DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

Under the clear starry sky and the bright moonlight, Bardi stood clad in the crystalline remains of the Armor, its surface gleaming magnificently under the soft lunar glow.

But all of it, this once-imposing magical armor was now shattered beneath his feet.

His expression remained cold, indifferent. Like a god of war gazing down upon the world, he trampled it beneath him without hesitation.

Zatara, still clad in the fragments of his broken armor, stared in utter disbelief. Defeated.

He hadn't expected to be so thoroughly overpowered in melee combat, let alone so effortlessly.

A magician was limitless.

At range or up close, in light or shadow, manipulating elements, minds, space, or nature—a true master of magic could adapt to anything.

Magic was not just an enigmatic force studied in secrecy. It was not some dark, unknowable art. It was power. It was everything.

And magicians? They had no weaknesses.

Only vulnerabilities. Exploitable gaps. But melee combat had never been one of Zatara's.

Yet, he had still lost. So decisively, so completely, that his pride could not accept it.

Yes, he had been preparing magic while engaged in close combat, but the speed at which Bardi had overwhelmed him, the sheer combat instincts of this so-called demon's servant was nothing short of terrifying.

And now, beneath the vast night sky, the shattered Armor beneath Bardi's feet flared with light.

A brilliant white radiance surged from its remains, piercing the darkness.

In that moment, Bardi looked as though he were standing atop a miniature sun.

Then—

The Armor exploded.

Zatara, still inside, vanished in a flash of magic.

At the same time, Bardi launched himself off the disintegrating armor, using the force to propel himself forward.

BOOM!

He plummeted from the sky, dropping from a height of over a hundred meters.

Behind him, the remnants of the Armor ignited, erupting into raging flames that burned as fiercely as the sun itself.

Searing heat scorched Bardi's back, the temperature of the magical explosion causing his skin to redden instantly.

For a Kryptonian, such pain was nothing. A trivial inconvenience. His body would recover within moments.

He descended swiftly, knees bending slightly to absorb the impact as he landed.

His feet pressed into the grass, toes sinking into the earth before he straightened himself once more.

Above him, the explosion raged, forming a massive fireball that rivaled the moon in size.

The fiery glow illuminated his powerful back muscles, turning them a deep crimson.

But the front of his body remained hidden in shadow cast by his own towering form.

His face was unreadable. Emotionless.

Yet his stance was unyielding.

With the flames behind him, he emerged like an invincible war god, pacing forward through the fires of destruction.

Then, he lifted his gaze.

Above, in the vast night sky, Zatara hovered.

He had flown to an altitude beyond Bardi's jumping range.

His expression darkened as he stared down at Bardi, but within him, he felt an unease he couldn't suppress.

Bardi's expression remained cold. Impassive.

Yet Zatara could feel it. A silent, mocking laughter.

He gritted his teeth. It was his own arrogance that had put him in this position.

He had insisted on close combat, had let his pride drive him into a losing battle.

He quickly pushed aside his frustration. This was not over.

A magician was not bound to a single approach. Adaptability was key.

He had only lost because he chose to fight on the wrong battlefield.

But this?

This was his domain.

Zatara took a deep breath and steadied himself.

"Now... experience the true power of a magician."

His voice rang out across the sky—calm, composed, unwavering.

Then—

A short wand appeared in his hand.

He raised it, twirling it gracefully like a conductor preparing to unleash a symphony.

And then—

The island reacted.

A pulse of pure magical energy rippled outward, distorting the very fabric of the land.

Radiation waves fluctuated violently, as though the entire island was being reshaped by unseen forces.

Then came the mental wave.

Bardi suddenly felt like he was sinking, as if trapped in a bottomless mire.

His body felt ten times heavier.

No—dozens of times heavier.

An oppressive, unshakable exhaustion crept into his mind.

This wasn't physical fatigue.

It was something deeper. A spiritual weight.

A force that bypassed flesh and bones entirely, crushing his very will.

It was inescapable.

A pressure not of the body, but of the soul.

And within that crushing weight, there was a voice.

A whisper.

A guiding, coaxing presence.

