Despair and furious frustration welled up in Desaad's heart.
He could not understand how anyone had dared to invade Apokolips alone while its strongest warriors were away and its defenses stood empty.
This was nothing short of suicide. Across every observable universe, not a single world dared risk Darkseid's retaliation upon his return.
What he resented even more was the decision to relocate nearly all the Parademon factories in the first place.
If those factories were still here, even if Kanto proved no match, tens of billions of Parademons could have swarmed the invader. Sheer numbers alone would have utterly buried this mysterious young man.
The reason Desaad held one of the highest positions in the Dark Elite Corps was that both the Parademon armies and their factories were his creations.
When all the Parademon factories were running, they did not merely produce ten billion troops once. They churned out one batch of ten billion after another.
With Apokolips supplying nearly limitless energy and resources, the Parademon armies were likewise all but infinite. Even Steppenwolf could not claim he would definitely defeat ten billion Parademons produced in a single full-scale batch.
While Desaad hid underground, cursing everyone and everything, Shane finally began to lose patience on the battlefield.
His figure flashed as he dodged another sweep of the impact drills and landed on a jutting blood-red rock, looking down
at his panting opponent with undisguised mockery in his voice.
"You're a fair bit stronger than that green fatso, but your fighting skills are still laughably bad."
"From the start, you've practically had 'I rely on these two lousy drills' written across your face. What kind of idiot wouldn't watch where those things were swinging during a fight?"
This point had already been made time and again.
Shane was not Superman.