Black Adam hovered above the battlefield, his gaze sweeping over Darkseid's newly arrived forces—Furies, Steppenwolf, a horde of monsters—and Granny Goodness. His eyes burned with chilling contempt. Without a word, with the swift resolve of a tyrant, he raised his hand. A divine bolt of lightning tore from his palm, aimed straight at the horde.
But the strike never landed. A perfect mirror, gleaming with cold light, materialized out of thin air before them. Adam's lightning ricocheted off it with a deafening crack, scattering into the sky.
"Uh-oh-oh!" came Granny's sweet, venomous voice. "What's this, Black Grandson, throwing your toys around so carelessly? Foolish, foolish boy! Naughty!"
Stunned by the reflection of his own power, Adam froze for a moment. His voice thundered like a storm:
"What kind of nonsense are you spouting, you old hag? Has your mind gone soft with age?"
Granny shook her head, feigning exaggerated sorrow.
"Oh, dear, dear… Clearly, your mother didn't raise you properly. Look at you, so rude! But your little son…" Her voice turned syrupy, laced with poison. "He would've been such a better boy. What a pity he was so brutally killed."
The word "son" was a spark. Rage, black and all-consuming, erupted within Adam. His mind clouded with white-hot fury. He vanished from his spot, charging at Granny with space-warping speed. He felt himself pierce a thin, invisible layer surrounding her. But the moment his fist should have crushed her, Granny vanished, reappearing a hundred meters away.
Granny's defense was brilliant in its simplicity. The magical barrier around her didn't block force—it acted as a sensory network, instantly analyzing any threat that breached it. If something posed an immediate danger to her life, an automatic teleport whisked her to a relatively safe distance. Her own reflexes played no part; it was a pre-programmed imperative. This made her defense near-absolute.
As Adam broke through the barrier, a faint, barely visible magical thread latched onto him. Blinded by rage and confident in his invulnerability—his magical protection should have worked—he didn't notice it. Instead of assessing the situation, he attacked again and again. Charge—breach the barrier—thread—Granny's teleport. Over and over. Ten times. Ten delicate, intangible threads now stretched from him to the old woman, like a spider's web.
Finally, Adam stopped. The fight had reached a stalemate. He stared at the threads hanging in the air. He tried to grab one—his hand passed through it like smoke. He hurled a bolt of magical lightning at a thread—the energy dissipated harmlessly.
Granny, watching his confusion, smiled venomously.
"Why such a hurry, Grandson?" she chirped. "Want to know what those little threads are? Oh… poor little head, all out of memory?" She openly mocked him.
The truth was simple: Granny knew she couldn't defeat Black Adam in a direct confrontation. So she used cunning. She provoked him, goading him into reckless attacks. The threads were magical conduits. They didn't attack him directly or counter his defenses—they quietly siphoned tiny streams of his boundless power to her. For now, the loss was negligible, a drop in the ocean of his might. But over time, he would weaken, and she would grow stronger. She'd latched onto him like a leech to a life source.
Having achieved her goal, Granny stopped paying attention to Adam. Why waste energy fighting a living battery? She turned and dove into the midst of Earth's defenders. She no longer needed to conserve energy for shields or powerful spells. Her invulnerability was ensured by the teleporting barrier. Even if a telepath managed to seize her mind—an almost impossible feat—they couldn't disable her autonomous defense. She felt truly invincible, a triumph of her greatest magical creation.
Adam, finally realizing he couldn't win this fight now, tried to fly as far away as possible, hoping to snap the cursed threads. But nothing changed. He could feel it now—a faint, relentless drain. Drop by drop. It grated against his pride, but pragmatism won out. He turned and sped toward the third defensive line, where communication with Alex—the man who'd threatened Kahndaq—was located. Truth be told, Adam no longer held a grudge against him. This battle had forced him to face a bitter truth: he couldn't protect his country alone.
Connecting to the command channel, Adam spoke without preamble, his voice sharp but stripped of its former arrogance:
"Alex, there's a magical old hag. She's got a field around her—if you break through it with force or speed, she teleports. Magic doesn't work on her either. She's attached threads to me that are draining my power. Can't break them."
The response came almost instantly, calm and precise:
"Got it. Head to Sector B-4. Pick up a kryptonite sword there. Your target is the Paradooms. We'll handle the old lady."
Adam only snorted in reply but was already turning toward the designated sector. At least he could tear those enemies apart.
***
Granny Goodness strode across the battlefield, sowing chaos and death, fueled by Black Adam's power. Her eerie chant sliced through the air:
"My dear granny, sweet and kind,
I'll kiss her cheeks with love so blind.
For my granny, oh so dear,
Her heart so warm, her smile so clear."
The mockery dripped from every syllable.
Click. Teleport. She shifted a few meters to the left. She mentally waved it off: Just small fry, annoying as always. Her defense worked as expected.
Click. Teleport. Almost immediately after the first. She barely had time to process what was happening. What the hell?
Click. Teleport. A sharp lurch backward. Click. Teleport. Sideways, toward a pile of rubble. Click. Teleport. The movement became chaotic, entirely beyond her control. Every time she tried to take a step or focus on a spell, her defense triggered, flinging her to a random safe spot. She'd become a puppet of her own barrier, ricocheting aimlessly across the battlefield.
