Alex approached the central projector.
"Darkseid isn't an alien. He's a Fourth World entity. Singular across the Multiverse. His horde—billions of Parademons. Their armor laughs at your bullets. He wields weapons that vaporize cities. Personally, he commands Omega Beams that turn the living to ash with a glance." He paused, letting the chilling words sink in. "He's already erased four versions of Earth. He knows us. Our strengths—" his gaze flicked to Superman, Flash, Doctor Fate—"our weaknesses." His eyes lingered on Martian Manhunter, Shazam. "He's studied us like a surgeon studies a frog before dissection."
He jabbed a finger at the projection. Crimson portal markers flared, weaving a sinister web poised to ensnare the planet.
"His plan is blunt as a sledgehammer. Attack everywhere. Open dozens, hundreds of portals across Earth. Overwhelm us with numbers. Scatter our forces, our heavy hitters, across multiple fronts. And when each of you is busy dousing your own fire… he'll strike where we're weakest."
On the massive video-conference screen, the faces of politicians and generals paled. The hum of negotiations fell to a dead silence, broken only by static.
"But we have an ace," Alex said, allowing a glacial half-smile. "The one who gave us this intel will merge all portals into one at the moment of invasion. A single massive rift. One choke point. One battlefield."
His hand swept over the projection, stopping on a vast yellow-brown expanse.
"The battle will be in the Sahara Desert. First, its equatorial position maximizes solar radiation, boosting our Kryptonians." He nodded at Superman and Power Girl. "Second, it's uninhabited. Minimal civilian losses. Minimal infrastructure to destroy. We'll have time to build fortifications, minefields, artillery positions. Downsides? Hellish heat. Lethal for unprotected soldiers." He turned to Luthor. "This is where your LexCorp exosuits and drone army come in. You'll be the first line of defense, a living shield, and mobile firepower. Questions? Suggestions?"
A heavy silence hung. It wasn't broken by a voice from the screen but by a figure in dark robes. Doctor Fate rose. The voice from beneath the hood was alien—low, resonant, multi-toned, like grinding stones. Nabu's glowing eyes burned coldly. Nabu spoke.
"Intriguing…" the Demon of Fate hissed. "Such knowledge of a higher-plane enemy, boy. Knowledge beyond your… limited perception. Who is your source?"
Alex didn't flinch. His gaze met the Helmet's blazing sockets.
"Simple," he said clearly, each word falling like stone in the tomb-like silence. "From the Fallen Angel, Lucifer Morningstar."
The effect was instantaneous. On the video screen, politicians' faces twisted in shock, disbelief, primal fear. Cries erupted: "What?!" "The Devil?!" "Blasphemy!"
In the room, a murmur rippled. Zatanna clenched her fists. Superman frowned. Luthor raised an eyebrow with icy curiosity. Flash froze.
Doctor Fate stilled for a moment. The multi-voiced whisper quieted. Then the Helmet nodded slowly, as if an ancient puzzle clicked into place.
"…Understood," Nabu grated, a strange respect in his tone. "A… credible source."
Before anyone could recover, Black Adam rose, his movement sharp with contemptuous power. Dark energy crackled faintly around him.
"I came here," his voice thundered like distant storm clouds, "because I believed a threat loomed over Kahndaq. My people, my kingdom. Now I learn this rodent's game will unfold in the Sahara's sands? With one portal?" He scoffed. "My power won't be wasted defending foreign lands."
Alex turned to him. His demeanor radiated not anger but a sepulchral chill. The room's temperature seemed to drop.
"Think carefully, Adam," Alex's voice was quieter but cut like a blade. "If you walk away from this fight… I'll make you join this war. This isn't a request."
Black Adam laughed, a harsh sound brimming with scorn.
"A threat? From you?" He raked Alex with a withering glare. "Amusing, mortal. Your authority is dust before my might."
Alex didn't blink.
"Not a threat. Inevitability. If you abandon this council—" he pointed at the Sahara projection—"the single portal Lucifer will so kindly craft for us won't open in the desert. It'll tear open near Kahndaq. By your nation." He paused, watching confusion, then icy fury, flare in Adam's eyes. "I don't relish endangering innocents. But your power, Adam, is worth more than all of Kahndaq's lives. This isn't a threat—it's strategic necessity. Your absence dooms your people."
