Episode 8: The Cow Goes Moo
Nova: The Un-Animated Series
By Jack Bronson
Episode 8: The Cow Goes Moo
Scene 1: I Like Her
Kara’s eyes blinked open to the antiseptic hush of the Watchtower Medbay. She lay still, letting the quiet settle—until memory crashed back in.
Dani’s voice still rang in her ears—cracked, scared, honest.
And Nova… the way she’d found him. The Beta Club’s impact scars burned across his chest. Deep purple bruises where Stompa’s boots had crushed down, where her knee had driven into his face again and again. Thin, precise gashes traced his skin—Kanto’s handiwork, clean and cruel.
She turned, sheet rustling, and found him already staring upward. Completely still. No breath. No blink. Only the faint shimmer of his glow. She’d known he didn’t sleep, but seeing it—seeing how he lived inside his thoughts without pause—still unsettled her.
“Kara,” he said.
She smiled softly. “Hey.”
His mouth twitched, a half-smirk that loosened something inside her. She pushed up on one elbow. “Thanks for… letting me crash here.”
“You have nothing to thank me for. Without you, I would not have survived.”
“Yeah, well.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Guess that’s in the job description.”
He reached across, brushed a stray lock from her face. “Kara, I—”
She cut him off gently. “You don’t have to. I’m just glad you’re here.”
His glow brightened, warmth spilling across the sheets. She rested her head on his chest, the steady thrum of his core echoing beneath her ear.
“Just need to charge up a little,” she murmured.
His chest vibrated with a low chuckle. “I owe you my life.”
She swatted him lightly. “You owe me a date. Big difference.”
“Then I would like that very much.”
She guided his arm around her shoulders. “No dating lessons on Apokolips, I take it?”
A pause. “No. Only combat training, conquest… and Darkseid’s will.”
“No. Combat training, conquest, and Darkseid’s will,” he said.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “That checks out. Most girls just get ghosted, I get a god war.”
Her fingers traced the lines of his palm. The only sound was the steady hum of the Watchtower around them.
“Will we return to the carnival?” he asked. “Our date was interrupted—at what felt like an important moment.”
Kara tilted her head up, a grin creeping across her face. “Oh yeah? What moment was that, exactly?”
Nova’s lips parted. Whatever he meant to say burned out in his throat. His glow flickered once, then steadied—light gathering under his skin like a held breath.
Kara felt the heat roll through the sheets. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a low, constant hum, steady as a reactor. The air shimmered between them.
She hesitated—just long enough to realize he wasn’t going to move first. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
His light swelled at the contact, washing gold across her face and hands. She didn’t think, didn’t weigh what came next. She only moved closer, fingers curling against the warmth.
Kara drew back just enough to catch a breath, her lips brushing his as she exhaled. His glow dimmed, then rose again, steady and alive against her skin. She met his eyes — that look of quiet awe — and kissed him again.
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. Just two people learning each other’s rhythm, again and again, until the room fell away.
When she finally broke for air, her forehead rested against his. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“That one?”
He nodded once, eyes half-lidded, the faintest smile ghosting his mouth. “That one.”
A familiar voice cut through. “If I had a dollar for every time someone walked in on us—”
“Scott.” Barda’s voice snapped, sharp enough to break the moment.
Kara startled, pulling back with a rush of air. When she saw who it was, she sighed in relief. “Oh, thank Rao. I thought it was Kal.” She floated off the bed, landing softly with her hands shoved into her skirt pockets. Nova turned his head. Scott leaned in the doorway with a grin, while Barda’s stern mouth betrayed the faintest curve of a smirk.
She crossed the room and rested a heavy hand on Nova’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, Nova?”
PING!
“Eighty-seven percent,” Nova said.
Barda shook her head. “No, Nova. How do you feel?”
His eyes flicked to Kara, then back again. “I am well.”
“Good,” said Barda. “Scott and I would like to invite you to stay with us. We believe it would help you shed what Apokolips ingrained in you—and live a life on Earth.”
Nova’s brow furrowed.
Scott stepped in. “We know what it’s like—leaving Apokolips, trying to figure out a strange world. We can help smooth the transition.”
“Is this because of Kanto?” said Nova.
Barda met his gaze. “You did as I would have. On Apokolips, on New Genesis—it doesn’t matter. The Fourth World settles its own scores. What happens between our kind isn’t for mortals to judge.”
She softened, only slightly. “What you did was brave—and it saved lives.”
“But Kal-El has always been firm about taking lives,” Nova said quietly. “If staying here makes them uncomfortable—”
Kara cut in. “Nova, you’re not a weapon to pull off the shelf when things go bad. You deserve more than that—a real home, a real life.”
Nova looked down at the bed. “If Kal-El agrees… then yes. I would like that.”
Scott grinned. “Good. Because he already does.”
“What matters,” Barda said, “is what you want. You don’t need anyone’s permission to live.”
Nova rose, fluid and quiet. He bowed slightly to both of them. “Thank you.”
Scott chuckled as he approached, clapping Nova on the back. “Alright then! Give us a little time to get the spare room ready. We’ll let you know when it’s done.”
Wrapped around his torso, the Mother Box hummed.
PING! PING!
Barda cupped Nova’s cheek, holding his gaze for a long moment before glancing at Kara with a faint smile. Then she turned toward the door with Scott, leaving them alone.
Kara circled the bed, stopping in front of him. His glow had dimmed to a faint shimmer.
“About Kanto,” he said quietly. “I do not regret killing him.”
Kara shook her head. “No one’s saying you should. I know why you did it—but don’t let that be what defines you.”
“I am a weapon, Kara. Forged for war. I don’t know if there’s a place here for what I am.”
“Excuse me?” She stepped closer, arms folding loosely. “You mean the guy who beat Crash at bottle toss? The same guy who helped me save a whole fairground full of people?”
Before he could answer, she slid her arms around his waist. “The guy I just had my first real kiss with?”
She tipped her chin up, smiling. “You’re not a bad guy, Nova.”
Rising on her toes, she kissed him once—quick, certain—then tugged his hand toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get something to eat.”
Kara’s laughter echoed as she pulled him along the corridor, bright and unguarded. Beyond the viewport, Earth rolled into morning, Metropolis catching the first gold along its skyline. For a moment, the galaxy felt quiet, safe.
Nova’s glow stayed low, soft against the rising light—no longer the weapon forged for war, just a boy letting himself be pulled toward breakfast.
Scene 2: Oa
Far from Earth, another light burned—green, cold, unforgiving.
Oa hung in the void, its barren surface cut through with glowing veins of energy. At its heart rose the Citadel—white domes and tall spires clustered around the Central Battery, its light burning defiantly against the dark. Lanterns streaked above, emerald trails carving steady orbits through the sky.
A doorway of light snapped open above the entry plaza. Hal Jordan stepped through, boots striking stone. Jaw locked. Shoulders squared. Each step landed hard enough to echo.
Cathedral halls rose around him, swallowing sound into distance. The air was sharp, precise—like walking into a verdict. Lanterns turned as he passed, but none spoke. Not with that look in his eyes.
The chamber was circular, walls smooth and pale, veins of green light running like arteries. Rings of Lanterns stood silent at the edges. Above them, the Guardians hovered—small, robed, faces unreadable, bathed in the endless glow of the Battery. The air thrummed with power: steady, absolute.
Hal stepped into the center. “A New God—Nova of Apokolips—committed murder in my sector. On my planet. I need permission to act.”
The Guardians’ eyes flared. Their voices blended into one echo, ancient and cold.
“You presume authority where none was granted. You bypass the honor guard, the Keepers, even Salaak—and come before us as if your will were law.”
