The sky above the Warworld was not truly a sky. It was the inner hull of a machine, glowing with false sunlight from the massive star engines splurged like decorations on a cake.
Yet this day, the light of the engines seemed dimmer. The light bent strangely in the air, the shadows deeper and heavier, as though the planet itself dreaded what was to come.
Mongal stood on the square of the Crucible. She was a tall and muscular woman with a broad, imposing frame.
Her skin was the color of molten gold. Her piercing red eyes radiated determination and regal pride; her familial face features of brutal and angular forms looked beautiful on her, unlike most of her family.
Her red hair was braided into a long ponytail, strict but elegant. Her purple armor was accented with metallic armor plating, clearly designed for practicality in combat.
Chaytil, the general, stood to her right. He was a tall Warzoon, disciplined to his core; he was a military man before he was a member of the Claw Clan. His red and gold armor was polished to perfection. He was a creature of habit and perfection. The dreadlocks on his head were bound with iron ring bindings. He gave a look of brutal practicality.
At her left, the messenger—the coward who had fled the battle beneath the Necropolis. Mongal barely looked at her. Fear had already punished the woman enough.
"We need to find them," Chaytil said. His voice was hard, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. "The sensors confirm it, they're somewhere in this quadron."
"Then deploy the army on the search," Mongal replied. Mongul had tasked the two of them with finding out Darkseid's plans. Their spies confirmed Darkseid entering the Crucible Arena several hours ago. Ever since, they had been trying to contact Mongul, but to no avail. This is why they eventually took the initiative and deployed the army in the region.
But before the army could act, the gates of the Crucible opened.
Four figures emerged from the metal doors. Their frames bore evidence of the battle. These were Darkseid and his three Furies.
To Mongal, an experienced and trained warrior, these four looked like statues carved from the ash of the dead planets. Apokolips Empire had been famous for its ruthlessness and cruelty to the conquered species. Darkseid himself was famous as the Young Demon for his deeds during various wars.
To her eyes of a person used to evaluating personnel from a single look, every single one of these warriors looked like a formidable force. One, that she had little hope of defeating with the army present. But also the one that she needed to defeat today if the Warzoon race was to survive. She needed a miracle.
A miracle that never came.
Instead, the air had been filled with desperation and doom. An overwhelming godlike presence of Darkseid filled the surroundings, pulling them down to their knees.
The entire planet trembled beneath his presence. The ground in close proximity to the Arena shuddered, sending cracks through the metal surface. Towers of the Arena groaned as their foundations protested. The mechanical core deep below wailed under the pressure of an energy that no mortal or machine could withstand.
The gladiators fell first. One by one, they buckled under pressure. Then the conscripts followed, their disciplined formations dissolving into chaos as they collapsed beneath the weight of something they could not fight.
Mongal's vision dimmed at the edges, the light bending as though she were trapped in the orbit of a collapsing star.
"Do not kneel," she said to herself, determination burning inside.
Her mind screamed it over and over. Her body trembled, sweat beading on her golden skin.
She felt the weight of the planet's destiny upon her shoulders. Her brother was dead. If she were to fall before the enemy, who would stand? No one.
Darkseid's gaze found her. The glow of his eyes cut through the haze that had embraced her mind. His expression was that of amusement, and surprisingly… approval.
"Interesting," he said. His voice thundered like a seismic wave, deep and terrifying. "You show more worth than your late brother ever did."
There you go, he confirmed what she had already known deep inside. Her brother was dead. She felt no emotions from this loss, as there was no connection between the two of them besides being tied by family.
But that also meant that their best fighter had already lost to this… Demon.
Darkseid stepped forward.
Each footfall would strike her resolve, casting her deeper into the pits of despair. With each step, the pressure on her doubled.
And eventually, her body betrayed her. It could no longer support her in her desperate resistance.
Her right knee hit the floor.
A shudder ran through her body; shivers were creeping up her spine. A sense of dread, of a loss, had begun gripping her heart with the clench of an iron claw.
She had yielded. Once the proudest daughter of the Warworld, an heir of the Mongul bloodline, the rulers of the Warworld, the head of the Crucible Arena, had yielded to the mercy of the enemy.
The god of Apokolips had broken her.
Darkseid's aura began to fade. The crushing weight lifted, leaving behind only the echoes of its power.
