The café was one of those quaint, quiet places in Metropolis that somehow survived nestled between skyscrapers and the constant, low hum of the city's frantic energy. Korvak arrived precisely on time, finding a secluded table near the back, his back to the wall—a habit born from a lifetime of vigilance. He ordered a black coffee, the strongest they had. Terran stimulants did nothing for his Viltrumite metabolism, but he appreciated the bitter, roasted flavor.
He didn't have to wait long. Diana Prince walked in, and as always, her presence subtly commanded the space. She moved with an innate, graceful confidence that made the simple act of entering a coffee shop seem regal. She was dressed in a stylish yet practical pantsuit, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. To any observer, she was a beautiful, sophisticated woman. But Korvak's enhanced senses perceived more: the solid, unyielding density of her bone structure, the power coiled in her frame, the ancient, formidable energy that radiated from her. She was anything but a simple curator of antiquities.
She spotted him and offered a warm, genuine smile that, he had to admit, he'd begun to look forward to.
"Korvak. You're always so punctual," she said, sliding into the chair opposite him. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned his face. "I hope I didn't pull you away from your writing."
"The words will wait," he said, his voice a low rumble. He took a sip of his coffee. "They are less demanding than my editor. And less interesting company than you."
It was as close to flirtation as he allowed himself. Diana's smile widened a fraction.
"The infamous Jerry. He seems like a character."
"He is a man who understands the market for tales of far-off empires and war. A useful skill," Korvak said neutrally. He gestured to her. "You said you were in the city for work. I assume it is not for a new exhibit on Themyscira?"
He watched her closely. He had done his research. Themyscira was a myth, a legend. And yet, the energy he felt from her… it matched the descriptions of the Amazons perfectly. He knew what she was. The question was, did she know what he was?
Diana's expression became slightly more guarded, though her smile remained. "In a matter of speaking. My work often involves… assessing new acquisitions, ensuring their historical authenticity." She paused as the waiter brought her a tea. "But I didn't ask you here to talk about my work. I wanted to talk about yours."
Korvak raised an eyebrow. "My pulp novels? I did not think they were to the taste of a historian of your caliber."
"Don't sell yourself short," she chided gently. "There's a rawness to them, a sense of truth. The way you describe combat, strategy, the weight of leadership… it feels less like fiction and more like a memoir with the names changed."
Korvak's heart, a organ that usually beat with the steady, powerful rhythm of a hydraulic press, missed a single, calculated beat. Her perception was unnerving.
"It is called imagination, Diana. It is a writer's job."
"Perhaps," she conceded, sipping her tea. "But the specifics are what intrigue me. The societal structure you describe, this… Viltrumite Empire. A race of beings of immense power, believing themselves destined to rule, their strength their only virtue. It's a fascinating, and terrifying, concept. Where does an idea like that come from?"
From my childhood, he thought. From my family. From the ashes of my homeworld.
He leaned back in his chair, the simple metal groaning slightly under his weight. "It is an extrapolation. A 'what if.' What if a species evolved without natural predators? What if their power made them arrogant? It is a common trope in science fiction."
"Is it?" Diana met his gaze, and for a moment, he felt she was looking right through the human façade, right into the core of the warrior beneath. "It feels personal. There's a melancholy in your writing, Korvak. A sense of loss. Of someone who has seen the absolute worst of what such an empire can do."
The air between them grew heavy. Korvak was silent, his mind racing. She was probing, expertly. Was this merely the curiosity of a scholar? Or was it the caution of a superhero scoping out a potential threat?
He decided on a half-truth, a tactic he had mastered over the past year.
"All stories come from a place of truth," he said, his voice quieter. "Perhaps I am writing about the empires we all carry inside us. The ones built on pride. The ones that fall."
Diana's expression softened into one of empathy. She placed her hand on the table, not reaching for him, but offering a connection. "That is a very wise observation. And a lonely one."
Before he could respond, the sharp sound of shattering glass and screaming tires erupted from the street outside. Then came the unmistakable thrum of powerful energy weapons.
Diana was on her feet in an instant, her body tensed, her eyes already assessing the threat through the window. A sleek, advanced-looking vehicle had plowed into a newsstand, and emerging from it were figures clad in gleaming, purple armor—Parademons.
So it begins, Korvak thought, his blood cooling into a combat-ready calm. The threat is here.
Diana looked at him, a conflict in her eyes. The civilian, Korvak, needed to be safe. But Wonder Woman was needed on the street.
"Korvak, you need to get to the back, now!" she said, her voice laced with a authority that was entirely new.
He remained seated, finishing his coffee. "And what will you do?"
"I… I have to help. I know first aid," she said, the lie smooth but transparent to him.
He gave her a small, grim smile. "You are a remarkable woman, Diana Prince. Your first aid likely involves stopping the ones causing the injuries."
Her eyes widened in shock. He stood up, his full height making the space around them seem suddenly small. He looked from her, to the chaos outside, and back to her.
"The coffee was excellent," he said. "We should finish it another time. It seems you have an appointment. And so do I."
He turned and walked not towards the back, but towards the door, towards the sound of battle. He left a stunned Diana standing by the table. He knew he had just revealed something monumental, but the time for hiding was over. The Parademons were here. His war had found him, even in this other dimension.
And as he stepped out onto the street, the sun glinting off his determined features, he knew one thing for certain: he would not let these invaders harm this world. He would not let them harm his friend.
The writer was gone. For now, only the Viltrumite remained.