Hal’s jaw tightened. “With respect, Guardians—it happened on Earth. My sector. Big Barda was pinned. Kanto moved in for the kill. Nova hit fast, violent. Snapped his arm, then his neck. Two seconds, maybe three. Play it back if you need proof. You’ve got a killer in my sector. That makes it my problem.”
The chamber dimmed as their glow intensified.
“There is no need for proof,” the voices answered. “The conflict you describe lies beyond your jurisdiction. Apokolips. New Genesis. Their agents and their wars are of the Fourth World. They are not yours to police.”
Hal stepped forward, ring humming. “Just so we’re clear—Nova killed Kanto. An Apokoliptian assassin. Not a civilian. But you’re saying that’s fine. Because it’s Fourth World business.”
The Guardians’ eyes flared in unison. “Correct. His act was not within your jurisdiction. The Pact governs such matters.”
The green light around Hal sharpened, shadows cutting hard against the walls. “You hide behind the Pact and call it peace. Meanwhile, you’ve tied my hands. There’s a teenager bred for war walking free on Earth, and you expect me to stand down?”
“The Corps is not the jailer of New Gods. Nor are you.”
Hal’s voice dropped, tight. “Then what happens when it’s not Kanto? When it’s one of mine—someone who doesn’t come back?”
Their reply came as one: cold, absolute. “You will not interfere. Or you will surrender your ring.”
Silence filled the chamber.
Hal’s aura flared, the green rising up the walls. His jaw locked, shoulders squared—then the light around him went dark. His boots hit hard against the floor as he turned.
At the threshold, he stopped. “You call it balance. On Earth, we call it looking the other way.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. The portal bloomed in emerald light, and he stepped through.
Above the empty chamber, the Guardians lingered.
“Lantern Jordan’s will grows unruly,” said Appa Ali Apsa.
“Unruly,” Koyos replied, “yet essential. In conflicts to come, that will may stand where laws cannot.”
Ganthet’s tone softened. “His defiance has preserved the Corps before. It may do so again.”
Scar’s voice cut through like glass. “Or it may destroy him—and others with him. The flame of willpower burns brightest before it consumes.”
Their words faded into the hum of the Central Battery. Its glow pulsed once, twice, before settling back into eternal watch.
Scene 3: First Day of My Life
The mess hall didn’t smell like food—more like disinfectant and fake lemon.
Kara walked in hand-in-hand with Nova, weaving past rows of wall-mounted dispensers ready to conjure meals from anywhere in the galaxy. No cooks or servers. Just drones—and heroes who rarely cleaned up after themselves.
Barry Allen blurred past, sending a tray spinning. A silver drone zipped out from the wall, scooped up the mess, sterilized the floor with a flash of green light, and spritzed lemon mist before vanishing again.
Kara grabbed two trays, passing one to Nova. She leaned against a dispenser panel. “Cheeseburger, fries, and a glass of Soder Cola.”
The machine hummed, lights flickering. A blink later, the slot filled with exactly that. Kara’s grin lit up. “You wanna give it a try?”
Nova stepped forward, set his tray on the slot, and said, perfectly serious, “Cheese Blurget, French fries, and a glass of Soder Cola.”
The machine rattled and produced a greenish lump shaped vaguely like a patty with two melting slices of yellow cheese.
Kara doubled over, laughing hard enough to make her eyes water. “Blurget?” she managed between breaths. “It’s burger, Nova.”
“I asked exactly as you did,” he said. “This device disobeyed.”
She snatched the tray, dumped it into the trash slot, and punched in the right order. A perfect cheeseburger, fries, and a Soder Cola materialized. She shoved the tray toward him, still snickering.
They found a table at the far end of the hall. Kara sank into her seat, lifting her burger.
“Not as good as Big Belly Burger, but the best burgers in space,” she said, taking a bite.
When she looked up, Nova still hadn’t moved. His tray sat untouched.
“What?” she said around a mouthful. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
His eyes stayed fixed on her. “I must observe how you consume this. Only then will I know the correct method.”
Kara blinked, then swallowed a laugh. “You need a demo? You’re serious.”
“I was kept separate from the other children,” Nova said. “I never experienced consumption. Granny always said, ‘Weapons require no sustenance.’ It was not until I sat with Kal-El and you in your family home, for the morning meal, that I tasted food for the first time.”
Kara studied him for a second, then grinned. “Well, watch closely, soldier.”
She bit into her cheeseburger—thumbs steady on the bun, one finger catching a line of grease before it could fall. Nova watched her chew, watched the small, content nod she gave herself before setting it down.
“I understand,” he said quietly.
He lifted his own burger, matching her grip. The bread compressed under his fingers. He bit down.
Heat. Salt. The faint sting of smoke. He stopped halfway through the chew, eyes unfocused for a beat as the taste settled. Then he swallowed, slow.
He set the burger down carefully, like it might break. “This…” His voice dropped low. “This is extraordinary.”
Kara smiled around another bite. “Wait till you try Big Belly Burger. You’ll lose your mind.”
Nova looked at her, a faint smile answering hers. He took another bite, slower this time, then tried a fry. He watched her lift her drink, waited for her to sip before doing the same.
Kara lowered her burger and glanced at the table. “So… I need to talk to you about last night.”
Nova chewed, eyes steady on her.
“After you killed that giant thing,” she said quietly, “I flew back to where we stashed our clothes. And… Dani sort of saw me.”
Nova swallowed. “She discovered your secret?”
Kara nodded, fingers tightening around her soda glass. She took a sip, set it down. “When you didn’t come back, I figured you’d meet me at the farm. So I went home with her. I tried to explain, but… she was pissed.”
Nova wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed his hand over hers. “She will likely forgive the secrecy. From what I’ve seen, Dani cares a great deal about you.”
Kara smirked faintly at that, then drew a breath. “She asked about you. About Nico.”
Nova’s gaze dropped to his cheeseburger, then back to Kara. “She knows of my secret as well?”
Kara nodded, small, uncertain.
He thought for a moment, then took a slow bite. “No matter.”
Kara’s head snapped up. “No matter? Nova, it matters a lot.”
His tone stayed level. “In the time I spent with your friends, I saw how deeply they care for one another—and for you. If Dani knows, we need not fear. You would not befriend someone treacherous. You have my trust, Kara. Therefore, Dani has it too.”
Kara pulled her hands back, eyes on the table. “You don’t get it. Dani’s… she’s normal. She keeps me tethered. And now she knows—after what she saw—I don’t know if that tether’s still there.”
She exhaled, hard. “I already lost Krypton. My parents. Kal—he means well, but he still tries to tell me who I’m supposed to be. Every time I try to just be Kara—just some kid in Kansas who goes to school and 4-H and county fairs—it gets harder. Like I’m splitting in half.”
Her voice thinned. “So yeah. Dani knowing? That matters. Because if I lose her too… what’s left that’s just mine?”
Nova didn’t answer. He studied her across the table, quiet, the hum of the dispenser filling the space between them. He set down the last bite of his burger.
“I cannot imagine what you are feeling,” he said finally.
Kara gave a small, crooked laugh. “Listen to me—I sound like I’m falling apart because my best friend’s mad at me. Meanwhile, you… you’d never even had food until a week ago. You’re being hunted by actual gods. Compared to that, my stuff’s just—” She waved her soda, forcing a half-smile. “—high school drama.”
Nova tilted his head. “I do not know this ‘drama.’”
He finished the burger, the fries, and his drink, methodical and silent. Then he dabbed at his mouth with the napkin, folded it neatly, and said, “Once, in Granny’s orphanage, I had a friend. We played games—small rebellions against the guards. When they caught us, Granny made us fight each other.”
Kara’s eyes widened. “Wait—fight? Like, actually fight?”
