Superman was losing ground.
The alien machine was too big. Too coordinated. Every punch he landed barely scratched it. Every time he thought he had an opening, it anticipated his move.
Then the sky split.
A green construct appeared—a giant hammer, slamming the machine sideways. Green Lantern descended through the clouds, his ring glowing bright.
"About time you got some help," Green Lantern said. His voice was cocky. Confident.
Superman didn't argue. He hit the machine again while it was off-balance. This time, real damage. A section of armor cracked.
Diana appeared next, her sword cutting through the damaged section. The blade bit deep—not just denting, but cutting. Actual injury.
"There are more machines," Diana said. "All across the city."
"Then we split up," Green Lantern replied.
The Flash was already moving. A red blur hitting three machines simultaneously, damaging them, retreating before they could retaliate.
Hawkgirl dove from above, her mace connecting with an alien head. The machine staggered. She hit it again. And again. The rhythm was different from Diana's technique—brute force instead of precision—but effective.
Superman noticed: Together, they were working. Not as individuals. As a unit.
The machine he was fighting went down. Just collapsed. Its power systems failing from the coordinated assault.
Shazam appeared in a lightning flash.
He was younger than the others. Inexperienced. But his raw power was undeniable. Lightning crackled from his fists as he fought, explosive and devastating.
A machine tried to grab him. Shazam released a burst of electricity. The machine's systems overloaded. It fell.
Green Arrow was on a rooftop, firing arrows—each one coated with something white. Supremium. The arrows found weak points in the armor. Joints. Seams. Anywhere a normal weapon would fail.
For the first time since the invasion started, Earth was fighting back.
Not just Superman. Not just Diana. All of them. Together.
The machines in Metropolis began to retreat. Not because they were defeated. But because they weren't prepared for organized resistance.
Superman felt it. The momentum shift. The hope rising in his chest.
Maybe they could win this.
Maybe—
The sky changed.
Not gradually. Not with warning.
Just—changed.
The clouds above Metropolis shifted. Thickened. Turned from gray to black. And they kept spreading. Not just above the city. Across the horizon. Spreading like a disease across the sky.
Green Lantern's ring flickered. "What is that?"
No one answered because they all understood: Something massive was happening.
The sunlight dimmed.
Green Lantern's power ring glowed brighter, compensating. But even his light was struggling against the darkness spreading overhead.
The machines that were retreating stopped. Turned around. Began advancing again.
"They're regrouping," Flash said. He was breathing hard. "Why are they regrouping? We were winning."
Superman looked up.
The clouds covered everything now. Noon looked like midnight. And in that darkness, the alien machines moved with renewed confidence.
"The sun," J'onn's voice came through the communicators. Weak. Distant. "They're blocking the sun."
"Why would they—" Diana started.
"Because," J'onn said slowly, "they're vulnerable to it. And they're removing that vulnerability permanently."
Superman clenched his fists.
The darkness was complete now. Above them. All around them. Permanent.
The machines advanced.
And Superman realized: They hadn't been winning.
They'd been playing exactly into the aliens' plan.