Erick was panting, the air escaping his lungs in short, painful gasps, as if each breath were a serrated blade scraping against fractured ribs. The plasma still trembled faintly in his right hand, remnants of ionized energy dissipating in the cold Gotham air, but the exertion had drained him. His body, hypertrophied by Venom A, throbbed with profound fatigue—muscles stretched to their limit, veins bulging like overloaded cables, sweat mingling with blood that flowed from open wounds. He had given it his all: condensed flames into plasma, ionized the surrounding air to create a ball of energy exceeding 5,000 degrees Celsius, and yet… nothing. Lobo stood there, unperturbed, the burn mark on his stomach regenerating in seconds, as if the attack were nothing more than a mosquito bite. Erick felt a wave of helplessness wash over him, an icy emptiness spreading from his chest to his limbs. He, who had prepared for years—brutal training in the basement, inventions forged in sleepless nights, the elemental fire fused to his essence—now perceived the weakness of his being. Faced with that walking catastrophe, a being that devoured worlds for sport, he could do nothing. His powers, his reincarnated intelligence, everything seemed insignificant, like a child brandishing a stick against a titan.
But at the same time, the flame in his chest—literal and metaphorical—wouldn't allow him to give up. The elemental pulsed, an eternal spark of determination that compelled him to rise. Erick clenched his teeth, ignoring the excruciating pain in his ribs, and slowly stood up, melted snow trickling down his tanned skin, veins still bulging from the serum. His blue eyes locked on Lobo, a glint of unwavering fury gleaming in them. He took a step forward, flames reigniting in his hands, ready for another suicidal charge.
Lobo moved then—not with normal speed, but as if space were folding around him, too fast for any human senses. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind Erick, the displaced air creating a momentary vacuum. A sinister grin spread across the bearded Czarnian's face, sharp teeth gleaming in the dim streetlights. "Enough playing around," he growled, his deep voice echoing like an omen.
The blow came as if Erick had been struck by a runaway train. Lobo's fist hit his back with brute force, bones creaking, vertebrae protesting. Erick was thrown forward, his body flying through several trees—trunks splitting with dry cracks, branches whipping his skin like blades—until he collided with the ground in an explosion of earth and snow. His body partially buried itself, creating a shallow crater where melted snow mixed with blood and dirt. Now, lying there, his body completely ravaged—ribs definitely broken, lungs burning with each shallow breath, muscles trembling with exhaustion—the only thing he saw when he raised his head was Lobo, standing, his red eyes gleaming impassively, as if nothing had happened. The Czarnian didn't have a visible scratch, his gray skin immaculate beneath his sleeveless jacket.
Lobo grinned widely, tilting his head like a predator assessing exhausted prey. "Enough playing around," he repeated, his voice thick with malevolent amusement. "If you survive this... I hope you'll face me again." He began walking toward the city, heavy steps crushing snow and debris, as if the fight were merely a warm-up. His space motorcycle, hovering nearby, descended silently toward him, its thrusters humming softly. Lobo mounted, the vehicle adjusting to his colossal weight. Before accelerating, he turned his face to Erick, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "Maybe I'll play with the blonde too. See how a human girl fares in a city like this."
The engine roared, and Lobo vanished in a blur, leaving only bluish smoke and the echo of his laughter.
Erick, buried in the earth, shattered wood, and melted ice, felt helplessness suffocating him like an invisible hand. Insignificant—that's how he felt, a grain of sand before a cosmic storm. But at the same time, rage burned in his chest, an incessant fury amplified by the elemental. He clenched his fists, faint flames flickering in his palms, and swore silently: I will make that bastard pay. Every broken bone, every drop of blood, would be avenged. He crawled out of the crater, his body protesting, but determination driving him forward. The DC universe was cruel, but he wouldn't give up.