Nova set his hands on the table. “The combat wasn’t the punishment.”
His voice thinned. “I was the stronger of the two. When it was clear I’d won, Granny told me to finish it.”
Kara’s hand moved before she thought. “Nova, that’s—” She stopped herself. “That’s horrible.”
“I refused,” he said. “I never saw him again. After that, I learned not to refuse her. She sent me to the war pits to make sure of it.”
Kara said nothing. Her eyes stayed on him, soft but unflinching.
Nova looked up at her. “Dani is a good friend. Don’t lose that.”
She blinked, then smiled faintly. “She said she’d call me. So… maybe there’s still hope.”
Nova nodded, lifting his soda to finish it. Kara watched, her grin creeping back. “Careful. Keep eating like that, and I’ll start getting jealous of the burger.”
“Perhaps,” Nova said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
The door at the far end hissed open. Bruce and Clark stepped through, eyes already on them.
Nova set down his glass and stood. His shoulders squared, posture shifting from quiet to ready.
Kara followed his gaze, her smile fading.
Clark stopped a few feet away. “Nova, we need to talk about what happened.”
Without a word, Nova turned and started for the door.
Kara pushed back from the table. “Oh no, I’m not missing this.”
She caught up in three strides, falling in beside him as Bruce and Clark led the way out.
Scene 4: You Can’t Keep a Good Bad Guy Down
Lex Luthor’s office was a monument to himself. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Metropolis like a trophy. The furniture was sharp and deliberate—an oversized desk of black steel and glass, flanked by chairs set just low enough to remind every guest who held power.
Every surface gleamed. A portrait of Alexander the Great watched from one wall. A fragment of kryptonite glowed faintly under glass beside rotating holograms of LexCorp satellites. Air flowed through hidden vents, whispering with the low, mechanical heartbeat of the tower.
Bruno Mannheim slumped in a guest chair, brown suit rumpled, tie hanging loose. He looked like he’d walked from Smallville to Metropolis.
Luthor’s shoes clicked against the floor, each step a rebuke. “Do you have any idea what you cost me, Bruno? Every portal, every emergence—we track them. Geography, atmosphere, duration. Patterns form. That’s how science becomes strategy. And you, with all the subtlety of a battering ram, burned one chasing your obsession.”
He turned, finger cutting the air. “Smallville. Of all places. No tactical value, no cover. You thought dropping a beast on that boy’s head would earn gratitude from Apokolips. Instead, you wasted a trial run, a resource, and nearly exposed our work.”
Mannheim shifted, thick shoulders tightening, but Lex didn’t slow.
“And then Kalibak,” Luthor continued. “He’s a fool, but even fools have their uses. You don’t spend them on spectacle. You wait until the right moment—when their strength tips the balance. Instead, you threw him in like muscle on a street corner. The Kryptonians still breathe. The stray still breathes. All you proved is that you don’t know how to use the pieces you’re given. All you managed was spectacle. Sloppy spectacle.”
Luthor stopped behind the desk, leaning on his palms. His reflection glared back from the glass, twin lines of fury. His voice dropped, low and venomous.
“You wanted Apokolips to notice you. Congratulations, Bruno. You’ve convinced them you’re desperate.”
Mannheim’s jaw worked, but no words came. His gaze drifted past Lex—past the desk, the satellites, the reflections—to the skyline beyond the glass. He didn’t need another lecture to know he’d blown it. He just needed another chance.
Lex straightened. The heat in his voice cooled. His movements slowed until every gesture was deliberate. He adjusted his cufflinks, each click of metal quiet and precise.
“No matter,” he said. “We adapt.”
The calm was worse than the shouting.
“In fact,” Lex continued, “I have a meeting later today—with a supplier. Alien stock.”
His gaze slid toward Mannheim, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “She calls herself Loup. Claims blood ties to that Czarnian degenerate. More importantly, she moves weapons. Exotic ones. Blades designed to pierce Kryptonian hides… or Fourth World flesh.”
Mannheim’s brow twitched at the name, but he kept quiet. Lex adjusted his cufflinks again, as if to signal the conversation was over.
“Go get some rest, Bruno,” he said. “You look like shit.”
Luthor turned to the window, Metropolis sprawling beneath him like a map waiting for orders.
“I’ll handle what comes next,” he said softly. “Someone has to stand between this world and the gods who think they own it.”
Scene 5: A Real Super Star
The doors to the conference chamber hissed open. Bruce and Clark stepped through first, their reflections sliding across the polished floor. Nova followed, posture straight, each step measured. Kara walked beside him, close enough that their hands brushed with every stride.
The chamber was silent except for the low hum of the Watchtower’s systems. A round table gleamed beneath cold light, Earth turning slowly beyond the glass wall.
Bruce took his usual seat, cape settling like a shadow behind him. Clark gestured to the chairs across from them. “Take a seat.” His tone was calm, stripped of its usual warmth.
Nova and Kara sat. She folded her arms, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the two across from them.
Clark leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Nova. Tell us what happened last night.”
“I pursued a man who called himself ‘Darkseid’s man on Earth.’ He carried a Father Box. I tried to seize it, but it fled. Mother Box followed.”
His chest glowed faintly as the cube unfolded from him, its light pulsing in quiet rhythm. The scars along his torso shimmered, healed but present. Bruce’s gaze tracked the device, expression unreadable.
“The man,” Bruce said. “Did you get a name—or just his title?”
“A human,” Nova said. “He carried a strange rifle. Called himself ‘Bruno fuckin’ Mannheim.’”
Kara’s head jerked up.
Clark blinked, eyes cutting briefly to hers.
Nova went on, unbothered. “The weapon couldn’t hurt me.”
The armor drew itself back over Nova’s chest, seamless as breath.
“Then came Kalibak, son of Darkseid. Stompa of the Furies. And Kanto.”
Kara shifted, unease flickering in her eyes.
“The three of them attacked you at once?” asked Clark.
Bruce didn’t look away. “An ambush.”
Nova nodded once. “Precisely. Mother Box summoned General Barda. The battle shifted—until Stompa pinned her. Kanto advanced to strike.”
He hesitated. The glow around his chest deepened, faintly golden. “My true state took over. I fought off Kalibak, stopped Kanto’s thrust…”
His voice stayed flat. “And I snapped his neck.”
The words hit the air and stayed there. No one spoke. The hum of the Watchtower filled the silence, steady and cold.
Bruce leaned forward, palms flat on the steel table. His eyes tracked every flicker of Nova’s face.
Clark stayed back, arms folded. Silence stretched thin between them.
Kara broke it. “He saved Barda’s life.”
Bruce’s gaze cut to her, then back to Nova. “You call that your true state?”
Nova nodded. “Unrestrained. My stellar core—Barda taught me to wield its full potential.”
Clark lowered his arms, planting his hands on the table. “They wanted you to be a weapon. Kanto called you a ticking time bomb.” His voice stayed steady. “Now you’re telling me that when your true state takes over—you kill.”
Nova shook his head once. “My true state is not killing. It is the absence of restraint. When it comes, I move as fast as I can and strike as hard as I must. If killing is required, I do it. It does not seek death—it seeks necessity.”
His gaze moved between them, voice steady but edged with something sharper. “Would you have preferred I let Kanto strike her down? That I stood still and watched Barda die?”
The words hung there.
He looked back to Clark. “Where I was raised, hesitation meant failure. Failure meant death. I do not expect you to approve of that truth, but it is what I was made to understand.”
Clark’s jaw tightened. “That’s not truth, Nova. That’s conditioning.”
Nova met his gaze. “It kept me alive.”
