The First Kryptonian in Marvel

A harsh, hacking cough tore through me as I stumbled out of the portal, my legs barely holding steady. I took a few disoriented steps down the dark, deserted street, trying to shake the dizzying disorientation that had settled over me. My head throbbed with a dull ache, radiating from the strain of interdimensional travel. Rubbing my temples, I sighed, prioritizing the immediate issues—where exactly was I, and how far from home?

Yes, I'd time-traveled, and it wasn't my first attempt at it. Before this disjointed return to the present, I'd left the Land of Shadows after accompanying Cú Chulainn back to Ulster. I'd seen his wedding to Emer, taken on minor tasks, and even joined a certain knighthood along the way. Titles piled up, too: Kara the Battle Magus, The Morrígan, Kara Morrígan Draíochtach. People knew me by all sorts of names.

But, let's say, things hadn't gone smoothly. The Gate of Skye—the one I'd used to enter the Land of Shadows—wasn't an option for returning to the present, and it didn't connect to the Marvel universe either. My Inter-Dimensional Teleportation had its quirks, too. Technically, it allowed me to reach the Marvel verse, but for reasons I couldn't yet grasp, I got stuck in Hell or Limbo, about 2000 years in the past. So, with little choice, I Skye Gate'd back to the Land of Shadows.

With no immediate escape, Navi and I put our heads together. Two years later, our solution, the Zero Point Device, was finally ready. Yet another snag, though—this time, I ended up in World War II, a couple of years shy of my target. Still, I was back in Marvel, albeit in the past. One thing led to another, and I somehow befriended Howard Stark and the future Captain America, even joining in the war effort under an alias.

It was then that I noticed peculiarities in my body related to the time and space elements—two energy-rich bipyramids embedded within me, one for space, the other for time. Dutiful Navi, my AI assistant, had by then developed a semi-sentience and hypothesized that these bipyramids were the reason I veered off-course arriving in the past. After working out a solution and leaving behind a couple of clones, I finally managed a way back to the present.

As for those clones, we'd worked out their longevity. They could persist indefinitely in the shadow dimension, but beyond they were on a time-limit. So long as they refrained from using energy beyond what was needed to stay alive, they wouldn't disintegrate while being outside of the Shadow Dimension. Each had a degraded copy of my magic circuits, producing just enough magical energy to sustain their lives for a prolonged period of time.

As the dizziness lingered, I steadied myself, feeling the residual effects of the time jump settle over me like a fog. It was almost like motion sickness. "Well, at least I am back!"

"Even with a time-space displacement device, it's still a bumpy ride," I muttered, glancing at the HUD projected in my vision. My bionanites tracked everything happening in my body and displayed it on my lenses, revealing that the bipyramids within—the culprit of my turbulent journeys—was now pulsating with denser energy. "So, I used time-space energy to return," I mused. "And it seems the bipyramids recharge themselves when I travel through time and space. It must be due to the Zero Point Device harnessing energy from the quantum vacuum, and using little of my own for the trip. Convenient, I guess… I must say however that the time-space displacement device kind of worked as an anchor that kept me grounded in a specific point in time, it got me back to the present despite the interference of the bipyramids." Not recognizing the neighborhood at first glance, I mumbled, "Just a couple of kilometers off by the looks of things? Well, now's not the time for a science lesson."

I shifted my attention back to the present, scanning my surroundings. It looked like a residential neighborhood, one lined with older buildings that had seen better days. Streetlights barely illuminated the area, casting long shadows that only added to the eeriness. In the distance, I could just make out the glow of city lights, suggesting a bustling center beyond the darkness. "Just a couple of kilometers of my ass! Where the fuck am I?"

Disoriented and uncertain of the hour, I had Navi scanned for a signal to tap into, hoping for something—anything—to orient myself. Frustratingly, I got nothing. "At least I'm somewhere within New York City limits," I muttered, as my HUD helpfully confirmed.

With a deep breath, I steadied myself. The dizziness began to fade, and I set off toward the distant city lights, keeping my pace cautious. Using any powers to speed up my travel wasn't worth the risk; the last thing I needed was to catch the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. Thanks to my WWII stint, I already had enough connections with them, and the prospect of recruitment was the last thing I wanted.

"No point in advertising my little secret," I murmured, feeling a mix of disdain and wariness. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be relentless, especially Nick with is Avengers Initiative

Suddenly, a faint cry cut through the quiet night, followed by another—this wasn't just my imagination; someone was in trouble. I sighed, a touch of exasperation slipping into my tone. "Seriously? Trouble magnet, much?" It seemed trouble followed me everywhere. But I couldn't just ignore it.