Inviting him to rest.

To let go.

To sleep.

Bardi's eyes snapped open, blood dripping from the whites.

Veins bulged across his body, his muscles straining against the unseen force.

With a sharp motion, he struck his own chest hard.

CRACK!

A mouthful of blood erupted from his lips as searing pain shot through his body.

But even that pain wasn't enough.

His vision swam.

The exhaustion remained. Unrelenting.

It coiled around him, pulling him deeper, suffocating him.

He had no way to resist it.

This wasn't something he could punch through.

It was—

"Mind magic."

Raven took a bite of her chocolate, her gaze lingering on Zatara.

She wanted to stop him from using mind magic.

From the very beginning, she could see it, Bardi carried a past filled with immense pain. That past had shaped him into what he was now.

But it was also that very same past that drove him forward, forcing him to endure, to push through, to keep moving.

Was that good or bad?

There was no answer.

And in the end, Raven didn't interfere.

Because this was mind magic.

This was a method designed for the battle against Trigon, to pull Bardi into the spiritual world and force him to confront him directly.

If he couldn't withstand even Zatara's spiritual assault, then there was no point in resisting Trigon at all.

If he failed here, then Earth was already doomed.

Her eyes held a trace of anticipation as she paused, chocolate in hand, watching Bardi intently.

And then.

It happened.

Bardi's eyes flew open, the whites streaked with blood, giving them an eerie, terrifying look.

His pupils lost all focus.

He had fallen, dragged into the realm of mind magic.

But even as his consciousness sank, his body remained upright.

Even lost within the illusion, his will remained indomitable.

The sight of his vacant, bloodshot stare sent a chill through the air.

The forest reacted.

Trees trembled as thick, dark green vines slithered like living serpents, writhing across the ground.

They coiled toward Bardi, climbing up his legs, slithering higher.

The sharp thorns along their length dug into his skin, tearing through flesh, leaving behind thin trails of red.

Blood seeped down, tracing slow paths along his body, dripping onto the blackened soil below.

Then, in the darkness—

A voice whispered.

"Only you are the best for me."

"You're the only one who truly loves me."

"Let's get married!"

A sudden, irresistible emotion surged through his mind.

A warmth.

A joy.

His heartbeat quickened.

The illusion had taken hold.

A chemical reaction. A flood of hormones.

A false love.

But it felt real.

Before he could even think.

Bardi spoke.

"Yes."

The world shifted.

In an instant—

A church.

Rows of guests—family, friends—seated all around.

Bardi looked down.

He was dressed in a groom's suit, a calla lily pinned to his chest, a symbol of purity, devotion, and eternal unity.

His gaze clouded with confusion as he scanned the faces in the crowd.

Envy.

Admiration.

Contempt.

His head felt foggy.

The entire space had a hazy, dreamlike glow.

Then—

She appeared.

A woman.

Beautiful, radiant, walking toward him in a pure white wedding gown.

And in that moment.

Light.

A warmth spread through him, an emotion so foreign he almost didn't recognize it.

Happiness.

A father led the bride forward, his expression unconcealed in its disdain as he placed the woman's hand in Bardi's.

"From today onward," the man said coldly, "you will treat her like a princess. If you fail her, I will make sure you suffer for it."

Bardi felt his heart stir.

This feeling—this joyful anticipation—it had been so long since he had felt it.

A smile stretched across his face, bright as sunlight.

And he spoke.

"Let me show you... how I'll treat her."

Then—

His hands moved.

Slowly, deliberately, he placed them on the bride's shoulders.

His fingers dug in.

Blood welled up.

A gasp—shock, pain, panic.

"What are you doing?!"

Then—

RIP.

A spray of red.

The bride's body split apart.

The entire church was painted in blood.

The guests, the white walls, the stained-glass windows, all drowned in crimson.

The illusion shattered.

---

Bardi's pupils snapped back into focus.

He had not followed the script.

Had not played along with the illusion's deception.

Instead, he had torn it apart.

Reality came flooding back in.

Pain.

The vines still clung to his body, their thorns burrowing deep, sending waves of agony

**

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