DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

The scene was almost surreal.

Slade's face flushed red, veins bulging and snaking up his neck like coiled ropes. His hands trembled with exertion, the bones in his fingers turning white as he gripped the sword with everything he had. Yet, despite his full strength, he couldn't move the blade an inch further.

Bardi, on the other hand, stood perfectly still, biting down on the blade as though it were no more than a stick of candy. His cold, detached gaze bore into Slade, completely unfazed by the man's desperate struggle.

Since entering this underground research base, Slade had proven himself a constant source of trouble. From the traps and ambushes to the relentless attacks, Slade had pushed Bardi to the edge, nearly preventing him from reaching the sunlight he craved.

Bardi's subconscious instincts had kept him alive—guiding him to let himself be paralyzed, to fake submission, to escape the white room. Every step had been calculated, every move prepared in advance.

Slade, for all his skill, was no match for Bardi. Against any other human opponent, Slade would never have lost. But against Bardi, his fatal flaw became glaringly obvious, he wasn't acting on his own. He was just a pawn of General Vic, a soldier forced to carry out someone else's orders.

Suddenly, Slade's grip faltered. The strength that had reddened his face and strained his veins began to fade.

In his free hand, a hidden combat knife slipped into view. Without hesitation, Slade drove the blade straight toward Bardi's chest.

Bardi barely reacted. His cold eyes flicked toward the incoming attack, and with a casual motion, he swatted the knife aside.

The blade, a weapon crafted with precision to pierce through armor and strike without warning, was deflected as if it were nothing. The impact sent the knife clattering to the ground, leaving Slade stunned.

Bardi's hand didn't stop at the knife. It continued downward, catching Slade's wrist. With a sharp twist, a sickening crack echoed through the air as the bones in Slade's wrist snapped.

Slade let out a gasp of pain, his arm hanging limp at his side.

Bardi didn't stop. Without any hesitation, he pressed his palm into Slade's chest and shoved.

Thud!

The force of the blow collapsed Slade's sternum, shattering his ribs and crushing his internal organs. Blood erupted from his mouth in a crimson spray as he was launched backward like a ragdoll.

He flew through the air, trailing blood as if caught in the path of a freight train. His body slammed into the steel wall with a resounding crash, the impact leaving a dent in the metal. Slowly, he slid down to the floor, crumpling into a heap.

Slade's face twisted in agony, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Bardi through the pain. His breath was shallow, each exhale accompanied by a wet, rattling sound as blood seeped into his lungs. Yet he remained alive, staring defiantly despite his broken body.

"Hm?"

Bardi tilted his head slightly, surprised. Spitting out the samurai sword he had been biting, he turned his gaze back to Slade with mild curiosity.

"Still alive?" he muttered, his tone laced with faint amusement.

Slade's resilience was unexpected. Bardi had used nearly seventy percent of his strength in that strike, far more than what most humans could endure. With his current power, even half that effort would have killed anyone else outright. Yet Slade had managed to survive.

Impressive.

Bardi's cold expression softened into something almost contemplative. On the human level, Slade's physical condition was exceptional. To have trained his body to this extent was nothing short of extraordinary, a testament to his dedication and willpower.

Of course, Bardi thought, there were others who would eventually rise to match and even surpass Slade. A certain man dressed as a bat came to mind, someone who would one day push human limits to their absolute peak.

"If it weren't for the circumstances, I would've liked to make you my subordinate. You're undoubtedly an impressive man," Bardi said, his tone carrying a rare hint of regret.

Slade truly was exceptional. A subordinate like him could have been invaluable, someone capable of helping Bardi conquer this world and deal with countless future obstacles.

But, unfortunately, this was where it ended. Such a person would have to die here and now, at his hands.

Slade gritted his teeth, enduring the agony of his shattered sternum and the intense pain radiating from his ruined internal organs. Blood filled his mouth, making every word a struggle.

"What... exactly is on the negative fourth floor that you think will help you escape?" Slade rasped, his voice hoarse, every breath an unbearable torment.