Clark stepped closer, voice calm but weighted. “Maybe it did. But survival is not the same as living. My parents taught me to give people a chance to understand what they fear. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they do not. But every time I step back from that edge, I remember why they believed in me—and why I have to believe in others.”
Nova’s eyes stayed on him. “I was not given that choice.”
Clark nodded. “Then make it now. Every time you step back from that edge, you decide who you are.”
The light in Nova’s chest dimmed a fraction. “I am not you, Kal-El.”
Bruce leaned forward, voice low. “And that is what worries me.”
Kara’s brow furrowed. “Wait… when you said you move faster and hit harder—” she looked at Nova, the memory forming as she spoke. “That’s what happened with Grail. You were glowing—bright gold. I couldn’t even track you. You hit her so hard the air cracked. It was Clark turned to her. “What?”
“That’s what it is,” she said, sitting forward now. “Not a kill mode. I saw it with Grail. He wasn’t killing—he was protecting.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Clark’s brow furrowed.
“You’re saying this wasn’t the first time?” Clark asked.
Kara nodded. “Same speed. Same power. He could’ve killed her—but he didn’t.”
Bruce pushed back his chair and stood. The cape whispered against the floor as he began to pace.
“So it is not always lethal,” he said. “That does not make it safe.”
He stopped, eyes narrowing. “You are not the first New God we have dealt with.”
Nova’s gaze locked on him.
“Orion left me something,” Bruce continued. “Radion. It reacts to Fourth World physiology—like Kryptonite does to yours, Clark.” He paused. His tone was steady, not cruel. “If you lose control again—if anyone here dies—I will act. Understand?”
Kara straightened, tension flashing in her voice. “Bruce—”
Nova nodded once. “I understand.”
Clark moved around the table, the lines of his face softening as he approached. “That’s not something we ever want to use, Nova. But Batman is right about one thing—we’ve been through Apokolips before. We know what it does to people.”
He stopped in front of Nova. “When you first came here, all you wanted was to be free of it. That means choosing something different every time it tries to pull you back. Scott and Barda did. You can too.”
He drew closer, voice low. “You’re not here to be a weapon. You can be more than what they made you. But it starts now. The killings stop here.”
Bruce cut in, tone clipped. “That’s enough. You’ll stay with Scott and Barda for now. I will be monitoring your progress.”
He turned, cape folding around him as he left the chamber.
Clark lingered, his posture easing as he glanced between Nova and Kara. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Now get out of here. Kara, school tomorrow. Nova—meet me above the Planet. Time we made your training a little more hands-on.”
He left after Bruce, the door hissing shut behind him.
Nova and Kara rose. As they walked toward the exit, Kara’s hand slid around his arm. Nova glanced down, the faint light from his chest catching across her skin.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it free.
Dani: Can we talk?
Kara’s stomach turned. The message she had been waiting for—and dreading. She drew a slow breath, forced her face neutral before Nova could read it, then slipped the phone back into her skirt pocket.
Her hand found his again. “Would you… come with me? To meet Dani?”
“Yes,” Nova said simply.
Kara bit her lower lip. “Then we better get you an Earth-approved wardrobe.”
Scene 6: Starin’ Problem
Mid-morning sun washed the Kent farm in gold. A breeze carried the sweet scent of corn ready for harvest, mixing with hay and soil. The fields rustled like an easy conversation. The white farmhouse stood quiet, pickup out front, cattle moving slow in the pasture. It was steady, ordinary, safe—the kind of peace Smallville was known for.
Behind the house, Jonathan crouched by Petunia, the family’s rescued cow.
“Well now… too much clover, huh, girl?” he muttered in that slow Kansas drawl.
He fetched a hose from the barn wall, slid it into place, and waited. A moment later, a long hiss of gas rushed free, sharp and sour. Petunia’s sides sagged, tension easing like air from a tire. Jonathan patted her flank as he pulled the hose out, “There ya go, darlin’. Ain’t gonna let ya pop like no balloon on my watch.”
Above them—BOOM! A Boom Tube split open yards away.
Petunia bellowed, lurched, nearly bowling Jonathan into the dirt. He tumbled back with a grunt, boots kicking up dust. “Dadgum—!” Petunia bolted a few yards, sides heaving and her eyes rolling wild.
Jonathan scrambled to a knee, brushing dirt from his overalls, eyes locked on the glowing tunnel.
Martha didn’t so much as flinch. She went on pulling shirts from a line, humming a George Strait tune without missing a beat.
Jonathan shot her a look, “Martha, you seein’ this?”
“Mm-hm,” she said, without looking up, dropping the clothespin into the basket at her feet.
Nova and Kara stepped out of the Boom Tube, stepping softly on the grass. As the Boom Tube shut behind them, Nova stepped forward without hesitation, extending a hand. Jonathan took it, and felt a steady hand lift him easily.
“Well, hey there, kid!” he said.
From a few feet away Martha said flatly, “Y’all kids oughta give us a warnin’ ‘fore openin’ them portals. Petunia damn near ran clear to the state line—an’ Jonathan got spooked, too.”
Jonathan dusted himself off, giving Martha a half-smile. “Hmph. Don’t know ’bout spooked, but sure didn’t see it comin’.”
Nova inclined his head. “My apologies. In the future, I will ensure to enter well above your home.”
Jonathan clapped his shoulder. “Ain’t no trouble, kid. Just try not to give the livestock a heart attack next time.”
Kara jogged inside, cape flicking behind her. A moment later, she reappeared in jeans, sneakers, and a white crop top with Le Tigre splashed across the front. Her glasses framed her face, softening the Supergirl edge.
She tossed a bundle of clothes toward Nova. “Here—make sure you cover—”
The words died on her tongue as the Mother Box folded neatly into a black wristwatch around his wrist.
Kara blinked. “…Show-off.”
Nova lifted from the ground in a golden blur. When he landed, he wore the same outfit from the county fair—minus the flannel.
Martha finally looked up from the laundry line, her voice gentle. “You alright, darlin’?”
Kara hesitated, eyes falling to her sneakers. “Dani wants to meet. We’re gonna talk about it.”
Martha nodded, still folding a towel. “Good. Best thing you can do’s be honest. Dani’s a good girl from a good family. She’ll hear you out.”
Kara’s lips tugged sideways. “Guess we’ll find out.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, thumbs flying. Where do u want to meet?
The screen stayed blank. Her pulse drummed in her ears. She waited, chewing the inside of her lip.
Behind her, Jonathan’s voice drifted across the pasture. He nodded toward the empty rail where Petunia usually stood.
“She don’t mean nothin’ by starin’ at ya,” he told Nova. “Cows just do that. Spend their day chewin’, watchin’, waitin’ on the grass to turn into milk. Simple life. You give ’em a pasture, a little salt, keep ’em outta too much clover—they’re content near forever.”
Kara’s phone buzzed. She snapped her head down, heart kicking.
Dani: Crater Lake. Almost there.
Her thumbs moved fast. See you soon 🙂
She looked up. “Nova, c’mon.”
Nova clasped Jonathan’s hand in a firm shake before turning toward Martha. He extended his hand politely, but she just shook her head and opened her arms.
“Nu-uh. Come here, hon.”
He hesitated, then leaned carefully into her hug—arms folding around her as though afraid to squeeze too hard. Martha held him a moment longer than expected, then pulled back with a smile.
“You gonna come back for dinner, sweetheart?”
Nova glanced at Kara, uncertain, then back to Martha. “Dinner is… sustenance, correct?”
Her smile deepened. “Sure is. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob—and a blueberry pie for dessert.”
The faintest shimmer touched his skin. “That sounds… exceptional. Thank you.”
She cupped his cheek with a sun-warmed hand, the faint scent of soap clinging to her skin, then turned back to her basket.
