The First Kryptonian in Marvel

General (POV)

The Shadow Castle guard unit was recently dispatched to two battlefronts, leaving only a few high-ranking captains behind. Sensing something unusual, these captains sought permission from Scáthach and began tracking down the disturbance. It was as if they were acting according to Scáthach's own will; they knew she had left them behind for a reason, so they obeyed without hesitation. In the Realm of Shadows, no one defied Scáthach's orders—or even dared to question them.

Standing alone on the training ground in simple battle gear, Scáthach was deep in meditation, her eyes closed. She sensed a familiar, powerful presence from Kara's direction, which stirred a hint of concern within her. But she couldn't leave now; her worry wouldn't change anything, and she knew that Kara was special—and important to her.

Some things, however, had to be addressed directly.

"Come at me!"

In an instant, a crimson blur streaked across the sky, a spear descending like a bolt of scarlet lightning. A flash of red erupted, sending sparks through the air, and even the shadowy training ground was momentarily lit up. The calm atmosphere fractured under the impact, and the once-solid ground cracked and shattered as two magic spears clashed with blinding ferocity.

The woman who appeared looked strikingly similar to Scáthach, even wielding a nearly identical spear. But her aura was different—while Scáthach exuded pride and a distant aloofness, this newcomer radiated seductive cruelty, her eyes filled with bloodlust.

"It's been too long, dear sister!"

The air crackled with energy as their spears collided, their combined Magical Energy churning into a storm of swirling power. The training ground bore the brunt, now marred by deep craters and gusts tearing through the surroundings, just from the aftershocks of their clash.

Despite the smile on her face, the newcomer's eyes held a predatory glint. "It's been a while, sister. Seems you've grown so comfortable here that your hunger for battle has faded. You're slower than before!"

Aife's smile twisted as she spoke, fueled by years of pent-up resentment and ambition. "But I'm curious! Scáthach, my dearest sister—what were you feeling when you cast me out of our homeland?"

Deep cracks snaked around them, trenches zigzagging across the battlefield as shockwaves from their spear strikes tore through the ground. The hardened earth shattered into fragments underfoot, and stones hurled upward were pulverized into dust. Their battle was a blur of streaking lights colliding at dizzying speed, beyond what ordinary eyes could follow.

"Hmph! Whether you admit it or not, let me share something that'll interest you. The Lord of the Underworld, Hades, came here with me—he has a grudge against you. I know your little disciple is stationed near the gates of the underworld, right? I've seen her. She's quite adorable, and even resembles me a little. But why is she your disciple, sister? If she were mine, she wouldn't be facing Hades' wrath alone, would she?"

"Hades?!"

Scáthach's expression turned serious. She knew the Greek gods' power was no trivial matter. Even with Kara's considerable strength under Soul Synchronization, such a formidable opponent was worrisome, especially to Scáthach as her mentor. Spear shadows saturated the air, and finding a brief opening, Scáthach leaped back to ready herself for a full-on fight.

"Stab and pierce. Thrust and break!"

"Gáe Bolg Alternative!"

"Finally, you're taking this seriously?" Aife's voice dripped with sarcasm, but behind it was a mix of pain and twisted satisfaction. "It's funny—you've never shown such concern for me before, sister."

Seeing Scáthach's alarmed expression only stoked Aife's own bitter frenzy.

"Gáe Bolg Alternative: Soaring Spear of Piercing Death!"

A scorching wave radiated outward as Scáthach commanded her magic spear, glowing an intense crimson. It shot forward like a meteor, an unstoppable streak of energy. The spear became a single deadly point, aimed precisely at Aife, who was engulfed in its radiant fury. The magic spear drove through her heart, splattering blood as it tore out from her back.

The blow was lethal. The sheer force of the spinning spear shattered Aife's heart, tearing two large holes clean through her chest, making it possible to see straight through her. The energy surge destroyed much of her internal organs and crushed numerous bones.

"I… actually hit?"

Scáthach's gaze fixed on Aife, impaled by her magic spear, her expression betraying a hint of surprise. She hadn't expected her sister, so adept at evading, to fail to dodge Gáe Bolg—a spear whose deadly aim was legendary. Although the Spear of Striking Death Flight manipulated cause and effect, its "sure-hit" effect wasn't absolute; it could be avoided if the target possessed rare abilities to bend fate or an extraordinary, almost superhuman, intuition, like a certain well-known spider. So why did she allow herself to be hit?

