she heaved Nova’s limp body into her arms, staggering under the weight. Kara darted forward, grabbing his legs. Together they rose, straining to carry him toward the heavens.

Kara darted forward, grabbing his legs, and together they began to rise, straining to carry him toward the heavens.

Hal’s ring burned brighter as he watched them climb. He turned to Clark, voice sharp as broken glass. “This isn’t right, Clark. You always warn about the line we can’t cross. If he’s staying here, he has to face the consequences.”

Clark nodded, eyes never leaving Kara and Barda as they struggled skyward. “You’re right, Hal. But say we tried—his Mother Box wouldn’t allow it. New Genesis and Apokolips would call it an act of war. And even if that weren’t enough… where would we put him? He’d break out of any cell we built.”

Hal’s hands curled into fists. “So what? We just let him kill and say it’s out of our hands?”

Clark’s mouth pressed into a line. He had no answer.

Hal rose into the air, emerald light blazing. “Fine. Keep him. Protect him. But don’t call it justice when the next body drops. And when it does—don’t expect me to stand aside.”

With that, he shot off—not skyward, but east, streaking green toward Coast City.

Clark exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. His voice was low, almost to himself. “Dammit, Nova.”

Then he lifted off the ground, cape flaring behind him, and pushed higher, trying to catch up to Barda and Kara as they carried Nova toward the sun.

—

The crater lay still now, lit only by the faint shimmer of lingering energy and the broken bodies within it. Kalibak and Stompa lay unconscious, their hulking forms sprawled in the dirt. Kanto’s corpse rested a short distance away, eyes still frozen in terror.

The air split open with a roar. A Boom Tube tore across the crater, its light washing over the devastation.

Scott Free stepped through, boots crunching on fractured ground. “Honey?” His voice echoed in the emptiness. He scanned the crater—no Barda.

His gaze dropped. Kalibak. Stompa. Then the twisted shape of Kanto. Scott let out a low whistle. “Whoa. Guess I missed the party.” He glanced down at the cube humming at his side. “Mother Box, do your thing.”

Three portals ripped open, swallowing the bodies of Kalibak, Stompa, and Kanto. In a blink, they snapped shut, leaving the crater scrubbed clean of corpses.

Scott fanned his nose. “Whew! Kalibak ever hear of a bath? Then again—Stompa either.”

He clicked his heels together. Twin discs shimmered to life beneath his boots, lifting him effortlessly into the air. Another Boom Tube yawned open before him, swirling with light.

“Whole place smells like burning charcoal and despair. Why not shower?” he muttered, coasting toward the portal.

As he drew closer, he tilted his head, listening to the Mother Box’s chatter. “So, where to next?”

PING. PING.

Scott grimaced. “Yeah, either there or Themyscira. Not making that mistake again.”

He vanished into the glow, and the Boom Tube sealed shut, leaving the battlefield silent and empty once more.

—

Above the curve of the Earth, the dark of space wrapped them in silence. The sun blazed just beyond, light spilling over the planet’s edge like molten gold. Nova hung there weightless, suspended between life and void.

Kara and Barda released him carefully. His body drifted, limp in the vacuum, torn flesh glowing faintly, blood trailing with the light from his wounds.

The Mother Box unfurled across him, sleek panels blooming outward like a solar plate, angling to drink in the flood of radiation. Golden light shimmered across its surface as it pulled the sun’s fire into him.

Clark caught up, hovering nearby. His eyes lingered on the torn body, the leaking wounds, the faint pulse of power holding onto him by threads. He turned, meeting Kara’s gaze. Her expression was fear written plain. His, concern layered with disappointment, calculation, thought. Neither spoke.

Barda floated close and brushed her fingers across Nova’s cheek. Her eyes softened, the memory rising unbidden.

She remembered the boy she’d trained on Apokolips—the one whose eyes carried a constant, clouded grief. Every day, she had watched it deepen, watched confidence take root in his movements even as the light inside dimmed. He fought with precision, but empty of spark.

Except once.

After a brutal training session, she had taken him to her hidden refuge: a jagged rock above the ash clouds, unseen by Granny, unseen by the Furies. From that perch, the stars of the Fourth World pierced faint through the black.

She remembered his eyes lifting. The awe there. The quiet glimmer of wonder. For one fragile moment, the numbness cracked, and the boy looked like he might believe in something beyond pain. She’d bitten back the feelings she couldn’t allow herself to show.

Now, staring at him, she saw that moment again—the memory and the boy in front of her blurred together.

The Mother Box folded its solar plate back into itself, light trickling off its seams before sealing tight.

Barda looked at Kara and gave her a firm nod.

A Boom Tube ripped open nearby, its light rolling through the void.

This time, Clark moved forward. He cradled Nova in his arms, face stern but grip gentle. Kara and Barda closed in beside him as he carried the wounded boy through the portal.

The Boom Tube sealed behind them, the quiet of space returning as if nothing had happened at all.

Scene 8: No Surprises

The Watchtower medbay was quiet except for the soft hum of machinery. Clark laid Nova onto a reinforced bed, its frame humming as it calibrated to support his weight and energy output. Kara stayed close, her arms crossed but her eyes locked on Nova’s battered frame.

“You can’t cage him, Kal.” Kara’s voice was soft but steady.

Clark didn’t answer right away. His silence was heavy, his eyes fixed on the boy’s still chest rising faintly with each strained hum of the Mother Box.

Outside the medbay, Barda sat hunched, gaze fixed on Nova through the glass. Her fingers drummed restlessly against her knee—until a familiar voice cut through.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Her head snapped up. Scott Free strolled down the corridor, all easy charm in a crisp white button-up, black slacks, and sunglasses.

“Scott.”

