Justice League, Watchtower.
Five figures occupied their respective seats at the long metal table, the atmosphere so oppressive that even breathing seemed superfluous.
Wally leaned back in his chair, one leg dangling over the edge of the conference table.
His previously broken leg is now completely healed; the Speed Force's super-healing ability has freed him from the cast.
John wasn't there; the fatal wound that pierced his abdomen was still being stitched up in the medical bay.
Bruce interlaced his fingers and rested his elbows on the table.
The black combat boots trotted silently on the metal floor, and the gaze beneath the hood pierced straight at Clark opposite him.
" Clark, you were the closest just now," Bruce asked, "What weight class is that guy who called himself Thor in?"
Clark didn't respond immediately; his red cape hung behind his chair, and his broad shoulders slumped slightly.
The scene in the ruins kept replaying in his mind.
The blond man stood there, not a trace of energy leaking out.
Ordinary, extremely ordinary.
Even his heart rate and muscle fiber density are almost identical to those of the strong men who carry hay on farms in Kansas.
But just as the other party raised their hand to slap the combined entity...
A chill ran down Clark's spine.
"When he's not fighting, he's not even as good as a third-rate street thug." Clark pressed his hands firmly on the table, his fingertips leaving shallow dents in the special alloy.
"But in that tiny fraction of a second when he erased the combination of Lex Luthor and Brainiac, I felt the pressure."
Clark paused for a few seconds, his chest heaving more violently.
"Even when Darkseid led his Apokolips army to invade, I never felt such a terrifying sense of oppression."
Clark's speech slowed down, as if he was carefully choosing his words.
"He crushed that monster, capable of destroying the earth, as easily as crushing a flying insect. I didn't even see what energy he used. There was no high-energy reaction, no magical fluctuations, just... erasure."
Diana snorted coldly, and the hilt of the Sword of Hephaestus slammed against the metal tabletop, making a crisp sound.
"Gods are never trustworthy." Diana turned her head away, refusing to accept Clark's shock.
"The ancient texts of the Amazons clearly state that those high and mighty beings are all a group of madmen driven by arrogance and desire."
He helped us, but he definitely has ulterior motives. If he dares to cause trouble on Earth, my sword will sever his head. No matter what level he is.
Bruce remained noncommittal regarding Diana's declaration of force, arguing that a sword couldn't kill someone whose existence could be erased from existence.
He turned his neck to look at J'onn, who was sitting in the shadows in the corner; his green skin gleamed with a dark hue under the cold light.
"What about the spiritual realm?" Bruce pressed, needing multi-dimensional assessment data.
J'onn raised his hands and rubbed his temples; the fingers of the last survivor of Mars trembled slightly.
"Unfathomable." J'onn uttered four words, his voice tinged with weariness.
"I tried to establish the outermost Mind Stone connection, even if it was just to sense his emotional fluctuations. But I hit a wall. No, it wasn't a wall. It was a universe that was constantly collapsing and reforming."
J'onn lowered his hand, his green face revealing undisguised apprehension.
"At the moment of contact, I saw destruction, creation, spatial folding, and time standing still. Endless fragments swirled like a storm within his surface consciousness."
I even felt a hunger that could devour everything.
A rare hint of fear crept into J'onn's voice.
"His mental strength is a hundred times more terrifying than Morgan le Fay, whom we faced before. If I force a breakthrough, my brain will be completely burned up by the massive flow of information in an instant. What's in his head completely exceeds my capacity to handle."
Wally scratched at his red mask and pulled his legs back from the table.
"Wait, stop for a second." Wally gestured with his hands in the air.
"I don't usually read comics, but is the Thor in Marvel's version really that outrageous? Is he really at the level where he can crush Brainiac with a flick of his wrist? Could this guy who came today be... that Rune King Thor?"
Wally found it increasingly absurd and began gesturing wildly as he added:
"And did you guys notice? He was completely unarmed the whole time! What happened to the promised Mjolnir? What happened to the thunderous roar? We didn't even see a single static spark!"
Bruce's fingers, which were tapping on the table, suddenly stopped.
"Because there's no need." Bruce's words were extremely cold and hard.
"For him, the kind of apocalyptic crisis he just faced wasn't worth using his full power; he was just warming up."
Bruce's mental tactical simulation was unfolding rapidly.
Kryptonite? Ineffective against Asgardians.
Magic attacks? Even Diana might not be able to break through their defenses.
Using the Watchtower's orbital laser cannon? It'll most likely just be a tickle to the enemy.
He even mentally simulated a plan where Clark would unleash his full power to coordinate with the Green Lantern Corps for a concentrated attack.
