Joey was clutching his throat, coughing and gasping for air, as he watched the other Superman fly upward, already about to break through Gotham's cloud layer.
He still needed a bit more time to recover. If someone could stall that guy for half a minute—no, even twenty seconds would be enough.
Twenty seconds would be all Joey needed to catch up again, latch onto him, and drag him back down into Gotham, forcing the fight back into a lower-intensity state.
And just then, a familiar figure appeared on the distant horizon—Starfire.
Yeah… she was definitely not going to cut it.
The flames of Tamaranian vengeance burned fiercely. Starfire's entire body was engulfed in blazing orange energy, and emerald-green energy blasts poured out of her like they cost nothing, firing relentlessly at that Superman.
This wasn't the willpower construct of a Green Lantern ring—it was her own native Tamaranian power. And with her ring depleted and useless without recharging, this was all she had.
While Starfire's natural abilities were impressive, without the Green Lantern ring's ability to simulate kryptonite radiation, Joey was certain she wouldn't last even ten seconds against a completely unrestrained, deranged Superman.
Sometimes Joey felt like everything in this universe was working against him.
For example, his opponent was a battle-hardened, middle-aged Superman. What was supposed to be a simple slugfest had turned into a situation where the guy even knew martial arts.
And the only one trying to stop him right now was a trauma-ridden, PTSD-stricken madwoman.
Clearly, Starfire would go into immediate stress response the moment she saw a Kryptonian—or that House of El's 'S' symbol—lunging at them without thinking.
The only reason Joey hadn't already punched this rabid dog chasing him to death was because he knew she wasn't mentally stable.
For a princess who had lost her entire planet two years ago—her people wiped out—expecting too much from her wasn't something Joey wanted to do. She had already suffered enough. Why couldn't he just let her be?
But just because Joey tolerated her didn't mean that Superman would—especially not in the middle of a life-or-death battle between two Kryptonians. Anyone who stood between him and the sun was a valid target for annihilation.
"Cough… Raven, can you—"
Still struggling to breathe, Joey forced himself to stand. His vision was still swimming when Raven, still in her bird form, fluttered down in front of him.
The pitch-black raven, formed of energy, was noticeably smaller than before. She tilted her head and preened her feathers with her beak before speaking:
"I told you already. I'm very weak right now. I can't just toss you into the sun with a thought anymore."
Raven had once been one of the most powerful spellcasters in the DC universe—arguably beyond even Doctor Fate—with near-infinite magic and countless methods at her disposal.
When Joey first met her, she even had the ambition—and the nerve—to manipulate Superman into fighting Trigon.
But something had clearly happened. Now she was reduced to this—only half of her original humanoid form remained, and her power had dropped to far less than half.
The recent battles and protective efforts had drained her even further.
At this level of combat, she was practically just an ordinary raven.
"You've gotta be shitting me!"
Joey realized he hadn't stopped swearing since arriving in this world.
It felt like every time he ran into Raven, something went horribly wrong. Maybe there was a reason crows symbolized death and misfortune in so many cultures.
At this point, Joey didn't care whether she was technically a raven or not:
"I don't care how you do it, Raven—wake that old bastard Thomas up! Slap him if you have to!"
Taking advantage of his breathing stabilizing and blood flow returning to his brain, Joey leapt into the air and charged toward the other Superman.
His plan to finish the fight before sunrise was probably too optimistic. He needed help—someone to gang up on this Kryptonian freak.
That guy had slaughtered the Justice League in his universe. Joey hadn't.
Joey's recovery was much faster than the other Superman had expected.
As he watched Joey closing in again while dodging Starfire's relentless energy barrage, a thought crossed his mind:
When the strong abandon morality, they become even stronger.
And so, Superman spent a bit more energy—vanishing in a blur and reappearing right in front of an unprepared Starfire.
He ignored the thousands-degree flames surrounding her, grabbed her shoulder with one hand—and drove the other straight through her chest.
"Guh—!"
Starfire coughed up blood as her chest was completely pierced through.
Unlike Joey's earlier restrained hits, this time her orange-red blood poured uncontrollably from her mouth and the gaping wound in her chest.
This version of Starfire had not yet grown into a fully realized hero. Faced with such an injury, fear flooded her mind, and her consciousness began to fade.
Superman pulled out his blood-soaked hand and casually tossed her high into the air—
Then turned and blocked Joey's incoming punch with his elbow.
The shockwave from their clash blew away all the clouds over Gotham, revealing the bright moonlight once more.
With a kick, Superman forced Joey back, then calmly pointed upward at Starfire, who was about to begin her free fall:
"Tamaranian power comes from emotion. When they're afraid, distracted, or unconscious, their abilities weaken—just like when we're exposed to a red sun."