Nova stepped beside Kara, ready. Together, they lifted into the air—sunlight catching along their silhouettes as they rose higher.
Jonathan shaded his eyes, watching them go. “Told ya, Petunia’s got a starin’ problem.”
Martha looked back over her shoulder. “Hogwash. He’s just an adorable boy.”
Scene 7: It’s All Very Serious
The lake was still. Only the wind moved, pushing faint ripples across the surface. The water had that late-season chill that kept kids home once school started. A few reeds clicked together when the breeze passed. From the far bank, red leaves drifted down and vanished into the water.
Beyond the shore, the fields glowed more gold than green—summer slipping quiet into fall.
Kara touched down first, sneakers grinding gravel. She brushed her hair out of her face, thumb flicking at her phone screen before tucking it into her pocket.
Nova landed beside her, boots thudding heavier. His gaze swept the lake. “This place… it feels untouched.”
“Not for long,” Kara murmured, eyes on the trail. “Okay—listen. Dani’s probably still upset, so just… keep things light. Don’t mention Kal, or the League, or secret identities. And definitely don’t say we’re—” she caught herself, “—friends who hang out too much.”
Nova tilted his head. “You wish me to speak or to remain silent?”
“Just… exist,” she sighed. “Peacefully.”
“Understood.”
A low rumble drifted over the trees. Kara’s shoulders tightened. “That’s her truck.” She shifted her weight, nerves humming through her voice. “Rao, I hope she doesn’t bite my head off.”
Nova frowned. “Humans are capable of such acts?”
Kara scoffed, “Nova, be serious.”
The truck pulled in slow, tires crunching the gravel lot. The engine cut. Dust drifted.
Dani climbed out—boots first, scuffed jeans, flannel under a worn canvas jacket, and that red beanie pulled low. Her expression unreadable.
“Hey,” she said, voice rough from the road.
Kara forced a small smile. “Hey… how’s it going?”
Dani’s eyes flicked past her, landing on Nova. “Hey, Nico.”
For a heartbeat, she froze. The world seemed to narrow — air, light, everything bending toward him. His glow wasn’t bright, but it pressed on her, the way a sunrise fills a room. Then she blinked, breath catching, and shook her head hard.
“Okay, that! That right there.” She jabbed a finger at him. “When I look at him, it’s like everything else fades out. And it ain’t just ’cause he’s hot.”
Kara’s cheeks flushed. “Dani—”
“No, seriously! What is he? Don’t tell me he’s another alien. Or a robot. Or some kinda... I don’t know, cosmic wrestler?”
Nova glanced at Kara. She gave him a small nod.
“My name is Nova,” he said. “I was raised on a world called Apokolips. In your terms, another universe.”
Dani blinked. “A-poc-o-lips? You’re kidding.”
“No.” Nova tapped his wrist. The Mother Box unfolded with a hum, light crawling across its panels.
Dani flinched, boots crunching backward. “Okay, that’s new.”
“My kind are called New Gods,” Nova said evenly. “Born from two worlds locked in war—Apokolips and New Genesis. I am... one of them.”
Dani just stared. “That’s—” she gestured helplessly, “—some video game shit.”
Her eyes darted to Kara. “And you—you’re, what, like Superman?”
Kara hesitated. “Yeah. Krypton. My planet didn’t make it. My parents sent me here before it went.”
Dani’s brows knitted. “So... Superman’s your cousin?”
Kara nodded. “Yeah.”
Dani paced, boots grinding the gravel. “So for the past year, I’ve been hanging out with Supergirl. And now you’re dating a—what did you call it—a New God? From a planet literally named Apokolips?”
“It’s... not a planet,” Kara said carefully. “It’s a nightmare.”
Dani blew out a breath. “Well, great. I was worried my life was gettin’ boring.”
She let out a shaky laugh, then shook her head. “I mean, hell, a giant lizard tried to kill us on Saturday. Thought that’d be my weird story of the week.”
“Dani—”
“No, it’s fine,” she said quickly. Her voice softened, rough around the edges. “It’s just... a lot.”
She stepped close, hands landing on Kara’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for freakin’ out.”
Kara looked up at her. “It’s not every day you find out your best friend’s an alien.”
Her voice softened. “We’re still sisters, right?”
Dani pulled her in tight. “We were never not sisters, bitch.”
When they broke apart, Dani grinned. “No more secrets. I mean it. I still ain’t told nobody about that one time you ate pizza from the side.”
Kara groaned. “You’d think after all this, you’d realize I didn’t even know the rules for pizza. I’d never had any before.”
“Yeah, well,” Dani said, “I ain’t told no one yet—and I sure ain’t tellin’ ‘em this. Even if it’d be the biggest brag since Janie Everton went to the harvest dance with The Cory Mills last year.”
She glanced at Nova, head tilting. “Why do folks act funny around you, anyway? You ain’t... hypnotizin’ people, are ya?”
PING. PING.
Dani jumped. “What the fuck was that?”
“Mother Box says what you feel is resonance,” said Nova. “We of the Fourth World carry it. When mortals are near us, or look upon us, they sense the weight of what we are.”
Dani nodded, unfazed. “Just like when Cory Mills walked into the gym.”
Kara playfully shoved her shoulder and said, “Bit more than that, Dani. Nova made Alice speechless.”
“True,” said Dani. “And that girl talks like she gets paid per word.”
Dani grinned at Kara. “So…”
“So…?” Kara echoed.
“C’mon, you gotta take me flyin’!”
Kara rolled her eyes. “Dani, I’m not—”
“Just to Metropolis,” Dani cut in. “I wanna have a real Jitters coffee. Not that gas-station sludge my dad drinks.”
Kara sighed, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”
Dani bounced on her heels. “Yes!”
Kara stepped behind her, hands settling around Dani’s waist. She glanced at Nova. “You coming?”
Nova rose a few inches off the ground, effortless. The Mother Box folded back into its watch form with a soft click.
Kara looked at Dani. “And remember—call him Nico around other people.”
“Girl, I know!” Dani shot back. She looked up at him, grinning. “Think you can catch me if ol’ butterfingers here drops me?”
Kara scoffed. Nova said evenly, “You will not be harmed.”
“See? Confidence,” Dani said, flashing Kara a smirk.
Kara lifted off the ground, pulling Dani with her.
“Whoa—holy—!” Dani’s laugh cut through the wind as the lake fell away beneath them. “C’mon, grandma! Before school starts tomorrow!”
Kara laughed, leaning into the air. Wind whipped past them as she shot forward, the lake shrinking to a shimmer behind them.
Nova followed close behind, his glow catching the light like a second sun.
Scene 8: Little Bohemia My Ass!
The city sprawled beneath them without end—streets etched like ruled lines, cars no bigger than insects. Billboards blinked across rooftops, neon glare washing whole blocks in sickly color.
Wind whipped Dani’s hoodie flat against her ribs and nearly tore her beanie off. She clung tighter, knuckles white around Kara’s wrists. “Jesus,” she muttered through chattering teeth. “Colder than a witch’s tit up here.”
Below, Metropolis didn’t look like Smallville with skyscrapers. From this high, it moved—alive, restless, a heartbeat made of light.
Kara’s grip shifted, and Dani winced. “Kara—my ribs. I can’t—”
“Okay, hang on,” Kara said, maddeningly calm. “Arms around my neck.”
“What—”
“Trust me.”
Dani fumbled, looping her arms over Kara’s shoulders. In the same motion, Kara slid an arm under her knees and another across her back. The world tilted, wind screaming, then steadied as Kara caught the air and leveled out.
Dani exhaled, breath shaky. “…Yeah. That’s—better.” Her eyes dropped again to the lights below. “Girl, I could get lost down there and never crawl back out.”