The mask of "kindly granny" slipped, revealing the enraged, contorted face of the real Granny. She glared at the sky, where the source of her torment finally revealed itself: a series of near-invisible, rapid flashes—weak laser pulses—striking from a great height with inhuman speed and precision.
"Damn it! Who dares?!" Her furious scream was drowned out by the battle's roar and another Click. Teleport.
High in the stratosphere, Deadshot operated with cold, mechanical precision. His finger smoothly pressed and released the trigger. Each time—a short, weak laser pulse, but impossibly accurate. In his scope, a tiny figure bounced across the battlefield like a ping-pong ball.
In the command center, Alex watched Granny's marker jump across the tactical holographic field. His plan had worked: her defense triggered on any breach of the barrier that could harm her. Frequent, low-intensity impacts were enough. Deadshot's sniper precision and high-frequency weak laser pulses were the perfect tool. Each pulse piercing the barrier forced her defense to teleport her to a random nearby safe spot. With pulses coming in rapid succession, she had no time to act—she was continuously thrown from point to point.
"Good work," Alex said, tracking the erratic marker. "Keep her in that loop. Don't let her recover or focus."
His gaze hardened as he shifted to other screens.
"But this is only temporary. She's not injured or drained. We need a way to kill her."
***
While the League's forces held Granny Goodness at bay, the main threat surged forward.
The Paradooms—living copies of Doomsday—were a nightmare for the defense. Robots were useless: their beams and projectiles inflicted only superficial wounds that healed almost instantly. Heavy blows knocked the monsters down, but they rose with even greater fury. The second defensive line was crumbling.
The Atlanteans, replacing the Amazons, quickly realized frontal assaults were futile. Under Aquaman's leadership, they switched to containment. Using the power of Poseidon's Trident, they infused the sand with moisture, turning it into quicksand bogs. The Paradooms, caught off guard, sank into the sandy mire. Too heavy and without solid footing, they struggled to escape. The tactic worked… until wings emerged.
As if on cue, massive membranous wings unfurled from the Paradooms' backs. A low hum filled the air. The monsters, effortlessly breaking free from the sand, took to the skies.
The Flash, seeing the impending catastrophe, acted instantly. Grabbing a kryptonite blade from the base, he became a crimson blur, darting among the rising monsters. His speed was incomprehensible; they saw only a vague flash before the green blade struck their eyes—one of their few vulnerable spots. Several Paradooms fell with gut-wrenching roars. But they adapted. A blood-red aura enveloped their bodies like armor. The Flash, charging at his next target, nearly crashed into it at full speed. Instinct forced him to veer off—contact with that aura could harm even him. Now he could only circle, unable to deal damage, watching the horde gain altitude.
The Green Lanterns, patrolling the upper echelon, reacted immediately. Soaring to meet the cloud of winged monsters cloaked in red glow, they wove a giant net of emerald energy, trying to disrupt the Paradooms' path. But their efforts were short-lived.
From the still-gaping portal, Apokolips' war machines emerged. Not the weaker versions from before, but heavy, armored platforms with weapons glowing ominously. Powerful energy salvos struck the Lanterns' constructs. Emerald barriers cracked and shattered under concentrated fire. The Lanterns were thrown back by the blast wave, their attempt to stop the aerial horde instantly crushed.
In this moment of chaos, a deafening roar tore through the air above the rising Paradooms and war machines. Black Adam, his face etched with cold fury, crashed into the heart of the flying monsters. In his hands gleamed a massive two-handed kryptonite sword, radiating an ominous green light. His first swing—and a winged Paradoom, met by the green glow, howled in unexpected pain, its regeneration halted before Adam cleaved it in half with titanic force. The red aura couldn't withstand the deadly stone.
But the threat from the ground was even worse. Like Apokolips' blades, Steppenwolf and the Furies plunged into the breaches. Coordinating their attack with the flying Paradooms and machine cover, they tore through the defenders' ranks with monstrous efficiency. The Atlanteans and remaining robots couldn't match this coordinated might. Then the defenders saw their weapons up close: Steppenwolf's battle axes and the Furies' intricate blades glowed with the same sinister green as Adam's sword. Darkseid's strike force was armed with weapons lethal to Kryptonians.
It seemed the defense would collapse under this combined assault from ground and air. But from three different points on the battlefield, Shazam, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman rushed to the epicenter of the breach. They landed in unison, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the path of Steppenwolf, the Furies, and the charging Paradooms. The air crackled with tension. Above them soared the winged creatures in their red aura, while machine guns hammered from the flanks.
***
High above Earth, in the silent void of space, Superman and Power Girl floated in the rays of the yellow sun. Their bodies, drained from earlier battles, greedily absorbed the vital energy, their cells brimming with strength. But their peaceful recharge was interrupted. An emergency call from Earth. Exchanging a knowing glance, they turned in an instant. Two silhouettes rocketed toward the planet. They were late to this phase of the battle, but the final chapter was yet to be written.