"That girl is only severely injured right now, but in less than a minute, she'll hit the ground and turn into a puddle of flesh. If you don't save her…"
Joey's response was a sudden, full-force punch:
"You think I'm stupid?!"
Superman was struck square in the chest by that sudden punch, leaving him short of breath, dizzy, and disoriented.
That blow wasn't just physical—it was a psychological setback.
He had once been Joey's age. Back then, his enemies often trapped him in these same kinds of moral dilemmas, forcing him to choose between two options. And it had worked on him every time.
In his mind, creating such a situation meant that—as Superman—one should never hesitate to save the girl first.
But this young Superman in front of him had walked a completely different path from the very beginning. And that stirred a strange irritation in him—especially now that he had grown disgusted with his own past childish heroics.
"You don't deserve to be called Superman," he snapped. "A real Superman should do everything in his power to achieve the best outcome! Even I—back then—I wouldn't have easily made such a choice!"
Joey closed the distance and punched him straight in the face again, sending blood spraying from his nose.
"At least I deserve it more than you do now! What, I should leave you alone so you can soak up sunlight and wipe out everyone on Earth?!"
The choice this guy had offered him reminded Joey of a ridiculous question he'd once seen:
A museum is on fire. You can only save one thing—an innocent kitten, or a priceless masterpiece?
Thinking of that, Joey drove an uppercut into his jaw. Kryptonians were tough—so tough that the impact split the skin on Joey's own knuckles—but it still knocked his opponent off balance.
What kind of stupid question is that? Why not just put out the fire first?!
Meanwhile, Starfire—caught in the shockwave—began falling even faster.
In the final moment before losing consciousness, she instinctively whispered:
"Help…"
After taking that blow to the jaw, Superman's ears rang violently. He wavered midair, nearly losing control—but he was still far from defeated. Kryptonians were notoriously hard to kill.
Even now, he tried one last push:
"I know you can hear her—we both can! Go on and let her die! If you kill me today, tomorrow you'll become just like me!"
"I heard her—and I admit, you're right."
Joey suddenly stopped mid-attack. He shook the blood from his hand and, without looking back, flew straight toward the falling Starfire.
"What?"
Superman stared in disbelief as Joey flew away. He hadn't expected his final words to actually work.
So morality really did make people weaker.
Seizing the moment, he shot upward toward the sky while staying alert.
Soon, he would reach the sun, restore himself to full strength, and then settle everything.
Joey had heard Starfire's plea.
And for a brief moment, after hearing that Superman's words, he had considered abandoning the fight to save her first.
Maybe it was because Starfire had become a traumatized orphan due to the actions of his own kind.
Or maybe it was because he simply refused to weigh lives on a scale.
But in the end, the dilemma found a perfect answer—
Because he hadn't only heard Starfire.
He had also heard something else: a faint, discordant disturbance in the airflow high above, left behind by the earlier shockwave.
Up in the sky, Superman flew confidently toward the edge of the atmosphere, certain of his victory, ready to greet the first rays of sunlight—
Until a golden lasso suddenly wrapped around his neck.
A familiar voice rang out—one he had heard not long ago, almost as if he had just killed her:
"You bastard—you won't live to see tomorrow's sun!"
The Lasso of Truth.
Wonder Woman—from this universe.
Joey had already encountered enough Amazonian invisible jets back on the British Isles. Even though the magically cloaked aircraft were invisible even to Kryptonian senses, he had learned to detect them through subtle irregularities in airflow.
This Superman, however, lacked that experience—so when Wonder Woman suddenly leapt out of the jet, he was completely caught off guard.
"Take care of her, Doc."
In the distance, Joey gently caught Starfire—her chest torn open—and carried her to the old Bat, who had just contacted Cyborg and started calling in reinforcements.
Then Joey immediately turned back toward the battlefield.
In the distance, thunder rumbled, and the roar of Cyborg's thrusters echoed.
It seemed someone might not get to see this world's first sunlight after all.
Meanwhile, the old Bat—suddenly handed a critically injured patient—looked completely at a loss.
Technically speaking, Thomas Wayne—Bruce Wayne's father—had once been a skilled and reputable surgeon.
But that was the man he used to be.
Now, staring at Starfire—her chest blown open with a gaping wound, barely breathing—he had no choice but to grab a syringe and gamble:
"I'll see what I can do."
His medical license had long been revoked due to alcoholism.
He had already killed the Flash through illegal treatment not long ago.
And Starfire, being an alien, likely had a completely different physiology from humans…
Still, Thomas flicked the syringe and let out a self-mocking chuckle.
Compared to everything else he had done in his life, this hardly mattered.
After all, what if this alien girl still had a chance to see tomorrow's sun?