I quickened my pace, slipping through alleys slipping into and out of the shadows until I reached the source of the cries. Rounding a corner, I paused, taking in the scene: a port area lined with a mess of shipping containers. The East River—I recognized it right away.

Nearby, a group of men in black, all armed to the teeth, towered over a woman kneeling on the ground, pleading and crying—the one who'd called for help, clearly.

Whoa, what's the deal here? I thought, crouching low and taking in the scene. This wasn't some gang of street thugs or petty snatchers – they were organized, far too coordinated. These guys were clearly part of a criminal operation with a plan. I decided to hang back and see what they were up to before jumping in.

"Please… anything! I have money, I can give you money! Just don't take me! Please!" A woman was clinging to one guy's leg, tears streaming down her bruised, dirt-streaked face. Her clothes were torn and filthy – looked like they'd already put her through hell.

The men were completely unphased. The one she was clinging to shoved her off with a sneer, then jammed a gun in her face. "Shut your yap and stop struggling, or I swear I'll shoot you dead!" he snarled.

Another guy stepped in, pulling out a rope and tying her up as if he'd done it a hundred times before. Without a second thought, he tossed her into an open container. My jaw nearly hit the floor when I saw what was inside – it wasn't filled with cargo, but people.

Women and children, all bound and gagged, were crammed into the container. Some lay there, too exhausted or injured to move, while others gave me a blank stare before looking away, eyes hollow and defeated. A few kids whimpered, but most sat there silently, drained of any fight left in them.

It hit me like a punch to the gut – these guys were human traffickers, the worst kind of scum. Rage simmered in me, setting my circuits ablaze. I'd always despised traffickers, far more than any run-of-the-mill criminal. Taking these bastards out, erasing them from existence – that urge pulsed through me like an instinct.

But I wasn't about to dive in like some green recruit. I forced myself to pull back, restraining that primal urge. Charging in recklessly could get those people in the container killed. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way – I could infiltrate their operation. If I blended in with the captives, I could use my AI and senses to gather intel and tear them down from the inside.

A plan sparked to life. I scanned the area, looking for any security cameras. It was a long shot for an operation like this, but you never knew. A quick scan from Navi confirmed it – no cameras. Smart. These creeps would've fried anything that could track them.

With the coast clear, I got into character. Casting Illusion magic ripped clothes and a young girl's look for that convincing "I just got abducted" look, I staggered out of the shadows and threw a hand toward the container. With a resounding clang, it slammed shut.

The noise jolted everyone in the port. "What the heck just happened?!" the guy who seemed to be the leader shouted.

"We… we don't know, boss! We didn't touch nothin', it just closed by itself!" stammered one of the lackeys, glancing nervously at the container.

They'd been busy loading people and clearly hadn't expected this curveball. "We've got another shipment coming in, you idiots! That container isn't full yet! Get it open, now! Those vamps are paying top dollar for this haul," the boss barked.

"Vamps, huh?" I murmured, stepping out and letting a hint of surprise show. "Well, that changes things a bit, doesn't it?"

I'd figured the container had their whole sick haul, maybe fourteen, fifteen people at most. The idea of more victims on the way was a nasty surprise. Looked like this trafficking ring ran deeper than I'd thought.

But then, "Whoa, a teen? What the heck?" The leader had spotted me. I wasn't exactly hiding, but my sudden appearance threw him off balance. In his eyes, I probably looked like some thirteen-year-old girl casually strolling onto the scene – no fear, just a relaxed attitude that didn't belong there.

To him, I had to be an anomaly. Either I had serious backup or I wasn't quite right in the head. I could see him considering if I was part of some police setup, bait to lure him in. But, even with his suspicions, he wasn't about to let a lone kid change the game.

This guy didn't jump to grab me like I'd hoped. Plan A – get snatched, get tossed in the container, go undercover – was off to a shaky start. Instead of swooping in, he was giving me that careful, calculating stare, clearly debating if I was worth the risk. This guy was no fool; years in New York's underworld had taught him caution. Not every random kid was easy prey.

And here I was, a little thrown myself. Where was the supposed swagger of Mr. Big Shot, the hotshot trafficker? Just grab the kid and toss her in already! But no, instead, he scanned the area around me with a suspicious frown.

