The Bialya government army moved out. Bombers flew straight toward the opposition's towns, ready for an indiscriminate strike.
Superman couldn't let the furious Bialya president do something so reckless. So he rushed to the Middle East and intercepted the government's air force. He only destroyed the planes, gently dropping the pilots safely onto the ground.
Taking apart planes was way easier than fighting Atomic Skull. Superman dismantled them in no time.
"Look, everyone, our dear Superman," said Manchester Black, leader of the Elite, who appeared suddenly with cameras rolling for another live broadcast. "You're too late."
"What do you mean?" Superman asked, confused.
Manchester Black raised his hands dramatically to the sky. "Because the dictator of Bialya, the president, has already been killed by us, the Elite. Just as we announced before, bullies, dictators, and schemers will all fall before the righteous people."
No one doubted The Elite's claim, given their power. The president was dead? Then the civil war must be over, right? The crowd burst into cheers.
"How could you?!" Superman was stunned by their audacity. They had assassinated a head of state just like that. "Do you know what you've done? Killing a country's leader could spark an international crisis!"
"No, no. This is for peace. Without the president, there will be no more war. The war is over," Manchester Black said.
The cheers grew louder. But these foolish people didn't realize what it meant. Their country had lost its independence forever and would never rise again. They would either die in chaos or end up as refugees. Killing a president never truly ends a war.
"You can't do this."
"Superman, you hypocrite, I already did," Manchester Black sneered. "Topple tyranny. Start anew."
"No!" Just like Kaitou Kid had warned, this was sickening—so disgusting Superman was ready to throw a punch. He leapt up and slammed his fist hard into Manchester Black's smug face.
Oh! Manchester Black spat blood as he hit the ground, glaring as he wiped his mouth. "Superman, well done. In less than two weeks, everyone will forget this insignificant event. But they'll never forget that their beloved Superman attacked the righteous messengers of peace, the Elite. Go write your will. Everything is set. You, the hypocrite, are now our next target—someone we must eliminate for peace."
People surrounded Superman, glaring with hatred. They thought that without the president, their lives would improve. They couldn't see the reality: without a leader, the government army would splinter, and even more war would follow. There would always be someone unwilling to bow to America, someone eager to avenge the president. Before, two forces were locked in stalemate. Now, countless small warlords would fight for power. They might have had places to live in peace before, but soon, nowhere would be safe.
But they didn't understand that. They couldn't imagine it. They naively believed that killing the president ended the war.
Faced with these baselessly angry people, Superman had nothing left to say. He turned into a streak of lightning and flew back to Metropolis. Kaitou Kid was waiting. No—Justice League was waiting.
"Everyone, thank you for coming to help," Superman said, looking at his assembled allies. Standing before them, he finally felt calm. "Tomorrow at dawn, The Elite will probably come for me. I will go and fight them."
"Superman, you could still choose to stand by," Batman said, seeing right through it all. He knew Superman couldn't stand watching them kill for pleasure, so he stepped up to show everyone that killing—even bad guys—brings no joy. Superman was ready to risk his life to prove that there were still people who believed murder wasn't the answer, that there were people who opposed the Elite's philosophy so much they'd give everything to prove it wrong.
"How confident are you?" Wonder Woman asked bluntly.
Superman thought for a moment. "The Elite is strong. All four have their own strengths. Manchester Black's telekinesis can shatter mountains. Hat is unpredictable, controlling his tricks like an extension of his own body. Menagerie's bugs are mysterious and hard to deal with. Coldcast's energy attacks are unstoppable…"
Liu A'dou nearly burst out laughing. Superman was laying it on way too thick—these four together couldn't even scratch him, but here he was hyping them up so much that when he crushed them later, it'd make him look even more impressive. That was some next-level flexing—zero points for subtlety.
"But you'll win," Liu A'dou said.
"That's right. I will win." Superman smiled.
But the others didn't seem so sure. Superman never killed, but The Elite were killers who'd stop at nothing. Most doubted he'd survive.
Even Flash wasn't optimistic. "Don't hold back. They'll definitely go all out to kill you."
"I look forward to seeing them try," Superman said coolly. "I'm going to beat them up good."
Lois knew about Superman's duel with The Elite and was worried sick. Four against one wasn't fair at all.
But Superman had no choice and wasn't about to back down. This fight was happening because he'd punched Manchester Black in a fit of anger. A killer who couldn't control his rage would tear the world apart if left unchecked.
At dawn, just as the sun rose, Superman stood alone on the street. Then a massive spaceship appeared from the void, hovering over Metropolis and blocking out the light.
"Superman, I'm touched you didn't run," Manchester Black said. "Let me introduce our fifth member: Bunny. Cool, right?" They'd brought the ship just to witness Superman's death.
"Not here," Superman pleaded, glancing at the early risers nearby. "Please."
"Your last request. Granted."
They left Earth. Up in space. On the moon.
With Bunny out of hyperspace, its power was fully unleashed. It created an air-shielded arena right on the moon's surface.
Manchester Black was grinning ear to ear. "Superman, this will make a perfect grave for you."
"I had hoped we could work together, that more superheroes would rise. But not this way—not through killing to stop killing. I asked you to stop, but you wouldn't listen."
"Spare me the speeches," Manchester Black sneered. "We're solving the problem at the root—by killing every villain."
"That's a right you gave yourselves, with no limits, no boundaries. It's only a matter of time before you abuse it, putting yourselves above everyone else. Without restraint, you'll end up evil."
"Hypocrite. You want us to submit to judgment?"
"Yes," Superman answered firmly.
"No. Everyone supports us. That proves we're right. And you, Superman, you're outdated. No one likes you anymore," Manchester Black scoffed, still clinging to public opinion. As if public opinion actually meant anything—just look at how easily governments flip on referendums. Public opinion? Like you could eat it?
"Looks like there's no way we're all walking away from this," Superman sighed.
"Exactly, Superman!" Manchester Black's eyes blazed black as he shot telekinetic force, sending Superman flying.
Superman's first move: take the opening hit—performance mode engaged.