Reborn as a Saiyan in marvel

Inside the Fortress of Solitude, a grotesque swarm of Parademons surged forward, their jagged wings slicing through the icy air as they flooded through a massive rupture in the crystalline doors. The once-pristine structure groaned under the invasion, its alien architecture marred by the relentless advance of Apokolips' monstrous foot soldiers. Their guttural screeches echoed off the frozen walls, a cacophony of chaos and destruction as they stormed into Superman's sanctum, their clawed limbs raking against the cold, unyielding floor.

Standing just outside, Myrina Black smirked, her arms crossed over her armored chest, dark eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. The gaping wound in the Fortress's defenses was a testament to her assault, her handiwork. She relished the sight of the unholy creatures pouring in like a flood of locusts, desecrating the legendary stronghold of Krypton's last son.

Then, "WOOSH!"

The air behind her split apart with a thunderous roar, the familiar, unnatural sound of a Boom Tube ripping through reality. The sheer force of its presence sent shards of displaced snow flying in all directions, causing Myrina to instinctively tense, her smirk faltering just slightly. She turned on her heel just in time to see a massive figure emerge from the swirling vortex of the dimensional gateway.

Barda.

Towering and broad-shouldered, the former Female Fury thundered out of the portal with an urgency that was unlike her usual composed brutality. She moved like a charging war beast, her powerful frame plowing through straggling Parademons that lingered outside the Fortress, their brittle bodies shattering like discarded husks beneath her unyielding might.

Barda's face was a stark contrast to the unshakable warrior Myrina had known for years. Her expression, usually firm and unflinching, was twisted in something bordering on fear. Her cobalt-blue eyes flickered with barely restrained panic as she ground to a halt before Myrina, her breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts.

Myrina's smirk returned, her brow raising in amusement. "What's the matter, Barda? You look like you've seen a ghost."

But Barda didn't take the bait. She swallowed hard, her powerful hands clenching into fists. "Myrina..." she said, her voice low but edged with a rare, unmistakable tension. "Prepare for contact. We have a dangerous opponent approaching."

"RUMBLE!"

A pulse, raw and tangible, rolled across the landscape, sending an almost imperceptible vibration through the ice and snow beneath their feet. The temperature in the air shifted ever so slightly, not from the cold, but from something else. Something more.

Both women turned in unison, their gazes locking onto the distant horizon, toward what should have been Star City.

Then, they saw it.

A streak of gold and crimson, a blinding comet of raw power, tearing through the sky at incomprehensible speeds. The sheer velocity of his approach bent the world around him, distorting the atmosphere with a furious, shimmering heat mirage. He cut through the frozen sea like a divine projectile, his presence alone forcing the ocean below to react. The water churned violently in his wake, tidal waves bursting upward from the sheer force of his passage, each cresting wall of water freezing instantly in the frigid climate, creating jagged ice formations in his trail.

Barda shivered, not from the cold, but from memory.

She could still see it. Still hear it.

Steppenwolf's face, twisted in a grotesque fusion of agony and disbelief. His mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes bulging as his body was ripped apart, not from a bomb, not from a godly weapon, but by sheer, unrelenting strength. The visceral shrrrkkk of bone splitting, the wet, revolting hiss of steaming organs spilling from his body, his powerful frame cleaved diagonally like a butcher carving meat.

He had reached for her.

Even now, she could still see that outstretched hand, fingers trembling, silently begging for aid. She had done nothing. Could do nothing.

She had only stood there, watching as the life bled from him.

Watching as the golden storm of fury that had torn him asunder simply moved on, as if ending Steppenwolf had been an afterthought.

And now, that storm was coming for them.

Barda clenched her teeth, her grip tightening on the Mega-Rod at her hip.

"He's here," she murmured, dread lacing every syllable.

Myrina, still watching the golden blur close the distance, only grinned.

"Good," she whispered.

William extended his hand, and from the raw force of his will, a series of small cannons materialized in the air, their structures humming with barely contained power. Their translucent, emerald frames gleamed under the harsh Arctic light, flickering as they solidified, forming into sleek, deadly instruments of war. Each construct pulsed with raging energy, their barrels lined with crackling arcs of electricity as golden veins of ki coiled within them like living lightning.

The very air around them warped and distorted, bending under the sheer magnitude of energy being fed into the weapons. The atmosphere sizzled where the lightning flared, the static charge thick enough to make the hair on one's arms stand on end. The battlefield itself groaned, as if recoiling from the sheer force that was being harnessed.

A slow, knowing smirk lined William's face. His expression was one of absolute confidence, exuding the kind of control only a man who had crushed armies beneath his heel could possess. With a deliberate, almost theatrical motion, he raised his hand as if commanding an invisible legion.

Barda and Myrina stiffened.

