An even grimmer piece of news reached Jon's ears.
Because of the energy crisis, the Council of Elders had begun exploiting the technology of the Stellar Core, tapping into it recklessly. Krypton, already burdened beyond endurance, now had less than a month of life left.
The planetary shields outside the cities drew ceaselessly upon the planet's core, draining it until only ruin remained.
The situation grew more urgent by the day. Jon himself was panicking now, hurriedly loading supplies onto his ship—materials, resources, equipment unique to Krypton. Soon the vessel was packed full.
Moos could only shake his head, half amused and half helpless. "This doesn't look like a research ship anymore… it looks like you're planning to flee a famine."
Jon didn't stop. He even carried aboard a cache of technology reserved for the House of H'el alone. This was one of Krypton's last remaining treasures—a material capable of creating technology that could elevate their civilization to the level of a god-tier race.
He couldn't tell anyone. No one would believe him. Once, he had spoken obliquely to his grandfather about it. The old man had only smiled faintly, waved it off as if it were nothing—but the sorrow that flickered in his eyes betrayed the truth.
There had to be an enemy behind all this. Someone, somewhere, pulling the strings.
"Master," Kal-El cursed under his breath, "Zod's men have entered the city. He's even deployed warships. Is he really planning to rebel?"
"No, Kal-El," Jon replied calmly. "He thinks he's saving Krypton. His methods are crude, but for a man of his mind… to reach even that conclusion is enough to make him proud."
"Then what should we do?"
Jon lifted his gaze. "How are the preparations I asked of you?"
"All done. Everyone is ready. They're all family."
Jon nodded. At such a moment, he could not risk outsiders. Only kin could be trusted with what he intended, even if the mission meant never returning.
"Then prepare! Arm the ship."
Kal-El didn't understand, but he obeyed. He thought his young master meant to move against Zod. After all, this time the general had truly gone too far—bringing attack cruisers into the heart of the city itself.
A week later.
"Master," Kal-El reported, "Jor-El has already set out for the Council Hall. And Zod's army has begun mobilizing."
Jon rose to his feet. "Then we move as well."
His party boarded the vessel and departed the manor. Moos remained behind, watching Jon's silhouette vanish into the skies. A warm, almost proud smile touched the old man's lips.
For Moos was no ordinary servant. He had lived in the same era as Karaka, one of the Council Elders. How could such a man be simple?
In his hand lay a slip of paper, Jon's handwriting across it:
Wait for my return. Everything will be repaid. —Jon
Moos let out a sigh. "So it seems everyone has underestimated the young master…"
The Council Hall
"You know the price of tapping the Stellar Core. Why do this? Krypton has less than a week left—perhaps even less. Have you thought of our future?"
On the high dais sat robed Kryptonians, their eyes brimming with wisdom, yet shadowed by denial.
"Jor-El," one of them intoned, "our world's energy is gone. What would you have us do?"
"Give me the Codex," Jor-El declared. "I can give Krypton hope. That hope is in my hands."
"And how do you guarantee this?"
Jor-El exhaled. At last, he felt a sliver of relief. He was about to answer—
When a thunderous crash split the hall. Walls shook, stone cracked.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The guards outside fell one after another, their bodies intact, yet their insides crushed beyond repair. Dead before they hit the ground.
Krypton had no death penalty. Such blatant killing hadn't been seen in generations. Who dared to do this?
From the smoke came footsteps, steady and arrogant. Armed soldiers strode inside.
"The Council no longer exists," came Zod's cold, flat voice.
Faces of the Elders darkened. "Who gave you the authority to say this?"
"I did."
Bang!
A female officer at Zod's side fired, a single shot killing an Elder where he sat. Chaos swept the chamber. Soldiers dragged down others, the once-sacred hall reduced to carnage.
Zod's eyes burned with fury. "You feasted, you idled, while Krypton withered. Without your corruption and cowardice, would our world stand at this brink?"
"Zod!" Jor-El roared. "What are you doing?"
"What am I doing? You see it. I am purging Krypton's sinners. Without their rot, our planet would never have fallen so far."
He laid a hand on Jor-El's shoulder. "Join me. Together, we can forge a brighter Krypton. We can bring true hope to our race."
"With guns?!" Jor-El shoved his hand away. "You destroy the very principles that made us strong. Even if you win today, you'll rule nothing but ash and corpses. Believe me."
Zod's face hardened. With a gesture, his men seized Jor-El. He couldn't die—not yet. As Krypton's greatest scientist, he was still useful.
"Take him away."
Then Zod turned back to the cowering Elders. They had once towered above the people. Now, stripped of power, they looked like frail shells.
Zod sneered. "Because of you, Krypton fell."
Suddenly, a frantic soldier stumbled in. "General—bad news!"
Zod's expression shifted. "What is it?"
"Jor-El escaped… he went to the Genesis Chamber!"
"What?!" Zod and Faora exchanged a glance, then bolted. The Codex was Krypton's insurance. With it, they could outbreed any rival, overwhelm any foe. Without it—Krypton was no longer god-tier.
Outside, the skies blazed with war. Warships clashed, cities shook, defenses thundered. Zod's forces battled the loyalists, neither side yielding.
Meanwhile, Jor-El hurled himself into the Genesis Chamber—a vat of luminous fluid brimming with life force. It could nurture hundreds of Kryptonians at once.
And deep within, lay the Codex.
The artifact Krypton had guarded for ages. The key to their supremacy. Their pride. Their sin.
[Codex Acquired]