"Come on, I thought, what's with the hesitation?" I was starting to lose my patience

"Alright, alright," I thought with a mental groan. "Plan B it is." Plan A was simple: get myself thrown in with the captives, then dismantle the operation from the inside. But with Mr. Paranoid holding back, I'd need to shake things up a little. Plan B would mean frying a few brains first, then blending in with the survivors.

Feigning innocence, I raised my hands, palms up. "Where I came from isn't important, right? You guys are traffickers, aren't you? Look, I'm not packing heat. Don't you want to, you know, catch me?"

The guy, though? Not buying it. He leveled his gun at me, his voice a low growl. "Kid, this ain't a playground. Beat it, or else…"

"Or else what?" I cut him off, my tone sharp. The threat hung unspoken in the air, and I caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes. Rattled already?

He recovered fast, squeezing the trigger in frustration—then froze. Nothing. He glanced at the gun in his hand, eyes wide as if he'd seen a ghost. Somehow, the safety was back on.

"When…? How the hell—" he muttered, staring down in utter confusion. Oh, he'd flicked it off earlier, alright. But here it was, safe and locked again, and he had no clue how it happened.

I chuckled, my voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Spooky, right?" With just the faintest flick of my telekinesis, I'd flicked the safety back on. Subtle enough that they'd never know.

Then, without another word, I raised my right hand, fingers splayed. In an instant, every gun in sight jolted upwards, yanked from each thug's grip by an invisible force, and trained back on them.

"!!"

The air snapped into a tense silence as their shock settled in. Even the densest thug could put two and two together: this wasn't some scared kid. I was very much in control. The leader's expression morphed from anger to horror, his mouth working wordlessly like a fish out of water.

"Who the… who the hell are you?" he rasped, barely able to get the words out.

I smirked, tilting my head. "Curious, aren't you?" My tone was casual, but I could see the way his eyes widened, every shred of confidence gutted. "Ask the devil himself when you get there."

Keeping their guns suspended mid-air, I focused my telekinesis around each weapon, letting them hover for just a moment longer. Then, with a mischievous grin, I raised my hand in a playful mock-shooting pose. "Bang."

With a twist of my telekinesis, the guns fired in a symphony of chaos, each shot aimed back at its wielder. The night exploded with gunfire, drowning out their screams.

...

A low rumble echoed nearby as a truck approached, headlights slicing through the night toward the docks. "Was that gunfire up ahead?" came a wary voice from the passenger seat—a white guy, leaning forward with a frown.

"Sounds like it… boss…" The driver, an African-American man, glanced toward the white-haired man in the back seat, waiting for instructions. As the truck inched closer, the driver's eyes flicked toward the shadowy chaos of the docks, tension coiling in the air.

The boss, a white dude with a furrowed brow, tapped the back window. "Tell the boys to gear up. Looks like something's kicking off at the docks."

"You got it!" A chorus of acknowledgments rose from the men in the back, their hands scrambling for weapons as they braced for action.

The driver, a touch bewildered, scratched his head. "Who the hell would mess with us, man? The new Russian mob? The Yakuza?"

"Doesn't matter," the boss declared, barking out his orders with confidence. "Anyone messing with the Irish Mob gets a one-way ticket to hell!" He urged the driver to put the pedal to the metal.

The truck wasn't exactly a slug to begin with, and their proximity to the docks meant they arrived in a heartbeat. But the scene that greeted them was a nightmare of carnage. Blood pooled around them, painting a horrifying picture of their fallen comrades. None of the bodies belonged to rivals—all bore the unmistakable tattoo of the Irish Mob.

"What the actual fuck? What the hell happened here?" The boss's voice cracked with disbelief. His gaze swept the scene, searching for any sign of the attackers.

Just then, the driver let out a startled yelp. "Boss, there's a girl up ahead!"

Following the driver's gaze, the boss saw her too—a girl standing alone in the inky darkness, right in their path. It chilled him to the bone. He wasn't one for the supernatural, but this scene had a distinctly unsettling vibe.

"Don't worry about her, just run her over!" he barked, his voice betraying a hint of unease.

But before the driver could even respond, the girl raised her hand toward the truck. A jolt of pure terror shot through them as they felt the vehicle begin to lift. Through the windshield, the night sky replaced the road ahead—a dizzying shift that defied all logic.

"Wh-what the hell is going on?!" The boss, slick with cold sweat, fumbled with the door handle, desperately trying to escape. But it wouldn't budge, stuck tight as if welded shut.

Panic clawed at his throat as he glanced back. The truck bed, once firmly connected to the cab, was now separating with a sickening groan. All that remained were him and his driver, trapped in a metal coffin hurtling toward a fiery fate.

