10:22 AM – The Edge of Space
The Conqueror ran.
Not like a man. Like a shadow detaching from the wall. His obsidian form stretched, thinning into smoke, shooting toward the mothership's hangar bay. The ship was already trembling, its engines screaming as the inverted ion cloud turned the atmosphere into a furnace.
Sunlight pierced the hull cracks. Where it touched him, his skin hissed. Black blood boiled away.
"Not like this," the Conqueror rasped. His voice was no longer telepathic. It was human. Terrified. "I have ruled stars. I have burned worlds. I will not—"
He reached the ramp. His fingers clawed at the metal.
"Peter," Bruce said.
"On it," Peter replied.
Two lines of golden spider-silk shot from the shadows. They didn't just stick—they bonded. Molecular adhesion, heated to plasma density. They wrapped around the Conqueror's ankles, yanking him back.
The alien shrieked. He slashed at the webbing, but it didn't break. It glowed brighter.
"Diana," Bruce said.
The lasso whipped out. Golden light flared. It wrapped around the Conqueror's chest, burning through his smoke form, forcing him solid. He fell to his knees, gagging, his skin peeling like burnt paper.
"Hold him," Bruce said.
Hawkgirl didn't wait. She dove from the sky, wings spread, mace raised high. The Nth metal crackled with blue lightning.
"For Earth," she said.
She didn't aim for the Conqueror.
She aimed for the ship's engine core, right behind him.
CRACK.
The mace hit. The engine didn't just explode—it unmade itself. A sphere of white fire erupted, swallowing the ramp, the Conqueror, and the hangar bay.
The Conqueror didn't scream. He just… dissolved. His body turned to ash, then to light, then to nothing. The fire consumed him, and the mothership tore in half.
10:24 AM – The Ground
The explosion was silent at first. A flower of white fire blooming against the dark sky.
Then the sound caught up.
A shockwave leveled the remaining machines. The alien army collapsed, their neural link severed, their bodies turning to dust in the sunlight.
The heroes stood in the rubble.
Superman hovered, eyes glowing, chest heaving. The sun poured into him, every cell singing. He was whole again.
Diana lowered her lasso. Her armor was scorched, but her hands were steady.
Peter dropped from a web line, landing beside Bruce. "Did we… did we actually win?"
Bruce didn't answer immediately. He watched the mothership burn, the wreckage raining down like meteors in reverse.
"Yes," he said finally. "We won."
J'onn floated down, his cape tattered, his face pale but peaceful. "They are gone," he said. "All of them. The Imperium is extinct."
Green Lantern landed nearby, his ring flickering. Shazam, Green Arrow, Hawkgirl—they all gathered. Bruised. Bleeding. Alive.
Flint solidified next to Bruce, his sand form thin, almost translucent. "Hey," he said, voice weak. "I turned the knob."
Bruce looked at him. For the first time in days, the tension in his shoulders eased. Just a little.
"You did," Bruce said. "You saved us."
Flint grinned. "Hell yeah. Sandman for the win."
Wade walked up, kicking a piece of alien skull. "So… parade? Taco break? World leaders kissing our feet?"
Peter laughed. It was a shaky, relieved sound. "I'm just glad the sun's back. I was starting to miss sunburns."
Superman landed beside them. He looked up at the sky. It was blue. Clear. Beautiful.