POV Artemis
Artemis and Starfire raced through the dark streets of Gotham, the sound of their boots echoing in the damp, narrow alleys. The snow fell in heavy flakes now, turning the asphalt into a slippery track, the biting wind carrying the scent of distant smoke and rusted metal. Artemis led the way, her heart racing, her hand firm on Starfire's handcuffed arm to guide her. They ran against the flow of panicked pedestrians, dodging overturned trash cans and frozen puddles, trying to get as far away as possible from the park—the epicenter of the madness that had erupted in their supposedly normal night. Artemis knew who this madman was: Lobo, the intergalactic bounty hunter Superman had faced years ago in Metropolis. She had a vivid memory of the destruction—buildings collapsing like houses of cards, streets cracked by titanic impacts, the air thick with dust and screams. Lobo was a force of nature, with no apparent weaknesses, regenerating from wounds that would kill gods. And now, he was after this alien girl that Erick had entrusted to her protection. The difficult part was that Artemis was without her weapons—bow, arrows, everything left behind at a civilian meeting. Even if she had them, he doubted it would make a difference; she was human, fragile against a being who laughed at Kryptonians.
They continued running for several minutes, their lungs burning in the icy air, until they stopped, panting, near an abandoned bus stop, a rusty metal structure covered in faded graffiti. There, Artemis could see the chaos spreading: Gotham police cars speeding by with wailing sirens, red and blue lights flashing against the snow; a fire brigade roaring behind them, hoses already being prepared; and a SWAT team in black vans, armed to the teeth, driving towards the park. Apparently, the alarm had been triggered—perhaps by fleeing civilians, perhaps by Erick's AIs. The noise was deafening, an orchestrated chaos that contrasted sharply with the oppressive silence of the confrontation they had left behind.
Artemis turned to Starfire, hands on her knees to catch her breath. "Are you okay? I know it's ridiculous to ask now, but I'm asking. Are you okay?"
Starfire, her skin pale orange from the cold and shock, blinked slowly, as if waking from a trance. Her large, expressive green eyes focused on Artemis, who shook her head slightly. She was in shock, breathing irregularly, her body trembling not only from the Gotham winter but from the accumulated trauma. Artemis noticed the massive handcuffs—blocks of alien metal weighing like anchors, immobilizing the girl's arms. It was impressive that she had managed to run with those; this girl must be strong, perhaps stronger than she appeared.
Starfire murmured, her voice soft but heavy with emotion, as if trying to comprehend the feelings overwhelming her: "That boy... he sacrificed himself..."
Artemis felt a tightness in her chest, a mixture of anger and worry. "That idiot, putting himself at risk. It's not like he had a choice, really." She paused, looking at Starfire's alien face—delicate features, tousled pink hair falling over her shoulders. "But then, how did you get yourself into this mess?"
Starfire hesitated, her eyes dropping to the handcuffs. "It's complicated." Her tone was heavy, her face marked by a pain that Artemis recognized—a difficult story to tell, full of loss and escape. Artemis didn't press her; there would be time for details later, if they survived.
Instead, he asked, "Do you know who that hunter is?"
Starfire nodded affirmatively, a shadow crossing her green eyes. "Yes... Lobo."
Artemis nodded, relieved that she didn't have to explain. "Great. Less story to explain." She observed the girl more closely—orange skin, luminous eyes, evident strength despite the handcuffs. "You're an alien, or at least a mutant."
Starfire gently corrected: "I'm from Tamaran."
Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Good. We need to find a safe place." She pulled her phone from her pocket, cold fingers typing rapidly. She sent her location to the team—Kid Flash, Superboy, Aqualad, M'gann—knowing they were minutes away. She also texted Erick: "Erick, how are you? Answer me." But the silence on the other end unsettled her. While she waited, a colossal explosion echoed from the direction of the park—an immense flash illuminating the night sky like a second sun, followed by a roar that made the ground tremble. Artemis felt a chill down her spine, a bad feeling gripping her stomach like a claw. Something had happened—something bad.
Seeing that they weren't safe there, and with the GPS indicating the direction of their friends, she grabbed Starfire's arm. "Let's go. They're this way." They started running again, their feet splashing in melted puddles, alleys giving way to wider streets. But after a minute of desperate sprinting, a shadow fell over them. They looked up: Lobo, mounted on the space motorcycle, hovered above, thrusters humming low, a sinister smile spreading across his bearded face.