However, the calculation result was zero. The opponent's ability to erase matter with ease was enough to break it down into elementary particles before Clark could even get close.
With no readily available weaknesses to exploit, this complete unknown pushed Bruce's nerves to their limit.
Clark sat to the side, flipping through a pile of Marvel Comics weeklies borrowed from the Metropolis Library with high-frequency afterimages that were imperceptible to the naked eye.
The afterimage of the pages turning created a gentle breeze in the air.
"The comics describe him as a brute. He likes to smash people with a hammer and constantly shouts 'For Asgard!'"
Clark closed a special edition of " Avengers," a deep frown forming between his brows. "But that guy just now was definitely not a brute. He had an all-knowing detachment about him. That's not the demeanor of a superhero."
A series of urgent electronic sounds suddenly interrupted the communication channel.
" Bruce," Oracle Barbara's voice broke the tension in the meeting room, "There's breaking news that topped the global trending charts within ten minutes."
Bruce didn't waste any words, his fingers rapidly inputting commands on his tactical belt.
The holographic projector in the center of the conference table lit up with blue light. A high-definition video popped up.
In the scene, atop the ruins, the blond man faces a group of aggressive reporters.
There was no excuse, no evasion.
He raised his hand and slapped her several times.
Four reporters were sent flying backward in a row, crashing into a pile of scrap metal, their fate unknown.
Bruce stared at the looping images, his mental profiling model racing.
The control of his strength was so precise that he didn't kill anyone, only broke some ribs.
This isn't out of control; this is utter contempt.
He doesn't care about Earth's laws, much less the moral code of superheroes; he acts entirely based on his personal whims.
"Extremely dangerous," Bruce concluded.
"He possesses god-like power, yet retains the wickedness of humanity. He is unbound by any moral constraints and has no weaknesses. This uncontrollable individual, once out of control, will cause far more destruction than Darkseid; he could very well be Omega-level crisis."
Wally suddenly stood up, bracing himself on the table with both hands.
" Omega-level? Bruce, aren't you overreacting a bit?" Wally raised his voice.
" Omega-level threat is a disaster that could reboot the entire universe! No matter how strong he is, he's just a muscle-bound guy who can fight. Is it really necessary to raise the threat level to the highest? Your paranoia is getting worse."
Just then, the automatic door to the conference room slid open.
John, seated in a hovering wheelchair, was lifted in by a green energy shield.
His facial muscles were still pale, but his back was ramrod straight, the iron-willed demeanor of a soldier etched into his very bones.
As the wheelchair glided past the long table, John's gaze inevitably swept over the empty seat that had originally belonged to Shayera.
His heart clenched painfully. He hated her betrayal, yet he couldn't completely erase the memories of fighting side by side.
He forcibly looked away, suppressing the stinging sensation deep within his heart.
"Maybe he's not a threat at all," John said, maneuvering his wheelchair to the table and interrupting Wally's argument.
He stared at the blond man in the holographic projection.
"It's the intuition of a soldier who's crawled out of a pile of Deadman." John placed his hands folded on his knees.
"I can sense the relaxation in him, the kind of relaxation that only comes when you're absolutely invincible. He disdains scheming and doesn't bother to conceal violence. As long as we don't provoke him or cross his bottom line, he won't act rashly."
Bruce doesn't believe in intuition at all.
He only trusts data and contingency plans.
" Barbara." Bruce bypassed John's conclusion and issued the order, "Activate the Brother Eye System. Locate him, and also Shayera's current coordinates."
A rapid series of keystrokes came through the communicator.
Just three seconds later, Barbara's breathing became somewhat erratic.
"Found it." Barbara's voice unconsciously rose.
"They didn't hide their tracks at all. Not only did they not hide, they deliberately chose the street with the most CCTV cameras. Bruce, they're in Gotham. And they walked all the way along the commercial street outside Crime Alley."
The air in the conference room froze instantly.
Gotham is Batman's absolute territory, a place where even other superheroes are not allowed to interfere.
Going to Gotham to go shopping is practically writing the word "provocative" on Bruce's face.
The projected image switched instantly.
Gotham City, Diamond District.
On the streets shrouded in a continuous drizzle, the streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow.
The surveillance camera footage showed a blond man in casual clothes standing in front of a 24-hour burger joint, holding three extra-large double beef burgers.
Shayera followed awkwardly behind him, holding a glass of cola, her wings tucked under her trench coat, looking out of place.
The man suddenly stopped.
He turned his head and stared directly at the camera lens through the screen.
Then, he held up his hamburger, faced the camera, and took a huge, arrogant bite, saying as he ate.
" Bruce, the criminals on your side are too poor. I robbed about twenty of them, and they only gave me enough money to buy three hamburgers."