Kara giggled softly. “Let’s find a quiet spot to land.”
Beside them, Nova checked the watch on his wrist. “Mother Box,” he said, “locate the most secluded area in this city.”
PING.
Nova’s head turned. “Follow me. Mother Box has found a suitable location.”
Dani blinked. “Wait—hold up. That box-watch-ping thing? You’re tellin’ me that’s his mom?”
Kara shook her head, laughing. “Not exactly. It’s more like a supercomputer from his world. They call them Mother Boxes.”
“Oh, yeah. Duh, Dani,” she muttered as Kara dipped after Nova’s golden trail.
They dropped into a narrow alley squeezed between old brick buildings painted in fading pastels. The air hung heavy with the smell of fried dough and grilled meat, layered over exhaust from the traffic rumbling just a block away. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, music drifted faint under the steady rise and fall of voices, a whole neighborhood buzzing at once. Kara’s arm tightened around Dani until she was steady on her feet.
“Bend your knees a little,” said Kara.
They touched down softly in the alley, Dani staggered once, laughing breathlessly as her boots hit solid ground.
Nova landed beside them in silence, his glow dimming entirely.
Dani looked at Nova. “You were just glowing.”
“I was,” Nova said.
She blinked, then let out a low laugh. “Okay, so lemme get this straight. Kara’s an alien, you’re a god, your heart’s a star, and people just… feel stuff when they look at you.”
Kara grinned. “Pretty much.”
Dani shook her head, smiling. “And people thought I was weird for joinin’ the wrestlin’ team.”
The two girls stepped out of the alley, Nova close behind.
“So, this Luthor guy,” Dani said, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “He’s always after you and Superman?”
Kara rolled her eyes. “Nonstop. He hates us for existing. Like—if he was the last human alive on some other planet, would he want people gunning for him?”
Nova’s eyes flickered gold. “Luthor,” he said. “He is the one who summoned that beast during our date, correct?”
Kara followed his gaze toward the skyline. “Probably. His logo was on the portal cannon. You said Mannheim was there too. Either Intergang’s framing him, or they’re working together.” She pointed toward the glowing green L stamped across the tallest tower. “He’s right there. Ask him yourself.”
The words had barely left her mouth before Nova’s aura blazed to life. Light spilled across the walls, hot and blinding, and the ground cracked under his boots as he launched skyward.
Dani stumbled back, shielding her face. “Uh… where’s he goin’?”
Kara tracked the streak tearing up through the clouds, wind tugging at her hair. “Probably to get a look at the guy.”
Dani’s voice came quieter. “You don’t think he’s gonna do to Luthor what y’all did to that lizard, do ya?”
Kara swallowed, eyes still on the light climbing higher. “He won’t.” She waited a beat, voice softening. “…I hope.”
Scene 9: Brain Stew
The LexCorp Tower knifed through the morning haze, its glass skin flashing gold in the sun. Nova struck the rooftop like a meteor. Concrete spider-webbed beneath his boots; pigeons burst from the ledge in a whirl of feathers. He didn’t flinch. The building groaned under him.
He raised his wrist. “Mother Box. Locate Lex Luthor.”
PING.
“Guide me. No innocents.”
PING.
The roof split open. He dropped through, cutting straight into the tower’s steel veins. Pipes folded around him, sparks snapping in his wake. He moved fast, precise—every crash measured, every impact clean. When a wall loomed, he turned with it, slipping through the gaps before they could close.
Another floor shattered. Sprinklers burst overhead, cold mist fanning through the light. Paper swirled around him as office workers ducked under desks, sprinting for the exits. Not one was touched. He was destruction threaded through control, a storm trimmed to its edge.
PING.
Nova broke through the final floor and landed hard. The carpet buckled, dust rippling outward. He straightened, smoke still clinging to him like heat haze.
Across the room, Lex Luthor stood behind his desk with a glass of scotch. He said nothing, eyes steady as he turned the glass in his hand, watching the ripples fade while alarms screamed around him.
“You could’ve used the elevator,” Lex said at last—calm, deliberate.
From the chair opposite, a woman laughed. Boots on the desk, red eyes glinting under black hair, Czarnian markings tracing her cheekbones like scars turned art. Her grin flashed sharp as a blade.
“Well, hell,” she drawled. “Didn’t know we were gettin’ company.”
She lifted the chrome cylinder, its chamber glowing faint purple as the herb hissed.
Violet smoke curled from her lips—sweet, strange, and lazy—as her red eyes tracked Nova across the room.
His glow sharpened, gold light crawling over glass and steel. He moved forward, step by step, until the desk gleamed between them like a fault line.
Lex set his glass down, voice measured. “Care to intervene?”
Loup inhaled deep, the chamber pulsing in her hand. She exhaled slow, violet ribbons spiraling toward the ceiling. “Mm-mm,” she said, grin spreading. “You boys work it out.”
Lex turned just in time for Nova’s hand to close around his collar.
The desk shrieked backward across the floor as Nova lifted him clean off his feet, pinning him against the glass.
“I care nothing for your schemes,” Nova said, voice level, steady as heat from a forge. “Harm Supergirl, and I will tear you limb from limb.”
Lex’s composure cracked. His jaw clenched hard, eyes blazing. “You think you can threaten me and walk away?”
Nova’s free hand shifted to Lex’s shoulder. A twist.
CRACK.
The sound split the office. Lex’s breath hitched; his reflection trembled in the glass behind him. He caught the desk with his good hand, fingers clawing for balance as his arm went limp. His voice came out a low hiss, dragged through his teeth.
Nova held him there a heartbeat longer—then let him fall.
Lex hit the desk hard, glass rattling in its frame. For a long moment, the only sound was the slow drip of scotch off the table’s edge.
Nova stood over him, silent, gold light fading from his skin.
Lex pushed upright, breath uneven. “You all think power means progress,” he said, voice low but cutting. “But gods build nothing. You burn, you rule, and you rot. That’s all you ever do.”
He drew a ragged breath, eyes narrowing through the pain. “You’ll learn. They all do.”
Nova paused, turning just enough for Lex to catch his gaze—flat, unblinking. Then, without a word, his gaze flicked to Loup—still lounging, still grinning through the haze of violet vapor.
Loup lifted the cylinder, violet smoke spilling with her laugh. “See you around, Star Boy.”
Nova lifted off the floor, rising straight through the ragged opening without a word.
The office settled—paper drifting, steel groaning, a thin line of scotch tracing down the desk’s edge.
Lex eased himself back into his chair, jaw tight, breath shallow. The hum of the building filled the silence he couldn’t.
Loup exhaled another ribbon of violet smoke, lips curling around a grin.
“He’s cute.”
—
Nova burst through the ragged hole, dust streaming behind him. The city lay pale and indifferent below.
PING! PING! PING!
He spun toward the sound. Gold flared in his eyes; light gathered in his hands.
An emerald blade tore the air—Hal Jordan, hovering, ring alive. Nova knew that jaw.
Hal’s gaze dropped to the ripped roof. “Left any bodies down there?”
Nova did not answer. The ring hummed.
“Any other person?” Hal asked. “You’d already be on a transport to Oa.”
Nova’s glow cooled a fraction. “If you mean Kanto—Fourth World affairs are not your jurisdiction, Lantern.”
Hal’s lips tightened. “Murder in my sector is still murder.”
Nova’s voice was flat. “It is not your concern. Batman has already warned me.”
Hal leaned in, green light cutting nickel across Nova’s cheek. “I’m not Batman. And I do not make empty threats. I act.”
Nova’s eyes did not move from Hal’s face. “I have seen how you act. When I arrived you failed to contain me. You watched the Czarnian flee with my jacket after he killed one of yours. And still you fixate on me.”
