Beyond the outer boundaries of Nidavellir, the dwarven star system drifted in relative calm, its glowing furnaces and orbital structures standing as quiet testimony to centuries of craftsmanship. That calm, however, was already being stalked by something far more sinister, something that had lingered just beyond detection for longer than anyone realized.
A long, narrow black warship sliced through the darkness, its hull absorbing the faint starlight as it glided into the system's outer range. It didn't arrive suddenly—this vessel had been circling for some time, waiting, watching, calculating. Now, finally, it made its move.
Inside the ship, tension simmered beneath controlled silence. Proxima Midnight stood at the forefront, her gaze locked on the distant dwarf world as if she could already see it burning. Her expression carried no hesitation, only a cold, sharpened resolve forged by grief and vengeance.
"They've shown no response after all this time," she said quietly, her voice edged with certainty. "That tells us everything we need to know. They have no real defense."
One of her subordinates shifted uneasily but still responded. "Krypton doesn't maintain a standing army beyond that Superman. Without him present, this system is exposed."
A faint smile touched her lips, but it carried no warmth. "Exactly. This is our window."
The unspoken truth hung in the air. This wasn't just a tactical strike—it was personal.
Proxima Midnight had waited for this moment ever since the death of her husband, Corvus Glaive. His loss had carved a wound that no strategy or patience could dull, and now she intended to repay it in blood.
"Lord Thanos will not approve of this," another subordinate warned carefully, keeping his tone measured.
She didn't even look at him when she replied. "I'm not asking for his approval."
Her gaze remained fixed on Nidavellir, unwavering and absolute.
"We move in fast," she continued, laying out the plan with cold precision. "Full bombardment from orbit. We annihilate everything in sight, eliminate the dwarf king Eitri, and withdraw before Krypton can respond."
The crew exchanged glances, knowing the risks but also knowing there was no changing her mind. Orders were orders, even when they bordered on recklessness.
Moments later, the warship surged forward.
It cut across the system's perimeter like a blade, descending toward the dwarf world with terrifying speed. As it passed over Nidavellir, its weapons systems came alive in an instant.
Then the sky erupted.
Blinding beams of energy rained down, followed by a relentless barrage of artillery fire that lit up the surface in waves of destruction. Explosions bloomed across vast sections of the dwarven domain, swallowing entire districts in fire and shockwaves.
The assault was overwhelming, designed to crush resistance before it could even organize.
But Nidavellir was not defenseless.
Though small in number, the dwarves had spent generations forging weapons that rivaled the finest in the cosmos. Defensive cannons activated across the surface, and within seconds, counterfire surged upward in defiance.
Massive energy blasts slammed into the attacking warship, and smaller defense platforms joined in, creating a web of retaliation that caught the invaders off guard.
One of the black ships shuddered violently as a direct hit tore through its hull, sending fragments spiraling into space. Another followed, struck by a concentrated beam that split it apart in a burst of flame.
"Damn it!" Proxima Midnight snapped, her composure cracking for the first time. She hadn't expected this level of resistance, not from a civilization known more for crafting than combat.
"Deploy the Vanguard," she ordered immediately, her tone hardening. "I want every dwarf in that system dead."
The hesitation this time was more obvious. One of her officers glanced up, confusion flashing across his face. "But the plan was—"
"We don't have time for half measures," she cut in sharply. "Execute the order and prepare to withdraw as soon as the objective is complete."
Reluctantly, the command was carried out.
The ship's lower bays opened wide, revealing the horrors within.
Dozens of massive, four-armed creatures were released into the void, their bodies twisting as they fell toward the planet below. These were the Vanguard—beasts bred and conditioned for nothing but slaughter, their ferocity unmatched by most known species.
Once unleashed, they would not stop until everything in their path was reduced to ruin.
But just as they began their descent, something changed.
A pressure swept across the battlefield, subtle at first but growing in intensity with every passing second. It wasn't something visible—it was something felt, like the space itself had turned hostile.
Then it struck.
A devastating wave of force tore through the area, detonating several of the falling Vanguard midair. Their bodies burst into clouds of blood and fragments, erased before they could even reach their target.
The entire sky seemed to shift, as if a new rule had been imposed upon it.
"No…" one of the crew whispered, dread creeping into his voice.
Proxima Midnight's expression hardened instantly. "He's here."
There was no need to ask who.
"Retreat! Now!" she shouted, urgency replacing every trace of earlier confidence.
But it was already too late.
A streak of ice-blue light tore across the void, cutting through the darkness with surgical precision. It struck one of the fleeing warships head-on, and the result was immediate.
The vessel exploded in a brilliant fireball, its remains scattering across the surrounding space like burning debris.
"It's him! It's Superman!" someone screamed, panic breaking through the disciplined structure of the crew.
"He's too fast! He shouldn't be able to reach us this quickly!"
Another voice cut in, filled with desperation. "Lord Thanos warned us not to act without caution. This… this is why."
But regret came too late to matter.
Proxima Midnight clenched her fists, her mind racing as she tried to regain control of the situation. She had gambled on the assumption that the Kryptonian wouldn't be able to respond in time, or at least not with full mastery of the power he wielded.
That assumption was now proving disastrously wrong.
The battlefield turned into chaos as ships scattered in every direction, engines flaring as they attempted to flee. Warp drives activated, pushing the vessels toward superluminal escape.
But escape required time.
And time was something they no longer had.
Ethan Drake moved through space like a force of nature, his presence bending reality itself. Distance meant nothing to him—what should have taken minutes or hours happened in an instant.
One moment he was at the edge of the system. The next, he stood directly beside a fleeing warship.
With a single motion, he struck.
The impact was effortless, almost casual, but the result was catastrophic. The ship crumpled under the force, its structure collapsing inward before detonating in a burst of fire.
Before the explosion had even fully dissipated, he was already gone.
He reappeared beside another vessel, repeating the process with the same terrifying efficiency. There was no buildup, no warning—just instantaneous destruction delivered with absolute precision.
"It's not speed," one of the fleeing commanders realized aloud, horror thick in his voice. "He's not moving fast… he's just appearing wherever he wants."
"The Space Stone…" another whispered.
Understanding dawned too late to save them.
Proxima Midnight's expression darkened as the reality of the situation sank in. "All ships regroup," she ordered sharply. "Align in one direction and engage warp simultaneously. We break through together."
It was their last chance.
Engines roared to life as the remaining ships attempted to synchronize their escape, energy building as they prepared to tear through space itself.
Then something appeared in front of them.
A brilliant blue gem, hovering silently in the void.
For a brief moment, everything seemed to pause.
"The Space Stone…" someone breathed, recognition striking like lightning.
The gem pulsed.
Then space itself began to twist.
A dark vortex formed, expanding rapidly as it consumed the surrounding light. Its center deepened into a void so absolute it seemed to erase existence itself.
"No… that's not—"
"It's a black hole!"
Panic erupted across every channel as the realization hit.
The gravitational pull surged outward with overwhelming force, ripping ships out of their warp preparation before they could complete the jump. Massive vessels were dragged off course, their engines straining uselessly against the invisible grip.
The vortex expanded further, swallowing everything in its reach—ships, debris, even the light itself—dragging them into a collapsing point of nothingness.
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