"How many blows can you take?"
Rhael's voice carried through the World Engine's command chamber.
The words landed harder than any strike.
The gathered Kryptonian warriors stiffened. Arrogance was one thing. Challenging General Zod inside his own flagship was another.
Derek tried to rise again, fury burning through the pain.
"I don't accept—"
A boot pressed him back to the deck.
"Quiet," Rhael said without looking down.
He stepped over Derek's prone form and continued forward, unhurried.
Another warrior lunged from the flank.
Rhael swatted him aside with a casual backhand. The impact lifted the attacker off his feet and hurled him across the chamber, armor screeching against alloy as he crashed into a support column.
Rhael didn't even break stride.
"You hide behind them?" he called toward the throne.
The insult finally drew movement.
"Enough."
General Zod stepped forward.
He did not shout.
He did not posture.
He moved.
The distance between them vanished in an instant.
The collision sounded like artillery fire.
Rhael's boots gouged twin trenches into the floor as he absorbed the first impact. Zod followed with a rapid barrage—short, brutal combinations honed by decades of combat.
Fists like kinetic missiles hammered into Rhael's guard.
For a few seconds, Rhael gave ground.
To observers, it looked like momentum had shifted.
"Let's see how long your arrogance lasts," Zod growled, striking again.
Their fists met head-on.
The shockwave cracked plating along the perimeter of the chamber.
Rhael slid back several meters.
Zod staggered two steps.
Silence followed.
Rhael rolled his shoulders slowly.
"So this," he murmured, almost amused, "is what a real fight feels like."
Until now, every opponent had shattered instantly. Fleet armor, Kree cruisers, standard soldiers—none had forced him to exert himself.
Zod was different.
Engineered for war. Hardened by discipline. Driven by purpose.
But as Zod advanced again, something else became apparent.
His right hand trembled slightly.
Rhael had felt the resistance in that exchange.
Zod had felt it more.
"You're not as composed as you pretend," Rhael said.
Zod's jaw tightened.
He attacked again, faster this time.
Rhael didn't retreat.
He stepped into it.
Energy coursed through him.
Every cell in his body operated at maximum output—solar conversion systems drawing in ambient radiation, storing and amplifying it in real time. His musculature tightened like coiled starship cables under extreme load.
He stopped holding back.
"I did say I would keep my word," Rhael said quietly. "Let's see the difference."
He took a single step forward.
The deck trembled beneath his weight.
His presence changed.
Even those without combat training felt it.
Zod recognized it instantly.
Acceleration.
Power spike.
He threw a punch.
Rhael met it.
The impact was decisive.
Zod's forearm buckled under the collision. Microfractures raced through reinforced bone. The shockwave lifted him off his feet and launched him backward through the chamber wall.
He tore through two bulkheads before bursting out into open space beyond the World Engine's hull.
Gas vented violently into vacuum.
Inside the chamber, stunned silence reigned.
Outside, Zod's body drifted for a fraction of a second.
Then Rhael appeared at the breach.
His eyes ignited icy blue.
A cryogenic beam carved across the void—clean, precise, relentless.
It struck Zod mid-drift and carried him farther into open space.
The light cut through the darkness like a blade drawn across the stars.
Inside the command chamber, the remaining Kryptonians could only watch.
The demonstration was over.
The difference had been made clear.