The silence was shattered.
A vast crater yawned where none had been before. Its edges smoked and steamed, molten rock seeping into the fissures of a moon long forgotten by the cosmos. The skies above Titan churned with restless energy — a turbulent canvas painted by forces that only a god could command.
From the heart of this destruction, a figure emerged.
Darkseid.
He rose like a mountain carved from shadow and flame, his presence an embodiment of inevitability. His armor, forged of the void itself, bore faint glimmers of a crimson fire—the Omega Effect—that burned without consuming. His eyes, twin infernos glowing with unyielding purpose, surveyed the scarred landscape with calm authority.
The crater beneath him pulsed with the remnants of his arrival, a wound inflicted not just on stone and soil but on the very fabric of this reality.
He stepped forward.
Each movement was deliberate, measured, a slow assertion of dominion over all that surrounded him. The fractured crust beneath his feet responded, trembling in acknowledgment of its new master.
With a motion as subtle as a whisper and as absolute as a decree, Darkseid extended his hand and pressed his palm against the earth.
The ground shuddered.
Mountains buckled and reshaped themselves like molten clay under a master's hand. Valleys shifted and twisted, their depths glowing with rivers of blackened lava. Craters filled and new peaks rose — towering spires carved from the bones of the moon, dark and jagged as the will of the one who forged them.
The desolation was not destruction. It was creation.
A throne of shadow and stone spiraled from the highest summit, a bastion to house the new order.
Darkseid ascended the steps without haste, each footfall resonating like the beating of a war drum. He did not sit; his mere presence made the throne a symbol of absolute power.
The skies darkened. Storm clouds churned violently, summoned by a thought. Lightning arced unnaturally, tracing jagged veins across the heavens as if the cosmos itself were being rewritten.
He raised his voice — low, measured, carrying the weight of certainty.
"This reality is fractured. A broken dream held together by fragile threads. It trembles on the edge of chaos masquerading as freedom."
His crimson eyes pierced the darkened sky.
"They cling to their illusions of choice, their petty struggles for justice and peace. But these are lies."
Darkseid's gaze shifted toward the swirling rings of Saturn that cast a muted glow over the blackened terrain. Beyond them, countless stars flickered faintly in the void.
He spoke again, his voice an unyielding command that resonated across the silent expanse.
"I am the reckoning."
A surge of raw power exploded from him. The storm responded — thunder roared, winds howled, and the moon itself seemed to shudder beneath the force of his will.
From the heart of the newly forged citadel beside his throne, a silent beacon pulsed — not a call for parley, but a declaration.
Darkseid's presence had been marked across the cosmos.
His gaze extended far beyond Titan, threading through the vastness of space until it settled on a small, vibrant world: Earth.
A world of heroes and legends, myths and powers — chaotic, unpredictable, full of resistance.
He felt its heartbeat, frantic and defiant, rippling through the cosmic currents.
"Resistance is a disease," he said coldly. "It will be eradicated."
The ground beneath him cracked and folded, shifting as he raised his arms. Obsidian towers spiraled upward, each carved with angular runes glowing faintly with ominous energy. They formed a city of shadows — a fortress of inevitability.
Darkseid lowered his hands. The winds calmed, but the storm's promise lingered.
He turned away from the edge of the world he was forging and faced the vast emptiness beyond.
"In this realm, I will forge order from chaos."
Darkseid's voice was a vow etched in the fabric of space itself.
"There is no justice without control. No peace without submission. No freedom without obedience."
A pulse of energy surged from his chest — a wave that rippled outward, touching the very strands of reality.
Darkseid sat upon the throne at last.
A god in exile no more, but a sovereign reborn.
He surveyed his domain, the blackened moon reshaped by his will — a crucible for his designs.
The storm crackled above, a tempest waiting to be unleashed.
Darkseid closed his eyes, his thoughts already reaching beyond the stars.
Earth would fall.
And all who stood in his way would kneel.
The universe had awakened its final nightmare.