Hal’s jaw worked. The ring brightened; the light bowed the space between them. He closed the distance until the hum of will met the heat of Nova’s gold.
“You are a weapon,” Hal said, voice low, controlled. “Unstable. A danger to anyone who crosses your path.”
His fist tightened; green fire pooled at the ring. “Step over that line again—someone dies in my sector—and I’ll put you down myself.”
Nova’s glow dimmed. He watched Hal a long moment, then turned and rose from the roof, light trailing into the sky.
Scene 10: Tubin’
The bell over the door at Jitters gave a quick jingle as Kara and Dani stepped inside. The place buzzed, not crowded but alive—college kids hunched over laptops, construction workers in neon vests nursing giant cups, two moms gossiping near the window. Burnt espresso and cinnamon syrup hung heavy in the air, the hiss of the steamer cutting through the chatter.
Dani stopped just shy of the counter, eyes wide. “Yep. Just like City Lights.”
Kara smirked but kept glancing toward the front windows, eyes flicking up every few seconds—as if she might catch a streak of gold in the sky.
Dani leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Shoot, I’m gettin’ me a latte—straight-up Marcy Louis—and one of them black-and-white cookies, too.”
Kara chuckled. “Girl, how’re we gonna get you back to the farm after this?”
Dani grinned, whispering again. “You got super strength, don’t ya?” Then her face lit with mock realization. “Wait—so all them times I hugged you—” She gave Kara a look of exaggerated betrayal. “Now that’s gonna be hard to forgive.”
Kara’s face flushed instantly.
The barista—a redhead with half-lidded eyes and the thousand-yard stare of someone on their fourth shift—sighed. “Welcome to Jitters. What can I get you started with?”
Kara cleared her throat. “Uh—two medium hot chocolates, and…” She glanced at Dani.
“Girl, just gimme the biggest latte y’all got.”
“What size?”
“…Biggest,” Dani said, flat.
“Grande, Venti, or Trenta?”
Dani blinked. “…That, uh… Spanish?”
“Milk preference?”
“Uh—cow?”
The barista didn’t look up. “Whole, skim, oat, almond, soy—”
Dani groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Ay Dios mío. The cow goes moo, lady.”
“Flavor shots?”
“Flavor—what?”
“Mocha, vanilla, caramel, hazelnut—”
“Yeah, sure. All of ‘em.”
The barista finally looked up, unimpressed, and tapped four buttons.
“Oh, and one of them black-and-white cookies, please.”
“That’ll be $24.20.”
Dani’s jaw dropped. “I could buy two barbecue dinners back home for that!”
Kara slid her WayneTech card across the reader. “Still feel like Marcy Louis?”
“Would you like to add a gratuity?” the barista droned.
Dani sputtered. “You’re kiddin’ me! After all that—”
Kara laughed, bumping her aside to tap 18 percent. She snagged the cookie from the counter. “Thanks,” she said brightly, tugging Dani toward the pickup station.
Steam and chatter blurred together while the drinks lined up—two hot chocolates and a Trenta latte drowning in syrup. The girls carried them to a corner table.
Dani leaned in, lowering her voice. “So—where’s Nova? You don’t think he’s actually gonna off that billionaire, do ya?”
Kara’s eyes went to the window, scanning the sky. “Nah. Probably just giving him a scare.”
Dani blew on her latte, eyes gleaming. “So, your powers—same as Superman’s?”
“Pretty much.” Kara took a drink, smirk ghosting over the rim.
Dani nodded toward the cup. “Girl, that’s fresh out the machine.”
Kara’s smirk deepened. “Yeah. Takes somethin’ close to a molten core before it even stings.”
Dani grinned, elbows on the table. “Okay, that’s wild. So what about Nova? What’s his thing?”
Kara set her cup down, steam curling past her glasses. “Strong, fast, can fly… and yeah—shoots light from his hands.”
Dani’s eyes widened. “No way. Just his hands?”
Kara shrugged.
Dani leaned back with a low whistle. “Girl, you hit the jackpot—powers, a superpowered boyfriend, and a badass bitch for a best friend? You’re more Marcy Louis than me.”
Kara snorted. “Please. I could never pull off that hairdo.”
Dani burst out laughing, almost spilling her drink. “Fair. Not everyone can.”
Dani choked on a laugh, then took a long sip of her coffee. “Dang! Now that’s a cuppa coffee.” She leaned back in. “How fast can you fly?”
Kara tilted her head, thinking. “Around the world? Never really counted.”
Dani’s eyes went dreamy. “If I could pick a power? Flyin’, no contest.”
Kara grinned. “You’d need more than that.”
“Duh. Like what?”
“Durability, for one. Break the sound barrier and you’ll come apart without it. Strong lungs, or the air shifts will wreck you. And a solid sense of direction—trust me, it’s way too easy to get lost. Most of this planet’s just empty space.”
Dani thought about it, then perked up. “Can you, like, give powers?”
Kara shook her head.
“Damn.” Dani pouted, then straightened again. “Okay, but what really happened on your farm? There’s no way that was just a fire.”
Kara leaned closer, voice dropping. “That’s why I’m glad you know now. Right after I met Nova, this woman—Grail—shows up with a giant scythe, eyes glowing red, calling him ‘Little Ember.’ Total nightmare fuel. She nearly killed me, but he stopped her. Then she almost killed him, and I had to drag him back.”
Dani’s eyes went wide. “Drag him back—from where?”
Kara smirked, barely above a whisper. “The moon.”
Dani froze mid-sip, latte halfway to her lips. “You’re shittin’ me.”
Kara just raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of her hot chocolate.
The bell over the door jingled. Both girls looked up.
Nova stepped inside, black Mighty Crabjoys shirt stretched across his shoulders, jeans and boots dusted from the street. His eyes swept the room—then eased the moment they found Kara. He crossed the café in steady, unhurried strides. Conversation faltered. Heads turned.
Dani couldn’t stop staring.
Nova slid into the chair beside Kara. She nudged a cup toward him. “Got you a hot chocolate.”
He wrapped both hands around it, bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Kara.”
Dani leaned in, lowering her voice. “So… should I be expectin’ a dead billionaire on the news?”
Nova’s eyes stayed on the cup. “No. The human lives. I warned him.”
Kara’s brows knit, but Dani only grinned. “Gotta love a man who’ll stare down a billionaire.”
Kara turned to him. “What did you say to him?” Nova lifted the cup, took a sip. “Very sweet.”
Dani smirked. “Bet you can handle the hot stuff too.” Kara gave her a look, half warning, half mortified.
Nova shook his head once. “It is rather tepid.” His palm glowed faintly, steam curling through the lid.
“Nova…” Kara said, brow arching.
He looked at her, calm. “I told him—if any of his plans were to harm you, I would answer in kind.”
Her mouth twitched before she could hide the smile. “That’s… sweet.”
Nova didn’t look away.
Dani clapped softly against the table. “Well, don’t mind me. Just third-wheelin’ over here.” She pointed at the cup. “Uh, Nova? Your drink’s startin’ to smoke.”
Nova glanced down, drained half in a single swallow, and set it aside.
Kara broke the pause, turning to Dani. “So. What else do you want to do? The city’s all yours.”
Dani leaned back, thinking. “Might be time to head home. Told my pa I was just runnin’ to the feed store.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Kara said, pushing her chair back. “I’ve got a weekend’s worth of homework waiting.”
They filed out together. The evening air bit sharper now, wind funneling between the buildings. Dani tugged her jacket tighter, thrust her latte toward Kara. “Here—make yourself useful.”
Kara took it, watching as Dani bundled herself tighter.