"Is it… over?" Scáthach murmured, shaken by the unexpectedly straightforward outcome of what she'd anticipated as a life-or-death struggle.

"Ah, my heart! This is the second time, dear sister!"

Memories of the past flickered through Aife's mind—moments frozen in time, Scáthach's unyielding gaze seared into her memory. Watching the blood flow from the gaping wound in her chest, Aife's face shifted, the mixed emotions she'd held dissolving, replaced by grim cruelty and sorrow. Whatever her original purpose in coming to the Land of Shadows had been, it was now lost, overtaken by a terror that outmatched even death.

"How many times will you kill me?"

The atmosphere itself trembled, distortions rippling outward as waves of dense Magical Energy surged. Aife's spear pulsed with power, a fiery red glow sparking off it, shrouded in a blood-red storm. With an explosion of force, her magic spear transformed into a weapon of utter devastation. The surrounding area disintegrated into dust, the air rent with arcs of scarlet light—a magic spear poised to unleash chaos.

"Spear of a Thousand Fatal Light Slashes!"

In an instant, two thousand five hundred fifty-five light spears burst forth, filling half the Shadow Castle in a crimson glow, the destructive light turning the Land of Shadows into something resembling daylight. The streaking red arcs illuminated the darkness before plunging it into obliteration. Scáthach was engulfed in the torrent as the castle itself shattered, the ground and sky split apart.

Unlike Gáe Bolg, Aife's barrage lacked a "fatal heart-piercing" certainty; she wielded her magic spears with the sheer, focused intent of destruction. This attack, fueled by overwhelming bursts of energy, shredded opponents under the onslaught, rivaling the might of the Sun God Lugh's Divine Spear. Aife's power wasn't based on curses or mystical attributes; it was the distilled technique of a warrior who'd trained in realms beyond mortal comprehension.

Ordinarily, throwing techniques involved hurling a spear at extreme speeds, limited even by the wielder's talents and supernatural abilities. But this Noble Phantasm transcended those limitations, relying not on speed alone but on throwing at the precise final instant, bending time itself to ensure accuracy.

It was a technique that could fell even gods—a skill none dared to underestimate.

Amid the dust and smoke, a massive crater formed where the Shadow Castle once stood. Scorched earth and charred fragments of light spears lay scattered like shell casings from an artillery barrage, remnants of the destruction that had ravaged the land. As the magical energy began to dissipate and the smoke cleared, a blood-stained Scáthach emerged, her magic spear in hand. She bore fresh wounds: deep punctures marked her left arm, chest, and abdomen, her beautiful face marred with scratches, evidence of Aife's relentless assault.

Despite her quick reflexes, Scáthach's defenses were only partially successful. She'd activated defensive runes and deftly countered numerous light spear blades, but Aife's relentless barrage was overwhelming. Even Scáthach, adept with the spear herself, understood that her sister hadn't reached her full potential; the sheer volume of spears had been too much for her to block.

"You've grown stronger, Aife." Crimson blood trickled from Scáthach's lips, her face paling. Her voice was calm, as if untouched by pain. "You're stronger than before... and you... do you hate me more?"

Aife's gaze turned cold, her voice steady but brimming with vehemence. "Sister, you probably don't understand, do you? The pain of having your heart pierced... I can still feel it as clearly as if it just happened. And this time, it hurts even more. But strangely, I can't bring myself to despise this pain. I think, in a way, I was even grateful for it—for the reminder of your unyielding resolve back then!"

A faint smile crossed Aife's face as she touched her slowly mending chest wound. With her body transcending human limitations, her heart no longer seemed essential. Even if shattered repeatedly, her undead form would heal anew.

"To stay alive... to return here, to see you again... I don't know how many lives I've claimed or how many heroes I've defeated. Now I'm stronger than you, sister... So, allow me to be the one to shatter that unwavering resolve of yours!"

The years since her exile, the harrowing struggle for survival, had forged Aife into something far more ruthless. The pain, never truly fading, had festered into something darker.

"Aife…" Scáthach's usually stoic expression wavered, a brief but deep emotion crossing her face. They were sisters, after all—companions who'd faced the same path side by side. Aife, the sister who laughed off her falls, always close behind, was her cherished companion. Those memories, warm and vivid, were like a treasured painting in Scáthach's mind.

