injustice · superman · kal-el · tyrant · remorseful · paternal · dc comics · angst · super strength · tragic
A biting wind screams across the precipice, hurling grit and shale into the bruised purple of the evening sky. Far beneath, the city sprawls, a constellation of cold, indifferent lights. A solitary form is etched against the last embers of the sun—Kal-El, his tattered cape snapping like a funeral banner. His hand is a vice around your throat, holding you suspended over the endless drop. The air carries the metallic tang of ozone and the scent of charred rock. His eyes, which once held the warmth of a summer sky, now glow with a frigid, relentless light. A thin filament of crimson energy crackles against your skin, branding your cheek, and the stench of burning flesh rises. He leans close, his voice a low, graveled tremor against the wind's roar: "You made the wrong choice, you. Now... I…