He emerged from the hidden depths of the mountain, stepping out into the open air just as the great ship sealed itself away behind him. The ground trembled softly as the entrance vanished, concealed once more beneath rock and earth, leaving no trace that anything so vast, so dangerous, even existed below. He felt the ship's energy pulse faintly as its cloaking systems activated, rendering it invisible to any prying eyes. The dreadnought was now hidden, protected — waiting for him.
But he wasn't ready for it. Not yet.
He took off, his form a blur as he flew through the sky, the wind whipping around him. The towering mountains soon became a distant memory as he soared through the thinning forest, past the plains, and toward the coast. His flight was effortless, silent, but his mind was anything but calm. It raced, filled with questions — about himself, the ship, and the dark voice that had whispered of conquest and protection. Protect the planet. Destroy inferior species. Conquest. The words felt foreign and yet familiar, like a shadow creeping at the edges of his consciousness.
He slowed his flight, descending to a cliff that overlooked the ocean. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting a deep orange glow over the water. He landed softly on the edge, his feet touching the earth with barely a sound. For a moment, everything felt still — just him and the vast, endless ocean before him. He could hear the steady rhythm of the waves crashing against the rocks below, the salty breeze carrying the scent of the sea.
He sat down, resting his arms on his knees, and stared out at the horizon. The sky was a brilliant canvas of reds and oranges, the sun dipping lower and lower. It bathed him in its light, warm and golden, but there was no comfort in it today. He felt… conflicted.
I'm not an executioner, he thought, watching as the light reflected off the water in shimmering trails. I'm not a conqueror. And I'm not a destroyer. But the memory of how easily he had killed those hobgoblins gnawed at him. The precision with which he had fought, the brutal efficiency, the lack of hesitation. It was as though it had been second nature. He had slaughtered them without question, without feeling.
The weight of what he had found in the mountain pressed on his mind — the ship, the weapons, the technology. All of it designed for war, for conquest. And the voice in his head… it had sounded so certain, so clear. Protect the planet. From what? From who?
The last sliver of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky began to darken. Slowly, the colors faded, replaced by the deep blues of twilight. Stars began to flicker into view, scattered like diamonds across the darkening sky. The moon, pale and distant, rose over the water, casting its soft glow on the ocean's surface.
He sighed, feeling the cool night air settle around him. Was this really who I am? Some kind of warrior, some kind of… conqueror? He looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. His fingers were steady, his strength undeniable, but there was a hollowness inside him. I'm just a man. Or at least… I was.
He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in thought, questioning his very existence. The hours passed, the night deepened, and the stars above seemed to burn brighter. He barely noticed. His mind was too heavy, too full of doubt.
But as he sat, unknown to him, he wasn't truly alone. High above, far beyond the reach of his senses, a silent observer had been watching. A space station, hovering just outside the planet's atmosphere, had tracked his every move from the moment he had left the mountain after they sensed a weird energy close to his location. Inside, unseen eyes studied him with growing concern.
In the dim light of the station's control room, a figure stood motionless, his mechanical form illuminated by the glow of the monitors. Cyborg's human eye squinted as he watched the feeds, studying the man who had flown across the continent and now sat on the edge of the world, bathed in moonlight. The figure was unknown to him — and that, in itself, was unsettling.
The feed zoomed in, capturing the stranger's form with precision, but Cyborg's sensors couldn't lock onto any identification. His scanners were baffled by the readings. Not human. Not entirely. His systems processed the data at lightning speed, analyzing every detail, every energy signature, but nothing made sense.
He tapped his communicator. "Batman," Cyborg's voice was calm but serious, "we've got a situation."
"What is it?" Batman's voice came through the channel, as steady and controlled as ever.
"An unknown flying figure. I've been tracking him for the last few hours. He's not Kryptonian, but he's got powers. Flight, speed, the whole package. He's down by the coast now, sitting on a cliff. No hostile actions yet, but he's definitely… different. My scanners can't get a clear read on him."
There was a pause on the other end. Batman's voice returned, lower, more focused. "Send me the data. I'll look into it."
Cyborg transmitted the files instantly. The detailed surveillance footage of the figure from the moment he had left the mountain, the energy readings, and the unidentifiable technology all appeared on Batman's screen. Batman's eyes narrowed as he analyzed the information.
"Unknown origins. No match in any database. Keep monitoring him. I'll alert the League."
Cyborg nodded, his cybernetic systems already updating and reanalyzing the data. "You think he's a threat?"
"I don't know," Batman replied. "But we're going to find out."
As the moon continued its slow journey across the night sky, the man on the cliff remained lost in his thoughts, unaware that far above him, the world's greatest heroes were now watching his every move.