Yet, Scáthach had no regrets. Despite exiling the very person who'd been closest to her from the Land of Shadows, her decision had been final. She might never fully understand Aife's feelings, nor the bitterness left unresolved. Fate had drawn them to this point, a place where conflict was unavoidable.

"You may resent me, but I won't regret it. I don't regret piercing your heart with Gáe Bolg, nor do I regret casting you out of the Land of Shadows. If you've come back seeking vengeance, then I'll face it."

Aife's expression softened, an unreadable mixture of sorrow and understanding in her gaze. "No, Scáthach. There's no hatred here, no resentment. Even if you kill me again, I won't hold it against you."

Scáthach's words rang out as if declaring something to herself as much as to Aife, her own conviction a palpable weight. Aife looked at her sister with a hint of melancholy, head tilted slightly. She gave a soft, almost wistful smile. "Sister, isn't it exhausting—living this way?"

The bond between sisters runs deep, yet how bitter it must be if trust is impossible, even between family. Logically, you'd think that with such a profound connection, they'd carry each other's burdens, share their hidden sorrows, and confront fate together. But what despair would there be if even family could not be counted on?

Scáthach's voice cut through, fierce and unyielding, "Unfortunately! As a warrior and ruler of the Land of Shadows, I abandoned such sentiments long ago. I discarded emotions altogether."

"Is that so?" Aife replied, her tone edged with bitterness. "Then save that for when your disciples' bodies return. They won't stand a chance against Hades!"

With a flash of crimson, Aife's magic spear hurtled toward Scáthach, streaking through the air like a comet with the elegance of a drawn bowstring. Their two spears clashed in the fierce wind, resonating with a harsh, metallic clash. In a swift, calculated maneuver, Aife sidestepped Scáthach's path just as the magical spear materialized in her hand again. She launched another furious assault, sending Scáthach flying, blood misting from wounds along her arms and waist.

Seizing her advantage, Aife unleashed a flurry of relentless spear attacks, each strike evoking the venomous precision that mirrored Scáthach's own style. The battered battlefield bore the scars of Aife's onslaught, jagged wounds marking its desolation.

"Gáe Bolg Alternative: Soaring Spear of Piercing Death!"

A red flash burst forward, and Scáthach's Gáe Bolg found its target, piercing through Aife's chest—a moment that left her stunned. She'd never expected to be struck by the very technique that both sisters knew inside out. Though the spear missed her heart, her chest ached with the same shattering sensation, and for a fleeting moment, her heart seemed to regain its pulse. But Aife smothered the sensation, focusing her mind on the fight.

"Spear of a Thousand Fatal Light Slashes!"

Entering a fierce stance, Aife raised her spear, conjuring an even larger onslaught. She knew that, while her strikes would be lethal for any other hero, Scáthach's resilience demanded more—so she unleashed a torrent of light spears. But just before the storm could completely engulf Scáthach, Aife glimpsed a shadow—a bloodstained figure charging headlong into the sea of spears, pulling along the form of a monstrous creature.

The battlefield shuddered as the clash rumbled like thunder. The impact scarred the earth, sending a shockwave that cracked the ground. A mushroom cloud rose in the dust-laden air, and as the light-spears' barrage came to an end, Aife detected a potent scent of blood—a figure pierced through the haze, donned in bone armor, wielding a twisted spear adorned with thorns.

Aife's eyes narrowed as she registered the identity of this intruder. "How... can it be... you?"

Despite all reason, this warrior—who should've been embroiled in another battle and far from a match for her—had somehow appeared, exuding the primal ferocity of a berserk beast.

With a bloodthirsty glint, the figure spoke through gritted teeth, "You intend to challenge my teacher? Did you even ask if the spear in my hand approves?"

Cú Chulainn, barely recognizable, was covered in wounds inflicted by his reckless entry into the storm of light-spears. Yet, his spirit hadn't dimmed. The injuries were irrelevant as long as they weren't fatal, and something in Scáthach's presence hinted at an unease—a curse, perhaps?

Indeed, the spear that had struck Scáthach bore a curse, uniquely crafted by Aife to target her sister. Even though Scáthach carried countless curses, Aife knew her sister all too well and understood precisely which one would weaken her. But—

"Even if it's a curse," Cú Chulainn growled, "if the caster dies, then there's no issue, right?"

His breath came in hot, savage bursts as he launched a brutal offensive against Aife, showing no intention of letting up.

"Please hurry, Kara," Cú Chulainn muttered under his breath, feeling the strain. "I can't maintain this state for much longer."