Their limbs—heads, arms, thighs—stood locked in place, like sculptures forged in hardened plaster. Yet the white-gold photon energy still flickered over their bodies, flickering and scanning like frozen flames. Strands of hair drifted in the residual aura, and eyes spun in frantic terror.
Vara, Tali, Gaya, Somali—all had dared to dream of a peaceful future mere seconds before they struck. But the moment their plans unfolded, despair snatched hope away.
A low, cold snort echoed in every Super-Skrull's ears. Panic-stricken, they could only see terrified humans below, while the source of that voice remained unseen.
Seconds later, their earpieces crackled to life.
"You Skrulls really love sprinting headfirst toward death," came one voice.
The reply came from Gravik himself: "Su...Superman!? How could you detect our plan?"
Meanwhile, high above, on a Brooklyn apartment balcony, Malrick's psychic presence stretched quietly across the globe—on guard, despite the sun on his face.
Captured in a moment of exasperation, he murmured to himself: These Skrulls just had to rush into doom. He'd meant to leave these matters to Tony Stark and the Men in Black.
But since they'd made their move, Malrick felt compelled to end it swiftly. His figure dissolved from the balcony and reformed before Gravik amid the Amazonian forest.
The panic-stricken Super-Skrulls had just overheard the ensuing conversation:
"How did you detect us?" Gravik demanded, on edge.
Malrick stood hands on his hips. "You acted like you were invisible. But the moment you emitted energy, I detected you—and froze you in place in under a millisecond."
Gravik spluttered. "You detected—?"
Malrick shook his head. "No. It was far simpler. You kept screaming, 'Superman, Superman!' across the edge of the solar system. That's how I found you."
Since the Source Will enhanced Malrick's abilities, he could tune into any movement in the Solar System—but normally, he filtered out noise with his advanced mind. This time, however, the Skrulls were calling out his name like a chant—right outside Neptune.
He tapped Gravik on the cheek, making a loud slap. "Next time, don't yell 'Superman.' Use something less distinct—like 'You-Know-Who.' Makes my ears bleed less."
Gravik stared, stunned and mute. His aggressive glare dissolved, replaced by hollow disbelief.
"It was just a movie—they said, 'This is purely fiction!'" Gravik stammered, trying to hold onto reason.
Malrick rolled his eyes. He looked disdainfully into space before speaking again.
"You know, I enjoy a good scrap." He grinned, recalling a recent battle. "I fought a dark-dimension black bear—not complicated, but thrilling. And a buzzing, glowing fly came at me—annoying more than dangerous—so I slapped her away."
He shrugged. "Now I'm faced with maggots trying to crawl over me. That's hard to stomach."
"What do you do to maggots, Skrull?" Malrick challenged.
He waved his hand dismissively. "Let's just burn them."
Sometimes, he mused, he reminded himself of Daida, Ultraman's human host—choosing the raw power of red form over subtle energy techniques, because it felt satisfying.
Yet today, despite the ease of psychic annihilation, Malrick retained his control. His powers intensified, bending to his will—even as unsentimental as ever.
In the forest, Gravik sensed the shift—the invisible pressure tightening. Terror bloomed like poison in his chest, shaking his body and spirit. Despair gnawed at him, knowing Malrick would not relent.
Around him, every Skrull trembled with the same dread—even those who had shouted slogans only moments before, now reduced to tears and snot.
Gravik let out a pleading torrent of photon energy, but Malrick's psychic grip only tightened further, silencing all resistance.
Gravik's voice turned raspy, all resolve drained—helpless before an unyielding force.
Then, a crackle in his earpiece.
"Brother Gravik, why is everyone silent? Is everything okay?" A sweet, innocent voice broke the tension. It was one of the children from the fleet—the cheerleaders of the day's planned victory.
Gravik's eyes flew open—terrified realization and regret contorted his features.
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