Then, something unexpected happened.

The thirty or so cannons shifted, their movements eerily precise as they rearranged themselves into perfectly synchronized lines, their barrels adjusting, locking into place with military precision. Like a well-disciplined phalanx, they aimed directly at the two women and the vast armies of Parademons behind them.

For a moment, there was silence, thick, heavy, oppressive.

Then—

"BOOM!"

The distant warships, looming above the icy wasteland, suddenly flared to life as their colossal energy cannons began charging, their barrels glowing with lethal intent. Their gunners had deemed William a priority target.

But they were too slow.

"KRA-KOOM!"

Before the enemy could even pull the trigger, the air itself ignited, a brutal cascade of emerald and golden devastation erupted from the floating artillery William had conjured. Thirty beams of searing energy tore through the sky at once, each carrying a strange, radiant yellow core, a mysterious energy that pulsed like the very heart of a dying star.

The first salvo ripped through the warships, the beams passing through their armored hulls like paper, leaving molten craters where their weapons once stood.

Then, "BOOM!"

The attacks did not stop.

The beams, undeterred by the ships they had already pierced, surged forward, smashing into the heart of the Parademon horde with devastating impact.

"WENG!"

The strange yellow energy contained within the beams reacted on contact.

The instant a Parademon touched one of the energy blasts, razor-sharp spikes of golden light burst from within the core, lancing outwards in all directions like the fangs of some celestial beast. The spikes impaled any Parademon unfortunate enough to be caught in its path, shredding them apart mid-flight with terrifying efficiency.

Screeches of agony filled the battlefield.

Barda and Myrina could only watch as the carnage unfolded before them.

The once unstoppable swarm of Darkseid's foot soldiers was being butchered in droves, their bodies ripped asunder and cast to the frozen ground below like discarded refuse.

Then, before anyone could react—

"WHOOSH!"

A single massive detonation erupted from the depths of the swarm.

The golden energy imploded upon itself, collapsing into a single, concentrated point. Then, it expanded violently, forming a dense, pulsating miniature sun in the center of the battlefield.

Gravity shifted.

A deafening, unnatural wail filled the air as the newly born celestial mass dragged everything towards it, pulling in the still-living Parademons like a ravenous black hole. Their shrieks of terror blended together, a horrifying chorus of the damned as they were forcibly yanked into oblivion, their bodies twisting and warping under the sheer gravitational pressure of the collapsing star.

"SKREEEEEE!"

Thousands of them, once loyal soldiers of Apokolips, were devoured in an instant, reduced to dust and echoes.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the entire battlefield was illuminated in the glow of the dying sun, its flickering radiance casting long, eerie shadows across the ruined ice fields.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared—

"BOOM!"

The celestial inferno detonated, collapsing in on itself in a breathtaking supernova of gold and emerald.

A great silence followed.

As the light faded, revealing the aftermath, a still-boiling lake now stood where once there had been only snow and ice.

The heat from the explosion had melted the very foundations of the frozen wasteland, carving a crater of superheated water into the Arctic, its steam rising like the breath of a slumbering titan.

Barda stood motionless, her grip on her Mega-Rod tightening.

Myrina exhaled, her smirk returning, but this time, it was tinged with something else.

Respect.

William hovered effortlessly above the battlefield, his body illuminated by the radiant glow of his own destruction. The golden aura surrounding him pulsed like a living flame, flickering with residual energy, casting dancing shadows across the steaming lake below. His golden hair whipped wildly in the arctic winds, each strand moving as though alive, infused with power.

His emerald eyes, piercing, unwavering, glowed with a terrifying certainty, a look that sent warriors fleeing, that had felled gods and tyrants alike. The world seemed smaller beneath his gaze, the very air around him trembling under the weight of his mere presence.

And yet, Myrina stepped forward.

With long, confident strides, she moved across the cracked ice, her heels clicking against the frozen surface with a deliberate swagger, as though the destruction surrounding them was beneath her concern.

The wind howled, whipping through her raven hair, sending dark tendrils dancing like a midnight storm. Her full lips curled into a smirk, her silver eyes glinting with something between amusement and hunger as they locked onto William like a predator sizing up its next conquest.

Then, with absolute authority, she spoke:

"My name is Myrina Black."

Her voice cut through the storm, smooth and sultry, yet laced with something ancient, something unshakable.

"I have seen your strength and found you worthy as a consort-slave."

The audacity of her words was breathtaking.

The sheer boldness of the declaration was almost comical, if not for the undeniable weight behind it. Myrina wasn't speaking out of arrogance or bravado, she genuinely believed what she was saying, as if his submission was an inevitable truth.

"Fall before my feet, mortal!"

She flourished her hand, and from the scabbard at her hip, she drew a dagger unlike any other.