She was on her feet in a heartbeat, closing the distance and pulling him into a tight embrace. His hand pressed firm against her back.

“Nova?” he asked quietly.

Barda nodded, leaning into him, her armor cold against his shirt. “Inside.”

—

In the room, Clark finally spoke. “This can’t keep happening.”

Kara’s arms tightened. “Yeah, but let’s be real, Kal—it’s not like those guys were just gonna get knocked down and leave.”

Clark turned to face her, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying it’s okay to kill as long as they’re from Apokolips?”

“What? No!” Kara shot back, shaking her head. “I’m saying we shouldn’t make an example out of him for it. You heard Barda—he killed an assassin. The man who killed his mother.”

Clark’s voice dropped, bitter. “So we turn a blind eye?”

Kara’s voice cracked with frustration. “It’s not like he went on a rampage. He came from Apokolips. That’s what he was taught. He’s been fighting it, but it’s like any habit—sometimes it slips through.”

Clark gave a humorless chuckle. “Great comparison, Kara. Smoking. Killing. Right in the same ballpark.”

He moved to the window, staring out at the curve of the Earth below. “He’s a god, Kara. Letting him do what he wants—”

“But it’s not what he wants,” Kara cut in. “We were having a day at the fair.”

Clark turned back, the weight of it all written across his features. “Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t jail him.” He dragged a chair toward the door and sat heavily. “But he still needs to learn our rules.”

Kara scoffed, anger sparking. “He knows our rules, Kal. But fuck it—let’s throw him in the Phantom Zone. Take a guy who’s only ever been trained for war, treated like a weapon since he was a kid, and punish him for killing the assassin who tried to murder him and Barda. Yeah, that’ll really show him who we are.”

Clark’s jaw worked. “You hardly know him, Kara. What if Bruce is right? What if he’s not here to escape Apokolips, but to serve it?”

Kara’s eyes narrowed. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stepped closer, her voice sharp. “You had Jonathan and Martha. You got to live as a human before you learned about Krypton. You were cared for by two people who loved you and showed you right from wrong. Nova had Granny. He had torture. Training. Whatever else a place like Apokolips calls childhood.”

Clark stayed silent, her words sinking in.

“Even I didn’t have it that bad,” Kara said, her voice softening. “And it’s not just about teaching him, Kal. It’s about helping him unlearn what Apokolips carved into him. Why do you think he’s so eager to follow orders? He’s a soldier, waiting for the day the League decides he’s not good enough.”

Clark looked at her, the fight fading from his face. “What do you think should be done?”

The doors slid open.

Scott and Barda stepped inside, Scott’s casual air cutting the tension. Scott circled the bed, looking down at Nova’s battered body. “Poor kid.”

He turned to Clark. “You know, I could take him off your hands. What better way to leave Apokolips than waking up in a real home? Not some militarized space station.”

Clark’s eyes lingered on Scott for a moment, then he gave a slow nod. “Let’s talk about this in the conference room. I get the feeling we should discuss this as a group.”

Scott slipped his sunglasses off, tucking them into his shirt pocket. “Fair enough.” He fell into step behind Clark as they left the medbay together.

Barda moved back to Nova’s side, resting her hand against his arm. She looked at Kara, her voice steady but softened. “He will be alright.”

Kara nodded quickly, though the worry in her eyes betrayed her words. “Yeah. He’s tough. I just hope the League doesn’t judge him too harshly.”

Barda exhaled, gaze drifting to the boy on the bed. “Few on this world will ever hear of Apokolips. Fewer still will look it in the eye. Scott and I escaped it. Nova was forced to endure it.” Her hand slid gently across his head, brushing his hair back. Her voice dropped. “What I made him endure. I know his strength.”

She stepped away, turning toward the door. “Excuse me.”

Kara pulled a chair close and sat at his bedside, restless hands falling into her lap. Her eyes moved to the Mother Box wrapped around him, its surface like dark metallic bandages pulsing faintly with light. She fixed on its rhythm, willing it to hold him together.

The door whispered open.

Batman entered without a sound, cape trailing behind him. He didn’t glance at Kara when she spoke. “Don’t bother. Kal already gave me the lecture. I don’t need to hear it twice.”

He stopped at Nova’s side, studying the monitors. His voice came low, gravel-soft. “I’m not here to lecture. You already know what he is.”

Kara’s chin lifted, defiant. “He’s only dangerous when people don’t understand him.”

Bruce’s eyes never left the screens. “His core’s stabilizing.”

Kara craned her neck toward the monitor, searching for herself. “…That’s good.”

Bruce’s silence lingered, heavy. Then, “War eats at you, Kara. It teaches you to trust instinct. To lean on violence. I’ve fought that pull my entire life. Difference is, Gotham doesn’t have Granny. Or Desaad.”

Kara turned to him, lips parting, but no words came.

His gaze lowered to Nova. His voice thinned, almost reflective. “He’ll never stop fighting that war inside himself. The question is—are you ready to stay when he loses one?”

The weight of it hung between them.

Kara lowered her eyes to Nova, her hand reaching across the sheets. She took his hand in both of hers, squeezing tight, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.

When she looked up again, Batman was gone. Only the whisper of the door closing, his shadow drawn out with him.

—

Hours slipped by. The medbay lights dimmed into their night cycle, machines humming steady in the quiet. Kara hadn’t moved from the chair, her head bowed over their joined hands. She remembered the awe in his eyes when he caught her in midair, the strange formality of his speech, the way he told her everything without hesitation. She remembered his arms around her in training, the warmth of his lips when she kissed him.

Her grip tightened.

And then—faint, broken, but unmistakable—his hand squeezed back.

His voice cracked through bruised lips, bruised body, trembling but clear, 

“Zel va’rei, kalah?”