Artemis felt the ice solidify on her chest, paralyzing her for a second. "What did you do to Erick?" she screamed, her hand gripping Starfire's arm.
Lobo descended slowly, his motorcycle landing with a soft thud on the cracked asphalt. He grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming. "Ah, so that's the insect's name. Not that I care, but it must be writhing in its own blood now." He laughed, a hoarse chuckle that echoed off the empty buildings. He reached into his pocket for a cigar, but frowned when he realized they were all destroyed—ashes and charred bits falling from his jacket, which was partially torn and blackened. The suit was sturdy, an alien alloy that could withstand vacuums and explosions, but Erick's plasma had left its mark. Lobo gave a scornful laugh, tilting his head. "That idiot really managed to piss me off."
He turned to the two of them, his red eyes fixed on Starfire. "Why don't you two go play hide-and-seek? It would be so much fun."
Artemis felt completely useless, a void opening in her chest. She was human, trained, skilled—but against this? A being without weaknesses. Facing him would be suicide, and the city would pay the price with colossal destruction. She watched Lobo dismount the motorcycle with terrifying tranquility, slow steps as if he had all the time in the world, as if nothing mattered except his sadistic amusement.
But then, Artemis's phone vibrated—a message: "We've arrived." The cavalry had arrived.
Suddenly, a figure leaped from a nearby building, colliding with Lobo like a living missile. Superboy—Conner Kent—his Kryptonian muscles tensed, struck the Czarnian with brutal force, creating a crater in the asphalt as their bodies crashed to the ground. Dust and snow flew in a dense cloud. When it dissipated, Superboy was on top, pounding Lobo's face with fists that cracked concrete—punch after punch, each echoing like thunder, trying to force a reaction.
But it didn't last. With a movement that defied perception—too fast for the human eye—Lobo counterattacked, hurling Superboy across the street. The Kryptonian crashed into a building, the wall crumbling into bricks and dust, a groan escaping his lips.
Lobo stood up slowly, as if he hadn't suffered anything, dust falling from his jacket. "Uh, Kryptonian child. Finally, a new challenge."
From an adjacent alley, a tsunami erupted—Aqualad manipulating water from nearby hydrants, a colossal wave crashing down on Lobo. The Czarnian didn't even flinch, water streaming down his gray skin. Aqualad formed razor-sharp blades from the water on the ground, hurling them like shurikens that would cut through steel. They hit, but ricocheted harmlessly. Lobo delivered a casual slap, sending Aqualad flying against a parked car, metal crumpling like tin. "If you can't handle the fun, don't get into the fight," Lobo taunted.
A yellow blur then appeared—Kid Flash, Wally West, attacking from different angles at superspeed, punches and kicks in an invisible barrage. Lobo didn't even blink, like a buzzing mosquito. With a simple lift of his foot and a powerful stomp, he shook the ground—vibrations like a localized earthquake causing Wally to stumble and collide with a post, his body rolling in the snow.
From a tall building, several batarangs were hurled—courtesy of Robin, Dick Grayson—explosives activating on impact. The explosions engulfed Lobo in fire and smoke, but when it dissipated, he was unharmed, merely staring in that direction as if he saw an insignificant worm.
M'gann, Miss Martian, then tried—a transparent silhouette emerging from a building, her mind invading Lobo's. But he raised an eyebrow, and with a mental snap, banished her. M'gann assumed physical form, falling to her knees, hands on her head. "He's too strong. I can't hold him," she gasped, sweat pouring down.
Lobo watched them all—Superboy rising from the rubble, Aqualad coughing up water, Kid Flash recovering, Robin rappelling down, M'gann trembling. He chuckled softly, his red eyes scanning the group like a Lobo assessing lambs. "What happened? I didn't know Earth's heroes had children. It'll be very interesting to see their faces after I rip the skin off you, from your flesh."
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