Then came his decree.
"Warworld is mine." Darkseid's words resonated through the world like a declaration of domination. "It will serve Apokolips. You shall learn the meaning of order."
The very air changed. A golden hue filtered through the artificial sky, not from the engines, but from something else. Something vast, something cosmic. Mongal felt the air hum with the presence of powers she could not see, could barely comprehend. Divine eyes, countless and cold, turned toward the square.
"The meaning of fate," Darkseid continued, his gaze distant now, as though addressing the unseen watchers above.
Mongal felt it then—a second presence. Lighter, colder, detached. It did not crush; it merely observed. The whispers of it brushed against her mind like silk threads. Destiny. Order. Witnesses.
"The meaning of submission."
The god's final words were not shouted. They did not need to be. They simply were. Reality itself carried them.
Darkseid lifted a key gem of Warworld, and the cosmic watchers seemed to lean closer. Mongal felt her heart tighten, an ancient instinct screaming in terror as the god enacted a ritual few mortals would dare.
He pressed the gem against his chest.
The Gem dissolved into nothingness, its essence merging with Darkseid's being. And with dreadful finality, she had sensed her connection to the planet shatter. Signifying that Warworld was truly his.
Mongal bowed her head in grim recognition.
"Come with me, Mongal. Serve me." Darkseid said in a calm, resolute tone.
The trembling in Mongal's limbs had not subsided yet, but she forced them still. Her voice came back to her through a considerable effort on her part. She even managed to sound steady.
"I will."
The words tasted like ashes, but she meant them. She would serve him if it meant this planet's salvation. Her well-being was secondary to the survival of her people.
The god inclined his head slightly, the faintest echo of approval flickering across his granite features.
"I will serve," she continued, voicing her own penal sentence. The words carried a weight that was beyond everything she had ever said. "Warworld will serve you, Emperor of Apokolips."
"Then swear it," Darkseid said, his tone like carved stone. He then lowered his hand, offering it to her expectedly.
Mongal raised her head, pressing her lips on the stretched-out hand before saying her oath.
"I, Mongal of the Warworld, swear loyalty and servitude to Darkseid of Apokolips. By blood and by strength, I bind myself to his command fully."
A burst of energy rippled between the two of them. The planet had acknowledged her pledge.
Darkseid inclined his head.
"Rise, Mongal of Apokolips. My vassal."
She rose slowly, her expression unreadable. Behind her, the army still knelt. None dared to rise until Darkseid turned away.
He began walking into the boom tube, and Mongal hurried to follow. The Furies were close behind; their exhaustion was as unreadable to the outsider as their master's.
The Boom Tube led back to Apokolips. Darkseid, Mongal, and the Furies had emerged from the other side of the intergalactic portal before it closed off with a characteristic boom.
Suli and Dreamer welcomed them as soon as they had crossed over.
"You're back!" Dreamer cried out with her cheerful tone. Her raven black hair was wet as she had just finished showering. It was already nighttime on Apokolips.
"Welcome back!" Suli said, bowing slightly before Darkseid. "Who's with you?"
"Furies," Darkseid said, gesturing to the three of his best warriors.
They were currently standing in his personal chambers. A place that only he, Suli, and Dreamer had visited before, as it contained a lot of secrets, including the interdimensional gate hidden away in one of the rooms here.
Darkseid had been very happy with the Furies' performance during the mission on Warworld, and that is why he had decided to reward them… with more work. He shickered quietly, enjoying the small mental joke he had made.
Truthfully, he had planned to pull them into his schemes and plans sooner rather than later. These three were his bodyguards; they should be aware of most things that were going to happen in the future.
"But what about that one?" Dreamer asked, bewildered, as she had never seen this orange-skinned woman before.
"That's my new vassal, Mongal," Darkseid said simply, as if expecting everyone to understand the implications behind that title. Not explaining anything else, he had proceeded to walk forward, passing by his bride and Suli.
"Now, to my war room. We need to plan our next moves".
The women who had gathered here, in a barely furnished living room of Darkseid's chambers, had exchanged weird looks. It was as if they had been asking each other if anyone knew what this was about.
Only Dreamer and Suli had known most of the details of what was to come in Darkseid's plans. The rest were oblivious to them.
Wordlessly, the group had entered the war room, following their Emperor.