Silence became absolute. Even the video feed's hum stilled. Doctor Fate (Nabu) nodded again, his multi-voiced whisper hissing approval: "Flawless logic." Not everyone agreed. Wonder Woman clenched her fists. Superman looked stunned.
Black Adam erupted. Dark energy surged from him, frying nearby screens. Like black lightning, he lunged toward Alex, fist raised for a blow that could smear a human across the bunker's walls.
"YOU!" Adam's roar shook the room.
He didn't get a step. In a blur, two figures materialized between him and Alex. Superman, his fist a steel block, poised to intercept. Power Girl, her fists glowing with restrained devastating force, aimed at Adam's chest. The air crackled with tension between the three titans.
"Stand down," Superman said, his voice stripped of its usual warmth.
Adam froze, chest heaving. He glared at Superman's steely resolve, Power Girl's fierce readiness, then back at Alex. Alex stood unmoving behind the Kryptonians, his face a stone mask. No fear, no triumph. Only expectation.
"Your choice, Adam?" Alex asked calmly, as if he hadn't nearly been pulped. "Leave and risk Kahndaq? Or stay, fight here, and protect your kingdom?"
Adam's jaw muscles twitched. His eyes blazed with cosmic rage. He glanced at Superman's and Power Girl's fists, then at Alex's cold face. An eternity seemed to pass. His dark aura ebbed, not vanishing but coiling like a storm cloud.
"You… toy with forces you don't comprehend, mortal," he hissed, his voice thick with promised vengeance. But he didn't leave. He turned sharply and sank heavily into his chair.
Alex didn't flinch. Internally, he noted: Wonderful. Now I watch not just the enemy beyond the portal but my back, lest this ancient bastard kills me.
He shifted his gaze to the others, ignoring Adam's smoldering stare.
"Alright, Sahara. Let's plan the defense. Time's short, so we start detailing now." His voice was a scalpel, slicing away the superfluous.
The silence after his plan's outline was oppressive. Then, like a shadow peeling from the wall, Batman rose. His movement was deliberate, inexorable. He stepped to the Sahara hologram, his gravelly, distorted voice filling the room:
"Listen. This is a siege. We endure three days—a survival marathon. The key is stamina and layered defense with rotation." His gloved hand marked zones on the glowing map with surgical precision.
1. First Line (Day/Night, Constant): LexCorp tech. Batman glanced at Luthor, who sat with a faint, calculating smile. "Your infantry exoskeletons, 'Cyberhound' heavy assault drones, and 'Legion' mobile platforms with energy shields and plasma artillery. You're the initial barrier. Absorb the first wave, hold the enemy's mass, buy time for deployment. Shields withstand laser barrages; armor takes kinetic hits. Repair and recharge schedules are your call."
2. Second Line (Rotation by Time of Day):
- Night: Atlantean army. Aquaman leaned on his trident, its blue glow lighting his stern face. "Your strength and endurance peak in cool darkness. Strikes from beneath the sand. Control sparse groundwater for traps and landslides. Withdraw at dawn."
- Day: Themysciran Amazons. Diana Prince stood taller, her armor glinting. "Forged by Gaea from sacred clay, you're immune to heat's fatigue. Your discipline, speed, and mastery of blade or bow carve through enemy waves. Take positions at dawn, hold until dusk."
- Support (Day/Night): Batman turned to Green Lantern, his emerald suit pulsing with willpower. "Green Lantern Corps. Your rings craft barriers, weapons, constructs as needed. You reinforce both shifts, plug breaches, and hit key targets. Coordinate with Atlanteans and Amazons for maximum impact."
3. Third Line (Day/Night, Constant): Conventional forces and support. Batman's glove pointed to rear hills and fortified positions on the hologram. "Regular soldiers in enhanced exosuits where available, plus heavy artillery and air defense. Air cover—fighters and bombers with precision missiles. Amanda—" he faced the unflappable Waller—"your marksman, Deadshot, takes a stratospheric position. He'll control LexCorp and A.R.G.U.S. satellite lasers for pinpoint strikes on priority targets."