Through the windshield, a horrifying sight met his gaze—a crimson streak of light, rapidly gaining on them.

"Oh, God..."

Those were the boss's last words. The confident leader of the Irish Mob slumped into his seat, succumbing to a crimson spear in his chest, followed by an explosion that engulfed the truck's cab in a fiery inferno.

...

"Hmph, trying to play bumper cars, huh?" I scoffed, lowering my hand after firing that makeshift magic spear I'd projected.

After neutralizing the traffickers at the docks, I expected another shipment of "cargo" to arrive soon. They showed up earlier than anticipated, leaving me no time to get the authorities involved. But taking them down first, then calling the cops, wasn't a bad alternative. So, I positioned myself in their path, triggering the deadly spectacle that had just unfolded.

"Ugh, gotta add those damn vamps to my to-do list," I muttered under my breath. "Secret society, my ass. Apparently, they're feeling cozy enough to show themselves to the Irish Mob now. What a mess." I sighed, knowing my night wasn't over. Loose ends still needed tying up.

With a slight movement of my fingers, I yanked the last two thugs from the wreckage of the truck. Then, using their own guns as marionettes, I forced them to shoot each other. It was harsh but necessary. Without my mask, leaving anyone alive who'd seen my powers wasn't an option. Besides, these guys knew what they were dealing with—vamps—and they'd practically gift-wrapped women and girls for them. They got what they deserved.

Luckily, the women and children—still inside the container—were out of it enough not to recognize me. Blindfolds, unconsciousness, or sheer terror kept them oblivious to their unlikely savior.

Satisfied that no witnesses remained, I strolled to a nearby phone booth. A subtle electrical current distorted my voice as I dialed 911. "Hello, police? I need to report a crime..."

Hanging up, I melted into the night. With my bearings now set, a craving gnawed at me—pizza night. Priorities, after all. I'd been away from home for too long.

...

Ten minutes later, sirens wailed in the night as police cruisers swarmed the dock. The scene that greeted them was gruesome. Rookie officers, overwhelmed by the carnage, vomited their lunches into the East River. Beyond the bodies, the sight of bewildered and traumatized captives added another layer of horror.

One seasoned, plainclothes officer pulled his radio close, his voice steady but tense. "We need psych teams and a fleet of ambulances, stat. Get me through to the chief – this is a major crime scene. Forensics will be swamped..."

The radio crackled in response, "How many casualties?"

"Too many," he replied, lowering the device and taking a heavy breath. His focus shifted to the survivors – a mix of women and children, huddled together, their expressions vacant, trapped somewhere between shock and terror. Slowly, he began coordinating a response, knowing that collecting names would be crucial. Even though words felt inadequate, he understood that capturing even fragments of their stories might help anchor them, and it would also guide the search for others who had vanished under similarly dark circumstances.

This investigation, he realized with grim certainty, would stretch on, unraveling horrors he could barely begin to imagine.

...

Later that night, after an epic carb-loading session courtesy of a mountain of pizza, I finally found myself back in my own bed.

"Ah, home sweet bed," I murmured with a satisfied sigh. Just a few hours ago, I'd been back in the forties. Being back in the present felt like a relief.

"Navi, any intel on those vamps yet?" I asked, addressing my ever-reliable AI assistant.

"Yes, miss," Navi's voice responded, a smooth blend of synthetic and human tones. "I conducted a cross-analysis of the cell tower data and phone records you snagged at the docks. Heavy maritime traffic caused some initial static, but I managed to isolate the thugs' signals. That led me to a known Irish Mob hideout. From there, I dug deeper, hacking into their digital breadbasket—communications and financial records. The trail converged on a specific nightclub in the area. Considering the individuals involved and the unusual activity I detected, I assess that this nightclub serves as a front for the vampire operation."

"A whole vampire nest practically in my backyard? Now that's what I call convenient," I smirked, a spark of anticipation igniting in my eyes. There is no need for a long trip this time. A 3D map appeared on my computer lenses, displaying a crimson dot pulsing near the edge of a detailed map of Brooklyn. The map zoomed in with one command, revealing the vampires' den in all its glory—a fancy nightclub. I could practically feel the thrill of the hunt already coursing through my veins.

"Thanks, Navi! Keep an eye on the vamps' activity. Track any unusual movement patterns, locate as many of their hideouts in New York as possible, and monitor their communications," I instructed. Hitting one location wasn't enough; they'd just vanish underground again. I needed data on their networks, routines, and vulnerabilities. Only then could I start getting rid of those pests in 'my' City.