Bardi's eyes narrowed slightly. He couldn't help but admire Slade's resilience, even in the face of death. The man had figured out that Bardi wasn't simply here to attack the research facility, but that something specific on the negative fourth floor was essential to him.

Still, Bardi wasn't about to divulge the truth to a dead man.

"No, Slade," Bardi said coldly. "I just want to kill you."

He reached for the camouflage saber strapped to his waist. "And now, it's time for you to move on."

Slade glared at him through bloodshot eyes, his expression grim and unyielding. His instincts screamed at him, and he tilted his head at the last second.

A green flash streaked through the air.

Even though Slade reacted in time, the camouflage saber still found its mark. The blade pierced his right eye with a sickening sound, causing him to let out a guttural roar of pain.

There were no nerve endings in the eye to feel physical pain, but the shock and psychological anguish were excruciating. The sudden movement worsened the damage to his chest, aggravating his internal injuries and amplifying his suffering.

Bardi paused, momentarily stunned. He hadn't expected Slade's will to survive to be this strong—strong enough to instinctively avoid a fatal hit.

"If you weren't someone's lapdog, bound by their rules, I might have even been cautious around you," Bardi said calmly, his voice carrying a faint note of genuine respect.

He stepped forward, towering over Slade, and seized his arm with an iron grip. Dragging him effortlessly, Bardi began walking toward the access doors to the negative fourth floor.

Slade's body was broken beyond repair. His dislocated ribs had pierced deep into his organs, yet his resolve kept him silent. He gritted his teeth, refusing to show any weakness.

As Bardi pulled him along like a ragdoll, Slade managed to cough out a few words, blood spilling from his lips.

"You won't escape... You'll die here. You'll be dissected, used... every part of you studied..."

The words trailed off into a violent cough. Blood loss had left him pale and disoriented, the pain pounding through his head in unrelenting waves.

Bardi let out a small hum, not out of disagreement, but as if to acknowledge Slade's determination.

Once they reached the two secured doors on the negative fourth floor, Bardi forced Slade's bloodied hand onto the biometric scanner. The doors unlocked with a soft beep.

With the final obstacle cleared, Bardi turned to Slade, who was now of no use. He hoisted the soldier's battered body high into the air and hurled him at the wall with casual ease.

Thud!

Slade's body slammed against the cold steel, a spray of blood marking the point of impact. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, his head lolling forward. His military uniform, soaked and stained with blood, clung to him like a shroud.

That was it. Slade's journey as a soldier had reached its end.

Bardi stood still for a moment, listening intently. His superhuman hearing detected the faint, dying rhythm of Slade's heart.

Thump… thump… thump… thump...

And then, silence.

Slade's heart had stopped.

Bardi's face remained expressionless. Without sparing another glance, he walked away.

The negative fourth floor wasn't large, neither was the entire underground research institute. With his heightened senses, Bardi could hear every heartbeat on every level, making it easy to track down his target.

As he moved through the corridors, he encountered several researchers in white coats. None of them posed any threat, and Bardi couldn't even be bothered to deal with them directly. He raised his gun, firing casually as he walked.

The gunshots echoed in the enclosed space, marking his trail as he left a line of corpses in his wake.

Finally, Bardi reached the office door he was looking for. He pushed it open and stepped inside. Then, with deliberate care, he closed it behind him to keep the stench of blood and gunpowder from seeping in too strongly.

The office was dimly lit, and Bardi could hear the faint, rapid breaths of the man cowering inside. Dean Bori, the head of the research facility, was hiding under his desk, trembling like a leaf.

The old man was hunched over, his hands clasped tightly together as he made frantic crosses over his chest. He mumbled under his breath, praying desperately for deliverance, for some divine intervention to save him from the nightmare that had entered his office.

Bardi's footsteps echoed as he approached the desk. He pulled out the chair, placed his gun on the surface, and tapped his fingers lightly against the wood.

"Come out, Dean Bori."

***

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