Heavy Hitters (Mobile Reserve): Batman's gaze swept Superman, Power Girl, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Shazam, and the glowering Black Adam. "You're the fist and shield. A battering ram for breaking formations. The answer to elite units or war constructs. Conserve strength. Engage only on command or when a line collapses."
The plan hung in the air. On the giant screen, faceless suits in dim situation rooms typed furiously into terminals. Alex raised a hand, drawing eyes to him. He addressed Doctor Fate and Zatanna.
"Magic users, a question. Can you create a pocket dimension for… sensitive cargo?"
Doctor Fate (or rather, Nabu, his presence marked by the Helmet's cold-glowing sockets) spoke.
"A spatial pocket. Trivial." The Helmet tilted toward Alex. "You imply nuclear warheads. You'd move them to a pocket, open it behind Darkseid's portal, and detonate. Clever, but flawed. Radioactive fallout. High-energy particles don't fully respect dimensional barriers. There's a non-zero chance of blowback through the portal. A radiation wave could return here. Catastrophic for the battlefield and planet."
Before Alex could respond, Zatanna lifted her pale face. Exhaustion in her eyes battled focused will.
"I can stop it," her voice was soft but clear. "A Barrier of the Seven Rays. It'll act as a filter. It permits matter and attack energy from their side but blocks radiation's deadly breath—both ways."
Alex turned to the giant screen of faceless power brokers. His gaze was an icy spike. "You heard them. We need Earth's entire nuclear arsenal. Every warhead."
The screen froze. Then voices rose, tense but restrained:
Representative 1: "The entire arsenal?! Madness! The risk of concentration… one error from your sorcerers, one glitch in their magic, and we destroy ourselves!"
Alex: "Doctor Fate wears the Helmet of Fate. He sees future paths. He won't err. The risk of magical failure is lower than the risk of our planet's annihilation without this weapon."
Representative 2: "Absolutely unacceptable. Even magical transport is vulnerable. Sabotage! Espionage! We'll offer a tactical reserve, nothing more. Strategic stockpiles must stay for… other scenarios."
Alex: "If we lose here, your 'other scenarios' won't happen. There'll be no threats needing your 'strategic stockpiles.' Only ash. Tactical reserves won't cut it for a war this scale."
Representative 3: "This violates every deterrence doctrine. It weakens us against… other threats. We can't lose our ultimate leverage. A portion, yes. All? No. Unacceptable."
Alex: "Other threats? What? Humans? Other nations? Wake up. There's one war. It starts in days. The only threat that matters is Darkseid. Your doctrines are obsolete."
Alex paused, his gaze sweeping the screen, pinning each representative. The room's air thickened with tension.
"I see rational arguments aren't sinking in. Let's try personal incentives." His voice stayed level, like a frozen lake's surface. "You refuse the weapons humanity needs to survive. You place your doctrines, your fears, your illusion of control above our chance at victory."
He stepped closer to the screen's projection.
Alex didn't raise his voice. He simply lifted a hand and pointed, slowly, inexorably, at Black Adam. The ancient warrior sat like a statue of rage, dark aura swirling.
"See him? He wanted to walk away, but I explained—" Alex's voice dropped, chillingly soft—"his departure would signal our… ally to open Darkseid's portal not here, but near Kahndaq." He scanned each politician, pinning them. "Why do you think your capitals, your nations, are untouchable? If any of you, sitting there now, refuse to hand over your entire nuclear arsenal…" He paused, his stare piercing through the screen. "…I'll remember. And if, against all odds, we hold and win, the first thing I'll do post-victory is find each of you who denied Earth its last chance. And I'll erase you utterly." A glacial smile touched his lips. "None of you are saints. Your sins are known to me… or to the one I recently spoke with." The allusion to Lucifer hung heavier than lead. "Think. Carefully. Before you say 'no.' Your answer decides if you have an 'after.'"
The silence in the room and on the screen was absolute, ringing. Politicians' and generals' faces were masks of horror. They saw no bluff in Alex's eyes—only the calculated cruelty of an executioner weighing every sin. He knew Lucifer? After today, they believed it. He'd destroy them? They didn't doubt it. A wave of curt, choked affirmations rolled across the screen. Resistance crumbled under the devil's ultimatum.
Alex cast a final glance at the screen.
"Then you're dismissed. Except those fighting on the Sahara's battlefield."