As a witch who was once revered as a goddess by ancient humans, it was impossible for her to tolerate being criticized by John.
Shrouded in dark energy with sparks flickering around her, her disheveled black hair framed a face that radiated an ominous glow. Her eyes burned with fury as she made a threatening gesture toward him.
Dressed in casual wear, John glanced at her and spoke bluntly, "Miss, either state your business..."
"Or leave immediately."
"Don't you know that staring at a man while he's changing is extremely rude?"
The witch didn't speak the modern human language, but she extended a finger toward a nearby mirror.
From her fingertip oozed a black, writhing mist, like filthy little worms. The mist crawled over the mirror's surface and arranged itself into words:
"Amanda wants to kill you. She's formed a squad of outlaws to do it."
John smirked, shrugging. "So what?"
"A bunch of misfits, no matter how hard they try, can't kill me."
The witch narrowed her eyes. The words on the mirror shifted, forming a new sentence:
"Don't underestimate them. Especially me."
John burst into laughter. "Oh, please. Your heart is under that old hag's control. If you were as strong as you claim, you wouldn't have fallen to this point."
He stepped closer, lifting her chin with his fingers. "If you want my help, be straightforward. Lower yourself, beg me... and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider it."
Rage flickered in the witch's eyes, but she suppressed it, turning her focus back to the mirror. Wiping her hand across the glass, she left another message:
"We can help each other. I can help you deal with Amanda, but you must retrieve my heart for me."
John stared at the message but didn't respond. Instead, he pushed open the door to the fitting room and walked out.
The witch moved like a specter, appearing in every reflective surface he passed. Her voice, soft yet chilling, emanated from the mirrors:
"Don't you value your life?"
John chuckled, shaking his head. "It seems you don't understand how to ask for a favor."
"Lady, I already told you: that ragtag squad can't kill me. That includes you."
"Out of all of them, maybe the pyromaniac and the swordswoman have some potential."
He paused, as if in thought. "Hmm... the swordswoman's blade is intriguing, I'll give her that."
"But the rest? A circus act at best."
He leaned closer to her reflection in a nearby mirror. "If you want my help, you'll need to offer me a better deal."
"Like, say... becoming my slave."
"If that happens, I might just feel motivated to save you."
The witch's distorted visage in the mirror trembled with fury, as though she was about to lunge out and attack him.
John reached out, lightly patting the surface of the mirror where her face appeared. "Oh, and next time, clean yourself up a bit."
"I prefer my women spotless."
With that, he left the shop, got into a parked car, tossed the driver out, and drove off.
The witch, watching his retreating figure, let out a cold snort before vanishing.
---
The next moment, she reappeared in Belle Reve Sanitarium.
Amanda Waller, with one hand resting on the witch's stolen heart, greeted her with a frosty expression. "What took you so long?"
Not waiting for an answer, Amanda continued, "Did you find out where he is?"
The witch nodded slightly.
Amanda then turned her attention to the assembled criminals before her. "Gear up. We move out now."
She glanced at Colonel Rick Flag. "Notify 'Katana.' She's coming with us."
Flag nodded, watching as the witch transformed back into his girlfriend, Dr. June Moone.
---
Kansas.
Night had fallen.
From the farmlands came the distant barks of dogs, faint but constant.
Clark sat on the porch steps of his home, clad in a plaid shirt. In one hand, he held a freshly opened bottle of beer.
His expression shifted subtly as he noticed someone approaching.
Martha, his mother, draped a shawl over her shoulders as she stepped outside and sat beside him.
She didn't speak, simply reaching out to gently touch his head before leaning against his sturdy arm.
Clark, too, remained silent, quietly sipping his beer.
Before long, headlights illuminated the road leading to their house.
Moments later, a car pulled up.
From it emerged Diana Prince, her long hair tied neatly in a high ponytail. Leaning casually against the car, she smiled and called out, "Mind if we talk?"
Clark's eyes darkened, his voice low as he said, "Mom, I'm going for a walk."
Martha glanced at Diana briefly before nodding. "I'll watch some TV."
Clark rose to his feet, beer bottle in hand, and walked toward the fields. Diana followed.
"I'll start with introductions," she said. "I'm Diana, an acquaintance of Bruce's."
Clark silently parted the stalks of corn, heading straight for a small grave marked by a simple tombstone and a wreath.
"You need to pull yourself together," Diana urged, standing behind him.
"I know you've lost hope in this world," she continued. "But it's not as hopeless as you think."
Clark placed his hand on the tombstone, his voice heavy. "Then tell me, Diana... what does hopeless look like?"
She gazed up at the starry sky. "Hopeless is when Darkseid descends from the heavens, claims the three Mother Boxes, and unleashes the Anti-Life Equation."
Clark showed no interest in her words, nor in the mention of Darkseid or the Mother Boxes.
Diana stepped closer, standing beside him. "The fact that you didn't kill Bruce Wayne proves you still have a sliver of hope for this world."
Clark chuckled bitterly. "I didn't kill Bruce because I know it wasn't intentional."
"And because I know that killing him won't bring Lois back."
"Most importantly, my mother wouldn't want her son to become a murderer."
"But none of that changes how I see the world."
He turned to her. "Miss Prince, Bruce mentioned you might be some sort of goddess."
"You've lived a long time, haven't you?"
"Tell me, after all these years, haven't you realized this world has always been broken?"
"War, violence, endless destruction—day after day."
"Even so, you still want to save it?"
Diana's gaze faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure.
"I lost the love of my life during the First World War," she said softly.
"Back then, I felt the same way you do now—that this world was beyond saving."
"But despite its chaos, it was a world he gave his life to protect."
"Over time, I realized there are countless noble souls fighting to make this world better."
"They face endless setbacks, but they never give in to despair."
"That's why I believe this world still has hope."
"And so do you."
Clark looked at the resolute woman before him.
Her words stirred something within him, but he remained silent.
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