Within the Curvature Rift, the concepts of time and space were twisted into a chaotic slurry.
Thirty thousand enormous Parademon warships floated silently in this immaterial ocean.
Their very presence tore visible fissures through the surrounding void.
The bridge of the flagship Fist of Grief was dimly lit.
The air carried the scorched smell of cooling metal mingled with ozone.
Cast from pitch-black metal, the throne was cold, immense, and towering at the highest point of the bridge.
Darkseid sat upon it.
His massive body almost merged with the throne, his gray skin like the hardest stone.
Every inch of muscle held enough power to crush stars.
His gaze rested ahead.
There, a holographic beam projected from the void, playing a fragmented set of data on a loop.
It was the final footage Steppenwolf had transmitted before his death.
The image shook violently.
A man wearing a dark dressing gown caught Steppenwolf's battle axe with one hand, though Steppenwolf had poured all his divine power into it.
Then an enlarged sole filled the screen.
Next came the sharp crack of a skull shattering, followed by the piercing wail of a Mother Box's energy being forcibly stripped away.
Finally, the image went dark.
Below the bridge, the core members of the Dark Elite stood in two rows, their heads bowed.
No one dared look up at the sovereign on the throne.
DeSaad stood beneath the steps closest to the throne.
His back was hunched, and the shadow of his hood hid most of his face, leaving only his pale, shriveled chin exposed.
He held a Bio-Analyzer displaying a constant stream of shifting data, several metal tendrils extending from it connected to the holographic beam's energy source.
"Your Majesty."
DeSaad's voice was dry and hoarse, like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together.