The moment it was unsheathed, the air itself recoiled.

The blade, a deep, abyssal obsidian, darker than the void between stars, drank the light around it. Demonic runes pulsed angrily along its surface, glowing a baleful, sickly red, each glyph radiating an aura of pure, unfiltered domination.

It wasn't just a weapon.

It was an edict. A binding force given physical form.

William felt it instantly, the pressure, the sensation creeping into his very being, whispering insidious promises of submission. His instincts screamed at him, don't let that blade touch you.

Not once.

Myrina spun the dagger gracefully, the tip gleaming as she brandished it with practiced ease, her smirk never faltering.

Beside her, Barda stood firm, her Mega-Rod held tightly in both hands.

Unlike Myrina, she did not speak.

She didn't have to.

Her body language said everything, the way her jaw clenched, the barely perceptible tremor in her fingers as she gripped her weapon. She was a warrior, a legendary one, but even she could not fully conceal the deep-seated fear bubbling beneath the surface.

She had seen what William could do.

She had watched as he tore Steppenwolf apart, not with some divine weapon or ancient magic, but with his bare hands.

And yet, here she was, standing at Myrina's side.

Because she had to.

Because the alternative was far worse.

William lowered his gaze, studying the two women before him.

Myrina… was a sight to behold.

Her raven-black hair, cascading down in loose waves, framed a face of flawless, aristocratic beauty, sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes filled with smug certainty. But it wasn't just her face that drew attention.

Her figure…

The way her hips swayed beneath the dark, tight-fitting battle armor, each movement exuding dominance, a confidence that commanded attention. The outfit itself, somehow striking the perfect balance between functionality and sheer, unapologetic allure, accentuated every lethal curve, and there were many.

Diana, for all her beauty, was a warrior first and foremost. Sculpted and strong.

But Myrina?

She was something else entirely.

A temptress clad in war, her very presence designed to entice and enthrall, even as she prepared to dominate and destroy.

The deep cleavage of her chest plate barely contained the fullness of what lay beneath, the sculpted armor perfectly framing her form, drawing the eye whether one willed it or not.

A woman forged in war but draped in the allure of a goddess.

And yet, beneath it all, William's smirk never faded.

He had no intention of kneeling.

The air grew thick with tension, an invisible force pressing down on the battlefield as the storm of energy around him flared, gold and emerald intertwining like twin celestial forces about to erupt into war.

His gaze met Myrina's.

Then Barda's.

The moment William's emerald gaze locked onto Barda's, something within her shattered.

A sharp, involuntary shiver ran through her powerful frame, a reaction she could not suppress, no matter how much she tried to will it away. It was not from the cold, not from the frigid winds that howled through the desolate Arctic battlefield. No, this was something deeper. Something primal.

It was fear.

Not fear of battle, Barda had stared into the abyss a thousand times. She had waged war against the mightiest champions of Earth, faced gods and monsters, had stood unflinching before Darkseid himself. She was a warrior of Apokolips, trained from birth to know no hesitation, no weakness.

But this?

This was different.

This was him.

Hovering before her, bathed in the blinding glow of his own power, William was a force of nature. The very air trembled around him, his golden aura a writhing tempest that bent reality itself, distorting the space between them like a mirage of living fire. His emerald eyes burned, not with righteous fury, not with the cold detachment of a seasoned killer, but with something else.

Something unapologetically predatory.

A slow, measured smile crept across William's face, not kind, not amused, but something far more unsettling. A smirk laced with a quiet, dangerous delight, one that seemed to drink in the sight of Barda's instinctive reaction.

He saw it.

He relished it.

Then, in a voice dripping with something just shy of wicked, he spoke.

"I like that look on you."

His words slithered through the space between them like silk laced with razor wire, sinking into her ears, wrapping around her spine, and squeezing.

The way he said it, low, deliberate, dripping with something dangerously close to amusement, made her fingers tighten around the grip of her Mega-Rod.

The world around them felt smaller, like everything beyond this moment was irrelevant, a mere backdrop to the raw tension stretching taut between them.

And then, his smirk widened, his expression twisting into something that was borderline sinister, as though he were teetering on the knife's edge between playful menace and utter domination.

The air warped.

The thick, volatile energy surrounding him pulsed, distorting the battlefield around him like heat rising from scorched metal. The sheer pressure of it bore down on them, an invisible force that made even the most battle-hardened warriors hesitate.

Myrina watched, her silver eyes flickering between them, reading the unspoken exchange with an amused smirk of her own.

Barda, however, felt a cold sweat forming beneath her armor.

Because the worst part wasn't the overwhelming power.

It wasn't even the unnatural way the very fabric of reality bent around him.

No.

The worst part… was the fact that he was enjoying this.