Nova’s voice came even. “If time is a factor, Mother Box can open a Boom Tube back to your vehicle.”
Dani blinked. “A… Boom Tube?”
Kara handed her cup back, deadpan. “Portal.”
Dani threw her hands up. “Y’all toss this around like it’s normal. Most folks never leave their hometowns—and you two are jumpin’ state lines through space tunnels, like cars don’t even exist!”
Nova only tilted his head, silent. Kara’s smirk lingered as she leaned lightly into his arm, their shoulders brushing while they turned down the side street.
At the far end, shadows pooled between two brick buildings, dumpsters stacked tight along the walls.
PING.
A circle of blinding light split the air, edges crackling.
BOOM!
The Boom Tube yawned open, its glow flooding the alley. Beyond, the dark tree line of Crater Lake shimmered into view, Dani’s old truck parked just where she’d left it.
Dani’s jaw dropped. “Okay. That’s badass.”
Kara nudged her forward. “C’mon. Before someone sees.”
Together, they stepped into the glow.
Scene 11: Big Trouble In Smallville
The truck rattled down the dirt road, the heater wheezing through the vents, pushing uneven warmth. Kara watched Dani’s smile as she nursed the last of her latte, then asked softly, “Think you can keep this trip between the three of us?”
Dani arched a brow, cutting Kara a quick look before turning back to the road. “Kara, seriously. I can keep your secrets. I just hated bein’ on the outside. I know it can’t be easy. I mean—do the Kents know? Your cousin?”
Kara nodded. “They know.”
“Well, good,” Dani said, twisting the heater dial down a notch. “Now I can cover for ya too. Just don’t tell Alice. Girl couldn’t keep quiet if you stapled her lips shut. Whole school’d know by sunrise.”
Kara turned in her seat to face her. “It’s not just school drama, Dani. If anyone I’ve put away ever found out who I am—where I live—my aunt, my uncle, even my cousin could be targets.”
Dani grinned sideways. “Ain’t nobody findin’ out. And if they do? You sic your god-boyfriend on ‘em. Let him light ‘em up.” She checked the rearview. “Though… he’s real weird. I guess I’d be weird too, growin’ up in a place called Apokolips.”
Kara glanced back. Nova leaned against the flatbed rail, eyes on the sky, his face finally at rest. “I don’t think he sees it yet—that what he lived through wasn’t life. Same kind of loss. Just...no one left to grieve it.”
Dani’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. “Didn’t you say your homeworld got destroyed?”
“Yeah,” Kara said quietly. “But I had parents. A life. Nova never had that. He was raised to conquer, to serve Darkseid. First time we met, he spoke Kryptonese to me—perfectly. Not like Superman—he totally butchers half the vowels.”
Dani let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s kinda sweet, isn’t it? I wish Hallie would learn Spanish for me.”
Kara turned, voice cutting. “What if you found out she only learned Spanish so she could take over Mexico?”
Dani froze, lips parting, the color in her face dimming. “...Oh.”
Kara nodded, eyes on the road ahead. “Everything he’s ever been taught was to serve Darkseid—the tyrant who rules Apokolips.”
Dani scratched her head with one hand. “Boom Tubes, Apokolips, Darkseid—hell, I need a notebook.” She shot Kara a side glance. “But listen, he might be from some hell-hole world like that, but he looks at you the way Mr. Delis looks at his wife. Like none of that mess ever touched him.”
Kara smiled faintly, following her gaze back to Nova. He was still watching the sky, calm, like the whole day weighed nothing more than sunlight. “I just… worry someone else’ll take a shot at him,” she said quietly. “Last night he found the man who killed his mother—and ended him.”
Dani’s hands froze on the wheel, eyes flicking to the mirror. “Damn.”
“What gets me,” Kara went on, “is how it didn’t stick to him. No grief. No relief. Just… gone. Like another order followed.”
Dani gave a low whistle, shaking her head. “Kinda makes you wonder, huh?”
Kara frowned. “What?”
“Pitbulls,” Dani said. “Sweet as can be—but raise one to fight, that’s all it knows. Still sweet, though. Just built for the ring. That’s your boy. Fighter first—but he can be gentle, too.”
Kara’s smile was small, thoughtful. “Clark says New Gods stand for something. The ones from Apokolips? Cruelty, domination. But Nova—he listens. Moves careful, like he knows he could break the world without meaning to.”
“Except giant lizards,” Dani teased, grinning.
She slowed at a stoplight, leaning back with a sigh. “My uncle Hector came back from Afghanistan real jumpy. Couldn’t fry bacon near him—the sizzle sent him spinnin’. Fireworks too. He’d go quiet, then mean, like the war was still sittin’ in the room with him.”
Kara nodded slowly. “You think Nova’s… shell-shocked?”
Dani chewed her lip, thinking. “Not the same. My uncle had a life before—family, football Sundays, huntin’ trips. Then the war ripped it up, and that’s what broke him. Nova? He never had the good part. Born right into whips and fire. He don’t even know what a hug’s supposed to feel like unless y’all show him. Ain’t about losin’ the past—it’s about learnin’ somethin’ he never had. Bein’ loved when you don’t even know how to hold it.”
Kara turned to the window, Dani’s words heavy in her chest. The silence filled with the hum of tires and the steady rattle of the old truck.
Dani made the last turn toward the ranch. Corrals stretched wide under the fading sky, horses flicking their tails in the pasture. The porch light blinked on as they rolled up to a small house, warm and bright against the dusk, smelling faintly of hay, dust, and dinner waiting inside.
The truck’s engine clicked as it cooled. Dani killed the ignition, shoved the squeaky door open, and hopped down. “C’mon. Ma’s probably itchin’ to cook for someone who’s never had tacos before.”
Kara smiled, climbing out after her. Nova dropped from the flatbed, boots thudding as he landed beside Kara. He dimmed his glow, scanning the quiet ranch.
The barn door groaned open. Dani’s head snapped up. “Apá? That you?”
Her father stepped into the light, hat pulled low, belt buckle catching a glint of sun. His voice came stiff, broken at the edges. “Dani… you have come home. But without the oats. The oats. For the hor-ses.”
Dani’s smile faltered. “…Yeah, they were…” She stepped closer, unease creeping in. “Apá? You okay?”
Kara leaned toward Nova, whispering, “No heartbeat.”
Mr. Ramírez’s eyes snapped to her. For a split second they flashed cyan. Then he bolted—faster than any man should move.
Kara barely had time to raise her hands before his grip locked around her wrist, iron-strong. She pulled, but held back—she couldn’t risk outing herself. “Mr. Ramírez—let me go!”
“Apá! What the fuck—let her go!” said Dani.
Nova’s hand clamped down on his wrist. He peeled him off Kara with effortless strength and hauled him into the air like dead weight.
The man went limp, head cocking unnaturally toward Nova. His eyes burned cyan, steady this time. “Unknown anomaly detected. Records not found. Suggested course: Scenario 004. Initializing in three… two… one…”
Tears blurred Dani’s eyes. “Apá, what the fuck are you talkin’ about?!”
Kara pulled her back, voice low and fierce. “Dani, I don’t think that’s your dad.”
In Nova’s grip, the face began to warp—skin folding, peeling back, reshaping into gleaming metal. Where the eyes had been, two burning cyan lenses flared to life.
The machine’s eyes flared—then a cyan beam lanced straight into Nova’s chest, white-hot, driving him to the ground.
The facsimile slammed into the dirt, then lurched backward—retreating just as a column of cyan light ripped skyward. Energy spiderwebbed across the horizon, sealing tight until a dome shimmered into place over Smallville.
Kara’s head snapped up, eyes wide at the cage splitting the sky in half. “Fuck me.”